Big announcement tomorrow. So just... hold out until then.

JUST READ YESTERDAY'S POST AGAIN!

For serious, I'm half tempted to totally write today's post off. Especially because today wasn't great shakes compared to yesterday... I was dehydrated and grumpy. I mean, I had a really deeeeeeeelightful hamburger, but on the grand scale of things, yesterday is still winning the living crap out of my life. So, um. There. Just read yesterday's again.

Okay, fine, I won't leave it at that. I'm still feeling vaguely writery, even though I've been slightly lax vis the actual writing the last few days. So, lord help me, I think I'm going to start ripping off Aaron wholesale and forcing myself to write One Creative Thing Per Day. Starting tomorrow. Because if I let myself, I'll be a lazy bum. So I can;t let myself.

A picture is worth ALL THE WORDS IN THE WORLD OMGWTFPDA.

So, here's the story. I had a meeting for my tutoring dudes, and it was held at a Panera Bread at a strip mall, because we don't actually have an office here. That was alright. It was next to a Jelly Belly store, which was pretty awesome, because they had free jelly bean tastings. I tried some of their most recent flavors: pomegranite, dark chocolate, bacon, and soap... all of which were accurate (in a disturbing way, in some cases). That was pretty awesome. And then, because I had nothing else to do, I stepped into the local Barnes and Noble. I had no intention of buying anything (if there were something I wanted, I'd ask Amber to buy it with her store discount at her store), but I figured I'd browse a bit before I made the drive home, maybe get a coffee, whatever.

And then I saw this:

An endcap full of horror? Horror that's not by King or Koontz or any of those big names? ZOMBIE-centric horror? Heavens, how intriguing!

And what's this? It's not just horror, it's horror by a small publisher! A minor player! Indeed, it's an endcap full to bursting with Permuted Press offerings, including my former professor Dr. Kim Paffenroth's Dying to Live and a charming little anthology called...

HISTORY IS DEAD! THE ANTHOLOGY THAT I AM IN! MY ANTHOLOGY! MY BOOK THAT I AM IN IS IN A PHYSICAL BOOKSTORE AND I DIDN'T PUT IT THERE OR ORDER IT!

Dudes! Dudes! Dudes! This is a thing! This is SUCH a dudely thing that there are no WORDS with which I can describe it!

For serious. I'm going to go run in circles until I fall down now.

THIS IS A THING YOU ALL SHOULD BE INFORMED ABOUT..

So, RiffTrax, eh? Yeah, RiffTrax. From the dudes who brought you MST3K (or at least, the dudes who brought you it for the last half of the shows run, and did the talking, and... whatever), it's sound files that you play at the same time as movies, to approximate the awesomeness of Mystery Science Theater for movies that would be too expensive to buy the rights to dub over! It's literally the best thing that ever happened. Ever. Literally. Forever.

("Best thing that ever happened" is one of those subjective enough phrases that I feel comfortable using it literally. Because yeah. It's rawksome.)

Writing. It's not a thing that I do... it's what I do. (And minor rant on language).

So I had an Idea. And Idea which may lead to a Project, one helmed by myself and Ford. It's one of those things which may seem lamer by the light of day, or prove entirely beyond the capacities of two clever dudes who are nonetheless unexceptional programmers.

In other news, after a goodly time of being an uncreative, unexciting gadfly of a dude, I do believe that things are beginning to come up Milhouse again. A story I like, a story I'm liking which might even go further, a new website which I'm making modest progress on, and this here capitalized Idea. It's pretty awesome. Not going to lie, despite having 'Edison's Dead Men' actually appear in dead tree form in December, most of that month and a good chunk of January flashed by where I didn't feel like a writer. I was a guy who had written a story, which is an entirely different paradigm. It seems silly sometimes, but the language one uses inside one's head really does make a definite and noticeable difference in how one feels. It's the sort of thing I'd never thought about until I was in therapy, and actually started tracking things like that.

The labels you apply to yourself help define you. They are the categories into which you place yourself. Obviously each individual is just that, individual, but if you tell someone you are a doctor, or a teenager, or a Christian, in every case they will put you in that category and see and react to you appropriately (and likewise, you will see and react to yourself based on the categories you think you fit in). When I was 16, I wouldn't call myself a teenager because I didn't feel like I was justifiably a part of that group. The world abounds with people who believe in the broad strokes of the Gospels but aren't comfortable calling themselves Christian. 'Scrubs', of all shows, did a pretty good episode on Elliot's inability to think of herself as a doctor even though she practiced medicine. Labels, like any words, carry so much more meaning than the dictionary would have you believe that it's sometimes a wonder people are ever able to say anything at all.

And so, for several weeks, I felt like a guy who writes sometimes. Which isn't a bad thing to be, but that's about all I felt like, and it's a bit... iut's a bit of a nothing. Amber once said I had a tendency to float around the apartment like a soul without a purpose, and she was right. But lately, I've been feeling like a Writer, complete with everything that entails. And that is something I am a lot happier feeling like.

The strangest bit.

Dudes, I'm making this quick, because an emergency is in the process of arising. I know, lame, right?

So, the frabtabulous.com domain is going to lapse this month, and I am indecisive. I could renew it for a mere eight-spot, of course, but on the other hand, I could let it die, and point everyone over to TheStrangestBit.org as my default web presence. It's my shiny, pretty, semi-pro site I'm working on. It's live, as of today, and this particular rambly/whiny weblog will still be here, just as an off-link from that particular joint. I am indecisive, and at the moment, I'm too busy preparing to evacuate the apartment to make a solid decision.

(Backstory for the worriers: Amber's cousin is unwell, and we are going to make a journey to cheer him up. Not a grand emergency.)

To-day, I hung about. Work is supposed to begin soonish, and as I know for a fact I actually have a job this time (as opposed to those fakeouts from before), I'm getting slightly anxious. I'm also supposed to finish a stupid-ass questionnaire before next Friday, so I'll get paid for training, which I am putting off like nobody's business. And, I keep tapping out at 'Tesla's Immortals', but I'm in no great hurry to finish it. Taking it easy, slow ride, et cetera. That being said, I know more-or-lass how it's going to end, and truly suspect it's going to rock.

Also, I keep coming up with other things for Hammer to get involved with. It's an exciting time to live in my head.

All right, dudes is excited about additional Hammertime. That's pretty cool. Pretty awesome-cool, really. 'Cause I'm excited about further opportunities to be genteel and put-upon and the like. Oh, and the title, currently, is "Tesla's Immortals", so take that at face value as need be.

Mine was an uneventful day, the most interesting bit being breakfast at Weinershnitzel, which is some sort of local, sausage-themed fast-food chain that I was curious about. The verdict: it leaves much to be desired, and there is very little reason to go there and not the Taco Bell across the street.

I HAVE SPOKEN.

You just can't keep me away.

Late this afternoon, I sat my self down in front of my computer and started typing out the idea which had been kicking around in my head all day. It's nothing like done, nor will it be for a good long while, but I feel I must share the beginning, because it makes me excited.

---

It was the twenty-fourth of March, 1900, when I was roused from my private experimentation in my basement by a pounding on the front door of my home.

“Who could that be?” I muttered to myself, quite unaware that behind the front door lurked the most heinous of villains I had ever had occasion to meet, let alone to work for. Indeed, bar the obvious Ultimate Adversary, the gentleman who had just rapped on my front door was quite possibly the most evil creature ever given form outside the deranged ramblings of certain laudanum-addicted authors. Having dashed up the stairs and thrown on my jacket (I opted to work in my laboratory in shirtsleeves alone, but opening the door demanded propriety), I cautiously eked the door open a crack.

“Hammer!” bellowed the ebullient voice of the demon on my doorstep. The voice alone was enough to alert me as to whom it was, I needed not glimpse the portly face, the thin suit entirely inappropriate to the cold weather, and the horribly manic glint of joy in the man’s eye.

“Edison,” I croaked.

---

That's right, I'm doing another William Joseph Hammer story. Who else is totally hyped?

Zzzzz.

Long-ass day. Long-ass day that ends with me feeling fairly unpleasant, for no real reason except... it's been a long-ass day. Up at seven to assist Amber in taking her car to the shop, after having slept fairly poorly. I think I've reached that point in weariness where tiny, minor things become incredibly annoying... like, unacceptably so. The angle of my keyboard is seriously pissing me off right now, which I suspect is as valid a reason as any to suggest that the remainder of my evening be cut short.

I'm happy to be able to recognize such grumpiness in myself, for what it's worth, before I actually snap my keyboard in half in a sleepy-time rage.

BAH!

Well, I lost. Amber's comment can attest.

If it makes my case any better, I didn't lose because of anything so prosaic as ACTUALLY feeling bad for any reason, rather I lost because I hit her, and sarcastically apologized as I insisted that it was necessary for me to attain the leverage required to stand up. So yeah... I certainly hope unnecessary violence against someone half my size casts me in a better light.

On the other hand, today I fixed a desk (MANLY!) and fixed a printer (TECHNOLOGICAL!) and cleaned the kitchen (HYGIENIC!) am feeling pretty well-rounded as a human. So, good for me?

Also, I went on a fantastic adventure (NOT DESCRIBED HEREIN),

So, I've been challenged. Perhaps even Challenged. Amberella and I have made an informal wager that I cannot go One Day without apologizing.

... I seriously don't think I can win this one.

Obviously there are special dispensations in the event that I accidentally elbow someone in the face, which is not unheard of for someone like me, but this is a fight against my normal state of neurotic apology for simply existing. Which I tend to do... a lot. Because I am, let's face it, crazy. I've been at it for about an hour and a quarter, and already I've damn near failed a half-dozen times. What can I say, I feel bad about EVERYTHING, ALL THE TIME. Isn't that... normal?

Actually, at some point, it's really going to just boil down to "will I remember that this is a day where I'm not allowed to apologize, or will I be distracted by a colorful picture-book and lose entirely". Failure means I have to buy Ambs dinner... success means she has to buy me liquor. I must succeed!

Not Track Five, Not Chain Saw Juggling (also Not Ed)

Dear Internet,

Unfortunately, you will not be receiving your scheduled dose of Ed tonight. Ed went on a voyage today, that involved a train ride, the appropriation of Jarod, my mother's car and breaking into a family friend's house to secure accommodations for the night. He was considering hijacking a bi-plane to fill out the transportation set, but remembered he is terrified of heights.

Tomorrow he rises bright and early to soldier forth to south of the great smoggy city of San Jose (it's off of I-680, by the way. It's really not hard to get there; Mr. Bacharach could have asked me). I understand he is to receive instruction on how to brainwash our youth. Honestly, I'm jealous; I spent the day either wasting away on my bed, or making potentially fever influenced purchases (who knows, a kitchen mat shaped like a giant monkey head could be the best investment in my future I have ever made).

Barring hijinks or tragedy, Ed's postings should resume on schedule tomorrow night.

Yours ever faithfully,

Amber

LIFE OF CRIME!

To-day, I got fingerprinted. Part of the background check process for my forthcoming employment. I've never been fingerprinted before, but I had a vague idea that it involved ink pads and such, the pressing of thumbs into them and then applying said thumbs to bits of paper seems de rigeur for the sort of police procedural I have a vague awareness of (due mainly to the American Cultural Subconscious).

Well! If such inky business is still done at the coppery, it is NOT the sort background checkers use to obtain their wares. Instead, a hefty bearded man grabbed me forcibly by the fingers and made me use what looked for all the world like a two-inch by two-inch photocopier. For serious. Transparent sheet with a light moving by underneath it... the works. How they came by a device of such sensitivity that it only detected the wee ridges of my fingers which were actually contacting the screen (and not the bits an infinitesimal fraction of a millimeter above) I'll never know. Still, it wasn't altogether unpleasant, just an interesting foray into the depth of modern crime-stopping.

O'course, all I have on my record is a pair of moving violations, and that one time I was caught with that goat. You know, breaking into Fort Knox. Old Dixie and I, in a daring daylight cross-species robbery attempt, gone horribly, horribly awry.

Second draft, same as the faft!

Pre-Emptive Strike again. MUCH improved, it doesn't read like something I finished at two in the morning. Inasmuch as I finished it just before one in the morning.

Pomegranates don't come in green or red.

Pomegranates come in purple, and don't you forget it.

So here's the deal, this Saturn's Day I have to be four hours away at nine in the AM to be trained for a tutoring gig. Not Princeton Review, who I'm going to go ahead and say have booched me over a bit, but ExtremeLearn, which is a silly name for dudes which essentially provide computers and homework help to underprivileged youths. Anyway, the trip is pretty ass, but once the training is done, I'll be working in Sacramento, for two three-hour days a week, making $45 each day, which is not anything to sneeze at. It's enough money coming into my life that I can buy food without feeling bad about myself, and the schedule is set enough that I can do other stuff, which is cool, because stuff is awesome.

So, that's the deal.

I got a hat!

Granted, one of those isn't ACTUALLY me in my new hat. Because I don't DO finger-guns, as we all know. That being said, I think I look rather dapper in my slightly overlarge new bowler... I opted for the slightly overlarge version for two reasons.

• The alternative was a slightly underlarge bowler, which looked good but was a tad tight, the sort of thing which would irritate my head during long hatting sessions.
• It sits a little high on the head, but if I pull it down as far as it'll go I look like Badger from Firefly.

Also, I got a job today, but that's hardly relevant to the new hat, I'd think.

I have a lot of titles in the vein of "bleugh", don't I?

Ugh. I eated too many pie.

Or, more accurately, I ate too much Mexican food at the big parent's/Amber/Amber's father dinnertime bash. I should have forgone the dessert, but the banana chimichangas called to me, and besides, everyone else was getting them. Also, they were delicious, which would seem to make it all worthwhile. But you know, I still got that 'too many pie' feeling. The sort which necessitates a nice laydown or a solid purge.

... I think I'm going to go for a nice laydown. My teeth are bad enough already. Sorry it's been a lame post sort of period, but you know... life, and so forth.

Bonus Christmas!

So, my parents are in town for Bonus Christmas! That's the Christmas that happens in January! You know, around January fifth or so.

No, not Epiphany... Bonus Christmas! And not Orthodox Christmas either... it's a decidedly unorthodox thing, is Bonus Christmas. Don't you dare tell me you haven't heard of Bonus Christmas! Don't you dare. And no, you don't need to put the exclamation mark every time you say Bonus Christmas! It's just that I'm very excited by it.

Anyway, I'll be busy with family stuff for the next little while. So, I'm gon' get my sleep on. Rock out y'all.

Finally, escaped those Aztecs.

Pre-emptive strike.

Just finished it. Haven't even proofed it yet, but I'm damn sleepy, and figure I shouldn't leave this place totally blank. I'll fix it up to make it awesome next week, but you may observe now, if you wish.

Greetings from the Ancient Aztec Under-Volcano Slave Pits!

It's gonna be a busy few days. Bear with me.

Filler.

So, I've been writing. A little bit. Back on the saddle after an overlong absence. And also, my parents are coming out this weekend, so I have to do some preparations. So, I'm busy; if all goes according to plan, I'll have a story for you tomorrow. If all doesn't go according to plan, I'll be kidnapped by a lost tribe of Aztecs and thrown into a volcano tomorrow. There may be some sort of middle ground between the two extremes. It's not extremely likely though; ninety percent sure it's a story-or-Aztecs sort of situation here.

New Year!

So, it seems like a new year is upon us. Traditionally, this is a time for one to look back on the year previous, analyze his successes and failures and make a list of resolutions so as to be be a better person in the year to come.

I, on the other hand, believe in being a shallow sort of disappointment, so I spent the day Googling up pictures of naked celebrities and am going to go pass out in the tub.

(Amber would have me tell you that that's not true at all, but she is totally just covering for me.)

What a lovely day!

Oh man, so awesome! For one thing, Ambs and I picked up another MST3K box set and have been wending our way through it, which is always awesome. It's got a mix of Joel, Mike, Dr. Forrester and Pearl, so everybody's happy. It also features movies that make No God Damn Sense, which makes for comedy a-go-go.

But even more awesome, we rented the Metal Slug collection for the Wii. Not only is this a game we can play together (which is a rare thing, as Amber's comfort level with video gaming plateaued in the mid-nineties, and I'm trying to drag her kicking and screaming into the next generation), but it's a really hard-ass Contra-ish shoot-a-tron that reminds me in many ways of Alien Homonid; the cartoony graphics, nonstop action, and incredible violence, specifically.

About the only problem with this day is that a few minutes ago, some douchebags in my apartment complex started screaming and banging pots and pans, and I even think I heard a firework or summat. Actually, I think I'll go ask them to pipe down a tad.

...

...

Wait, happy new WHAT?

nom nom nom nom nom

French! Onion! Soup! I totally made some today. I totally put some together in a totally a-dult fashion. Somewhere Amber acquired this vegetarian cookbook, and through Amber's mother we acquired this crock pot, so much of this soup required putting onions in a crockpot and waiting ten hours. The other part of the French onion soup process involved watching Alton Brown make French onion soup. And the two slightly varied soup styles were combined to make something that I certainly think is quite delicious. Not only is this another thing I can add to my list of "things I can cook" it's also like a 'meal' as opposed to this thrown together thing I've been getting good at. If the first step towards culinary adulthood is creating food that takes longer to cook than to eat, then surely the second step is creating food that takes long enough to cook that you could catch a movie, read a book, cure cancer and then eat.

Today: exciting news and Unneccesary Capitals.

Shopping! Grocery shopping! Planning out meals and buying the bits thereof, like adults do! Yeah! It's a whole world beyond going to the store and getting Ramen, cheese, and beer, and calling it a day! I can, if the mood strikes me, make a Proper gentleman's meal. French onion soup, specifically, but there are bits of OTHER meals, all here already and ripe for the eating, when the time comes to assemble them. The fridge is like... full of stuff. Stuff that's not... rotting bananas, or whatever the hell else Joel would leave in there back at the old place. It's a remarkably Grown Up state of affairs, if you ask me. And that's my Exciting News of the Day.

Friday is pizza day!

Well, perhaps not. but Friday is job interview day, and Friday is Guitar Hero III day, and Friday is 'go to a party that one of Amber's former classmates is throwing' day, so Friday seems to be a pretty exciting sort of day, even if I don't get any pizza, salad, or green beans. I did get a five-layer dip, and kicked some Internet stranger's ass at fake fretmanship, and will be told if I have a job shortly into next year, so huzzah for all that.

Still, I confess that I'm feeling rather blah at the moment of writing. Perhaps my dip was spiked with apathy-juice, but it's more likely that I'm overtired and overstimulated and overmedicated, and should just get my sorry ass to bed.

Simply having a wonderful Christmas time

Hey dudes, this is that guy that posts sometimes. You know, Ed. What's happening?

Okay, I think it's fairly obvious, at least within my particular head, that I'm not in my particular head right now. I've been doing a bit of "the sauce" as they say. But hey, you know what's awesome? Puzzle Pirates. And you dudes that haven't played it in a while, and I know you dudes are out there, they have a new game and you all should get on that. I know MMORPGs aren't really my deal, I don't know why entirely, I think it's because they sort of force you to be friends with strangers and that's not something I do easily. But, um, I'm not going anywhere with this particular statement and I blame that entirely on the sauce, and incidentally the fact that my grammar and spelling is correct is due to the fact that I'm dictating to what's her name than any coherency on my part.

I wonder if she wrote her name 'what's her name' or actually filled in her name. Oh, hey I guess I've written more than enough words for today. Man, happy holidays, y'all, especially such portions of 'ya'll' what sent me Christmas cards and stuff. I'm going to specify Dan Hillier here because he's my favorite. Once I get some god damned magnets I'm putting that up on my fridge. Where do I get magnets? Target has magnets but they are both crap and Wizard of Oz themed. Which is like 'what the fuck?' that movie was both crap and a million years old. I'm totally not gay enough to pull off Wizard of Oz magnets. Anyway, I should probably stop talking, lest I make even a bigger fool of myself than I already have. I love all of you, except the ones that I don't and I'm being passive aggressive to.

Goodnight!

Box box box!

Happy Boxing Day, Boxing Day people! Boxing day time is here! Boxing Day!

Wait... FUCK Boxing Day? I mean seriously, what do I care? I don't even like boxes! They hold things? Fuck that! They keep pizza warm? Fuck that also! They allow shirts to be wrapped with some sort of structural integrity? I ALSO THINK THAT SHOULD BE FUCKED, IN THE UNPLEASANT SORT OF WAY! RAAAAAAAR!

Anyway, Ambs picked up even more MST3K, and I am full of pizza straight from my bitchin' new pizza-cook-o-tron, and there exists delicious drinks, so I'm going to go enjoy such things. Enjoy them to the max.

Chess grand masters do it in twenty-seven moves.

Gods bless the Internet. Moments ago, I idly wondered whether rhyming played a significant role in Chinese poetry (classically, yes, yes it does), and I got taken on a whirlwind tour where I not only got to read all the Chinese poetry I could stand, but be impressed by how rectangular these poems are, discover I'm far from the first to notice and play with that, and then get the grand history of the evolution and cultural significance of the Chinese language-family. All of it piped directly to me, and the best part is, I feel no obligation to remember this information, because it will always be there. I just let it wash over me as a pleasant wave of knowledge, absorbing the interesting bits and casting off the detritus.

All of which has nothing to do with the title of this post, which is something that rather randomly popped into my head earlier today, and I decided to air off under the weight of public scrutiny.

Anyway, I'm going to be taking a short hiatus. I'll be back by Boxing Day, though, so don't worry.

Twas the night, etc.

Man, it is hella late and I'm hecka tired, which isn't quite as bad, but is still an fish kettle I'd rather not associate myself with if at all possible. I've been spreading Christmas cheer, and dealing with strange foreign customs, and meeting extended family that doesn't even belong to me (while missing out on my personal extended family entirely), and, in short, getting the full-on Chrimmastide experience turned up to the fifth level, which is a whole two levels higher than the third level, which is where I am most comfortable.

Doesn't have to make sense, it's Christmas, and any nonsense in this post can be fully attributed to mental interference caused by visions of sugarplums.

Done some cookin'.

I think I've become something of a dab hand at producing curry. NOT, I will quickly point out, proper curry like folk in India eat... that is far beyond me. No, no, I specialize in the sort of curry that is rich in root vegetables and beans and bits of onion, where the spice is provided by a small spoonful of "curry powder" and a generous splash of "hot sauce". Curry that an English beat cop circa 1938 would get from the one foreigner he knows, who serves it at a copper's discount at two AM, complete with a warm mug of extremely hoppy beer. Foreign food for the xenophobic. That's the kind of stuff I can make.

Served over rice, 'cause I don't think there's a world culture in the 'verse what can complain about rice, long as it ain't too sticky and ain't too brown. Just like people.

I'll settle you!

Hey there, folken. Ambs is off dancing with her friend, and I am, alas, alone, but for the company of Adrian the Hamster, who is cute, but pretty suck as a conversationalist. Le sigh.

On the OTHER hand, which is a pretty exciting hand, Sterl has given us (mostly the Amber portion of us) Settlers of Catan! Not... not the actual settlers, but the game, wherein you and two to three of your closest friends can simulate the backbreaking labor AND backstabbing politics from the comfort of your own coffee table.

Dudes! Come of you gotta hurry your ass out this way so we can settle Catan together! DO IT! HURRY! I MISS YOU ALL, EXCEPT FOR MOST OF YOU!

Happy X-mas, X-mas people! X-mas time is here! X-mas!

Well, not yet, for realsies, but it's coming up, and Ambs and I did a little bit of preliminary gift-opening, and sufficing to say, I'll totally be in the market for frozen pizza when next I go shopping.

No, I'm NOT going to explain that. No, I realize it does not suffice to say of only two of my readership could possibly understand. Go to hell! I hate you!

Man, I'm tired, and I have to make sure that the Martians are WELL AND TRULY conquered by Santa Claus. If he only partially conquered them, well then we'd all be up some sort of unpleasant paddle, mark my words.

I been reviewed!

Hey! I have been REVIEWED!

For serious. History is Dead has been reviewed by someone who thought that I possessed "a wicked bite of dark humor" and so on and so forth. She speaks real briefly of all the collected stories, but given that she does not hesitate to point out when she is not fond of one ("Awake in the Abyss" gets pretty well torn a new one, and others are dealt with harshly as well) so that she liked my little story is TOTALLY a feather in my cap. Hell, two feathers and most of an egg.

Yo, nothing fun here. Just another day, doing daily things in a dayish sort of manner. I did happen to read the Eye of Argon, though... and no, I'm not going to provide you with a link. It's described as being the worst fantasy novella ever written, and it really does deserve such a status. Here, I'll give you a little taste.

"Grignr's emerald green orbs glared lustfully at the wallowing soldier struggling before his chestnut swirled mount. His scowling voice reverberated over the dying form in a tone of mocking mirth. "You city bred dogs should learn not to antagonize your better." Reining his weary mount ahead, grignr resumed his journey to the Noregolian city of Gorzam, hoping to discover wine, women, and adventure to boil the wild blood coarsing through his savage veins."

Selected at random from the first chapter. On display: a hero named "Grignr", an unnecessary avoidance of the word "eyes" and "horse", senselessly used adjectives ("scowling voice?"), badly used cliches, and a whole lot of suck. And this was selected at random; it gets worse. If nothing else, the titular "Eye of Argon" is the name of an emerald. A huge, oblong, scarlet emerald. No, really. In this particular world, Emeralds also come in red.

Oh, hell. Here you go.

Waaaaaagh!

An Ork Boy? What, I ask you, what in the Nightbringer's name is this little beastie doing amongst Necrons?

Oh! Oh, well, he seems to have acquired himself a Gauss Flayer. What an enterprising young lad, I presume he's even figured out how to work it. But... wait... something's not quite right here...

Oh, I see. It seems that the poor Necron who originally held this weapon was... unwilling to part with it when he failed his "We'll be back" roll. Well, interesting, this; as we (for Imperium of Man values of we) are unaware of how the weapons actually fire, and given that Orkish fingers are far too beefy to fit into any Necron-designed trigger assembly anyway, only seems logical that the hands'd have to stay attached. Perhaps the enterprising... appropriator of wartime essentials has figured out how to fire it by yanking on the remaining forearm juuuuust right.

He seems so excited. Nobody mention that in the best case scenario, his fun new toy is going to pase right out of his hands right when the battle's getting fun.

Slight nerdiness, with a 25% chance of DOOM.

Tomorrow, I'll have picking-tures of another Warhammer 40K miniature for all y'all. And it's... well, it's not really a Necron per se, but... well, you'll see tomorrow. I'll say this much: remember Cuppy McBalls? Well, he has been SALVAGED into something AWESOME.

You know, I haven't picked up 64 Rosedale since the end of NaNoWriMo. This is a bit frustrating. I know where the story is headed, but the process of finishing it, divorced from the "gotta do it in a month" mentality, is... daunting. To say the least. Honestly, I'm not sure if I wouldn't rather put it down for... I hate to say the forseeable future, but for a good long while, and pick up another, significantly less daunting project that I want to pick up. The obvious downside: I will have Yet One More unfinished work in my Grand Repository of Unfinished Works. That being said, I think I'm going to start on the less-daunting one, just so I can be writing again, and maybe switch over? Which... which will also lead to the secondary project put in the Grand Repository. Oh bother.

... maybe I'll just destroy the world with my mind instead.

Wo ist das Saturday?

Saturday? Never heard of such a thing. Suspect you're just makin' it up whole cloth. Rude thing t'do, if you ask me, which you never would do, 'cause you just don't care, do you?

... yes, I didn't update yesterday. I was very sick. I apologize, but it was the sort of sick where, while I could technically drag myself out of bed, it really wasn't in my best interests to do such a foolhardy thing as it made me quite lightheaded. Lest the world unravel around me and I go spinning off into the fog where I'd come to in a slightly parallel universe where I would discover myself on the run from evil forces of Magic and Science, each battling for supremacy, my only allies hundreds of alternate mes from other parallel dimensions.

Fifty bonus points to whomever first calls the reference!

To make a long story short...

... I want to the location of my Mystery Interview, and it was a closed, locked, darkened building.

No, seriously. Closed and locked and dark. It is a slightly frustrating set of affairs, as I had to take the Freeway into the city, and the Deceiver does not take kindly to speeds approaching 65 miles an hour. And I don't take kindly to causing a pile-up behind me because I'm cruising as fast as a nitroglycerin tanker truck. So I split the difference, and piss off people by going a hair under sixty in a car that starts seizing in a most terrifying way every couple of exits. It's... it's a rough state of affairs, I must say.

I'd say it was all for naught too, but at least I didn't get murdered.

My nuts?

Oh man. I ordered MST3K: the essentials, and it arrived today. Which means I need not suffer through a Christmas without getting to watch Santa Claus conquer the Martians. Additionally: Manos, the... hands of fate? Ah, terrible movies; where would we be without you?

... probably someplace more productive, and also where The Rock is just some really, really buff homeless guy.

Anyway, despite the fact that Joel is but my second favorite host of MST3K, I'm rather excited to get these little honeys into the DVD-mo-tron and light up The Huge with some of the finest mockery and weird, absurdist little sketches that money can buy. With the obvious exception of Space Mutiny.

Blerg.

Hey champs. Yesterday had a bit of a stomach upset to it; I'll spare you the horrifying details.

Yesterday, and today, were Job Interview Days. Not that I'm particularly inclined to work as a package-handler for UPS or a dog-botherer for (shudder) Camp Bow Wow, one is fairly decent seasonal work and the other looks very pleasant in spite of being run by the sort of people who honestly think of dogs as being little furry four-legged people.

... I like dogs, I think dogs are awesome, but they are not people. They are dogs. There is an important difference there.

As with everything else, this is now a wait-fest to discover whether I've actually attained either position; Find out on Friday for the both of them.

In utterly unrelated news, Pushing Daisies is an amazingly awesome show... why are all the episodes I find on the internet crappy slow-loading messes, or crappy, slow-loading messes subtitled in Japanese?

Dudes, I've taken a turn for the sickly. I'm gonna take a rain check, if that's alright with you.

It had better be!

Money money money money... money.

Tomorrow: a job interview with UPS! Also, a phone interview with a dog kennel of some sort or another sometime this upcoming week. Also, I find out what my class assignments are for Princeton Review on Friday, which is the same day I have an interview with... well, I have no idea. I just got an e-mail telling me that I should go to an interview on Friday that was not particularly clear as to what the interview was for. It MIGHT be an opportunity to be secretly murdered by some sort of cabal of... murderers. Who knows? Not me!

Man, so after a month of utter, destitute unemployment, I've acquired an EMBARRASSMENT of employment. Potentially. Hopefully.

That, or I get murdered.

The Eight Things I Can Cook

• Crepes and...
• Curry. I'm counting these as separate even though I made 'em together, because they could be served on their own; but because I have a little bit of integrity, I'm not going to count my Crepes Midorette again.
• French Toast. Invented by the English as a way to save the last remains of stale bread, sour milk, and floating eggs, and so named because the English didn't much like the French at the time. Which is to say, at any given point in history.
• Pasta. A grand and simple category, within which I will include all pseudo-foodstuffs of the Ramenical variety. Standard college fare, if I couldn't cook it I'd be dead. Dead! DEAD!
• Baked Potatoes. It takes so long to cook one in a conventional oven that sometimes I put one in there, even when I'm not hungry, because by the time it gets done, it'll still be fucking delicious and I will eat it anyway, hungry or no. Hell, I won't even give it time to cool. Krum krum krum krum krum.
• Garlic Bread. Delicious, delicious garlic bread... it can substitute for a meal if you want it to, and frankly, you will want it to. Mmmm. Also, it can be made with as little as three ingredients in about fifteen minutes.
• Eggs. The great thing about eggs isn't so much that they are ridiculously easy to cook, but that every conceivable way of screwing them up is a legitimate way to prepare them, complete with a history, serving suggestion, and team of chefs prepared to tell you that you've screwed them up in the wrong way. Fail to hard boil it, and it's been poached. Fuck up your omelet? Then it's scrambled! Drop it on the floor? L'oeufs du Plancher are very popular in some of your sillier regions of France.
• Burgers and Fries. It is a basic requirement of manhood to be able to cook a hamburger. Grilling is one of the few cooking skills built directly into the Y chromosome, which, let's face it, is an otherwise crappy little pissant of a chromosome. Anyway, I can do both the meat style and the garden style, and can even assemble the base materials without access to a grill. Also, I can french a mean fry on the skillet, but I count these two skills together because while the foods are seperable, technically, they really SHOULDN'T be.

I can cook, I think, eight different things altogether now.

To-day, I made some curry crepes. That would be crepes, in which I put curry. The crepes I assembled from scratch, the curry... well, I had a sauce to start me off, but boy did I chunk it up with vegetables on my own. And it was voted unanimously tasty.

I also tried my hand at crepes susette; this was an afterthought, as I only had one crepe left and no orange liqueur, but I managed to make do with a splash of Midori and came up with something I thought was quite delicious (though certainly wanting for something... perhaps some fresh berries for texture and whipped cream to offset the sweetness a little bit).

Why the sudden culinary turn, you ask? Well the answer is simple. I killed Rachel Ray and ate her heart, by which I gained her power. Mwah ha ha! Mwah ha ha ha ha!

I haven't been up to much.

I've been playing a lot of Twilight Heroes lately. Those of you who are familiar with the Kingdom of Loathing will be aware of the basic play mechanics of this simple, browser-based RPG, except Twilight Heroes is... well... worse in some ways. It's brand new, so it's far less polished, the writing is inconsistant in tone (sometimes it wants to be serious, but sometimes it wants to be a comedy), and all the content can be experienced within a week.

That being said, where Kingdom of Loathing is old and bloated and very hard to play these days unless you've been playing it forever, Twilight Heroes is young and sexy and still being made at a very basic level, On the one hand, this leads to a frustrating lack of polish, and very quickly you run out of stuff to do, but on the other hand, there's obvious development, very quick reaction time to suggestions and complaints, and you get to be in on the ground floor of something fairly awesome. So... that's what I've been up to.

Mushy oaty goodness.

Oh man, oh man, I am making some oatmeal and I am SO excited about this! I'm not even kidding; I'm being so sincere right now. (Even though you broke my heart and killed me).

I spent the better portion of the day zonked by benedryl-analogue, but I did have some time to spend thinking about Chrimmas gifts, and I'm filled with Ideas for the majority of the people I would have to worry about. Which, obviously, I can't detail here. But don't worry, whatever I'm getting YOU is going to be crazy-awesome. I swear it.

I also found out that the Princeton Review job doesn't start for a while, which is frustrating; the bunch out here decides their schedules farther in advance than did those back in Scarsdale, and December is a pretty ass month for them anyway. A mild amount of job security is nice, but I'm not going to sneeze if one of the myriad other places I've applied takes me on before then. Unless, of course, it's the job at that pepper-mill.

Winters? More like FallGET IT?!

Finally!

DUDES.

Today, I finally got an e-mail from the Princeton Review telling me that they're looking for teachers, so I am like... almost sort of employed. THAT's good news.

Also good news, is that I've been accepted to San Jose State University, which was my second choice school. I'm gon' keep an eye toward Berkely for a while yet, but the safety net has been officially unrolled. So, THAT's also good news.

Ambs and I went out to celebrate; yellow curry and black beer and now, green tea liquor and... penguin-colored penguins. Um, we're gon' watch Happy Feet, you see. It is a happy day!

Yay, slack!

Clearly, Slacky is a success. Good to know the world still has a place for a robot who just can't be buggered to get any work done. I'm going to paint up Axey tonight, and then maybe assemble another fellow, probably a Necron who's just standing there, ready to fire, but we'll see how the mood takes me.

A Necron who straight-up has no torso? A Necron what is totally on fire? A Necron mistakenly wielding a Super Soaker? ALL THREE? Only time will tell.

Also, at some point, I think I really am going to have to make a short monolith for them. I have no idea how. Time will tell.

Slacky the Necron

What's this? Has this Necron, the unstoppable death-robot, sat down on a convenient rock in the middle of a battle? He is supposed to be killing all life in the universe at the whims of the C'Tan, the Star Gods who feed upon death, and he is making himself comfy on a rock?

Oh, I see! He got himself a cup of coffee from... somewhere. He's not quitting, but he has decided to take a break in the middle of the battle. Energy is flagging, coffee is available... somehow. Only makes sense. He'll get back to the wholesale slaughter of Orkboyz as soon as he's done this mug. Or maybe the next one.

Presented for your approval, the Short Monolith Necrons. From left to right:

• Jumpy McShootshoot:The Necron Who's Seen Too Many John Woo Movies
• Diggy Von Latenheimer: The Necron Who Overslept and Started Unburying Himself After the Battle Started Already
• Headache Targetheadovich: The Necron Who Got SHOT in the HEAD
• "Crutchy" Joe Hopper: The Necron Who Cannot Stand and Shoot at the Same Time
• Yorick Alaspor: The Necron For Whom There Are Many Bad Puns About Heads
• Slacky O'Sittindown: The Necron Who Is On Break, Dammit
• Dr. Cyberman: The Necron Who is Not Sure What Sci-Fi Universe He is Supposed to Be In.
• and the yet-unapainted Axey Backerelli: The Necron Who Pissed Off The Orks Something Fierce

Boot to the head (wah wah).

Man, you ever have one of those days where you are just in a total panic, for no good reason? You just sort of crawl out of your skin baselessly and all you can really hope to do is distract yourself, which is a fairly hit-or-miss proposition at the best of times, and damn near impossible when you're in a semi-permanent freak-out?

... yeah, me either. Wonder what it's like. Hope it's fun.

No, don't worry, I'm okay. It's just something my brain throws at me from time to time. Preparation for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe the first shoe. Or maybe I'm going to have a boot thrown at my head, or something. Who knows.

In other news, the cavalcade of loser Necrons has acquired its newest member, Slacky. I'll paint him tomorrow, and show all y'all some pic-a-tures.

JOY!

Happy December ever-body. Man, it's been a fairly busy couple-a days... my father came by on business, and I have used the opportunity to graft him out of a few meals. Furthermore, I've received not one but two callbacks for jobs I've applied to in as many days. And there's been delicious candy, and paint a-plenty, and all sort of additional joy and wonderment. And then I found a nugget of gold Ten Feet Wide, sitting in a great big cup of the cure for cancer. On Atlantis. In... in space. The AWESOME sort of space.

... at some point I started lying. I am shame.

Worth fifty thousand words. FOR THE THIRD TIME.

Dudes. Not going to say too much today, I think I've written enough; I've got a lot of story to go, but I do think I've earned a few days' respite from this particular beast, don't you? Time enough to concentrate on what other things I'm supposed to be doing with my life.

Poor man's soiree

So, Ambs and I, in an effort to increase the awesomeness of our little lives, decided to dress up in our nicest clothes, eat chocolate, and order a pizza. Not in that order, mind you, but we are full of pizza and chocolate, and I am wearing my suit and red tie and Ambs is wearing her nicest dress and heels, and we are... watching Freaks and Geeks. Which is totally what one does when one has put on one's nicest bit of outfit. It's sort of a classy outing, but without bothering with the out portion which I've never felt is particularly necessary to the process. We're having a classy inning.

Which is like... playing bases-ball with tuxedos on or something like that. Which is what we're going to do now, I think.

Lame.

Ugh, finally back on target vis-a-vis the NaNo, and I'm beset by such a writerly block. Seriously. I got my 1667 out, but I had to force every damn one of them. Which as we all know, is a back practice, as it has been known to lead to stilted dialogue, vaguely-defined or broadly-drawn characters, lackluster settings, and hemorrhoids.

Ye, that's a pretty pathetic bit of non-joke, but by god I'm going to stick with it and be proud, because that's the kind of guy I am. A bad kind of guy. One who should probably be stopped. And killed.

Worth one thousand words. Again.

Let's zap some motherfucking gaps!

Man, some people take their gap zapping quite seriously! I feel as if I've failed you all. ALL OF YOU.

Not the greatest of days; Amber is ill, which is lame in and of itself, but is extra-lame because I feel like I should do something helpful, but am absolutely incapable of curing her with my mind, so I just sort of hang around, offering to make her tea an annoying number of times.

On the other hand, we did go out and get a cheap DVD player, because the DVD player I got with The Huge TV refuses to... play... DVDs. Which makes it a pretty lousy DVD player, I think. This'n ain't nothing special, but it'll play everything we throw at it, so bully for that. It also comes with poorly-written safety instructions, the first of which is "Read these instructions," which I think is pretty hilarious. It's like, at this point, I've started being safe whether I like it or not!

NERD ALERT.

Blimy. Still no news on the jorb front, which is of course highly frustrating. On the other hand, I got some Glue Which Suffers From A Mental Disease of Some Sort, which which I have reassembled the lot of my Warhammer 40K mans who did not survive transit intact. Which really means that Jumpy McShootShoot is back in mid-air, and my Lord and my Flayed Ones have all the hands they are supposed to, which is pretty exciting. Unfortunately, I've found no store in the immediate area which carries the Warhammer 40K merchandise I need so very very much.

Well, there's always the WarStore online, but... but right now, I just need like three colors of paint, which really isn't worth ordering online. It's worth swinging by and picking up. I think I'm going to have to order, like, another troupe of Warriors to make it all worthwhile. Also, so I'll have the necessary minimum number of troupe choices if I were to have an actual battle. Also, so I can make at least one team of warriors that aren't, you know... dying. Much as I love my short-bus Necrons, I think the move for galactic biocide could benefit from a few dudes who have all their bits and haven't been left under the sink for a million years.

Hold that thought...

Perhaps, employment? Breaking news as it develops!

---

Okay, well, I'm not exactly getting the runaround from these people... if I were actually giving them any sort of money, I'd expect it was the runaround, and if it were an individual, and not a place with an office that I'd actually been in and suchlike, I'd assume it was a make-out fake-out sort of thing. No, dudes just don't know whether thay can hire me or not. Seems like a fairly such situation for them too, but I'm forced to admit, I think it's a slightly suck-er situation for me.

But hey, in other news, buy my book!

Aw, nuts.

Well champs, looks like I didn't get that job proofreading. Ah, well. Nose to the grindstone, etc. etc. and maybe Princeton review will start offering some GOSH DAMNED CLASSES some time in the near future. Maybe. If they feel like it.

I saw Bee Movie today. And it was alright; yes, there were a few moments that made me cringe a bit, and yes, a fair percentage of the humor was of the cheap and obvious sort that children would approve of, but it was fairly sweet and mostly hit the mark, and happens to have the funniest one-liner I have heard in a long, long time. Such that I don't want to tell you what it is, lest it ruin the joke (a fair portion of which rests on Mr. Seinfeld's remarkable delivery).

So, am I recommending it? Yeah, yeah I'll give it a qualified recommendation. Like, don't run out and see it right now, but if you've already set yourself to going to the theater, and No Country for Old Men is sold out, then go for it.

Happy T with interlude

Happy T, everybody. I am back in the apartment after a delightful Thanksgiving dinner with somebody else's family, which is quickly becoming a weird little tradition. Let's see if I can find a new family every year. Eventually I will just start hassling strangers.

Hello. It appears that Ed has walked off from the computer (this is Amber by the way), disgusted with our lack of chairs (we have one desk chair, and by we I mean -I- have one desk chair and SOMEbody keeps stealing it), and presumably sick of kneeling to post. And now he's making us dinner. I have a chair and I'm getting no effort pasta, my life is pretty good. No, we had a good day today, we went to my parents house, he hung out with my crazy relatives, and they returned the favor by NOT acting crazy like they usually do (mostly I imagine just to make a liar out of me). He's a pretty awesome guy to take to meet your folks, articulate, considerate, and generally charming. He was a big part in making a rather boring family get together into something fun (waaaay up from 'bearable' which was what I was shooting for).

He's just brought be a drink and is now doing Tom Cruise style dancing in his socks in the kitchen (with pants on). I have to get in on this.

Today I played darts.

Hey cats. I'm going to keep this quick, as I'm at Amber's parent's house right now, and I've got a lot of nanoing yet to do, and other such complaints. But I will say this: darts is pretty fun. Playing them; it's a fun activity that I would not mind doing with some regularity. Now, perhaps this is because I am terminally white, so it is about the only sport that my people actually excel out (that and bowling. Hockey doesn't count, because the white people who excel at it are Canadian, and football doesn't count because the white people who excell at it are mutants).

Blocked.

Writer's block is a bitch. It really is. Today, I was writerly blocked whilst trying to undertake my NaNo. Now, this is an extra bad thing, as I'm already behind by two days (although I've upped my daily goal, so as to get myself back on track before long), and I've got two years in a row of victory that I'd hate to undermine.

You know, I've not spoken much of the progress of this particular novel. So, in short, it's progressing well. Wellish. More than either of the previous, I know I'm going to have to rewrite significant swaths of it (especially as it changes from third to first person early on); however while the short game feels lacking, the long game is going well. This is the first time I've had a real outline that I've stuck to, such that I actually knew the end before I began, and this is also the first time the thing feels like it's destined to be novel length, and not just a novella. As in, I might have to keep typing LONG after December ends, rather than just wrapping up the denouement over the next week.

So, feelin' writerly. Good feelin'.

Significantish milestone.

This, if my Blogger dashboard dingus-thing is to be trusted, is my one thousand one hundred and eleventh post.

It would have sounded more impressive as one thousand one hundred and onety-oneth, but the language did not happen to evolve in such a direction, which is a disappointment to all of us, to be sure.

That being said, it struck me as a surprise. Wasn't expecting it, just noticed it by chance, which I wouldn't have done except I was reading an article in another tab whilst the Blogger page loaded. Usually I click forward too quickly to see text, but today, milestone! I mean, that's a big number! Think how many words have been dropped here, and how many hours spent staring at the wee little white box where I say these things which I throw at you. Think how many people have had my brains spill into their salad, metaphorically speaking.

... the latter number is like 16, I think. But that's a fair amount of salad.

Avoiding the subject.

Ahem. Hey there. So, yeah, I'm not going to go into too much detail regarding the shit that happened last night, because it's still, frankly, depressing. Also, my arm hurts like hell still because of the effort required to not run off the road when my car is pulling to the right so damn hard.

What I AM going to do is suggest you folks go out and obtain Super Mario Galaxy, which played no small part in my efforts to return to positive spirits. (It was a toss up between buying that, or buying a bottle of rum and then just drinking straight. Ultimately, I think I made the right choice).

Also good? The Aristocrats. The documentary on the dirtiest joke in the world. Hilarious, and filthy... all I've heard about it made it seem like it would be grotesque and boring, honestly. A dozen comedians telling the same joke, trying to make it as awful as possible, but it's a lot more in-depth regarding, if I may be so pretentious, the philosophy of comedy. I know, crazy, right?

Also a mood-lifter, The Hudsucker Proxy. I intend to watch it tonight. OR DIE TRYING.

That is all. You are excused.

My tire went flat. Then my spare tire went flat. I had to be towed back home. No party. No tote. Sorry, everyone.

TOOOOTE!

Hey dudes. This is an early post, on account of I ain't going to be feeling like posting when I get back in the wee small hours of the morning after my big-ass writing gala.

Today's the day! The day to write! And tote bag! TOTE! TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTE!

... excuse me. It's just that I've had a lot of stuff that needed toting lately, and found that the job would be more elegant if I had some sort of specially-purposed sack for the process, preferable emblazoned with some sort of writing-related logo. For reals.

So yeah. I'm excited. Gotta figure out what to wear. Rock out, dudes.

Fine, I'll keep the Huge!

You bastards happy?

Also, playing Resident Evil on a screen the size of all outdoors is fairly rewarding, I must begrudgingly admit.

Also, I've been put 'on reserve' at this proofreading gig. If they need me, they will tell me on Tuesday. This is not the same thing as having a job, but given the way Strom (my boss would be named Strom!) described the dire straits the state is putting them in for this particular proofreading job, I think that I will spend this weekend feeling Good about Things.

Also, tomorrow? Party for Writing. Which (hopefully) will give me a chance to get out of the 1,667 word pit I crawled into on day 3 and never managed to extricate myself from. Also, a tote bag.

BIG TV.

Man, job interview tomorrow.

... no seriously, that one sort of came out of nowhere for me too. For some sort of proofreading company. If I get in, they'd hire me Monday. Evidently there's a lot of work that needs be done, real fast.

In unrelated news, I got a TV today. It's big. Big big. 36" big. And it's got a nonremovable stand, because it's a projection TV. And frankly, I'm not sure that I like it. It's too big, it's too unwieldy, and fucks up with my carefully crafted fungshoo. It was secondhand, which is why I got it (helluva cheap. Not even cheap for that size, just cheap). I think I might try to engineer a trade with one of the locals... see if I can't get something more reasonable. Or something. Unless I grow to love the huge in the next couple of days.

I has a desk!

Ladies and dudes, Ambs and I took a runner up to IKEA on this particular day. Well, less of a runner and more of a driver-along-ridiculously-fast-highways-in-mortal-terror.

My roommate insists that 65 is not ridiculously fast. But man, the Deceiver starts shuddering like an epileptic with Parkinson's at about sixty, which makes everything seem Just That Much more deadly.

Point being, we acquired, and have assembled, a nifty TV stand for the TV I'm getting tomorrow (36" for $25? Damn, son!), and, yes. A DESK. So my computer isn't lying on the floor, dejected, but sitting on some of IKEA's whitest veneer, still dejected (as that is the default state of my computer. Dude needs, like, pills or summat).

To quote the late Jim Henson: "YAAAAAAAAAY!"

One sentence, directed at my mother.

Hey, Mother, would you would be so kind as to shoot me an e-mail with my GRE scores in it; I need 'em (official-like, as opposed to the in-my-head "Two seven-somethings and probably a good writing score") for grad school applications... which is silly, I think, as I'm not applying anywhere which hasn't already received my GRE scores straight from the source's mouth, or whatever, but the apple-cation won't let me continue until I have SOMETHING to put in those boxes, and as tempted as I am to just write "check the damn scores you've already been sent, Chompies", I am no fool (or more aptly, I am the capital-F Fool, as in a joker, trickster, or jester-hat-wearing silly nubbins walking in Loki's shadow, and not the more bas sort of fool, as in a dude who one would not trust to make soup unsupervised).

Hey dudes, I'm posting as need be.

Okay, admittedly, I am a little buzzed. Amber and I are performing that time-honored ritual of drinking and watching Futurama, and it is, in fact, an awesome time. Happy days! However, I begrudgingly admit that beyond such things, my days have been uneventful. Once again, there is a day that I didn't actually feel obligated to leave the house, and... weirdly enough, it wasn't a bad thing. I think... I think I would make a pretty fair housewife... I enjoy cooking, and tidying up, and even shopping. And bringing up children might not necessarily be my cup of tea, but I'd have a go at it if need be.

Alright, time for more Futurama (not more booze, though. I'm good).

Still back!

Hey, I am a dude with real bedclothes and a lamp! The long, arduous task of getting my own supply of furniture and whatnot. It is arguably the most awesome thing in the history of forever and a half.

Not a lot of other news, unfortunately. I've got no work yet, and if I don't get some teaching opportunities with a nowness, I'm going to have think about getting another, different job if I wish to continue eating in the manner to which I have become accustomed. That is to say... food, as opposed to sunshine and hope.

Not that a sunshine-and-hope diet isn't delicious, nutritious, and diatetically sound, but well.. food man. Food.

...also, something to do with my spare time that's not re-reading old Terry Pratchett books that I steal from Amber.

A glorious rerurn.

Alright dudes. There's been a long stretch of silence, but I now pronounce it filled. That's right, Hiatus over.

Hey! Everyone! I'm back! And I am the most excited that you have possibly ever seen me! I've got an apartment, and I've got a room of my own with a full-sized bed in it, and I've got an actual living room and a kitchen where everything works and a study sort of area and a hamster. My job has transferred over and my car arrived safe and functional and with more gas in it than I had left it with, and none of my stuff seems to have broken (although I'll know better when I get a TV). My roommate is awesome and I'm trying to figure out how to cook for reals (and not just with Ramen) and meanwhile I'm slowly but surely decorating the place and getting bits of necessary furniture piecemeal. Eventually I'm going to do the application thing and eventually I'm going to spend significant amounts of time outside the apartment and eventually I'm going to catch up to my NaNo wordcount projection (currently I'm about a day behind), and eventually I'm going to go to a party for writing (a million thanks to all those who assisted) and eventually I'm going to end this particular paragraph of good things and mention some sad stuff before concluding on an upbeat note.

... I'm still getting occasional pangs of homesickness, which is weird, and I'm still getting used to trying to live like an adult (I loved my old apartment, but it really was just the next evolution of a dorm room), and I'm still getting used to living with someone, and I'm still not quite flipping that mental switch which makes me someone who lives here and not just a guest here. I'm nervous about working and about applying and about school and about not being a terrible person to share an apartment with and not winding up on the curb three thousand miles from anywhere. I miss people; too many to name, but all my friends have their special place in my heart that is now empty. I miss Mal, even though we're keeping in touch very well, it is lame to be single again. I miss the idea of just going out and doing something with people... I only know a few people in the area, and only one of them really counts, and she's often busy. I'm not used to this place... the blocks are too large, the streets are too wide, the traffic is too fast, the weather's too warm and the trees are too palmish. No, it's not a bad thing, but it'd different. It's not what I'm used to, and it unnerves me.

But I'm here, and I'm happy, and even the stuff that makes me unhappy is making me happy. Change is good, and ruts are bad, and doing something major and slightly ridiculous is never a bad idea. I have a tendency, whenever I am nervous, to try and figure out what the worst-case scenario in a given situation is. Well, the most likely worst-case scenario (as a disease that makes all my lysosomes suddenly burst asunder and digest me whole is unlikely to crop up any time soon). And you know, I can't imagine a likely worst-case scenario that doesn't make all this worth it. Ladies and dudes, I am a guy in California now, all keen and fresh-faced and slightly disoriented. Let's see what happens.

Internets!

I have a them! In my home!

More details as soon as I dig myself out from under two weeks worth of webcomics.

In brief...

I am in California. I have a new apartment. Life is pretty damn awesome. I have no Internet access, which might be longer to rectify than I had thought (and this is almost completely... I shit you not... because my name was misspelled as "Purner". Kill me), but I am whole and happy. Anyway, fussy connection, can't talk long.

Zero hour.

Dudes... today is the day. I'll be utterly incommunicado on the Internets until the sixth or so, but you can call me, or you can mind-link to me, or you can ease your Edless pain by donating to my shiftless cause.

... I'm gonna miss you, those aspects of New York that I don't find utterly reprehensible. Likewise, those people in New York and the outlying areas that I don't find utterly reprehensible.

Official hiatus.

Today, halloween-slash-going away party. Tomorrow, Mal's birthday party. Sunday, official panic day. Monday, travel day. Tuesday through to the sixth, no-access-to-the-Internet day. I may post before then if I find the wherewithal. But don't coun't on it.

Late. Tired. Headache. Packed.

Not entirely, but... mostly. There are a few things what I have to figure out what to do with them, but for the most part, I am packed. And it exhausted me. So... I'm out.

Birthing-day!

Saw the Nightmare Before Christmas in all three of your puny hoo-man dimensions. It was pretty awesome, must admit. Much happiness. I took Mallory, as it's her birfday today (or yesterday, if you wish to be technical, as I often do). So, it was a hot date, and it went well, and life is pretty darn okay. Yay!

Tomorrow, I clean house for the party, take care of some additional shipping... yes shipping, I have given in and opted to mail myself some stuff I know I suck forever shut up I'll kill you, and then I will pretty much reach a point of maximum packed-ness. Yes, several days early, but so what? I'm crazy!

A brief note.

Man, doing some packing. Getting a goodly amount of stuff packed. Also starting to run low on shit that I have to do before I leave. Which is good, I guess. Still freaky.

Hey, dudes and ladies... in the interest of procuring tasty beverages, would everyone who intends on dropping by my costume party on Friday RSVP today/tomorrow? And if you wish to drag along somebody else, feel free. It's not going to be a crazy affair, because I don't really -do- crazy affairs, but I'm hoping for some hanging-out-based good times. Starts at... let's say eight. Ends at question mark, of course. And when I say wear a costume or don't come (and I have apparently freaked some people out with this so I guess I have to specify), I am not requiring you folks to be unrecognizable! A sheet with two holes in it is a ghost costume, and is totally acceptable! Actually, it's pretty awesome in a classic sort of way.

So yeah, calm down, people.

Impromptu party day! A day where I have an impromptu party to celebrate life and shit like that! And then I play Resident Evil 4 and kick goodly amounts of ass in spite of the fact that I am, in all honesty, fairly wasted. That game, incidentally, freaks me the hell out. Seriously. In all kinds of way, from the ''constantly under attack' aspect to the 'extremely limited resources' aspect to the 'dude, what if I had a mind controlling parasite in my body' aspect. All over, it's freaky-deaky.

Dudes, it's a weak to moving day. Speaking of things that are fucking freaky as all hell. Still excited but... seriously. Oh my god. I am scared. Potentially the biggest change that has ever happened in my life in T minus less than seven days. I shall not, whilst I am, yes, fairly wasted, elucidate upon the concurrent existential dread.

1/6!

Oh man! I've had some honorable folks donate some loverly cash to a good cause (getting me a free tote bag). Of course, it's my mother, who loves me unconditionally, and my future roommate, who loves me conditionally but has every reason to appease me enough that I don't pee in the sink. Or poop on the carpet. So, a million thanks! Everyone else who wants to get me an early Christmas gift AND contribute to the madcap madness of letters and light, go for it!

Anyway, today was a lazy day spent hanging out with Mallory. It was very nice. That is all.

Handle panning redux.

Today was a DAY. The sort of day where it'll be quicker to write up the things that went right than the things that went wrong. Oy-yah, man, oy-yah.

One of the things that went right, then, is what I alluded to in my previous post: this party. Chris Baty, the NaNoWriMo dude, sent out an invitation inviting big charity spenders to the Night of Writing Dangerously... a massive author's-only gala in San Fransisco, November 17th. And when I say gala, I mean a free food-and-drink, hundreds of people, complementary sack of goodies, and everyone is entered into a raffle for additional goodies-style GALA. For serious. If I went, I'd totally wear my tux. And I'd probably FIT IN.

So, the price tag for this event is $200, donated to a charitable cause. And while I'm a dude who has a little money to throw around, anything past, say, fifty dollars is madness of the highest order. Fortunately, Baty and the other dudes at the Office of Letters and Light totally understands this, and thus... the donation page. It was his idea, not mine, but I'm totally running with it. Now, I ain't gonna guilt you in to this thing: while it IS all going to a good cause (promoting literacy around the world!), this is basically an open call for you folks to drop a fiver to send me to a hip, happenin' party. If you so desire, of course.

Panning the handle!

Dudes, I'll give you more specifics later on, 'cause right now I'm about to dash out the door to watch a vampire movie. But... interesting news.

So, check this out quickly. No obligation, o'course. I'll give you the full run-down later.

Hey, I got a dude to complete my arduous task! And I got a place to live officially! Life is going well!

Except my back is a road map of pain and slouching in front of the keyboard is no fun, so I'm going to regretfully take a handful of Ibuprofin and lie down. Ta.

Wot?

What, no takers for my arduous task? Bah! Buncha losers.

Today was a day for a bit of cleaning. And packing. Because I am such a paranoid sack of crap, that I have to have all my shit together waaaay in advance. I am the sort of dude who is routinely an hour early to be an hour early, you know? Because if ever I am late for anything, THE WORLD WILL DIE FOREVER! FOR! EV! ER!

Positive upshot being that my room looks nicer than it has in, like, weeks. So, that's exciting. Like, I can have company over and not feel ashamed. So hey, let's have a party?

EEE!

Hey... dudes... Amber found an apartment. So, while we don't YET have an OFFICIAL place to live... we got a place! YAY! YAY! YAY! And it is (evidently, as I obviously have not had a chance to see it yet) amazing! With a living room and dining room and pool (outside) and all sorts of good STUFF. I am EXCITED.

In other news... um... open call for dudes who want to give me a ride to the airport on Monday the 29th at 3 or so. Anyone? Anyone at all? I can cover the tolls and whatnot, but taking a cab would be a little more than I want to shell out at the present moment. So... let me know, lest I start bugging you all on an individual level. Because who wants that, really?

Not me!

My, look at the time!

I, feeling restless, spent the last little while cleaning the crap out of my car. Which means the Deceiver, but for some necessary junk all up in his trunk and a tire in his backseat (which I THINK there's some sort of procedure for ridding myself of, though I might just be paranoid), is feeling cleaner than he has for ages. He used to have a whole bunch of boxes and shit in the trunk, Princeton Review materials and other crap in the backseat, and a passenger side floor covered in empty coffee cups, wrappers, and other embarrassing waste, but all that has been flushed away. I am certain that will be conducive to the Deceiver's running better, faster, stronger, and having an overall happier outlook on life.

...as the car has, essentially, just taken a very fulfilling poo.

For the benifit of Mr. E.

Tune in, turn on, drop out, drop in, turn on, turn off, and explode!

Ahem. That's been in my head all day, and I had to let it out, with due apologies to Mr. Izzard. So, I was thinking about taking a manly hiatus (which is like a regular hiatus, but manlier) from my perpetual posting predelicions, on account of my move in a fortnight's time and the massive amounts of writing to follow. I do not think any of you lot would think less of my for doing so, except for Jenniflower, who constantly thinks less of me anyway, along what I hope to be an asymptotic sort of scale so that she doesn't forget about me entirely.

That being said, and on the advice of my Grand Vizier, I'm not going to do that. Well, if, during the course of my move I lose Internet access, that is one thing. But as far as a general hiatus goes... if I'm going to do anything as ridiculously unwise as moving 3000 miles or wring a novel in a month, then I might as well do such a thing WHILE reporting my actions to the entire world.

I like to think of my life as a grand tribute to not thinking things through.

Yesterday, I saw one of the most adorable things. A mouse wheel, like on which small mammals run. On mouse was, indeed, running his wee little heart out. His four friends, howe're, were just standing there... looping-de-loops. They stood still, and were carried in circles as their companion ran. over and over and over. And over. Then one tried to climb on top of the wheel, and was thrown off, with the rapid running. And still the mice who didn't want to move were turned in circles over and over and over. Made me wish I had a video camera. Truly.

Sure sign that it's October:

I start obsessing over the NaNoWriMo forums. Like the sick, sick bastard that I am. There is a part of me, I must admit, that is sorely tempted to just... not do the deed this year. You know, on account of the move, and all the associated stresses that will be cropping up during those oh so important first few... weeks.

On the other hand, it might be to my benefit to have something what I can use to distract myself FROM those first few weeks, or at least the first few days when my stress level will be at its theoretical maximum.

On the gripping hand (because I cannot pass up an opportunity to be nerdy), once the actual moving of shit is taken care of, I'm going to find myself with a fairly large amount of nothing to do. And I've already posted on the forums, so I can't let THOSE folks down, can I?

... ignoring for a moment the fact that I couldn't let down these people... like, literally, at all.

On sleep.

Today, I got a call at nine, telling me I didn't have to work at five.

I proceeded to sleep the living hell out of today. This was no mere nap, either, it was a powerful sleep that took me several hours past the point where a lesser man would have, for example, gotten out of bed to pee and get a sandwich.

(Circumstantial evidence suggests I did in fact get out of bed to pee but simply didn't remember it. There was, however, no evidence of a sandwich, somnassembled or otherwise.)

Eventually, WELL into the afternoon, my slumber broke. And I lay there for another hour or so, intently attempting to go back to sleep. You know, when you're in bed, eyes shut, perfectly aware of your surroundings yet -willing- yourself not to be? That's about the best thing in the world. I don't know about you folks, but that's when I get some real dreaming on. Yeah, that's right, when I'm awake. Or... sort of awake.

As an aside, I think it's a cultural thing to tend towards binaries, even when we know they aren't exactly true. Very few people are perfect exemplars of a Democrat or Republican, say (and despite this, third parties are generally ostracized). While the vast majority of us is absolutely male or female, the vast minority of us is wholly masculine or feminine, genetics being a bit more absolute than psychology. Likewise, while the good Doctor Kinsey made clear that about as many people are 100% straight as are 100% gay (to wit: almost nobody), the humble bisexual is still considered a freak to all involved. Right and wrong, good and evil, alive and dead, black and white... I could go on all day (and since this was the cornerstone of Deconstructionism, I HAVE gone on all day, but I will spare you remnants of my English Capstone), but I merely mention this to point out that I tend to see myself as being either Awake or Asleep, two separate states that ne'er shall meet, one giving way to the other. And yet this is not true, for there is that glorious fuzzy gray area, the Snooze, which I think is the most rewarding of all.

You see, I am a dude who tends not to remember his dreams, and those he does he remembers as being really quite nonsensical, if entertaining. However, during the Snooze, my conscious is capable of snagging that material because it's not turned off. On the other hand, my inner neuroticism, constant companion and foil, is turned to a bare minimum. I see what I'm dreaming... legitimately sense it in a way that I do not when simply imagining things with my waking mind, because I'm partly asleep, but I form a coherent narrative, and might even have some control over the goings-on, because I'm partly awake. I imagine that lucid dreaming is the same way, the mean between the extremes, rather than a special condition in one.

And so I Snoozed, for an hour or so. Dreamt of the the future, and of the Future, and of other fun things that, like all dreams, are more entertaining to experience than to hear about. Every so often I would open my eyes and note the clock, just in case. My sense of time is no good in this state, five minutes felt as long as twenty felt as long as less than one. And it was really, really lovely.

Of course, while snoozing is fun, there comes a point where enough is enough. Like chocolate, or sex, or Dr. Who; it doesn't stop being enjoyable, really, but you eventually reach a point where you just don't want any more of a good thing. Boredom is the evolutionary advantage that kept our cro-magnon cronies up and active and inventing civilization rather than simply snoozing, snacking, sss-... fucking, or watching reruns of Medicine Man Who on PreBC 4.

So I woke up, for reals. And went about my business. Almost crashed my car, too. Got some stuff done, I did, but the most interesting part of my day, I totally spent asleep.

My car door broke.

... the passenger's side, front door, no longer opens from inside. Clearly, something is wrong inside the Deceiver, which can only mean I have not been treating him kindly enough. I don't know what I did wrong... did I use unkind words? was my tone of voice too harsh? Have I not been feeding him enough? I don't know! I try to be a good car-dad, but then he gets this mysterious door illness, and I really feel like it's my fault, even though I can't see how it is.

Sigh, I imagine there's even more worry when I have children made of meat.

Muerte, muerte, muerte...

Note to self: look at the calendar every day. KNOW WHAT GODDAMN DAY IT IS, EVERY DAY. Forgetting birthdays is not cool... forgetting them when you know when they are but not what freakin' day it is is embarrassing AND not cool.

Meanwhile, I am feeling sleepy and unmotivated. Which I know to be directly related to the Big Project ahead of me that I must still do things for, along with the myriad other stresses I got going on (mostly work related, although the week of hell is over and the payroll information turned in (which I must admit, made it all seem quite worthwhile in retrospect)).

Oh, the title? Well, I lack a "current mood" icon, and the state of my psyche is like unto a parasite-infected cultist a-shambling. Or summat.

Back!

Man, Metalocalypse is wasting no time in introducing scary overplots. Good for it.

Also, I'm updating from my room, where my Internet access is back to normal forever, I assume! So, I'm back to normal updating, I suppose. Spent the day hanging with the lady in the city, which was fun, and most notable for extensive discussion on what's going to happen in my forthcoming NaNoWriMo novel. This one, kids, is going to be a bit of a doozy, I think. I know what I did wrong last year, and I know how to improve upon the year previous, and my plot, which involves zombies, is going to rock your socks out your ass, as they say.

... post-apocalyptic murder mystery. Hells to the yes.

Hey, I got my Internet access back!

... I'm gonna go do shit on it!

So here's the deal.

... I haven't had Internet access for the past three days. And I don't know when I will have Internet access in my house again. Optimum online appears to think that the modem which has been serving me well for over a year is evidently unregistered, and is not letting information in. It is, as you might suspect, very frustrating. One of many frustrations in a week ripe with same. BUT! I don't know how long I can remain here, at the school, stealing the Internet which rightfully belongs to Chris Gardner (my Iona account having been disabled), so I shan't spent this time complaining. Rather, I will take care of necessary business in this limited timeframe. First, I will announce my party officially... sending out invitations is too much of an effort if I have to do it in a computer lab, so let's just say that if you read this, and you know me, then you are invited to my October 26th costume party. There will be Halloween-themed delights, and if your costume does not demonstate sufficient effort, you will be asked to leave. This is a costume party done up right.

Beyond that, I'm going to announce an official haiatus on updating, due to this Internet business. Until it works in my room again, I update as I see fit, when something worth going out of my way to talk about happens. 'Cause dammit, I totally hate the computer lab.

That's all for now. This place... it displeases me. I will finish my business and make an exit.

Oh dear.

Man, I proctored a test, for a class I'm going to teach this month.

... I don't know if I can do it.

These kids... these are bad kids. Um. They live in cottages on the campus, because they can't be trusted on their own. Some of them have to be walked from class to class. They couldn't finish the test, because they have a curfew. And of course, they are loud, unruly, and inclined to pick fights with each other. In short, this is a class I am worried about. SIGNIFICANTLY worried.

... don't gotta deal with it tomorrow, though. This is one of those small favors that one might thank goodness for.

Got a ticket. My headlight was out (read: slightly loose). Slightly irked.

Did some other fun stuff though. Saw that Beatle movie. And yes, I will insist on spelling it that way, so don't mess with me. And it was pretty awesome. I want to wax philosophic on different methods of movie musical construction... but I'm too ticket-irked to do it. Some other time.

Updatin' mindlessly.

Hey dudes. Mal came up, and I sold some stuff, and ate Mexican food with some dudes, and life, as a whole, is pretty awesome. Except I also fell down like a lump doing my impression of a dog with no front legs, and that is fairly lame. Also, tomorrow is a double tutorial day, which means there's gonna be an assload of driving, which I don't particularly enjoy. But you know what? You know what? On the whole... I'm doing pretty damn awesome.

... yes, I've had some barleywine and am like as not babbling. Don't care what you think. Shoo. Shoo.

Tacos is delicious.

Seriously. Tacos totally is delicious. LET NO MAN DOUBT THIS.

Anyway, it's been decided. Costume party's going to happen. Saturday the 27th sound good for everyone? My joint (which will be very roomy at that point)? And everyone who's not in costume gets kicked the fuck out? Alright, as long as we are agreed. I will send out E-vitations later this weekend, when I manage to squeeze in a moment.

I got my costume planned out, but I'm not telling. Because dudes, new rule, new rule: NO TELLING. Secret costumes. Yes. Yes I like that.

Don't worry. I'm not going 'thematic' with this one. Just... no telling.

Loosing my religion.

Interesting moment of religious reflection today. I was in a church, see, to proctor as PSAT, and I was in some sort of basement room which was used as a Sunday school for third graders, I believe. Anyway, point is, during my extensive period of looking around aimlessly, I read the Ten Commandments as simplified for youngsters. Most of which were uninteresting, but the third caught my eye.

"You must not misuse the name of God," it said. Which isn't what I'm used to hearing... the standard in my mind being "Thou shalt not use the Lord's name in vain." Which I've (and the league of Stereotypical Catholic Mothers) always associated with something along the lines of "don't say 'god' unless you're talking about God". And you know, the Orthodoxy and their 'G-d' and whatnot; point is, the way it's commonly interpreted makes it seem like a sacred name, and the name is the thing. No blaspheming!

But being told not to misuse a name, while I suppose the same (technically) as being told not to use it in vain, has a different implication. Because instead of using a name when it's not right to, we're being warned against using it when it is -wrong- to... the emphasis is slightly different. Because then the name's not necessarily the thing in and of itself (which frees the League and me to say "God God Goddity God" as we see fit). What if it's just the Lord's way of asking not be called in as a character witness, so to speak. Don't attribute things to him that aren't his business. Now, I don't speak fluent Old, but the NRSV says "You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name" (Exodus 20:7), which sounds more like the third-grade version than the one floating about in my head. And it really, truly seems to me like the Fellow isn't ordering us not to blaspheme, but rather to refrain from saying He told us to go to war with Iraq, or something like that.

I don't pretend to be the first armchair theologian to reach this particular conclusion, it was just something that made PSAT proctoring marginally more bearable for a few minutes, and I thought I'd share it with you.