Sieze the Toast

\”I\” before \”E\” except after \”C\” and when sounding for \”A\” as in \”neighbor\” and \”weigh.\” So where does that leave us?

Still thinking about it February 14, 2007

Filed under: Autobiographical,General stupidity,Hobbies,Uncategorized — Naomi @ 7:29 pm

I’ve spent a considerable portion of the last couple of days perusing the archives of the Comics Curmudgeon, and two things have become apparent to me:

  1. Johnny Hart is nuts.
  2. This blog could use some regular features.

There isn’t much I can do about Thing #1, but I have some ideas where Thing #2 is concerned. So, here’s a list of possible regular features for Sieze the Toast:

  • Webcomic: I’m thinking of something in a format similar to Absurd Notions (sporadically updated humor comic with continuous plots and occasional bonus diary comics), with a scifi setting. Pro: I already have a pretty good idea of my characters and main plot and even how I want certain panels to look, which puts me ahead of about 80% of all novice webcomic artists. Con: I don’t draw so good… which puts me ahead of about 80% of all comic artists.
  • Serialized Novel: Horrifying though the results of my NaNoWriMo experiment proved to be, I’ve salvaged all of my principal characters and a significant portion of the plot (the setting was nonexistent) and created a mind map. When complete, said graphic organizer will form the basis of a modern cross-genre whodunit. It starts out at a funeral. It is hilarious. Pro: The inclusion of a serialized novel ties into my original purpose for this blog, and knowing that reader(s) await the next installment might be the motivation I need to finished the accursed thing. Con: If it’s any good, and I can convince a real paying publisher of this fact, then I’m selling myself way short on first publication rights.
  • Movie Reviews: I used to be (technically I still am; I just need to remember my password) a member of a site that specializes in exhaustive reviews of awful and obscure movies and TV shows; I even got a positive (if limited) reaction to my reviews of Kangaroo Jack and its sequel. The bad movie recap scene lost its appeal to me for a while, but lately… lately the muse has beckoned to me from the TV Guide Channel and Lifetime’s movie-of-the-week ads (they’re doing Nora Roberts adaptations throughout February, presumably in observance of Black History Month). Pro: Dissecting hastily made basic cable chick flicks is easy and fun, and women who write snarky reviews of such films are significantly underrepresented in the b-movie community. Con: It’s also time-consuming, and my mother might take my criticism of her favorite genre as a personal affront..

So, what’s it going to be? I eagerly await the response of my loyal readers (all one of them).


An open letter to Bra October 20, 2006

Dear Bra,

Let me start by saying how much I appreciate all that you’ve done for me over the years. You have supported me through good times and bad. You stuck with me day and night after the biopsy. Even on my worst days, you were always there to lift me up. For this and more, I owe you a debt of gratitude that I can only begin to express.

I am afraid, Bra, that recent events have changed my opinion of you. More to the point, I fear that you have changed from the friend I once knew, to something terribly crass and opportunistic.

I am speaking of the comments that you have left on my blog.

Author : Bra (IP: ,

E-mail :


Whois :


My site no bra

no bra no bra

Why, Bra? Why would you suddenly spam my blog with self-hating drivel and links that instantly redirect to advertising? Are you on drugs?

Author : bra (IP: ,

E-mail :


Whois :


My site open bra

open bra open bra

Oh Bra, if you could only comprehend the pain that this change has caused me! It’s worse than that time you lost control of your underwire and stabbed me in the ribs.

Please know that my words, though harsh, are meant only to alert you to the danger in which you have placed yourself, and perhaps save the relationship that you and I have cultivated. I only hope that you will turn back from your whoring ways and be my friend again. I really don’t want to switch to a corset.

Don’t leave me hanging.




A really good excuse September 30, 2006

In the days following the removal of her wisdom teeth, the modern blogger has two options available to her:

  1. Provide her readers with one or more genuine examples of stoned writing
  2. Go on hiatus until she runs out of hydrocodone

This blogger has settled on a compromise: she has tentative plans to produce one or more genuine examples of stoned writing this weekend, and she will decide whether to share these with her readers once she has run out of generic Vicodin. She also plans on sleeping too much, applying ice packs periodically to her newly acquired squirrel cheeks (which make her look rather like Fat Elvis, she thinks), and eating a lot of soup.


What are you? September 12, 2006

The question comes up most often at social functions, when I’m with my family meeting people who are not my family.  Sometimes it’s the first thing they say to me.  Sometimes they’ll talk about other things for a while, looking me up, down and sideways the whole time, trying to work out the answer for themselves first.  Occasionally, some blessed soul will manage to resist the urge to ask, but such a person is rare indeed.

“What are you?”

An odd question, a rude question, a stupid question, the only question I know that encourages ignorance instead of dispelling it.  I have the perfect response,

Human, female.  What the hell are you?

but I never use it, because I’m (trying to be) a patient, understanding person and I don’t like to use the hell-word outside of religious discussions.  Aside from that, if I answered that way, the idiot asking the question would first laugh mechanically, and then say,

“But seriously, what are you?”

I am a great granddaughter.

My great grandmother came from Germany and brought my grandfather across the country in a covered wagon.

My other great grandmother was a Mexican Indian who scraped and struggled and didn’t quite manage to raise all of her children.

My other other great grandmother was the quintessential Mexican.  She had a Catholic upbringing, spoke mostly Spanish and made her own tortillas.  I knew her briefly when we were both very small.  Her skin was as white as what was left of her hair.

My other other other great grandmother was an all-American mutt.

“So, what does that make you?”

I am brunette.

My mother is “Latino.”  She makes tacos from my Caucasian grandmother’s recipe and speaks even less Spanish than I do.

My father is “White.”  His skin is darker than mine.

“Now you’re just being difficult.  Who do you think you are?”

My name is Naomi.

It’s biblical, Hebrew in origin, and in that language it is usually pronounced NAY-ah-mee and means “pleasantness.”

My parents have always pronounced my name nay-OH-mee, which is Japanese for “above all, beauty.”

Roughly half of the people I’ve met persist in pronouncing it NYE-OH-mee, which means “I have a speech impediment and I don’t even know it.”

I share a middle name with Victor Hugo for some reason.

I’m not trying to make some grand eloquent point about race relations, globalization, the human condition or the true meaning of tolerance.  I’m just bemused that I live in a society where I can be pigeonholed while simultaneously defying categorization.

Also, I think dividing the tribes on Survivor by race is nothing but an empty ploy to garner attention for a show that doesn’t deserve it.  You want to make Survivor interesting?  Three words:

Eat the losers.