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11/25/02 12:44 AM: Bah.
As you may or may not know and/or care, AOL lost $52 billion dollars earlier this year. Although, after working there, I can say it's probably more accurate to say they set a bonfire all the way around the building and threw bucketsfull of money out of windows all the way to the top, letting it fall into the flames. That's more like my average workday.
Anyhoo, it finally hits me: I get back from getting the car an oil change, and we hear these bastards want us to pay for parking. Now, if you work in Santa Monica (I do), free parking is a myth like freedom for the Black man or representative government. I'm ska-rewed. I came very close to quitting on the spot, but my mortgage is like a huge angry guy named Gooch, always peering over my shoulder. Bah.
So I'm not really happy about that, and I also figure out, after two reinstalls of all the system software, there may just be something wrong at the hardware level on my beloved titanium PowerBook. That, too, sounds expensive. Again, and with great emphasis I say, "bah."
it's not all bad -- I expect to get a great deal of work done over the upcoming Thankstaking weekend, including finishing a draft of Pann's Simply A Feast catering site, some initial content proposals for DC and Marvel (I can't complain much if I'm not even trying, can I?), more on The Crown, and the start of the chapbook.
Updated the site with interviews I rediscovered (thanks to Archive.org, as well as some sprinkles of content here and there. The site is a lot easier to update these days, now I centralized everything. Very pleased with the redesign as a whole, just wish I had more time to include pictures.
I was watching That '70s Show this week, and Red Forman (truly a misunderstood visionary) is dealing with his wife getting menopause and his youngest gearing up for college. He sez to the kid, "We can't control what happens to us. If you're unbelievably lucky and hold on to Donna," who is the idiot boy's pretty hot girlfriend, "in a few years she'll just turn into this," referring to his own ranting moody pseudo-psychotic wife. After a grim pause he says, "Then, in a few years, you'll be dead."
It's been that kind of time for me too, Red. I understand. I'm not saying I condone it, but dear god I understand.
Got a visit from an old friend Jay Babcock, the grand muck-a-muck for the new national freebie Arthur magazine. My wife remarked how similar he is to Eric Stephenson, another ex-coworker from my dot-com period, who's currently Director of Marketing at Image Comics. "Are all your white male friends like this?" she asked. Similar mannerisms, she said, similar vocal patterns, similar energy (and we have the same patterns of email arguments and in-person bongomie, although they are vastly different in terms of how they work). I thought about it and realized there were only two, so I was forced to reply in the positive. Strange experience.
Gotta do QA (quality assurance) on AOL pages in a bit, and then sleep.
11/19/02 1:59 AM PST: There are joys in this world. Karaoke on Thursday nights at Britannia. Writing. Now, to join them: Fantasy NBA.
Read it here first: the Memphis Talons will crush the competition of the MNBA (long story, not the credit card people). It's on. I have Jason Kidd, Antoine Walker, Tim Duncan and Jerry Stackhouse, plus Vlade, Vinsanity on IR, and some other madness. It's on.
Now if I could just stop these pesky kernel hang crashed on my Powerbook ... I broke something irrevocably by fragmenting the drive/files horribly and not fixing 'em in time, causing recurrent issues. Bah.
Onwards.
11/13/02 1:45 PM PST: If I keep up this kind of pace, they'll have to start calling this a "blog."
Just uploaded two new chapters of The Crown (too many links on this page to do it again), feeling better about it. In a better mood than yesterday, which was very bleakly horrible and filled with hatred for all carbon based life. Today I just hate most of it, and find the rest mildly amusing. In my book, that's cause for celebration.
Karaoke tomorrow. More impetus to make a "live" album. Gonna try a darker, quieter "Synchronicity II," I think. Some Creed, "Higher." God knows I have the stuff together. Still plan to do a chapbook by year's end, One Born Beneath An Angry Star, but where will I find the time? Maybe a chapbook by year's end, a live karaoke album by Valentine's day? God, I just remembered, I have to get Kwanzaa mix CDs together. Dammit.
Poetry tonight, and I'm quite dapper in a new black denim shirt, brand new black fedora (thanks to Hollywood Hatters, great guy there, great sense of history), and a new black trenchcoat. I feel like I should be walking in slow motion, with an automatic handgun in each hand. The black t-shirt with the Black Adam bolt makes it all the more fun. Mm, clothes can make the man, I suppose.
Much to do.
11/12/02 6 PM PST: I haven't updated the site this much since I was unemployed.
In looking around my hard drive, I realize that I may have accidentally deleted some violently important files, some recoverable (source documents for The Crown), some perhaps lost forever (my top secret and long-overdue "Floyd" project for Image Comics, which you'll hear about if it's ever more than vaporware).
Part of my current frustration is that everybody -- even previously smart people, even me -- seem to be getting dumber and dumber as time goes by. Doesn't bode well for the future, and it makes me think Logan's Run may have been on to something. The older I get, the more sense the "bad guys" in movies start to make. Mm.
Finished a new chapter for the aforementioned Crown story, but won't have time to work with it -- doing the paper tonight, god help me. This accursed life ...
11/12/02 2:30 PM PST: I'm finding fewer and fewer screwups. I uploaded the new site last night, dodging kernel hangs and filling in holes on the fly. There was a weird thing where this page appeared all bold, despite the code being sound, but whaddaya gonna do -- it was only on Windows, and my feelings on that platform are pretty well known.
I went from a good mood to a horrible one yesterday, a fairly common flip flop, as I hear The Police's "Synchronicity II" in my head all day. Gonna try a more quiet, ominous version of that this Thursday at Karaoke.
I feel like I should write more. I want more time for it, but the job is a big drain on me. We'll see, gotta update The Crown, as I do have a new chapter done. I need to go back and flesh out some of the atmosphere more. Bah.
In the words of Spider Jerusalem, I keep hoping I'll wake up and find out half the world has committed suicide in my honor.
11/11/02 8:30 PM PST: The answer to your first question is "shaddup."
Wrestling with a passionate hatred of carbon based life forms, my insipid job, lingering kernel panics on my Powerbook from something really stupid I did (long story), looming attempts at parenthood, and the fact my redesign remains stillborn. I have vague plans to make the leap forward (as you can see, now), but I keep getting sidetracked. Damned life.
Reading more Hunter Thompson on ESPN's Page 2 subsite -- helps me with missing Transmetropolitan somewhat. Rediscovering my evil, a constant fall-back position when altruism punches me in the face. Other people are, for the most part, bad. Remembering that helps me tolerate war and rumors of war, the failures of genius, empty promises of love, et cetera, ad nauseum.
The redesign should be mostly working. Have to poke at it with a sharp stick and make sure I fill in all the "construction" holes, fill in with greater graphics later.
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