Having one of your labors of love rejected by a purveyor of art is probably one of the nastiest blows to one's egos one can ever sustain. Whether your medium is music, paint, voice, instrument, body, or words, the life of an artist is one dominated by masochism. We know our odds of breaking through into the mainstream or into some form of esteemed ubiquity within in a more localized community of peers is low, and yet the most dedicated persevere. It's akin to stepping outside during a thunderstorm with a near certainty that you're going to be struck by lightning.

But I'm new to this game, both in the writing end (at least in terms of trying to take it to the "next level") and in the publishing end. I've submitted three works for consideration to handfuls of would-be publishers. The first one was accepted. It was a shock, really. It's the sort of rare event on the scale of a full-court shot thrown backward over one's head. The other two have received one rejection
each.

I have to say, it sucks. I expect rejection every time I send a story out, but those expectations do little to absorb the blow of disappointment that someone didn't find me good enough to feature in their publication.

My first reaction is to berate myself. I'm not one of those people who blames others off the bat when things don't go well. In those cases, I'm typically pointing the finger at myself first. So in order to cope and not end up in a bloody fugue of self-flagellation, I have to engage in a bit of cognitive gymnastics. How do I cope with rejection?

I remind myself my story is clean, first off. When I submit something out, it's been through several edits and has passed through at least two other pairs of eyes before and I click "send." So I know I'm not being rejected because I'm a sloppy writer, and that is reassuring. If you can't master the art of proper grammar and certain style elements, then you can basically just give up trying to do more than move beyond home plate. I can take heart that I'm not being rejected due to massive incidents of passive voice and a confusion of "their" and "there."

Second, I consider that I may have chosen the wrong publisher for my body of work. Usually when I search for takers, I try and read an excerpt or a sample story if they have one available. Sometimes, I realize I am taking a risk in making a match, and those have so far been the ones to reject me off the bat. This leads me to the most important thing:

My rejections so far seem to lie in a mismatch of writer and publisher. My story doesn't fit their needs or it just wasn't their thing. It's not because the story sucks in and of itself. It's because they're looking for a certain "flavor," and my work doesn't fit that particular bill. If you're craving chocolate, and I stick a spoonful of hot sauce in your mouth, chances are, you're going to spit it out (even if you
usually like hot sauce). They very well may have seen some promise in the story, but because it may have stuck out like a mutilated thumb in their magazine of chick lit, it was tossed.

The fact is, if a relationship of any kind isn't going to work due to the needs of the business person you're attempting to entice, you're going to be rejected. It doesn't matter if you're selling stories or prescription drugs.

Do I wish the editors that have rejected me so far would give me more helpful feedback than a form letter that ultimately says "thanks, but no thanks?" Of course. But I recognize that editors have to wade through massive slush piles in order to meet the deadline and feedback is rare. The letters can seem unforgiving, but I am sure it makes them feel no better to reject you than it does for you to be rejected. 

This is one reason why I typically submit my work to people who accept simultaneous submissions. Having more than one line cast in that unforgiving ocean makes a rejection feel a little less painful. Of course, I haven't yet gotten that "final" rejection. When I do, I'm going to have to start all over again. Or I'm going to have to convince myself that my story isn't nearly as good as I thought.

I'm just not going to think that far ahead...

I know I'm a good writer. I might not be "great," but I think I'm good. I'll never get great unless I keep writing and keep learning. So it's with that sentiment I'll keep plugging ahead.

This short story anthology, featuring "Aria" by yours truly, is now available for pre-order for a measly $9.00! That will not only purchase you my story, but also seven others by great up-and-coming authors!

I will be happy to sign your copy too! If you want a signed copy and aren't local, we can work something out between us. Either I can sign it next time I come out to Ohio, or if you live in another state, I will likely be ordering a handful of the books myself and you can purchase a signed copy directly from me and I will mail it to you. :)

Anyway, visit this link and pre-order The Black Garden today! You should receive it by March 1st if you pre-order. If you don't pre-order, the book will be
available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.com shortly thereafter!

http://corpulentinsanitypr..ess.com/storefront-2/pre-o..rders/

I told myself I wasn't going to blog about the Inauguration, the President's speech, or attempt to analyze what this transition in leadership was going to mean for America. After all, that's what thousands of others in the blogosphere and the world media are doing today. But I cannot let this day pass without at least recording some of the random thoughts I've had and the observations I've made. As is typical for me when I have a lot to say, but not a whole lot of time (or desire) to compose soaring rhetoric, I will do this in list form.

1. Barack Obama is not the Messiah. He is not panacea. He is a human being who defecates like the rest of us. He is not going to revolutionize America, cure AIDS, and gift us with a burgeoning empire of lollipops, galloping unicorns, fairies, and free pizza and gaming consoles for all. Or whatever your version of utopia happens to be.

2. His election is historical due to what it means for our country on a socio-cultural level. It does not, however, give him a pass for fuckups. And he will likely fuck up or do something even his most impassioned admires will disagree with. It's a statistical certainty. As such, he will require all of the scrutiny (and criticism) that we gave to every man who passed through that office before him. He may have good intentions for America, but we don't hand over the keys to a brand new steward and then fail to keep a watchful eye or speak out when we see something amiss.

3. Always be accountable for your vote. If you voted for Barack Obama and he proceeds to fuck up this country in such a way that could only be attributed to his policies and decisions, don't be a deluded asshat and blame it all on Bush just because you're afraid to admit you were wrong about the guy. I mean shit, how many things is Clinton still being blamed for after 8 years of a Bush presidency? Accountability is what distinguishes the grownups from the children whose voter registrations should be revoked. Yes, Obama is inheriting a large burden. All Presidents do. But let us not forget that there is still much within their control. He was sworn in today. Not 8 years from now.

4. We may have forgotten this over the last 8 years (and the torrents of scandal in the other administrations that preceded it), but it's OK to have a popular President. A lot of people seem to look down their noses at Obama because he's so popular with regular folks. Because he can attract a crowd. "He's no President! He's a celebrity!" they chide. I think America has forgotten what it's like to have popular and well-liked leadership. The last President who attracted so many fans was assassinated before the end of his first term, so I can understand the cynicism and the trepidation among some. I'll say this, though. I'd rather have a "rock star" President than one who is an unintentional comedian and an international embarrassment. Time will tell if we will end up with yet another one of those, but unlike those who have already written off Obama, I'm willing to let reality be the judge.

And finally...

5. Don't wait for an elected official to "fix" everything. That's like waiting for a bank robber to return the money he stole or for a dead rose to grow back into a bud. Chances are, you'll be disappointed. After the swearing in ceremony, we all had to return to our regularly-scheduled lives and do the things that Washington DC will never be able to see or touch (and hopefully never will, if I have anything to say about it). Whatever they're doing over near the Potomac is likely not going to have a drastic effect on your daily life. You still have to work, feed yourself (and your families), pay your bills, and try to make your mark on the world. All of these things are possible no matter who is running the country at any given moment. The state of your life is all about you and what you put into it. If you wait for the government to improve your life, you'll die in the gutter.

I woke up this morning feeling motivated to move around a little more than usual. There is something about the natural bodily inertia of a writer that just makes one's ass ginormous. And there is something about a ginormous ass that kind of bums me out after awhile. Add in the usual soul-sucking, joyless Washington winter climate that asks you daily if this might not be the day to contemplate drowning yourself in hot fudge, booze, and Prozac, and eventually you start to feel motivated--that is if you aren't already dead.

Of course my wild plan for moving around and actually doing shit outside the house today was dependent upon my son getting home from Kindergarten. His bus arrives, without fail, at around 11:30am on the dot. The time of his arrival is almost as dependable as that mid-morning, post-coffee bowel movement. By 11:45, however, it appeared Elias's bus schedule was a little "constipated." And as in any case where things aren't "coming out" as they should, I start to get a little worried. Of course the more sane explanations ("he has a substitute bus driver" or "there were mechanical difficulties with the bus") came first, but trailing them like an evil ankle-biting dog were the less sane explanations ("there was an accident" or "he's been kidnapped by local pedophile").

So I called the school. They said that there was a sub driver and they take a little longer because they don't know the routes. Heave sigh of relief. At least for the most part. I didn't know who this sub bus driver was, after all. When an otherwise jaunty and unmolested Elias was finally let off in front of the house at 12:15, I was thrilled. "Keep your coat on, kiddo. We have errands to run."

The question of lunch came up almost immediately of course, and I knew what Elias was going to ask for McDonald's, mostly because he knew what the latest toys were. Yes, I'm one of "those" parents who occasionally feeds her kids "that food." Sue me/screw you.

After we finished our Happy Meals (yes, I had one too), Elias asked if he could play for a few minutes in the playground. Because I was lacking a better reason than "I really really loathe McDonald's playgrounds," I relented.

I don't necessarily hate McDonald's playgrounds because I think they are filthy and populated by children who are even more so (although I DO hate them for that). I hate them because 2 out of every 3 visits to a McDonald's playground ends up with someone accosting me with their general life story. And let me tell you, it's not usually a GOOD life story. In fact, I don't think people are terribly inclined to share the good ones with perfect strangers because people who have decent things to share are normal, and normal people usually don't sit directly next to you in an otherwise unpopulated seating area and start yapping. It's the ones who want to tell you, unsolicited, that they were raped by their dog that love to strike up a spontaneous conversation. Today was no exception.

I should preface this conversation by saying that there was absolutely nothing about my demeanor that screamed "open and inviting." I had my head down and made eye contact with no one, mostly because my face looked pale, plain, and doughy today and also because I was sending out some text messages while Elias played. A small woman came and sat down right next to me. I looked around and noticed there were several empty seats, and I asked her if I had taken her seat. She said no. I looked up to check on Elias and he was doing his best to intercept the paths of the other climbing (unwashed) children. He doesn't mean to. He was just much brawnier them. I said "Elias, don't step on the other children" and that was that.

The woman said: "Elias. That's a really cool name! Where did you get it?" I told her that we had considered the name Elijah, but we liked this more modern variation better. She remarked over how cool and unique it was, and I thought to myself how the name wasn't so unique in my family anymore, and because that thought immediately made bile rise up in my throat, I decided not say anything more.

"My son over there is named Jagger," she said a few moments later. "But NOT after Mick," she was quick to point out in a way that seemed so reflexive that I almost thought "But NOT after Mick" was part of the kid's name.

I then wondered if it was even possible to have that name and not evoke Mick. If you played a game of word association with 100 people and said: "Jagger," I would bet a million dollars that 99 of them would say "Mick."

So naturally I had to ask her where she got the name.

"Do you know the band Creed?" she asked. "They broke up, but they were pretty big a few years ago."

Yes, I told her I knew Creed. I've also stepped in gum and knocked my shins on coffee tables. All unpleasant things. I didn't tell her that I think they belong in the Nickelback class of ass-suckage. After all, she was talking about her kid.

"Well, the lead singer, Scott Stapp named his son Jagger, and we just thought it was so cool that we decided to name our son the same."

I nodded and said "that's cool," but my inner-monologue really wanted to ask her if she had considered that even an undeniably unoriginal and vanilla "musician" such as Scott Stapp may have named his son Jagger out of homage to the Rolling Stones frontman and that, at least by association, means her son was also kind of named after Mick too. But nevermind. It's not important. My pity for the child was duly noted. There are also parents who name their kid Metallica. They too deserve to be throttled.

Of course the dialogue doesn't end there:

"My ex, Jagger's dad, and I were big Creed fans. He even sings a lot like Scott Stapp. Actually he was kind of a mix between Scott Stapp and George Michael."

My brain is STILL doing cartwheels trying to figure this out.

"Does he sing in a band?" I asked. I mean shit, I must be a glutton for punishment. You all should know by now that I am horrible about telling people to go away to their face. My old standby is just to give them really cold body language and hope they STFU. It doesn't work.

"I don't know," she said. "I packed my things and left him a couple years ago. He was a drunk. An abuser. I knew I couldn't take his lies and his hitting me anymore, and I didn't want him anywhere near me or Jagger. I haven't seen him. But I did get a call from his parole officer awhile back asking if I'd heard from him."

Lovely!

"Knowing him, he's probably off living in a gutter somewhere doing drugs. I hope he rots in hell. He put out cigarettes on my feet once. I'd show you, but I'd have to take off my shoes."

I take a moment to give thanks for that aforementioned soul-sucking, joyless Washington winter weather.

I'm sure at this point she is simply begging me to say: "Wow, that must have been so hard for you!" But I didn't because it wasn't 30 seconds later that Elias launched himself from the end of the slide, came over to me, and said:

"I'm ready to go, mom." I sometimes wonder if he is telepathic.

It was probably in that moment I wanted to grab that kid and plant kisses all over him and say: "Thank you thank you thank you for saving me from this really strange person who is telling me WAY too much about her personal life in a McDonald's playground!"

But then again, this has happened before. In McDonald's playgrounds I've heard tales of woe ranging from cheating spouses, pregnant teenagers, drug addicts, house fires, birth defects, and dead family members. And that's only a couple of people!

You gotta love McDonald's. Go for the cheeseburger. Stay for the crippling life stories you never asked to hear. See which one kills you first.

So the cookie tarts were a flop, but this was no surprise. Besides, I still had my ace in the hole, the idea that had been brewing in my brain since about 30 minutes after I decided I was going to enter the Pillsbury Bake-Off. The one that kept yammering at me the way my son often does for no reason other than he apparently likes to see my head explode.

That idea was the "Corned Beef Hash Benedict Tarts."

See, this household is probably one of the biggest mass-consumers of corned beef hash and eggs on the planet. We love the stuff. This idea came to me about as naturally as being worthless comes to Paris Hilton. In fact, I'm a bit of a "throw it all in one pan and see what happens" kind of cook anyway, which makes breakfast scrambles and hashes right up my proverbial alley. I do believe in the ongoing trend of "individual servings," because it's not only elegant, but it's also a great way to serve guests and control portions.

So off my imagination went on its mouth-water-inducing, greedy-for-cash way to see if this little idea would work. It was simple. I already had the mini tart pans (which are necessary because of their removable bottoms and their aesthetically-pleasing fluted edges. I also had the knowledge that Pillsbury Grands dough lends itself well to being shaped and molded to my will, so I knew it would serve as the perfect crust.

The filling was also going to be a cinch. I know there is a legion of you out there who would turn their noses up at the stuff the same way I do with the abominable dreck known as Dinty Moore Beef Stew, but I have sort of a not-so-secret love for Hormel Corned Beef Hash. So sue me. Yes, I love the real deal more, but preparing whole corned beef briskets is not a regular thing for me. The beauty of this recipe, however, is that you don't HAVE to use corned beef hash. The idea is in its simple basic structure, which is that it's a complete breakfast in a pretty little tart. Have some leftover ham or roast beef to use up? Why not add some cooked diced potato, peppers, and onions and have at it? The world is your oyster, people. These variations will actually take place in my later experiments. But for now, we are using the Hormel Hash as our baseline.

In a skillet, I lightly sauteed in oil 2 finely minced shallots and a finely diced green bell pepper. To this, I added 2 cans of hash and cooked over medium-high heat until it was dark and crispy most of the way through. It takes about 10-15 minutes to get it this way. Meanwhile, I molded one biscuit to the bottom and up the sides of each of my tart pans. Note how I only have 6 pans. This recipe actually serves eight, but since I'm short 2 pans, I just baked the two remaining biscuits as is.

I divided the hash among the pans and on top of each I cracked an egg. It is at this point that I would probably put a little bit of fresh cracked black pepper on top, but since I was serving children, I decided to hold off on that for later incarnations. The pan went into a 350 degree oven for about 20 minutes, but it could probably have stayed in for another 5 if you like your yolks a little more set up. Here they are, ready for their maiden voyage.

While tarts baked, I prepared a little pre-packaged Hollandaise. Now, I'm not a fan of pre-packaged sauces, but I felt that SOMETHING needed to go on top of these bad boys, and I wanted to test the "Benedict" theme, mostly because the name is catchy. And it's the Hollandaise that makes it a Benedict.

When the tarts came out of the oven, I screamed like a little girl. They looked, for lack of a better word, Amazarifficsome. The crust had browned nicely. The eggs had set up perfect!

After letting them cool down for a bit, I unmolded them and we tried a few variations with the sauce on the top and on the bottom and served it with some fresh pineapple.










The proof, however, was in the tasting. We all agreed that the dish served as the perfect springboard for a great concept. We didn't, however, care much for the Hollandaise. It didn't add anything flavorful, and it seemed to bog down the texture, so it was out with the "Benedict" idea. What the tarts really needed was something to brighten up the flavor a little more. Something to wake it up. Given that they tasted great with the fresh pineapple, we agreed that a fruity/spicy salsa (like a mango or pineapple salsa or chutney) on top would work great with this. Of course, if you're feeling a little minimalistic, a few dashes of hot sauce would probably do the trick.

I also feel that some shredded pepperjack cheese placed in the bottom of every tart would give it some additional zest. Finishing it off with some fresh chopped parsley would also give it some additional oomph in the looks and taste department. Overall, however, we agreed that this would be a great place to begin to make a winner, so this is going to be my focus.

As I perfect this recipe, I will keep you all posted of its progress. On the next one, I'm going to move away from the corned beef hash and use ham, peppers, onions, and maybe some spinach, and then try it with a mango salsa. I am also going to try Crescent dough for the crusts to see if it improves it even more.

Since deciding to undertake the annual Pillsbury Bake-Off, my brain has been abuzz with all sorts of ways to manipulate refrigerated dough packed in logs or pressurized tubes in order to win a million dollars. Should be a piece of cake. Or easy as pie. Or maybe something that comes with a built-in insulin injection.

The first attempt/failure at a winner was to take slices of sugar cookie dough, fill them with sweetened cream cheese and raspberry jam, wrap them into little mini-tartlets, top them with finely-chopped nuts, and bake. It was a beautiful little fantasy in my mind. I saw tender-crisp sugar cookie shells surrounding a creamy filling and topped with a shiny red jewel of fruity awesomeness. So elegant. So simple. So.... not the right application for cookie dough.

While the would-be tartlets went together okay and looked promising in raw form, they ended up spreading in the oven and looking like, well, cookies. I should have known this, of course. This is what cookie dough is designed to do. But I was blinded by ambition and hope... for a million freakin dollars.

But the failure didn't end at form. The filling was much too substantial to be supported by the flimsy Pillsbury dough. So picking up one of these bad boys would pretty much be a dream if you were looking to have something that looked like a clump of brain left behind on the plate. Or on your shoe if you missed the plate.

Did I forget to mention that I fucking HATE Pillsbury cookie dough? It tastes only slightly better than dirty assholes rolled in sugar, at least when compared to homemade cookies. I am able to make my own scratch cookie recipe (so long as I use Pillsbury flour), but there is a convenience bent to this contest, and labor-intensive scratch baking doesn't appeal to the hardcore Pillsbury demographic. Why would it, when you can buy the shit in a log?

Anyway, I am willing to make do using these products. I am an occasional user in fact, but the idea for me has always been to doctor it in such a way as to cover up that dirty asshole flavor inherent almost all of Pillsbury's refrigerated dough products. I plan on sticking to this goal.

Ken, my loyal guinea pig, was not dissuaded by the tartlet flop. He felt the remainder (after the gory brain matter fell out) served as a perfectly suitable monocle. Maybe I am onto something.


Oh sure, many of you out there who know anything about baking might be wondering why I didn't use pie crust.  After all, it doesn't contain leaveners. It's far more stable in the oven and holds its shape. Well, that's just what they would expect, see? Tarts and pie crust go together like the Olsen twins in a shitty movie or Kate Beckinsale and a vinyl catsuit. See, I want to put Phillip Seymour Hoffman in a vinyl catsuit, and I want to do that while making it seem hot. That's how you win prizes for originality and innovation, people. I could try and put the Olsen twins in an Oscar-caliber movie, but I'm not a fucking miracle worker.

Well I realized something tonight as Ken and I ate the failed raspberry-cheese mini tarts: the path to a million bucks is paved with these sorts of mistakes. At least they are tasty ones. I like to fashion myself as a modern-day Thomas Edison. The only difference is he couldn't eat his fuckups.

I'll be trying my next idea tomorrow. Stay tuned.

I don't really go out of my way to make New Year's resolutions. Usually the bullshit that is going on December 31st is there to greet you on the 1st of January, and what could have been started January 2nd could have just as easily been started December 30th. I get that. The turn of a New Year is, if anything, a bit of a cognitive crutch to help us cope with the 365 days of life before it where we could have done so much more. By the time we get to December 31st, we're exhausted and sometimes overwhelmed with our unrealized potential from the last 12 months. We say to ourselves: "I'm going to do better this time!" And sometimes it happens and more often it doesn't.

But I'm not completely immune from that mental crutch. We all need something to give us a morale boost from time to time, and if the flipping of the calendar year does it, then so be it. If I wanted to be a dour realist 24 hours a day, I'd probably have shot myself by now to save you all from my miserable ass. So in the spirit of making changes, my mind has been abuzz with projects and ideas to make 2009 hopefully less sucky than 2008. I guess I'm also feeling a little more driven because I'm turning 30 this year, and I want to enter the new decade with vigor. I know it probably seems trivial to some of you. Many of my friends have passed that milestone by now and are probably rolling their eyes, but that's their journey and this one's mine. I have to make the best of it.

So in that spirit, I've decided to make a few goals that are a little ambitious, but fun and with the potential to be life-changing. They don't all involve writing, either, as those goals are ongoing and change regularly. That, and my life is about more than writing. Spending my days and nights with my head buried in a computer without actually having experiences that fuel my creativity seems counter-productive. While I definitely need more time to work, I also need time not to. I don't know if anyone coined this phrase already, but I figure I'll go ahead and do it anyway: "Live first. Write about it later."

First, the months of January and February will be spent outfitting our garage for semi-living purposes. Because the built-in storage cabinets preclude us from being able to use our garage for parking our cars very effectively, I think we should use that open space for more practical purposes. Starting this month, I plan on organizing things in the cabinets and then covering the floor with some inexpensive indoor/outdoor carpet. I then intend to fill the room with workout equipment. I already have an eliptical trainer, but I want to get Yoga mats, an exercise ball, and some free weights. I'll also be hunting around for an inexpensive weight machine. We have a boombox we can set up out there and plug our MP3 players into. Maybe we could even get a cheap TV/DVD setup. I think having an area of the house dedicated specifically for fitness and for simply just getting away will be good for both Ken and I. The space could also be used for other things eventually. Maybe we could set up a little work table for Ken's computer projects or other hobbies. I think we could make really good use of the space.

Second, I'm thinking of painting a room in the house. Our landlord has given us permission, and I am feeling overwhelmed by all of the whiteness around here. The front room would likely be the first. I was thinking of a greenish color.

Third, I'd really like to do some fun traveling with the family this year that doesn't involve the states of Washington, Oregon, or Ohio. It would be a lot of fun to pack up the car and head out on a road trip to California. Maybe just the northern portion to start. Maybe San Fran. I want to see a new part of the country this year, dammit.

Fourth, I want to go to the local bookstore and start building up a collection of some classics. I read a good deal of them in high school and college, but I've never actually purchased them. I also wanted to get started on some new authors I haven't read at all yet. Particularly Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Cormac McCarthy.

Fifth, I think I'm going to enter the Pillsbury Bake-Off contest. One million dollars is on the line, after all, and the only risk involved is coming up with an original recipe. I already have one or two in mind, actually, but I'm going to brainstorm on some more and start testing them out. I think it would be fun and you never know what could happen! And I have a few people here at the house who would love to be guinea pigs too. I may blog recipes as I come up with them.

Sixth, also on the subject of food, I've been coming up with ideas for other taste tests that I'd like to feature on the Ask Allie blog. I may need some other local mouths for this. I'll let you know as the dates approach.

Seventh, this will be my 10th year in Washington and there are parts of it I've always wanted to see but haven't gotten to yet. I was thinking maybe the San Juan Islands or some spots over on the eastern part of the state may be some good places to start.

And finally, since my aim IS to become a professional writer, I'm going to be polishing up a couple of my short stories and getting them sent off to a few publishers this month and next month. I have Vermin, The Sweet Taste of Revenge, and Mob Mentality. The last of which is the least ready for publication, but it is complete and can probably be done before the end of the first quarter. I have been researching a few small press publishers that may be good avenue to publishing The Last Supper. I simply editing what I have (which is a complete story) and trying to get it published as a stand-alone story. After all, it does stand on its own, even if I do have a plan to one day add to it. It just needs to be edited and polished. I might as well stop procrastinating about it and just do it. I can always return to that universe later. I have some unpolished gems in my treasure chest. It's time to shine them up and see what they're worth.

Those are a few of the plans for 2009. Simple, fun, enriching. I'm not going to set the lofty goal to become rich or drop a bunch of weight (though that would be nice).  I just want to live and live well, especially as the world turns at large turns to crap. That should be easy enough, I think.

It's that time of year again, and Ask Allie presents an analysis from her Gouda years to answer the questions many of you likely have whenever you drive by someone's fully-decked exterior halls. Often times, the question is something like: 'What in the hell was that person thinking??'

As an amateur psychologist wannabe, I have often felt comfortable (perhaps too comfortable) diagnosing people with all manner of mental pathology. It's gotten easier after a good bit of practice. All it takes is a very close examination of a person's tendencies and nuances and a knowledge of some clinical vocabulary.  And in some cases a PhD. But screw that. I don't need a degree to help me figure out you're fucked in the head. Psychologists employ many tools to help gauge people's personalities and diseases of the mind, from administering written tests and inventories, to whipping out the trusty Rorschach inkblots when they feel stereotypically 'shrinky.'

But I'm here to present a more seasonally appropriate way to determine whether someone is suffering from a mental illness, and that is by examining the state of their Christmas light displays. Now, of course, such a test comes equipped with certain drawbacks. For instance, there is not a single shred of scientific verifiability here. Like the Rorschach, the Christmas Light Personality Test (CLPT) is subject to the interpretation of the test-taker, which makes reliability difficult. Still, as far as psychological testing goes, it's the most fun, and that's what we're after here. My goal is to provide you with a basic guide that will help you to become real-life psychoanalysts as you drive through your neighborhood at night during the months of November, December, January... and sometimes March or April. If you live in one of those latter neighborhoods, this test is rendered useless. That is because those citizens are beyond help and you should promptly move very far away from them.

1. The 40-Year-Old Virgin/Anally Retentive/Republican
The minimal, monochromatic display exhibits the decorator's repressed sexuality. If the homeowner is a woman, she likely wears her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and pairs this with long skirts, support hose, and scratchy wool cardigans. The male is equally conservative and regimented in his form of dress and likely is wearing a sweater with a reindeer on it this very second, and he is possibly repressing homosexual tendencies. This house is also abnormally clean and organized.

2. The Anally Expulsive/Meth Addict
The anally-expulsive decorator, as opposed to the anal retentive one, exhibits elements of disorganization and carelessness caused by being very liberally potty-trained as a toddler. In other words, if your parents literally let you play in your own feces, this is how you would likely decorate your house. It is also possible that this person experienced trauma that has forced him or her to regress to the age of five, when such an electrical mishmash would have been the ultimate display of a Wintertime Fantasy. Or, and this is the more likely explanation, this person strung up this chaotic disarray in the midst of a 4-day ride on the dragon.

3. The Projectionist
After intense study of the light image being displayed on this home, I can determine that this person will engage in a defense mechanism whereby they insist that you are a tacky, retarded individual who puts crappy, amateur Christmas decorations on your house. The reality is they are really just talking about themselves.

4. The Matrix
This decorator was presented with a red pill, which would extract him from a computer-generated mind program designed to enslave humanity, and a blue pill which would make him blissfully ignorant of the 'real world.' He eventually chose the blue pill, but his subconscious mind continues to replay buried memories of his experiences fighting bad guys called Agents, and looking at the world through a cascade of computer code, which is manifested by the above light display.

5. The Compensator
Penis, stature, bank account. You name it. No one puts this many lights on their home unless they are trying to make up for a bevy of inadequacy elsewhere.

6. The Acrophobic
The untouched second story indicates that this decorator was too afraid to install lights up above, likely due to a fear of heights. Either that, or the house is occupied by midgets. Midgets afraid of heights. Or midgets without a ladder. Perhaps both.

7. The Dissociative Identity
The disproportionately large numbers of inflatable and light-up figures in this person's yard suggests a subconscious expression of the decorator's myriad of personalities. The large snowman in the middle represents the dominant personality, suggesting that the person is rather cold-hearted and vulnerable to change, particularly in temperature.

8. Dashed Hopes
The decorator aimed high, yet encountered an insurmountable obstacle, rendering the once ambitious display incomplete. Or, maybe the person who was hanging the lights suffered at the hands of a rickety ladder, and the surviving spouse decided to light the remainder as a tribute to the fallen.

9. Gender Confusion
The decorator of this home is a transvestite. Here we witness the subconscious struggling with the masculine rigidity of the blue lights and the feminine flamboyance of the multi-colored festivity bedecking the window.

10. The Phallus
Need I say more?

Shannon from Ohio asks: Are liberals more intelligent and more open to things than conservatives? Why or why not?

Ask Allie is going to attempt to tread very dangerous waters to answer this question, although she will say first and foremost that it's almost impossible to qualify a satisfying response without venturing into the world of stereotypes. If we want to just speak anecdotaly, I can point to equal numbers of drooling fucktards on both sides of the political spectrum. I can also point to an equal number of intellectual thinkers. And remember, just because you don't agree with someone's viewpoint doesn't automatically mean those people are mentally deficient. After all, if someone disagrees with you, I'm quite sure you wouldn't appreciate them referring to you as a stupidhead.

It's not one's political preference alone that is illustrative of one's intelligence. It's the level of their devotion to it. I have found that ideologues (blind partisans) are far less open-minded, and if you are not open-minded, then you are generally less-educated. And if you are less-educated, then you are more likely to be a twit.

I have made this quote numerous times, but I will make it again. Aristotle once said: "It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it." And using this as our guide, I am inclined to believe that those who preach a strict adherence to one side over another are not engaging in critical thinking; they've become intellectually lazy. They forget that information and beliefs often have to be re-examined to check for relevance and accuracy if one wants to remain current. They forget that they have to read. They forget that there is very little wiggle room between a member of PETA and a member of the Christian Coalition. Even though they usually fall on opposite sides of the political spectrum, both have skewed their existences to one very narrow, extreme view. Both have let their capacities for logic be clouded by their passions. It doesn't take intellectual energy to be a zealot. In fact, it takes a sort of intellectual desperation, a willingness to cling to that which pacifies one's pre-existing insecurities. Being passionate makes them feel like they have a purpose, a direction, but they don't question anything because they fear that a little bit of analysis will mean they were wrong. These types of people exist in every political party, in every walk of life.

That analysis aside, let's back up and talk about public perception of both major parties. Indeed, social and media trends would show that Democrats are now courting the more "intellectual" base of voters. The white collar class is actually donating and voting Democrat 5-1 in some cases. Phrases coming from the right like "liberal elite" and "latte liberal" and the conservative movement's increasing disdain for academia and their elevation of "Joe the Plumber" to superstar status would indicate that Republicans are currently eschewing intellectualism and embracing the "every man."

The recent campaign of John McCain was almost absurd in its attempts to glorify cavemen racists and troglidytes, the types of people who would ordinarily be shunned by all facets of a rational society. But that was political strategy more than an indication of the intelligence level of a political party. McCain courted those people because the majority of his regular base had already either jumped ship or were at least thinking about it. He was simply left with the dregs.

Ultimately, it's important to keep in mind that what you see in the political arena (especially from the politicians themselves)  is not so much a thoughtful representation of what these people are actually about. You see instead a dueling of mirror images. Republicans didn't start courting the anti-intellectual crowd because they value brainless simpletons. They did it because Democrats kept annointing aloof brainiacs like Michael Dukakis, Al Gore, and John Kerry. The only logical counter-punch would be to appeal to the exact opposite; the everyday folks from Middle America who feel abandoned and misrepresented by elitist coastal politics. George W. Bush was the "Texas Rancher" answer to John Kerry's "Millionaire Windsurfer." Of course, it didn't matter that George W. Bush is really from Connecticut, is the member of one of the most politically active families in the nation, and attended Yale. He just didn't act like it.

But the Republican Party is now taking it from both ends. They've ostracized the professional class by telling them that they're no longer needed, by engaging in class warfare (the "Liberal Elites" vs "Joe Sixpack"). They have also stuck it to the blue-collar/working class by refusing to address the economic issues that are affecting them. They have instead become a party that doesn't value sophisticated thought like the Lincolns and the Churchills and the Eisenhowers of their ideological past. As a result, the party has evolved into a refuge for those who govern with their "guts" rather than with their brains. For an excellent pastiche of this, I recommend watching Stephen Colbert.

This strategy (and that's all it is -- strategy, not stupidity) has had the unfortunate effect of painting the Republican Party as one of stunted intelligence. And people like Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter certainly don't help this picture become prettier. If you want some examples of more thoughtful conservative intellectuals, look to the writings of William F. Buckley, Irving Kristol, and even Newt Gingrich. No, you may not agree with their views, but they are FAR more learned than the intellectual twats (Sean Hannity, Bill O'Reilly) that are representing the right in the mass media. If you want an example of what the last decent Republican used to look like, look no further than Barry Goldwater.

Just remember that all of this is subject to change. Once the Republicans nominate someone who appeals to intellectuals, it will be your turn to see the Democrats regress to Neanderthal status to get elected. Politics are anything but static.

Ian from Colorado asks: I'm thinking about removing myself from the Microsoft teat once and for all and running Ubuntu on my next system. How easy will it be for me to make the transition from Windows to a Linux-based system?

Allie's Note: Occasionally, Allie will receive a question that even a large amount of crack research will not be able to help her answer in a timely or compelling manner. Some subjects require years of experience and interest in order to develop even a passing level of expertise. When it comes to things like operating systems, Allie is a veritable idiot and has no real reason or desire to improve upon that. But as it happens, she married a nerdy fella who is more than qualified to answer this question! So here is Kenny, from the What the Heck is Happening Here universe, to wax geeky with you all. Thanks Kenny!

So you want to see what it would be like to jump into Linux?  You are in luck, and the longer you wait, the easier it will be.  Many people before you have been asking the same question, and have gotten a lot of the hard stuff out of the way to make your Linux audition as painless as possible.

Let me first say that I'm no Linux expert, but I work with some.  While I'm no Windows expert either, I am pretty dangerous with it, and am generally good at bending it to my will.  My experience with Linux has mostly been in two applications: Running Mythbuntu on our HTPC (that would be Home Theater PC for those not knowing), and Knoppix via Live CD on my desktop system.

While the number of downloadable Linux distributions is really hard to count, there are a number of them that 'lead the pack' for simplicity and ease of use.  While I'm sure there are some that would disagree, many would still say that Knoppix and Ubuntu are among the easiest to jump into.  Knoppix has a lot of fans because it is ideally suited for use without actually installing it on your hard drive.  You can try out all the software from the CD.  Ubuntu can be had with similar features, but is generally geared more toward people looking for ease of use.  Many developers use Ubuntu to build customized versions to suit specific purposes.  Mythbuntu is a distribution of Ubuntu that integrates MythTV, a set of client & server software for recording and playback of TV and other media.

Anyone having an established a suite of software they prefer to use with a machine running Windows would be curious if they could run the same (or similar) software under Linux.  The answer is that you probably can.  These days, many types of software are written for both Windows and Linux, and if they aren't, the probability is high that the software can be installed and run by WINE, a software application that allows software written for Windows-based systems to run on Linux.  There are people working every day to make WINE compatible with the latest and greatest software.  To make it better, there are MANY knock-off programs tailored to look like your favorite applications that offer the same or better functionality.  As a 'last resort,' you can also boot and run Windows as a virtual machine for the most difficult of applications.

The next big question would be, 'Will my iPod/Sansa/MP3 player work with Linux?'  That can get a little tricky, and for some people this can be a good reason to have a machine that can still boot and run Windows natively (rather than virtually).  Most players that don't require extra software to manage tracks will connect to a Linux system with no problem.  iPods can be a different issue, due to hardware & software problems using the latest version of  iTunes  in WINE or virtualized Windows.  This is really only a problem if you are a big fan of shopping for DRM protected music from the iTunes store.  If you are feeling adventurous, you can set up your iPod as a dual-boot device, where it will boot to linux and play nice with your Linux system.

Do you have other hardware, like scanners, printers, digital camcorders, or modems?  They'll most likely work just fine as well.

The best part about auditioning Linux is that you have control of how it is done.  You can run it from a CD, DVD, flash drive, or your hard disk, and you don't have to impact any OS you might already have installed on your system.  Download an image and try it yourself, or ask where to find a Linux system at your local computer retailer.  Chances are, they have at least one.