Intense day

I went to Dragon's Lair San Antonio today.

It was interesting, excited and you really want to hear all about it. But if I tell you, I'd have to kill you. Or they'd have to kill me. Or maybe both. Either way, there would be a dire need for a backhoe and a mop, not necessarily in that order.

I got to (finally) meet Soror in person, which was awesome. We've emailed each other often enough about work-related things that putting a face to the email was good, and having a better working relationship (and hopefully a friendship) with someone from the San Antonio store is going to be a goodness.

The trip was fun; getting to hang out with AB and just chat about things both work and non-work related was fun. She and I have always gotten on well, and she's the best boss I've ever had. Every promise she's made me has been kept and everything she's tried to do with either store, she has so far accomplished or has made great strides towards accomplishing.

It was just an early morning, a fairly long time in a van, some heavy lifting, some crazy, some drama, and then more time in the van, more heavy lifting and then going home.

I found out that is just as insane as I knew she was. And that her Vision is going to become real, very fast. We're going to have some awesomeness soon. I also found out I am far more behind on everythign than I thought I was.

My new computer was there when I got home. It's been five years since I had Now, the case needs to get here.

It's been five years since I got a new computer, and I'd forgotten how much work went in to setting one up and getting it ready for use. I'm not nearly done - in fact, I've barely started.

I'm pretty excited, but I failt at blogging tonight since I'm so bloody tired.

I think I'm going to go to bed and catch up as best I can tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

Awkward. (And happy birthday xdrumrboi

Why yes. Yes, this is a backdated post.

It's not cheating, because I haven't gone to bed yet, even if the calendar changed from May 26 to May 27. I'm still awake because xdrumrboi and I went to see a late showing of X-Men Origins: Wolverine.

Happy birthday, bro.

So, I've been thinking about this blog challenge I've set myself and all the things I'm doing to make sure I keep it. Blogging before I surf the net, keeping a list of back-up topics and taking it one day at a time instead of thinking about just how long it is between now and Oct 31.

I'm not thinking about all the things I have to get done between now and then.

A list of 'backup topics' you ask? Why yes, yes, I really am keeping such a thing. Most of them are boring rambles, and some of them will 'expire' after awhile. None the less, I have them for days when I have nothing else. But so far, I seem to have a lot more to blog about than I thought. In fact, my brain seems to be writing the posts as I walk around during the day. Hopefully, I don't need to tell you that everything sounds much better in my head and I can never remember how things were worded when I finally sit down to pound on the keyboard.

The problem with having more to blog about than I thought? That means my lack of blogging in the past wasn't due to lack of content, as I've been pleading for years, but intellectual laziness, which is more than a little embarrassing.

*clears throat*

Enough about that. We can explore all the ways I humiliate and embarrass myself in later posts. There's plenty of time between now and Oct 31 and there's no reason to rush into things, now is there?

I thought not.

But since I think it's cheating to have an entire post about blogging about about my challenge, I figured I'd find something more interesting to say. I could review X-Men Origins: Wolverine or any other movies/books/comics I've partaken of lately. I could talk about birthdays and what it means to pass milestones and get older and get gray hair in your beard. (Not that I know anything about that.) I could talk about family traditions, hanging out with my brothers, or even about being a comic geek going to a comic book movie.

All kinds of good, psuedo-deep stuff that would make me feel intellectually superior and make me think I'm actually saying something important.

It's way too fucking late at night for that kind of intellectual masturbation, so I'm going to tell you about Madi instead.

Awkward moment was awkward.

So there I was. At work. (No one die of shock, now.) A customer comes in the door. Obviously female; has all the right curves. Has boobs. Nice make-up, if a bit much of it for my taste. Earrings, pale green nails. Headed straight for the yaoi manga.

Yep. A girl. Probably the annoying kind, too.

Nope. Wrong. A guy dressed as a girl. Now, this doesn't bother me. I work in Austin, TX. Normally, it doesn't even phase me or make me think about it. I do the customer service thing and move on. Well, Madi wanted to rent anime. After I gave him/her excellent sage addvice on what to rent ("go ask someone who knows what they're talking about. I don't like much anime, let alone watch it."), I gave her/him a rental form to fill out.

She/he does. (Sorry about the pronoun thing. I really don't know the etiquette here, and no one I've asked has ever explained it logically. Since I don't know what pronoun she/he prefers, I'm erring on the side of caution.)

I check the ID and the credit card. The name? Not Madi. A decidedly male name. Definitely his/her ID, though.

So I look again. I get that faint throbbing right behind my eyes that always happens when I have to have an awkward social moment with someone because they've done something that means I have to cross one of those invisible lines people aren't supposed to cross in the social context of retail clerk and customer. (I never get the headache in non-work situations. I suppose because I'm only making me look like an ass outside of work. At work, everyone else looks like an ass, too.)

But I have to tell him/her. It's policy, after all.

The name on the ID, card and form must all match. I tell Madi so, apologetically. I don't use the 'sir' or 'ma'am' I normally would, because - pronoun confusion. Since the ID indicated an age less than mine and I have gray hair in my beard, I pulled rank and used 'Madi' instead.

When I told Madi she/he had to use the other name, the look her her/his face was so hurt, crestfallen and disappointed I felt like a right and utter prick. But it wasn't my fault this time! It's store policy! We have lots of people with odd nicknames they go by. Toaster. Pumpkin. Bumper. They have to have their real name on official documents too!

Madi, to her/his credit, didn't argue. Just changed the name and signed with the correct name.

I hate making people feel bad when there's no reason to.

Like I said. Awkward.

NaNo November Ruminations, HPU and other worthless bits of my brain

Welcome to the latest installment of 'Jayiin thinks too much.'

I should be sleeping, because I have book pull tomorrow, but instead, I'm blogging. This is the post that should have gone up where I had 'Placeholder.' JH, your patience has been rewarded. I hope this is worth the wait.

This post has been brewing in the back of my skull for awhile now - two or three weeks, really, but as with most of my writing, it needs time to gestate. As a further - and somewhat random - note, I have a new blog (which, for the moment, will just be a mirror of this one) over at Inksome - it's a fandom friendly blogsite using Livejournal's open-source code. The ever-wonderful mackzazzle got me an account there.

So, for those of you who read on LJ, a Friendslist-friendly cut! Because long post is long. For those of you reading on
Blogger - well, you're stuck.

Most of you who know me, know every November, I participate in NaNoWriMo. Most of you know, this is my yearly thing. I spend hours in front of my computer (well, more hours than normal), eschew activities I might otherwise participate in (okay, so there's a chance you'll find me doing something else other than writing. I do occasionally visit the outside world. Just not often, and not without protection.) and otherwise focus in on a new story.

I'm good at NaNo. I'm good at writing. Usually, I blaze through NaNo like a hungry teenage boy through free pizza.

This year was no different. There was a brief period at the beginning of the month where my work schedule and my writing met and clashed and didn't work well together, and I actually fell behind most of the people who watch me blast past them in word count. I whined like an emo schoolgirl and my boss, being gifted with compassion, patience, and a sense of humor, patted me on the head and moved heaven, earth and the rest of the cosmos to re-create her carefully crafted schedule into something where I could write.

There aren't many bosses who would do that. Lots of folk I know bitch at me about working too much, giving up too much of my time/energy for the store, wearing myself out, etc - well, what AB did for me with the schedule was better than a raise or a prize or anything else of the sort. Very few people in my life are willing to do as much to help my writing and very few of those willing to help are willing to face down a horde of geeks whose precious 'sit and do nothing' time would have to be rescheduled for two whole weeks. My boss did.

I didn't waste the time she gave me. I won on the 17th or 18th of the month, and after validating tonight, I got this shiny new picture that says I'm a winner.

I have never lost NaNo.

That said, this year was hard. I had lots of ideas, some of them better than others. I chose one that I thought would be fun, but it sucked. The story was flat, the characters were 2-dimensional, and the plot had more holes than rotten cheesecloth. Yet, in the spirit of NaNo, I went ahead and kept writing until I hit 50K - and then promptly closed the document and left it alone, because I hope I never write anything that crappy ever again.

Why was this year hard? Because I was writing crap. I understand the idea behind liberating yourself from your internal editor and just flying with literary abandon. I get it - and normally, I revel in it during November. But I've never written this kind of crap before. I know I quote Anne Lamott a lot and babble on about how every writer writes shitty rough drafts. But this? This went beyond bad and into the realm of absurd. It's so bad I couldn't even salvage it by turning it into a farce.

Unsurprisingly, November brings up all kinds of thoughts about things I already know, at least about writing. First and foremost, writing is a discipline. Just like any spiritual discipline, physical discipline or lifestyle discipline, it takes effort, will and determination to make it work. Bum glue. Glue your bum to the chair and write.

I think I finally learned what that means. To just push through and keep writing, even when it's crap. I don't like it.

I think of writing as a craft; just like carpentry, blacksmithing or any other craft. There is technical skill and then there is artistry. A person with technical writing skill can create a well-written, grammatically correct, correctly spelled and logically sequenced piece of writing, just like a carpenter can create a functional, sturdy and usable chair. However, a craftsman is always trying to make things better, to make that chair or that piece of writing more fun to use or to read.

I fall into that category. People often ask me why I can't write all year like I do for NaNo, and the truth of it isn't some kind of horrid mental block or any of the other dime-store psychological platitudes people dish out to me when I talk about why I get stuck with writing. It's a completely different dime-store psychological platitude.

It's craft. I want to craft my stories - build them, work with them, make them work. Every time (aside from NaNo) I try to write without working on craft, I end up stuck. The times I do my best work are the times I sit down and am willing to craft every sentence or paragraph or agonize over words. When I'm willing to go back and play with a chapter or a scene until it fits - when I'll scroll back over a hundred pages to change a single thing to makes sure everything is consistent.

If I'm really called to be a writer, as I've theorized, I need to treat what I do with respect and irreverence at the same time. I need to take the idea behind NaNo - writing the story, telling the story, no matter what and synergize it with the idea of crafting the story as I write it. Even though a well-crafted rough draft will still be shitty compared to the final product, it will be something I can feel comfortable with having written.

I don't know if I'm an artist or not; I don't think of myself as one, but I know there is sometimes artistry in storytelling or character or even a turn of phrase. Some folk, like homicidalsh33p have it fairly often. Sometimes I even think I do...but I'll leave the final decision to my eventual readers when I get something substantial published.

Strangely enough (or maybe not), it was HPU that led me to that conclusion. Oddly enough, most people on my LJ Flist haven't read HPU, even though I've been working on it off and on since 2004. For that matter, most people on my LJ Flist haven't read the Katheryn story, either, even though I started writing it in 1995. These stories are a major part of my life, and some of what I'm going to say won't make sense if you don't know those stories. So, for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, time to tune out and go back to the rest of your regularly scheduled internets. For the rest of you who have a clue and still give a damn, read on!

Writing HPU has been an adventure in self-discovery. I could rant about the fanfiction aspect of HPU and spend a lot of time defending fic, but I won't, because most of you have already heard it already, read fic, or stopped reading at the last paragraph. HPU is the first story I truly gave free reign to and it's turned into a monstrosity. Over 760 pages, 220,000 words...and the story is not even to the halfway point. It's got a lot of writing I'm proud of, a few places I want to cleanse with fire, and some bits and pieces I know I could do better (and will eventually tweak). But I've learned more about how to tell a story through HPU than through anything else I've ever written, just like the Katheryn story has taught me how to build a universe in such a way that I don't drown myself or kill the story with the details of cosmology.

Frankly, I'm not a good enough craftsman yet to tell the Katheryn story, but if anything will get me there, it'll be HPU. If you think reading this entry has been hard, try making an admission like that. I'm not good enough to tell the story I most want to tell.

I will be, though. Even if it kills me.

For the most part, everything I've learned about writing, I've learned on my own. There are a few notable exceptions to this, most of them coming from random places. Anne Lamott taught me about letting go of false expectations in Bird By Bird. One of my professors at St Edward's taught me a new way to think about writing.

Everything else? I've taught myself. Mostly, because getting people to actually read is very hard. Getting people with my level of knowledge and who are willing to sit and discuss is even harder.

The other night, I was writing a bit of HPU, and I realized that, despite what I'd been telling myself, I was stuck at the same place I always get stuck. The last two weeks of summer, after Harry has woken up from the attack at the gym but before his return to Hogwarts. I can't get past this same place; I get bogged down because there are so many details, so many things to reveal, so many things to build and to put into place to make the rest of the story make sense. When I stopped trying to limit chapter size and stopped trying to keep other characters from having a strong voice and role in the events, I was able to start moving things forward.

Then I got stuck again. The only way to get unstuck, I think, is to push through like I did with this year's NaNo. Only, slightly different. Instead of focusing on quantity, I need to focus on quality - I need to make sure to spend the time crafting and building these chapters instead of rushing through them to get to the 'meat' of the next part of the plot. Patience is a major part of good craft, I've been told.

I have patience, just not with myself.

It all comes back to the Basic Speed Law, as applied to life. Which is to say, you can only go as fast as conditions allow.

Not too long back, back, I was driving to Dragon's Lair on a Wednesday morning. That particular morning was beset by fog - fog like I haven't seen in awhile. It was thick and horrid stuff, like cold steam. When I was a kid, I learned fog was just a cloud that had settled close to the ground - if so, then this was a particularly aggressive and stubborn cloud that refused to be the wispy fog we central Texans are used to.

The frustrating thing about this fog wasn't the inability to see a whole car-length in front of me, or even the need to drive to work. It was the way the other drivers seemed to be ignoring the fog. Now, I'm not usually one to bitch about traffic. I leave that to my father and Iridanum - they're much better at it than I am. But that particular morning, the other drivers were beset by a particular and special kind of suicidal stupid.

It reminded me of learning the Basic Speed Law in Driver's Ed all those years ago. I remember Mr N browbeating us with it. "Only drive as fast as conditions allow." It was on every test, every quiz, and, if you got that question right on the final, you were sure to pass (if only barely).

As much as I hate the dumb 'life as a road' metaphor with all the deep, dark and unpleasant parts of myself, it works here. Everyone has goals - things they want to do. Ambitions, hopes, dreams, etc. We have thousands of movies and stories about people achieving their dreams, just because it's something everyone can connect with. Because there's no one in the entire world who doesn't have at least one impossible thing they want to accomplish before they die. (Impossible, of course, being relative to the situation and person.)

You can only get there as fast as conditions allow.

Even as I write that, I hear all the outcry, the screams and the rants and the lectures about that being a horrible excuse for letting things get in your way or slow you down, and while there's some truth to that, there's a lot more truth to this: sometimes, there are things that get in the way and you have to navigate them with care. Sure, you can claim obstacles are just excuses, and they can be - but only if you're not trying to get around them. Moving slowly and carefully around an obstacle so as to not make more of a mess is different than using an obstacle as an excuse for not doing something.

To say nothing of how your goals compare to what other people think your goals should be - but that's another post. Probably my next one. Maybe. Maybe not. I'm learning not to make promises about my blogging, because - let's face it. The blogging fairy only pokes me one and a while. *cough*New Moon blog.*cough*

In my case, I have a whole host medical issues - fibromyalgia, rheumatoid arthritis among other assorted minor problems, to say nothing of the varying forms of dyslexia I have (which is pretty much the whole set). This means it takes me three times as long and three times as much effort to do normal, every day things.

Such as remembering which way doors open. Or which faucet has the hot water (when they aren't marked). Or finding my way around a room that's been recently re-arranged. However, some of my issues mean I don't have as much energy to put into effort as other people. That means I have to choose what I do and when I do it and how I do things very carefully. I live my life in a constant state of discipline just to make it through one day to the next.

Everything I do is very deliberate, very purposeful. I've discovered I work best when I apply that to the rest of what I do. Another HPU lesson. When I'm deliberate in my writing, I do better - but I can't plan too far ahead (IE - outlines!), because there's no way to predict things or plan for things too far out. In life, that means I might not have the energy to run to the store after work to get food I can cook, but I can plan to eat dinner after work. Sometimes, that means cooking. Other times, it means hitting up the usual.

Recently, a few things have happened to make me think about my life, its direction and the goals I have in it.

My boss, at the beginning of November, sat down with me and had a chat with me, because of a personnel shake-up at work. Suffice it to say, JKA - who I helped train! - got promoted to manager. At first, I was a bit upset about this, mostly because I felt overlooked. Truth to tell, I don't want the job he has. I'd be miserable, because it would take all the fun out of my job! But my boss, showing wisdom, patience and compassion well above and beyond the call of duty, made sure I understood what was going on.

I hadn't been overlooked. In fact, I'd been considered. However, my talents and skills are of more use elsehwere. Truth is, I'd make a poor manager. Hell, I remember not being able to handle being a safety patrol lieutenant in elementary school, and I've not grown up enough since to get past some of the stupidity that makes me a bad manager.

Still, being an irrational creature, I got upset. I'm proud of how I approached the situation. Instead of throwing a fit, I was able to feel happy for my co-worker's promotion, and actually approach my boss about it rationally and calmly and talk to her. I'm glad I did. (Though, a couple of hours of praying about it before I did anything had a lot to do with that bit of maturity).

I can't reveal much about future company plans, but suffice it to say (yes, I like that phrase. I'd say 'sue me', but I have nothing of worth), that Dlair is a franchised chain now, and if I play my cards right, I could be the press agent/medial relations guy for the chain. Not just one or two stores...but a lot more than that. I could be a part of something pretty big. Not a huge corporate chain or a major force in the comic publishing industry - but I could be part of growing a small homegrown business into something more substantial.

All I have to do? Prove I can do it.

Okay, so I've proven part of it. I can do the writing part of the job in my sleep (and, considering when I write most of the store newsletters, I sometimes do). The press agent the owner had on contract for awhile didn't do much writing - she just stole the articles I wrote for the website and used them as press releases until I said something about it. Then, people just had me write the press releases.

Now, her contract ran out and I have a chance to show folk I can do all of her job, not just part of it. Here's hoping I can pull it off, yes?

Considering I'm something of a professional failure so far, I'm pretty sure I have a fifty-fify shot of fucking this up royally. Which is to say, I'm going to try, going to try to discipline myself enough to get the job done while trying to untangle the rest of my life.

It won't be quick or easy, because most of what I need/want to accomplish with this are things that take time and require me laying groundwork. Here's hoping I manage to get it done before the owner and my boss run out of patience with me.

In the mean time, I'm going to keep slogging through HPU.

And hopefully, get enough sleep to function tomorrow.

Playing Catch-Up

I was recently reminded by JH, the author of Insert Title Here that I haven't been blogging (again) and there are people far and abroad who are supposedly interested in my life and thoughts.

I figure those folk have got to be bored. So very, very bored. None the less, here I am, blogging for their amusement and mine. Mostly, a long and boring series of thoughts, events and ponderings that, I'm sure, will make you long for your previously scheduled boredom.

First and foremost, my brother and partner in crime, Iridanum has traveled to the Emerald City to be with Aderangedhyena, which means he's actually smiling for once. Whataburger, the dogs and I shall all miss him.

For those of you waiting for commentary on New Moon, patience. I'll have my first blog on that up before too long; hopefully mid-week.

Now, as most of you know, I live in a quaint little trailer park in the twilight zone between Austin and Pflugerville (yes, it's really spelled that way) and, thusly, all the big and important people don't want to sell things to us. Folk like Ye Olde Cable Company don't want to come out here and sell their services to us. As such, we aren't in the middle of the unfortunately amusing little fight with local Austin station/NBC Affiliate KXAN.

It also means we're stuck with one of the other guys for cable. Now, this isn't so bad, normally, considering the infinitesimal amount of television I partake of. However, four and a half months ago, our house was struck by lightning. It shorted out a few things, including my mother's most precious possession - her TV. The Great TV Quest was embarked upon, and my father spent an inordinate amount of money on a new HD flat screen TV for her. Not that we get HD channels (see above cable company), but it was a nice TV.

Only, the sound cut out. A lot. So he traded it in for a new one. The sound cut out. A lot. So after some work with the sales folk and customer service folk at Circuit City, we got a third new TV. And the sound cut out. A lot. Throughout this process, there was much experimentation, including putting my new and mostly unused TV in place of hers, an old analog TV in place of hers, and a few visits by the Not-So-Friend Neighborhood Cable Repair Man. (He's definitely not a super-hero, unless he's spreading the cranky and annoying).

Okay - long story short. One brand of TV had a bad run and the sound sucked sweaty donkey balls and the picture would flip out whenever we ran the microwave. However, the second brand (and third actual TV) my father brought home worked great. (Also, the Firedog Installation guy was out so often the dogs got to know him, if that tells you how much of a pain this has been.)

Last night, push came to shove and the sound was cutting in and out every two seconds. My father counted. And decided the Repairman needed to come back out and fix it, which sparked a discussion between him and my mother. Let me tell you - my mother has been remarkable patient, reserved and not-cranky about this considering how much she loves/thrives on/needs TV to live. (Please note: this is a relative statement, which means there was only the occasional screaming fit and self-pity marathon as opposed to her normal behavior, which often resembles a grumpy emo two-year-old with hemorrhoids.)

In the process of this discussion, it was revealed that the Repairman has been treating my mother like a sick, doddering old woman with the mental capacity of a senile flobberworm as opposed to an intelligent person who's disabled because of physical problems, and thusly, her opinion on dealing with the repairman again was: Do Not Want.

My mother and I do not get on, not really. Long story. Complicated relationship. Etc, etc, etc. Yes, she has memory issues, thanks to the drugs she's one.

However, I have never once made the mistake of thinking my mother was too stupid to notice a problem, nor that she had the powers of deduction to figure out what the root cause of said problem is, especially when it comes to her own comfort and entertainment.

Nor do I like it when people treat my mother with disrespect when she hasn't earned it. My mother has done many things to earn disrespect, many of which I cannot and will not defend. However, there is a certain level of customer service that is required when one is in a customer service job.

This past month, there has been a customer service contest at work, because it is our Customer Service Awareness Month. Yeah, okay - sounds hokey, right? Right. It is. But we're geeks. Hokey is kinda what we do. But it's made me think about what customer service is and how to provide good customer service. Frankly - it's fairly simple. All you have to do is Give A Damn or act like you do. I may write more about this later, but suffice it to say, my father and I decided to have the Repairman out today, while I was here to deal with him.

We wanted him to do one simple thing - replace a cable outlet/box thingie in our wall that transmits the cable signal through the co-ax cord to the TV. After all, we've only asked him about this ever time he's visited us over the past four and a half months. He merely tells my mother that the box is not the problem. First, it was the TV. Then, it was the house wiring - a deduction based on the microwave making the picture spaz.

However, we applied the process of elimination and the scientific method - skills most folk learn in elementary school - and were able to determine that no other cable connection in the house had the problem, the new(est) TV didn't have the microwave issues, and we were four TVs in - all of which had the sound problem on that particular outlet. (New co-ax cable didn't fix it either.)

What does that tell us? Simple. Logic. The outlet has issues. His meter says the signal strength is fine. Great! So?

The Repairman came, fifteen minutes later than he said he would. First thing he said was 'Changing the box won't fix it' and proceeded to tell us why. He was rude. He was brusque. And he didn't listen. However, my mother might not be up for confrontation anymore, but I am. I explained to him why his logic didn't work (lack of information on his part made his assumptions wrong) and then I told him we were going to pay to have the outlet/box thingie replaced.

He replaced it. He stormed around outside, scared my dogs, chased my mother back into her room, and slammed our front door.

I decided being an ass to him wouldn't solve anything - I wanted him to concentrate on doing his job, not proving his cock was bigger than mine by telling me how much I don't know about his job. Beating him senseless would have been counter-productive, if satisfying, and calling him out on his rudeness would have been counter-productive. So I sat in my father's chair, read a book, and stared at him the whole time he worked inside.

It took him about 45 minutes to do the job. Then, as he was leaving, he had to get the last word in edgewise over us poor trailer park folk, and decided to tell me in a quite patronizing tone of voice that we should get the wiring of the house looked at, because of the microwave problem.

I smiled, told him we hadn't had that problem since we got the new(est) TV, and bid him a good afternoon.

I'm probably an ass for getting the last word in, but - that was some of the worst customer service I've experienced in a long time. Iridanum will tell you that I'm the luckiest SoB when it comes to customer service, because I usually get the worst of the worst. It's kinda like the Curse of Katheryn, only not as amusing.

If I ever treat a customer like that, I hope they slap me upside the head with something heavy and blunt for being a dick.

But speaking of JH and TV (I know, I know - a brilliant segue from a brilliant writer. Stand in awe, folks, stand in awe.), I did two unusual (for me) things this past week. I went out and did something social at someone else's house and I watched TV. With people, even. Not just when I've got writer's block so horrid I watch TV instead of practicing self-trepanation.

I went over to JH's apartment after work last Wednesday and, after chillin' with him while he edited a neighbor's audition video, we watched the new Knight Rider - which, in our uneducated opinions, was awesome. It, unlike the failed Team Knight Rider from the late 90's, captured the feel and spirit of the original show - which was much more awesome than people give it credit for and was David Hasslehoff's best role. And came way before Baywatch. Even if the Guinness Book of World Records says it was the most-watched TV show of all time. (No surprise - I've never seen an episode.)

We watched the awesomeness of Knight Rider on a massive TV, which, really, is a wall with an identity crisis. Only, the HD didn't work. That didn't bother me any because I've never watched anything in HD, but JH was a bit annoyed.

Following the show (and an excellent impromptu dinner by KH, JH's lovely wife), therein followed more work on the neighbor's video, helping KH grade papers, and a discussion about that most boring and uncomfortable of topics - me. Apparently, KH has an interest in me, and knew all of the random and awkward questions to ask me to make me talk about all of those things fanficfulreality has been trying to pry out of me for years.

Now, the filter in my brain that tells me not to say something offensive, rude, dumb, or painfully insightful to someone else never works. The filter that keeps me from talking about myself in any serious or meaningful way is usually in good working order and almost always stops anything important from coming out was out of order that night, because I said way too much and told them things I'll probably end up regretting when my rare good mood evaporates and is replaced by my normal cynicism.

None the less, we plan to repeat this experience this coming Wednesday, where hopefully his HD will be working, and I can be awed by the awesome that (apparently) is HD. I think I'm being social. This disturbs me on a very visceral level and amuses Starrybluepoet, who informs me that I am no longer able to retreat from the world and be a hermit, as life is very much less colorful when I am not around.

I would argue and say that is a strange thing to say, as I wear monochrome, but fancifulreality said much the same thing later today. Never argue with tiny women. They always outnumber you. When two of them agree, run. Especially since both of them are armed with pixie-dust.

Still, considering Starrbluepoet is writing things again, I cannot vanish again. If I did, she would stop, and I would be sad.

Ahh, writing. That subject near and dear to my heart. National Novel Writing Month is very close at hand, and I am getting myself back into the writing shape that will let me write 100k again this year.

On another note, I re-joined ASR, because I missed my characters, I missed the people I wrote with, and I missed the momentum and pressure having to post gave my writing. So Shay is on Starbase SAIKAI and Tigria is still on CIRCE. (And yes, their pages need updating and lots of work. I will eventually get them fancy HTML web pages up again, but it will take me time.)

Also, Carpelocke is joining CIRCE. This makes me happy and excited, because he's gonna get in on things right before we have a massive fuck-off of a space battle with insurmountable odds that very well could kill us all.

Again.

I think I'm finally over whatever hump it is I have on HPU, because I think I can actually write a chapter in the mid-thirties now, and move past this quagmire point I always get stuck at. I just have to push through and write a shitty chapter or three to make it work. I have lots of ideas for after, it's just some of the interconnecting parts are a bit (very) hazy.

I have no idea which idea to use for NaNo this year. There are too many of them to figure out right now. I may re-write Path of Thorns/Path of Tears or Worlds Asunder in their entirety (as in, use the same basic idea and characters, but not touch the original text. It is NaNo, after all.) Or try for a less abortive attempt on Starfire Quest; disregard everything I've written on it before, and just start somewhere in the middle. I can go back and write the beginning later. Or the HP fanfic about Bill's time at Hogwarts - technically, the prequel to HPU, because it deals with Bill's quest to become a Dueling Master.

Though, over-all? I am more behind than I ever have been. I have so many things to read and edit and so many things to write and create that I don't know what to do about it. To say nothing of web work for work and desperately needing to clean the bathroom at some point this week. And other assorted chores, though cleaning the bathroom is important. There is mold growing back, and if it gains sentience, I'm charging it rent.

I'll leave you with a final observation. About two weeks ago, at Dlair, there were some young folk - late teens to mid-twenties - who came in to buy some manga. Four of five of 'em. They all had Down's Syndrome, I think. They didn't call each other by their real names; they called each other by other names they'd given themselves. Goku was the one I remember most clearly.

Some folk, even some of my co-workers, got a chuckle out of that. Being me, I started wondering why that was funny to us, and I couldn't come up with a real good reason, except that we were making fun of them. I'm not sure we should have.

I think there's a lesson in there, somewhere, about accepting people and calling people what they want to be called, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.

Because we all know it could happen. Really.

So, Hurricane Ike has decided to aim itself in the general direction of central Texas.

Not that I blame it or anything. Shows better taste than some hurricanes - skipping over Louisana and New Orleans (which is oddly inhospitable to visiting hurricanes after that Katrina chick overstayed her welcome). Central Texas is a good place. Lots of sunshine, good food, and if it's lucky, it might get to see Leslie. Maybe pick up a Keep Austin Wierd bumper sticker, though Ike seems to want to pressure wash Houston, first.

Not a bad plan for for a back-to-school vacation, really.

Except for the small fact that I live in a "manufactured home community. *coughs*Trailer park.*coughs* In Texas. In the twilight zone between Austin and Pflugerville. In a "manufactured home" that has all the character flaws of a used car bought from the greasy law school washout brokering lemons from his cousin's third-hand after-market auto shop.

Yeah, so we're actually ground-set. But everyone knows our luck, right? Bad at best, catastrophic at worst? (Lightning strike, anyone?)

So with hurricanes come winds. Thunder. Lightning. All that jazz.

If there's anything 20 years of gaming and reading cheap fantasy has taught me, it's that storms + wind + rickety housing = interdimensional travel. So if my house gets blown away and y'all get a postcard from the Land of Oz, please send ruby slippers, my pipe, tobacco, and journal back.

I'll likely be in jail in the Emerald City for wearing blue glasses. (Or assaulting a flying monkey. I hate flying monkeys. You think pigeons are bad with the dive bombing?)

You laugh. You think I'm being sarcastic.

Just you wait. I'll end up in some other universe. Only, I'm not skipping, singing, or dancing. I'll play the role of the sarcastic broody guy. I've got lots of practice. (And trust me, I'm not lucky enough to end up with the cute redhead with the basket full of food. I'll end up in a duel the death with the lion, having to try to fix the metal man with duct tape and paper clips, sassing the good witch, befriending the evil witch and debunking the wizard by accident. After knocking over something expensive and irreplacable.)

Captain Entropy, signing off.

Twilight Travails, part I

At the request of many folk, not in the least tn_teacher, fancifulreality and, finally, (though by no means least), fairey_queen, I have started to read Twilight by current literary superstar Stephanie Meyer.

(I also promised my boss, AB, that I would read this book.)

Since so many folk have expressed interest in my reactions to this book, I thought I would blog said reactions for posterity and to satiate their curiosity. Also, because I need to start being disciplined in my blogging again, and this is a good way to start.

So.

I borrowed the book from fairey_queen this morning, and sat down to read it this afternoon. I've made it almost to page 50 and my favorite character is the truck. Bella is a slightly emo 14-year-old girl, and having never been any sort of 14-year-old girl m'self, I can't say she's someone I really identify with. Some of her issues, I jibe with: alienation, being left out, etc - but being stalked by the puppy-boy Mike and the painfully geeky Eric is more amusing than anything else.

I feel almost bad laughing at Bella's problems, because it just seems mean.

But that is, I think, the root of the problem - Meyer has created a very real person and despite my not getting all the trauma of being a 14-year-old girl (and to hear the tales I've heard, it's quite traumatic), she is still a sympathetic character whom I find myself mildly interested in - though not yet invested in. So far, Edward isn't all that interesting, even knowing he's a vampire. Even though it's obvious his reaction to Bella was stronger than he expected/wanted, and doesn't quite know what to do with it.

Like I said, so far, the best character is the truck.

There is one part of this that's hard for me to get past. Edward is over a hundred years old - and is a 17-year-old boy who falls in love with an 14-year-old girl? A bit creepy much. I'm not sure I see the romance as much as I see a rather twisted form of pedophilia.

The jury is still out on this one.