Friday, August 24, 2012

Taste My Genius!




 Wish I had a panda shirt.



Now that my MA program has finally ended my mind is free to drift towards other pursuits, as is its sexy wont.  I have been getting back into writing:  editing my first book and working on turning my second book up to 11.  It's nice to have the time for fiction writing again between the 48 meetings I have daily as part of my new role as MS Coordinator/iron fist of sexy justice.


My new office is kick ass.


To celebrate that, I wrote a new story.  Super short, as my stories have become over the years.  One might call it refinement, but one should probably just call it abject laziness.  Since my short story collections (available here!  Hee hee) have sold a whopping 23 copies, I thought it'd be cool to make some available here to mark the occasion: me delivering a new masterpiece into the frothing, sweaty hands of my massive fanbase.  So below I have included my two most recent tales.  Read if you'd like.  If you hate them, no worries.  If they give you an author crush, feel free to send me tokens of esteem in the form of beer or small packets of gummy beers.  Either way, I always love feedback, so tell me how great I am, or how much my writing reminds you of why some people SHOULD have their dreams crushed.  Enjoy!

Story one:
Siren's Song
A story about growing up, dreams, and smoke machines.  A bit PG 13.


Story two:
The Speed of Light
Love, loss, and (possibly) samosas.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Rockin' at Wacken!

21 years, and I was finally there.  It was worth the wait.  And the beer prices.


So I am back from Wacken, dear reader, and what can I say, other than  . . . well, how could I even encapsulate the experience for you guys?  Words fail me.  My own wit cowers at the challenge, bringing to mind the awkward shower scene from Mad Science.   Anything I say couldn't do it justice.  I could mention the bands I saw: Opeth, Hammerfall, Saxon, Volbeat, Napalm Death, Paradise Lost, In Flames . . . The Scorpions.  The list would go on into the night, like a vintage Van Halen guitar solo.  Suffice to say, oh man, I saw some bands, ladies and gentleman.


I saw some bands indeed- had some beers, ate great food, got covered in mud, and was pleasantly reminded of the outfits most woman wear to metal concerts . . . glad some things haven't changed since my far gone youth.


Did I mention they had wrestling?


What more could any man want?


It was probably one of the greatest times of my life, and considering I once spent New Years on a tropical beach with two Russian women who spoke like 10 words of English (mostly used up by the phrase "You want me buy you beer now?" ) that is definitely saying something.


Dimmu Borgir (with full orchestra . . . so good) kicked at least 2 tons of ass.


There were times when I was overwhelmed with simply the thought of being there- the realization that I had finally made it to Wacken would at times move me to either happy tears or manic headbanging.  I felt like a kid in a candy store.


A sexy, leather clad candy store.


A candy store filled with heavy metal Amazons and drunken Vikings.


A candy store where beautiful people will talk metal with you for hours, even when your feet look like this:

Sometimes, dear reader, metal is kind of gross.



So how do I sum up this experience?  How can I impart that sense of transcendence, ecstasy, fervor, the wonderful feeling of belonging at Wacken?  Easy enough- I will tell a story.


It was Sunday morning at 7am- I had left Wacken at 2:30 to depart for the Hamburg airport and made the plane with about 40 minutes to spare, still covered in the scattered flotsam of heavy metal rage.  Probably reaking of beer, but most definitely covered in mud (I didn't have the time to clean off my feet from the picture above- I went for a quick rubdown in the airport bathroom but by then they had dried), and having a 15 hour journey back to Congo to look forward to (I started working the next day- sweet) I spent a moment taking in the plane.  It was mostly empty, thank the gods, but about three rows back was a large man, wearing a black wife beater, with tattoos covering his burly arms.  He had what I thought at first glance to be a topknot on his head but when I looked closer I saw his scalp had been heavily bandaged.  There was a fine trickle of blood running from underneath the bandage and descending down his chin.  His eyes were barely open but I could see he was wearing the Wacken bracelet on his wrist.


He looked up at me and nodded towards my soiled feet.


(As an aside, it is now two weeks later and my toenails are still black.  Heavy metal don't come off easy.)


"Wacken?"  He asked.


I laughed and nodded.


"Wacken."


He smiled and pointed at the blood running down the left side of his face.


I shrugged.


"Wacken?"


He smiled again.


"Wacken!"


And that, delicious reader, is why Wacken was awesome.


Saturday, August 11, 2012

Master of the Universe

So dignified.  And tan.  Tanified.


All has certainly not been quiet on the Lippart front, dear reader.  I hit Wacken last week for the first time in my sexy life (never fear, next update will include some awesome stories- I promise).  Two days prior to that, however, an equally momentous, thought not nearly as kick ass, event occurred.


I received my MA degree in Educational Administration.   This took me three years and gives me the thunder needed to (hopefully) get an admin job at a school.  I am going to be looking for either a vice principal gig or a position as Dean of Thuganomics, depending on the pay scale.  This is my second MA (no big deal, haha.  My first was in Eastern Philosophy, which explains my lightning quick wit and love of loose trousers), but the first that I got to "help my career" instead of "pick up hippies in bars with Lao Tzu quotes".


Since there is no fancy term for someone with two Master's degrees (other than dangerous layabout), I wasn't sure what suitable pompous name I could give myself to celebrate this accomplishment, until young Eli presented me with the greatest graduation present of all time:



Best spelling of "graduation" ever.



And He-Man was one of the coolest 80's cartoon heroes of all time, so I think I'll go with it.  


I wouldn't say I am proud of getting that degree, but it's definitely a relief.  It was a long three years.  I met great people and had wonderful, unforgettable times (except the ones I forgot because I was too hammered), but it's nice to have that piece of paper.  I think I'll spend a week with it nuzzled softly against my chest to be whipped out at inappropriate times.  We'll see.


Oh, and I was given the chance to speak at graduation.  It was great.  I got to show the world my sexy charisma (wrapped up in a Jersey accent) and it was the first public performance I had a chance to give since the Poland rager fell through.  If any want to check it out, a fellow classmate posted the majority of the speech on Youtube, so feel free to check it out below:







Our school year starts on Monday- hence the short update.  More to come this week, I promise, including an incite into why no one should ever go to a heavy metal festival wearing flip flops.  Oh god- My feet are STILL dirty.