One of the most important rules of writing deals with the ever-elusive, and oft-irritating exclamation point. From the first time I wrote my first sentence (which was, “Please stop Henry Winkler!”), teachers have told me that I should use the exclamation point sparingly. After all, how often am I so excited that I! Must! Yell! About! It!?

Not often. Recently, on someone else’s blog (who it was, I cannot remember, sorry whoever it was), I read that we’re all allowed three exclamation points in our life. To me, this is a good rule. After you use more than three you should be thrown in prison for three years and forced to listen to Barry Manilow.

(Right now someone is probably going through this blog counting the exclamation points. To that person I say, “Stop. They have medication for your disorder.”)

Why am I discussing this? Because a site that I once enjoyed has gone completely out of control. That site is Ain't It Cool News, run by the hirsute, self-obsessed Harry Knolwes. This site was once a great read with wonderful news and information about movies and television. Now, it’s a self-pleasuring of a man who is part of the pseudo-media.

My thoughts about Knowles and his writing style and self-adulation aside, the site still has some interesting tidbits. But only rarely. Were I to choose a movie news site I would have to vote for Dark Horizons . Garth Franklin gives me the news I need in a succinct and interesting manner. And, quite often, he does so with a flair that only an intelligent, movie-obsessed geek can bring to the table. Garth doesn’t do his site to make money or garner a fan base. Rather, he does so because if he didn’t, he’d be looking for this information himself.

So, why am I ragging on Harry and what does it have to do with exclamation points? Because Harry’s site currently contains no less than fifty-six exclamation points on various headlines. Fifty-six. Come on Harry. Let’s get serious here, can you not write a headline that doesn’t contain an exclamation point?

For that matter, why not write a headline that contains some sort of information? Maybe even writing craft? Read what you’ve written and write the headline based on the content, not the other way around.

Words, Harry, are able to convey emotion and have weight based purely on their combination. For example, you currently state “Ian McKellen will not be playing Dumbledore!!” Okay, first of all, use capitalization properly. But that’s beside the point.

Your headline actually contains information, but it does not require two exclamation points. In fact, it does not even need one. You could have said, “Rumor Denied: McKellen Will Not Play Dubmledore” or “McKellen Denies Accepting Role of Dumbledore.”

Rather than giving us a succinct headline, it’s buried in eighteen layers of tripe fit for a fourteen-year-old girl’s love note. Stop it. Damn it, stop it now.

I love movies too. But I can’t read your site anymore. It’s more like reading your diary. Or worse, what you consider your memoirs. Just stop. Now. Save us all the trouble.

Or let me put it in terms you can understand. Stop!! No More Exclamation Points!! They’re Annoying!!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Can I tell you how damn tired I am? I’m exhausted. Really damn tired. I’ve been working like mad to get everything done and it feels like nothing ever does get done. Sigh. I should be almost done. Right? Right? Someone please tell me I’m almost done.

My time needs have been compounded by the holidays and the fact that I have a kid home with me all day long. I’m pulling double duty during the day and working through the night. And damn it if I’m not too damn honest about my billable hours. I’ve been told that I’m overly generous. But, I’m working for people I consider friends, so I bill what I feel is appropriate.

So, Christmas was good. Matilda seems to have loved all of her gifts. Especially Tony Hawk 4. She’s a skate hound. Gertrude really dug the idea of Christmas. She’d open a gift and exclaim, “Wow! Wow!” It didn’t matter what it was, she just was amazed by the fact something was hidden behind those colorful pieces of paper.

Her favorite gift, I think, is the series of Wiggles tapes she was given. She stared at the boxes lovingly, as if the photos of The Wiggles were actually family portraits. When she saw them, she wiggled appropriately. And, of course, we’ve watched them all repeatedly.

My lovely wife loved the gift I gave her, which was a replica of the Evenstar pendant Arwen gives Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings. She’s worn it constantly since she opened it. I suppose that’s a good sign. However, she truly believes that she’s now and elf and refuses to trade her immortality for a time-expired mortal life with me.

Sigh.

My gifts? Well, I got a real Pendleton shirt. Like the Beach Boys used to wear. I think I may be the only person on Earth who thinks it’s cool. But it is. I also got a groovy Guinness t-shirt, bongos (so I can be like Richard Feynman) and a bumper sticker that says “Feynman Lives!”. Can’t wait to put that one up.

Add to that a bunch of DVDs, CDs, gift certificates and it all adds up to one hell of a haul. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I’ll try to repeat it.

Finally, to round out the season, I picked up something for myself that should make my working life easier. The Sidekick is a combination phone and personal organizer. I’ll be able to get my calls and pick up my email on the same device. How is this good? I’ll be able to get my email anywhere. I won’t be tied to this damn computer anymore. Plus, it has a full keyboard so I’ll be able to respond.

You have no idea how freeing it’ll be to be able to sit outside and answer my email without worry. Or in front of the TV. Or at someone else’s house. I’ll be able to do portions of my job while hanging out with my family SOME WHERE OTHER THAN MY OFFICE. Do you have any idea what that means?
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It’s funny, but the more I work, the more I get stressed, the more I look at my kids in wonder. I get overwhelmed with love.

We spend so much time worrying about what people will think, how this deadline is looming, how much money we’re making and so much more, but sometimes we just forget what’s really important.

I have no idea what’s important to you. But what’s important to me are these two little girls for whom my life exists. Sure, the seven-year-old and I are constantly squabbling over silly things these days and the baby seems to prefer her mother over me, but still . . . this is why I’m here.

Everyone is told that they have a purpose in life. As you grow, you assume that yours will be lofty. You’ll cure cancer. You’ll invent something that will make life easier. You’ll write the Great American Novel.

My purpose in life is to make these two girls smile. Because when they smile nothing else matters. Not my stupid deadlines, not the burning acid in my stomach. Nothing.

Because when they smile I look at that little electric face and say to myself, “I did that. I created a pure emotion in someone else. And damn it, I’m proud.”

If my life is to be measured by giggles and smirks, then so be it. Because when I look back on my life I’ll be able to say I truly accomplished something. I made two (hopefully happy) human beings.

And that beats the hell out of the Great American Novel.

Have a very Gary Christmas! (It's Christmas with Theremins!)

(Go here if you're on a dial-up.)

I'll be out for the next week or so. I may pop in periodically, but I'm going to take advantage of the time home with my family. Even if I am working.

Enjoy whatever holiday it is that you celebrate, be it Christmas, Kwanza or Greek Orthodox Buddy Holly Day.

Starting after Christmas Science Fiction Twin will be doing an interesting experiment.

I, Gary O’Brien, will be going through my entire CD collection (minus Elvis Costello). I plan on listening to three CDs a day, in alphabetical order.

Which means, of course, that my first day will include:

John Adams (classical), Admiral Twin and Air.

Not a bad first day.

Here’s my theory. By me reminiscing about these CDs, you’ll be able to learn about my life in unexpected ways. After all, my CD collection is not just a bunch of plastic encoded with 0s and 1s.

It’s a time capsule that captured particular moments of my life in crystalline. Each CD has a story and each story is very uninteresting.

Of course, there will be spots where it won’t say much. Such as, the Beatles. There’s an obvious reason why I own a lot of Beatles CDs.

So, join me in my journey through myself. I’ll call it, “The Gary O’Brien Audio Biograpy.”

I’d like to take this moment to welcome little Juliet to the world. She was born this morning to my dear friends Ryan and Aixa.

Welcome Juliet! You have some really great parents.

I’d also like to apologize for my ramblings about The Two Towers yesterday. Fatigue and excitement made it difficult to write.

Sorry.

Hell is nearly over. I should be back to my normal ramblings within the next month.

And hey, let’s be careful out there. Or something.

How Geek are you?

Probably not as Geek as I am. Nor my wife.

What did you do yesterday? What did I do? Well, the wife and I took the day off to . . . no, not go Christmas shopping . . . to see The Two Towers.

And, it was awe-inspiring. Amazing. Simply amazing. We had an incredible time and couldn’t imagine a better way to spend an unseasonably warm, rainy as hell, December day.

We’re both very big Lord of the Rings fans. I’ve been one since I was 12 when my brother Marty handed me a copy of the Hobbit and said, “Read this.” I did and fell in love with the world of Middle-Earth. After devouring the entire series, I went back to Middle-Earth as often as I could. I dreamed about it, I thought about it. I considered it and I wondered if I would ever get to see it.

I even watched the incomplete Ralph Bashki versions and they bored me to tears.

I remember last year when I watched The Fellowship of the Ring and I was just amazed at the terrifying and beautiful images that I was being fed. For the first time in my life I felt as if I was in a world I had been imagining all my life. It had come alive. The wife and I have watched many, many times the new extended version of the Fellowship and have loved every single minute of it.

After a long, long year we finally got to see The Two Towers and we were amazed.

From beginning to end, the film is a feast, both visually and emotionally. Huge battles, internal conflict shown externally, humor, pathos and more. There’s not much character development here, but that was true of the books as well. We were in pursuit and battle mode.

At the end of the film, the official War of the Ring has not begun yet. We’re still dealing with Isengard posturing itself as a new land of darkness. But Sauron and his minions are moving toward an all out war and the time of Men could be coming to an end. There is a huge, desperate battle by a race of people who see this as possibly their final moment. There is a sadness here that is deeper than almost any that we have seen. This battle, the Battles of Helm’s Deep, is perhaps one of the most amazing cinematic battle ever filmed.

Once again, Legolas proves himself as the Elf with the Mostest. He kicks some major, major ass. He’s pristine, agile and amazing. If I were an otherworldly warrior, I would be Legolas.

The time is right for these stories to be told again. The world is constantly looking for a hero and Lord of the Rings offers us heroes of almost every type. There is the noble, the reluctant, the giving, the sacrifice. And, if anyone ever thought war of any sort was glorious, The Two Towers proves them wrong. No matter what the reason for war in The Lord of the Rings, the battle is always fought with a heavy heart. “Too much blood has already been shed this day.”

And now the wait for next year begins . . .

All I want for Christmas this year is my very own sword. I’d like a replica of Narsil from Lord of the Rings (after it’s been reforged, of course) but I’d settle for any old sword.

Now, before you think I’ve become one of those crazy guys who dress up in tights and go to Renaissance Fairs to pretend that I’m some glory hound from the days of yesteryear, I should clarify. My sword would be a practical device.

I’m not one for guns, but I want to protect my family. So, I’d keep the sword sheathed under my bed and if anyone broke in I’d come charging down the stairs, sword drawn, yelling, “Back ye forces of darkness lest I send your souls to the gates of Hell!”

The criminal element would then flee, despite the fact that they are better armed. After all, could they match a guy bearing a sword and wearing Mickey Mouse slippers? No.

And then, when they met up at their yearly convention they’d attend a round-table discussion on defense against homeowners. They’d say, “Stay away from this O’Brien guy. He’s nuts. He has a sword.”

Ooh. Maybe I’ll douse it in lighter fluid and set it ablaze. They’d think I was the Arch Angel Michael come to take their souls.

This has definite potential.

I know I shouldn’t be writing right now, considering my workload. However, it’s been so long since I’ve really updated this page that I feel as if I’m getting out of practice with writing. I fear that my writing skills have deteriorated to such a level that I won’t be able to string together a coherent thought to save my life. And, let’s face it, it’s quite possible that terrorists could come bursting through my door at any moment and demand that, “For the good of all mankind, you must string together a coherent thought.”

With that sort of pressure I’d probably say, “Purple monkeys driving Segways!” Boom! World War III is started. And it’s all my fault.

So, I must blog for the good of all mankind. Our very lives depend upon it.

Things I will not discuss: Trent Lott (what he did was dumb), Iraq (there’s dumb stuff there), Al Gore (he’s not running), Christmas shopping (it sucks, but I purchased a killer present for my wife this year), viruses (I hate them too).

Instead, I’ll bore you with a recounting of my life, such as it is.

Matilida came home with a stunning still life she painted in art class. This painting shows some real talent on her part. She had shading, perspective and color use down pat.

This kid is destined for something great. She has so much talent and intelligence that, when she grows up, she’ll just be able to select something to do and be successful. With the way her interests run, she may very well be the first dancer/scientist/teacher/painter/singer in the planet. And, I must ask, why not? Why not have a Renaissance Woman in the house?

She’s a lucky girl. She has so much going for her. There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not astounded, and filled with pride, by her accomplishments. Watch for her one of these days. She’s bound to do something that will change your life for the better.

Her sister, Gertrude, is another story. Oh, it’s true that she possesses the same stunning intellect as her sister. This kid is whip smart. She can pick up a new skill with the greatest of ease. I fully expect to walk up to her and say, “Gertrude! Don’t put your fingers in that light socket” only to have her answer, “But father, I was merely trying to discover when the circuit is open or closed and, if it is open, if a full electric current can change the development of my DNA on a fundamental level, thereby allowing me to become a genetic mutant bent on conquering the world.” My only response could be, “You’re only one! No world conquering until you’re out of college.”

Still, despite her current state of intelligence . . . on that dwarves many world leaders, she’s just . . . weird. Yesterday I found her collecting her socks and throwing them away. When I explained to her that we don’t throw away socks because they are multi-use, she looked at me, her eyes lighting up and said, “Da da!” She reached up for a hug. I was powerless.

On Saturday, Matilida and I watched “Ice Age” which we truly enjoyed. After the movie was over, I put a CD in the tray that contained one of the songs that was in the movie. The first song on this CD is just three minutes of tribal drums. Gertrude cavorted and pranced in a primitive way that showed me there is some sort of primal urge to dance in all human beings (though it is damaged in my case). Her sister did an interpretive dance about the demise and abuse of aboriginal people from all around the world. It was sad and mournful.

We also have a Chieftains Christmas CD. When we play one of the jigs, Gertrude puts her hands to her sides and does some sort of step dance that would make Michael Flatly weep. She’s the little lordette of the dance.

I’m not making that up. She has an innate sense of rhythm that fills me with joy. Where her sister can immediately pick up on the emotional tenor of a song, Gertrude can pick up on its rhythmic styling and adapt her movements accordingly. She’s’ one!

I’m in big trouble. My girls have much more talent than I do and it frightens me. I mean, do I get them an agent now or should I wait? As a stage-parent, how much money do I get to skim off the top?

These are important considerations!

Random Thought(s) of the Day:

Who was trying to open my front door last night at midnight? Scared the crap out of me. Naturally I leapt out of bed and stood there in a combative stance until my heart started beating again. As if I could do any thing in a pair of sweatpants and barefoot. As if I’m John McClane.

Why do I have to wait for The Two Towers? You would assume that they would let me, in all my power and glory, to see the film ahead of time. Right?

RIGHT?

Random Thought(s) for the day:

Why is cheese edible? Milk goes bad after a few days but cheese is good for a long, long time. What is it doing to our insides?

Why would anyone get someone else’s name tattooed on their ass? Doesn’t that doom the relationship from the start?

If Mariah Carey made an album and no one bought it, would we still have to put up with her whiney talent less shrieking?

Why is it that if you watch a mere twenty minutes of MTV do you have dreams that Sammy Hagar is showing you his bathroom and why do you start using words like badonkadonk? I don’t even know what a badonkadonk is.

Random thought(s) of the day:

1. Working in publishing wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for all the paper involved. These people are obsessed with paper. Paper print outs. Forms. Pictures pasted on paper. Paper pasted on paper. Paper in envelopes. Copies of everything on . . . you guessed it, paper. And before you even get the project, they've discussed what kind of paper to use. And, when it's all said and done, the book is printed on paper. Theory: The publishing cartel is in bed with the lumber and paper industry.

2. Why don't you ever see a car hit a fire hydrant and the resulting geyser like in the movies? I think it would make life a hell of a lot more exciting every day.

3. Should I worry that I encourage my children to watch television shows that tell them the world is populated by foam-injected furry creatures?

I'm not dead. Just busy. And tired. Looks like we'll be this way until after the first of the year. Just hang with me.

Someone tells me that there is a holiday coming up that I also have to deal with. It's called Christmas. Apparently I have to buy people presents. I'll do that eventually.

Cheese logs for everyone!

Ah. So we’re here. A full week without writing anything and I’m afraid that everything that I have to say has evaporated into smoke. Gone forever out of the transom of my mind like so many thoughts we have throughout any given day.

Such as, why do they call it a refrigerator? By putting “re” in front of it we assume that it is the second time that we are putting it into the mechanism. But, often that’s not true. When I open mustard, it’s the first time I put it into the refrigerator. So, in essence, I’m “frigerating” it.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Thanksgiving was nice. We spent the early part of the day at my in-laws and the evening at my sister’s. Usually my family Thanksgiving is a loud, raucous celebration of over-indulgence and reminiscing. Not this year, as everyone else had other obligations. So it was my little family and my sister’s. It was rather nice. We talked, we ate, we danced, we giggled. Fun was had by all.

Thanksgiving is a weird time for my family, as it has been traditionally beset by tragedy. When I was five, my father died a few days before Thanksgiving. Suddenly and without warning. When I was eight, I was diagnosed with diabetes. And when I was 22, my mother went into the hospital early Thanksgiving morning, for the very last time. My last memory of her at home was her sleeping on the couch while my brother and I watched “The Beatles Anthology” documentary. As she was being loaded into the ambulance the next morning she wanted to make sure I had my insulin. Damn her. Even at her worst moment she was still thinking of my welfare.

As of yesterday, she’s been gone for seven years now. In some ways it feels like a century and in others, only moments. The wound is still raw for me, for some reason. I didn’t get enough time with my parents. I’m not bitter about it. Just a little disappointed.

But, oh the places I’ve gone since then. I’ve graduated from college, gotten to work at some amazing jobs, gotten married, had work published, had children and more. But as wonderful as those moments were, I wish I could have shared it with mom. It seems there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t want her advice on something. Be it house buying, running a home business or raising children. I just want to have her input.

In a way I still do. I often ask myself, “What would Mom do?” That seems to work very well. The wisdom that she shared with me in our too short time together has never left me.

For years after she died, I was a miserable wreck. I was completely lost. My girlfriend at the time tried to help. And so did my friends. But, they were doomed relationships from the start. There was a huge gaping hole that I couldn’t fill. I needed a change.

I wallowed in misery. Sometimes I think that I enjoyed it, because I never did anything to get out of it. Then I went to Disney World for the first time at the ripe age of 23. I have to admit that it saved me. Here I was, looking for an escape from the real world and in the middle of the Central Florida wetlands, I found the perfect fantasy. This place could be anything I wanted it to be.

I had a wonderful time. And I cried when I had to pack up and go home. I’ve never been the toughest guy in the world, and it was never more evident than when my inner-six-year-old came out and sobbed, “I don’t wanna go home.”

The whole time I was there, I kept thinking about how much my mom would have loved this place. How I wanted to share so many of these things with her. I could imagine standing in line for Space Mountain with her and saying, “Mom, are you sure you should ride this? There are a lot of warnings about people who shouldn’t ride it and you haven’t ridden a roller coaster in years.”

“Yeah,” I imagined her saying, “but what a way to go.”

I went back two more times within the next nine months. It was like a spiritual salve that I couldn’t find anywhere else. When mom died I felt like my childhood had as well. And here was this place telling me, “No! You can still have your childhood right here. At 24, 64 or 104. When you walk through these gates, we’re all six.”

In the meantime, relationships died, new ones formed and I sought to find myself. I still wallowed at home; felt my life had no direction. I had stopped writing, stopped enjoying most things. Wished I could go back to Disney World. Day dreamed constantly.

Then, one month after returning from a trip that probably broke me financially, I met my wife. I found that puzzle piece that fit the gaping hole.

She doesn’t realize it, but my wife possesses many of the same qualities that made my mother a unique individual. She’s an amazing mother, who would do anything for her children. She loves to cook. I often have to add extra spice to her chili. She rarely thinks about herself and is always looking for a way to make someone else’s life a little bit better. And I’m thankful for every single second I get to spend with her.

Case in point. Last night she was telling me about a gift certificate she won at work. “Maybe I’ll buy something nice for you,” she said.

“No,” I said. “You won that. You should buy something for yourself. Something that would make you happy.”

“But,” she replied, “getting you something would make me happy.”

And she always makes sure that I have my insulin.

Sorry for the lack of updates these days. I’ve been busy, busy, busy. Work is piled up and dying to get off my desk. And, I’ve been sitterless for the better part of three weeks, so my wife and I have been splitting days with the baby and working until all hours of the night. We’re tired, we’re crabby and we’re stressed. And we’re calling each other names because it makes us feel better.

The baby and I are no longer on speaking terms. It snowed yesterday and we only played in it once, so she’s giving me the cold shoulder. She just doesn’t understand what it means that it was too cold outside for her little baby skin.

Today I worry about references and copyright issues. Yay!

Perhaps one of these days I’ll get back to being funny. Of course, that’s assuming I was ever funny at all.

And I probably haven’t been . . .