I think we can all agree that ice cream cake is one of the best things in the history of really good things, right? Of course we can. Because who doesn’t enjoy layers of ice creamy deliciousness packed between moist cake? No one, that’s who.
While it’s a scientific fact that ice cream cake really is the gold standard of frozen desserts, there is still come contention about where the best ice cream cakes can be obtained. Some argue that Dairy Queen, that infamous monarch of lactose, leads the pack when it comes to ice cream cake artistry. Others still swear by the work of Carvel or Baskin Robbins, especially citing the latter’s thirty-one flavors as the basis for their claim. While I agree that these purveyors are skilled in the craft of ice cream cakery, they pale in comparison to the pure ambrosia coming out of Cold Stone Creamery. For the eater, their cakes impart the purest of joys that is unmatched by lesser cakes. But for someone like me, that joy comes at an uncomfortable cost.
For whatever reason, I am overcome by a deep sense of discomfort whenever someone sings in public. I know, it’s weird. Some people don’t like public breastfeeding, others hate public displays of affection. Me, I don’t like when people sing in public. Maybe it’s the spontaneity of the situation that makes me uncomfortable or that people with poor singing skills seem to be the ones most drawn to strong-arming me into being their impromptu audience. Either way, I don’t like it, which makes going to Cold Stone a serious test of my character.
If you’ve ever been to a Cold Stone then you’re probably familiar with the disgusting “tip for a song” policy they enforce on their employees. If not, it’s basically this: for every dollar a grateful patron drops into their tip jar the Cold Stone employees are forced to croon some familiar tune (i.e. that old classic, “Zippety-Doo-Dah”) that’s had its lyrics twisted into a heaping scoop of propaganda by their creamy corporate overlords. Still, I feel obligated to tip them because of the overwhelming sense of gratitude I feel whenever purchasing one of their cakes. Well, that, and I don’t want them to think I’m cheap. I’m essentially forced to choose between the lesser of two discomforts, which is in itself a source of a whole other discomfort. The whole thing really puts me in quite a pickle.
I haven’t found a clear path to deal with the situation yet. Thankfully though, there’s still one slice of ice cream cake left in the freezer to help me think. There’s a decent chance that I might need more to help solve this problem, but let’s all pray it doesn’t come to that.
What up, yo? These past couple of weeks has been wicked hectic. School work and baby-mama’s doctor appointments have kept me busy from o’dark-thirty until late into the night, but I’ve still managed to plug away a little at this little WIP I’ve got going on. I don’t know if it’s going anywhere but I enjoy working on it so I figure that’s a good enough reason to do it. If writing isn’t fun just for the sake of it then what’s the point in doing it at all, right?
I got the idea for the story after playing Shadowrun a while back. For those not in the know, Shadowrun is a tabletop RPG set in a futuristic dystopian Seattle where magic and technology get all mixed together in a slow cooker of awesome. Remember the whole “Mayan calendar” thing that people were fired up about last year? Well in Shadowrun the end of the Mayan calendar wasn’t just something for the tin-foil hat crowd to get their panties twisted up for. After the calendar ticked down all sorts of crazy shiz-biz started happening. Folks started turning into goblins and orcs, pregnant ladies gave birth to elves and dwarves instead of human babies, and real-deal dragons came back into the world. And we all know what dragons absolutely love, right? Gold. Money. Loot. With dolla-dolla bills on their minds those dragons started taking over multinational corporations which in turn pretty much took over the world. Pretty heavy, right?
So yeah, the world I’m writing about is kind of out of Shadowrun but with a few little tweaks. My main character is a girl — the kind of the badass little girl I envision my daughter becoming — who is in some kind of as-yet undefined trouble. She’d got a brother who has been drafted into the military to fight against some threat to Earth. Seeing as I love me some space battles I couldn’t help but throw in space ships. I thought about having a galactic civil war but that’s always seemed like more trouble than I want to mess with. I mean, how do you address the passage of time for space travelers relative to their point of origin without totally effing up the story? Orson Scott Card did it with Ender but that story took place over the course of generations, man. After all, I’m not trying to write a history of the galaxy, just a cool story about magic and other assorted shenanigans.
That’s where I’m at for now. In between work, volunteering at the hospital, and integral calculus I am somehow finding time to write. Not much time, but it’s better than a kick in the shady place as my grandpa never used to say. I’m kind of fretting a bit about how I’d going to get writing done once my littlun gets here but I guess I’ll figure that out when it happens. Any suggestions from all you writer/parents is welcome!
Oh yeah, and Happy Mom’s day.