The Three “Easy” Pieces

December 11, 2014February 21, 2020JT Twissel 8 Comments

Back in the days when women wore a strand of pearls and high heels to make dinner. “My husband takes care of all our financial affairs!”

In the last post, Five Deadly Sins in the Eyes of the Taxman, I talked about how easy it is for innocent people to find themselves in the crosshairs of the tax man. You just have to commit the deadly sin of marrying and trusting the wrong person. However, because the tax code was written at a time when most married women worked from home and weren’t considered smart enough to understand finances, there was a provision added that allows a spouse to claim relief from a shared tax debt. All they have to do is prove their incompetence.

The ideal innocent Spouse Candidate

As you can imagine, it’s changed over the years.

In 1986 there were three “requirements” that had to be met before the tax review board would even consider an appeal. On the surface they sound relatively straight forward but they’re not. And the tax man is very strict about these requirements – if they don’t think you’ve satisfied all three, your appeal will go unanswered.

The first condition is that you filed a joint tax return with your spouse for the year in question. If you filed separately thinking you’d be in the free and clear should your husband’s shenanigans come to life, think again. To the IRS, until the divorce is final, you are jointly responsible for community property or income acquired during your entire marriage. If you filed separately during the year in question, to the IRS that means you knew your husband was defrauding the government and didn’t turn him in. NO RELIEF FOR YOU!

Godfather, please make my husband come clean. Break his legs if you need to!

The second condition addresses knowledge and the duty of inquiry. How much knowledge did you have of your ex-husband’s financial situation and how much you should have known, based on your education and experience. If you can’t prove that you’re too uneducated and inexperienced to understand finances, then NO RELIEF FOR YOU! However, if as a prudent taxpayer you can prove that you did everything in your power to get the information from your spouse but failed, then you might have a chance.

Honest Mr. Taxman – I had no idea my husband made so much money! Excuse me while I shuttle off to Bermuda for my spa treatments!

The third condition is the one that sinks most appeals. For me, it was the easiest to prove but apparently many women drive around in Ferraris, shop on Rodeo Drive and winter in Aspen all the while unaware their husbands have money. Then, after being confronted by the taxman, they try to claim innocent spouse relief. I have to point out that the tax man doesn’t care if at the time of the appeal you’re working a minimum wage job, living in a trailer park and supporting three kids. If, during the year covered by the questionable tax return, you and your spouse lived a very lavish life style NO RELIEF FOR YOU!

Next, Secrets of a Kick Ass Tax Woman.

*All the images on this post are from Bing.com

Music Tuesday Debut: Guest Post by JT Twissel–The World’s Worst Folksingers

November 26, 2014JT Twissel Leave a comment

Here is a post I wrote for Mary Rowan whose first two novels deal with (amongst other things) the effect music has on our lives.

MaryRowen.com

Today is the first day of a new blog series called MUSIC TUESDAY. If you’re familiar with my books LIVING BY EAR and LEAVING THE BEACH, you know they both have strong music themes, although they’re very different stories.

I’m excited to have the wonderful author JT Twissel begin the series with her post, THE WORLD’S WORST FOLKSINGERS. So, without further ado, he-e-e-e-rs Jan!

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This post is going to age me somewhat but here goes. My father refused to buy what he called a “boob tube” until I was almost fourteen. Instead, our entertainment on cold snowy days consisted of listening to classical music, or show tunes, or the irreverent monologues of comedian Bob Newhart,* who we’d seen many times performing in either Reno or Lake Tahoe. (I was raised in Reno, Nevada).

My father had extensive knowledge of the Classics as well as Greek and Norse mythology…

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Let’s go fly a kite!

November 19, 2014February 17, 2026JT Twissel 12 Comments

The other day I watched Saving Mr. Banks, a fictionalized account of the filming of Mary Poppins, which I have to admit was not my favorite Disney film. Apparently, PL Travers, the author of the book, had an even stronger reaction. She gave ole Uncle Waltie such gas that at first she wasn’t even invited to the premiere. The reasons she gave for her disapproval were: the nanny wasn’t strict enough and Disney insisted on adding animation. After her experience, she refused to allow him to film any of her other books. (Watch the trailer from Saving Mr. Banks.)

The movie Saving Mr. Banks implies that Travers’ hatred of the movie went far deeper than a dislike of dancing penguins. Apparently the filming brought back memories of her delightfully fanciful

but totally irresponsible father and the stern aunt who arrived after his premature death to pull the grieving family together. In the Mary Poppins’ books, the nanny is able to save the whole family whereas in real life, help arrived too late. So you could say PL Travers used fiction to save a father she’d tragically lost and for that reason, seeing him and her beloved aunt portrayed as Disney caricatures must have mortified her. I can understand this feeling well. The other day someone commented that the Captain Wug character in FLIPKA was a “crazed geezer.”

Since that character was based on a decorated war hero, I freaked. What have I done, I thought. Turning the beloved people in my life into caricatures? The person who made the comment was surprised by my reaction. Many memorable characters in fiction began their lives in the impressions of children, he pointed out, and thus are often capable of the improbable, the fanciful, and the heroic. They are also subject to caricature. Every book we publish is like a kite we launch into the sky. Everyone who sees the kite will see it differently and about this fact we can do nothing except be happy the kite is flying.

By the way, PK Travers was not the first nor will she probably be the last author to hate the film version of their baby:

Farewell — I don’t know about Papa, but this book cover implies a little hanky-panky might be going on.

About the movie adaptation of The Shining, Stephen King complained the hotel was not sufficiently “evil” and Jack Nicholson acted “too psychotic.” Having read the book and seen the movie, King’s comments made me think he doesn’t know what he wrote! I could say the same thing about Ernest Hemingway’s response to the first adaptation of A Farewell to Arms. He felt it was “too romantic.” Okay. Here’s what I think. The heroine was based on his first wife and by the time the movie came out he was probably on his third. Sounds like the rascal was just trying to save a marriage!

The list goes on to include so many authors that I decided if anything I write is ever made into a movie or play, I’ll try to keep this in mind – it’s only a kite I launched which once airborne belongs to the world.

Click here to read about other authors who hated the movie adaptations of their books.

Why obeying your husband is against tax law

November 13, 2014February 21, 2020JT Twissel 8 Comments

The last novel I published was loosely based the fourteen years I spent battling the State Franchise Tax board. How boring, you say. No vampires. No zombies.

We’re from the IRS!

The fact of the matter is, not understanding your liabilities under tax law can result in a truckload of vampires arriving at your front door, IRS agents whose bonuses and raises are dependent on how much blood they suck from a delinquent taxpayer. Followed by the courts of last appeal whose zombie lawyers blindly follow the tax code regardless of what they see or hear. Nothing but complete surrender will drive them away. At least, that’s what they want you to believe.

In honor (or horror) of the coming tax season, here is my story:

If you ever find yourself divorcing a con man, there’s just one way of escaping a shared tax debt without providing your death certificate or going to prison and that is to prove you were too stupid and dimwitted to understand the tax forms you signed.

The ideal innocent Spouse Candidate

If you can’t prove you’re a moron, you will be charged with willful avoidance.

Willful Avoidance means, in brief, that it is your duty as a prudent taxpayer to fully understand tax returns you have signed. It doesn’t matter if you’re married to a billionaire with more properties than you can count, Swiss bank accounts, and an office full of tax accountants. If your spouse disappears owing taxes, the IRS will be after you, particularly if you’re living in the primary residence. And you can’t claim you knew nothing; they will harass you continually as each day brings rising penalties and interest on your debt until it’s so ridiculously inflated that one lifetime alone will not be enough get out from underneath.

For this reason I believe a taxman should be in attendance at all wedding ceremonies and that the following should be written into the vows:

Preacher: “According to IRS Code, Section 40.01(c), Article 99, Rev. Proc. 2013-2014, do you, Chester Morton, promise to provide your wife with an audited set of financial records every quarter.”

Groom: “I do.”

Preacher: “And do you, Sally Murgatory, promise to fulfill your duty to the IRS as a prudent taxpayer, by scrutinizing all financial records and tax returns with the help of CPA and refusing to sign anything you do not completely understand?”

If the bride objects thusly: “Golly Preacher Man, shouldn’t I be obeying my man and making him feel like a king in his castle?”

The taxman in attendance must interject: “To blindly obey your husband constitutes Willful Avoidance, a crime in the eyes of the IRS!”

Granted it would probably take some of the romance out of a wedding to have a taxman standing between the bride and groom, but it needs to be done! Too much of that honoring and obeying is what leads to willful avoidance and you don’t want to go there.

Here is another fact about marriage and tax law which should be made clear to both bride and groom: Even if a wife doesn’t work, even if she stays home to take care of the children, no husband has the right to say the following:

“It’s my money. I made it and I don’t have to tell you what I do with it!”

WRONG! In the eyes of the tax man, both spouses are equally responsible for paying taxes on any money and or property brought into a marriage. State laws may differ but I wouldn’t bet the bank on it.

Okay, I’ve painted a pretty dire picture. The IRS has provided a way out of an unfair tax debt. It’s not an easy road but it can be done.

Next: Five Deadly Sins in the Eyes of the Taxman

***Images and cartoons are from Bing.com

Dear Rick Steves –

October 23, 2014August 6, 2016JT Twissel 22 Comments

On page 1019 of your travel guide Great Britain (the Twentieth Edition) you assert the following:

“Driving in Britain is basically wonderful – ”

No offense to all my British friends, but what were you smoking?

Of course, you amend this comment slightly by including the following admonition: “. . .once you remember to stay on the left and after you’ve mastered the roundabouts.” Oh yeah. No sweat. Those roundabouts are a piece of cake!

The P sign which in Britain means that the driver has just passed his driver’s test and should be avoided like the plague. Can’t they have a T sign for tourist? Please!

Bless you for pointing out that other readers found driving in Britain to be a “nerve-wracking” and “regrettable mistake.” Otherwise I would have felt like a real wimp.

By the way, when you suggest that nervous readers buy a green P sign to put in their car window, does that sign really mean “pansy-ass driver on board”?

As much as we enjoy your travel guides (I think we’ve bought over thirty of them!), I must point out the following changes that should be made to your section on driving in Britain based our recent experiences:

1. In Britain (unlike the USA), rental car companies are perfectly happy to rent stick shifts (manuals) to people who haven’t driven one in over in twenty years, and are most likely to:

√ drive on the wrong side of the road
√ slam on their brakes in a roundabout
√ frantically flash their green P signs hoping for mercy from the locals

Here’s our story: We decided not to attempt driving in London (as we could barely find our way around on foot) but to instead begin our driving-around-England portion of the trip at Heathrow Airport. So, our last day in London we took the Underground to Terminal 3 where we’d been advised the car rental companies had their booths.

(You might mention to your readers, Mr. Steves, that apparently the only function of the car rental booths at Heathrow is to direct you to the their shuttle buses. So don’t waste a lot of time, energy and patience by futzing around at the booths inside the termination. Just catch a shuttle.)

Once we got to Avis we found out the rental reserved for us was a stick shift and that an automatic would cost an additional 50 pounds a day. At that point we probably should have said thanks but no thanks but alas, as in any good horror movie, we foolishly went ahead with the rental. Cue the theme from Jaws!

2. Make sure to caution your readers to test a GPS system before getting on the road and not after.

Our story: We decided to spring for the GPS foolishly thinking it might prevent us from getting lost but, alas, the Avis employee-in-training who programmed the gizmo for us made one slight mistake. She thought we were Italian. I don’t know why. I thought we were speaking English. Of course, I didn’t turn the darn thing on until we were exiting the parking lot.

3. Another good thing to point out is, GPS systems do not work the same way in Britain as they do in the US.

One lane road we ended up on for miles and miles until finally asking for directions from a real human being.

Unlike the navigation system on our Prius, which beeps to alert you of an upcoming turn, in Britain a beeping GPS means you’re going over the speed limit. So don’t immediately take the next exit off the motorway every time the darn thing beeps or you could find yourself on a one-lane road out in sheep country!

Thank you providing these instructions as to how to enter an exit a roundabout however, what if the cars aren’t all white and gray?

Another thing you should mention is, if you miss an exit, instead of the familiar “recalculating” message Yanks are used to, a British GPS system will take its time to calculate another route and it will get back to you when it’s good and ready. So stop the car if possible and give it time to think. (we didn’t and ended up circling around Winchester for about an hour before spotting the M3 sign and telling Miss GPS to bugger off.)

4. On page 1023 you make the following assertions which I believe need clarity: “Outside the big cities and except for the motorways, British roads tend to be narrow. In towns, you may have to cross over the center line just to get past parked cars. Adjust your perceptions of personal space: It’s not “my side of the road” or “your side of the road,” it’s just the road – and it’s shared as a cooperative adventure.”

Chipping Campden – note the cars parked in all directions!

“Tend to be narrow” and crossing over the center line” should be amended to read: “Narrow as shit with no space for cars to park thus they park halfway up the curb, blocking your lane.”

“Cooperative adventure” should be amended to read: “Prepare to play chicken with oncoming traffic and make sure to wear your Depends!”

And, to that lovely bit of psychedelic advice: “Adjust your perceptions of personal space” I can only add that a little LSD might help.

5. On page 1021 you state the following “The driving instructions in this book are intended to be used with a good map.” We took your advice and purchased a map of Great Britain from AAA.

Find your way to Stratford on Avon using this map – I dare you!

Above is a close-up of the map I tried to use to find Stratford on Avon after the GPS wanted to take us on itty bitty backroads. We almost ended up in Birmingham! Deciphering maps of England should not be attempted by those people with a green P card plastered in their back window.

Perhaps the folks in Stratford on Avon had the right idea about how to handle traffic. Close down the streets, set up a carnival and party the weekend away! Rock on Will!

All the world is truly a stage!

Sincerely,

Your biggest fan, Jan

Ask the bloke on the corner, luv…

October 20, 2014JT Twissel 4 Comments

Map of our section of London. Note how the streets change names every block or so.

Just because you own a map, or two (or three)…

Just because you’ve read Frommer’s and Steves’ and have an excellent sense of direction…

Just because you’ve prepped for weeks doesn’t mean you’ll be able to find your way around the streets of London on foot without seriously pissing off whoever you’re sight-seeing with!

Actual conversation between me and my hubby:

“Give me the map! You’ve obviously gotten us lost!”

“Yeah, well you figure out where we are!”

Fifteen minutes later. “I give up!”

“See, I told you!”

“Let’s stop at a pub and get a beer.”

“Oh yeah. That’s a good plan – have a few beers and then try to find our way home!”

Save your time, money and marriage and just ask for directions.

Trafalgar Square which we stumbled upon while looking for something else!

No, strike that. Londoners, though for the most part friendly, are much too busy getting wherever they’re going to stop and give you directions. They’ll just shrug their shoulders and say “Sorry Mate!” …if you’re lucky. If not, they may send you in the wrong direction (not on purpose, of course). We even ran into a policeman walking the beat who claimed he didn’t know where he was. “Ask the bloke at the fruit stand on the corner, luv,” he said. “”He knows the area.” But there was no fruit stand or bloke on the corner.

Another thing we just happened upon – the Changing of the Guard (literally at the tail end!) This event happens only on nice days. When it’s raining they do what’s called “a wet change” (sounds like diapers may have been involved doesn’t it?) They look a bit like Klu Klux Klansmen from this angle, don’t they?

The problem is the city’s flat. There’s not one mountain on the horizon in any direction to provide a north/south, east/west orientation. And, if that weren’t bad enough, there’s this river running through town (the Thames) which does not run in a straight line. No, it winds through the downtown in a giant ‘s.’

The Tower Bridge. I must admit the many bridges along the river are handy for navigation. And they don’t change name mid-span.

Sometimes it will be to the north of you, sometimes to the south and God help you if you have the map upside down (a very easy thing to do). Instead of heading south, you could be heading north, soon winding up miles from where you wanted to be.

If the attraction you’re trying to find is on the Thames, no problem. Just walk along the water until you find it.

But if you’re looking for the British Museum, which is somewhere at the intersection of Piccadilly, Soho and Covent Garden, God help you. The area is full of alleyways and streets not on any map. In addition, there appears to be an ordinance that a street cannot have the same name in Piccadilly as it does in Soho!

The lobby of the British Museum

Remnant of one of the four horse chariots from the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus - one of the seven wonders of the world now preserved by the British Museum.

In contrast – a remnant of one of the four horse chariots from the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus – one of the seven wonders of the world. It’s sad to see it here and not in the country where it was built but then perhaps it might not have survived.

Here I am, to the right, all layered up like a bloated tick!

Weather-wise, we were very lucky. The first couple of days the weather was (as the Brits would say) brilliant. Sunny and so mild that we left the windows open at night. I’d followed the weather reports carefully for weeks before the trip and thus packed appropriately (or so I thought) – no winter gear. My plan was to layer if the weather changed. I didn’t think my husband would be so cruel as to actually take pictures of me all layered up. Let me tell you, it’s not a good look for anyone who weighs more than ninety pounds.

The day we decided to see Dover Castle started out sunny and our hopes were high. By the way, if you want to witness the efficiency of the British, just visit Victoria Train Station. There are lines on the floor leading you to the trains, the bathrooms, the ticket counters. It’s truly idiot proof. And the trains are clean, run on time and keep you well informed of your location. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stuck on a train in the US which, after being delayed for days, quickly dissolved into a scene from some zombie apocalypse movie when the food ran out and the toilets overflowed.)

There’s the castle – now where are the signs telling us how to get up there?

Dover Castle, according to Rick Steves (who was losing credibility by the day), is an “easy, well-marked, fifteen minute walk from the train station.” Ha! It sits on top of a hill overlooking the the English Channel. You can see it as you enter the small sleepy town but can you get to it? Aye, there’s the rub. After cavorting around the town for over fifteen minutes searching in vain for the “well marked” route, we ran into a lady carrying groceries who showed us the path to the castle.

The unmarked path to Dover Castle

This path led to a seemingly endless staircase which only got us half way up the hill. From there we followed the road up, up and up again. We’d barely managed to reach the top when the clouds menacing the channel suddenly appeared overhead, driven by strong and icy winds. Then came hail. Hail, I said. Followed by thunder, lightening and a wind strong enough to sweep you into the Atlantic.

Never travel to England in October without a winter coat!

A few pics for you…

Storms moving across the Channel. They move fast and hit hard!

View of 12th Century Church and 1st century Pharos (Roman Lighthouse) from Dover Castle.

What year is it, she gasps…

October 16, 2014March 4, 2021JT Twissel 8 Comments

The clothes are clean, the cat has forgiven us for leaving him at the animal hospital, the luggage is mostly put away, but, alas, I have no energy. The sun, a fuzzy ball hidden behind cloud layers, adds to the dreamy illusion that, although I am back in the states, I haven’t made it home. Worse yet, I believe this condition will never end and that, like a character in a science fiction movie, I will be stuck in a limbo between time zones forever.

View from the Tower of London. Building designed by Dr. Seuss?

England (London in particular) is a country of stark contrasts. Built next to the remnants of medieval castles are modern structures seemingly designed by Dr. Seuss. Neither seem quite real, separated as they are by centuries. I felt haunted by Lady Jane Grey as I stood on the walls of the Tower of London looking out at the rising skyscrapers of modern London. What would she think if she could see London now? Don’t ask me why I channeled Lady Jane and not one of the many other people executed on the chopping block. Perhaps because my ancestors left England in order to avoid prosecution for their beliefs, the same beliefs which sealed Lady Grey’s fate. I hope she was comforted in the end by a vision of a time when the mighty Tower would be rendered small and puny by history.

I must admit – I don’t get the whole crown jewels thing. Luckily the day we were at the Tower it was stormy enough to scare away most of the tourists and the line to see the royal trinkets and baubles was not long otherwise I’d be even more perturbed by the ostentatiousness of all the jeweled crowns, orbs, ceremonial plates, solid gold teapots and emerald-bearing serving spoons which I’d stupidly waited in line to see. Good grief! It was all a little too much for my Yankee sensibilities. Especially as they are stored in a castle famous for savagery and blood-letting. As I said, I don’t get it. Blood and greed together are not pretty, even if their value is inestimable.

If you visit enough castles and museums in England I guarantee you will get royally confused by the royals. To help us understand the royal succession we bought a book about the Kings and Queens of England which I attempted to read. Holy Shamoligans! Here’s the lowdown on those dudes: It all started with the House of Wessex, a bunch of Saxon warlords who took over after Roman rule came to an end in 802. They were eventually beaten by William the Conqueror (a Norman). And when his descendants started to falter, the houses of Beaufort and Tudor, Lancaster and York moved in for the kill resulting in the house of the Plantagenets which ruled for 300 years. In 1455 the infamous War of the Roses (actually a thirty year clash between the houses of York and Lancaster) ended up with the Tudors back in control (a whole lot of backstabbing and scheming went into this turnover). When Elizabeth I died without heirs, the son of Mary Queen of Scots (James I) was crowned King of England. His coronation helped insure that Scotland would stay a part of the Kingdom (very clever). The Stuarts (as they called themselves) ruled until Bonnie Prince Charlie lost the kingdom to the German house of Hanover. During WWI the Hanovers changed their name to Windsor for obvious reasons. So there you have it. An idiot’s interpretation of the history of the English aristocracy!

Big Ben and the houses of Parliament

In order to live like Londoners, we rented a flat for the week. It was nothing to write home about but clean and safe. My God, really safe. We were across the street (more like an alley) from a barracks housing the Queen’s brigade, and round the corner from the very modern New Scotland Yard. Two, maybe three, blocks over was Buckingham Palace and just down the road, the houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. Each morning thousands of commuters dressed in suits and carrying briefcases exited nearby St. James Underground station, walked past our flat in unison, marching off to jobs we figured were with the government. Across the street was a pub and just beneath us a small market run by an Indian family. We went out for lunch most days but, exhausted after walking all over London, generally opted for take out from the nearby Marks and Spencer for dinner.

For months I’d fantasized about taking day trips to places outside of London – Bath or Stonehenge, maybe. Trust me, there’s an unending list of must see places supposedly close enough to London to visit in a day. “Supposedly” being the operative word. The problem is that there are twelve major railway stations in London! Twelve! And they are all in different districts and they all service routes to different parts of England. We were fifteen minutes walking distance from the Victoria Station which services towns in southeast England – Dover, Canterbury, Rye and Hastings. However Bath is serviced via the Paddington Station, probably an hour’s walk from our flat.

Thus if you factor in the time spent getting across London via the tube, a bus or taxi, those “easy day trips” become days to endure.

Next: Freezing our butts off in Dover, a carnival fit for the Bard, and “stay on the left Joel and mind those curbs” – tips for driving in England. Basically, don’t.

By the way – what year is it?

Live Your Passions – Charlie Costello

September 24, 2014December 12, 2019JT Twissel 4 Comments

I’m off to jolly ole England for a couple of weeks with my husband and sister – seven days seeing London and four days touring the rest of the country. During that time I very much doubt I’ll be able to conquer my fear of the iPhone long enough to do any blogging so I’m planning to re-post reader favorites while I’m gone, beginning this gentleman’s.

Charlie Costello, III

I’ve known Charlie Costello for quite some time now. He’s a fabulously talented photographer and master gardener who also works tirelessly on causes aimed at saving our oceans. In Burma Bikes he combines his passions for both the Burmese people and their bikes in a beautiful, high quality edition worthy of gracing any coffee table or library.

So you can imagine my surprise when he liked this post – #rukidding – so much he thought it should go viral. It’s about the time I looked up from a gynecological exam to see this sign:

Now, I seriously doubt Kaiser would want me to tweet my experience while in gynecological stirrups!

During exam LNP says “Irregular moles.” Me: “In my…?” LNP: “Yes.” #OfAllPlaces! #kaiser

Dermatologist happens to be nearby. I ask “What happens if the moles are…” “We’ll freeze, cut or burn.” #OMG! #kaiser

Dermatologist: “False alarm.” LNP: “You look pale.” #duh #kaiser

But anyway, Charlie’s a great friend and in his honor I’m posting a couple of spectacular photographs from his book Burma Bikes.

His photos are currently on display in the Presidio in downtown San Francisco (the Tides Foundation gallery).

The League of Vile but Witty Literary Reviewers

August 1, 2014September 7, 2021JT Twissel 11 Comments

I’ve a friend named Duke (click here to meet him). Oft times I open emails from this gent at one o’clock in the afternoon and my first thought is “damn, it’s too early for a drink!” Mostly because he’s rifting on a subject I’d rather discuss sitting on a beach, frosty margarita in hand, watching the sun set over a calm green ocean.

But he lives in Mexico and I live thousands of miles to the north. So we have to toast each other with virtual margaritas.

Most of the time we bitch about the realities of publishing in a world which conspires to turn socially awkward writers into bug-eyed circus barkers desperate to validate the time they’ve wasted writing and then alienating family and friends by pleading for those absolutely vital reviews.

I’ve given up on that last bit. Your friends might like you but not share your taste in literature. Or they might think you’re a crappy writer and not want to tell you. Some don’t have the time to spare. At any rate, it’s not worth all the trauma.

th-1 — Sharpen your pens and wits, gents. Today we let this Duke Miller know what we really think of LADWD!

However, Duke has come up with an ingenious idea for getting reviews! Or an ignoble one, who knows. He’s going to invite all the reviewers on Amazon who specialize in cruel but witty reviews of contemporary novels to review his book. Since he’s written an honest and brutal account of his journeys around the world as an aid worker, I can’t wait to see what the League of Vile but Witty Literary Reviewers has to say. I’ll let you know.

Today I leave you with a few cruel (though not necessarily witty) reviews of very famous novels from Lit Reactor, in a post by Meredith Borders. See if you can match the review with the book being vilified (misspellings are those of the reviewers):

“Each adventure is tedious, repititious and inane… and there’s over 500 pages of it.”
“But let’s be honest: It’s as fun as reading the telephone book.”
“I ended up throwing this book away after reading about 5 chapters. If you enjoy reading pedophilic ramblings of a perv, go for it! Yuk!”
“This book in my opinion should get the “Turkey of the Century” award. A big book B-B-Q should be devoted to all the copies in print.”
So if you see *** at your neighbor’s garage sale, go ahead and buy it, hallow it out and put a handgun in it. Or leave it next to your toilet if you have unwanted guests. Beat your disobedient child with it. Put it in your fireplace and have a nice glass of vodka. Just don’t read it. You have been warned.”

a.) Anna Karenina b.) Huckleberry Finn c.) Lolita d.) Ulysses by James Joyce not Homer e.) Don Quixote

Images used in this post (save Duke) are from Bing.com

A Pouch Full of Clothespins

July 29, 2014February 17, 2026JT Twissel 16 Comments

My grandmother lived her entire life in the same small house in the same small town – Monson, Massachusetts. Being grounded by the familiar was important to her.

For example, Monday was always laundry day. First thing in the morning she’d stuff the washing machine in the kitchen with piles of linens, clothes, and towels then hang them on the free standing clothes line just outside the back door. She did get a dryer at some point but because we only visited in the summer, I don’t recall ever seeing her use it. I do recall her hanging up the laundry, clothespins in a pouch suspended from the clothesline as we children played in the creek running along one side of their property, or begged Grandpa to let us ride on the lawnmower as he mowed the grass. In good weather, children were not allowed inside the house during the day unless, of course, they were ill.

After Gram finished her morning chores she always took a few minutes to write in her “journal” which was actually a calendar. Her journal entries always included a weather forecast and summary of the day’s planned activities.

T-storms due this afternoon. Attending M. Finch’s B-day at 3:30 pm.

They never gave insight into what she was thinking or feeling but I wish I had them anyway.

Tuesday morning’s chore was always the ironing, Wednesday’s, cleaning the house, and Thursday’s, a visit to the tiny grocery store. Friday and Saturday I’m sure had special purposes but I can’t honestly remember what they were. Sunday’s chore was, of course, church after which we generally played croquet. Gram always claimed that any work done on a Sunday would have to be undone once you got to heaven.

Poor me, I’ll be spending most of my time in heaven raking leaves. Or rather unracking leaves (however that’s done).

babyjan — I spent many an afternoon at the dining room table refusing to eat my stewed turnips. Don’t know what my mother is reaching for.

Gram had other absolutes. Teenage girls never went downtown in short shorts. Women never went to a bar alone (especially married women), and dinner (what most Americans call lunch) was always at noon. If you weren’t home by then, you didn’t eat. If you were home, you came to the table with clean hands, never put your elbows on the table, and if you didn’t eat everything on your plate, you remained at the table until you did.

th-1 — From Bing images – you don’t think I’m going to show you a picture of my undies, do you?

I only adhere to Gram’s regime by accident, however, this morning, as I hung the clothes (on a Monday morning!) I thought of Gram and her pouch full of clothespins. Of all the things I miss the most about her, that’s the thing I get the most sentimental about. A pouch full of clothespins. Strange, huh?

What strange things do you get sentimental about?