I'm beginning to regret writing this

Even for me, today was pretty uneventful. I slept in late once again, got up, did not much of anything for a few hours, and then I started working on a picture. After a short time I got sick of working on the picture, so I decided to do some writing.
Specifically, I started working on a story that’s been kicking around in my head for about 18 years.
I’ve made a few attempts at writing it over the years, typing out a handful of fragments here and there, writing some specific scenes, but not the overall story.
Actually, it’s not just one story, either. If all were to go according to plan, it would be a rather epic collection of stories encompassing 50,000 years and spanning across 10 very thick volumes.
That is, at least, the plan, though as I once mentioned I seldom make plans, since they almost never work out the way I want them to.
In any case, perhaps inspired by the fact that I did complete a novel (such as it is) last month (For those of you who may be new to Threshold, this extremely rough draft of a novel can be found at www.15000years.blogspot.com), and by the pictures I’ve been working on of late, which have been of characters from the story, I decided to take a new crack at it.
I did get a fair amount written, but ultimately I ended up breaking away from my keyboard, or at least from my efforts in furtherance of the story while I was at the keyboard.
I have a habit of doing that; calling it quits when things are still going fairly well, and last month’s efforts didn’t really do much to change that habit.
This was something other than my usual laziness, though. Many elements of the story I was working on are, while not exactly based on them, at least informed by certain experiences in my life, most of which, while not exactly traumatic, are rather unpleasant to think about.
So writing this story was bringing up a lot of unpleasant memories, and it wasn’t proving especially cathartic, so I called it quits for a little while, hoping that at some point I’ll be slightly better equipped to deal with the memories.
As I said, these aren’t traumatic memories, as I really don’t have any of those, they’re just…unpleasant. Mostly they’re kind of embarrassing, and downright humiliating, for a variety of reasons, which I have no intention of getting into here.
I will say, though, that much of the reason for the embarrassment stems from the fact that some of these experiences were born out of teenaged angst, and memories of that tend to be humiliating for virtually everyone, though at times it seems as though much of my life, particularly that period, has all been part of some endless parade of embarrassment and humiliation.
In any case, there are also a lot of regrets mixed in there with the embarrassing memories: regrets about foolish behavior, foolish choices, and just general foolishness.
Sometimes I think that if it weren’t for regrets I wouldn’t have any memories at all.
Of course, not all of my memories are bad, but the thing about regret is that it can often spill over and taint other memories, so essentially when I look back on the past I do so through regret-tinted glasses.
One thing that I'm sure everyone has encountered in life is the fact that there many people spout various philosophies about living a life free of regrets, many of them claiming that they regret nothing.
These people will often browbeat you if you express regret in their presence, since, apparently, it is acceptable to make people regret having regrets. It's sort of like how positive, happy people will try to make you feel bad about feeling bad and not being positive and happy...
In any case, I’m of the opinion that anyone who claims to have no regrets is a liar, a fool, or a sociopath.
We all regret something, even if it’s something as mundane and trivial as ordering the soup rather than the salad (or vice versa). Sometimes we regret standing up too quickly, or going outside with wet hair, or, quite likely, you’ll regret wasting your time reading today’s long-ass boring Threshold entry.
In the course of even the most straightforward and uneventful of days we have to make altogether too many decisions to be able to avoid regretting something to at least some degree.
I don’t, however, intend to suggest that all regrets are created equal. For example, I don’t lump the regret I feel for eating too much today and not exercising yesterday into the same category of regret as my failed marriage (Which is a regret that is itself composed of all kinds of other regrets that themselves fall into different categories), or not telling a certain girl that I was in love with her (or, conversely, actually telling a different girl that I was in love with her).
So there are clearly different kinds, and intensities, of regrets, but my point is that if you really look, I’m sure you’ll find something that you regret.
Maybe I’m wrong, though. Maybe there really are some people who live their lives free of regret. If so, more power to them, I guess.
In any case, I will concede that there are some of us who have more to regret than others, or who at least regret things more, whether legitimatley or not, and even if we try to go through life planning not to have them…well, we already know what often happens to plans, don’t we?
I think that, compared to whatever the average may be, I probably have more regrets than most, but I’m sure there are millions, if not billions, of people who have many more, and much bigger, regrets than I do.
And ultimately I don’t think that my life is really all that negatively impacted by my regrets. For one thing, since I am so accustomed to experiencing it, fear of regret seldom influences my decisions, since I tend to have a damned if I don’t, damned if I do approach to life and simply gravitate instead towards the path of least resistance.
Besides, as is evidenced by some of the writing I did today, my regrets provide fertile grounds of experience that I can cultivate as material for my stories.
And in recent years, primarily since I quit drinking, I’ve had a lot less to regret.
Even so, there are times, like today, when my regrets will sneak up from behind and wallop me, but it never lasts long, and eventually I’m able to move on, and I live to regret another day.
As for the “no regrets” crowd, I would have to say that if you truly have no regrets you’ve either lived a charmed life, or an incredibly boring one.

Off to the Town Center again, a "Score" to settle, and not putting myself out there

With their never-ending sameness, and with no real break in the monotony of my time off, I’ve been finding it difficult to properly keep track of the days. There were several points today during which I had to really stop and think in order to figure out what day it was.
Today’s monotony did get broken for a little while, though.
Kathleen called to inform me that she was heading to the day spa to get her legs waxed, and that afterwards she was going to the Dulles Town Center and wanted to know if I would like to accompany her (to the Town Center, not to the leg waxing).
I said sure, and took a quick shower.
She was going to the Town Center to have the battery in her watch replaced, which, once she dropped it off, we found was going to take a half an hour, so we wandered around for a bit.
I checked out the calendar place again to see if maybe something had changed and they’d acquired a Janesko calendar. They hadn’t, but I did see an Alex Ross “Mythology” calendar, so I picked that up (www.alexrossart.com).
On the way out through Hecht’s I spotted a fleece that was on sale for $15 (regularly $34), so I decided to pick that up to wear at work (it’s always very cold there). It turned out to be even cheaper than marked, totaling less than $14.
So that was a bargain.
After I got home I got started on dinner, completed it, ate some, froze the rest, and now here I am.
In the mail today I got my copy of “Selina’s Big Score,” a book I ordered about a week and a half ago.
“Selina” in this case is Selina Kyle, aka Catwoman.
It’s a great story which I read a while back, but hadn’t owned. It served as the basis for the most recently launched Catwoman series, introducing the major cast of characters and setting the tone for the monthly book.
If I ruled the world, as I sometimes feel I ought to, though everyone feels that way sometimes, “Selina’s Big Score” would have been the basis for the recent Catwoman movie rather than some lame-ass knock-off of Catwoman that isn’t Catwoman and simply had the name Catwoman tacked onto it in order to try to draw in the existing fan base.
“Selina’s Big Score” would have been so easy to translate to film, and would have been so much more entertaining.
And of course, if I had been in charge and gotten the movie made, I wouldn’t have cast Halle Berry.
Don’t get me wrong: Mmmm…Halle Berry...
However, while Catwoman is many things, such as a thief, a adventurer, a sometimes a crime fighter, there is one thing that she is not: black.
The fact of the matter is that in comics, as in virtually all segments of the entertainment industry, there is a paucity of good, well-realized and defined minority characters, and like most reasonable people I think that something needs to be done to rectify that.
I do not, however, feel that, changing the ethnicities of existing characters, usually arbitrarily, as has been done many times recently, is the right way to go about doing that.
That’s a particular hornet’s nest that I don’t really want to stir up here, but I couldn’t mention the recent Catwoman movie without at least touching on the subject.
Of course, the whole thing is irrelevant in regards to Halle Berry’s portrayal of a character who called herself Catwoman, since she was not intended to be Selina Kyle.
And by the way, in the role of Catwoman, Michelle Pfeiffer, like the entire movie in which she filled the role, sucked ass.
I’ve never thought that she was an especially attractive woman, and whatever the costume in that movie had going for it was ruined by the stupid patchwork stitching (much like Halle’s costume was ruined by the terrible mask, the open-toed boots, and the stupid rips in the pants).
Actually, every live-action portrayal of Catwoman I’ve ever seen has sucked: Eartha Kitt, Julie Newmar, and, ummm…that one chick…dammit.
Lee Merriwether!
I actually remembered her name before I finished pulling up IMDb.
Anyway, every woman who has ever played Catwoman (though Adrienne Barbeau did okay as her voice on Batman: The Animated Series) has carried the whole cat thing way too far.
She calls herself Catwoman, dresses in a cat-themed costume, and has a natural affinity for cats, but she doesn’t take the motif to the extremes that have been presented in movies and TV shows. She doesn’t purr. She doesn’t bathe herself with her tongue. She doesn’t drink cream.
She doesn’t play with balls of yarn, or chase after mice.
Or shit in a litter box.
Batman has a bat motif going on, but that doesn't mean that he eats bugs or sleeps upside down. Just because something is your gimmick it doesn't mean it takes over your whole life.
And honestly, while I realize that the whole vamping it up as a cat thing is intended to be sexy, it really just looks and sounds silly.
In any case, the whole point of this is that the only place I’ve ever seen the character of Catwoman done justice is in “Selina’s Big Score” and in Ed Brubaker’s run on the monthly series. Both are examples of some of the finest mainstream comics work I’ve ever seen, and for anyone out there who reads comics, or is willing to do so, I highly recommend checking them out.
So my vacation is actually over, as I am back on my regular days off. I do regret the fact that I didn’t do more with my extra three days, but as I mentioned many times, there really isn’t much that I could have done with them.
Even if I were inclined to “hit the town,” that would actually be pretty difficult here, as there really is no town. Ashburn is largely a collection of housing subdivisions containing town homes, single family homes, condominiums, and apartment complexes, with a few scattered shopping plazas containing grocery stores, various (mostly useless) specialty shops, and some small cafes and restaurants.
There isn’t any sort of “downtown” that you can go to and walk along the city streets for hours checking out different kinds of shops, cafes, and restaurants, and everything is so scattered that you have to spend so much time in traffic just to get from one place to another, making it too much of a hassle to even bother.
Of course, I do have the option of heading into DC and checking out what our nation’s capital has to offer, but driving there is way too much of a pain, and my desire to do something with my free time isn’t strong enough to make me want to make use of the Metro.
I thought about going out to Delaware to visit my friend Eric, but the most direct route there would involve going through DC, and, as mentioned, that’s a pain (Last time I drove out to visit him I got lost in DC for several hours, which is why I actually have a grudge against DC and am largely unwilling to go there ever again).
Beyond that, though, there arises the question of what I would do once I got there. He’s a married father these days, and I no longer drink, so what would we do? We’re both too old for just “hanging out,” and the one activity that we both used to enjoy so much (drinking) is no longer an option, so why bother?
And it’s not like I don’t care, or don’t want to see him, but the effort of driving out there just doesn’t seem like it would have much of a payoff, and it would ultimately serve only to remind us both that the “good old days,” regardless of how good they may or may not have actually been, are well behind us.
So honestly, even though I do often wish that it were not so, I have to admit that there really isn’t much that I could do with my time that would be worthwhile enough to justify the bother involved in doing it.
Maybe I would be better served trying to do something more constructive with my time, like getting a part-time job, or going back to school to get my master’s, or even more actively engaging in my existing creative pursuits.
…
On occasion, I do actually work some overtime during the week, and even though it’s fairly rare I’d probably make more money working a few extra hours here and there at my existing job than I would at a part-time job.
Speaking of money, the lack of it is what keeps me from going back to school. (Well, that and laziness, obviously. I should think by now that it's clear that laziness informs pretty much all of my decisions.)
As for my writing and my art…meh. It’s pretty obvious that they’re never really going to pay off, even if only because I don’t have enough interest in pursuing them. They serve to pass the time, but beyond that I have no hopes or particular aspirations for them.
So ultimately it looks like whatever vague, undefined activity I’m looking to fill my time with is going to stay vague and undefined as I continue to simply pass the time at home.
And I guess I’ll just have to content myself to occasionally accompanying my married co-worker when she goes shopping, since that seems to be the extent of my social life.
Hey, I’m not complaining; my social life hasn’t been this active in a long time.
But going out into the world, both on my own over the past few days and with Kathleen, has been sort of revelatory.
To be perfectly honest, the whole reason I feel as though I should go out into the world more is in the hope that maybe somehow I’ll finally meet someone; maybe I'll finally have the sort of chance encounter that seems so unlikely to happen, but which is certainly never going to happen within the confines of my apartment.
But as I venture out into a world filled with suburbanite housewives, it becomes increasingly clear that the odds are just as good in my apartment as out of it. Everywhere I look I see attractive women…walking with their boyfriends and husbands.
Even if I see women on their own, the diamond rings on their fingers are just as apparent as the baby strollers they’re pushing.
And if I see a woman who has no obvious indicators that she’s not single, invariably she speaks little or no English. Okay, so I’m a guy and my primary interest may not always be conversation, but it would be nice to meet someone who will at least understand me when I say, “Okay, now I want you to tighten the restraints just a little more…”
KIDDING!
Honestly, I’m just kidding; I’ve got this whole system set up that lets me control the tightness of the restraints myself.
In any case, I’ve come to realize that what’s really behind this impulse to get out into the world is a desire to finally meet someone, and my dissatisfaction stems from the fact that it’s just not happening no matter how much I “put myself out there,” particularly since my options for doing so are severely limited by geography, language barriers, and my own personality quirks/defects.
So I guess that rather than putting myself out there I’m further ahead to just “keep myself in here.”

The Latest Advances in Laziness Technology

So I slept in until after 10 once again today, though I had been dreaming that I’d slept until almost noon.
After getting up and doing not much of anything, I finally decided that I would once again venture out into the world.
So I took a shower and then found myself sitting around in my bathrobe, at which point I decided to turn on the TV. “Trading Spaces” was on, which I haven’t really watched in a very long time, and as it had an interesting “twist,” I opted to hold off on venturing out until after it was over.
The twist to the show was that the rooms that were going to be redesigned had not yet been selected. The homeowners had to go into each others’ homes and pick which room would be done. If the homeowners picked the “bonus” room (sort of like “the secret word”) they would get an additional $1,000 for their budget.
Only one set of homeowners found the “bonus” room. There was other stuff, too, like the homeowners designing their own carpentry projects, but that was the main thing.
Anyway, after that was over I got dressed and headed out into the world.
This consisted primarily of me going to Circuit City and just sort of aimlessly wandering around, as I wasn’t looking for anything in particular.
I found a hell of a deal in the form of a 19” LCD monitor for only $429 (it had been returned, apparently). That was extremely tempting, even though it would have meant pretty much draining my savings.
I managed to stay strong and not buy it, though.
However, I did find the Sarah McLachlan “Afterglow Live” DVD/CD set for $20. I could have gotten it a bit cheaper online, but after factoring in shipping it would cost more. Plus if I bought it at a store, I would actually have it the same day, so I bought it.
I also picked up a learning remote, which is very cool.
Ironically, there is a considerable learning curve involved in figuring out how to actually make use of it, but I think I’ve got it pretty well worked out.
Because of the way I have everything set up, and because I have a no-name DVD player/home theater system and TV which do not have codes in any of the major universal remotes, I’ve been forced to make use of three different remotes.
(As an aside, even though my DVD player is cheap and no-name, so far, with the exception of the Spider-Man 2 DVD, I’ve found that it can handle virtually every format thrown at it: VCD, SVCD, MP3, DVD-R, DVD+R/RW, CD-R, et. al. Also, it can play MPEG files that have not been reformatted as SVCD/VCD. Put in a CD ROM that has MPEG files on it, and the player brings up an on-screen directory display that allows you to play any compatible video/audio/picture files. It even identifies files that it may not be able to play [such as DIVX or AVI] with a question mark. I’ve been very impressed by it.)
Also, I haven’t been able to find a universal remote that can actually do more with my digital cable box than simply turn it on and off and change the channels, and I make considerable use of the guide and info stuff.
So I was very pleased to finally get a learning remote that can be taught to perform more than just the basic functions. Also, it ended up being $20 cheaper than it was marked, so that was a bonus.
It wasn’t really tricky to set it up, it was just kind of tedious. There are still some seldom-used features of my DVD player’s remote that I need to teach it, but I’ve got all of the major stuff programmed in.
Also, it has a macro feature, so by hitting two buttons I can turn on my digital cable box, TV, VCR, and DVD player/home theater (It’s a huge mess of wires back there, plus there are wires running over to my computer, as I have an ATI All-In-Wonder graphics card that allows me to watch TV on my computer).
Also, besides turning the DVD player on, it sets the mode to Aux, which is the audio input for my digital cable box.
So that’s very cool, and efficient. I mean, it increases my overall laziness by like 300%, and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Anything that can make me even lazier is practically a miracle.
Plus, the blue light for the LCD screen on the remote is really pretty.
Now that I’ve gotten the remote all sorted out, I need to figure out what I’m going to do for dinner. I took out some frozen leftovers last night, and I don’t have anything else thawed, so I’m not sure there’s too much left to figure out, but I think I’ll go take a look anyway, so I guess that’s it for right now.

D'oh!

I've had a few complaints from people who have wanted to post comments on Threshold, but were unwilling to register, and complaints from others who did register because they had to go through the bother of registering.
All along I thought it was some sort of official Blogger policy, and was myself a little annoyed by it, since I hate having to register on Web sites.
For example, I had to register at Wal Mart's Web site the other day just to find out what the balance is on the gift card my brother gave me for Christmas.
There was another site I was looking at the other day, for a FREE newspaper, which required registering just to read the articles.
So I hate the whole registration thing, and was actually going to write an entry decrying Blogger's lame-ass registration policy.
...
Today I went into my settings and discovered that at any time I could have set Threshold to accept anonymous posts.
Whoops.
Okay, so technically it's my fault, but, um, well...Damn Blogger for setting the default to not allowing anonymous posts! Come on, who's with me? Boo, Blogger! Boo, default settings!
*Sigh*
Anyway, I have adjusted the settings and anonymous posts are now allowed, so feel free to flame away with vitriolic posts delineating the reasons that I'm a total dumbass, and know that you can do so with impunity.
After all, that's what what anonymity is for, right? Anonymity gives you the freedom to say whatever you want without fear of reprisal.
Being anonymous makes you brave, doesn't it? Yeah, I get it. So you're a big shot now, huh? Come on out in the open and say that, punk! Oh, you're so tough when you're hiding behind some unregistered, made up, pussy name, aren't you?
But seriously, feel free to comment anonymously.
Though a REAL man would register.
I'm just sayin' is all...

The excitement never stops (because it never starts)

Not too much new or interesting going on so far today.
I got up and went grocery shopping. I decided to stock up a little, so I ended up spending almost $90.
Once I got home I took the various kinds of meat (I bought a lot, which is part of why my grocery bill was so high) out of their packaging, wrapped them up in wax paper and tin foil, labeled each package, then stuck them in the freezer.
Then I went over to the clubhouse to get in an interval workout on the treadmill, but found that I just wasn’t up to it. I’m not sure what was going on, but after a little more than ten minutes my shins were killing me, and I couldn’t keep going. I was having difficulty even properly lifting my legs for any sort of stride.
So I called it quits and headed back home.
I threw a roast and some vegetables into the crock pot, and got to work on making pumpkin bread.
Once the pumpkin bread was in the oven I called in to work to see what was going on and to point out that they were at work while I was not.
Kathleen rattled off the events of today and yesterday much like a young child on the phone (“And then, Chris did this and then I did that and Scott did something else and I can ride my bike real fast and…”), and I found that I was missing out on a great deal, apparently.
After that I gave a friend of mine in Tucson a call, but he couldn’t talk for very long, as he actually had plans.
The pumpkin bread hasn’t properly cooled yet, but I did impatiently try a piece (or three), and it seems to have turned out very well.
I started on a couple of pictures last night, but I don’t really feel like working on any of them, so I might sift through some of my various downloaded pictures to see if anything sparks my interest to use as a reference.
And that’s pretty much it for today.
My “vacation” is actually almost over, since tomorrow is the last of my days off before I get back to being on my usual weekend, and while I did some things, I really didn’t do anything especially interesting.
Again, that’s hardly surprising, especially considering that I really didn’t plan on doing anything.
For the most part, I don’t want much more out of life than just quiet time to myself, but it wouldn’t bother me if something interesting would happen every so often, but I guess that’s just not in the cards.
I may write more later, but that’s all for right now…

Not the face I was looking for

Overall, I like this image. However, it really fails to live up to my expectations, primarily in the face.
The woman in the picture is named Nike (after the Greek goddess, not the shoe company), and in the context of the (largely unwritten) story of which she is a part, an image of her in formal wear holding a broken, rusty sword makes perfect sense...
As far as the quality of the image, I think I really outdid myself in some areas, but like I said, the face is a disappointment. Technically it's a fairly well-done face, it's just not her face. Oh well, I thought I'd share it anyway.

Sleeping In, Jackets! Jackets! Jackets!, and Just Another Evening at Home

On those occasions when I actually take time off from work there’s always this weirdness that goes along with it, since it’s odd to think that even though I’d already been off for four days, today is my first actual day off.
Staying up past seven last night was also odd, as was sleeping in until after 10 this morning (I mention that in order to rub it in the faces of any of my co-workers who might be reading this. Yes, I slept until after 10, whereas you were at work before 6.).
Since it was payday, and a larger than usual payday at that thanks to holiday pay for Thanksgiving and the day after, I decided to venture out into the world to spend some money.
I started out by going to Ross.
I don’t often go there, as it is a bit further away from home than I typically venture, and whenever I do go to a Ross it always seems as though the place has been cleaned out before I got there.
While I was there I found a jacket that I don’t think was actual leather, though I couldn't determine what it actually was. It may have been leather, because if it wasn’t it was the most convincing “pleather” or vinyl I’ve ever encountered. It really looked and felt like leather. It was a decent-looking jacket, too, and only $20. Even before the Ross discount it was only $60, so I really doubt that it was real leather.
Still, even though it looked and felt convincing, the fact that I didn’t know what it was made from (there was no label indicating the materials that I could find), I decided against buying it.
I saw something on the clearance rack that made me laugh: a pair of skin-tight silver vinyl pants.
While I think that hot chicks should be required to wear things like skin-tight silver (and other colors) vinyl pants, I conversely believe that no man should ever be allowed to do it.
Ultimately I ended up buying a sweater that I’m still not sure whether or not I like.
After that I went to Target and continued to not be impressed. Lots of people seem to like Target, but I’ve always found Wal Mart to have a larger selection and lower prices.
I know Brian would be likely make some sort of ghetto/white trash comments about Wal Mart, but I guess I’m just not enough of a snob to care. It’s cheaper, therefore it’s better.
After that I went to the Dulles Town Center. I’m not really certain what distinguishes a “Town Center” from a mall other than the fact that they call it a “Town Center,” but that's what it's called.
Still, despite how full the parking lot was, I found the mall…err, Town Center to be surprisingly empty. I wandered around aimlessly for a while before deciding to get some lunch at the food court.
However, it seemed that everyone who had parked outside had congregated there. Because the thought of that teeming mass of humanity pressing in on me was too much like an element of my worst nightmares, I opted to go hungry.
I wandered around a while longer, eventually stopping at an Old Navy store for a bit. While I was in there they played commercials for Old Navy over the intercom. Specifically, those people from the TV commercials singing an original composition written especially for the intercom.
I really hate it when stores advertise themselves inside the store.
I mean, it’s not enough that you piss me off nightly with your commercials on TV, after I come in here, despite how much you piss me off, you have to try to piss me off even more? Do you just not want me to buy stuff from you? Because I have to say, if that's the case you're pretty likely to get your wish.
What really got me, though, was the fact that they had a jacket I wanted for around $40, but they didn’t have it in my size, despite what the hangers said, as the jackets on the large hangers were, in fact, mediums.
Even though I’m not an especially big person, I have to wear large in order to accommodate my shoulders. I missed out on inheriting charm, carpentry, and general “handiness” from my dad, but I did get the broad shoulders.
After looking through two racks and discovering that all of the “larges” were mediums, I left in annoyance.
I really didn’t need the jacket, but I have a…thing for jackets. I’m not sure what to call it. There’s no sexual component, so I can’t really call it a fetish, but basically I just really like jackets, and I own rather a lot of them. It’s kind of like how some women are with shoes.
At present, I have twelve different jackets, including three long coats and three different kinds of leather jackets. I would have much more than that if I weren’t capable of demonstrating at least some amount of restraint, or if Old Navy could actually hang large jackets on the large hangers.
I believe that the style of jacket I was looking at is known as a “Pea Coat,” the sort of thing that sailors in the Navy wear.
On my way out of the Town Center I stopped by the little seasonal calendar shop. Last year I waited too long to buy a calendar and had to buy a Boris Vallejo and Julie Bell calendar rather than a Janesko calendar. The one benefit was that I got it insanely cheap, since they were clearing out their last dregs before closing up shop, but it wasn’t what I wanted.
Unfortunately, they didn’t appear to have any Janesko calendars. Maybe I’ll buy one from her site (http://www.janesko.com/ – This site contains nudity.).
While I was looking at calendars some school choir was performing Christmas songs. Not to judge them unfairly, but they kind of sucked, and I’m not saying that just because I disliked their material. They just weren’t very good, and the choir leader made them add odd vocalizations to “jazz up” the stodgy old classics.
Like at the beginning of one of their performances, they just kept going “Sha na na na na na” over and over again. Initially I thought they were doing a performance of KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Give It Up” (You know: Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, now/Baby give it up/Give it up/Baby give it up), but it ended up being, of all things, “Jingle Bells.”
From the Town Center I headed to Best Buy, where I found nothing that I could afford to buy, and discovered that International Conspiracy of People Who Congregate In Front of Things That Jon Wants To Look At (ICPWCIFTTJWTLA for short)had gotten there before I did, and finally I headed to Wal Mart where I bought my Christmas present from my mom and dad.
Yes, I did mean to say “from.” My mom is going to send me money that I’m supposed to use to buy myself some new pots and pans. So, even though I haven’t gotten the money yet, I bought the pots and pans while I was there.
When I got home I found that one of the sauté pans was pretty badly bent in the box, but I couldn’t complain too much considering how inexpensive the set was.
Okay, “cheap” is a better word, but at least I’m finally free of the crappy, hand-me-down pots and pans that I used to have (I just threw them out).
So that makes me happy. Sort of. Well, you know, the Jon Happiness Equivalent (It's kind of like Wal Mart's "Equate" store brand).
When I got home, based on some advice Kathleen gave me the other day, I reorganized my kitchen.
And now I’m here.
It’s Friday night and I find myself wondering what it is that people who aren’t in bed early in order to get up at 4:15 in the morning do on Friday nights.
Once upon a time there would have been exactly zero chance that I would not be at the bar by now, but those days are behind me.
I suppose that I could still hit a bar. I mean, there’s no law (except maybe Murphy’s) saying that I can’t go to a bar. After all, I’ve been to bars on numerous occasions since I quit drinking without any problems.
Still, those times I went with people, so there was something of a “safety net.”
Besides, apart from discovering that I could spend time in a bar without drinking on those occasions, I also discovered that I really didn’t enjoy it.
For me, being at a bar and not drinking is utterly pointless, and I don’t find it to be fun at all.
So that’s pretty much out.
Besides, the nearest bar (A sports bar, which only makes it that much less appealing) is a fair distance away, which, on a cold, rainy night like tonight would necessitate driving, and I really don’t feel like driving anywhere right now.
So I guess it’s an exciting evening alone at home for me.
That’s not really surprising, though. When I scheduled this weekend off I pretty much figured on not actually doing anything.
Still, there is that part of me deep down inside that’s railing against just how lame I’ve become, and I really feel like I should be doing something, though I’m sure that if I sit down long enough and do nothing, that feeling will just go away.
Fortunately I still have plenty of time left in which to do exactly that…

I'll believe that you can crap rainbows if it'll get me a diamond

I suppose that for people who know me it would be sort of surprising that I haven’t written anything about the holidays, since I often spend the holidays bitching about them.
While the mark of having once been one is as indelible as the scar on my left eye from the surgery I had when I was four, I am no longer a Christian.
I have no wife, girlfriend, or significant other of any kind, and I have no children.
All of the members of my family are thousands of miles away.
So for all of these reasons it seems pretty obvious that I would not be particularly inclined to celebrate Christmas or to be filled with the “Holiday Spirit.”
However, my attitude towards the holidays has mellowed a little over the years, and while I was never exactly a Scrooge or Grinch, I had formerly been more vehemently opposed to the existence of the holidays.
Now, with my slight softening, I still wish that I didn’t have to be constantly hit over the head with the “Spirit of the Season” every time I turn on the TV or set foot into the outside world, but I’ve come to accept the fact that it is an inevitability.
Scrooge and Grinch comparisons were never especially apt, anyway. Despite my personal distaste for the holiday, I’ve always continued to engage in gift-giving and I’ve never been inclined to ruin anyone else’s time.
Besides, apart from the fact that I don’t have green fur, there’s another major distinction between me and the Grinch: he actually owns a pet.
The fact of the matter is, though, when you’re on your own it can feel as though the period from Thanksgiving to Valentine’s Day is designed solely for the purpose of reminding you of that fact. It’s almost as if all of the advertisers have some sort of wager going on to see how many people they can get to kill themselves by February 14th, with a constant stream of images and jingles and ad copy that say, “You are alone and are therefore less valuable as a consumer, and as a human being. If you're not buying things, you're not worthwhile, and you're not buying anything because you have no one to buy things for, because you're not worthwhile. No one loves you. You're going to die alone anyway. Might as well get it over with."
So yeah, it gets a little irritating, and naturally I’m inclined to utter the occasional “Bah, humbug,” or something more forceful (and less gay), but overall I guess I’ve gotten used to it.
Even so, the commercials themselves, independent from the more depressing aspects, are often just plain annoying.
Among the most annoying, though they are edged out by Old Navy ads (though those are annoying year-round), are the jewelry commercials.
The one that bothers me the most is the one with the guy asking his wife/girlfriend/mistress if she believes in Santa Claus.
Okay, so who thinks the chick is going to say no? It’s frickin’ Christmas, so unless she’s a complete idiot she has to know that he’s leading up to giving her something, and since this is a diamond commercial, she knows it’s going to be expensive.
Here’s a tip; if she thinks it’ll get her a diamond a woman will tell you that she believes in Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, or that swallowing really is good for her complexion.
The whole diamond thing, though, leads me to another issue: completely unrealistic “gift-giving guides.”
Every year different publications, morning TV news magazines, and Web portals put together these lists of the “gifts to get” that are utterly out of whack with reality.
They include items like the flavor-of-the-month notebook computer, iPods (or their equivalent), LCD and Plasma TVs, luxury vehicles and SUVs, and all manner of major purchases that cost hundreds, thousands, and even hundreds of thousands of dollars.
I guess my question about these gift guides are “Who are the people buying these things as gifts, and, more importantly, how do I get on their lists?”
But seriously, are there really people out there, apart from really, really rich people who don’t count as people, as they are, as mentioned, really, really rich people, who buy things like cars for each other?
Most people, I think, spend a couple of hundred dollars for their total shopping list. I really can’t believe that they’re going out and buying cars as gifts. Sure, maybe their taking advantage of the various deals offered at this time of year, but I see that as involving some actual discussion before making the purchase. I really doubt that anyone wakes up Christmas morning to discover that his or her spouse has parked a Jag outside with a bow on it.
Honestly, if I were married and discovered that my wife was cunning and deceitful enough to buy a luxury car without me noticing the hit to our finances, I’d really begin to wonder what else she’s managing to hide.
“Merry Christmas, honey, I bought you a Hummer! And speaking of Hummers, I’ve been giving your best friend Phil one three days a week for the past 10 years! Are you surprised? I’ll bet you’re surprised!”
But hey, I should put aside all of this negativity and surrender myself to the Spirit of the Season, right?
After all, this is the time of year that we all come together despite our differences and realize that no matter who we are, ultimately we all kneel before the same God, even though He takes many forms: Visa, American Express, MasterCard…

First new picture in quite a while

Here's a new Fontaine picture. I've done a similar image, in a different pose before, but I think I like this one better.
I may post some other edits of this one, as there are some tweaks to it that I've been playing around with, but overall I'd say this is a decent final image.
If you're curious, I used a picture of model/actress Ali Landry as the reference image.

RIP, Dimebag

Former Pantera guitarist "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott was shot and killed yesterday as he got on stage to perform with his new band Damageplan.
You can find details here:

http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/pop/apmusic_story.asp?category=1403&slug=Obit%20Dimebag

I've never been very good at the whole "fan" thing, so even though I do like a lot of Panera's music, the fact that a man I didn't know has been killed isn't going to shatter my world the way it might for some people. However, I did admire him as a guitarist and I feel that this is a definite loss for the music industry, and I felt it was worth mentioning here.
Years ago when I lived in Minnesota, I knew some people who worked at a music store. One of the products they sold was a line of Dimebag Darrell guitars. As a promotional tool, the store featured some life-sized cardboard cut-out pictures of Dimebag.
One of the people I knew who worked there had been able to snag one and take it home, and while visiting on a night of drunkenness, myself and several others had our pictures taken with Dimebag.
While I am saddened by the thought that he's gone, I can't help but smile when I think that somewhere in the world there may very well be a picture of a drunken Jon pretending to sodomize a cardboard cut-out of him.
Okay, so it's not exactly a touching eulogy, and it's not really the way most of us would like to be remembered, but somehow I think he'd approve...

Maybe "Y Not Me?" would be a better title

Much of my day has been spent reading a comic book entitled “Y, The Last Man.”
The idea is hardly a new one, but it’s still a rather entertaining story.
The idea in question? Some sort of plague strikes the earth, instantly killing every male on the planet.
Except one.
Actually, it’s two. Y (short for Yorick, but also a reference to the chromosome) is the only surviving human male. The other remaining male is Y’s pet monkey (No, the overt symbolism of a man and a monkey on their own in a world full of women was not lost on me), named Ampersand.
As I said, the basic idea is hardly anything new (Hey, in idle daydreams I was the last man left on earth like at least five times today, and that was before I started reading the comic), but there are some interesting twists, though some of them aren’t so much “twists” as they are logical extensions of the basic idea.
For example, this mysterious plague not only wiped out all of the human males on the planet, it affected the entire animal kingdom (With the obvious exceptions of Y and Ampersand [Y&Ampersand? Y and &?? Y & &???], of course), and actually caused all the sperm in the world to also die, along with any male fetuses that happened to be gestating at the time.
As things stand at present in the story, neither the cause of the plague nor the reason that Y & Ampersand survived have been revealed, though there have been several guesses and possible clues.
Since this is a title published by DC’s “Vertigo” line of books, which has been home to titles such as “The Sandman,” “Preacher,” and “Hellblazer,” and essentially every edgy, dark-themed “adult” comic DC publishes, Y’s life isn’t exactly the kind of cushy never-ending sex-fest that a man might hope for.
In fact, that’s one of the things that set Y apart: despite the fact that he can, he actually has no interest in having such a life.
Okay, so the obvious conclusion is that Y must be gay, right?
Wrong. He’s just very much in love with his girlfriend (and possible fiancée; all hell broke loose before he could actually get an answer from her) who’s stranded on the other side of the world, and he has no interest in betraying his love for her.
So Y is clearly not gay.
He’s just a pussy.
KIDDING! I admire Y’s devotion to his true love (*cough* Total pussy! *cough*), and can only imagine what a hellish torment life must be for him.
Honestly, though, all sarcasm aside, Y’s life isn’t exactly a happy frolic through the Garden of Earthly Delights as he makes his way across an America that has fallen into chaos (Hey, say what you want about how much men suck; the fact of the matter is that the world would fall to pieces if we all just dropped dead without warning and it would take a long time to recover.) in the company of a spy and a geneticist, who might actually be responsible for the death of all the males, in a bid to get to said geneticist’s lab in order to see if the DNA of the only surviving males can help to stave off extinction.
Obviously along the way they have all sorts of wacky (and deadly) misadventures (Or would that be “miss” adventures? Ms. adventures? Sorry, couldn’t resist the pun.).
As I said, it’s an entertaining story, and was a good way to while away the afternoon.
The stories of my character Fontaine, whose image has graced Threshold many times, are predicated on a very similar idea, though in the case of Fontaine’s world men are not extinct, there just aren’t nearly as many, and the “plague” that caused the male population to dwindle didn’t result in sudden deaths as it did in “Y.”
This of course gives women much more opportunity to adapt and to step into the roles that more typically had fallen to men, and also rendered some traditionally male occupations obsolete.
Still, Fontaine’s world, much like Y’s, is hardly some sort of estrogen-fueled utopia, and has plenty of strife, especially as women begin to step into roles that they hadn’t expected they would have to, or, more importantly, would choose to.
Of course, in the case of myself and the Fontaine stories, exploring the dynamics of gender roles and the mechanics of rebuilding and maintaining civilization were secondary considerations, as my principal motivation for eliminating most of the male population was to ensure that the stories would have plenty of hot girl on girl action.
As for the rest of my day, I was due for a workout, but felt ill-equipped for the task (read: I was too damn lazy), so I ended up engaging in something of a brief “compromise” workout, which consisted of doing about half of my usual routine and tacking on a brief interval workout on the treadmill.
Something, I suppose, is better than nothing.
I’m not sure what I’ll do this weekend as far as working out goes, since I won’t be working and will therefore have no reason to get up an hour early to head in and make use of the facilities there.
Maybe I’ll engage in another half-assed attempt like today, but more likely I’ll just be totally lazy and not do anything, ultimately failing to get back into any sort of routine until I finally head back to work.
That’s not the plan, but things seldom work out as I plan them, which is why I so seldom make plans…
As for the rest of the day, the other major component of it involved making tacos.
In preparation for such, I picked up the necessary components yesterday morning when I went grocery shopping, including, since I knew the container I had in my refrigerator had long since gone bad, some sour cream.
When I got home from shopping yesterday and after I had tossed the makings of last night’s dinner into the crock pot, I did a bit of cleaning, which included taking out the trash. Since I had bought a replacement container of sour cream, I made sure to finally toss out the old, as I had been neglecting to do for some time.
Today, as I got everything in readiness for my taco dinner, I reached for the sour cream and thought, “Hmm, I didn’t buy ‘Land O’ Lakes’ sour cream yesterday, did I?”
The significance of this question fully dawned on me even before I picked up the container of sour cream and confirmed that I had thrown away the new and kept the old.
At that point I swore a couple of times, but soon realized that it was actually pretty funny and laughed.
I then proceeded to eat my tacos sans sour cream.
Ultimately the day never got any more exciting than that, and there are still 8 days off ahead of me…

Infamy, Not Stepping Through the Wardrobe, and Familiarity Breeds Contempt

While it’s surprisingly warm for December, the weather here is just generally crappy, and is well-suited to the whole “living in infamy” theme that was set for today’s date so many years ago.
The day started out with a phone call from Scott informing me that I still have a job, which was good news, as the company I work for announced hundreds of layoffs today. I was glad that I was not among those who lost their jobs, but my sympathies go out to all of my colleagues who were not so fortunate.
We’ve known they were coming for a while, but there was still a lot of speculation as to who would be cut.
Now we know.
The timing of the layoffs is particularly shitty, and officially announcing them today also adds to the general sense of infamy.
After calling my mother to let her know that I was still among the ranks of the gainfully employed I showered and headed out to do some grocery shopping.
I got home and was in the middle of cutting up some round steak for today’s culinary adventure (Crock Pot Round Steak) when my mother called back. I had woken her when I’d called earlier, as she and my dad are now in Tucson for the winter and are two hours behind, so she decided to call me back once she was actually awake.
While I was talking to my mother I got a beep, which brought the number of phone calls in one day to near-record levels for me.
It was Kathleen calling to see if I’d gotten the call about the layoffs and inviting me to go for a ride with her out to some consignment store, as she didn’t feel like making the trip alone and Brian is ill today.
She had brought some things out to be sold at the consignment store a while back and was heading there to pick up the items that hadn’t been sold and to get paid for those that had, and to drop off some other things to sell.
This took a while, so I wandered throughout the store looking at the various kinds of crap that they were selling for far too much money.
The only thing that really caught my eye was a complete set of C.S. Lewis’ “Narnia” books, but they were in pretty rough shape, so I ultimately decided to pass.
There was a very cute young girl working there, though once again, in the same depressing fashion as my Outback experience, my eyes kept being drawn to the fairly attractive older woman.
After Kathleen and I finished there we stopped for a slice of pizza, then headed back.
At the very least it was an interesting change of pace from sitting around doing nothing, or, as I was also considering, cleaning my apartment.
I watched two fairly interesting things on TV last night.
The first was something called “My Coolest Years” on VH1, which featured various actors, musicians, and comedians reminiscing about their high school years. That alone was not especially interesting, but they had an episode of it that focused specifically on people who had been metal heads in high school. Having been one myself, it was sort of entertaining to watch.
There were definitely some things that I could relate to, but overall it wasn’t especially representative of my own experiences.
For one thing, I didn’t really drink that much during that particular period of my life, and I was never a pothead.
But the major element of my life that prevents virtually all of my high school memories from resembling anything like the vision presented on TV and in movies, or in the recollections of other people is the fact that I’m from a very small rural community.
And when I say very small, I don’t mean just a couple thousand people. The town I grew up in had a population of around 110 people.
A few years ago I was discussing the “American Pie” movies with a friend who, expecting me to agree with his assessment, asked "Aren't they exactly like how it was in high school?"
I said, “No, not even a little bit.”
My high school was extremely small. I believe there were 32 students in my graduating class, and that was rather on the large side for my school.
Also, my high school was generally looked down upon throughout the area, so that combined with the small size helped to keep the school from developing the sort of sharp divisions that you find in a typical movie high school. There were definite cliques, but in general we had the sense that we were all in the same boat: we all went to Jeffers, so we were all basically losers.
The small size also necessitated inter-clique interactions. Jocks associated with nerds and burnouts as much as they did with anyone else, particularly since, with a student body of about 200, it was easily possible to know everyone, and the athletic teams couldn't really afford to be exclusive, so pretty much anyone could join. It was the same with the cheerleading squads.
I myself crossed several social boundaries: I was a “brain,” but I was also a metal head, and I smoked, so I spent my lunch hours hanging around with the burnouts.
Still, while I wasn’t the kind of social pariah or target for ridicule and abuse that I might have been at a larger school, I tended not to socialize much and had only one real friend throughout my high school years.
The fact that I wasn’t really inclined to socialize was exacerbated by the fact that I was pretty much an outsider. After all, I lived 20 miles away. Kids from my neck of the woods (some of us literally lived in the woods) went to our own local school from Kindergarten through 8th grade, so by the time we started high school we were at a distinct disadvantage, as most of the other students had known each other for years and we were all “the new kids.”
We did have the benefit of the assistance of those kids from our area who had gone there before us, but it was still a difficult transition to make, particularly, as in my case, when it involved going from a class that consisted of me and one other person to a class of me and 31 other people.
Of course, my K-8 experiences hadn’t been pleasant either, so I didn’t really have any friends from my own town, and eventually I grew to hate most of the new people I was forced to spend so many hours of the day with, so I became even more withdrawn.
So given that I didn’t really like anyone and that I lived 20 miles away from virtually everyone I went to school with and didn’t have a car of my own, I had largely gotten the partying thing out of my system before high school, thanks to frequent weekend visits to my older sister’s apartment while she was in college, my high school years bore little to no resemblance to John Hughes films or the “American Pie” movies.
As for my life out in the sticks, there really wasn’t much to do. The nearest mall was 30 miles away, so I spent most of my time in my room listening to music, drawing pictures of demons and heavy metal album covers, reading (I spent the majority of my time reading. I’d read on the bus ride to school, during study hall, between classes, at lunch time [when I wasn’t smoking] and on the bus ride home), and occasionally writing.
And as for dating, my girlfriend went to a different high school and lived 45 miles away. I spent a lot of weekends at her parents’ house, and she spent a lot of weekends at mine.
It was expensive for us to call each other (in-state long distance is pricey), so I could only call her once a week for 10 minutes. She played basketball and was a cheerleader, though, so I could usually talk my dad into going to the games when her school played mine.
Living in the middle of nowhere and having no job or car also kept me from being able to make it to any decent metal concerts. I never really hit a metal concert until college (and after).
So basically the only things I could relate to in the VH1 show were the hair, some of the clothes, and the one comment one of the guys made about how metal heads typically spent their time hanging out “around corners and behind stuff.”
That part was pretty funny, and was very true.
The other thing that I watched that was interesting was “The Whole Wide World,” which is a movie I’ve been trying to see for a number of years without actually actively seeking it out.
It stars Renee Zellweger and Vincent D’Onofrio and tells the story of the relationship between a schoolteacher named Novelyne Price and writer Robert E. Howard, creator of “Conan.”
There were very strong performances by both Zellweger and D’Onofrio, though I was disappointed by the fact that, since it was based on Novelyne’s memoirs, it didn’t focus as much on Howard as I might have liked. In particular, we didn’t get to see much about his suicide, though of course Novalyne wasn’t privy to that, so it only makes sense.
Still, I enjoyed the movie a great deal.
For those of you who don’t know, Robert E. Howard was a profoundly troubled man with a morbid attachment to his mother.
It was quite literally a “morbid” attachment; when he discovered that his mother was not going to recover from the illness that had afflicted her, Howard shot himself. He was only 30.
I’ve read all of Howard’s Conan stories, as well as the various adaptations in the comics and the stories written by later authors based on his notes and unfinished stories, as well as the later, completely original works by writers such as Robert Jordan. Indeed, at one point I even started writing a Conan novel of my own.
I’ve also read several of Howard’s non-Conan stories, such as “Swordswoman,” a character very similar to his “Red Sonja” character.
I suppose that I’ve always been somewhat fascinated by Howard’s life (and death). Honestly, the whole reason that I chose to submit a short story to “Weird Tales” (still haven’t heard anything on that, by the way, so I think it’s safe to assume that my submission was rejected) was because the pulp that served as the namesake for this current incarnation was where most of Howard’s work was published.
I read somewhere once that when he wrote, Howard felt this presence standing behind him, some pre-Christian, primal force that actually dictated the stories to him, and he didn’t dare stop writing or look behind him for fear that this barbarous spirit would chop his head off.
Finally, when he completed the story and would slump exhausted in front of the typewriter the presence would leave.
Crazy? Of course, but I certainly could benefit from having a similar psychosis pop up behind me…
What was most compelling to me about the movie was just how much I could relate to D’Onofrio’s portrayal of Howard.
No, I’m nowhere near as crazy or as attached to my mother, but there was this definite awkwardness and an inability to fully relate to his fellow human beings that felt awfully familiar.
And while there is no one, and has been no one, in my life comparable to Novalyne Price, it was very easy to relate to the way that Howard’s eccentricities and issues caused him to drive away the chance he had at actually finding the happiness that he was looking for.
That I could relate in some fashion to what was being presented in the cathodes last night was something of a recurring theme.
I kept seeing things that looked familiar, my inability to relate to much of the high school stuff notwithstanding, and in most cases I really didn’t like what I saw.
On two episodes of “Blind Date” I saw three guys whose bitterness and loneliness manifested themselves in personality defects (never being serious and being too judgmental, to name a few), and while I’m not in exactly the same boat, since I’m not event going on dates, my own tendency to be withdrawn and the fact that I not only don’t seek out human contact I actively avoid it prevents me from even getting the chance to screw things up on a date.
But the fact that I recognize these things doesn’t mean that I’m going to do anything to change them (or that I would even know how, or where to begin), so really it just served to make me feel uncomfortable, as if I weren’t able to make myself feel uncomfortable without TV’s help…

Wasted days

Once again it’s Monday and I’m faced with a significant number of days off.
The number in question this time, though, is even more significant, as I’m taking vacation this coming weekend.
I’m not actually going anywhere, and I don’t have any plans, I just needed to burn some of my accumulated vacation time, as only 40 hours will carry over into the next year.
So here I am with even more time on my hands than usual and nothing in particular to do with the time.
Last night on the way home from work I stopped to eat at the Outback with Brian and Kathleen.
While we were at work Kathleen, Scott, and I had been discussing the various methods that men use to talk their significant others into giving them the go-ahead to make major purchases. I had mentioned that my approach, when such a thing had been a necessity in my life, was to engage in a gradual and methodical campaign of persuasion, and that if I’d had it available to me back then I would have been likely to put together a Power Point presentation.
Everyone got a laugh about that, but we got an even bigger laugh later on when Brian actually made a Power Point presentation explaining to Kathleen why they should go to Outback for dinner.
Because it was funny, Kathleen had no choice but to give in, and everyone else was asked to join in, but I ended up being the only one to take them up on it.
While I was there I noticed that there were several cute waitresses and a very attractive young woman whom I guess would be the “hostess” or something along those lines.
Of course, we were actually waited on by a guy. That invariably happens to me at any business; there can be dozens of hot female employees and I’ll end up having to interact with the one guy working there.
Still, there was one thing that was even more depressing than that.
There was a teenaged girl sitting at one of the other tables. She was 16, maybe 17 at the most. Being human, and more specifically, a human male, I can’t help but notice if someone is attractive, even if she happens to be a teenager.
What keeps me from being a total creep is the fact that I don’t do anything about noticing.
In this case, though, that’s all entirely irrelevant as the fact of the matter was that I was actually checking out her mom.
As few as five years ago I doubt that would have been the case. Still, considering that I was undoubtedly much closer to the mother’s age than the daughter’s, it only makes sense.
But that doesn’t keep it from being depressing.
If I have to be old, I want to be a dirty old man, dammit!
*Sigh*
Today was rather uneventful.
I got up, called my mom, took a nap, got up again.
I continue to have difficulties burning DVDs, but discovered that I can successfully burn them if I use a rewritable. It figures that the only real solution to the problem I have is to buy something more expensive…
I typically don’t cook on Mondays, and today was no exception.
A new restaurant opened in town recently and they had sent out a coupon for 10% off and a free appetizer, so I walked over to check it out.
The food (sort of general “Asian” cuisine) was very good, but since it is a new restaurant, and I went there a little on the early side, there was no one else there, so the owners and staff were kind of hovering.
But as I said, the food was good. I doubt that I’ll head back there anytime soon, though, simply because I so seldom go out to eat. The only reason I went today was the coupon (which had to be used by Wednesday), and the new-ness.
In any case, I need to try to figure out exactly how I’m going to spend my remaining days off. I’m certain that there will plenty of progress reports here…

Friends don't let friends drink and kiss

I mentioned yesterday that in my drinking days there was a fair amount of free-flowing affection inside my circle of friends (which largely consisted of hugging), but that there was very little in the way of romantic crossover.
There were times when the circle expanded (and later contracted, as necessary) to include those people with whom existing circle members had become intimate, but that doesn’t really count as romance among the members of the inner circle.
That’s not to say that there wasn’t a great deal of unrequited desire; quite the reverse, in fact, but that almost never led anywhere.
I think one of the best examples involved a girl named Sarah, who, of the inner circle members, was easily the most attractive. Sarah was very pretty, but not exactly the most refined or ladylike young woman in the world, nor would she have been renowned for her restraint and chastity.
Still, she was fun, and I liked her a great deal.
In any case, in the earliest days of my burgeoning social life I had become friends with a member of what eventually expanded to become my circle of friends named Aaron.
Aaron was an odd young man who very clearly had a number of mental and emotional dysfunctions. Still, we got along.
In any case, Aaron had a very strong attraction to/obsession with Sarah, and was always trying to insinuate himself into her good graces. Whenever the group was together he would just hover around her, totally oblivious to how uncomfortable he was making her, or to the fact that Sarah did not, and would never, return his affections.
I remember a particular after-party at the house of someone who owned a boa constrictor.
For the record, I really don’t like snakes. However, while I would probably seriously injure anyone who tried to get me to touch or hold a snake, my fear is not so intense that I can’t be near snakes, watch them on TV or in movies, or avoid panicking at the mere mention of them.
Aaron, however, did have such an extreme fear.
In a stroke of sheer genius, Sarah had the snake placed around her neck, wearing it like a scarf for the remainder of the time we spent at the party and was thereby able to go one night without having Aaron hovering around her.
While I was absolutely horrified at the thought of actually doing such a thing, I remember being greatly amused as I watched the conflict play itself out on Aaron’s face as he was torn between fear and desire.
There are too many stories of unrequited love and thick-headed ignorance preventing people from seeing what was right in front of them to recount here, and none of them is quite as amusing as the story of Aaron and the Snake.
On the topics of Sarah and free-floating affection, though, I do recall that I had a habit of kissing Sarah on the top of her head in something of an affectionate gesture, though this was invariably done through the baseball cap she tended to wear most nights.
One night when I was extremely drunk (even for me), I did try to initiate an actual kiss with Sarah (and was fairly persistent, though not forceful), and was soundly rejected.
She stated that it would be “too weird,” and would have a deleterious (not her word) effect on our friendship, and ultimately I relented.
(As an aside, I should mention that it is an unfortunate truth that during my drinking career I frequently suffered from blackouts. However, it’s an even more unfortunate truth that I didn’t suffer from them anywhere near frequently enough. Most mornings I was able to successfully, and regretfully, recall at least 99% of the previous evening’s examples of my deplorable drunken behavior. Typically I only forgot the more banal, and therefore less embarrassing and outright humiliating, aspects of the evening, such as the walk, or stumble, home. And when I did actually manage to forget some especially mortifying act, I always had friends who were more than happy to fill in the blanks for me…)
Some time later I discussed this embarrassing event with my friend Jeff, who responded with the less than helpful comment, “Yeah, Sarah and I got it on a while ago.”
I recall being annoyed by this because Jeff and Sarah were closer friends than Sarah and I were, and had been friends longer, and yet somewhere along the line she had been perfectly willing to risk ruining her friendship with him.
If I were some sort of crazed optimist insisting on seeing the glass as half-full (though my glass was very seldom half-full in those days), I would think, “Gee, Sarah’s friendship with me must mean more to her than her friendship with Jeff, since she was willing to risk ruining it by actually having sex with him, whereas she wouldn’t even give me a simple kiss.”
Ah, if only I could be a self-deluding idio-errrr, optimist.
Still, I do recall a particular encounter with Sarah that indicated that she did feel a great deal of affection for me.
In the late spring of 1999 I had headed to Minnesota to stay with my friend Eric and his wife Sally to sort of test the waters and see if it was a place I would be willing to settle and try to find a job. After a couple of weeks I decided that it was, and so, with Eric in tow, I headed back to Michigan to clear out my apartment and pick up my car.
After a long day of packing and moving things out, Eric, my brother-in-law Dean, and I hit the bar.
Sarah was there, on a date, which was fairly odd, given that typically she just “hooked up” with guys and seldom actually dated, but as soon as she spotted me she came running over to throw her arms around me.
She kept coming back over to my table to hug me, and couldn’t pass by on her way to the restroom without pausing to give me a quick squeeze, which, I’m sure, bothered her date to no end.
So evidently my absence, as brief as it had been, had made her heart grow much fonder for me.
The last time I saw Sarah was in the spring of 2003 when I’d gone home for a visit. I hadn’t really encountered any of my friends from the drinking period while I was home, since I obviously wasn’t going to be hitting the bars, and I had lost phone numbers and e-mail addresses and whatnot in the time since I’d quit drinking.
So it was actually while I was at the airport waiting for my flight back to VA that I saw Sarah, who was there to apply for a job.
She informed me that she had recently become a mother and that motherhood had considerably mellowed her behavior, so she hardly saw any of our old friends anymore.
I suppose that’s just another example of how most changes are born out of necessity (Necessity is, after all, a mother), and how sometimes it can be difficult, or even impossible, to include others in the changes we make to our lives.
On the topic of changes, today marks the two-year anniversary of me starting my current job.
November 27th had marked the two-year point since I arrived in VA.
Coming out here for this job was a very significant change in my life, since for one thing it necessitated moving clear across the country, but in the intervening time I have settled into a fairly unchanging rut.
For the sake of the rut itself if nothing else, I hope that the next major change isn’t quite as extreme.
Besides, sometimes I think I may have maxed out my ability to adapt.
But whatever. Another weekend is nearly upon me, so I should attend to the remaining loose ends of the week before I'm off to bed to begin my three day long journey into still more pointless and directionless time off so that I can begin the cycle anew.

Addendum

In my previous post I neglected to explain who Midge was in the world of Archie.
Midge was the girlfriend of "Big Moose."
Moose was not especially bright and was insanely jealous and possessive, and so he was therefore likely to pulverize anyone who so much as looked at Midge.
She had no real identity of her own apart from serving as the catalyst for pretty much every Big Moose story.
Since she was on the periphery and not a part of the core group, I thought that in that regard Midge was the closest analogue to Maria.
Not a very accurate or flattering comparison, I know, but you work with what you've got.
So there you go.

Surviving the Day or God Is Out of Ideas

Once again today I found myself with time that is entirely my own, as none of it is required to be devoted to the task of writing my novel.
I’m actually finding myself somewhat at a loss as to what to do with the time. I think the month of plugging away at the story has left me feeling somewhat spent creatively, so I’m not really up to any of my usual creative pastimes such as drawing.
On the other hand, because on most of the days of the past month I found myself actually engaging in something constructive, it feels as though I ought to be doing something constructive, so the fact that I haven’t been doing so is making me feel like more of a slacker than usual.
But I’m sure that I can bear that particular burden.
Having no particular goal to accomplish on any given day, beyond simply surviving it, is, after all, hardly a new experience for me.
Still, even though I’m certain that I will inevitably adapt, the completion of my task has, as the completion of most major undertakings invariably does, left me feeling somewhat empty.
In any case I didn’t accomplish a great deal today. I slept in until after 9, which actually put the number of hours I slept at a solid seven, which is pretty impressive for me during the week.
After getting up I didn’t accomplish much until around 12:30, at which point I ventured briefly out into the world. There was actually a wind advisory for the area throughout most of the day, and I have to say that it really would have been a perfectly lovely day outside if it hadn’t been for the strong and sudden gusts of wind.
Most of the time I’ve spent inside I’ve been able to hear the wind whistling in through the various tiny openings provided by doors and windows.
I had two purposes in venturing out into the big wind.
The first was paying the rent.
It had actually been my hope that in paying the rent I might encounter Kelly, the cute-ish girl who works in the rental office and who told me that I smell REALLY good.
I did, in fact, encounter her, but it was a very brief and utterly unsatisfying encounter.
I have to confess that her face is not one that is really firmly etched in my memory, and when I’m not in her presence it’s difficult for me to recall what she actually looks like.
It doesn’t help that every time I do see her she looks different, though that may be a combination of my imagination and faulty memory.
In any case, when I do see her, I find myself thinking, “THAT’S what she looks like?” Don’t get me wrong; every time I do see her she’s still kind of cute, but it always seems that she’s changed a great deal.
For example, today her hair was very dark and very straight. The last time I saw her in the office it was fairly blonde and rather curly.
In any case, I had gone in with the intention of trying to initiate something more in the way of conversation with her than I usually manage, but as always, the Fates were not with me.
While she was very pleasant, and greeted me with a big smile, she seemed to be incredibly eager to get me out of there as soon as possible.
In fact, she didn’t even let me make it all the way into the office; she came out of the office and greeted me at the entrance (You walk into building and then have to walk several feet before reaching the door to the office on your right).
She took my check from me, asked if there were any problems with my apartment, then whipped around to head back to the office.
Despite the fact that she seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of me (There was someone in the office talking to the Property Manager and the other lady working there, so I assume there was something important going on), I made a lame attempt at engaging her in conversation that only resulted in causing her to pause briefly in her sprint away from me, and which probably made me come off as some sort of weirdo.
When I had encountered her a couple of weeks ago when I was getting my hair cut and she had greeted me, then said, “You don’t know who I am, do you?” I had responded, truthfully, that I did, as I had, by the time she’d asked, figured out who she was.
However, I realized that I may have sounded as though I was simply saying that I knew who she was, and I thought that, when I saw her today, mentioning that I had, in fact, known who she was would be a good way to initiate a conversation.
As she was bolting away, though, my saying, “And I did recognize you; I was just thrown off by the wet hair” probably seemed more than a little strange.
She stopped, confused, said, “That’s okay,” then, awareness dawning, she added, “Oh! Right. I remember.”
Then she continued in her mad dash away from me.
I sighed, thought about how it would have been a lot less bother to either pay the rent by phone or simply drop the check in the after-hours slot, and started on the second leg of my journey into the world.
This was a quick walk over to Safeway to pick up some paprika, as I needed some for a recipe that I’m trying today, and, surprisingly, I did not own any paprika.
There have been times that I’ve begun to suspect that somewhere along the line God ran out of new ideas for people and began repeating Himself.
As I was walking into Safeway I saw a face that I’ve seen many, many times in my life, and yet it was the face of a complete stranger.
The face belonged to an attractive woman who was walking towards one of the useless little shops that, with Safeway as the central point, make up the little shopping plaza across the street from me.
In any case, she was a rather attractive woman, which is a good thing considering how many people there are in the world who have the same features as she does.
I’ve seen several actresses with those features, including a soft-core porn actress named Lauren Hays (Who is, oddly enough, I just discovered by looking her up at IMDb, originally from Fairfax, VA, which is very close to where I live), and countless anonymous women in different cities across the country.
Additionally, I once had a friend who had those exact features.
This was back in Michigan during my drinking days. She wasn’t an especially close friend, and was more or less on the fringes of the circle of friends I had, but she worked at the bar that I, along with my friends, some of whom also worked there, spent most of my time.
Her name was Maria, and she had three (I think) kids, the youngest of which went to the same daycare as my niece Jenni, so she and I frequently talked about Jenni.
I don’t think that there was ever a time that I knew her to not have a boyfriend, though apparently there were a few brief intervals between boyfriends in which she was single.
She had a tendency, after having a few drinks, to spend hours sitting in my lap, and she would frequently squeeze my cheeks and loudly proclaim “I love this face!”
While she was a reasonably attractive woman, it was clear that it was just a meaningless flirtation on her part, so I was never too inclined to try to pursue anything, particularly since she usually engaged in this behavior in full view of whomever she happened to involved with at the time.
In fact, there were a few uncomfortable occasions during which she would become quite amorous with her boyfriend while still sitting on my lap.
It’s worth mentioning as an aside that the majority of my friends back in those days were female, and once we got a few drinks in us we were all rather affectionate, so her propensity to plop herself down on my lap wasn’t really all that unusual, though the “affection” most of us showed each other seldom crossed the friendship barrier.
Well, “seldom” when it came to crossing the friendship barrier with me, at any rate…
But getting back to my main story, beyond the fact that she seemed to be perpetually involved, Maria really wasn’t the sort of person that I could have had an actual relationship with. I suppose saying that she simply “wasn’t my type” is as accurate assessment as any.
Still, she did manage to make me laugh, and one particularly amusing thing that I remember about her is that she often referred to my friends as “The Archies,” and, because of my glasses and my nerdish leanings, she referred to me as Dilton.
(In Archie Comics, for those of you who don’t know, Dilton Doiley was the nerdy egghead of the group)
For my part, not being able to equate her to any other “Archie” character, I referred to her as Midge.
As I said, despite the odd casual familiarity we had with each other, we weren’t especially close, though she does often come to mind, since I see her face so frequently.
In all honesty, most of my friends from those days frequently come to mind. That was a particularly unhealthy time in my life, but despite the fact that our association with each other revolved around our mutual tendency to drink way too much, I did feel a real affection for many of them, and sometimes I miss them.
It’s probably my fault that I’m no longer in touch with them, even though sometimes it seems that they turned their backs on me.
Still, it was circumstances and not any kind of conscious effort to cut them out of my life that led to our disconnect. I did remain in contact with one of them, the person with whom I was, arguably, closest, after I quit drinking, and even after I moved away to Arizona.
In fact, as he sought to escape from the life I had left behind (I wasn’t the only person for whom that time was unhealthy), he decided that he would give Arizona a try.
Once he arrived, though, he discovered that I was still sober, and that I wasn’t especially fun to be around when sober, and that we had very little in common outside of the bar, and we had very little contact with each other.
Still, it’s the nature of life for things to change, and ultimately, despite the fact that at times I do miss them all, the circumstances of my life are very different from when they were part of it, and honestly, I don’t think they would ever fit in my life again.
But, as I often say, whatever; life goes on in its inexorable march to the grave.
In any event, I think I’ve reached the conclusion of today’s entry, and I’ve managed to fill up some of the emptiness, and am well on my way to accomplishing my goal of surviving the day.

The Doors of Perception are the Doors of Reality

As mentioned previously, I am now finished with my novel (such as it is), so, no longer having a deadline (even a self-imposed one) hanging over my head, my time is once again my own to do with whatever I wish.
Well, “whatever I wish” in the sense that there are no tasks actually required of me, not “whatever I wish” in the sense that I’m whiling away the hours cavorting with a harem composed of some of the most beautiful women in the world, or spontaneously developing Superman’s powers (and also cavorting with a harem composed of some of the most beautiful women in the world; basically, no matter what the fantasy, a harem composed of some of the most beautiful women in the world is going to figure into it).
In any case, I got up this morning, went through my usual ablutions, then headed out to my local Wal Mart to pick up a few things, most notably the “Spider-Man 2” DVD.
After I got home with it I toyed with the notion of totally “nerding out” and watching “Spider-Man” and “Spider-Man 2” back to back. I started to do just that, but decided that I didn’t want to devote that much time to sitting on the couch, and I was also eager to see “2” again, so I popped out the first DVD and popped in the second.
I was dividing my time between watching the movie and doing some laundry, and everything was going along swimmingly until about halfway through the movie when it just stopped dead, with one image frozen on the screen. All attempts at tricking it into skipping past that point failed, and despite the fact that I could find no visible flaw on the DVD itself, the fact remained that my DVD player would not move past Scene 34.
The on-screen display will pretend like it’s playing, even though it’s not.
However, if I put the DVD into the DVD-ROM drive on my computer it plays without a problem.
I’m not certain what the problem is, but I think that I’ll bring the DVD back to Wal Mart tomorrow and exchange it to see if that resolves the issue. If it doesn’t, then I guess I’ll just have to resort to connecting my computer to my TV whenever I want to watch it.
It’s just so strange that it plays without a problem up to that point, then just craps out without any warning.
After I determined that I would bring the DVD back to Wal Mart I realized that I had thrown out my receipt. Luckily, the bag it was in was still at the top in the dumpster, so I was able to recover it fairly easily…once I realized that I could actually walk around to the opening on the other side to get at it (as it had rolled over after being tossed in), and that I didn’t have to actually climb in to do it.
I was pretty amazed (and thankful) that I realized this before I decided to climb into the dumpster.
After Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday, most everyone, except for myself, and a few other people, began playing a game called “Munchkin.”
I don’t know that much about the game, apart from the fact that it’s played with cards and dice, and is something of a parody of other, similar games, such as Dungeons and Dragons and Magic: The Gathering.
While I’ve never been much of one for any kind of games, I’ve especially avoided playing those sorts of games. In high school I had friends who were into D & D, but I assiduously avoided getting involved. I suppose it was because I felt that I was already enough of a nerd, and that there was no need to gild the lily, or, perhaps more accurately, plastic the pocket.
Beyond that, I find that I have very little patience for the pace of most games, and I hate having to learn the rules, wait for people to take their turns, and perform some lame-ass rituals at various prescribed points.
Overall, I’ve just never been a fan of structured activities.
Once in a while I can stand to play chess, even though I’m not especially good at it, but even that gets old really fast.
I do enjoy playing trivia games, but I usually find that the people playing against me don’t enjoy themselves, and frequently decide that they will never allow me to play trivia with them again.
Ultimately, though, I guess I’m not especially competitive, since there’s never really much at stake. I mean, even if you win a game of Magic, you’re still a nerd.
Or maybe I’m just allergic to fun. Who can say?
In any case, while the majority of those present were playing I coined a new phrase in response to some rather spirited debate amongst the players. The phrase was "nerdosterone," which is like testosterone, only for nerds.
I'll use it in a sentence: During Magic: The Gathering tournaments, the air is thick with nerdosterone, frequently leading to nerd-showdowns that begin with recitations of insults from the Monty Python "Argument Sketch," but which soon degenerate into pocket-protector throwing and “windmilling” of the air with gangly arms, ultimately leaving the gaming floor littered with broken glasses, shattered graphing calculators, and twenty-sided die strewn about in disarray.
Nerdosterone is the substance that raises the ire of Poindexters debating the merits of Kirk vs. Picard, whether the Punisher would win in a fight with Bat-Man, or any similar nerd hot-topic.
It’s the substance that would lead to the kind of riots that occur when some sports team wins (or loses) an important game…if nerds actually had the kind of upper body strength required to engage in looting or the overturning of cars.
With nerdosterone, the fallout usually tends to take the form of flame wars on Internet message boards.
Make no mistake; there’s plenty of nerdosterone flowing beneath my pasty white skin, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t find it all at least a little funny. Depressingly funny, but funny nonetheless.
No one actually seemed to hear my little bon mot, though, which was somewhat disappointing.
That’s actually another one of the many reasons I tend to avoid gatherings of more than three people; my voice usually gets lost in the din.
I’ve been accused of being a mumbler, which I don’t feel is entirely accurate. Mumbling implies that the person is somehow obscuring his or her words. If anything, I am simply, to borrow the “Seinfeld” term, a low-talker.
I am conscious of this fact, though, so in social gatherings, and even at work, I do make a deliberate effort to broadcast, but it usually doesn’t help, since even if I had a bullhorn it often seems that no one would hear me.
I think this relates to the idea that perception dictates reality.
It’s like with computers. Some people feel that computers are so incredibly complex and arcane that the average person could never hope to learn how to use one, and only a select group of “gurus” are able to successfully plumb their mysteries.
This perception, then, becomes the reality, and no matter how straightforward software designers try to make their applications, the people who hold this perception will never be able to understand them.
They will look at a message on the screen that says “If you want to continue, click OK,” and even though they know that they do, in fact, want to continue, they will be as baffled and utterly clueless as to what to do next that they might as well be trying to decipher Egyptian hieroglyphs without the benefit of the Rosetta Stone.
And so it is with me: the perception is that Jon is quiet, so that is the reality, even if I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.
And somehow this is a perception that becomes implanted in people’s minds immediately upon encountering me. It is, apparently, something that I emanate.
But whatever; that’s what this blog is for.
Nothing too interesting happened over the past weekend, with the exception of a brief encounter with “Flame Chick” on Friday.
I’d brought some of the leftover “Summer Salad” that I’d made for Thursday’s dinner to have with my lunch on Friday. However, for those people who had to work on Thursday, Thanksgiving dinner had been provided, and on Friday, just as at millions of homes across the country, there were leftovers.
So at lunch time I eschewed my salad (Which, for those of you wondering, consists of raspberry Jell-O, whipped cream, crushed pineapple, and cottage cheese) in favor of some leftover pumpkin pie.
Later in the day, though, I got peckish once again, and decided to head to the break room to have my salad.
I walked into the break room and was surprised to see FC sitting at the table eating something and reading a book.
She had looked up at me when I walked in, then quickly looked back down at her book.
I got my salad out of the refrigerator and looked for a spot to sit. Normally, I would have gone down to the far end of the table in order to isolate myself from anyone else who might come in. She had done that herself, though, and I didn't want to make her uncomfortable by pulling up a seat next to her.
The population of my workplace is overwhelmingly male so the near end of the table was a sticky gross mess from assorted slobs tearing away at the leftovers.
The verye end of the table seemed the least objectionable, and as I prepared to sit there I said, "Hmm, I guess this is the LEAST disgusting spot."
She looked up, said, "Yeah," with a sort of laugh, then went back to reading.
I said, "I'm surprised at how much food was left over."
She responded, "I heard that they had something like twelve turkeys."
I said, "Wow."
After a pause, I said, "So, did you do anything for Thanksgiving, or-"She looked up, said, "I was working, so..." shrugged, and went immediately back to reading.
Before I could formulate anything else to say, this old, annoying, Southern guy, whom I dislike (one of those people who pisses me off just by existing; he hasn't actually done anything in particular to make me dislike him) came in to get something from one of the coolers (there were a bunch of leftover soft drinks as well). He said something to her about the soft drink he’d grabbed being very cold. She said, "Isn't that a good thing?" and he said that it was just surprisingly cold.
With some of the left over turkey, someone had made turkey soup, and this sort of loose-meat turkey-barbecue sauce sandwich mix, so those were both available for all comers, in addition to a plain old turkey.
Annoying Old Southern Guy said to her, "So, did you partake of any of the offerings?"
She looked up, said, "I don't eat meat, so this doesn’t really do me much good."
He said, "Oh, are you a Vegan?"
"Vegetarian," she responded.
Having noted that whatever she'd been eating appeared to be some sort of dairy product, and having reached this conclusion by process of elimination, I asked her, "So are you a lacto-ovo-vegetarian?"
She looked at me and said, "Yes," though I wasn't sure whether or not she was impressed by my correct identification, or my knowledge of the lingo.
Annoying Old Southern Guy went on to talk about Vegans who won't eat honey and another story about having taken a Vegan to a barbecue restaurant, and just generally be an ass and to try to offend her (he's just that kind of person; the annoying kind that goes around trying to provoke a response from people for no good reason). She just laughed it off good-naturedly, and finally he left.
She left shortly after that, though, leaving me alone with my Summer Salad.
At the end of the day, I went in the break room to put on my jacket. When I was walking back out of the break room, for the first time ever she actually looked up at me as I was going past her workstation.
I'd never before been able to draw her eyes away from her computer screen.
Unfortunately, once she noticed that I was wearing a leather jacket it seemed to me that her mouth turned down into a disappointed frown, and she immediately went back to looking at her computer screen.
That could just be my perception, I suppose, but, as we’ve already discussed, the perception is the reality, so either way things don’t look especially encouraging.
Still, that was the primary excitement for the weekend, and I have to admit that it did get my nerdosterone pumping.

Success! (sort of)

Well, if you've been visiting my NaNoWriMo/NaNoBlogMo blog at www.15000years.blogspot.com on a regular basis, you may have noticed that I have actually finished my novel.
So I did it. I lived up to the terms of the challenge, producing a final total of 51,214 words in (less than) 30 days.
Having answered the question of whether or not I could do it, the obvious follow-up question is, "Did I do it well?"
I don't think that's really for me to judge, but I'd honestly have to say, in answer to the question, "not really."
The end result definitely has its moments, and given that it's essentially an extremely rough draft of a novel that I had no faith in, simply because I really didn't put that much prior thought into it, it's not really fair to judge it too harshly.
Still, I had hoped to produce something at least slightly more coherent and engaging.
But the point wasn't to write a great, or even especially good novel, it was to simply write a novel.
Judged in those extremely limited terms, then, it was a smashing success.
Now that it is written, I may revisit it and try to more fully develop and explore the themes and concepts addressed in the story, ultimately re-presenting it the world in a more polished form, though that's probably not going to happen anytime soon. After a month of plugging away at it, I'm glad to see the end of it, and am in no hurry to return to it.
Though I will miss Lissa a great deal.
Still, it's probably better for my mental health to stay far away from the imaginary woman who was getting me to fall in love with her...
Whatever; the point is that, such as it is, the stor is done.
Will I try this again next year? I honestly don't know, but if I do, I'll be sure to give it a lot more thought ahead of time.

45,000 words signifying nothing, no holidays, and awkward thankfulness

After a neglectful week I'm finally posting something.
Most of the week was devoted to working on "15,00 Years" in an attempt to be sure to hit the 50,000 word mark by November 30.
Now that I've exceeded 45,000, I'd say it's looking like I will definitely hit that mark. The real question, though, is whether or not I'll actually finish the story.
That's actually a tricky question to answer if you consider that this entirely character-driven collection of text can hardly be said to have a story.
It's like some sort of extended episode of "Seinfeld," only not as funny (or gratingly irritating, depending on your point of view), as it can't really be said to be "about" anything.
But it's an interesting exercise, especially considering at this point I've written more than twice as much as I've ever written on any one subject. I count this as "one subject" despite the fact that there is no real subject, but it is consistently about two main characters and their relationship with each other, so I guess that counts.
And the real challenge was to simply do it. Whether or not I did it well is largely irrelevant.
So it's Black Friday, the busiest retail day of the year. I, however, am not one of those foaming at the mouth consumers raiding and pillaging the nearest mall. Instead, I'm at work.
Since I work in a 24x7 operation, I don't actually get holidays.
I do, however, get holiday pay, so that's something, anyway.
Surprisingly I did actually do something to mark Thanksgiving's passing yesterday. My natural inclination would have been to treat it like just another Thursday, but an invitation to dinner had been extended and I felt it would have been rude to refuse.
The dinner was very good, but I'm always rather awkward in large social settings. In this case the awkwardness was exacerbated by the fact that most of the other people present had much more extensive personal histories with each other while I shared very little in the way of common ground with most of them.
With the exceptions of my boss Scott and his wife Stacy, my former co-worker Jamie and her husband, and my co-worker Chris, most of the people (including the hosts) were only casual acquaintances, and several others were outright strangers.
Still, any social awkwardness was my issue, and it was a good meal, so overall I appreciated the fact that I was invited.
Since I am at work, I don't really have the time to write anything extensive, but I thought that I should check in at least once this week, and, as I'll likely be done with "15,000 Years" by then, I should have plenty of time next week to fill this space with random anecdotes, complaints, observations, and other musings...