With titty concern month behind us, we turn our attention to the less nether regions of the male anatomy and steel ourselves for grocery store clerks to panhandle for
the prostate and endure local media celebrities’ attempts to grow facial hair in support of their other hairy area. Heavy, heavy sigh. And this on the heels of yet another study pointing out that cancer screenings for both breasts and prostates are not the panaceas they are touted to be. Not that anyone who’s done even the slightest bit of actual research or even paid attention to the fine print in the annual two month assaults press doesn’t already know.
But November is not just sweaty ball sacks and mustaches, it’s all a month of words. Lots and lots of them as the hobbyists and the real writers man up to their keyboards to pump out the volume. It’s quantity over quality month. NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo are back, baby. Worry about the polish in December and churn out those posts; pound out those daily word counts.
Because I haven’t enough real work to avoid, I decided – last night – to give NaBloPoMo another shot. They’ve found a new home at BlogHer though sadly not a better blogging tool.
BlogHer is even ponying up incentives like syndicating the worthy on the main site and handing out passes for BlogHer 12 in NYC next summer, providing the world hasn’t imploded before that as I hear the Greeks are looking nags in the mouth today.
So, check out my first day’s effort, and leave a comment. Comments are like gold stars and like most D-list bloggers, I get precious few of those. And if you are inclined, please click over and vote for this blog at the Top 25 Canadian Mom Blogs list. I am steadily dropping out of the top 10 due to lack of votes. I am annoyed enough with the constant vote whoring I have to do to not feel too honored with being nominated anymore. It’s like receiving a birthday gift that requires you to take up a hobby you wouldn’t have sought out on your own.
Oh, and happy All Soul’s Day. Decades ago in my Catholic school girl days, today would have found me bobbing up and down at an all school mass. I can’t recall if there are any rituals unique to the day. It’s not a throat blessing with candle-sticks sort of thing (which was disconcerting because Father stood up on the steps of the altar and it didn’t matter how tall you were, he still managed to jam the cross-section of the candles snug up to you throat and pinch your jaws til you choked). I do remember that most of my classmates had candy to share but not until after communion. God forbid that anyone take a wafer on a tongue coated with red dye number whatever.
It’s November. Grow a ‘stache. Feel up your balls or someone else’s. And then don’t forget to write about it.