The Autobiography of Nobody Important

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Nanonuhuh
I'm not doing NaNoWriMo this year. The reason: I'm already working on a project that I hope to have done by the end of January. As a result, I may write 50K words this month, I just won't be keeping track.

To any of you who are doing it, though, good luck to you. Break a keyboard.

Peace.

Yay, I continue to get older!
So yesterday was my birthday. 38th in a row. I think I'm on a row.

It was a very relaxed day and at the end I felt horribly civilized. The main festivities happened at She-Sha, a hookah bar in B'burg. We had hummus and feta dip. For my cake,

faekitty got me a Transformers pull-apart cup cake cake... yay! She got us tickets to go see Avenue Q next month (teh awesome!) and I got some Magic cards (spiffy!). After dinner, hookah was in fact smoked (black fruit tobacco is interesting).

I think I want one of those things. I've got no place to use it right now, but it's so different from cigars or cigarettes. I know it's not full of vitamins or anything, but I think it might be a good once-in-a-while treat.

After dinner, we wandered over to the Cajun themed restuarant in town because they serve absinthe. I drank a glass and discussed poltics and visions for a great society and told a couple of stories (the Aiken Gang War and My Friend Jim, Who Shot Himself in the Head [a comedy]). After that, we walked around a little and got some food so I could drive.

This morning included bagels, fruit salad, coffee and Powerpuff Girls.

It's been good.

Hope all you are having wonderful days, whether you're a libra or not.

Peace.

Elvis is, in fact, everywhere.
Right now, Amazon has Mojo Nixon's entire catalog of music available... for free.

Got get your Mojo. Peace.

0_0
I don't know how many people on my list this will matter to, but Zeke, the guy who at Linsner.com made sure that orders got out and who remembered people like me even though he only saw them once a year at con, has passed on. He apparently had lung cancer, a condition he didn't advertise.

If you knew him, you know why the world will be less for his absence. If you didn't, you missed out.

RIP, man

Link goes to the Linsner.com forum announcment and discussion of the news.

Don't worry, I'll post something that's just here eventually
Optimus Prime still held hostage by Michael Bay; proof of life coming in 2011.

I wrote this article in devotion to Optimus Prime, dying god figure.

Michael Bay is a heretic in this faith, incidentally.

More writing elsejournal
Healthcare and the Heresy of Jesus Christ, Spokesmodel
I put this together at the suggestion of Killfile, though I'm not sure it's the article he was suggesting be written.

It does bug me that some people use the banner of Christ as their validation, but then proceed to do very not terribly Christian things.

All commentary is appreciated. Peace.

Renn-Faire 2009
Heya.

To all those concerned,

faekitty and I aren't going to be able to make it up for Renn Faire on the 17th. Thanks to

tirani and crew for offering hospitality; we'll be able to make it up for the Pentaparty barring the unforeseen.

If anything changes we'll let people know. Peace.

They could see me this time
I had a flying dream again.

I can only remember the dream in patches, but I remember being on a back country road. It was foggy. I don't remember why I started flying, I just did it. I worried about falling on the power lines at one point.

The dream took a weird turn when I found myself on the set of Matrix: The Series. There were lots of bullet-time scenes and a guy playing Neo who wasn't Keanu. I remember at one point,the agents had Neo in their grasp so to make sure he would die, they bent his head backwards, opened his mouth and all four of them stuck pistols in it. It was a twisted ballet pose sort of arrangement. When the went to pull the trigger, time stopped, Neo stepped away and then punched the cluster of them until they flew to the horizon.

Two guys were with me, one was a dark haired guy I didn't recognize, one of them was Dyer. They were enjoying watching the effects, things like flying motorcycles. I told them I could fly too and they laughed. I didn't mind.

And then I showed them. We kind of all went flying together. Then I woke up... very happy.

Gray Days
The shift from Summer to Autumn is usually my favorite time of the year. I feel sort of a surge of power and confidence right at the end of summer and this usually flows into a time of just feeling happy as I start pulling out jackets and getting used to the sun going down at a reasonable time. It may have something to do with the fact I was born in the fall, I don't know.

This fall though, things seem heavier. It could be that the first few days were dark gray and that a lot of my friends were dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. Whatever the reason, this season has started off by wrapping around me like a damp sweater.

I'm feeling a little darkly nostalgic. I pulled out a copy of the first mix CD I made for Cat's funeral. Part of the reason wasn't I couldn't remember the words to one of the songs on it, but the rest of the reasons were that it was time. I'd forgotten that I started it with her voice mail message.

faekitty recently told me how she was feeling this season and wrote about it in her LJ. She pointed out that this is the darker side of the year and I'm definitely feeling that. I'm not depressed or anything, but the season is just effecting me differently from what I normally expect and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

We'll see what October brings. Peace.

Newsvine Article: New Standards of Success
I wrote a short article the other day after getting tired of how people were speaking about President Obama. The result, I'm hoping will be funny:

Go read it. If you want to comment, you have to set up an account on the site but it's one worth having an account on.

Peace.

RIP Patrick Swayze
Goodbye Wolverine
Who thanked Julie Newmar
and Danced Dirty

Newsvine Links
I had a couple of political thoughts yesterday and as a result a couple of articles.

First: Health Care, Restaurants and the Unity of Man:
Think that health care reform doesn't effect you? How many hands have you shaken in the past 24 hours? Were they all insured?

Second: Open Carry at Town Hall Meetings: Killing Two Arguments with One Rifle:
A discussion on second amendment rights and how to look like a unbalanced idiot with just one simple accessory.

There. I've pimped myself. Go read my brain drippings.

Must... have... song.....

The Ballad of G.I. Joe from Olivia Wilde

The star power in this film is amazing... and makes me think they cast the movie wrong.

Writer's Block: I May Be Crazy

What does this Rorschach blot look like to you?

View 540 Answers

I see bats, two of them, sucking from the same central victim. I'm not sure what the victim is.

Accio Hotness
Joe Linsner is one of my favorite artists and one thing I love that he does in his work is cross genres and mess with my head.

Take for instance this picture:

Dawn... of house Gryffindor.p[Edit: Sketch was taken down]

The original artwork was on EBay but didn't meet the reserve of $1500.

Call to arms... or in this case eyes.
This is John Ostrander:

If you are unfamilar with his body of work, it includes things like Manhunter, Suicide Squad and my personal favorite, Grimjack. He's a comics writer and a good one. He's also fighting glaucoma.

If this is the sort of person you'd want to help out or if you, like me, have enjoyed his work and want to help out, he's taking donations. Here's the link. I'll be putting mine in once payday rolls around.

A list of needed posts.
Need to post about the wedding while I still have solid recollection of things not just inclusive of

faekitty looking astonishingly lovely.

Need to post about the strange experience of

mikalborg's wedding.

Need to do a general update post. Need to post some writing, poetry and additional erotica.

Also, in general I don't vent on LJ. I don't vent all that much in meatspace either. Somewhere, it's programmed into my way of doing things that troubles should flow off me like so much water off a zen umbrella. Unfortunately, my zen is not exactly waterproof. I may need to allow myself to kvetch here... but only to those who genuinely are okay with hearing it... are you one of those?
Poll #1426881 Grumble
Open to: Friends, detailed results viewable to: None, participants: 25

Would you want to be on my bitching/whinging/moaning/complaining filter?

Give me your pain.
25 (100.0%)

Anything else I should post about?

Peace.

A salute to the critters that say "Up yours Darwin!"
While first and foremost I think of

platypusgirl, there are a number of people in my circle of friends fond of penguins and platypi.

So for the sake of those folk, I link the following things:

Sequential Art: A comic about a guy, his penguin/pervert roomie, his catgirl girlfriend, the genius squirrel girl(s) they've taken in, their pet platypus, paranoid computers, fiendish shadow organizations and occasionally ray guns.

Yeah, I think that sums it up. Updated sporadically, 550 strips so far.

Blank It: A recent comic that deals with two guys trapped somewhere. It's weird, occasionally existential and recently introduced talking penguins. Updates like clockwork Mondays and Thursdays.

Learn to Fly: A flash game in which one intrepid penguin wishes to fly like the eagles. This involves rocket packs + trial and error. An enjoyable time waster.

Enjoy. Peace.

Essay elseblog: A treatise on dirty words
I posted an article over on Newsvine that people who read my stuff here might find interesting:

Sick of all this *#@%!! profanity!:
There was a moment when I was just a young lad, sitting and watching M.A.S.H. and enjoying the drama when something I'll never forget happened: Alan Alda cursed.

It was, in a way, life changing. I'd heard bawdy language before, of course. But this was someone on TV saying it. It was all official and stuff. Son of a [female canine] was something you could say on TV.

Peace.

It's someone else's home now.
One of my few memories of my father is him carrying me into 1260 Two Notch Rd*. It was the second place I'd lived in my life and the place that was home base to me throughout adolescence. It's not much to look at and kind of small, two bedrooms a living room, a one and a half butt kitchen and a bathroom that will never appear on Cribs, but it was a house. My house.

Last week, I found out Mom finally was able to sell it.

The sale was a good thing. Since I left home 17 years ago and Mom had moved in with the man who is now her husband, the house had been rented a few times but mostly just sat there. The renters were of varying quality but mostly in the range of "sucked outright" to "sucked less". I was glad that mom didn't have to deal with it anymore. The sale might even mean down the road that Mom can help

faekitty and me get a house of our own.

But....

As I got off the phone and let the news sink in, things started to hit me. That was my home. My father died there. I lost my virginity there. It had been the backdrop to D&D sessions and parties, fights and quiet evenings watching TV, my first really sicknesses and the place where the punk band Kaotic Order recorded their one and only song**. The back yard was the burial place for half a dozen dogs that I should have looked after more carefully and the place I learned how to swing a pair of nunchucks without racking myself. The front yard was where I'd played Batman and Robin with Mark from the next street over, throwing around combs on strings and calling them batarangs. Every corner of the property has some memory associated with it, good and bad.

As much as it was kind of a crap house it was a security blanket, the final space on earth that I could retreat to if everything went to hell. And now, it's gone. I lost one of my safety nets and discovered nostalgia that I didn't know I'd been carrying.

The house, of course, was not what I'd remembered. Mom told me the last tenants had taken the stove and left holes in the walls when part of their payment to stay there was trying to fix the place up. They took the old gas heater, the same one I used to sit on or camp out in front of on winter days; they stole my damn outdated, ceramic and metal teddy bear, the bastards.

Even if we'd kept it, it wouldn't have been the same.

On balance, I know it's better that the house is now being fixed up and will be used by the buyer to finance his kid's education a decade or so down the road. The mom sized holes in the wall, the ones behind the paneling that my uncle Harold help put up***, will be fixed. The peppering of injuries my bedroom floor suffered after I figured out that knives stick in hard wood, they will be sanded out. The inadequate window AC will be replaced by something made in this century. Shortly, it will be a blank slate for some other father to bring some other kid to and start coloring it with their memories and tragedies and triumphs.

But all that said, in an entirely new way, I can't ever go back home. And I'm shocked to find that I might have still enjoyed the option.

Peace.

*Is it bad that with all this nostalgia, I have to trust Google maps to help me approximate the street number?
**Motherfucking Cocksucking Slimeball Pigs... the title and the only lyric!
***My dad could be a real dick. I can still see them, even though they've been covered for over three decades.