Belatedly -- I always seem to be behind in these things -- a friend sent me the latest winner in the annual Bulwer-Lytton contest. This contest honors Victorian writer Edward Bulwer-Lytton, master of genuinely bad prose. The goal is to write the worst opening sentence possible for a novel. Fortunately, you don't have to write the entire novel.) This year's winner is
Jim Guigli, of Carmichael, California:
"Detective Bart Lasiter was in his office studying the light from his one small window falling on his super burrito when the door swung open to reveal a woman whose body said you've had your last burrito for a while, whose face said angels did exist, and whose eyes said she could make you dig your own grave and lick the shovel clean."
I love it.
On a more practical level, my son Brian has helped set me up with Google Talk and a headset, so that I can use my computer to talk to people in the United States while I'm teaching in Germany this fall. Now, however, ALL sound from the computer comes over the headset. When not on my head, it will be just lying there on my desk and suddenly announce in muffled tones "You've Got Mail." It sounds like I'm being lugubriously informed of this from under three feet of water. Ah, technology.