The homepage of Forky McBlergenstern

I link you again. It's how I do things.

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 19:19:23 GMT

This is the best misheard lyrics video I've ever seen in my life. I propose that it is unable to be topped.

Also, if you haven't seen this, you are not my friend. Look up the lyrics some time, and you will find that it's just as hilarious in print.

Fascinating.

Fri, 29 May 2009 02:16:15 GMT

There's this thing.

My brother, Josh, wishes with all his might that he had it.

It's this thing I do where I tempt the universe. I make one little step toward the road, and, like a Loony Toons cartoon, I watch thousand-mile-an-hour traffic go hurtling across, horns blaring, music pumping, drivers shouting. It is an organic thing, this system of forces in my life. It listens closely and, with all due ponderousness and pomp, throws the image of certain actions against a fun house mirror, creating gargantuan situational echoes that let me know just how swiftly a flick of the wrist can turn into an avalanche of motion.

Case in point: I got tired of online dating services. Nine out of ten emails I send are unanswered, about a third of those being unread at all. They come over, look at my profile, and don't read the email. It's rather hilarious, when you consider what they other people are supposed to be on the site to find, and it brings to mind my closest coworker's novel impulse to create a profile (despite that she's happily married) just to see what kind of attention she'd draw. Perhaps this is more common than I thought, but in the end, the closest I get to come to actually getting a match is sending a few emeails to that one person out of ten (ten? It's much closer to twenty...), meeting that person for coffee, and watching them kindly wait for me to stop talking and go away. I email them afterward, and then they're on the ignore-Dave train like everybody else. This, I'm used to, I've had my fun with it, I got bored with it, and I've heard more than enough people tell me I'm not trying hard enough. Since I'm finally in a position to do so, I actually visited Great Expectations, and reviewed their service plans.

As it turns out, seven thousand dollars for eighteen months is the lowest plan they had. They did have limo service to special events, shows, bayside parties, etc. I figured, screw it, I needed to buy something that would finally silence the people who said I wasn't putting enough faith into it, and I talked the manager down to three thousand for one year. Yes, I belong to a dating service. Thing is, it doesn't set you up on dates, but it runs thorough background checks to make sure that the people are who they say they are, absolutely aren't married (they actually make you sign something authorizing them to punch you in the throat and slash your tires if you lied about not being married), and can afford a dating service.

I got some good pictures out of it, but since I'm not going to create a photobucket account, you can just ask me individually if you're interested in those. There are only two.

Anywayzesses, the universe noticed my leap of faith, and decided to pour some similar energy into my life. I immediately got four connections on a completely different dating site (I belong to, I think, five now?), and they seemed pretty promising during the jump-through-hoops phase, but now the energy is receding and the sand is getting gritty again; after about two weeks, I can't get in touch with any of them all of a sudden.

Like the calm before the storm, I knew this only to be a prelude.

Guess who's in town, fresh from getting married, and demanding answers from me about what I think of her?

That was a fun conversation.

That aside, it's just interesting to see what sort of power I have. Invoke the right word, and I can watch the landslide engulf so many things around me.

Case in point: I just committed to three grand, and today, I got word that the department is downsizing about eighteen people in my building. Guess who's low on the seniority pole! :D

What they're going to do is "place" me somewhere. Now, this could be in Sacramento, it could be in San Francisco, it could be in frickin' Fresno. I'll have to either accept it, or deal with no placement at all, and be unemployed. Joy of joys. Now, my name hasn't officially appeared on any lists, but again, as far as state service goes, I'm definitely on the bottom rung as far as who's left in my building after the last three years of Arnold financially pulverizing my department. We were officially understaffed, and now we're cutting back more. What gives me comfort is knowing that if I'm cut, I'll be the least screwed person there. Being absolutely critical had its upside, but them's the breaks. I hope I get put somewhere nice.

That was all fun. Then the Check Engine light in my car came on. The car's running fine, so it can't be the evap leak thing again. This is something all new.

Oh, and I'm still having problems with one of the roommates not paying rent. So I'm paying double rent, plus my car, plus the two hundred a month for Great Expectations, and I'm not sure where/if I'll be working after the first of Jewlah.

I was about to spend about six hundred bucks on a new mattress set. This old one squeaks too much. I've had a lot of time with it (like, since I was what, fourteen?), and I've totally broken it all the way in. It's comfy, but it's too loud. Like a husband who's sometimes a little rough when the biscuits aren't done right. I'm going to go ahead and suppose that it won't be happening now.

Here's the fun thing: We might still get busted down to federal (not state) minimum wage in the very near future, whether I can accept being moved or not. Wouldn't it suck to have to move, and then live on something far below the state minimum wage?

Fun fact! Burger King hambugers in my area are 89 cents. A double hambuger? $2.50. I order two burgers and hand the buns and wrapper for one of them right back over the counter.

RPG Quotes:
(important note...most of these are intended to be taken out of context)

"Why can't we pee in the river?" "Because then the gorillas would drown."

"If it's not glass, then I don't want it for my fetus."

"She's not here. She could have showed them her feces."

"We'd get the horses pregnant one at a time."

"They're highly potent focal points of magic and chaos rolled up into a tiny little...bitch."

"I could not recommend a competitor. I'm sure you understand." "Actually, I couldn't understand. You're kind of French."

"That's why it's fun to kill people. Cute has nothing to do with it."

"It will be a long way. Especially since you lost your horses." "Neigh!"

"That horse is gonna die in a knife fight."

"What did she die from?" "Murder."

"I told them to get more ballistas!" "They were busy building walls to put the ballistas on." "Walls don't work on dragons!"

"What happened to her?" "She tried to chop down a treant." "Why?" "She...wanted to make a canoe."

"Where will you be aiming?" "I dunno...I want him to die and leave me alone." "Ah, the 'die and leave me alone' shot...that's tricky."

"You know what? The gorilla fetus is cute."

"If that thing were smart, it would be catching the arrows." "It IS catching the arrows."

"Neckra, would you like to destroy Baku's monkey?" "No way, you stay away from my monkey!" "But mine's all used up!"

"She's just a big ol' softy on the inside." "Yep. Reeeeaaaal squishy." "Yes, but she's sharp and pointy on the outside, which is what we keep her around for."

"How much are you gonna drink?" "Enough to where I stop feeling lousy."

"Apparently I'm some sort of mystical monkey god with powers I didn't even know."

"We've only had time to break a window and throw a badger out of it."

"I know a bit, but for fifty gp, I'll know a little more." "That doesn't make sense. I've had plenty of money, and it didn't make me any smarter." "Yes, I can tell."

"When the monsters come to raid your town and eat your children, you can use these weapons to kill them! ...the monsters, not the children."

"I think those guys were priests of a dark god." "Which one?" "Both of them."

"I'm not a thief!" "Says the guy with 'some guy's wallet' written in his inventory."

"I'll shoot the owlbears." "Are you going to aim for anything in specific?" "Yes. The owlbears."

Reboot

Fri, 01 May 2009 02:32:20 GMT

Dave had to restart. I had too many system-draining programs going at once. Some data may have been lost, but things are running much more smoothly now. Whew. (FYI: If we don't talk anymore, I've prob'ly deleted you from a few things. I'm pretty sure it didn't affect anybody who reads this thing.)

Book number two is at about page 525. I haven't made a whole lot of progress lately, but I'm really happy about the quality of the progress. I love my characters to death, and I hate what I'm about to do to them. I'm a bastard.

I actually heard Rammstein's "Reise Reise" on the radio a little bit ago. I was shocked. It turns out the college has a legitimate station that's relayed through the local high schools, and they actually do play non-top-twenty songs. Oh, the wild stuff I've heard.

I want to mention that the art of blowing a person's mind isn't about intelligence, it's about a new take on old perspectives, things that have settled long enough to be taken for granted. I was humbled and thrilled to be knocked on my ass by a compelling and staggering new theory that will forever change the way I see a movie.

It's going to be a great year for music. Rammstein, Epica, Amberian Dawn, Steve Burns, and Lacuna Coil all have albums coming out (Epica's coming out with TWO, Dido's is already out, and I think I'm forgetting someone important). I'm a little giddy. This will rock. It so will.

Dimitri and Jess still have my books. I fear I shall never have them back.

One more Ask Doctor Dave, then I rest.

--------

Dear Doctor Dave
You are sooo awesome. Why can't all men be like you? You know how to talk to a lady. Guys seem to have a hard time really expressing themselves, but that's makes you who you are!

Like I went out with this guy, and he paid for my meal which was sweet, and he opened the door for me and everything, but all he would do is talk about himself, you know, didn't get to know me. And worse, I could see through his shirt, he had bacne! EW! Is there anything worse than that?

Laura in WI

Dear Laura

Thank you for your kind words. To answer your question, there are two things worse than bacne, and I hope you didn't have to experience them:

1. Cracne
2. Sacne

May you never find either.

-------

Big love goes out to anybody who still reads this damned thing.

Don't read this.

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 19:29:17 GMT

NUMBER ONE.

I'm going to go rob a bank tomorrow. I plan on dressing up in a clown wig and make up and only wearing a thong and nipple tassels. I'll carry a goat and a can of fluorescent paint in one arm and, while in the bank, I'm going to fuck the goat and throw the paint over the walls, all the time ripping up pages of a phonebook and swearing my head off. After getting the money, I'll take a shit on the floor and piss everywhere. I then will escape in a van shaped like a giant pink cock.

Let's see America's most wanted fucking stage a reconstruction of that.

NUMBER TWO.

Obama goes up to Saint Peter on his way to the pearly gates. Peter says, "Barack, before you enter, we'd like to know how you used the time our Lord gave you on the earth. What deeds have you accomplished to better your fellow man?"

Obama thinks for a moment, then says, "Well, St. Peter, I guess the greatest accomplishment of my life was becoming President of the United States. I am humbled and proud to serve...blah blah blah..."

Pete looks at his book, puzzled. He turns to Obama, "I don't have that written here in the record of your life, when did this happen?"

Obama says, "About five minutes ago."

Glad that last one's being proven wrong so far.

Speaking of that, I suddenly have a dislike of our use of the word "president." And it's not just because I hate the letter P. I agree that you can be a president of a council, president of a government, or president of a book club, but President of the United States? It really rubs me the wrong grammatical way. Maybe my concept of government is just sliding away from my concept of a country.

Still grooving from time to time on the Lazy Town/Lil John remix.

Also, I dare you not to laugh at this. I tried not to, but when Mom (yes, my mother) showed it to me, the juvenile nature of it wasn't bothersome enough to stop me from busting up.

Gah

Sun, 08 Feb 2009 17:38:48 GMT

Annoying dream last night. I was trying to use a free-access computer with a small movie-theater-sized monitor to look something up on Yahoo (of all things), and for some reason, the computer had no problem with the www part, but it couldn't type Yahoo. I diagnosed the strange-as-hell keyboard/mouse plugs (like an N64 power plug with the actual wires in the middle, and decide that the problem wast he keyboard. I was going to go into the control panel to open up the accessibility options and pull up the on-screen, point-and-click keyboard, but apparently I had to minimize a zillion other things first, despite that I only had one program open. It was frustrating. I think I got through twelve minimizations before I woke up. That was my brain trying to prevent me from understanding that the part of the brain that actually handles letters doesn't work in dreams, but I didn't understand that it was a dream, otherwise I'd have been trying to sue that to my advantage (and failing). The weird thing is, I remember very distinctly the finger-pointing patterns of typing Yahoo.c (because I would get that far before realizing that it wasn't working), even if it came out Yclbb. Those B's stand out very clearly in my memory.

Computers have been pretty prominent in my dreams lately. I often dream that I'm trying to get use out of very obsolete compies at work, switching files from hard drives to those huge old-style black floppy disks in order to make it happen. Other times, I dream I'm being moved to a different, slightly less awesome computer and I have to wonder what I'm allowed to do on it and not allowed to do, and what will happen to my old files. Strangely, this new style of dream does not dishearten me a bit. Showing up at school late on the first day, with no idea which classes to go to, or suddenly realizing that I've been signed up for a class that I haven't been going to for the last several months, those were annoying. Especially when it's for high school, and the first thing that happens when I leave school is realize that my car's been stolen or broken into. In high school.

After reading about ingrown hairs, I've decided to stop tweezing my nipple hairs. Just thought you should all know that.

And I've decided that if you've experimented with any drug, at all, you have no right to criticize full-blown junkies. They experimented too, and just had better results than you. They had the experience you were going for. That's what experimenting is, finding out how much you want this new thing in your life, whether it's homosexual activity, drugs, or autoerotic asphyxiation. You openly and knowingly took the risk that you were going to enjoy something to the exclusion of all other things, especially if it was a chemically mind-altering substance you were experimenting with. I'm not speaking out against people who do any of that, I'm just trying to turn off those hypocrisy faucets. Don't be a hater if you once looked down that road and said "Hmmm...maybe." On those last two, don't be a hater at all. Then again, I'm not thinking that any of my readers are concerned with what gender drops your pachinko balls, so it was kind of pointless to say that. Sirrah, sirrah. I just know that I got unwisely addicted to this chick down south, whose silence is making me behave rashleigh.

And so it can be said, yes, I'm getting the mandatory two days off per month, with the corresponding ten percent pay cut that's hitting the California state employees so far. We don't know whether more cuts are coming, because the governor has been able to exert almost no control at all over the legislature or the heads of many of his departments.

For the love of things that are not crap

Tue, 27 Jan 2009 05:59:58 GMT

For those of you who have seen this,
I humbly present the most hilarious thing I've ever seen. You have to stick with this until the very, very end to suddenly burst out into spontaneous, uncontrollable laughter like I did. And those of you who know me know that I don't do that.

For those of you who haven't seen these, bear with them. Just go with it. They're worth it. I know, I'm just posting a bunch of links lately. But I'm increasing the hilarity in your life. Just ask my mother.

Sat, 10 Jan 2009 04:36:00 GMT

I spent all last night being approximate as sick as death. I won't claim to have been sicker than death, but it was pretty harrowing.

This has been an extremely depressing winter for most people in my life. Fights with the boi/girfran, breakups, job losses, house losses, career pressures, school troubles, and, for me, this blip right in front of my left eye that renews every time I blink, ever since this afternoon. Man, do I hope it's not permanent. At least this winter smells nice. There's been a burning-cedar scent that rises through downtown Sacramento a few times per week, and really makes it easier to deal with the fact that I'm at work before the sun rises and out of work after it sets. It's kicking my sleep patterns where they don't like to get kicked.

I'm scrambling to get this promotion that I'm eligible for, but it involves jumping ship to another department, and there's a lot of paperwork involved in that. The applications I put out are being lost in those of the people who have already been working in that classification, so I guess I can say I'm being pretty well affected by the economic downturn, too. If those manpower cutbacks are put into place, things might get even less comfortable, since I've only been in state service two and a half years, and I'm not sure how close to that bottom ten percent I am in terms of tenure.

In other news, I am completely head over heels, balls-to-the-wall in love with my second book. The first one can officially go fuck itself (but keep with the feedback, 'Mitro). I've been churning out a couple of thirtyish-page chapters a month, and feeling really good about it.

I know, this is the second time in a row I've posted something pet-related, but someone sent me this and I felt it was mostly spot-on. Typos are left in for artistic purposes. Also, because I'm lazy, and over the last few months, I've found that I hate correcting typos.

The ten commandments from a dog's point of view:

? My life is likely to last 10-15 years. Regular separation from you will be painful and can even cause depression. Think before you buy me.

? Give me time to understand what you want from me don't be impatient, short-tempered or irritable.

? Place your trust in me and I will always trust you back, respect is earned not given as some sort of inalienable right.

? Don't be angry with me for long, and don't lock me up as punishment. I am not capable of understanding why I am being locked up. I only know I have been rejected. You have your work, entertainment and friends. I only have you.

? Talk to me sometimes. Even if I don't understand your words, I do understand your tone. "You only have to look at my tail" to know that.

? Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget, if that treatment is unjust or bad, it may spoil the special bond between us.

? Please do not hit me. I cannot hit back, but I can bite and scratch and I don't ever want to feel the need to do that.

? Before you tell me off me for being uncooperative, obstinate, or lazy, ask yourself if something might be wrong with me. Perhaps I'm not getting the right food or I've been out in the sun too long, maybe my heart is getting old and weak, or maybe I'm just dog-tired.

? Take care of me when I get old. You too will grow old and will also want care, love, and affection.

? Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say, "I can't bear to watch" or "Let it happen in my absence". Everything is easier for me if you are there. Remember, Irrespective of what you do I will always love you.

I'm going to see Avenue Q with my sister in March. I'll let you all know how that turns out. Apparently, seeing the show will help you understand what the internet is for.

I'm going to add this to the freaky shit pile: http://www.ted.com/talks/view/id/24 Erin posted this on her blargh, and it's the kind of thing that you just can't look away from. There's "I'm into art" and then there's the kind of people who do this. Even the people who swing from hooks embedded in their flesh cannot hope to be this hardcore about art.

Today's big love goes to Ash, in hopes that it will get her to email me back quicker.

Just do this one thing for me

Mon, 15 Dec 2008 23:52:43 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyUec-lv_jI

Hasn't this happened to everybody a few times?

Good golly, do I loves me some tea

Sun, 07 Dec 2008 19:21:31 GMT

It's been too long since I've had a really hot, really good cup of regular ol' tea, and I got to do that again last night. I mean, I always had the opportunity, just not the inclination. Mmmm. Peaceful stuff.

I'm also noticing that I have the ability to take off my pants and socks in the same move. The trouble is, I have no idea how I do it. When I wake up the next morning, I find that my socks are still in the pants, as though someone were in them right then. Most people would take off their socks, then take off their pants, abut apparently, I've mastered an art that stays only in my subconscious, because if I try to do it on purpose, I have no idea how to make it happen. It's just a surprise that happens when I'm not paying attention. TMI? A-OK.

PC gaming is pretty much dead, I've noticed. Not testing games before you sell them for fifty bucks really is a kick in the crotch. There's also the annoying habit these days of having menus take forever to come up and react to entries, because slow transitions are cool. Today's annoying-as-hell thing is that you can't play GTA 4 if you don't have an internet connection. Woulda been nice to mention this on the box. Like that other game I won't mention that you pay the fifty for and only get to install three times. Hey gaming industry, if you want to stop losing customers to hacked versions of games, maybe you should allow us to save games to our hard drive instead of an online fucking database, or at least stop cluttering up the My Documents folder with user files after we SPECIFICALLY FUCKING DESIGNATE ANOTHER INSTALL PATH.

I'm angry now. I will soothe it with Dido.

Has anybody else noticed that her new album is extremely laid back, and lacks any of the passion of her earlier work? I think she's focusing on songs that are easy to sing in concert and won't require her to strain herself if she's on the road for six months. Looking at the abortion that her live album was, I'm willing to go ahead and pat her on the back and give her my support on this one. She has officially Sarah McLachlaned herself. Well, the first part of the McLachlanation process. She'll get lazy, and then she'll completely lose track of the flow of a good song and get obnoxiously self-indulgent. Baby, we love you, stop trying to add to something that already works beautifully and isn't stressful on you. Anybody remember Dirty Little Secret, and what a wonderful little song it could have been? I sigh.

But it seems that ol' Dider has now reached the point that she's reaping the consequences of the live-by-the-feeling lifestyle that characterized her first album. She was strong, she was passionate, she meant what she said and considered each emotion to be a divine truth, and in the subsequent Life For Rent (no, I'm not going to punctuate that), she seemed to be beginning to realize that maybe, at her age, she should have had some more accomplishments in her love life, instead of being passed around like a cigarette between fifth graders behind Taylor's house. Now, we have this, on her latest album:

Track 1: Song about being afraid to love
Track 2: Song about a failed relationship
Track 3: Song about being afraid to love
Track 4: Song about a failed relationship
Track 5: Song about not feeling anything for the relationship you're in

Sensing a theme?

I want to send this album to somebody, but I know for a fact that she wouldn't understand.

Hey, does anybody else hate the way IE now puts a little view-tube on every link and gives you a preview of where it goes, whether you want it to or not?

I have links. They are seriously, seriously worth the watch.

What, son?

Put the snacks in the bag, and I'm ghost like Swayze!

Seriously, all these lists are awesome and adorable.

The obligatory gamer-oriented link that I won't expect anybody to follow. Warning, the first one is a little gratuitous, but bear with it. Yes, Felicia Day is in everything these days. World of Warcraft players should look up The Guild. I won't link it, because it's not my thang. This blog is about things that are Dave's thang.

Freaking hilarious series of videos. Go through the whole series if you have the time.

This'n, too.

Few things have ever made me bust up laughing (especially a forum) quite like this did.

Maybe I was just in a good mood at the time, but I got a huge kick out of this. I don't even know why Plaxico Burress was in the news (I don't keep up), but it got really funny halfway through for me.

And of course, you're a bad person if you haven't seen Doctor Horrible.

Today's big love goes to Jamie, even though she doesn't wanna talk to me no' mo'. I still loves you, babe.

A simple explanation, followed by some tired arguments

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 02:22:49 GMT

Behold as I join the whining masses.

A war starts in an oil-rich and politically volatile area. Prices naturally increase, driving investors to the commodity. This again drives prices up, and it keeps going until gas is five bucks a gallon in the US, and several times worse in other places of the world. Commuters lose disposable income and with prices rising quickly (but hey, the economy is doing great! Just look at the payoffs on those gas investments! :D ), are less confident in their future ability to afford anything else. Spending therefore decreases disproportionately to the rising of gas prices. Fewer loans are taken out, which leaves the banks with the need to raise existing rates in order to cover their costs and keep their own investors happy, which makes more people less able to afford their daily financial indulgences. The cycle continues until it hits critical mass, and the banks become entirely unable to operate. Reports come in of people who were given eviction notices and have still been living there for over a year because the banks don't even have the money to pay somebody to tell the police to go over there and kick those people out. Jobs are cut in all areas of the economy as a result of fewer purchases made, resulting in less spending cash, resulting in yet fewer purchases made.

Yep. Chevron gas is under two bucks in Sacramento now. GW is putting gas prices right back where he found them, and all it took was a total collapse of the US economy over a war that we were drawn into. No, seriously, it was ~~because their operatives attacked us on 9/11~~
~~because there was a link between Bin Laden and Saddam that we somehow misplaced~~
~~because they had weapons of mass destruction~~
because it's our job to spread democracy ~~via a president who was not democratically elected with a war nobody voted on~~.

Yes, it's our job. Even if it means leaving ourselves without the national manpower to deal with an immense hurricane that knocks the shit out of our country. After all, we have experience in dealing with hurricanes without the ability to send our military in to help because they're in Iraq.

While I'm here though, lemme see bitch some more, by proxy. It's an old enough and repeated enough argument that it fits this post. That's right. I don't complain about things that are still cool to complain about. I wait until they're right between hip and retro.

Okay, real quick

Fri, 21 Nov 2008 02:38:12 GMT

Shorties.

Is there actually a good male vocalist out there these days? I can't think of any. Country music is just about the only genre out there that has any singing anymore, and since I don't really listen to country, I'm not exposed to any real talent.

To err is human.
To arr is pirate.

If you've ever been robbed while wearing white ear buds, you were asking for it.

The state of California is about to experience a 5% decline in paying its employees, but at least we'll get an extra day off a month. I'm the only one who doesn't mind. I'm naturally prosperous.

My LJ was violated by someone who apparently had a lot of free time on her hands. After her surgery, she'll have even more. Eeek. I didn't even have time to put up the drapes.

I have apparently talked my Ash off. This makes me sad.

My first wife needs some love. I have much of it. She needs to come get it. I am full of hugs that I haven't had the chance to give away yet.

Fallout 3 is a very hard game to finish. Going around and doing every quest just gets tiresome if you hit maximum level halfway through (which, in the game, you do).

It is also the only game in which I hear my henchman start fighting, and I keep doing whatever it was I was doing. "He can handle it" is not something I found myself saying often in Neverwinter Nights or KOTOR.

Gmail, your new themes are full of win.

I'm doing this for Cassie:
[Comment, then post in your own journal.
If you saw me in a police car, what would you assume I got arrested for? ]
Go on, answer it.

The mandatory cop-op function of Red Alert 3 is much less annoying now. It still shouldn't be mandatory, but it's good to not have to worry about every little thing across the map all the time.

Tonight's big love goes to all the fat girls out there. Be big. Be beautiful. Davey loves you.
Sit back down, pregnant girls. You don't count this time.

...until it's over.

Wed, 12 Nov 2008 23:11:31 GMT

And it's not over.

One thing is over. Anybody who is really familiar with the situation and who really doesn't have an ounce of sympathy would find this situation absolutely hilarious, and, as luck would have it, I'm that person. That's right, I have no sympathy for myself, because I shed that annoying hang-up long ago. Few things aggravate me like people having sympathy for me (I'll gladly accept "Well, that sucks" on occasion, and little else), and because I do have much sympathy for other people (your pain is yummy for me, I loves me some cinnamon and pain toast om nom nom), the only chance I get to truly laugh at a circumstance regardless of the emotional dismemberment is when it's me who's coming to some very grim conclusions about what life holds in store from here on out.

Foremost is that the theme of my life thus far is best summed up as "the more things change, the more they stay the same." I meet the same people, they have the same quirks, and though they fill very interesting and divergent roles in my life, I've noticed the same actors behind the veil popping in to play bit parts and speaking roles all over the place. I never would have thought Amber and Angel would be mentioned in the same context, but the similarities are found even within the most complex of personality traits and even our daily interactions. Every redhead I've ever really gotten to know has played almost exactly the same role in my life (except Haley, who plays the Angel/Amber role), though it bears note that Allie is the queen of them, and earns her first-wife status. I have a list of Lost Lenores, full of opportunities to take what I want and enjoy the more valuable and basic spoils of my pursuits, whom I left behind and turned away because I would have had to sacrifice my honor to do so.

But the threes, the patterns that keep rising to the top, are what let me know that even my outside perspective on the behavior of humankind won't be enough to get me what I need to make it to the next step of personal satisfaction.

When I was much younger, my mother did a Tarot reading for her. She had me commune with the cards, you know, so they'll catch the essence and read for me, and all she drew, that whole session, were indications of three women. Sure, I was hoping mother, wife, daughter, that would be fine with me. Turns out things were going to come true in a different and certainly less traditional way.

Mom's cards weren't making a whole lot of sense after that. I don't remember whether she got rid of those, but the next few readings for other people were completely wacky. I might have broken her deck, which is why I don't let people do readings for me anymore. It'd be rude.

So now, I'm able to see the transitions of the last little mini-era of my life for the circles they were. I did the walk, had my fun, and this time, nothing's changed. I'm just waiting for the last trails to die off and the last traces to be wiped clean by the little storm that's being kicked up at work by the usual suspects.

Perhaps it's time to force a change. I think I'll start putting out resumes for a promotion. Might as well milk the forces of motion for all they're worth, before they peter out completely.

Today's big love goes to Eva, my beloved Canadian wife, and her beloved Canadian Canadian. I don't care who you are, I have slaughtered more digitized Chinese soldiers with her than I have with you (unless you're Dylan, and if you are Dylan, you shouldn't be reading my blog). Whoever else you are, chances are, Eva is hotter than you, too. She's got it like kaboom. KABOOM, I SAY.

Ooo, got it

Wed, 29 Oct 2008 15:48:37 GMT

Fallout 3 yesterday + Red Alert 3 today = a good reason to have everybody stop talking to me

I actually wouldn't have been very good company beyond yesterday anyway. It might seem depressing, but it works out for everybody. I am still waiting for the "kapow" thing to hit like it normally does, but I think this might just be an interlude before moving on to act 2.

Either way, I wanted to say that Fallout 3 is definitely not really Fallout 3. It's a post-apocalyptic role-playing game set in the Fallout universe, yes, but nothing based on Half-Life's engine is ever going to be a spiritual successor to the holiest of titles. Especially if the darker, self-aware humor is gone. They seem to have gotten Ron Perlman to do the intro, but he sounds so different, and doesn't keep the same tone. It's just not Fallout.

Still, I paid fifty bucks for it, and dammit, I'm going to try to prove myself wrong by going further into the game. First-person shooters do eventually make me nauseous, which is why I'm about to stop posting and go get an easier-on-the-stomach game to play in the admidstwhile.

Real quick, I wanted to send a shout out to my new word "circumbobulated." It pretty much means what you think it means, particularly if you think it means nothing.

Also, I hate the term "blackface." Hated it from back in drama class, and after seeing somebody talk about Tropic Thunder, I hate it just as much. Does it have that want-to-smack-the-person-who-said-it quality for anybody else?

Today's big love goes out to Jamie and her awesome Tarot Deck. She's the only person I know whose nickname is also a learning disability (albeit a very sexy one). Those of you familiar with the Brannigan dictionary will know what I mean.

Brilliance

Sat, 11 Oct 2008 07:08:08 GMT

Oh, well played, universe, well fuckin' played.

You guys know how sometimes just understanding something makes you feel smarter? I've detected a pattern and intention that attacks like a force three hurricane that studied under Ra's al Ghul. Things in my life are more interesting than they've ever been, and as I look back and see the sequence of events, I understand how each thing had to happen in that exact order to land me where I am. I don't really know how it ends, but I know for sure that I haven't heard the punchline yet. This has crossed the usual month-long limit for these little episodes of incredible transition and revisitations, and the profound ways it's been playing out definitely merits the time frame. This is art, and it's going to take as long as it needs to.

Like any good surgery, there's not only a chance of complete and utter failure, bankruptcy, and death, but also the chance that it will all come to a sudden and dull stop because I got cold feet at the last moment and stepped out of the pattern. I'm definitely not on the road to doing that last bit, but when you see the doors slam shut on you, the lights dim, and you hear Tobin Bell's voice tell you that he'd like to play a little game, it doesn't matter how many times you've passed his little tests, your pulse starts pounding.

Yes, I'm juggling land mines, and any of them could do a pretty big number on me. This, my friends, is what makes me cackle with maniacal glee. If I may draw your attention to this, I think it would probably put my frame of mind into better perspective. Just takes a minute of your time. Literally, just a minute, unless your connection is bad.

Let's see if I can get things moving for some details. It's a long story, so I'll try to paraphrase.

Er.

Crap, that's definitely not going to suffice. You all don't know who I'd be talking about or our history. It's like saying that The Dark Knight was about a guy who was having trouble at work. I'd have to introduce the characters one by one and get into my (ew) feelings about them. I'll see what I can do to TV-adapt it, but like trying to run The Sopranos on PBS, you're going to miss out on just about everything, and have to presume it's about spaghetti.

See, it began with a warning, and that consisted of a couple of people (who had never met each other) messaging me after years and years of silence. Old playmates, you could call them. They came to me like the ghosts of Christmas Past and Present, except they both represented the past. And they stayed there, because the visits, although promising of emails and more messages, were over in a jiff, and now neither respond to any sort of attempt at contact. I figure "Okay. Creepy, but okay." It really just went along with the theme in my life of people vanishing without a trace or explanation. I hadn't seen it at the time, but my aggravation related to this theme had been given a long, painful trip out my mental door, got dropped on the curb, and was presumed taken out with the trash. Hell, I didn't have a tear to wipe when Amber moved out; I'd accepted that it was a temporary thing before she even moved in. I appreciate people while they're here, and smile for the good time we had when they go. It's just the art of not taking things for granted. She was here, things were fun, she left, things were still good. I don't blow things like that out of proportion.

I also usually don't catch on to foreshadowing, because without having read further into the book, a good writer makes it impossible to tell foreshadowing from flavor text, so you really just need to keep your eyes open and context will come post facto. Not to be confused with compost facto, which can probably be found under "mulch" in the encyclopedia. But foreshadowing, these two visits were, because they were inexplicable (I tried to explic them, I really tried) and simultaneous. I should have known the universe was using that as a prelude to the novel's worth of fascinating personal pugilism to the face.

But it does this from time to time. Whenever anything big happens, as I've probably already mentioned, it involves the following:

1) Unfixable computer hardware malfunction on my computer (happened twice so far this time)
2) Unfixable computer hardware malfunction of somebody else's computer (sorry, Mom, you were the victim of my universal mojo)
3) A major car issue (she shut down at a red light while driving to work last month, but the carnival is still playing)
4) Absolute personal financial bankruptcy (usually resulting from the first three problems, and a good reason to not keep any credit cards that would actually require me to file bankruptcy).
5) Always the final major thing among these five, a career-altering change happens

Well, when I got home that one day to find that my motherboard and processor were shot (and would need a replacement of the RAM because my old stuff became obsolete in the meantime and unusable with anything I would buy), I should have known right then, but it was when I'd already replaced everything, fixed what I needed to, backed things up, and come home to again find everything dead that I got the warning sign that I was looking for. The instant I got the side of my case off to find out what was going on, my phone rang. It was my mother, calling to tell me that the exact same thing had happened to her. The eventual diagnoses were found to be different, but the symptoms were exactly the same...power, a beep, a loading screen, and death.

I won't bother you with the series of interesting events that followed and were involved in determining that my video card suddenly won't display anything higher than 4 bits (WTmotherF causes anything like that?), but I will say that I was intrigued. Game on, I told reality. You want to play? Let's fucking play.

Then, out of the blue, Jill messages me. You all remember Jill?

I sure hope not. That would be creepy as hell. I haven't really talked about her. She was an old friend from back when I worked at Radio Shack, and was the one who introduced me to the awesomeness of government work. Even the shit jobs pay way better than the private-sector shit jobs. I have her to thank for my career, but I never really got the chance to, because she's a world-class flake. Seriously, she would just vanish, ignoring your emails, phone messages, and any other way you tried to get in touch, and she'd be gone for years. Then you'd meet her later at the mall, she's be shocked and delighted, and give you her new number, you'd talk for about a week, and off she'd go.

Well, here she was again, and had a lot to say. In emotional trouble again, because she drew drama to herself and it kicked her ass on a consistent basis. It was part of the reason that she and I never hooked up (I had such a chance to kiss her, and I so very, very passed on it, and used to wonder if I made the right choice...she was just out of a relationship, and was very raw, and even though I think the night would have gone well for me, it wouldn't have been the right thing to do.).

She messaged me on Sunday at first. We talked about old times, caught up on what we're doing, all was good, and I was fully expecting her to be on her way. For the record, she might still be on her way and just taking her time about it, but on Monday, she was upset about something else, and wanted me to tell her what was wrong with her, why she couldn't be with a decent guy, why she couldn't make a relationship last, why her career was in shambles, and why she was never happy.

It just so happened that I was full of tell-people-off energy that I wasn't spending because of concerns about it being counterproductive (another long story that I'm sparing you), and I found myself facing that aggravation again, because she was baiting me. She wanted to hear me tell her off for that behavior that I so deeply, deeply hate, that horribly disrespectful tendency to just up and go, severing any emotional ties that other people might have made in the meantime. But I didn't tell her what she was asking for. No, I went ahead and told her that I was busy, and would tell her some other night. She didn't care for that, and begged a little, but I really was busy.

See, I was already dealing with another massive, jaw-splitting blow that reality had dealt me on the same day she sauntered back into my life. More on that later.

So a few hours later, she's still on, I'm still on, and I just start right into it. I spend about a half hour deconstructing every decision she's ever made, told her why she does what she does, what happens because of it, and every wrong turn she's made. I know, I know, this doesn't ever end well for people, but I went ahead and did it. I cited example after example and pointed out pattern after pattern, because hey, she asked. It's fair game. Shut up, yes it is. She needed to hear it from someone, and the kind of people she hung out with were not ever going to even notice this, much less bring it to her attention and make a compelling argument about it.

I knew at the time that doing that with somebody so deeply immersed in drama was a dangerous act, but anybody who's seen me do what I really do will understand my capacity to put a loving spin on a conversational bitch-slap. When it was all over, she had a good cry, thanked me, and for the record, did not commit suicide. In fact, it's been a few weeks now, and she seems much more optimistic, and has thanked me again for being so honest with her and insightful. She hasn't completely vanished yet. This is another thing that is amiss. Normally words aren't enough to break somebody out of a pattern. I had to put some thought to that while she and I went back to our old flirtatious ways. We might not have had any physical contact of a suggestive nature of any kind (ever), but innuendo was pretty rampant with us. We pretty much used each other as ego support (boys, if you're taking note, girls need to feel desireable, and it's not a crime to promote that feeling within them, it's just when you start involving stationery that the law gets involved), and we continue to do so. It's our way.

But I was keeping my eyes open. I thought, Could this be some sort of twisted-ass reward for helping her understand the problems in her life and following up with her afterward to make sure she internalized it the right way and started making positive steps to correct it? because even my thoughts are sometimes obnoxiously articulate. Maybe this was what the universe wanted me to see, and once she got those changes underway, this would be the focus of the transition that comes with a blown-up computer and a threateningly vague vehicular problem. Maybe this would be what it was building up to, a sort of finalization and conclusion to my buried aggravation toward people who just leave. A reconciliation of sorts.

Well, as it turned out, no. This symphony was just in the opening stages. The term "perfect storm" doesn't apply, because this is far too delicate for a bunch of forces to have just collided and teamed up. This was a note-by-note presentation of something unique, personal, and custom-fitted.

Because the thing that I was busy with when Jill wanted me to explain her life to her (and she knew me well enough to know that I could) was that the real and true source of why I was unable to truly kill my frustration about vanishing people was in the middle of being addressed.

A conversation ten years in the making was taking place. Yes, ten years. More than a third of my life (all of my adult life) was an exercise in settling the unfinished story between myself and my first love. The first woman I said "I love you" to, the first woman I kissed, the first woman I touched in a familiar way, my first lots of things.

I can't tell you, I mean, I really cannot express the complexity of my feelings, because I've been working on them for a decade, and everything I've learned in my adult life was built on top of the roiling mix of pain and grief and love and insecurity and adoration and admiration and loss that was wrapped around a person I'll simply call "L." I chose this letter because "A" would create grammatical confusion when used in a sentence. She was the first one to truly vanish, and the horrible thing was that she drifted back a little bit afterward to talk, and would sound like she wanted to really touch bases, but every time I tried to get a little bit of an explanation as to what happened, she would flutter away again.

Beating Nintendo's "The Karate Kid" is supremely frustrating, but a whole new level of superlative was created in my mind for how frustrating that situation was. I could classify her actions very easily just by putting myself on the outside of the situation, but that was a salve for my brain, not for my heart. I needed closure of some kind, and I needed to at least hear from her that things were as they appeared.

It took me ten goddamned years to get it out of her. She messaged me the same day that Jill did, and we just started talking as the ten years had never passed. The events of the day, family, ourselves, she messaged me with something like "Goodness, William is twelve already?" (quote adjusted for anonymity), and I said something to the effect of "Yeah, he keeps on growin'. We keep telling him to drink more coffee and start smoking, but he doesn't want to listen." We just took it from there, and it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, the next night, she actually dug in her heels and invited me to ask all the questions I needed the answers to. And she gave me the answers. And the balloon of angst deflated, and everything that had been built on top of it began to crumble. I was left with an emotional void in myself, and a stillness I hadn't felt since my teenaged years. I was no longer shutting myself off from the feelings that I had buried with my image of her, the irrational pieces of myself that I had poured cement over to give myself a stronger emotional base.

All the maturity and all the ability to say "fuck it" to life's hardships were gone. My personal insecurities, my irrational fear of failure, my sense of career direction, my social anxieties, my desire to impress people, my need to be better, they all came flooding back. I got back in touch with my fear of losing people, and although that means that I get to face it again and overcome it again, it means that it's now clinging to me and has returned to its old room in my personality. For the first time this millenium, I was able to feel nervous about something.

But the fun with her was just beginning, because, well, you people know how I flirt. Well, she flirts, too. This is good, because it's positive reinforcement from somebody who meant so incredibly disproportionately much to me. First loves, you know how you never really get over them.

So my new worry became my feelings for her, which had to be settled.

Also had to reconcile Jill's new role in my life, if she was staying. How far would things go with her, if they would indeed go at all? Her intentions are...well, hard to read. And I can't ask her, because it's pretty clear that she doesn't know, either. (Another thing to take a note on, boys, is that asking a woman what she's feeling isn't as productive as it sounds, because they're usually still talking it out when you start wondering. That's why they're talking to you, they need to hear things out loud and see how they sound in order to solidify them. If they always knew what they were feeling, married men wouldn't have migraines.)

So spending a half hour telling Jill what's wrong with her life was my release from the intensity of reconciling with L. It worked out perfectly, it all happened sequentially, and was part of setting me up for the next big blow.

Keep in mind that this is the extremely watered-down version, and what you're getting is really just the Reader's Digest version. Even as long as this post is, this is essentially just bullet-pointing the important parts.

So now I'm in touch with my old neuroses (wheeee!), and finding out what kind of future I have with L. We astonished one another with what little detailed we remembered about each other, and what closely guarded personal habits we had (like my defensive tendency to break an intimidate moment because it's getting too intense). She's talking like she'd like to meet up, which would be a fantastic way to introduce a little bit of continuity to the old remnant feelings that won't go away. Most of what I remember about her is based upon an image frozen in time, one that wasn't even very clear, and if I were able to stand in her present, hear her voice, see her with my own eyes, the animal part of me that does all the feeling would be able to put context to what's been drifting around in my head. If something happens, if nothing happens, the best-case scenario still lies in a real-life confrontation to get everything settled in a way that all parts of me can recognize.

And if you say anything along the lines of "What if she hurts you again," I will stab you in the spleen with a wooden pencil. I know that the beginning of this post was a long time ago, but read it again. I don't need the LJ-post equivalent of shouting "Don't go in there!" at the movie screen. If she vanishes again, I now have context. She's explained what happened and why it happened, and if it happens again, I can roll with it, old-school neuroses or not. Nothing would be left unanswered by it.

How sad is it that I have to get aggravated by things that haven't even been said yet? That's my next huge pet peeve, completely freaking obvious questions and observations that have already been addressed. If I tell you that I've been mulling over something for days, I don't care who you are, you are not going to come up with any crucial insight for me in the course of ten seconds. I actually think about things, I don't just hop down to the bar, get drunk, and pretend that I saw something that I saw in the toilet afterward was profound. A lot of that comes from a Particular Person who loved to jump on everything I said and argue about it for the sake of a philosophical cock fight, and the arguments were always bad ones that anybody who thought about what I'd said would never have made. This happened for enough years that I started jumping at conversational ghosts.

But enough about that.

Continuity was the key issue with L. I know this because my father turned fifty last Tuesday. How do those two things have anything to do with each other? Well, he wanted to spend his fiftieth birthday at Disneyland. I used to live a few hours from Disneyland. I spent roundabout ten years in the area, and what I consider my original home town to be is in that area. Good ol' George Air Force Base. I was a military kid, if any of you didn't know. Dad was in the Air Force, and I was raised on a base, one with an extremely safe neighborhood (after all, everybody there was in the armed forces), extremely good prices for food, great entertainment facilities (A buck fifty to see a movie, and a buck for popcorn? Hell yeah!), a great pool with concrete that was always the perfect temperature to lie on after swimming, and everything that a home town can offer a kid. It even had a huge desert for walking in when a kid needed time to commune with nothingness.

Well, it still does, but everything about the place is torn down. The base was shut down a long, long time ago, and all the trees have collapsed and fallen onto and into the dilapidated buildings. There are precisely two unbroken windows on the whole base, except around the golf course, which is still running under private management. The grass is long since dead, and the place is a wrecked ghost town. As we were driving around through it, Dad and I, there was a tragic sense of melancholy that somehow made everything feel better for me. We went to visit it to dabble in old memories, but continuity was the thing. Even as depressing as it was to see my childhood home(s) from an adult perspective for the first time ever, to walk across the old ground by the old parks and marvel at how tiny everything seemed, it was extremely therapeutic. I might be able to talk Mom into posting some of these pictures up.

Other homes in the area (we moved frequently) showed that the world had kept turning without me there. Old stores I loved were gone, old restaurants were replaced. The stretches of sandy wilderness were replaced by condos and strip malls, and the old signs were new, flashy, and uniform to what I was already used to in Sacramento. It was hard to recognize anything at all, and that, too, filled me with a certain peace.

Continuity.

Disneyland was fun, by the way. Getting off the Matterhorn, Dad and I were stopped by Disneyland staff and each handed a little card thing that invited us to stay after for an extra hour after ninety percent of the people had been removed from the park. We just walked right onto Space Mountain, the Jungle Cruise, and, of course, a second tour of Pirates of the Caribbean. Let's hear it for micro-promotions.

Back to the subject at hand, though, I knew that the trip through Continuityville wasn't the end of this little transitional period, because I got a little warning sign before I left.

Does anybody remember William Seretta?

Bullshit, no you don't. None of you knew me back when he was my best friend in high school. 'cept Mom, of course, I don't know if even she remembers him. Well, he messaged me, after I hadn't heard from him in thirteen-ish years. Just out of the blue. He caught my name, made sure it was me, and we shared a few words. He's doing fine, was apparently in the Marine Corps, and now works construction. Hell, I'm willing to say I'm proud of him. But I recognized him for the warning that he was. Amusingly enough, we shared a few words in the first days of October, and then the messages stopped without warning. Ha ha, I said to the universe. Cute. Where are we going with this?

Well, I have a Match.com profile. Every so often (yearly), I would pay the monthly membership fee for one month, send out the emails and winks and whatever, just in case the universe wanted to throw me a bone. Or have me throw somebody else a bone, yar har har, blah. This is called keeping the door open, and it usually placates the people who tell me that I should be looking harder to get a girlfriend. This time, the day after I cancelled my paid membership (relegating me back to the people who can't send emails to people), I got an email. From, like, an actual person. Who was female. I mean, it was literally the next morning that I actually got my first actual email. Cute, universe, you really are fucking with me. Okay. Like Kuzco going over the waterall. Bring it on.

We've been talking. I won't bore you with the details, but I will tell you that I've found it extremely charming that we've had disagreements about literary works (like, fundamental disagreements), but we keep talking in a friendly way. This is new to me. Usually, disagreements mean the end of a conversation (especially since I make points and cite examples, which intimidates the shit out of people, which makes them uncomfortable, which ends the conversation), but this person actually disagreed with me, made a point back, and since it was an email, moved on to the next thing. She likes to argue, is good at it, and doesn't take it personally. Doing!

And here's the fun part that makes me leans back in my seat, laugh, and applaud loudly at how sneaky everything was.

Amber needed to get out of the house so I would have time to deal with all the situations coming to me. Not only that, but she would need to do for completely retarded reasons so that I would accept it without being distracted with the hope that she was actually moving up somehow. Then she had to do something to make me thoroughly annoyed with her, which she was extremely gracious in doing again and again, so she was properly out of my mind.

In order to make all of this work, and to avoid drawing her back into my life, I needed to be free of the urge to respond to her request for a conversation about why I'm not talking to her, and that's where Jill came in. The energy I was going to put into telling off Amber went to Jill, which turned my attention further away, enabling me to focus on L. With my attention on her, I was able to look down every emotional road I could travel, understand what real dangers were there, and put forth a logical solution to either reconciling my feelings, or continuing down the path that I'd thought we were on ten years ago. I also needed my hands free so I could juggle the emotional hand grenades that came with the old memories, and deal with the clingy personal weaknesses that crawled out of that hole and latched onto my face.

In order for all that to happen, my computer needed to die so that I could take my focus off of my games and put it on these events. I would normally just fix the problem, but as a fascinating coincidence, Fallout 3 is coming out at the end of the month, and I can't buy a video card yet, because if it won't run that game screamingly fast, I will want to be able to return it, and most of the time, there's a thirty-day return period. I need, need, need enough time to get the game, see it running at its highest performance mode, and determine whether my video card needs to be replaced. DIRTY PULL, REALITY. Because now, the dinky little replacement card I pulled out of the closet won't play any of the games that would tide me over and take my time and attention away from dealing with this curious series of not-coincidences.

L also brought to light the importance of continuity, which flavored my trip to my old home town, which now has me in a different frame of reference. You see, right now, it's like I had the last ten years of personal development erased, I'm flying a little emotionally blind, and I no longer have the patience I once did. My new beefs got settled, my old beefs got resurrected, and the woman who summarized my dating history for the last five years is out of the picture. My childhood memories are put to rest, my relationship with my father has had some of the kinks worked out of it, he was able to see me as a man, I was able to see him as a person, and I'm closer to my past than I've ever been. Hell, it's like a reset button just got hit. I'm kind of right where I'd be if I'd actually finished college and gotten that degree, just like I wanted to do right out of high school.

I'm at square one. And if anything had happened even slightly out of order in all of that, it wouldn't be anything like this.

Right on time to find out what part this new person from Match.com is going to play. I'm off-balance, wrestling with thought-dead neuroses, and, for the first time in as long as I'm able to remember (and I fucking remember being born, people [sucked, btw, but not as much as you might think] ), I'm unsure of myself.

Brilliant, universe. Truly brilliant orchestration.

But it's not over.

No, no matter how it turns out with her, there are pieces of this masterpiece still unfinished. What will happen when/if L and I have that confrontation? How long until Jill meanders off again? Is this the end of my car troubles? What will happen to my finances to bottom them out (besides a trip to Disneyland, a whole freakin' new computer, Christmas around the corner, birthdays galore, a trip with L in the works...)? Where is my career headed?

I just got an email that's about to start pulling those answers in.

Bring it on.

I'm out.

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 05:51:45 GMT

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)

Wild ride

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 03:05:26 GMT

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.

Whew

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 00:03:14 GMT

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.

There's no "inspired" feeling...is that just the LJ client?

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 00:33:35 GMT

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.

So, like, yeah, and stuff.

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 23:58:12 GMT

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.

Thu, 08 May 2008 01:01:44 GMT

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.

Dear Doctor Dave
Why are some people so afraid of clowns?
Blismo

Dear Terrifying Undead Avatar of Hell,

It’s a much more simple explanation that it would appear, and at the same time, will take a while to really expand on, so I’m just going to try to get all the major points covered. To sum up, some people are afraid of clowns because they’re programmed to. Yes, fear of clowns is evolutionary.
See, there are two very different sources of fear that most people experience, and though the experience is somewhat the same, the sources are entirely different. Most horror/slasher fans shrugged off Cape Fear and Fatal Attraction and such, because they’re not scared of some guy or some chick with emotional issues. Likewise, fans of suspense genres roll their eyes when they see Jason Vorhees’s heart leap down some guy’s throat and suffocate him. In the course of human development, one type of fear was developed to encourage creatures to get away from things that will kill them, and another type was developed to keep them away from situational danger, such as avalanches, ambushes, and the release of a new Ben Affleck romantic comedy.
Subtle clues, like the non-chirpage of birds, will set a person off...changes of air pressure, strange tracks, etc. Like if you woke up, and there were no cars on the street, and everybody was gone with no explanation, that would be scary as hell. Same with dead bodies. Just having one around will freak people right the hell out, because it’s just about the most effective and present form of that situational fear; clearly, there’s something around that is capable of killing a person, so having fear of being around it is going to prevent people from getting killed by the same thing.
And clowns? Well, they’re damned near the closest thing to the living dead that’s available to be seen in person. Consider, if you will, that one of the most recognizable aspects of death is paleness. Clowns usually wear white makeup. The only color to be seen on a corpse is usually red, which is concentrated in the nose, cheekbones, and the lips, as is the case with clowns. Clowns also wear makeup to exaggerate their eyes, making the actual eyeballs appear to be sunken and recessed, as with a corpse. There’s also the oversized hair, which, since it’s almost never in standard human proportion, makes it appear to be the patchy, hair-fall-outy way that a corpse will undergo, and since a clown’s hair is large, it makes the head look shrunken, as happens to dead people as well.
And they usually don’t talk. This is a situational cue. People fuckin’ talk. Clowns don’t. And their motions are exaggerated as well, which sets off a discomfort-alarm in a lot of minds, where it’s close, but it’s not what’s used to being seen. And they engage in mockeries of human behavior, often involving life-or-death situations. This brings death back to the attentions, reminding people who are watching that they’re essentially watching animated corpses imitate them.
Add this to the number of movies with evil clowns in them (Killer Clowns from Outer Space, It, for Christ’s sakes...), and you’ve got a double-fear martini of terror. It’s not even a rational fear. People have fear of spiders and snakes, and those people, when presented with those things, tend to stare in fright until the thing goes away, but people can go utterly apeshit if a clown walks into the room at the wrong time, because it cuts a little deeper than the standard present terror. It’s something they often don’t understand and therefore have no experience controlling, so it’s not likely to ever get better.

So there you go.

So here's what I've done ...
I've seen Iron Man.

Now let me go ahead and say that I've never liked Iron Man. The villains always looked lame. The character was hokey and directionless, and just not the kind of thing you make a movie out of. With Spider-Man and Batman and Superman, there's a celebrated canon to molest and redesign to put new spins on it for the sake of modernization, and people are curious to see how the newest actor/director will present already-familiar information. With Iron Man, there's a built-in problem, and that is that nobody gives a shit. Case in point: Me.

Now, having sit through The Punisher and Daredevil, I was perfectly willing to let this one be the first recent Marvel movie to slip on by m...no, wait, Elektra counts. Okay, the second recent Marvel movie to slip past me and have me not care at all. And Robert Downy Jr? Snorefest. And then I caught the preview, and it actually made me laugh. Okay, so I figured I'd check it out, even with my distaste for anyone who's been on the news for massive, rampaging, drug-addled benders...repeatedly.

As it turns out, the movie is absolutely awesome. Yeah, I was shocked too. The characters were all very believable and (gasp!) not stale. They had depth, yo. The movie introduced something noticeably absent from the general entertainment media today, and that is subtlety. Motivations were solid! Lines were interesting! Action sequences were...well, fairly rare, but y'know what? I had fun that whole damned movie. And I'm going to go ahead and say it: Best. Superhero movie ending. Ever. I can't explain it, but those of you who have seen it know what I'm talking about.

Also saw a performance of Cats, through Perfectly Legitimate Digital Means. And I stopped giving a fuck what a Jellicle Cat is halfway through the first song. What a completely retarded-sounding word. That theme continued throughout the play, with names that picked up my poor little willingness to put up with retardation to a point, and kicked it in the nuts. If that weren't bad enough (and it's not, because I'm generous), I went in expecting a story, and found....none. No dialogue or anything. I'd become interested in the play because Epica did a cover of Memories, and I thought "Well, if there's a song this well-phrased and solid in it, there has to be a redeeming factor or two therein." Joke's on me. Turns out it's one a long propogandafest of Satanism. And while I normally approve of such things, this was an insult to He Who Gave Us Video Games, Rock 'n' Roll, and That Thing Your Girlfriend Does. You're going to have to have a hell of a time telling me that Andrew Lloyd Weber was not saying that Satan keeps Jesus around in order to promote a corrupt transcendence system. I'd try to think more about the representation of communism, but I don't like to review pictures of aborted fetuses, I don't like to pick up roadkill and match it to the "missing pets" posters, and I don't like to think too hard about Cats. So in closing, it's a bunch of overly-punchy, hit-you-over-the-head-with-it jazz hands in a series of scantly-correlated songs.

When I had a moment, I also saw No Country For Old Men. It was an okay way to start a movie. Now if they could just shorten it to five minutes (I am positive that they could), and put another movie at the end of it, they'd have something.

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.

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 01:20:13 GMT

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.

Lingual homicide waitin' to happen

Tue, 31 Jul 2007 03:46:40 GMT

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.

POPE Benedict has said there is substantial scientific proof of the theory of evolution.

The Pope, speaking as he was concluding his holiday in northern Italy, also said the human race must listen to "the voice of the Earth" or risk destroying its very existence.

In a talk with 400 priests, the Pope spoke of the current debate raging in some countries, particularly the US and his native Germany, between creationism and evolution.

“They are presented as alternatives that exclude each other,” the Pope said.

“This clash is an absurdity because on one hand there is much scientific proof in favour of evolution, which appears as a reality that we must see and which enriches our understanding of life and being as such.”

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.

Sat, 12 May 2007 00:32:47 GMT

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.

Baked goods baked and bads

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 06:18:12 GMT

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?

Subject lines suck.

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 02:01:00 GMT

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.

And here it is, your moment of zen:

[not edited from original format or spelling]

Amber Mills to David Humphrey Feb 13 (2 days ago)

David
If you do not have an hatchet tores me.
Then i one quezon.
Can you & I be in the same & be sitvalieds people?
Because sen you are friends with my falimy, make no msacke about it.
I want you to be there friend!
There may be an time were we are in the same place at the same time.
And nether one of us should have to leave.