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Saturday, October 11th, 2008
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12:08 am - Brilliance
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| Friday, October 3rd, 2008
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10:51 pm - I'm out.
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I'm at Disneyland, which is why I'm ignoring you. I should be back on Wednesday.
The Magic Kingdom > You
(except those people who know otherwise)
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, September 21st, 2008
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8:05 pm - Wild ride
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The most eventful week I can remember, since...well, ever. By standard measures, it's fair to say that it began last Sunday (with an ominous prelude hitting home on Saturday), but there has been enough going on that I can't call the whole thing over. These things happen in fairly predictable patterns, and they always involved a breakdown (or sudden unavailability) of my current vehicle, the kaputting of my computer, a sizable change to my career, an adjustment to my roster of friends, and the depletion of all of my bank accounts to the single or low double digits. During this period, some very interesting changes usually occur, some old scores get settled, and the outcome is usually for the better, but why tempt fate?
And before anybody says anything about keeping a positive outlook, keep in mind that forgetting my birthday, forgetting where I live, and forgetting what color my eyes are, are things that other people consider insults. Not me. Completely forgetting who I am is the thing that sandpapers my tender bits, so please, don't give me cause to think that you've done so.
No. You may not have details. Mine. Mine mine mine. Instead, deal with some old Ask Doctor Daves that have been building up.
Dear Doctor Dave;
How much would wood a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Mike, ID
Dear Mike,
Six.
Dear Doctor Dave
I've been single for three years. I know a lot of women and they tell me I'd make a great boyfriend and they keep giving me advice on how to meet women but I still can't meet any. I go to the library and I go to church and I do dating sites but I still can't meet anyone. What am I doing wrong?
Kraft American Single in Texas
Dear Cheese,
Well, I can see what you're doing wrong right now. Don't ever listen to women for advice on how to meet women. It's like asking a person who spends all day playing minesweeper what his motherboard's front side bus speed is. They may move their mouths and make sounds, but so do cows, and I'm not going to them for advice on configuring my network. Nothing against women, of course, but their exposure to the male courtship approach generally relies on the having men come up to them and start hitting on them while they're at the supermarket. This barbaric and impersonal practice conditions women to accept only what comes to them. They don't study the social interactivity the way people on the outside of it (i.e. guys like you) do, because they're too busy being hit on to notice the nuances. Besides, even if they knew, they wouldn't want to make their gender look bad by being honest. Let me stress again that this is not the rule, but merely the norm.
My advice to you (even though you technically didn't ask for it on this subject) is first to stop believing that people who have a gall bladder automatically know the best way to handle it when things go wrong. Get out somewhere. Go somewhere new, somewhere off the internet, and most importantly, a place where you are likely to see the same people over and over. Join a book club that you would otherwise have no interest in. Volunteer for something. Ask to meet the families of your friends from time to time, some of them may have hot sisters.
Dear Dr Daveman
What is it about sex that changes a man?
Trish in Lodi
Dear Presumed Fellow Californial Trish,
Tough question, being so vague. There are a lot of changes that happen to a man after (and sometimes during) sex. The change usually has to do with the kind of sex it was. I break them into three major categories: Love sex, conquest sex, and chemical sex. Chemical sex is the easiest to work with, because it has nothing to do with you. The juices were flowing, the juices needed an outlet, you were there, and that's as complicated as it needs to be sometimes. I'd go ahead and call this the majority of sex between married people.
Conquest sex is only a little bit more involved, primarily because there are standards to it. You don't have to be more than a four, you only have to be there, with the necessary equipment (boobies and a vagina, or even just a vagina if you catch them at the right time, for those of you who actually had the brass tacks to wonder). And be willing. And sometimes, even that's not an issue. Conquest sex is about the part of the male brain dedicated to spreading the experiences around (and perhaps their itchy rashes). If you think that's piggish and morally reprehensible, bear in mind that it's for the survival of the species, so lighten up. The reason Russ isn't calling you back is because the continuation of the human race may one day depend on the genetic predisposition to get a "No Fat Chicks" tattoo on his underbelly and then get jiggy with overweight girls just to be ironic. He's not going to develop staying power before you develop standards, honey.
Love sex is the fabled city of gold that sounds a whole lot more pleasant than it actually is. Not only will the sudden impact on the precious metals market cripple the other businesses that once relied on gold distribution, but the financial investment required to protect it from unscrupulous global entrepreneurs would probably bankrupt you before you were able to get your Yukon's rims sized. Plus, you can't really eat gold, so after the economic collapse you cause, you won't be able to trade anything for what you really need.
What that was intended to mean is that if you broke it, you bought it. Once you get love sex from a man, his attention, his neuroses, and the depths of his dedication are yours to endure. Love sex doesn't change a man, it simply changes your role with him. Sometimes, he'll officially consider you a part of himself and start treating you like he treats himself. Trust me, this can be a completely horrible thing if your man doesn't have the self-esteem you think he does. Sometimes, love sex will produce an absolutely intolerable amount of devotion, and in many cases, dependence, because you've filled one fundamental void, and you will be expected to solve several more problems than that one.
The most underestimated thing that love sex can do, though, is validate a man's mistaken beliefs about a woman (or a man, hey, I don't judge, I'm just using women because they're a more classic example). It can make him think that she's something she's not, and either she'll do or say something eventually to show him that his faith and love were misplaced in a horrible and life-altering conflict, or he'll have his illusion chipped away, bit by bit, day by day, in the slowest and most agonizing way possible as both parties involved sink into the sad realization that short of a horrible and life-altering conflict, the only hope is to email some dope on the internet. Man, do I hope that's not you! =D
If that's what you're looking for, though, I know a guy in Texas.
Now for some personal ones.
Dear Doctor Dave
How did you learn all this stuff?
Chas, NS
Dear Chas
MacGyver taught me.
Dear Doctor Dave,
Whats the bigest lie u ever told
Jessika, ONT
Dear Jessika,
The one I just told Chas.
Dear "Dr" Dave...
Do u even no what ur talking about???
anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
Of course I do. I'm on the internet.
Dear Doctor Dave
Is there anything you DON'T know?
Alison, NY
Dear Alison,
Yes. These things are as follows:
1) Exactly what sagging represents to the people who do it
2) The square root of cheese
3) How bacon can be so awesome
4) Who can explain string theory without sounding stupid ("The reason that we can't see these dimensions is that they're very small..." Come on.)
But trust me, I'm working on all of these things.
Big love.
current mood:  exhausted
current music: Metallica - Fixxxer
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(6 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, July 12th, 2008
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5:03 pm - Whew
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One hundred fifty crunches, eighty push-ups, and twenty standard sit-ups. What's going on? Do I suddenly just not have an outlet for my energy anymore? Did my three shitty work weeks boost my metabolism? I didn't even sufficiently wear myself out. A couple of weeks ago, I was barely able to do twenty push-ups.
Went to see Hellboy 2 and Wanted. I went into Wanted expecting a whole heapin' helping of flashy bullshit that insulted the intelligence. I went to see Hellboy 2 for a moderately interesting bunch of scenes with a routine amount of imagination, just to see something slightly different, maybe a twist or two. Well, I got what I expected on both counts, just...reversed. Hellboy 2 sold out big time, and in some parts, was hard to watch without wincing at the dialogue. I was similarly shocked to find an enjoyable plot in Wanted, which, yes, lost track of any meaning the title had about fifteen minutes into it.
I think I might be out of games to play. I'm indulging in the original Toejam and Earl, but that won't last. Same for F.E.A.R.: The Perseus Mandate, and that entertains me, but fails to capture me. Also, I get motion sick playing it sometimes. Sometimes, not at all. But I might have to just go ahead and buy a PS3 to keep myself entertained. I Gameflied Splinter Cell, but it's a matter of having to know where everyone and everything is, so basically, you have to memorize everything, and the save points aren't generous, so you have to do everything over and over and over as you learn where the things later down the line are. I need a new game before I'm forced to either march down the Romance of the Three Kingdoms path (sucking me up for weeks at a time), or shell out the five hundred bucks for a used PS3, because goddammit, I need one with the Emotion Chip. I'm not paying that much without backward compatibility. No. Fuck you.
I've also revised m'book. It's going to a local friend here, then, for the love of crap, I'm going to make sure Dimitri finally gets it.
Also, I was previously exposed to askaninja.com and was not impressed, but some of them are freakin' awesome, and the guys doing it have started putting a lot more effort and creativity into it. They get my kudos.
[EDIT] I just found out the History Channel has a new show called Jurassic Fight Club. I don't care who you are, what you've done, or whom you know, you will never, ever be able to match the metric ton of awesome that the idea of Jurassic Fight Club weighs. Not with pirates, not with ninjas.
It says "exhausted" back there, but I'm about ready to hit the floor again and wear myself out again. Peace out, m'loves.
current mood: exhausted
current music: Still Nightwish - Ghost Love Score
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, July 11th, 2008
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5:33 pm - There's no "inspired" feeling...is that just the LJ client?
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My fall
will be for you.
My love
will be in you.
You were the one to cut me
so I will bleed forever.
I don't know why, but that verse cuts right the hell into me. It might be the way it's sung, or the way it's performed on the End of an Era DVD, but I can't think of it without getting all misty-eyed. I also hear the first two lines out of order. 'sweird. It's also creepy to see that this performance on the DVD was so beautiful, and was the last non-encore performance Tarja did before she was forcibly removed from the band.
Also, I would like to confirm that I have, in fact, developed a childish puppy-love for Gina Carano. Muay Thai fighters normally aren't my thing, but she has this strange glow to her that draws me in. Charisma out the wazoo. It's not even an "I want to marry her and have babies" thing, it's more like a "let me gawk at you" type of thing. I'm not going to use the C-word to describe it, because that's her name on American Gladiators and I hate making bad puns. I will say that on the subject of American Gladiators, I really miss Fury. She had style, and made the show fun to watch. Watching Gina pulverize the shit out of people just isn't fair to them. Come to think of it, it's kind of unfair that she's even a gladiator.
'nuff about what's inspiring me. Here's what's bothering me:
It's too hot in Sacramento.
Ugh. I mean, it was bad enough before the state caught fire and a cloud of ash started sealing in the sun's rays. Yugh. Today, for some reason, it's strangely tolerable.
Also, I need a third roommate because Chad's a cheap bitch. Anybody? Jess, come on over, I know you'd like me to be your sugar daddy. Jamie, we have an army to raise. Evasaurus, I need your mayhem down here. ALLIE. BE WITH YOUR HUBBY. Or D'leenz...you're old enough to get a job now, right? Be down here, where all the concerts happen.
current mood:  enthralled
current music: Nightwish - Ghost Love Score
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, June 28th, 2008
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4:58 pm - So, like, yeah, and stuff.
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Okay.
Work has been shit. Stable shit, but the kind of shit that doesn't allow you to actually go somewhere and shit. You're four seconds from your desk before somebody grabs you and needs your help or they will perish and die. Normally, this would be the kind of thing I would have no scruples about shrugging off and allowing somebody to burn in their own fire, but these are people's careers I'm managing, so I suck it up and bust my own ass. I've missed lunch a couple of times, because damn it, we're just too busy.
I've actually gotten two parking tickets because I got so busy that I forgot to go out and move my car. Combined, they're about a seventy-dollar idiot tax. I have another one for $85 that I haven't paid from long ago, because in California, you can't park in a two-hour parking zone for an hour, park somewhere else for three hours, and then come back to anywhere in that parking zone...and by "parking zone," I mean "street." Move a block down, and you're screwed. Move ten feet to turn a corner, and you're fine. The parking ticket situation in downtown Sacramento is universally regarded as shit.
But what I'm really here to say is that I saw Don't Mess With Zohan, and Wall-E. One thing I've noticed about the majority of Adam Sandler movies is that you forget how much fun they are to watch until you're watching a new one. He lacks the kind of charisma that leaves you with a pleasant feeling when you think about it afterward, but I really enjoyed the many levels to be found in this movie. The comedy was solid and only dabbled in the standard appeal-to-the-mindless-masses retardation. It was there, but not long enough to make you roll your eyes and go "this again?", separating it from many a Mike Myers movie (the comic, not the killer). Obviously not to be seen if you take offense at all to any joke based on any Middle Eastern nationality, behavior, or stereotype.
Wall-E, on the other hand....
...well, let's talk for a moment about faith. Those of you who know anything about me know that I don't have any room in my life for faith. Hell, those of you who are familiar with Amber and how I kept letting her back into my life know that I don't need faith in anything to appreciate life. Interplay made Fallout and Fallout 2, and they...well, they got raped and pillage. SSA made the original Pool of Radiance series, and they were bought and gutted by Wizards of the Coast. Even Reese's dabbled in those fluffy whipped low-fat bars, and come to think of it, they haven't put out anything good since Nutrageous, and they're really, really on a roll with putting out shit lately. Even Genndy Tartakovsky had...hey, know why? Let's leave Genndy Tartakovsky the hell out of this.
(By the way, I am terribly sad that he will not be involved in the new animated Clone Wars movie.)
Anyway, I am not a man of faith. I deal with what I have, and I make choices based on what is likely. If something is regular, solid, and "reliable," I will make use of it, but I don't get emotionally attached. Sometimes, a super hero movie is Iron Man, and sometimes, it's Elektra. I'll lament that I spent two hours watching something, but I'll get over it, and I'll note, for the future, who and what was involved in the movie, so that I can avoid it in the future.
But Pixar really, really, fuckin' really has me. Toy Story. Toy Story 2. The Incredibles. Monsters, Inc. Stories that use animation as a medium, not as a product. Cars and Ratatouille could have just as easily been done with computer-assisted live action, but to them, the goal seems to be to present as much human emotion and meaning as possible while simultaneously staying as far away from the direct human element as possible. A very strong case can be made that this was their entire focus for Wall-E, almost to the exclusion of all other goals.
And you know what? It got me about as close to actually crying in a movie theater as I've ever been.
Well, not counting the abortion that The Punisher was, but this was because it was beautiful, not because it was shitting over every hope I had of walking out of the movie theater satisfied.
Less is more, and this movie might very well have been made to prove that. It strips away the distracting factors and the unnecessary expositions to expose the source code, the hidden core of what brings us to the movies and draws us in. Sure, there are slips in this from time to time, but they're not nearly frequent enough to stop you from seeing that Pixar can goddamned well get you to care for a dirty metal box than most studios can get you to care for a sexually abused orphan infant with AIDS.
Pixar has my faith, and has had it since I sat down to see a movie with a premise that I thought was absolutely dull. I respected them after Toy Story 2, but after Finding Nemo, I saw that no matter how the story initially strikes me, they can breathe life into it and make me care, and I grew some faith. Wall-E repaid me for that faith in spades, and if Pixar ever truly lets me down, I will be crushed. Just like I was crushed when I walked out on The Wild after ten minutes, and was still, for some reason, thinking Pixar was behind it. Good thing I took a closer look at the poster when I got outside.
I tell you, I just about lost it at "activating security camera."
And for those of you who are going to see the movie soon, I offer this advice: Watch for mice. Don't be afraid to giggle your ass off.
Now, if The Dark Knight is as good as the first one, my summer will be complete already.
Well, it would help if I could get more done on the second book. I'm 250 pages into it, which, by the first one's standards, is about halfway into it, and though I don't like the proportion's match to where the plot stands right now, that's probably pretty accurate. I'd like some feedback on it, be even my old fan club has been too busy for the past six months to do any reading on it. Damn it, I gave them the super-secret chapter they demanded, and this is how they repay me? I will murder them all. "They" just being Jen and Jenna, this is not going to be a long murder spree.
current mood:  grateful
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, May 7th, 2008
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6:01 pm
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Word up.
Been a while.
For the record, and because people will ask, I’m doing fine financially. I work for the state, and they’re paying me decently.
As for where I’ve been, my life has been pretty heavily invested lately. See, normally, I’m torn between the games that are out now and the games I rediscovered while I was bored while waiting for the new games to come out, so there are either two or three things catching my interest at all times. Lately, though, there are a few more, and they’re rather...well, they’re the each-you-alive variety of time consumption. On the mental table right now, I have:
1) Silent Hill: Origins
2) Command and Conquer 3: Kane’s Wrath
3) The original Command and Conquer timeline games, and Red Alert 1
4) GIRLFRIEND
5) The brain-asploding fatigue factor of work
6) Studying for the MCSE, and in that, I mean reading a study guide in order to learn what would normally require twenty thousand dollars worth of school to learn...my roommate is, indeed, paying that much to learn all this, and it’s only because he did that I got my hands on worthy study material
7) Trying to get a fourth roommate
8) Solving the problems that a fourth roommate would create
9) Determining the possibility of moving to a different place because our management’s thumbs are perpetually brown
10) Running my RPG again
11) Trying to finish editing a 636-page novel
12) Writing a new novel of indeterminant length, that is currently on page 185 or so and isn’t even really at the meat of the story yet
So I’m busy. Bugger off, you vultures.
No, wait, don’t bugger off. Truth is, I need you. See, I’m heartless and mean until I want you for something. I’m like all men. And all women, come to think of it, you e-a-vil vixens, you. I need proofreaders, yo (see item 12 above). I need to know where I’m making typos, and whether I’m conveying the right impressions about circumstances and so forth. Don’t abandon me just because I abandoned all of you for like a year! It wouldn’t be f....okay, it would be completely fair, but it would be failing to be unfair in my advantage, which, to me, is unfair. World revolves around me, if y’recall. The sun and planets are in on the conspiracy to make it look like it’s not really that way, but don’t be fooled. Aristotle died just days away from being able to conclusively prove that we live in an Egocentric universe.
And yes, I know that somewhere out there is a Mitriphrenial weirdo thinking “Well, if he needs proofreaders, why don’t I have his stinkin’ book yet?” This is Jess’s fault. She’s hoarding it. Ordering another one would cost me thirty bucks, and I don’t want to pay that until I’m done with the editing. Then he can read at leisure without having to worry about providing feedback. If he still cares. I’m kind of an ass. I mean, I wouldn’t want to read my book.
Anyway, about the proofreading thing, the trick is that you would have to have read the first book to understand anything, so that limits the utter crap out of my options. My two most beloved readers of the first one have dropped off the face of the planet, so they’re no good, and the only other one I can rely on has bronchial pneumonia and has to stay in bed all week. And also has two kids to watch. So I would need someone to read my whole first book and then start in on the second. Unless Cassie wants to provide me with the unreal amount of feedback I require. Hey, people who like to be heard and have your opinions count? This is, like, the first time in the history of the internet that it can make a difference. Seriously, the first. No, forget all that nonsense that the TV is telling you about the online economy and the user-generated revolution. This is the first.
I got an Ask Dr Dave question that I wanted to get to while I’m here, though, so lemme tackle ( this one )
So here's what I've done ( recently )
And that's that.
Big love to all of y'all, even if your opinions differ dramatically from mine. I'm still all about The Love. Yes, capitalized.
current mood:  rushed
current music: Nightwish - End Of All Hope
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(7 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 21st, 2007
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5:20 pm
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Downtown Sacramento is extremely easy to navigate on foot. The streets are laid out on an alphanumeric grid, and there are a lot of stores packed together, centered around the many government buildings that keep the quick-serve restaurants and vendor trays in business. The capitol building where the Governator spends his time is nestled on a block between two parks, a block of state buildings, and a row of small businesses; any time you’d like, you can walk right in, or lie down on the lawn and watch the groups of field-tripping schoolchildren, or go take a drink from one of the fountains. There’s a small mall where all the chains are found, and the rest is left up to the character of the city. There are murals some of the taller buildings, where you might find a painting of a man on a ladder with a guitar, seranading the painted lady who swoons from the painted window.
There’s a section designated “Old Sacramento,” where, between a few streets, the sidewalks are made of wooden boards, the roads are made of stone and dirt, and the train museum and old-tyme-photo-shoppes are to be found. Horses drawing carriages have the right of way, and if you’d like, you can scuttle down to the river and watch the steamboats. That area, too, is store-based, and the saltwater taffy is to die for.
Old Sacramento, modern Sacramento, pedestrians are all over at all hours of the day. That day, I was going to City Hall on my lunch break. I could not believe that I legitimately forgot that I had parked at the beginning of the day in a two-hour zone a few weeks ago, and was incredulously going to pay the idiot tax that I, like a moron, had brought on myself.
As I was coming back, I passed one of the many areas where face-to-face park benches had been bolted down next to the sidewalk, limo-style, and found a crushed rose on the arm rest closest to me. Nobody was around, but there was that rose, looking nothing like it had been abused to punish whatever sentiment it was intended to convey, but rather like it had been beneath somebody’s stack of books, and forgotten in a rush as the owner glanced down at her watch and found that she was late to return to work. Or, perhaps, that a man or boy was late for the date that he was intending to make extra-special with a single red rose, and, in his urgency, packed up his newspaper, grabbed the box of chocolates from the bench, and didn’t look back.
I like to think that it was left behind for the next person. It wasn’t me, as I wouldn’t know what to do with a single flattened rose, but somebody could have taken a seat there, picked up the flower, and mused for as long as it took. Perhaps he or she would keep the flower, and have just a little more self-satisfaction that day, or would carefully open up the petals, run a moment of water over it, and give it to someone else to brighten their day.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, July 30th, 2007
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8:46 pm - Lingual homicide waitin' to happen
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Yeah, so apparently I've officially become that person, who never writes in his LJ anymore, and only does so to point out how long it's been. So I'm going to go ahead and pretend I never left or anything.
Now, here's what's worrying me right now: I just put in a good block of overtime with my boss and the boss of my boss of my boss. Just the three of us, staying late. And I was coming home after all that in the hot hot sun, and as I was turning on to my home street, I sniffed, and realized that I was pretty sweaty, and that I really did smell like sweat.
Complication: It didn't smell like my sweat.
See, I know what my sweat smells like, and that ain't it. It's definitely man-sweat, but for goodness's sake, I am not the homogay. I don't know what was going on there. I was sweating somebody else's sweat.
Enough of that disgustingness. On to the pope.
Yes, the pope! Ol' Joe "Ben" Ratzinger. Yes, the Evil Pope. The one in Nazi Boy Scouts. The one I predicted would be flying around in his popejet gunning people down with a tommy gun. He, uh...well. He shut me up good. I have few words. I remember giving amnesty to Disturbed for covering Genesis's "Land of Confusion" (not to be confused with giving them amnesty for their cover of the song...just for the fact that it was covered; I now avoid acknowledging the band, the cover, and the general demographics of the fan base, as a courtesy to show that they're back at square one with me), but this goes a little beyond. I think this pope actually won me over. No, wait, I'm sure of it. I know, he might just be bowing to the cardinals and their influence because they're under so much pressure, but there are so many other things to fix before they build up the kehonies to go on record with this little gem. This was one hell of a bold step, and it's something I've been saying all along, so more power to Benny 16.
So that this entry can survive the ages after that link dies, lemme remind future-me what I'm talking about in an LJ cut.
( zomgies! )
There you have it. The pope's also a hippy in a big hat and occasionally visits the woods.
Certain things have been bothering me lately. I will share them with you. (On LJ, we know this as "listen to me bitch about stuff")
Okay, look, people. If you hear a word, make sure you fully understand its context before you adopt it. A beeline is not a straight line. It's not a line people make when there's a clear path to what they want. Just look at the word, is all I'm asking. Bee. Line. Lines made by bees are not straight. They wiggle, they waggle, they dance, and use this dance to talk to other bees. If they've landed, they're either looking all over for honey-making supplies, or in the hive, at work. (And of course, I mean female bees who are not the queen, because the queen just makes babies, and the males do nothing but beat the shit out of each other for their chance to break their little bee-penis off in the queen and die from blood loss...true story, read up on the tragic lives of bees.) People don't try to make sense of language before they fuck with it.
Which brings me to fecund. Who is walking this earth right now, or wheelchairing over it, who didn't see this word and immediately think it meant "shitty"? Feces. Shit. Fecund. Of shit. Sure, there's fecal, which also means "of shit," but many words have two or more ways to say them. Like fertile, which has a great many synonyms. It really pains my mind and my soul to know that somebody saw the word, wondered what the fuck it meant, looked it up, and said "Oh, wait, it doesn't refer to shit it all, it means fertile," and began using it in conversation. Let me go ahead and clue you in, this is a CLEAR AND OBVIOUS CASE that you are trying WAY too hard to sound articulate. If you can't find a better, less-shit-implying word than fecund to express the ability to bear children, then you really do need to start thinking that maybe you're that tool who everybody laughs at.
Shall I continue? 'fraid I'm gonna.
People get excited about stupid things. Advertisers know this. This is why you will hear things like "You can get a new Ford Escort for as low as eleven nine ninety nine, ninety ninety nine five five ninety nine ninety fivety ninety five." See, most people would think I'm bitching about how gullible people are in thinking that all those nines keep the price from being a horrible, staggering twelve grand, when really it's just the modest and reasonable eleven grand, nine hundred ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. "Wait, I think I found some change in my couch, suddenly we can afford to buy the car!" No. I'm not on that right now. It's the "as low as" part.
As low as. Meaning....IS. You can get a Ford Escort for eleven ninetyblah. Adding "As low as" just makes people retarded for thinking it means anything. When you're talking about money, As low as = is. As high as = is. As high as, IS THAT HEIGHT.
Oh, here's a good one. "Delivery will take a maximum of four to six weeks." Okay, if you've ever said something like this and meant it, I'm not apologizing for calling you a fucking idiot. Shipping will take a maximum of six weeks, now swallow, wipe your mouth, collect your twenty, and get back on the streets looking for another junkie who just got paid, because you're a mindless corporate whore.
That being said, my life is good right now. I'm full of peace. Those of you who need to know my relationship status, do. Those who need to know my job status...I'm making good money. Those of you who need to know my living situation...it's entertaining to watch these monkeys fight, and my AC is frickin' awesome. Car's not doing so well, but I'm in a position to buy another one if I feel I should, and not bottom myself out.
I'm well over a hundred pages for the sequel of m'book. Jess still doesn't sound close to being done with it (because its power RUINED HER LIFE, BEWARE!), so I ordered a new one, and as soon as John's done with it, it goes to TheMitri, whose address I do have. I have three copies in existence, and thus far nobody's been shit for feedback, but what can y'do? I was really hoping to have feedback on the direction I took the story before I actually got started on the sequel, but after more than a year, I was kind of out of options.
This is already too long.
One more thing: Epica owns you all.
Word up to my niggas, my wiggas, and my flesh-eating chiggas.
[EDIT] Whoops! What would this entry be without a youtube link? HE RETURNETH. Bear with it.
current mood:  surprised
current music: Epica - Sensorium
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(11 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, May 11th, 2007
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5:32 pm
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Happy birthday to me. Woot.
I'm still alive. I'm just in the middle of going from Shitstorm USA to HappyScaryBirthdaySuddenlyHere'sEverythingYouWanted.
Also, I miss my old LJ-updater client. Visions sold out.
This is all.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Saturday, March 17th, 2007
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10:18 pm - Baked goods baked and bads
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Today has reached epic levels of gastrointestinal interest. I won't go into details, but strange things are afoot in my natural processes. I'm fairly certain that an X-ray would produce an image of an early Atari 2600 cartride somewhere in my tummy. If you were looking for an impassioned argument from me to contest your suggestion that it might have had to do with today's diet of Cheezits and Mountain Dew, you may be greatly disappointed by my response.
Highs and lows abound. Let us start with Ghost Rider.
I went into the movie hearing that there was nothing in the movie. It was hollow, it was weak, and it was just there to get a movie made with that name on it, and dabgunnit, that all turned out to be entirely true. What I didn't expect was to see the demon Zarathos tossing out one-liners and catch phrases. As it turns out, that's exactly what I -didn't- see, because they left him out of the movie entirely. Johnny Blaze isn't possessed, he's just imbued with Hell-energy or something. Wisecrackin' like Spider-Man. And his big evil demon adversary was a coffee-shop-dwelling haiku-writing motherfucker named Hunter. The big fight scenes consisted of the big bad demons leering threateningly and standing there while the hero hits them.
I'd want my money back, but not the amount of time I spent watching it. I knew what I was getting into. It's the kind of bad that I can have a good sense of humor about.
Smokin' Aces. Really, it was a great movie while it was being advertised as a clusterfuck of interested parties trying to kill one guy. It's when they started bringing in plots that it all went to shit. You can actually tell the scenes that were thrown in there to try to add more plot, and it's painful to watch the transition, because the "plot" has nothing to do with the events. Some smartass is going to completely miss the point of that line and post a comment telling me what it had to do with the events, but that person will be wrong, wrong, wrong, because they won't have spent more than three seconds seeing what I mean. It goes "story progression, story progression, overdrawn pointless dialogue, disturbing and annoying scene that has nothing to do with anything, story progression, distracting side scene, overdrawn pointless dialogue, sudden gap in any kind of progression at all, random generic anger, bullshit ending." It left characters hanging. It's like it had four directors, and one of them was really, really good. It should have just done what it was good at, and that was bring stories and characters together. I was sad that it turned out this way.
And on that note, the prizes for Cracker Jacks have gone to utter and absolute shit. A few weeks ago, I bought a package of three boxes, and all three were collectable miniature trading cards for "Everyone's Hero." I felt so robbed. So very, very robbed. There were about two peanuts in each box. This was a beloved staple of my childhood, and it tasted nasty and denied me of any kind of fun I'd have with its contents. And the boxes were inexplicably difficult to get into. Perforating a thumbhole in a box is apparently beyond the technological grasp of the good people of Frito Lay. This is a horrible perversion of something I once held so dear.
But I'm still in a great mood, and it has nothing to do with anything that's happened to me. It's been a really good month, and it will be even better once the state personnel board finally puts me back on the certification list for the promotion I'm getting.
Making things happier is the release of God of War 2, the game for which I have waited EONS. On principal, I do NOT reserve any games for purchase, and I sure as hell don't pay to reserve them. Thus, I was not one of the people to receive it on the day it came in.
However.
I have a friend at work who HAD reserved it. And he's going to be in Vegas this week with his girlfriend. And he wants somebody to keep the game company so it doesn't feel lonely. And that somebody is DAVE. And I played the shit out of it, which is why my diet has been what it has been. And I have beaten it, and I have declared it good, yea and verily and so forth. Perhaps I'd be hesitant to declare it a worthy successor, but not to declare it a worthy addition. It's missing some beloved features, but they're things that are understood to be too good to make it into the next game. Things you just miss, different button configurations...it's not the original, but it's still God of War.
Not like Knights of the Old Republic 3, which the unwashed heathens still refer to as Neverwinter Nights 2. If you've seen both games and you don't know what I mean, I have no reservations about referring to you as helmet-and-harness retarded.
This post may look like it's full of the bad, but I assure you, I'm in a great mood. I AM FULL OF LOVE. :D
Also, I have about a hundred pages of my next book a-written.
And for those of you still waiting for the first one, Mom's been having some time issues and won't be reading it, and since Jen's going through something similar, it's time to send it off to the next person. WHO WANTS IT?
current mood:  cheerful
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(6 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, February 15th, 2007
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6:00 pm - Subject lines suck.
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So, yeah. Sorry to the people to whom I owe a “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Mine was slightly less than stellar, as was the whole previous weekend.
It was supposed to be a great weekend. Three days, baby. Let’s hear it for working for the state. But joy was not to be, for I was obliterated with allergies the week before. I was congested and clogged and full conscious and alert for all of it. One half of my head was completely pressurized, and it felt a lot heavier. That was truly the suck, and it had me fairly well down until Greg swooped in on a vine, handed me a ticket to see Blue Man Group in concert with about ninety minutes’ advance notice. And he was all “Hey dude, my music department bought a lot of these tickets, and some people didn’t show up. Free show for you.” And I partied hard on the way to the stadium.
And I saw a moderately altered version of the show available on DVD, which, as those of us who have seen it know, is mind-blowingly awesome. With BMG, y’gotta wonder how that’s all possible, and if they’re all just encased in a soundproof bubble (because they are beating the utter shit out of those drums) and faking it, but...nah. It’s just scary-as-hell coordination. And live, it’s even more surreal. Anyway, I was there, doing the rock concert movements and screaming my hoarse ass off upon their command.
So that was totally awesome. And then, coming home that Friday night, I parked my car in the lot, went inside, and went to sleep. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand then my car was stolen, along with everything in it. All my music, my Dew, my Reese’s Pieces, my expensive jack, my brand-new stereo, and they even took my trash bag. They took my proof of insurance, too, but left the title (I know, you shouldn’t have that in the car, shut up) and my proof of registration. And a red shotgun shell, and a harmonica, and an empty bag where somebody went to Del Taco. And the manual to my stereo. And a lot of dirt. There was mud streaked up the sides and under the wheel well, so they seemed to be moving things. Probably a body. Anyway, the cocknockers fucked up the driver’s side lock, so once again, I’m reduced to reaching through the open window to let myself into my car.
It took about two days to recover, and the CHP gave me a call, saying they’d found it parked on the road. They had it towed, and for some reason that nobody could explain to me, the tow company charged me $190 to get it back, despite that I got there within an hour of the car reaching the place. That was what had me miffed, right there. There are places in the yellow pages advertising towing for $45, and I had to pay more than four times that much. That’s shit.
The car’s sanctity had been violated. It’s like driving an assrape. An assrape that smells like cigarette smoke. And they took off the driver’s side mirror, but left the casing. Who the hell does that? Now it’s illegal to drive. Who looked up all the ’96, ’99, and ’04 models in the apartment parking lot, Camaros and Miatas, and saw a 1986 Toyota Corolla and thought “Yeah baby, that’s where it’s at. I gotta have that shit.”
People were shocked at how zen I was about it. Hey, good things come, good things go, sometimes your car gets stolen. That’s life. I’ll be prompted to get a new car a little faster now, and I won’t be getting another CD player in that thing (partially because the whole casing for that area has been ripped up), but overall, my livelihood hasn’t been damaged. I haven’t learned anything from it. I don’t feel any differently about people. Shit happens sometimes. The only thing that bothers me is that there’s nothing I can do to keep it from happening again, except, as my mother keeps suggesting, buying a Club. I’ll keep my eyes open.
Really, though, it’s shaping up to be the shittiest year ever, between the boss-tensions (which are easing off) and being told that after I passed that pain-in-the-ass exam, there’s a difference of opinion as to whether I qualify for the position that gives me a $700 raise. I do, however, qualify for the $500 raise, and there’s talk of changing my current position to be able to facilitate that, but I’m smelling bullshit. Change is in the wind, I can tell. How can I tell? Well, lemme relate a little story.
A little more than six months ago (half a year is about the length of a full cycle in my life...everything happens in units of that amount of time), I was having a really, really bad time. Blown head gasket, broken computer, no money, work being too godddamned cold in the morning (warehouse + skinny person) and too goddamned hot in the afternoon (California), my usual work van was broken so I had to drive a moving van (downtown), and that wasn’t half of it. I was driving back to the lot when I heard a reference on the radio to an extremely obscure SNL skit from the two or so years I made it a point to watch the show, a skit that got absolutely no press or references that I’d ever heard, but it stood out for me, for some reason. Will Ferrell, once with Gwyneth Paltrow and once with Sarah Michelle Gellar...family at the dinner table, fight breaks out, it ends with him yelling “I DRIVE A DODGE STRATUS.” Not a skit that made a lot of sense, but a reference came out of nowhere about it from a deejay on the radio. I had actually spent that morning thinking about whether reality was done fucking me up the ass, and whether I was just being put through all that crap so I would appreciate whatever was coming up a little more. And then I heard that, and I thought “Now THAT is obscure. Who else in Sacramento would get that?”
Stuck in traffic, I had some time to think about it. And then, I looked down, and saw, in front of me, a Dodge Stratus. And through that Dodge Stratus, I saw the universe looking at me, shaking its head slowly, as if to say “No, Dave, we are not quite done fucking you, my friend. It’ll be a little bit.”
Shit went downhill from there that week, but when I got home that day, a message was waiting for me from the person who would eventually become my boss, inviting me back to fill out some paperwork to get hired for a job I had interviewed for the week before.
I had another moment like that shortly before this last weekend. I was thinking about Oregon, and a truck with Oregon plates pulled up in front of me. I took a look a the license number, and I saw that it had a pattern of 111 AAA. I thought about it for a moment, and wondered if they all had that pattern, or if it meant something. Another car from Oregon immediately passed us both, answering my question. Too specific to be a coincidence. An ethereal Bill Engvall leaned forward from the back seat and went “Heeeeeeere’s your sign.”
This year, I’ve lost two cars, I’ve lost a stereo the week after I bought it, I’ve had pneumonia, I’ve had to sit in a two-hour meeting and endure a month of over-the-shoulder what-are-you-doing-every-minute-of-every-day scrutiny from work, I’ve been cruci-fucking-fied for doing what everybody else in the office does (more often than I do!), things have gone into my permanent file because my boss doesn’t want to look like an idiot, I’m finding that I’m allergic to goddamned rain, and I LOVE rain. I just blew my nose so hard I found a viable elephant fetus sitting in the tissue afterward. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make the trip up to Mom’s as often in this car. I’m out of sick leave and personal leave. I’m being strung along about the promotion I’m supposed to be getting, so I don’t know whether I should be submitting these twenty job interest letters I’m receiving every day, because if I do submit them and get interviews, my boss isn’t going to take it well. I’m now having to put up with country music every day from the cubicle across from me, from someone who plays it twice as loud as anybody else in the office does and goes off on a tirade about what I do and do not have the right to say when I ask her to turn it down. And it’s not even good country, it’s ultra-nasal crap, the same three albums over and over. And she’s ruined my appreciation for Sheryl Crow by playing her greatest hits album nonstop for a week. All the movies I’ve seen this year have been crap.
But it’s okay.
Into every life, 1000 dead bunnies must fall.
All this crap probably means I’m getting a raise.
On that note, I must apologize to Allie and Jamie. Your cards (and $1 bills, because cards need money in them to be cool) did not hit the mail, unless those car theives stamped them and mailed them for me. Becca, your present was the first whole bottle of water I drank for you, and a handful of official Blue Man Group end-of-concert big-mobile-pipe-machine paper streamer.
Ashreigh gets nothing because she’s getting more love than I am anyway.
Haley gets nothing because I don’t have her address.
Jenn gets nothing because she still hasn’t come up to visit Mom and get the book. If you’re waiting for it, Jenn’s the one holding it up. GO GIT ‘ER.
Jenna gets nothing because I don’t have her address either, and she’s too busy for us to do any real talking anymore.
Dimitri gets nothing because he’s a dude. I know, it’s sexist, but I’m a bigot like that. Still love you, though, dude.
An gets nothing because that would violate the terms of our citizenship of Platonia.
And Jawjuh gets nothing because we've never been helza tight like magicite.
Oh! And Mrak and Gerg also get nothing. Because you STOLE fizzy lifting drinks. You touched a clean ceiling which now has to be washed, and sterilized, so you GET. NOTHING. You LOSE. Good DAY sir.
I leave you with this thought:
Isn’t it strangely appropriate that the initials for Valentine’s Day are VD?
This year, give your Valentine a gift they can always remember you by...the gift that keeps on giving.
( Here it is, your moment of zen. )
current mood:  okay
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(17 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, January 25th, 2007
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6:51 pm
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PETA just got a whole shitload cooler.
As of last entry!:
1. Jen is on the book list. Mark's reading it now, and depending on how fast he gets done and when I come up to visit or when you can pick it up or whatever, you may or may not be next.
2. I am surprised to find that the sexiest redhead in Florida has commented. Delighted, even! But surprised.
3. I bought a Toyota Corolla with 200k miles on it. It's spacey, yet small, runs well, is very clean, and yeah. Paid $1100 for it, but the guy's buying the Mustang for $500, so it's working out pretty well. Turns out that avoiding the "the seller of a car is responsible for getting it smogged and is open to lawsuits if he does not" law is easily circumvented by putting "As is, no warranty" on the bill of sale. The DMV told me so. Yes, the building, not the people in it. I talk to buildings. Shut up. Don't judge me. :(
4. I love Jess. (she needs love)
5. I've been getting job offers out the wazoo for the (promoted) position I took the eligibility exam for. I'm hoping to get promoted where I am now, but I'm not sure that the person who got it first will pass a typing test in time. Otherwise, yo. Five hundred dollars more a month for me. I'll have the ten grand for that convertible saved up in a year. Financing? No thank you, Mr. Car Sales Man. I'm paying cash.
6. Amber sent me an email. After she talked about a reconciliation with me on the phone to her mother two or three months ago, she's finally gotten around to asking if I want to bury the hatchet. Like I always do, I told her I'm not angry at her, but I do stand by everything I said to her, and offered to remind her what my last email said. That was about four days ago, and I haven't heard anything back. It could be a few more months.
That's all for now. Once again? All the love for y'alls.
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, January 16th, 2007
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5:41 pm - I'm alive! Truly and surely.
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But man, it was close. I had pneumonia for a while, and if somebody comes up to you and offers to get you pneumonia for free (or with low-APR financing), pass. Not fun at all. I'd rather have worked a double shift both of those days I was down, and not gotten paid for it. I had to keep a yurfbowl with me at all times, and through an enormous effort of will, I did not yurf. I probably would have slept better if I'd just let it happen, because I got nauseous every time I was horizontal (and I was so tired that it was causing me physical pain), but I refused. I will not go gently into that good yurfage, viruses be damned. I had significantly less control over what was going on at the other end, though, which was less than pleasant.
And this weekend, hooray! My ninteenth consecutive car blew a head gasket. The Mustang, the Prelude, the Regal, the Seville, the 626, the Bat, the Cat, the Penguin, and now the MX6. I just can't hang onto vehicles. Though the Mustang is still with me and still awaiting the $1200 to get back into shape, it's just far, far too small for me. I cannot drive it safely. I have to bite the steering wheel in order to be low enough to see out the windshield. And now my little MX6. I LET THIS ONE WARM UP EVERY TIME. Why does it hate me?
Time to buy a nice one, now. I'm going to have to go against the advice of Jeff Foxworthy, and buy an ex-rental, because hey, they're only a year and a half old, they've been kept in meticulously good shape, and been maintained by people who get paid to do so. And they're nice cars. I'm looking at this Grand Prix right now for 12000...and I think I might be able to finance it to my liking. This will be the first 2-year financial commitment I've ever made. I hope my identity hasn't been stolen. Not much I can do if it was, though. Just hop on Craigslist.com and keep calling people 'till I get something.
Really, the worst thing that's happened in the last few months is that the last person I'd ever met, after having everybody who'd ever been in my universe come back to me, the final person on the checklist has messaged me out of the blue and emailed me about the goddamned evolution of dance video. It's not. That. Entertaining. Christ, people, you need to learn a sense of proportion. I started running into people from kindergarten whose names I'd never even known, and they're linking that shit to me. Fucking stop it. It wasn't even worth watching all the way through for me the first time. I don't need to be reminded how goddamned ridiculous you people look.
[EDIT] Okay, Ashreigh and Jenna and Haley and Allie haven't linked me. Credit where it's due. [UNEDIT]
On that note:
In my last post, there were three very important links I forgot to post. Ones which do not suck. They're all near and dear to my heart.
This really is Justin Timberlake, despite that he looks like a certain hobbit.
I can't find the link I had before, but this will lead you to a watchable version of one of the most memorable SNL skits I've ever seen. I saw a link to it, and had to see it again, and it's back in my life. Low volume.
And http://www.you.justgotowned.com/ makes me wish I could slow down these frames and look at each one. Rated R for objectionable content.
Got the book in print. Cassie's reading it first. Then Mark gets it. Greg can wait. He has his girlfriend printing it out. Then I go down the mailing list and send the love from state to state.
current mood:  irritated
current music: Epica - Solitary Ground
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, December 25th, 2006
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3:06 pm - Christmas!
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What did you get? I gotta Tonka truck, anna G.I. Joe, anna space ship, anna race car, anna big monster that goes like ARRRRR.
A vibrating pillow for my back, an iced tea maker, a too-big leather jacket that weighs forty pounds and is likely to protect me from being shanked for hours after I take it off, Mortal Kombat: Armageddon (which is, surprisingly, not terrible...they might have accidently programmed a passable AI for once since MK4...), Final Fantasy XII, which, to my own shock, I've not yet opened, and some cute little things that will require me to take pictures and show you all just as soon as I get off my lazy ass. I wasn't the bringer of all the awesome, play-with-all-day toys that I used to be, but I was low on ideas this year, so I just bought expensive things for the family.
But what really has me is F.E.A.R., which I'd paid little attention to when it actually came out. It's a first-person shooter PC game, a genre which normally makes me motion sick within an hour of playing, but this one is surprisingly smooth and paced. Storyline or no storyline, this action is wonderfully smooth, and makes you think about what you're doing without being impossible. For some reason, I have the most fun when I'm getting my ass kicked.
Anyway. The book. It's here. I have a hard copy in my hands. I feel so wonderfully accomplished at having finished (almost) something. Even if it ends here, I have something with my name on it, something that has a beginning page and an end page and a cover around it. There are some tweaks that need to be made (margins, font size, cover error, a typo or three), but it's lookin' like 636 of not-eye-stabbing-pixel pages. There's a long rotation it's going to be put on to make sure everybody gets a chance to read it, so let me know if you want to read it and you're not listed:
Greg, Mark, Jess, Becca, Misty, Cassie, um....wow, is the list really that short, or is my memory getting bad? I was just going to have one person forward it on to the next person when they were done. If you want your own copy of the super-rough draft, it'll cost you $35, and I think I can have it shipped to your door. I tried to do that for mom, and I got a database error, so maybe Lulu.com isn't keen on that, and isn't good at expressing it.
Work is getting a little tense since the boss is rampaging (she's under a lot of pressure and takes it out on people), but in four to six weeks, I may be getting a $500 raise. That $700 one wasn't meant to be, it seems; I passed the test fairly well, but the people administering apparently disagree with me about what "performing the duties of a business services assistant" means. They think it means "being a business services assistant," and I think it means exactly what it says. State bastards.
Oh! And don't let me forget...Allie has proven to me once again why she is the First Wife, not just chronologically, but in status. I forgot to bring her card to Mom's so it could get scanned, but let me just say that there is no such thing, in this world or the next, as a snowman as awesome as the one Allie drew for me on the Christmas card she sent. You'd just have to see it. I don't care who you are, you would step down from any claim you had as supposed first wife after you saw this awesome snowman.
SO! To recap:
Mom celebrates Yule, does Christmas early, and is awesome.
I got awesome presents.
I spent a lot of money and was happy to do so.
Allie loves me good.
Work = poop
Book = joy
current mood: accomplished
current music: Enya - Amid The Falling Snow
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(13 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, November 27th, 2006
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4:28 pm - Warning
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Do not, I repeat, do NOT get involved in a laser tag match with me. I am a goddamned MURDERER and ain't nothin' gonna change that. Family? Friends? Friends of family? You will be flayed and whipped and salted and beaten before my altar. I will destroy you.
So, how did my sister's birthday party go? Well, for those of us who did not meet a horrifying lasery death (i.e. JUST ME), it went pretty well. We bowled. That was fun too. It was good to see her. I put on her beanie and took down my hair and did my best Jay-headbangin' impression.
So, yeah. After MANY, MANY problems with Lulu.com, I FINALLY got my book working (I think) and have ordered a copy for myself. Just me. Not for you. I, I, I am going to get it in my hands, and from there, I will ship it to whomever wants to read it first. Whoever does that, can ship it to the next person on the list, and so forth. The cover is crap, there's no thank-yous or index, it's super-raw...I just needed to see how it would turn out. Plus, it's good to have a hard copy just in case something crashes. Or, as before, everything crashes at once.
Speak of the devil. Mirc just got virused. Wtf? HAX. I now must go to my old CD and restore my old version. Poops.
Also: There are no N64 emulators that can use the full scope of the N64 controller's analog stick. That sucks furrehfurrehmuch. And I can't use my N64, because it's probably sitting at a pawn shop, because I loaned it to my brother Josh, who (much, much more than likely) sold it for beer. I have the original Perfect Dark, which would be great if Josh hadn't erased my profiles, like the cack he is. I must rely on Chad's console-generosity. Still a good game, it is.
This is what I hear quite often these days:
"Thank you for choosing McDonald's! How may I take your order?"
Hold me back. Somebody keep me from saying it. There's a point at which I can no longer smile and place my order without saying "RESPECT YOUR LANGUAGE, FUCKTARD." That shit might fly with people who don't listen to words, but that murder/death/kill line is getting closer every day.
Othat than that, I'm good! Full of joy and sharing the love. I just vent here. You should see me in the mornings. When we have to get up super-early for the once-a-month work thing, people get sick of how sluggish and burly I'm not.
( shout outs )
current mood: happy
current music: Garbage - Boys Wanna Fight
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(15 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, November 8th, 2006
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6:40 pm
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| Sunday, October 22nd, 2006
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7:48 pm - Long periods of goneliness
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| Saturday, September 16th, 2006
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10:18 am - Long freakin' time
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I know. I know. Seriously, I do. I've been kind of...well, I haven't been posting. There's a lot going on. At the same time, somehow, there's hardly anything going on.
Most of it is work. I have about four hours, after traffic and income tax, per day to do things like eat and do laundry and look after my vehicle, so when I get home, I'm sort of dead-ish, and wanting to soak my brain in the alluring clutches of things like Starcraft and Yuri's Revenge to keep me from having to think about how much time I don't have. It's like a drug. A very, very inexpensive one. I don't buy any games at the fifty-dollar debut value, because really, that's just silly. Except Neverwinter Nights 2. When that comes out in October, I'm getting a whole new system just to play the freakin' thing.
That is, of course, unless my car breaks, which it just might. It has an oil leak, and I need to get it fixed. My mother, dear sweet woman that she is (and y'all orta know that by now), has hit sort of a slump, and if you know me, you know I'll do eenyfin for my momma, even if she didn't ask me to. So now that my nasty we-didn't-file-your-paperwork-right-so-you-don't-get-paid-what-you-were-promised issues are resolved, I've offered to rush in with bags of money to float her along until Eric's big paychecks come in. Or at least, give her some leeway in dealing with it all.
And then Zack loses his job.
It's not his fault, but with certain people, you can tell that "not his fault" could have been prevented, by him, without a lot of effort. It was my boss who made "CYA" (cover your ass) a term I use often, and when you work for the state, you do have to guard your ass from many different directions with documentation of all types. Even before that, though, I knew better than to do what Zack does, bless his rotund ass. So I wonder how things will go.
I don't think Chad can help me float him, and I'm damned near positive Leche can't (I don't expect you to remember that they're my roommates, so I tells ya). Guess it's up to Mr. Big-paycheck, low-car-insurance-cost to save the frickin' day. Bums I live with. But that's out of my October money, not out of my September money, which, hey, I have right now. So today(ish) I'm going to get my car checked out (/fixed) and take a look at a dollar sign for mom. (Sorry for not taking care of this earlier, mum.)
Also, I have a fifty dollar donation to make to a charitable organization, now that their payment function is all in order, like I promised. Just because someone fools me a third time by making me think they won't suddenly stop talking to me altogether without an explanation and continue talking to everyone else, doesn't mean I'm not the kind of person who keeps his promises.
Come to think of it, that's been happening a lot lately. People just cut me off without any word of criticism or advice. And yes, I've thought about why, and haven't come up with any answers that don't make these people sound like the most horribly immature people in the world. So. Um. People? If you've ever thought of just picking up anchor and sailing out of my life without so much as a howdy-doo, I'd appreciate, to the depths of my spleen, being given a hint as to what would merit this kind of thing.
But yeah, I haven't been making select-group postings or anything, and you can ask Jenna and Becca and Allie and Jamie, because I don't exclude them from my posts. Except Becca, and that was a long time ago, while she was in Denmark forging a new identify for herself without the looming presence of the rocks she was trying to get out from underneath, and I told her I was doing it. 'cuz I wuv her. I want her to become the person she dreams of being, and she's not likely to move to Oregon to avoid having to dhow8er502834yyjkh
Sorry. Paramom and Parasister and I went through some old photos on Thursday, and I'm bitter all over again. Of course, it doesn't help that on Thursday, I was exposed, for the first time, to THE SADDEST SONG IN THE UNIVERSE EVER. See below for details.
Turns out that by book-formatting my book for a big-ass hardcover, I'm losing a hundred pages of length. That will keep production costs down. Yay! I'm holding off on having it printed because Zack's aunt is an illustrator, and he might get her to do a freebie or something. My older brother Joe is also an awesome artist, but you'd have to read the book to know what to draw, and I don't want him reading it. He's one of those extremely judgemental people, who, when he has something to say, won't stop until you've heard everything he's had to say about it, and if there's one thing that history has shown me that he loves to do, it's degrade other people to build himself up. As laid-back as I am about how I wrote it for me and for nobody else, I'm very adamant about not wanting to know that he's there, emoting at me because I don't want to hear his opinion.
Production cost is still looking to be in the upper reaches of the $35-40 range. This is not a joyous thing. I may just divide it into three books, which, after I investigated the possibility of doing, is very doable.
But enough about my crap.
Let us all send our hopes and dreams out to ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) drkflameofhavok, who has recently started school and holding down a job at the same time. She is in my can't-post-because-Christ-am-I-rushed-lately boat. Let us also pray that if she comes out here, she not bring Scene It, because she would never recover from the savage beating she would receive.
Let us bring joy upon Eva, who is sad and constantly away from her messengers and cannot email me. I know she would if she could, because she's bawsome.
I leave you now with an invigorating message of inspiration from our good friend, Homestar Runner.
DO YOU HAS?
current mood: drained
current music: Emiliana Torrini - The Boy Who Giggled So Sweet
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(12 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, August 14th, 2006
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5:25 pm - Quickies
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The job is good. I'm gaining a lot of love and respect from coworkers for my shining personality.
The book is edited. Jenna is apparently finding mistakes for me as she's reading through it. I heart her.
For a while, I got back into Yuri's Revenge. My little heart melted when I once again heard those treasured words, "Good evening, Comrade General." I didn't give skirmish mode enough credit, it was really fun. Now I'm going back through Starcraft. What an awesome game on so many levels. Un-freakin'-matched.
As I was going up to see my mother a little bit ago, in the mountains, I saw a grassy hill, and on it were cows. I thought "Hey, look. Cows on a grassy hill. This, I can handle." But then, as I came closer, I saw that something had been added to the equation that I couldn't handle: ducks. Ducks and cows. What the fuck. Ducks + cows = People - sanity. Ducks and cows should not coexist. It's somehow not kosher to mix fowl with beef. Aren't they natural enemies or something? Didn't we fight a war somewhere to establish that? It blew my mind. Cows and ducks. How?
My little brother Dylan is eight (I think). My mother came in from shopping, and handed him a baseball. He looked up at her with big, round eyes, and in the most innocent voice, asked "What's this?" Ladies and gentlemen, my brother. I love that kid.
I proved that Pirates of the Caribbean 2 was pay-for-to-see-in-the-movies-againable by going to see it with my sister and jenngen. Just as fun. I give insane amounts of credit to the lighting director and to the computer animators, because I missed giving them credit before. Just completely seamless. Perfect. I owe my sister some skittles now. I almost missed the movie, too. I'd have felt like such shit. I was ten minutes late as it was. Fortunately, the movie is seventeen hours long. Seriously, why do you people complain about where it left off? Check out the running time.
My mom gave me a writer's guide to publishers. Bless her heart, she pointed out how odd she found it that there were no adult publishing categories. She actually used the word "porn." My mom's cooler than your mom.
Also, I'm finding out who I can depend on. That's good to know, because I hate being ignored.
current mood: rushed
current music: October Project - After The Fall
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