Why the Republicans have a good shot of winning

The MSM is going crazy! How can this be??? How is McCain gaining advantage over Obama in swing states that were thought to be secured for the Democrats? Why is Obama's approval rating dropping and McCain's rating rising? Don't they read our articles? Don't they KNOW how awful the state of this country is because of he-who's-name-we-dare-not-speak-but-who-got-elected-to-two-terms-by-some-unexplained-fluke???
I'll be honest here, folks. At 26 years of age, this is the FIRST TIME I've actually been interested in a presidential election. Since before the primaries, I was following all potential candidates and for a long while, Obama had my vote (and not just because he kinda looks like an ex-boyfriend.)
But now I'm team McCain. *ducks* Wait, let me explain!
The reason McCain is hedging a lead over Obama is very simple: Obama, the Democrats and the mainstream media are making one fatal assumption: that the "independent voter" both campaigns need so badly are really just lazy liberals. The Left is assuming that all they need to do is appeal to everyone's "logic" because OF COURSE we all believe the same things:

-That the war is wrong and we should withdrwal (even though that means we will lose a war we are currently winning)

-That abortion is a woman's RIGHT. At any time during the pregnancy. And if, for some reason, the baby survives the abortion, it is the woman's RIGHT to have the doctor try to kill it again.

-That raising taxes is the worst thing the middle class could ever imagine happening to them.

-That we all care so MUCH about the unproven hypothesis of Global Warming, that we're willing to completely revamp our lifestyles and depend on enemies for resources that are actuall available in areas where NOBODY LIVES.

Now whether you agree with all of these points, none of them, or some of them a lot of us "independents" call ourselves such because we don't like the idea of having to commit completely to either party and follow lockstep on every position they have. For example, I personally, am AGAINST abortion-- doubly so since I had my precious little baby boy. No one can convince me it's okay to prevent these little lives from happening because that life begins in the mother's body. I cannot be convinced by the data or arguments that are pro-choice. That's just me. That's just where my heart is.
However, you could make a convincing argument to me for Gay Marriage. I'm not as unbendingly against that. I could also be convinced that maybe the right to own guns uncontrolled is a bad thing. National Health Care? Still doing the research. And I'm not at all the exception. Everyone I know is the same way, they take this position on this issue and that one on that issue and it's all a mix of personal beliefs, experiences and life choices.
This is what the McCain campaign is banking on. That we want choices and dialogue and compromise. They've promised us such.
This is what the Obama campaign is refusing to take into account. They argue Palin's inexperience, they argue that a vote against Obama is a racist one, they argue that McCain is just four more years of Bush.
But they're not talking ME, little, independent, free-thinking ME. They're talking to people that already agree with them. When they scoff at Palin's anti-abortion sentiment and insult her for being a working mother who "made good" they're insulting ME. They take it for granted that I want sweeping social changes that mean a government funded school will teach my child about sex in kindergarten. They take it for granted that I'll be so starry-eyed over promises of tax cuts that I won't pay attention to scary-sounding socialist programs like Obama's effort to give poor people government money to "serve their communities." Serve what communitites? How? In what way? And under who's agenda?
Both McCain and Obama are running under the banner of "Change" but they're each talking about different types of change.
McCain promises to work with Republicans AND Democrats, to compromise, to not push the Repbulican agenda and ONLY the Republican agenda. Obama is talking about taking everything Bush did and doing the exact opposite. He's counting on the fact that we all hate and detest Bush so much that we want to run screaming in the other direction. A few months ago, that wasn't a bad bet. But the numbers are showing that now it is.
McCain's vision of change is what people want: no more petty fighting between parties and one-sided agendas. We want to come back together as a nation. So if Obama wants to take his lead back (and there is still time) he needs to stop talking like everyone who likes the sound of McCain is an idiot who OBVIOUSLY doesn't understand what's going on in the world and start talking about the real issues we're worried about. And maybe give us average, small-town Americans a little more credit.


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AND THE WINNER IS...

Katie Parker!!! Scott picked lucky number 3 so Katie, with the third comment, is the winner of a brand, spanking, new copy of Farworld by J. Scott Savage. Woot! Woot! Okay, Katie, I think you have my email, so just send me your address and I'll get that out to you.
One more Woot! Woot! for the road.


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Shakes scores an interview with a minor character from an upcoming fiction novel!

Hello faithful reader(s)! I have just finished reading a wonderful new YA fantasy novel titled Farworld Book 1: Water Keep. It is the story of a special young boy who discovers his destiny just in time to save the special world he comes from. Today, I am not talking with that special boy. I’m talking with the boy who bullied him. Maybe if I had more readers...

Anywho, here’s the interview I had with the delightful bully, Chet.

SHAKES: Hello and welcome, Chet! I’m so glad you could come by today. In Farworld, Book 1, you have a small but important role—

CHET: There are no small roles. Only small people. If you think about it, I am really the key to the entire series. I am the trumpeter who heralds the arrival of Marcus. I am the yin to his yang. The day to his night.

SHAKES: Please try not to interrupt. It’s not polite. Now, in recent reports, it’s been said that you’ve complained about the editing of this project; that you didn’t feel like you were portrayed accurately. Is there any truth to that?

CHET: Well I wasn't going to say anything. I'm really very professional that way.
But since you brought it up first, let me just say that my ninety-eight year old mother could have done a better job. In fact I offered her services at a very reasonable price. I mean think about it. Just as I'm hitting my stride, bam! I'm gone. Don't you think people might have been just a little interested in why I was going behind the school the night Marcus was abducted? They do. Believe me. My mom, I mean agent, was not happy.

SHAKES: I know I was curious! Now what about the rumor floating around that you attacked Marcus out of jealousy?

CHET: Once and for all, let me just say that Marcus and I are like this. (Intertwines fingers with grubby nails.) No one seems to remember that I got him this part. Now he's the big star and I'm doing cast calls for the dumpy boyfriend in LDS romances. What's that all about?

SHAKES: Dumpy boyfriend? Tough break. So the market since Farworld has been pretty hard on you?

CHET: Two words. Spin off. I'm the next big thing. Count on it.

SHAKES: That didn’t really answer my question, but I’ll take your word for it. Now, I also wanted to discuss a recent interview where you implied that you’d been spending some romantic time with Marcus’ sidekick and best friend, Kyja. She’s categorically denied these reports. I mean, she’s really gone out of her way to deny them and other reports have paired her with Marcus instead of you.

CHET: What can I say? I'm a babe magnet. I have no idea what she sees in Marcus.
I'm sure it's a publicity thing. You know, co-stars in love.

SHAKES: So then you weren’t involved with Kyja?

CHET: (Stares off into space, blinking. Shakes stares back awkwardly before clearing her throat and shuffling through her interview cards to find the next question.)

SHAKES: Are you in discussions for any future projects?

CHET: Oh, yeah. My mom's--I mean agent's--phone is ringing off the hook. I hear
I'm being considered for some taffeta gig. Not sure what that is. I think it might be a kind of French dessert.

SHAKES: Actually, taffeta us a type of material, often used for dresses.

CHET: Huh.

SHAKES: Moving on. (Shuffles through interview cards.) Last question. If Marcus were here today, instead of adventuring in far off lands, saving entire worlds, what would you say to him?

CHET: Don't get too comfortable, star boy. Chetty's breathing down your neck.

SHAKES: Fantastic. Thanks again for coming by Chet. I hope you have all the success you dream of, however unlikely that is.


Farworld, Book 1: Water Keep is available for purchase September 12 wherever books are sold. BUT!!! One lucky commentor will get a free copy! In exactly one week, I will ask my husband to pick a random number between one and whatever the final comment number is. That lucky commentor will get a free copy of Farworld. Comment as much as you want!
You can visit the author’s blog at jscottsavage.blogspott.com. Chet is still working on getting his own blog up.


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SNEAK PEAK: My new book

Hey, kids. I know it's been forEVER since I've posted and I'm sorry. I've been sooo busy working on a new book. I'm hoping to have the first draft hammered out by mid-August so I've been writing like ten pages a day. Plus, I may have some other news I'll be announcing soon. But, in the meantime, I decided to post the preface and the first chapter of the book that's been keeping me from you. This may be a big, big mistake but, frankly, I don't have the time or energy to write something else. So here's ya go! Hope you like.

BOOK TITLE: PERSEPHONE

GENRE: YA ROMANCE

DESCRIPTION: ANCIENT GREEK GODDESS PURSUED BY GOD OF UNDERWORLD IS SENT TO FUTURE HIGH SCHOOL BY HER MOTHER TO HIDE HER FROM HIM. HE FINDS HER...




PREFACE

Getting shot in the chest didn’t hurt like I thought it would. Or maybe I was just in shock. No, that couldn’t be it, because I could feel a pebble digging into my back and it was causing me more discomfort than the bleeding hole in my chest. I told my body to shift, to get away from the pebble, but it didn’t listen so I continued to lie there, blinking up into the black sky.
Then I heard the soft crunch of footsteps; one, two, three steps, unhurried. A pause. Then my face floated above my eyes and smiled at me.
“Still holding on, Rayna?”
“Zoe,” I choked out the word, telling my hand to reach out to my twin sister. But it stayed where it was, splayed out above my head at an uncomfortable angle.
Zoe sighed as if I were a puppy who had just wet the carpet. “You made me do this, Rayna. You understand that, don’t you?” she asked, moving her arm out so that the gun was now hovering above me, pointed at the space between my eyes.
“Zoe.” I tried again.
“Shhh,” she said, pressing the gun against her lips then lowering it back down to me. “Just relax—this will only hurt for a moment.”
I stared into her cold, empty eyes, wondering how things had gotten this bad, gone this far.
“Hayden will know,” I tried to tell her. The words floated out of my mouth, more air than sound and I wasn’t sure if she heard me. But it was too late. There was no time left to explain. Zoe had no idea she was pointing a gun at the God of the Underworld’s girlfriend. And in that moment, I was more scared for what would happen to her when he found out than I was for myself.
I heard the gun click as she cocked it at me. “Catch you on the flip side,” she whispered. I sucked in a shallow breath and closed my eyes, waiting for the bullet.



CHAPTER ONE

It was still early when he walked in.
The Black Carousel was an all-ages concert venue so I, at sixteen years of age, was the main bartender, serving out cool glasses of Coke or Sprite and, if you were lucky, pink lemonade. Nothing hard unless you brought it in yourself and didn’t let the bouncer see you.
We were open three days a week, Thursday, Friday and Saturday and had every kind of band, from big time to basement. Tonight was a Thursday so we only had two local bands lined up, nothing fancy. Still, they were pretty good and I expected a crowd.
“What can I get you?” I asked, trying not to stare at the boy in front of me.
I figured he must be down from L.A. Maybe I’d even seen him on TV. He was familiar. He was also beautiful—so beautiful it made my jaw hurt and my body flash hot and cold. I had a good poker face, though, and I put it on as I waited for his answer.
“Just an ice water,” he said, settling on a barstool across from me. “Thanks, Chloe.”
I nodded. It was rare when a customer was smart enough to read my name badge and have the courtesy to use it.
The Black Carousel was a dive, but it was a dive on purpose. The owner, my uncle Phil, had bought an old warehouse in Spring Valley, California, just east of San Diego. He’d thrown in a drink bar and tables and built a stage but all with old, warped wood to give it “feeling,” as he’d put it. He’d been going for a speakeasy or old school jazz club look. To me, the place just looked dirty.
But I made good tips behind the bar so I didn’t complain. Besides, the place was a total success; always busy. The local kids loved it because it was one of the few places they could go without an ID to hear good music. We even got older crowds in when the band was good enough and we never had to worry about drunken bar fights. Sober bar fights, maybe, but those didn’t last as long or get as loud.
I got the pretty boy an ice water with lemon and went back to setting up, shooting cautious glances his way when I was sure he wouldn’t notice. His hair was shaggy and white-blond, his natural color by the look of his roots and eyebrows, though it was a shade I’d never seen before. His eyes, in direct contrast, were the deepest, darkest brown I’d ever seen. They were large and round, framed by thick lashes. and his mouth was a firm line that matched his jaw. His nose was almost too big for his face but instead of taking away from his beauty, it enhanced it, offsetting the harsh lines of his jaw and cheekbones and making him look almost vulnerable. His shoulders were broad and wide, his muscles obvious beneath his white T-shirt. The guy was totally not my type, if I had to pin down what my type was, but here I was, unable to keep from looking at him like my eyes were thirsty and he was the icy glass of water I’d just served him.
“You work here?” he asked me. It was an obvious question, an effort to start a conversation and I was good at my job so I took the hint and wandered back over to where he was, leaning against my side of the counter.
“Ever since it opened a year ago,” I told him.
“Aren’t you a little young?” He cocked an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “I’m wise beyond my years.”
He laughed and looked down at his drink, then back up at me. My breath got caught in my throat at the power of his gaze but I played it off like I had a cough.
“Do you recognize me?” he asked.
I knew it. He was some actor from LA. Maybe I’d already insulted him by not knowing who he was right off. “What would I have seen you in?” I asked.
He frowned. “Seen me in?”
“Yeah,” I said, staring past his head as I tried to bring up the memory of where I’d seen his face before. “One of those daytime soaps? Or that new teen movie with what’s her face . . . uh, Amanda something?”
He continued to frown at me. “I’m not an actor.”
“Oh.” I paused. “Model?”
He shook his head.
“Musician!” I said, snapping my fingers.
He shook his head again and I slumped against the counter. “Okay, then I have no idea where I know you from.”
“So I do look familiar,” he said, his voice almost triumphant.
“Have we met?” I felt like I was supposed to know the answer when I wasn’t even sure what the question was.
He took a drink from his glass of water, turning his attention to the stage in front of us. “Any good bands playing tonight?”
“They’re local, but pretty popular,” I said, straightening. I still had to stock the napkins and make sure the soda fountain was full and we’d already been open an hour. People would be pouring in soon. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. You all set?”
The pretty boy turned back to me, his lips curling into a half smile. “Will I see you later?”
Ah, he’d been hitting on me. I was afraid of that. And now I’d have to let him down easy, let him know the deal. It’s not that I wasn’t entirely interested. I mean, anyone with eyeballs would be. But I was the less shiny half of identical twins, something I’d come to terms with by ninth grade.
Working here had presented a new problem for me, though. In school, everyone knew both of Zoe and I, so when the boys wanted a taste of what the Mason’s were cooking, it was Zoe they called up. But here at the Black Carousel, we got all kinds of people from all over San Diego and they usually got a glimpse of me first, since Zoe was the MC and didn’t come out until it was time to introduce the bands.
The unsuspecting male would sit up at the bar, make eyes at me, toss a few compliments my way and maybe even get as far as asking for my number. Then Zoe would come out and their mouths would drop open. They’d look from her to me and back. I could almost hear what they were thinking. I was like the paparazzi photos of the movie stars without their make-up on, you know, when they look human. And Zoe was like that same movie star on the red carpet, looking fabulous and glamorous and ethereal.
We both had the same silky black hair, though mine hung in soft waves down my back while Zoe’s was cut into the latest style and straightened to pinpoint perfection. We both had the same round, China blue eyes but I never wore much make-up while Zoe was a fan of dramatic, dark eyeliners and eye-shadows that made her look sultry and mysterious. I was a T-shirt and jeans type of girl while Zoe loved the edgier stuff—short skirts, tight bodices, stiletto boots. You can see where this is going.
“Look, kid,” I said, leaning toward him.
“Hayden,” he interrupted.
“Hayden,” I said. “You seem like a decent guy but I’m not really on the market. My sister however—”
“I wasn’t hitting on you,” he interrupted. “I just wanted to talk. I’m new to the area and I haven’t made any friends yet.”
I regarded him for a moment, trying to keep the cynicism off my face. Finally, I smiled. “Okay, tell you what.” I glanced over at the clock on the wall. “My sister will be out in about twenty minutes. Get a good look at her. If you still want to hang out with me later, I’m all yours.”
He returned my smile, his dark eyes bright with amusement. “I’ll see you later then.”
“Sure.” I rapped my knuckles on the countertop and walked away, heading toward the storage closet where we kept the napkins. He had no idea what was about to hit him. It was a shame, though. He really was good looking.



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I Always Feel Dirty After...

So I'm sitting here watching the premiere episode of MVP: He Shoots, She Scores on the Soap network, and I realize something: I have an addiction to bad TV.
No, seriously. I've never had a problem resisting drugs or alcohol or porn or crime or gambling or pretty much any other vice you can think of. But my taste in TV is, frankly, embarressing.
A quick snapshot of my weekly watching scehdule: One Tree Hill reruns all week, Gossip Girl, Swingtown, pretty much any E! reality show, The Bachelorette, The Pussycat Dolls: Girlicious -- and now, MVP, an original Soap drama about hockey players and their slutty girlfriends. This is what I'm watching upstairs in my bedroom while Scott's downstairs watching the Discovery channel. And I always thought I was the smart one.
The thing is, I know, as I'm watching this smut, that it is, in fact, smut. I know these characters are fake and their situations are implausible and that most of them would have raging cases of herpes if it were real life but here I am, forwarding ahead for the week, setting reminders for all the upcoming episodes.
This is a cry for help, people! What do I do? How do I turn away? Even if I were, somehow, to resist for a moment, there's always reruns or full episodes posted on the network websites. They're always there, waiting for me to have a moment of weakness or boredom, a moment when my child is sound asleep and there's nothing else to do for a moment or two.
I'm looking for a twelve step program or a patch or something to help me turn away, no matter how tawdry the promos. But until then, I'll read Kierkegaard during commercials.


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They're about as genuine as a Spanish soap opera

I think the saddest thing of all is that they really believe we're buying this.
What? Who thinks we're buying what?
Well, my little curious one, I'll tell you. I spent my Memorial Day watching the season premieres of "It's Complicated: Denise Richards" and "Living Lohan" on E!
"It's Complicated" follows the "real" life of Denise Richards as she juggles children and dating and "Living Lohan" follows Lindsay Lohan's mother, Dina as she guides the younger Lohan, Ali, to the same level of stardom she helped Lindsay achieve.
In her new reality show, Denise Richards is going to set the record straight! She's going to prove that she's a good mother and not the husband-stealing tramp the tabloids portray her to be. Right after her spray tan and blind date. Oh yeah, and she's got to impregnant her pet pig. I'm not exaggerating here.
The highlight of the show, however, was when Denise tells her friend, after a failed blind date that, "It's not my fault I like bad boys with big *bleeps* who are fantastic in bed."
Way to put those rumors to rest, Denise. We're all very ashamed we judged you.

Dina Lohan is another woman out to prove she's a good mom, Lindsay's public downfall and stints in rehab aside.
I'm actually a firm believer that you shouldn't always judge a parent by their grown children. Once those kids have left the nest, they are their own person. But then Dina had to go and ruin it by letting America get to know her. Now there's no doubt as to why La Lohan is so La Looney.
"A lion protects her cubs," Dina says as she pours over tabloids and websites looking for stories about her and/or her famous daughters. Yes, daughters plural. Lindsay's 14 year old little sis, Ali wants to be just like big sis and Dina's a slave to her children's dreams. Her intentions are purely altruistic as she guides Ali's career and she's going to do it in front of the camera's to prove she's not the stage mom everyone thinks she is. Starting with letting Ali's record producers know Ali's going to pick her own urban-flavored music instead of that cutesy stuff their trying to shove on them. "Ali may be fourteen, but she knows what she wants and I trust my daughters judgement." Rehab, party of two?

Like I said, it's sad they think we're buying this. And it's even sadder that they don't realize E! is making fun of them. Once again, I come to the painful realization that The Soup is the only worthwhile show on that network and even on t.v. in general. Nonetheless, I'll probably keep watching. What can I say? I like train wrecks.


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Sad Monkey Makes Me Laugh

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