December 18, 2005

Lost In Translation

Some writers are gifted enough to just draft a post and hit “publish” but I rarely do that. I’m too anal. I like to sleep on a column before I let the whole world read it, and often I like to have at least one other person read a draft, too.

My best sounding board is my hip friend in L.A. He’s a writer, and we’ve known each other since college. He’s been with the blog before it was a blog. In fact, he gets credit for the birth of the blog. He always has good insight, so if I’m in doubt about something I’ve written, I’ll shoot a draft to him first and ask what he thinks.

The problem is, he’s so cool and far away that his lifestyle plus the time zone difference means that about the time I’ve tucked the boys in, written something up and am dying of exhaustion, he’s just winding up at work and beginning what I imagine to be his very exotic nightlife. Or maybe he unexpectedly jetted off to a foreign land. So if I don’t hear back from him in an hour or so, I conclude he’s hanging with the glitterati, and I look for another proofreader.

Usually my only option is Bill.

In some ways that’s good. He knows my characters intimately. Often he’s seen the activity being described, or was a participant, or got a crazed phone call from me while I was experiencing it. But I wouldn’t call him my average reader. Overall, he’s proud of me and my blog, but he’s not into the blog scene at all.

Some posts that garnered lots of comments didn’t impress him at all. His favorite posts are Hey Piss?, Tackled By Football, and of course, the sex talk. He doesn’t like the stories he thinks are “too chicky” like You Vamp and Waxing Woes: Product Review (”why would you post ugly pictures of yourself?” he wondered.)

Before I posted Elf Invasion, I got him to proof it.

“Would you mind reading this?” I asked, handing him the paper. “Even if you don’t think it’s funny, you’ll get a good idea of what two thirds of your children did today.”

“Hand it over,” he said, and he took it and reluctantly put down his Sports Illustrated.

I stayed near him while he read, but tried not to hover because he made it very clear a few months ago that he won’t proof if I’m hanging over his shoulder pointing out the lines that should evoke a chuckle from my target reader.

He started reading, and then he stopped and let out a big guffaw.

“Whoo!” he said, and started laughing. That’s all he could say for a while.

“What?” I asked, creeping closer, hoping I had written something really hilarious.

“Honey,” he said when he caught his breath, “why did you call the pile of presents from the Dollar Store ‘Christmas booty’?”

“You know– booty, like treasure or loot,” I explained.

“Honey, I know about ‘booty’ in the context of pirates, but when you stick that word in here without mentioning Captain Hook or pieces of eight, I think of a different kind of booty. It’s the kind you’ve got all year, but at this time of year I like to refer to it as ‘Christmas booty’,'” he said, trying to pinch my ass.

“Cut that out,” I snapped, slapping his hand away. “Have you even read the rest of the column?”

“No,” he said. “Once I started thinking about Christmas booty I couldn’t really concentrate anymore.”

Booty, holiday or otherwise, wasn’t on the menu that night, and it was with great difficulty that I got Bill to refocus on the story of his children and the elf. He finally made it through the story and said it was fine, but that he thought I should write a column using “booty” in its proper context.

“I’m not going to write about pirates,” I said firmly.

“I’m not asking you to write about pirates,” he said suggestively.

“You’re impossible,” I huffed.

“Hey, it’s not just me,” he protested. “You talk about these other guys, like MetroDad and Dad Gone Mad, and even though they’re bloggers, and into cyberspace and html and stuff, I bet when they get to the word “booty” they’re gonna forget all about the elf ornament and start thinking about JLo and Beyonce.”

I’d like to point out that not one of those men, or any men at all, have commented on the presence of “Christmas booty” in that post.

If you see a post titled “Have a Bootylicious Holiday” you should assume that Bill has hijacked the computer and taught himself how to blog. In that case, please send help immediately.

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Shout Outs- I’ve been meaning to give a shout out to my readers at Second Ponce! (Don’t worry OCP3, I’m not ignoring you.)