A Year Between Blog Posts? Say It Ain't So!

Sorry, kid. It's so.

Looking back at my post from last year and what what written on it, I realize it was a surreal 2015.

• My father-in-law died in July, from esophageal cancer. 
• My mother-in-law clings tenaciously to life, even though she hasn't had a quality of life for over a year, and what is left in the fragile shell of her body is not really my mother-in-law anymore.
• The face of this blog, Buster, is now 14, living with lymphoma, doesn't see all too well, doesn't hear much, but acts as if he is four years old. You rock, buddy!
• Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow is in Germany with Lady Marshmallow, looking at graduate schools. Masters in Piano Performance. 
• It was a remarkable healthy 2015, with little to no illnesses in the Marshmallow household.
• Golf is still extremely frustrating and glorious, and I'd rather be doing it than most anything else.
• Lady Marshmallow and I got to see a little more of the world. Viking River Cruise on the Danube (it's not blue, by the way). Also not cheap. If you have the means (to paraphrase Ferris Bueller) I highly recommend it. 

Although I won't make a promise to write more, and New Year's Resolutions are not something I believe in making, I think I may reignite some of my scribing engines. I just have a feeling I will, can't explain why I feel that. You real writers know exactly how wonderful it is to put pen to paper, or fingers to a keyboard. Maybe that feeling - which I'm feeling right now - is the reason why. We'll see. Perhaps a little more travel, a little less sitting around, a lot less worrying about small stuff could be the themes of 2016. 

As Ferris would say: Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Marshmallow Update For January, 2015

Every time I have sat down at my desk and tried to update this defiant little blog I've stopped and walked away. This has been going on for a long time. I see no end in sight, but will attempt to fight off the apathy.

Just an update on the Marshmallows over the past year, during which this blog has suffered. All of these happened or are ongoing. Some for actually longer than a year. Here we go:

• My friend "Rob", who was taken off of life support and miraculously lived through the ordeal decided to start a new life by leaving his wife of 30 years and family. No divorce, just left. Currently running about the world, spending money and not dealing with real life. I've cut him out of my life.
• One of my best companions, Shadow Marshmallow, died. His brother, who happens to be the face of this blog, is still with us and doing fine.
• My mother-in-law began the slow, terrible decline into senility and is currently continuing to fail in mind and body.
• My father-in-law is slowly dying of esophageal cancer.
• I'm going into surgery for removal of the medial meniscus ligament in my left knee tomorrow.
• The above will only happen if:
• I can shake my cold in the next 18 hours
• I don't catch the flu from Lady Marshmallow
• the predicted snowstorm doesn't close the surgery center

Just a sampling. 

Now, this is nothing, really. It's what we call "Life". This happens to everyone across the world every day. No pity is being asked for. But what I realize is that if I don't have an outlet for the normal stresses of everyday life, things feel much worse. That's where I go wrong.

So, that's where I need to make sure that I don't let the apathy monsters get me. When I DO finally sit down and begin to type, I need to keep going. Which means for anyone still left reading these missives, you will be tortured with sloppy, unstructured writing. It may ramble. It may not come full circle and end properly. But the words will be here.

So do me a favor. If you read this, please comment. And I mean it when I say I want no pity, because you all deal with this stuff too, yet manage to keep writing. So even if your comment is simply, "Hey! I read your blog.", that'll work for me.

In the meantime, the good news is that Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow is crushing it at college and is most of the way through his junior year already. The pianos there are exploding with the sound of his playing, and we are loving it. As for the other Marshmallows, they're all just fine too. And that's the good part of life, isn't it?

Having a Super Time

With all the holiday goings-on, hustle and bustle, work, family, etc. I've just remembered something. I have a blog! And I'm not dead yet. So I must blog!

Here you go: Blog.

There. Happy? Good. Here's some more, just in case that wasn't enough.

Found a new app that is sucking my free time away like crazy. It's called "Super", and it's the creation of Biz Stone, who also helped create things such as Twitter, Xanga, Jelly (which has also been sucking my free time away), and a few other little doohickeys.

I encourage you to try Super if you: love to waste time a lot, love to be creative in short spurts, and want your blog to become neglected. It's done wonders for my blog, as you can see.

Other than that, I plan to firmly resolve to write more, beginning January 1, 2015. I plan to break that resolution on January 2, 2015. But don't be glum. I will re-resolve all year long, and there's no stopping me once I re-resolve.

Have a Super day!

How I See Autumn

Snapshot from my front yard. Gotta love this time of year.

Eagles of Autumn

Once again, I get an opportunity to see and photograph Bald Eagles near my home. They really are amazing birds. No matter how often I see them I'm always taken aback by their size and their beauty.

First outing at the Conowingo Dam, on the Susquehanna River was pretty light on birds, but still worth it. I'll share a few of the better shots here.

On another note, I realize it's been a long time since my last blog post. Someone I used to blog about a bit was one of the Marshmallows, Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow. Lady Marshmallow and I got to spend some time with him last month and attend his Junior Year Recital. Special moment. Very much so. I wish I had a link to the recording, but no dice. He played Rachmaninoff, Mozart, and Chopin. Heaven!

As I gather my thoughts and try to pull out of a year's worth of lack of caring for writing, I'll post more. So much went on, but so little desire to write about any of it. No excuse, but there it is.

Enjoy the eagles!

And Then There Were Three...

Got a real surprise from the Cooper's Hawks the other day. I discovered they will eat one another. As in cannibalism. Sitting out on my deck last week, I heard a cacophony like you wouldn't believe. Knowing the hawks had killed something and were eating it, I grabbed camera and video camera and ran to film the action. I was five minutes into shooting when I realized the dinner wasn't some small, seed-eating bird.

I imagine the conversation went something like this:

MORRIS: "I'm starving."

PHIL: "Me too. What's there to eat around here?"

BERT: "Nothing. We ate all the sparrows."

PHIL: "You ate all the sparrows, you pig!"

MONA: "He ate all the birds. Now there are no more birds."

MORRIS: "Well, there are a few birds, actually" (gives a quick look to Mona and Bert)

MONA (catching on right away): "Say, Phil, you feeling alright? You look a little bit tired."

(Bert, Mona, and Morris begin to skulk towards Phil)

PHIL: "Yeah, I've got this wing that isn't feeling too strong right now, and I really...(suddenly it clicks with Phil)...NO! I feel great. Strong as an ox! Really. Why are you guys looking at me that way? Hey! Move back!"

I think this is about when I heard the commotion. And the result is below. Watch the very brief video only if you like your nature documentaries raw. I have about three minutes of video, but this gives you the basic idea. And yes, the other birds did fight over the dinner bird.

Cooper's Hawks: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying And Love Screaming

This spring Lady Marshmallow and I were treated to something new. We had a pair of nesting Cooper's Hawks take up residence in our back yard. Being the inquisitive type, I immediately looked up everything I could on Cooper's Hawks, excitedly hoping that their favorite meal would be squirrels or 3ft. tall Macaws.

Squirrels have been eating us out of bird seed for years, and we have yet to find that elusive "squirrel proof" feeder. As for the Macaw, let's just say our neighbors next door like it noisy at their place, and they love to put their monster birds in the outdoor aviary from April 1 to about mid-November. The leader of the squawk pack is a gigantic Macaw with no manners whatsoever. Oh, and that aviary is strategically placed ON THE PROPERTY LINE WE SHARE. Do you know just how loud a Macaw can scream? Yes. Scream. Like it's being murdered. All day long.

Imagine my disappointment when I learned that Cooper's Hawks eat pretty much only seed-eating birds of smallish to medium size. Squirrels rejoice!

A couple of weeks ago, we were treated to something else. Cooper's Hawk babies. Hatchlings? Puppies? Whatever. We went from two to four hawks. Now the fledglings are making their way about and have begun to hunt. I managed some photos, which are below. By the way, juvenile Cooper's Hawks also scream/screech/wail, etc. ALL. DAY. LONG.

Thankfully, the Macaw almost drowns them out.

Enjoy!

EDIT: My apologies for removing the photos, but I've recently had one of my best photos lifted and used for commercial use by a company, without my knowledge or permission. The only way to prevent that from happening to other photos is to not make them available for viewing.

Scroll The Universe

For anyone still bothering to peek in here, please enjoy a bit of "Wow!"

Copyright 2012.  Magnifying the Universe  by Number Sleuth. 

Yes, Plagiarism Is Stealing.

In my part-time work as a photographer, I have come to be acutely aware of copyright, trademark, and intellectual property issues. I've seen my own work used for commercial purposes without permission, reimbursement, or attribution. I've seen outright theft of photographs; people swiped photographers' works, removed their watermarks, and took credit for the photos.

But lately I've seen something I hadn't noticed before. Theft of the written word. This is called plagiarism and, apparently, an awful lot of people don't think it's wrong. From what I've seen, they certainly don't think of it as stealing. But it is.

The written word is as important to the person who did the writing as any product is to anyone. The time, effort, and often, money that go into writing a book, for instance, all make the finished product valuable. It counts as property. Just as if it were a car, building, or sculpture that was made by hand, the written word is the property of the creator. Copying it without that person's knowledge is theft.

What prompted this was the incredible amount of work which I saw stolen from a photographer recently. This was not some minor bit of "borrowing" some ideas. Nor was it, as some like to say, "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery". A fauxtographer took what is essentially an entire kit of workshops, written into ebooks, from a real photographer. One who had worked for eight years and who had spent over $5000 creating a masterful workshop. The fauxtog copied almost every part of the $99 kit, word for word, and began to present it as her own work, charging customers for the same information!

The most egregious part is that she stole not just from the one photographer, but from at least a half dozen other photographers! One of her comments on her Facebook photo page is that she feels that photographers often do things "the hard way". I can only assume she means they take the time to create original works, rather than simply stealing work from others.

What is amazing to me is that most of the time, people who commit this type of theft don't think they've done anything wrong. They don't put it in the same category as stealing a car, or burglarizing a home, or even shoplifting. Because they don't literally take a physical object from another person, they feel that they haven't stolen. That is just sad.

And they then think, as in the case here, that the work they have stolen is now their own intellectual property. I am happy to inform them and anyone who will read this that being a "Google Intellectual"* is not actually being an intellectual, nor does it make you smart, original, or valuable.

It makes you pitiful, in every way possible.





* I looked on line for this phrase to make sure I wasn't stealing it from someone else first!

Snowflake

In order to keep this sad, sad blog going, I know I have to post once every so often, even during its hibernation. The two people still reading this please, for god's sake, comment!

So, in the spirit of winter, here's a little photo I snapped with my iPhone 5. Yep, my iPhone.

I bought a $39 slip-on macro lens for it, figuring I had nothing but $40 to lose and everything to gain if it worked. And it works! Enjoy the snowflake, taken at 28mm (that's the iPhone's focal length) and a 21x macro lens, which does something to the focal length, but I'm too lazy to determine just what. 

Technique for getting the photo:

 - get a piece of glass plate (mine's about 13" in diameter).

 - take glass plate onto back deck while snow is falling.

 - EXTRA TIP! Let the plate get nice and cold before setting it horizontally. That will keep the snowflakes from melting immediately upon landing.

 - lay plate on deck railing, so that part of it is hanging off.

 - let flakes land.

 - VERY quickly, place iPhone with macro over the snowflake and snap away. - repeat about 500 times until you get one good photo!


 

A Story Unfinished, and Other Minutiae

The blog lives, it's simply in hibernation. A story worth telling is a story worth waiting for. And this story is unfinished. It is also now officially in the realm of the unbelievable. The bizarre and beyond. What came before has been surpassed in spectacularly undignified fashion.

When it's finished cooking, I'll share it.

Until then, some bits (the minutiae):

Busy? Me? Oh, do you have an hour for me to tell you? Wish I even had time to read blogs, let alone write in mine.

Bad stuff: Friends, acquaintances, coworkers dying (by their own hands, by accident, or disease).

Good stuff: Family healthy, work successful, photography selling and being shown more in galleries. Reconciliation with sibling.

But the above is also just known as 'Life', so no complaints.

Books worth peeking at again: A.C. Clarke's "2001" (and beyond) quatrain; Dan Simmons' "Drood", "The Terror", and the ever-awesome Jerome K. Jerome's "Three Men in a Boat"

Time to start the annual Halloween series of reading and films:

- Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (and, yes, the Disney cartoon version too)
- Howard Hawks, The Thing From Another World
- Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (funny AND scary)
- Don Knotts, in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken (take my word for it, kids love this)
- The Rifftrax version of The Screaming Skull
- The Haunting, from 1963, directed by Robert Wise, NOT the 1999 slop. Black and white, and you'll never believe how much just the sounds can scare you.

Feel free to share your favorite Halloween treats in the comments.

Self-Promotion (shameless style - I have no shame)

It's photo blog time!

I was recently asked to place some of my photography in an art gallery in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. For those who aren't aware of this little city, it is in the heart of Lancaster County and contains a thriving Arts community. So for me, this offer was a great honor, and I'm happy to share it here, since I have nothing better to say anyway.

Introductions out of the way; here are a few of the pieces I have hanging on the walls of the Arctic Sun Gallerie:

My bio and head shot.
Almost famous!

Alligator and Dragonfly

The Astronomical Clock, Prague

Gothic Cathedral, Prague

Great Egret, Myakka River, Florida

Great Egret, Venice, Florida

Ruby Throated Hummingbird,
Lititz, Pennsylvania

Roseate Spoonbill, Myakka River, Florida

100+ Year Old Carriage, Lancaster
County Pennsylvania -Taken
inside the Star Barn, an historic landmark.
Note that this is a 25 second exposure,
as it was dark inside the barn.

Roseate Spoonbill at dawn,
Myakka River, Florida

Prodigies, Knuckleheads, and Dealing With Your Deluded Plans For Them

Ok, all you mommy and daddy bloggers! Time to dig in and discover your delusions. What's that? You say you have none? Au contraire, mes amis! Read on!

Those three of you familiar with the Marshmallows will understand the impetus behind this entry. For those not so familiar, here it is in brief:

Me, the Defiant Marshmallow + Lady Marshmallow + Unrestrained "Alone Time" = Four Little Marshmallows (now big Marshmallows).

Here's the part where I have to be gentle and kind, as all of them read this blog from time to time - when I beg them to. Because I'm desperate for approval that way (aren't all bloggers?)

When you've accomplished the above mathematical formula, you know that you develop plans for the sum. In my case, I developed plans, despite already being aware of the fact that I haven't been able to control the plans made for myself over these many years. Raise your hand if you've done the same thing. I thought so.

See? We do it. We assign aspirations/titles/jobs/entire life stories to our offspring, knowing full well we have absolutely zero control of the situation. Now, back to the title of this entry.

Knuckleheads. It may not be what you think I mean. To me, it's an endearing term for your normal, hormone-infused male offspring, who, despite your best efforts to prevent it, end up an awful lot like you. Some more than others, with some aspects of personality traits showing up more prominently.

I have four Knuckleheads. Lady Marshmallow has five, because I have to be counted as one. It's cool, we're all good guys. We're just, you know, guys. The roster:

Me: 'nuff said.

Offspring the first (Ferdinand Magellan Marshmallow): Independent, wandering type. Late bloomer. Good heart. Not exactly proactive. Pretty much the opposite. Roaming about constantly, looking for landfall somewhere. Cancer survivor.

Offspring the second (Leonardo da Marshmallow): yeah, new nickname. Fits him better. All artist, with flecks of humanist, inventor, creativity out the wazoo.

Offspring the third (Frank Lloyd Marshmallow): Architect. Energy to spare. Nuclear, in fact. Will still be bouncing off furniture after the universe has disappeared. Can describe him as "Ready! Fire! Aim!". Most like the Defiant Marshmallow in that regard.

Offspring the last (Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow): Much has been written about him here. Prodigy? In my mind, yes (perhaps more like Prodigy-Knucklehead-ADD Poster Child). Compared to his namesake, no. But then, the number of people who could be compared to his namesake can be counted using the total number of teeth contained in all of Honey Boo Boo's extended family.

Alright, to the point of this whole thing. We desire better lives for our offspring than we had ourselves. But we go about it the wrong way most of the time. We write their life stories in our minds and immediately dry the ink. The instant that their life paths begin to deviate from our engraved mental pages, we start losing our shit. It begins about the time they take their first breaths. They cry when we think they should be happy. Sleep cycles, poop schedules, walking, talking, saying "No!". They completely screw up our carefully constructed plans for them.

What we should do is create a big, blank canvas as a birth present. And then...

Sit back and watch them fill that canvas! And just relish it. Sure, guide them here and there. Mostly, to avoid the things that will kill or maim them. Want them to be good human beings? Don't preach to them about it, simply set the example. It's really that basic. Just set the example of doing well by doing good, live a life worthwhile, leave the world in better shape than when you came into it. In some way. Any way. Even the littlest way. They'll get it. They see more than you know. And they will build upon your example if you let them.

While you're enjoying their journey, don't forget to keep living yours.

§§§§§§§§§§§

This blog entry is dedicated to the Knuckleheads. Prodigies all, in my mind. And to Lady Marshmallow, who shall remain photographically anonymous.

Architect and Artist enjoying the Eternal City, Rome.


                                    Take a wild guess.

Magellan, cancer survivor and wanderer.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Busy, busy, busy...

Wow! To those who will actually check this blog, my apologies for the dearth of words.

On the positive side, it has been for good reason. I've been busy. Not just "busy", but busy like 24/7/365 busy. If I were pretentious and vain, I'd say I've been trying to save lives - which I have been. But to put a finer point on it (and a less dramatic one), I've been engaged in the launch of a new drug to treat an incurable cancer, Multiple Myeloma.

MM is vicious. If you are diagnosed with it, get your things in order.

But...

There's hope.

15 years ago, you'd get 2-4 years. Maybe. And it would not be a pleasant 2-4 years. It would involve chemotherapy, pain, and despair. But since then, there have been significant and amazing advances in the treatment of MM. Now, patients (people/human beings/friends/family) are living much longer and doing so with a quality of life that was undreamed of in 1998.

Last month, after 10 years of research and development and hundreds of millions of dollars spent, another bit of hope arrived in the form of a small capsule. A blue and white pill that will give MM patients the chance to live out their lives with a diagnosis of MM, but without the pain, fear, despair, and hopelessness. No vomiting ten times a day. No hair loss. No feeling like the cure is worse than the disease.

Between this little pill and a couple of other treatments available (plus bone marrow transplant) my friends and the thousands of people I don't know have a chance to live with a disease but have it not kill them. They can possibly live normal lives, doing the things they love.

I met a man on this new drug who has run marathons in all 50 states of the USA, plus twenty more. At age 72. With Multiple Myeloma. Again, on my company's new drug.

His biggest complaint?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

72 years old. With MM. Running marathons.

That's what I've been up to. And I feel really good about it.

Do you forgive me for not being a writer of late?

Thanks.

Photo Treats

Took both of these recently:

This little fishy will always be talking about the one that got away.

And a peaceful morning near the Marshmallow residence.

Dollar Shave Club - Pure Genius!

Okay, fans. Here it is: my Genius Tip of The Year.

The Dollar Shave Club.

I've looked at the economics of shaving and it's not a pretty picture. We spend way too much money on shaving and shaving related items. For years I've tried to find the cheapest way to do the world's most repetitious, boring task (folding laundry comes in second, because you can do that while watching TV, eating, having sex, playing golf, etc.).

Electric shavers, safety razors, shaving cream, lubricants for pre and post-shave. But I've whittled it down to the best bare essentials, with the help of the aforementioned shaving club. Now it's a ceramic bowl with quality shaving soap bought cheaply on line, a good brush for application (both cost less than $20), and high quality razors from the DSC.

The brush lasts forever. Shaving soap lasts far, far longer than crappy shaving cream, is way less expensive, and does wonders for sensitive skin. The bowl was free, because what household doesn't have too many bowls just taking up space?

I estimate my cost for shaving will drop by like...a lot a lot a lot. Somewhere in that range. Plus, I'm a proud member of a club. A CLUB! Woohoo! The Elite Marshmallow, baby!

Okay, the real cost:

$2/month for blades, down from about $40 - yes - $40/month!
Soap: $40/year, compared to shaving cream at $$$$$ waybuddy more.
Brush: $16 every five years or so.

Does this make me a shill for the DSC? Damn, it sure seems like it. But then, so is NPR, and a whole lot of others, some of whom are almost as reputable as me.

Best part: their ad, below. Enjoy! And if you decide to become a member, please let me know because I can win stuff if you do!

After The Apocalypse

Ever since the Mayan Apocalypse occurred and the world ended, I've been feeling kind of low. I was so looking forward to 2013 and beyond, and I have to admit that I'm pretty upset I won't be able to enjoy all the things I had eagerly anticipated.

Like most of you, I'm currently just wandering around in the post-apocalyptic limbo, unsure of what to do, where to go, and which gods to hang with for eternity. I'll admit that so far, things don't seem as awful as I'd expected. Limbo looks and feels a lot like real life did before the apocalypse. 

The house that the Apoca-gods have provided me with is eerily familiar. The stain on my bedroom carpet in this limbo looks just like the one on my real bedroom carpet. The top step on my staircase still has that particular squeak, just like the other one. There's even another ghostly figure wandering about my post-apocalyptic house who looks exactly like Lady Marshmallow, and she insists that I'm still alive and well, although I'm positive this is just a trick to comfort me about the end of the world.

I know because there are sure signs that this is the afterlife. For one thing, Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow didn't bring home any dirty laundry from college over the winter break. Dead giveaway! And one of my other progeny, Kevin A. Baconateur Marshmallow, offered me a chair when I walked into the limbo house family room last night. Lady Marshmallow said we should order pizza from the good pizza place, not the less expensive pizza place. She never did that when we were all alive. 

The two Border Collies, Disgrace, and To Your Breed, still bark when the doorbell rings. And when it doesn't ring. And when they think it should ring. And in their sleep. So that's got me a bit baffled. But I'm not fooled. I know we're all actually in the "better place" I always kept hearing about during my life. Because seriously, how could millions of people be wrong in interpreting the ancient Mayan Long Count calendar? Phil Plait's not gonna convince me with his logic and sciencey-talk, dammit! I'm dead and nobody's going to convince me otherwise!

But just in case I'm mistaken and someone alive actually reads this, go ahead and leave a comment so I'll know. Because 2013 could be pretty cool and I'd hate to miss it. 

Thanks a heap.

I've Simply Had Nothing To Say.

I haven't been reading blogs lately. Not writing, either, but that's obvious. There's nothing wrong, I've simply had nothing to say and very little time to read what my blogging friends have written. 

Carry on.

They Really Liked Me!

For the Marshmallows it has been summer swim season since the beginning of June. Wolfgang Amadeus Marshmallow is doing his bit and agreed to swim one last season following his high school graduation. He has a serious case of "I wanna just leave and get to college!", so I was ecstatic that he decided to grace the swim team one last time rather than slack off all summer and drive us to drink (more).

What I hadn't counted on was my own case of "12 years of swim team burnout". I became fully aware of it last night, during our biggest dual meet of the year. We have about 170 swimmers on the team. That is a huge number of families, by the way. And I think every one of the parents of those swimmers commented to me along the lines of, "Wow! You finally made it to a swim meet!". Yep, last night's meet was the first one I managed to attend this year, due to work, travel, conflicts in scheduling, and the aforementioned burnout. Which is made doubly ironic by the fact that it was the last dual meet of the season and the last meet that Wolfgang will swim in. Ever. Oh, but that's not the best part. No.

The best part is that for the past ∞ years I have been the official swim team photographer. And I have been at ALL the meets, ubiquitous as the lifeguard stand at the pool. Hot Saturdays and buggy weekday evenings, on the deck for four to eight hours, contorting into whatever positions necessary to get the shots, sweating like Ted Striker piloting a Boeing 707. So people know me. I just didn't know that they know me, because I've been concentrating on framing, focusing, and shooting hundreds of images every meet. Chat time was limited, to say the least. I watched swimming with one eye closed, through a tiny hole in the back of the camera. I never even knew that it was live and in 3D!

So it was quite a surprise to find out that people have missed me at the meets. I'd like to think they missed my sunny personality and warm charm, despite knowing what they really missed were the action shots of their kids. But I can live comfortably in denial of the truth on this one.

They missed me. They missed me because they liked me; they really liked me.


A couple of shots to share with you. Enjoy!

Random kid.

Swimmer eyeing up his lane.

This one is Wolfgang. 

Suddenly, The Questions Pour In.

A Work Of Deluded Fiction

As a paragon of wisdom, wit, and style, I'm often asked how I do such and such, or how I've achieved esteemed levels of prominence in my myriad fields of expertise. Because so many people have helped me become ridiculously successful in every arena of human endeavor, I wanted to magnanimously share the give and take of the conversations with my fans. Here, in as modestly brief a format as I can create, are some of those interactions, with my responses to queries being as completely disingenuous and full of crap as I can manage.

From a Famous Dude in a Robe:

His Holiness, The Dalai Lama: Venerable Marshmallow, how do you manage to balance the demands of fatherhood with your work as a photographer for Playbuoy?

DM: First, let me say I totally dig your glasses, Dal. Very understated yet current. As for my photographic pre-eminence in the field of Oceanic Markers, I just have to say that I feel I am just very fortunate to have stood on the shoulders of giants. Literally. Because without them, I would have had to rent boats to get those shots. Plus, my wife and children are behind me 100%.

This,  from a former United States President (sans robe):

Ronald Reagan's Ghost: DM, you mention in your autobiography that you had a chance to stop John W. Hinckley the day he attempted to assassinate me, but that you didn't do so. Why is that?

DM: Dutch, come on, we've been over this a million times. I said that I could have stopped him from trying to impress Jodie Foster by shooting you. And what I meant by that is that I could have accepted her repeated (and quite frankly, annoying) attempts to date me. If I had given in to temptation and said yes to her incessant come-ons, I most likely would have turned his attention away from you and onto myself. Dude, you were the POTUS. I was a college student. You had Secret Service protection. I had zip. Stop whining and get over it. You survived that attack anyway, and it only served to make you more popular.

From, the Big Guy (also wearing a robe):

Jesus (the Christ): DM, I wish you'd stop using my name in conjunction with the phrase, "On a Popsicle Stick.". It's pretty blasphemous by most standards. And my Dad is sort of pissed. He's been talking smiting lately.

DM: Yeah, about that. First, that's not a question. Second, I don't mean anything personal by it. I would say the same thing using anybody's name who was crucified on a tree or big piece of wood. If you want, I'll use Spartacus' name instead. I'm good either way.

Jesus (the Christ): DM, that would be great, thanks. He's here with me now and says it's cool with him. Oh, by the way, St. Peter says hi. He also asks if you'd stop with the jokes about his life (and death) being turned upside down. He's super sensitive about that.

DM: Man, you're killing me with these requests! First he asks me to stop the "rock and roll" jokes, and now this. But I have a soft spot for Pete. As long as I get can a RapidPass®, he's got a deal.

From the Big, Big Guy (non-corporeal, but always pictured with a robe):

The Lord On High Himself: DM, how do you consistently hit such a smooth draw off the tee?

DM: Well, actually, I just attribute it all to you. Pretty freaking clever, huh? But the real trick is keeping my right foot forward of my left and bringing my swing plane a little out of horizontal. I close down the club face just a touch too.

The Lord On High Himself: I knew it! You sneaky bastard! Lol!


That's it for this week. If you have any questions you'd like to ask the Defiant Marshmallow, please write in. I do my best to answer every letter personally, but due to the high volume of mail and requests, I can't guarantee it. Thanks and have a groovy day!


DM