Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Time to Get Serious

I Need To Make Some Plans

I have about fifty things going on at any time and I'm not doing any of them well, let me tell you. If I could just focus on 1 thing at a time, I might a) actually finish it and b) do it well.

I'm going to try that for the rest of the afternoon. I am going to do one thing at a time and squash the urge to multi-task. Which, for me, always translates to multi-buggery.

Speaking of buggery, I have been googling pictures of Malcolm Tucker and laughing like a drain at some of the memes that people have put together. I'm particularly enamored of the "Alternative 11th Doctor" series. Quality.


Monday, April 15, 2013

I'm Almost Overwhelmed by Their Ambition

Listen, We All Fuck Up Sometimes, But...

Lately, I have been distinctly underwhelmed by the graphic designers we've been working with. It's like -- listen, dude. If you don't want this job, cool. That's fine. If I'm taking you away from higher-paying, more fulfilling, better connected work -- I get it. I won't take it personally. But, you know, if that's the case: don't take the job I offer you. I mean, if you're going to half-ass it, then just...go offer your whole ass to someone else. I promise you, I will not think less of you for it.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I have to deal with this malarkey and this whole Monday has started off like crapcakes and I just really can't wait for dinner and wine.

I had a tiny piece of cake this morning, and so far, I feel ok. A little sketchy, but mostly ok. Still, though -- I wish I hadn't eaten it. I fully believe in treating yourself every once in awhile. It's good for the soul; it's good for the body! But I am starting to feel like my chubby ass needs to upgrade to some better treats. 2 week old frozen birthday cake is not the business, yo. Gimme some flan or a fruit tart or something. This cake was leftover from a friend's birthday and because I couldn't bear the thought of simply not eating the cake, I asked her to freeze  a piece so that I could eat it when I got off my fast. Can you imagine? Can you imagine being that daggone caught up in cake that you can't let even the tiniest sliver go? Family, that's ridiculous.


Sunday, April 14, 2013

Soon and Very Soon

On the End of Things

My Daniel Fast ends tomorrow, but you know what? I've got half a mind to keep on with it. I don't mind telling you, I've had to become a lot more mindful of the grub I smash into my gob on a daily basis, and it's done wonders. I don't mean the weight loss, although I have lost about ...10 lbs, I think? Or even the assorted other health benefits (I just feel cleaner, somehow. Less ...I don't want to say "polluted," because I am not someone who likes to label food "good" or "bad" (or likewise, think of myself as "bad" if I eat things that aren't super healthful -- but nevertheless, I do feel like there is less gunk in the pipes, etc. etc. etc.). I just mean that I like the idea of being more aware of what I do. More active, rather than reactive. It sits well with me.

Spiritually, I do feel like I made some important breakthroughs and received some crucial guidance. That's what this was all about. The rest was just ancillary. But the nature of the beast being what it is, it's not surprising that the desires of the body should reassert themselves and clamor for attention. Grub, grub, grub. It's amazing how much energy someone (me) in a rich, industrialized nation, with little to no food insecurity can still expend on the type and quantity of grub they plan to shove in the ol' gob.

It's also astonishing how many people felt the need to try to force me back into old patterns (encouraging me to cheat, etc) or just generally undercut what I was doing by constantly fucking bringing up what I was missing -- as if a couple of weeks without chocolate or red wine were akin to leaving a pound of flesh at the church door. For goodness sakes.

I've got a cheap bottle of white wine to "celebrate" the end of the fast, but a) I may not drink any; and b) I don't really feel like celebrating as such. I think I really just felt like I had to do something to mark the occasion, but was unsure what else to do. Eating some meat or cheese right now seems horrible.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Confusing To Some

About What That Is

I just released about 5 draft posts that had been sitting around since 2008, because the site of them just lurking there for no reason was vexing my spirit. So if you're wondering what in the hell I suddenly started talking about, that's what's up. My dears.

Don't Go Into the Light, Carol Ann

Sitemeter is the devil. The devil, y'all. Do not install this satanic functionality to your blog; you will check it obsessively and it will make you crazy. You will start to armchair-detective your way around the whole internet, trying to draw people out. It will take over your life.

Having said that, I appreciate my new readers in Midrand, Gauteng (that's in South Africa, apparently. Ooooh, hark at her!) and...Claremont, New Hampshire. Welcome, losers!

A Little More Than Billy Squier, and a Lot Less Than AC/DC

White Jimmy asked me to contribute an earthquake report for Dude Weather. I refused point blank to have my voice recorded, so sent in a dispatch from the field.

http://www.rakemag.com/blogs/dude-weather/2008/07/july-30-2008-earthquake

The best part about this is that I got so mad that he used that wack photo. Not because of my fat fucking face, but because that photo is over two years old! I HAVE AN AFRO NOW, JIMMY. Family, I have not been lying to you for the past two years. I don't straighten my hair anymore.



THINGS THAT IRRITATE ME OUT OF ALL PROPORTION TO THE AMOUNT OF TIME I SPEND EXPOSED TO THEM

  • Matthew Barney and the fucking Cremaster Cycle



Type rest of the post here

At the End of the Day

The Little Things You Say

When I lived in London, back at the dawn of time, I worked a very prestigious law firm located in The City. I was one of a number of paralegal/ legal assistants on staff, and one of the others, a law school grad, used to  say that phrase "at the end of the day," in the most lovely, graceful way. I liked hearing her speak. Lovely girl. Her name was Laura Marshall. I think. God, but it's been an age. Yes, I am sure her name was Laura Marshall. She was about 5'4" but she looked about 3' even. And she was one of those people that was just hopelessly cool and with it, you know. Very smart, very together. And the loveliest voice! We hung out quite a lot for a bit, and then we had a falling out for some reason that PROBABLY was due to my just not being able to deal with anyone else's shit for a bit, which comes up with me every so often. The thing about having friends and lovers and family is that, occasionally, they are going to drive you absolutely bananas. But if you love them and care about them, you grit your teeth or holler or moonwalk into another room and cool out. But I tend to just chunk the deuces and say vamonos. Much easier that way. More satisfying in the short term.

More devastating the long term, of course, but what do you want from me -- legitimate life advice? You poor suckers.

Anyway, Laura Marshall and I had a falling out and didn't talk as much anymore and that was that. At the end of the day, I left London and never spoke to her again. There were so many people from that time that I just left behind. Sad to remember now.

That was the year I almost died.


Thursday, April 11, 2013

Holding Myself Back

I Have An Almost Uncontrollable Urge to Write This Post in the Voice of Jim Anchower

...But I won't, because I won't get it right, and then you, my legions of dedicated readers, will be disappointed. And I would hate for you darling dears to come away from your reading experience here with even the slightest lessening in regard for me. You know? So I'm not going to do it. But I want to.

Other things I want to do: eat a brownie, drink some red wine, read some Klassic Kathy Komiks from the 80s -- you know, girl stuff? Just kidding. Except for the brownies part. And the wine; although to be honest, I don't care if it's red or white or comes out of a spigot. I just need 16 oz of it in my facehole within 10 minutes, please.

So. Had a phenomenal first class at Writers Boot Camp this week. I can't wait to get further into this script. I read over a bunch of drafts last night -- drafts from way back in the dawn of time -- and you know what? Some of them are not as shitty as I remember. Some of them are MUCH shittier than I remember, but that's the joy of digging this crap up and reading it through it, years later. Sometimes you horrify yourself to no end.

You feel me, amigos?

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

And Just Like That...

On Reading The Mail When It Arrives

Last week, I was desperately waiting for a check to come in the mail (ah, the dance of the broke during the Week 'o' Rent) but wasn't paying sufficient attention to the mail as it stacked up, so the check was waiting there for me days before I realized it. And a day after I incurred a bounced check fee, no less. So you know -- read your fucking mail when it comes in. Even if it looks like a bill. Because even if it is, you're not doing yourself any favors by burying your dum-dum head in the sand.

Woke up this morning to an email from one of the people who works at Writers' Boot Camp. The email came in yesterday, but I thought it was spam, so I waited until I had a free moment to check it out. It turns out I was being offered  tuition-free entry into their newest class in exchange for a [fairly] modest amount of volunteer work. I thought I'd missed my chance, but I shot off an email anyway, and heard back right away. I'm in! Class starts tonight. I think the guy was pissed that I wrote him at 5 in the morning, but hey -- that's what he gets for keeping his phone on.

If you manage your life better than I do, you won't need tips like the ones I'm dropping in your hearholes today, but if you manage your life better than I do, then you probably aren't reading this blog.

Monday, April 08, 2013

Did I Lose A Post?

I Think I Lost a Dadblamed Post

Like I can afford to lose any of these monkey ass bon mots. WTH. Well, let the record show that I did blog this weekend (well, Sunday, anyway) and it was longer than a sentence long. It was probably, like, 4-5 sentences, nicely spaced and everything. You are just going to have to take my word on that, I guess. And by "you," I mean absolutely no one because I have not told anyone that I am back to blogging. Because who cares?!

I started the day with a run (I didn't feel very strong, but eh, I'll take it) and then moonwalked down to Brentwood Medical for one of the best massages of my life. I popped an Ativan before going in, so by the time my hour was up, I was in the land of Ooo and was feeling fine. I might have to make this a monthly gig. My back has been killing me lately; and general stress from work means I walk around with my neck all bunched up like a freaking Skeksis most days, so I think I can legitimately claim therapeutic massage as a medical expense. We shall see, my children!