The tree was trimmed and bedecked with lights. A twinkling homunculus wreathed in tinsel and bearing glass globes of stunning fragility. The house surrounding the tree was similarly masked in holiday colors and dotted with small displays of pseudo-religious merriment. The stockings were stealthily stuffed with tasty treats and whatever presents might fit therein. The bulk of the presents were artfully stacked beneath the tree, tags proudly declaring the givers and receivers. The provisions were laid out to be at hand most efficiently when time came to prepare the holiday feast. A month or more of planning and preparing, of scheming, sneaking and white lies all lead up to this whitest of all possible white Christmases. And yet...
The holiday meal was prepared and eaten on the eve of the 24th. Likewise were the stockings and presents exchanged that evening with some small fanfare. Not in and of themselves bad things by any means, just facts to add to the following thesis. The 25th, Christmas, was a day like any other. More so than might at first be thought, and shrugged off. A misstep in the alarm setting process caused the day to begin at roughly noon. Immediately after which, this computer was infected with a most malicious strain of internet-aids that required a large portion of the afternoon to eliminate. A few hours were spent at a friends house playing Halo 3 and watching New Grounds. The evening was dominated by Guild Wars and Hulu, and Christmas Dinner consisted of a sandwich.
None of this is intended to be a complaint, or a gripe, or whining. These are a series of facts that support the following: For a day that a large part of the year leads up to, you'd think someone (anyone, me maybe) would have at least pointed out the fact of the occurrence of the day to someone in a tone other than sarcasm.
I'd like to point out that while the overly religious do in fact make a spectacle out of the day, they do so in a church with long winded anecdotal readings from their chosen holy text. Personally, that's about as anticlimactic as my 'average day' Christmas.
Seriously. Why, aside from consumerism, do we allow such a build up of this day? Families coming together? If your family is estranged enough that they need an arbitrarily designated holiday to visit you, then you have other problems besides planning sleeping arrangements. Devotional excursions with loved ones? Again, you can make time to be with people in July, why wait till the ground is frozen and travel is problematic? Time off work? Look, I refuse to sound like a broken record about this but: The end of December is no more a valid time to do things to raise the quality of your life than ANY OTHER TIME OF YEAR. And don't give me that tradition crap, doing things simply because that's how they've been done in the past is a special kind of simple that should require the use of helmets.
The Catholic Church, over its long and prestigious career, has established forms of behavior that some people don't even know they are following. That's not to say all people, but think about the number of people who are in stores the morning after Thanksgiving to shop for the day Christ was born. Now statistically, a large portion of those people are not Christian. Large numbers of those people are in fact either avid believers that there is no God (and therefor no Christ), or are members of a religion that is in fact angered by Christian beliefs. And yet there they are, at 4 a.m., kicking and punching and gouging and trampling to get at that goddamn Elmo.
Church and State may not make the best bedfellows, but the news the day after Thanksgiving is pretty much just a peep show of Capitalism and Christianity jerking each other off.
Also: Halloween. Candy. Costumes. Children expecting handouts. Expensive decorations of a style that can only be described as 'hot topic goth'. Door knockers that say spooky things and speakers blaring 'sounds from the crypt'. Oh, I'm eevil cause I wear spiderweb patterned clothing and coffin earings and crosses. I can't even continue with that train of thought as its causeing blood to trickle from my tearduct. Once again, Thankyou Christians for turning what was an important event to quiet the fears and superstitions of rural europeans into a fucking holiday centered around your obnoxious and patently NOT CUTE children.
Adam got me a Domo-Kun plush. Hojo did not. Therefor, today, PRAISE ADAM!
12.26.2008
12.18.2008
Brave Gnu Whirled
For the very very unobservant there is a new page layout.
Also new is the 'Niq's Flotsam (and Jetsam)' link over underneath your blog links. That leads to a receptacle I'm gonna dump my core into every so often. If I have a reason to write (such as the potentiality that one of you might read it), I find I will produce at an increased pace, which will only help me improve. Also, free time wasting blog related activties for you poor cube-dwelling saps. The one thats in there already I tossed off (must...not..make...masturbation..joke) this evening with minimal effort as I watched Season One of Highlander. See what a random mental image of a grody Waffle House can become?
IN OTHER NEWS: Niq has the chance to make 9 thou more a year by walking across the hallway at work. An assistant manager (stocking and operations manager) position is open and my friend is the one filling it. COMPLICATIONS: its Aeropostale. *shudder* Also Men's Wearhouse has eliminated my position, the only other salaried person in the store besides the actual Store Manager, so if I leave... he's gonna have to hire at least 3 part timers who wont know what they are doing... just to replace me. He is tired of being dicked around by the company anyway and said If I go he's gonna go too. CONCLUSIONS: 1. Niq needs to decide if he can dress like an asshole fratboy EVERY DAY to make more monies. (im pretty sure he damn well can). 2. BEHOLD THE WAKE OF DESTRUCTION THAT FOLLOWS NIQ! IT CRUSHES STORES AS IF THEY WERE YOUR MOM. THATS RIGHT, YOUR MOM.
HOJO FHTAGN!!!
Also new is the 'Niq's Flotsam (and Jetsam)' link over underneath your blog links. That leads to a receptacle I'm gonna dump my core into every so often. If I have a reason to write (such as the potentiality that one of you might read it), I find I will produce at an increased pace, which will only help me improve. Also, free time wasting blog related activties for you poor cube-dwelling saps. The one thats in there already I tossed off (must...not..make...masturbation..joke) this evening with minimal effort as I watched Season One of Highlander. See what a random mental image of a grody Waffle House can become?
IN OTHER NEWS: Niq has the chance to make 9 thou more a year by walking across the hallway at work. An assistant manager (stocking and operations manager) position is open and my friend is the one filling it. COMPLICATIONS: its Aeropostale. *shudder* Also Men's Wearhouse has eliminated my position, the only other salaried person in the store besides the actual Store Manager, so if I leave... he's gonna have to hire at least 3 part timers who wont know what they are doing... just to replace me. He is tired of being dicked around by the company anyway and said If I go he's gonna go too. CONCLUSIONS: 1. Niq needs to decide if he can dress like an asshole fratboy EVERY DAY to make more monies. (im pretty sure he damn well can). 2. BEHOLD THE WAKE OF DESTRUCTION THAT FOLLOWS NIQ! IT CRUSHES STORES AS IF THEY WERE YOUR MOM. THATS RIGHT, YOUR MOM.
HOJO FHTAGN!!!
12.03.2008
Bombastic Bibliophilia
Or: What Words Do To You When Your Not Looking
I've recently rediscovered the joy of writing short stories for the sheer unadulterated hell of it. In any downtime I find myself with (usually either mornings at work between finishing the A.M. duties and when customers start coming in around noon, and evenings before bed) I've been either grabbing a pen or opening a new text doc respectively. There's a release in shoving still steaming sections of my psyche whole and quivering onto a ruled sheet of wood pulp or syphoning a desperately struggling stream of consciousness through my fingers into the memory banks of my trusty box. The conversion of thought to image and image to eloquent description is intoxicating in its convoluted mechanization.
Several of my readers have commented more than once on the incessant and multi-directional nature of the flickering witchlight that is the focus of my subjective consciousness. It's always been slightly startling how easily that mindset transfers to a more permanent medium, how effortlessly one scenario (often one sentence) can be extrapolated into a fuller, more perfect union of thought and word.
At one point or another, every student of the written word believes that they might (just might) be capable of writing the next Great American Novel. I'm as guilty as the next guy of this self appreciating behavior, however I (unlike the true greats) got over it. I've tested my teeth against the raw strap that is the full length novel, and found myself (sadly) lacking. Not lacking in style, form, or capability of completion, only in the belief-of-self needed to sustain a constant review and self-editorship of a work of significant length. Thus I now turn my hand to the blunt art that is the shaping of short stories. A sculpture chipped with agonizing patience from a half ton of marble with tiny hammer and chisel can weather centuries without noticeably changing (whether or not its worth looking at to begin with), conversely a block of ice can be hacked into an angel of dazzling translucent beauty with a chainsaw within a half hour, delighting every eye that falls upon it, until the collective heat of the bodies at the party melt the damn thing of course. I've heard time and again that wordsmithing short stories is in point-of-fact a much more difficult endeavor than the long con that is full length fiction. The voices that express that particular opin are of course authors of multiple novels who found they lack the ADD needed to scatter shot slivered fragments of their personal mirror across the pages of compilations and instead spend their time inscribing half a thousand pages as a warm up. Cum Granis Salis people.
And that, in a honey roasted nutshell, is what's on channel Niq tonight.
Offer unto Hojo laudable exclamations of approval and adoration.
I've recently rediscovered the joy of writing short stories for the sheer unadulterated hell of it. In any downtime I find myself with (usually either mornings at work between finishing the A.M. duties and when customers start coming in around noon, and evenings before bed) I've been either grabbing a pen or opening a new text doc respectively. There's a release in shoving still steaming sections of my psyche whole and quivering onto a ruled sheet of wood pulp or syphoning a desperately struggling stream of consciousness through my fingers into the memory banks of my trusty box. The conversion of thought to image and image to eloquent description is intoxicating in its convoluted mechanization.
Several of my readers have commented more than once on the incessant and multi-directional nature of the flickering witchlight that is the focus of my subjective consciousness. It's always been slightly startling how easily that mindset transfers to a more permanent medium, how effortlessly one scenario (often one sentence) can be extrapolated into a fuller, more perfect union of thought and word.
At one point or another, every student of the written word believes that they might (just might) be capable of writing the next Great American Novel. I'm as guilty as the next guy of this self appreciating behavior, however I (unlike the true greats) got over it. I've tested my teeth against the raw strap that is the full length novel, and found myself (sadly) lacking. Not lacking in style, form, or capability of completion, only in the belief-of-self needed to sustain a constant review and self-editorship of a work of significant length. Thus I now turn my hand to the blunt art that is the shaping of short stories. A sculpture chipped with agonizing patience from a half ton of marble with tiny hammer and chisel can weather centuries without noticeably changing (whether or not its worth looking at to begin with), conversely a block of ice can be hacked into an angel of dazzling translucent beauty with a chainsaw within a half hour, delighting every eye that falls upon it, until the collective heat of the bodies at the party melt the damn thing of course. I've heard time and again that wordsmithing short stories is in point-of-fact a much more difficult endeavor than the long con that is full length fiction. The voices that express that particular opin are of course authors of multiple novels who found they lack the ADD needed to scatter shot slivered fragments of their personal mirror across the pages of compilations and instead spend their time inscribing half a thousand pages as a warm up. Cum Granis Salis people.
And that, in a honey roasted nutshell, is what's on channel Niq tonight.
Offer unto Hojo laudable exclamations of approval and adoration.
11.19.2008
Temperpedic Tempenade
Car = fantastic (even though I have to put air in the tires cause it got cold very suddenly.)
Job = moving along well (reasonably)
And the meat of the thing. - Contrivance.
Cherchez La femme people. I really have less to say about that particular topic than first assumed. The point, however, has pretty much been made.
Real quick: Mirror's edge is fantastic. The first person platforming truly carries the torch lit by Portal. The P.A. crowd is fast to denounce the story mode, but its quick and engaging and (at least to me) genuinely fun. Continuing this theme, Fallout 3 is earthshaking (just don't finish the story mode).
Thus ends the review portion of tonight's missive. I'm going to assume your forgiveness. Deal with it.
News that has me planning a trip to a state I know no one in: In much the same way that NIN is the brainchild of Trent Reznor, Puscifer is the playground of Maynard James Keenan (Tool, APC). Maynard now has an ostensibly Puscifer related store in Arizona. Puscifer merch, locally grown coffee, limited edition memerobilia of Maynard's choosing that is replaced regularly. Basically a mecca towards which people like me can flock (or at least plan a sensible vacation around). Now, If I can manage to find an acceptable reason to go to a desert, I'll be all set.
On an infinately sadder note, today I purcheoused the Wrath of the Lich King expansion for World of Warcraft. Having quit this exostential leach of a game months ago, I was just getting used to having free time. Alas, like all deeply unbalanced addicts, I backslid. Not unforgivable, but very very sad all the same. I absolutely refuse to comment on how much fun the new Hero Class is. REFUSE.
God bless the fermentation process and all it does for us.
PRAISE HOJO ect ect, you know the drill.
Job = moving along well (reasonably)
And the meat of the thing. - Contrivance.
Cherchez La femme people. I really have less to say about that particular topic than first assumed. The point, however, has pretty much been made.
Real quick: Mirror's edge is fantastic. The first person platforming truly carries the torch lit by Portal. The P.A. crowd is fast to denounce the story mode, but its quick and engaging and (at least to me) genuinely fun. Continuing this theme, Fallout 3 is earthshaking (just don't finish the story mode).
Thus ends the review portion of tonight's missive. I'm going to assume your forgiveness. Deal with it.
News that has me planning a trip to a state I know no one in: In much the same way that NIN is the brainchild of Trent Reznor, Puscifer is the playground of Maynard James Keenan (Tool, APC). Maynard now has an ostensibly Puscifer related store in Arizona. Puscifer merch, locally grown coffee, limited edition memerobilia of Maynard's choosing that is replaced regularly. Basically a mecca towards which people like me can flock (or at least plan a sensible vacation around). Now, If I can manage to find an acceptable reason to go to a desert, I'll be all set.
On an infinately sadder note, today I purcheoused the Wrath of the Lich King expansion for World of Warcraft. Having quit this exostential leach of a game months ago, I was just getting used to having free time. Alas, like all deeply unbalanced addicts, I backslid. Not unforgivable, but very very sad all the same. I absolutely refuse to comment on how much fun the new Hero Class is. REFUSE.
God bless the fermentation process and all it does for us.
PRAISE HOJO ect ect, you know the drill.
11.06.2008
Tantric Touchless Tonsillectomy
The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of Cars n' things. Of Bonuses and Angry Brides and other Happenings. And whether Thanksgivings actually the Holiday it seems. Cal-oo Cal-ay A Post Todaaaaay. WE'RE CABBAGES AND KINGS.
Section I (New Business)
Whilst at the bank delivering my stores daily deposit last Monday, I emerged from the monetarily oriented paper-prison to find that the transmission on my van (a 2001 Oddessy with 300k miles, by all accounts a warrior in good standing) had not only given up the ghost, but actually entered the realms of self-destruction. This resulted in my person being stranded at that particular patch of ground for 6 hours that seemed like many more, and my being car-less for the rest of the week.
It also resulted in the purcheous of a new car. A 2009 Honda Fit Sport AT to be exact. A car of such awe inspiring fabulosity, such breathtaking fantasticity, such word bedamning superpimpness, that... you get the idea. A dizzying list of amenities, 30 mpg average, 7 airbags, 10 cupholders, a USB jack inside one of the two glove compartments where my iPOD now lives...
I've never been one to name a possession, but after being asked repeatedly what Im going to name it, I've decided on Magdalena. Two reasons: One, its a Maynard reference, and If Im a fanboy of anything its that unbalanced bastard. Two, the lyric applies pretty specifically (I am quite litterally selling 'my soul, my self-esteem a dollar at a time - For ... my Magdalena').
Section II (Old Business)
My position at MW TUX continues to solidify as I learn more every day about what our system can and cannot do and what constitutes efficient customer service in a tuxedo rental situation. Most of this is done through trial and error, so really its all a matter of time and tide. Having met our 'Excellent' goal for october netted my SM and I a hefty bonus (mines 400 bucks). I continue to grapple with the angry bride possibilites that present themselves on a near daily basis, but again: tide and time.
Side note: At the holiday party I wore the Grey Cutaway (as can be seen at mwtux.com (which appears to currently be down)) and I looked damn good. I still dont know how I got my hand on so many drink tickets when they were supposed to be in short supply, but I met a lot of ppl and ravaged a giant posh buffet and put a hefty dent in the bar nearest our table. Job well done in my opinion.
Section III (Seeing I:Scintilla at Jaxx on the 24th)
This WILL happen. Whatever I have to say or do to my family, however much I offend my grandparents by leaving thier house early (or not going at all). COME HELL OR HIGH WATER. I will see this show. Adam and I waited all night to see 20 goddamn minutes of thier set in DC before we had to run back to the metro to get home before they shut down for the night. I will rape and pillage, cheat and browbeat, maul and/or embarrass anyone and everyone I must to enable me to attend this show. You have been warned.
Section I (New Business)
Whilst at the bank delivering my stores daily deposit last Monday, I emerged from the monetarily oriented paper-prison to find that the transmission on my van (a 2001 Oddessy with 300k miles, by all accounts a warrior in good standing) had not only given up the ghost, but actually entered the realms of self-destruction. This resulted in my person being stranded at that particular patch of ground for 6 hours that seemed like many more, and my being car-less for the rest of the week.
It also resulted in the purcheous of a new car. A 2009 Honda Fit Sport AT to be exact. A car of such awe inspiring fabulosity, such breathtaking fantasticity, such word bedamning superpimpness, that... you get the idea. A dizzying list of amenities, 30 mpg average, 7 airbags, 10 cupholders, a USB jack inside one of the two glove compartments where my iPOD now lives...
I've never been one to name a possession, but after being asked repeatedly what Im going to name it, I've decided on Magdalena. Two reasons: One, its a Maynard reference, and If Im a fanboy of anything its that unbalanced bastard. Two, the lyric applies pretty specifically (I am quite litterally selling 'my soul, my self-esteem a dollar at a time - For ... my Magdalena').
Section II (Old Business)
My position at MW TUX continues to solidify as I learn more every day about what our system can and cannot do and what constitutes efficient customer service in a tuxedo rental situation. Most of this is done through trial and error, so really its all a matter of time and tide. Having met our 'Excellent' goal for october netted my SM and I a hefty bonus (mines 400 bucks). I continue to grapple with the angry bride possibilites that present themselves on a near daily basis, but again: tide and time.
Side note: At the holiday party I wore the Grey Cutaway (as can be seen at mwtux.com (which appears to currently be down)) and I looked damn good. I still dont know how I got my hand on so many drink tickets when they were supposed to be in short supply, but I met a lot of ppl and ravaged a giant posh buffet and put a hefty dent in the bar nearest our table. Job well done in my opinion.
Section III (Seeing I:Scintilla at Jaxx on the 24th)
This WILL happen. Whatever I have to say or do to my family, however much I offend my grandparents by leaving thier house early (or not going at all). COME HELL OR HIGH WATER. I will see this show. Adam and I waited all night to see 20 goddamn minutes of thier set in DC before we had to run back to the metro to get home before they shut down for the night. I will rape and pillage, cheat and browbeat, maul and/or embarrass anyone and everyone I must to enable me to attend this show. You have been warned.
10.10.2008
Time Honored Extraditions
Survived another week.
In the interval between this post and its fore bearer, Ive had almost a month of learning how to run an MW Tux location. It's not rocket science, but its far from simple numbers. And as much as it rots in the core of me to an almost unbearable degree, I find myself in a job where once again the most important thing I spend my time doing is MAKING THE FACELESS MASSES HAPPY.
'The customer is not always right. In fact, often the customer is a complete moron' - Dogbert
*shrug* It pays the bills and in no way requires anything that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike effort. There is a brutally medieval restructuring happening within the company and already district managers have been cannibalized, entire positions drawn and quartered and at least one entire store that I know of beheaded. That's right, the position I was hired to fill (Ast. Store Mngr) no longer exists. Anyone already in the position is apparently safe, but when it comes time to cut costs again, I see us as being the closest to the chopper. Store hours were drastically reduced across the board, causeing our store to lose our part timer, and forcing us to run the store with the third highest volume in THREE states (our district) to operate with THREE employees total. Man, the hits just keep on comin.
On a lighter note, tomorrow my little corner of nowhere is going to be shut down to enable knick knack hawkers and assorted other barkers to invade and set up shop thus luring old ppl from across the country to come see the color of the leaves and buy useless wicker shit. Yes folks, welcome one and all to COLORFEST WEEKEND.
Having lived for as long as I have in this, my personal hell, I have come to loath and detest Colorfest and every one of its myriad trappings. The vendors, The million senior citizens, the fuckers who INSIST I park in thier yard and pay them 10 bucks no matter how loudly I explain to them that I live JUST BEYOND THIER BLOCKADE, The traffic jam that is all routes into and out of town, and of course : me. I KNOW that I hate this 'holiday'. I KNOW that I hate everything about it. I KNOW how much self loathing is in store for me after I go wander around town like everyone else looking at all the utter shit for sale. AND YET I ALWAYS GO.
Take my wife... Please.
This Sunday is the Men's Wearhouse Holoween Party for our district. Im'a go as Nixon. Tricky Dicky Represent! My two female associates are going as various flavors of generic slutty somethings. I believe another store manager is going as Reagan so I'll hang with him. Open bar, lots of food, slutty slutty sluts. Should be a good time.
HOJO Gonna Make You: Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
In the interval between this post and its fore bearer, Ive had almost a month of learning how to run an MW Tux location. It's not rocket science, but its far from simple numbers. And as much as it rots in the core of me to an almost unbearable degree, I find myself in a job where once again the most important thing I spend my time doing is MAKING THE FACELESS MASSES HAPPY.
'The customer is not always right. In fact, often the customer is a complete moron' - Dogbert
*shrug* It pays the bills and in no way requires anything that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike effort. There is a brutally medieval restructuring happening within the company and already district managers have been cannibalized, entire positions drawn and quartered and at least one entire store that I know of beheaded. That's right, the position I was hired to fill (Ast. Store Mngr) no longer exists. Anyone already in the position is apparently safe, but when it comes time to cut costs again, I see us as being the closest to the chopper. Store hours were drastically reduced across the board, causeing our store to lose our part timer, and forcing us to run the store with the third highest volume in THREE states (our district) to operate with THREE employees total. Man, the hits just keep on comin.
On a lighter note, tomorrow my little corner of nowhere is going to be shut down to enable knick knack hawkers and assorted other barkers to invade and set up shop thus luring old ppl from across the country to come see the color of the leaves and buy useless wicker shit. Yes folks, welcome one and all to COLORFEST WEEKEND.
Having lived for as long as I have in this, my personal hell, I have come to loath and detest Colorfest and every one of its myriad trappings. The vendors, The million senior citizens, the fuckers who INSIST I park in thier yard and pay them 10 bucks no matter how loudly I explain to them that I live JUST BEYOND THIER BLOCKADE, The traffic jam that is all routes into and out of town, and of course : me. I KNOW that I hate this 'holiday'. I KNOW that I hate everything about it. I KNOW how much self loathing is in store for me after I go wander around town like everyone else looking at all the utter shit for sale. AND YET I ALWAYS GO.
Take my wife... Please.
This Sunday is the Men's Wearhouse Holoween Party for our district. Im'a go as Nixon. Tricky Dicky Represent! My two female associates are going as various flavors of generic slutty somethings. I believe another store manager is going as Reagan so I'll hang with him. Open bar, lots of food, slutty slutty sluts. Should be a good time.
HOJO Gonna Make You: Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!
9.28.2008
Cat Calls from the Cow Stalls
So, it's been a long, busy, mostly event-less week. Work is progressing smoothly (though I still have a lot to learn) and I started receiving paychecks, which is cause for celebration. w00t.
I played with the dimensions of time and space within my future work environment enough to get a Saturday off to hit the MD Renn Fest before it closes, and to open on a Friday and close on a Saturday to give me a chance to finally come down and see the furnished apartment of Mssrs Adam and John.
I've mostly gotten over the two week long chest/head funk that filled me with glowing yellow bile that felt the desperate need to escape its imprisonment every time I began a conversation. Aside from having opened a bottle of wine this evening that had gone a rather pungent form of rancid during its containment, I have surprisingly little to report.
After a lengthy discussion of former dictators (Mao, Pol Pot, Uncle Joe and ol' V.I.I.) which led into topics ranging from Che Guevara to Ayn Rand ( holy god that was a slow day), my boss apparently wants to fix me up with a friend of his.
My aversion to blind dating completly aside... I don't know that I could survive dating a person who only came to mind during a debate featuring some of the most reviled and oddly unstudied men in history. I've no problem with THEM (the root of the debate), but I'm not nearly as intelectual as I know I came off in that interaction. ... I just realized how that sounds, this is not an ego fluffing request, nor is it personal negativism. It's a fact. I would drown in a dating environment fuled by that level of cerebral stimulation.
... I think mostly the issue is that I don't know that I'd mesh well with a girl who discusses zenophobic genocide and its place in the geo-poilitical market (given its affect on both those exterminating and those being exterminated) as light conversation.
Then again, I've tried dating dumb people. It doesn't work. *shrug*
Muhuhahahaha! I started with nothing and you got all this!
REJOICE, FOR I HAVE GIVEN UNTO YOU MOIST MORSELS OF MY MIND MEAT!
PRAISE HOJO!
I played with the dimensions of time and space within my future work environment enough to get a Saturday off to hit the MD Renn Fest before it closes, and to open on a Friday and close on a Saturday to give me a chance to finally come down and see the furnished apartment of Mssrs Adam and John.
I've mostly gotten over the two week long chest/head funk that filled me with glowing yellow bile that felt the desperate need to escape its imprisonment every time I began a conversation. Aside from having opened a bottle of wine this evening that had gone a rather pungent form of rancid during its containment, I have surprisingly little to report.
After a lengthy discussion of former dictators (Mao, Pol Pot, Uncle Joe and ol' V.I.I.) which led into topics ranging from Che Guevara to Ayn Rand ( holy god that was a slow day), my boss apparently wants to fix me up with a friend of his.
My aversion to blind dating completly aside... I don't know that I could survive dating a person who only came to mind during a debate featuring some of the most reviled and oddly unstudied men in history. I've no problem with THEM (the root of the debate), but I'm not nearly as intelectual as I know I came off in that interaction. ... I just realized how that sounds, this is not an ego fluffing request, nor is it personal negativism. It's a fact. I would drown in a dating environment fuled by that level of cerebral stimulation.
... I think mostly the issue is that I don't know that I'd mesh well with a girl who discusses zenophobic genocide and its place in the geo-poilitical market (given its affect on both those exterminating and those being exterminated) as light conversation.
Then again, I've tried dating dumb people. It doesn't work. *shrug*
Muhuhahahaha! I started with nothing and you got all this!
REJOICE, FOR I HAVE GIVEN UNTO YOU MOIST MORSELS OF MY MIND MEAT!
PRAISE HOJO!
9.17.2008
Finance Shminance
In follow-up to my last post, our government has decided to bail AIG out of their situation. This cost us, the American populous, 85 billion dollars. I suppose we'd have cause to be upset by that if our nations roads and school systems weren't in such excellent, optimal-performing condition. Oh wait...
On the plus side, I don't have any money in our nations financial institutions. This allows me to express my quiet, almost genial outrage from within a safe (and quite fluffy) cocoon of neo-poverty.
Please bear in mind at all times that any political commentary emerging from me has all the validity of a safety lecture given by a man inside a rabid grizzly wearing pink lacy lingerie and a sign reading 'KEEP AWAY FROM THE GODDAMN BEAR'.
On the plus side, I don't have any money in our nations financial institutions. This allows me to express my quiet, almost genial outrage from within a safe (and quite fluffy) cocoon of neo-poverty.
Please bear in mind at all times that any political commentary emerging from me has all the validity of a safety lecture given by a man inside a rabid grizzly wearing pink lacy lingerie and a sign reading 'KEEP AWAY FROM THE GODDAMN BEAR'.
Wild Wacky Wall Street
For those of you who aren't aware, Lehman Brothers went bankrupt and their partner AIG wasn't left on sound footing. In the aftermath, Bank Of America bought Merrill Lynch. Not alarming news for most of us, but it's always good to know why news casters and financial experts are screaming the word 'APOCALYPSE'.
http://www.networkworld.com/news/2008/091508-wall-street-
shakeup.html?ts0hb&story=ts_hp
Job looks great. Thanks for the support guys.
PRAISE HOJO! (while you can still afford it)
http://www.networkworld.com/news/2008/091508-wall-street-
shakeup.html?ts0hb&story=ts_hp
Job looks great. Thanks for the support guys.
PRAISE HOJO! (while you can still afford it)
9.15.2008
First Day, First Dollar
I survived my first day in overly well dressed land. A bit much to take in all at once, with my second day looming before me full of a twelve hour shift and observation by my district manager, but I'll survive. *shrug* It's not rocket science, it's ordering tuxedos for people and making sure they buy the little add ons.
It's an interesting experience learning from people I was hired to be the boss of. I've been expressly told to find a way to balance an image of authority with my complete ignorance of the ins and outs of the system. It's embarrassing and a perverted kind of fun in equal measure.
My first day of retail work in a year took its toll. Oddly though, class (3 hours) was only 20 minutes long for me. I did the assigned in class work and was told I could leave. God bless hybrid classes.
....praise Hojo.
It's an interesting experience learning from people I was hired to be the boss of. I've been expressly told to find a way to balance an image of authority with my complete ignorance of the ins and outs of the system. It's embarrassing and a perverted kind of fun in equal measure.
My first day of retail work in a year took its toll. Oddly though, class (3 hours) was only 20 minutes long for me. I did the assigned in class work and was told I could leave. God bless hybrid classes.
....praise Hojo.
9.11.2008
Fat-Cat Fidelio
So I got clothed up today, just a few essentials till I get my first paycheck. I must say though... the black on black on lavender with matching tie and pocket kerchief is ... unintentionally pimpalisious. Also, I lucked up and they forced my electronic paperwork through over the phone so I could get my discount before my first actual day of work.
40% off all things pimp. Some one pinch me.
The kerchief is amazing. It's neatly folded triangles of material attached to the top of a synthetic card that fits perfectly inside the pocket of a shirt. How did I ever live without this? No fuss, No muss, All smoooooooth pimp.
I would apologize for the nearly giddy state I seem to be in about this, but I have to be up at 4:15 to drive the rents to the airport before going to my store to fill out paperwork before the mall opens then run the rest of the errands lined up for tomorrow.
Must Sleep Now.
Hey kid... you ever dance with Hojo in the pale moonlight?
40% off all things pimp. Some one pinch me.
The kerchief is amazing. It's neatly folded triangles of material attached to the top of a synthetic card that fits perfectly inside the pocket of a shirt. How did I ever live without this? No fuss, No muss, All smoooooooth pimp.
I would apologize for the nearly giddy state I seem to be in about this, but I have to be up at 4:15 to drive the rents to the airport before going to my store to fill out paperwork before the mall opens then run the rest of the errands lined up for tomorrow.
Must Sleep Now.
Hey kid... you ever dance with Hojo in the pale moonlight?
9.10.2008
Aesops Foibles
So, a friend of mine is a manager at Walmart and offered me a hassle free job. All I had to do was fill out the application paperwork and sit back and wait.
Which, for those of you playing the home game, means that I was willingly walking into the gaping maw of doom.
...however
I just got the Assistant Manager Job at MW TUX.
Sunday is my first paid day and I don't even have to show up till Monday to start working. Full benefits and an acceptably hefty salary that comes out to just over 11 an hour plus commission on salable items (as opposed to rented stuff). That commission is apparently HUGE during wedding season.
And just like that - I'm back in retail management.
Hojo has a mean sense of humor.
Which, for those of you playing the home game, means that I was willingly walking into the gaping maw of doom.
...however
I just got the Assistant Manager Job at MW TUX.
Sunday is my first paid day and I don't even have to show up till Monday to start working. Full benefits and an acceptably hefty salary that comes out to just over 11 an hour plus commission on salable items (as opposed to rented stuff). That commission is apparently HUGE during wedding season.
And just like that - I'm back in retail management.
Hojo has a mean sense of humor.
9.05.2008
Acid Washed Genes
'On a long enough time line the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.'
So quoth Tyler Durden in Fight Club. Tyler Durden, the truly inspirational brainchild of Chuck Palahniuk, tossed off little insights into human nature that stuck with me in a way that most pop-culture brilliantly fails to do.
'It's only after we've lost everything that were free to do anything.'
'It could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.'
'Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.'
'With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.'
'I flipped through catalogs and wondered: What kind of dining set defines me as a person?'
Brilliantly written and flawlessly exicuted my Mr. Pitt and Mr. Norton.
Anyway... Mr Palahniuk wrote another book thats currently under production as a major motion picture. It's called 'Choke', and looks simply fantastic. Check it out.
http://www.foxsearchlight.com/choke/
-Praise Hojo!
So quoth Tyler Durden in Fight Club. Tyler Durden, the truly inspirational brainchild of Chuck Palahniuk, tossed off little insights into human nature that stuck with me in a way that most pop-culture brilliantly fails to do.
'It's only after we've lost everything that were free to do anything.'
'It could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.'
'Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.'
'With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.'
'I flipped through catalogs and wondered: What kind of dining set defines me as a person?'
Brilliantly written and flawlessly exicuted my Mr. Pitt and Mr. Norton.
Anyway... Mr Palahniuk wrote another book thats currently under production as a major motion picture. It's called 'Choke', and looks simply fantastic. Check it out.
http://www.foxsearchlight.com/choke/
-Praise Hojo!
9.03.2008
Living Space Lumbago
Adam and John are moved in, and they have yet to post about it.
It's Wednesday fella's. You've been moved in since Sunday.
The move was long and hard and painful and fun. Adam from 3rd floor Falls Church to 4th floor Silver Spring, John from Bowie. Personally, the Niq was destroyed. Then again, I didn't have to work on Tuesday morning.
The apt is great gang. It's huge.
There, someone who was there commented that it happened.
-PRAISE HOJO, DAMN IT!
It's Wednesday fella's. You've been moved in since Sunday.
The move was long and hard and painful and fun. Adam from 3rd floor Falls Church to 4th floor Silver Spring, John from Bowie. Personally, the Niq was destroyed. Then again, I didn't have to work on Tuesday morning.
The apt is great gang. It's huge.
There, someone who was there commented that it happened.
-PRAISE HOJO, DAMN IT!
8.28.2008
[I've been sifting through some old boxes, the kind that were packed several moves ago and never quite got unpacked. In one I found a notebook I used to carry around and in it this little gem. This would have been... about 5 or 6 years ago.]
I came across a man today who was talking to a tree.
I felt it incumbent upon me to ask, specifically, why he was doing this.
Instead of answering what I felt was a reasonably specific question, he told me about a boy in Tibet who, when asked a question about things he knows nothing about (eg. something scientific) he can walk into a small grove of trees, ask the question aloud and then sit among the trunks and meditate. After a while (the time varies greatly so the man tells me) the boy will smile, and bow to the trees as he leaves the small grove. He will then give shockingly accurate answers to the questions. He wont use any terminology he didn't know beforehand, but he will attempt to explain (and succeed) in his own words, the answer.
I asked the man about bowing to the trees. Does the boy believe that they are where the answers come from? Would it not be more reasonable to assume the boy has some clairvoyant abilities? I was told that yes, the boy attributes the answers he receives to the trees, and why should we doubt them? My response to this was that trees don't talk. At least not in any way we can understand...much like any plant. It has been documented that under certain circumstances (an approaching fire) plants can and will transmit signals into their root structures and thus the ground around them, but people don't have roots to 'hear' them.
He seemed displeased by this, so I tried a different tack.
Assuming the boy can communicate with trees, how, I asked, do the trees in a small grove in Tibet know the answers to specific questions about varied subjects they will never come in contact with? At this the man chuckled and pulled out and unfolded a piece of paper, on which he had assembled a collection of warning label tags from actual appliances. Among them were: On a mattress: Do not swallow; on a chainsaw: Do not attempt to stop chain with hands or genitals; and on a water heater: If building containing heater is on fire, do not enter building. There were of course many more along side those pearls.
How do the trees know the answers to any given question? he repeated. He looked at me for a long moment before inquiring '.....How do people?'. And then the man said good bye to the tree (but not me) and ran (yes ran) away.
I am filled with glee that people like this exist. He may have been completely crazy, or maybe some flavor of retarded. He may have been acting like a loon to a complete stranger only to run away and have himself a chuckle (I know this happens because I do it). He may have seriously believed that trees are a sentient psychic race and should perhaps supplant humans as the dominant form of life. He may have been a dangerous escapee from an institution where they keep dangerous pre-escapees.
Either way, I feel my world is enriched to have bathed in the glow of his ... whatever it was.
[And you people think >I'm< strange...]
I came across a man today who was talking to a tree.
I felt it incumbent upon me to ask, specifically, why he was doing this.
Instead of answering what I felt was a reasonably specific question, he told me about a boy in Tibet who, when asked a question about things he knows nothing about (eg. something scientific) he can walk into a small grove of trees, ask the question aloud and then sit among the trunks and meditate. After a while (the time varies greatly so the man tells me) the boy will smile, and bow to the trees as he leaves the small grove. He will then give shockingly accurate answers to the questions. He wont use any terminology he didn't know beforehand, but he will attempt to explain (and succeed) in his own words, the answer.
I asked the man about bowing to the trees. Does the boy believe that they are where the answers come from? Would it not be more reasonable to assume the boy has some clairvoyant abilities? I was told that yes, the boy attributes the answers he receives to the trees, and why should we doubt them? My response to this was that trees don't talk. At least not in any way we can understand...much like any plant. It has been documented that under certain circumstances (an approaching fire) plants can and will transmit signals into their root structures and thus the ground around them, but people don't have roots to 'hear' them.
He seemed displeased by this, so I tried a different tack.
Assuming the boy can communicate with trees, how, I asked, do the trees in a small grove in Tibet know the answers to specific questions about varied subjects they will never come in contact with? At this the man chuckled and pulled out and unfolded a piece of paper, on which he had assembled a collection of warning label tags from actual appliances. Among them were: On a mattress: Do not swallow; on a chainsaw: Do not attempt to stop chain with hands or genitals; and on a water heater: If building containing heater is on fire, do not enter building. There were of course many more along side those pearls.
How do the trees know the answers to any given question? he repeated. He looked at me for a long moment before inquiring '.....How do people?'. And then the man said good bye to the tree (but not me) and ran (yes ran) away.
I am filled with glee that people like this exist. He may have been completely crazy, or maybe some flavor of retarded. He may have been acting like a loon to a complete stranger only to run away and have himself a chuckle (I know this happens because I do it). He may have seriously believed that trees are a sentient psychic race and should perhaps supplant humans as the dominant form of life. He may have been a dangerous escapee from an institution where they keep dangerous pre-escapees.
Either way, I feel my world is enriched to have bathed in the glow of his ... whatever it was.
[And you people think >I'm< strange...]
8.24.2008
Sated and Sedated
Just had a meal that could have killed a lesser man.
I swear to god I ordered a salad and some soup.
By the end of the meal I had eaten:
Half a plate of Fried Calamari,
5 sweet bread rolls,
a hand full of very spicy batter fried 'firecracker shrimp',
a large bowl of a thick creamy crab bisque,
a large salad full of amazingly perfect half cooked Ahi Tuna pieces and cranberries,
half of mom's wonderfully seasoned shoelace french fries,
half of Carrie's self same french fries,
a massive slab of white chocolate cheesecake in a lake of raspberry drizzle,
and
3 draft Guinness Stouts (which count as food items, you know this to be true).
Rarely do I get to feel as I currently do.
Mark it on your calenders my friends, Niq is full.
I swear to god I ordered a salad and some soup.
By the end of the meal I had eaten:
Half a plate of Fried Calamari,
5 sweet bread rolls,
a hand full of very spicy batter fried 'firecracker shrimp',
a large bowl of a thick creamy crab bisque,
a large salad full of amazingly perfect half cooked Ahi Tuna pieces and cranberries,
half of mom's wonderfully seasoned shoelace french fries,
half of Carrie's self same french fries,
a massive slab of white chocolate cheesecake in a lake of raspberry drizzle,
and
3 draft Guinness Stouts (which count as food items, you know this to be true).
Rarely do I get to feel as I currently do.
Mark it on your calenders my friends, Niq is full.
8.23.2008
Communique Souffle
It has come to my attention that I allowed a relatively meaningless situation to infuriate me on a completely disproportionate scale. As this has been remedied we now return you to your regularly scheduled Niq.
Today I got a new toy. Check it out.
http://reviews.cnet.com/cell-phones/lg-venus-vx8800-black/4505-6454_7-32640930.html
My old phone was a warrior, an old Sprint model that was actually made of metal and brawn. For a little over three years it managed to survive being with me 24/7 (something I've yet to find a person capable of coming out of in one piece) and amazingly is being retired still fully functional and with full honors. I just tried to list the things I've done to/with it and its a very long list. I abused the phone thoroughly and it came out still swinging is pretty much the point here.
However battle hardened the Sprint phone may be, he still drops like a sack when the Venus puts a bullet in his kneecap without even breaking stride on her way to the bar.
Potential new job, sleek new cloths, sleek new phone.
I do believe I am justifiably pleased.
-PRAISE HOJO!
Today I got a new toy. Check it out.
http://reviews.cnet.com/cell-phones/lg-venus-vx8800-black/4505-6454_7-32640930.html
My old phone was a warrior, an old Sprint model that was actually made of metal and brawn. For a little over three years it managed to survive being with me 24/7 (something I've yet to find a person capable of coming out of in one piece) and amazingly is being retired still fully functional and with full honors. I just tried to list the things I've done to/with it and its a very long list. I abused the phone thoroughly and it came out still swinging is pretty much the point here.
However battle hardened the Sprint phone may be, he still drops like a sack when the Venus puts a bullet in his kneecap without even breaking stride on her way to the bar.
Potential new job, sleek new cloths, sleek new phone.
I do believe I am justifiably pleased.
-PRAISE HOJO!
8.22.2008
RE: Knowing Just What To Say
[17:27] ME: you is away
[17:27] ME: leave a message?
[17:27] ME: how 'bout a banana?
[17:28] ME: dont like bananas? have a squash.
[17:28] ME: squash too much like a banana? have a cucumber.
[17:28] ME: or a banana milkshake. that doesnt even resemble a banana.
[17:29] ME: allergic to bananas?
[17:29] ME: bananas will fix that.
[17:29] ME: bananas are good for you.
[17:29] ME: eat them so they will be useful.
[17:29] ME: being useful makes bananas happy.
[17:29] ME: happy bananas taste better.
[17:30] ME: and a tasty banana is a much happier banana.
[17:31] ME: thus it stands to reason that a banana, by its very nature, is infinately tasty.
[17:31] ME: thats just good sound logic.
[17:33] ME: I dont have any bananas. I do, however, have a carrot.
[17:33] ME: carrots are good for you in a much different way than bananas.
[17:33] ME: carrots help you to see with your eyes.
[17:34] ME: if you can see without your eyes, you are either some form of super being or a person who eats lots and lots of carrots.
[17:34] ME: there is a threshold of 'better' when speaking of carrots and thier effect on your eyesight.
[17:35] ME: when does 'better' become 'best' ... for that matter when does 'better' become 'super human'?
[17:35] ME: the effects of carrots are both mysterious and mesmerizing.
[17:35] ME: (brief pause while i go get another carrot)
[17:37] Sturevant: Dude. Are you high?
[17:37] ME: not at all. im very very angry.
[17:40] ME: [summerizatoin of previous post]
[17:40] ME: im f u r i o u s at myself.
[17:43] ME: i find that a kind of suessian whimsy allows me to skim over the surface of my deep emotional disturbances and allow me to present a childlike smile to the world.
[17:43] ME: by the way, these carrots were dirt cheap and they are fucking delisious.
[17:43] Sturtevant: I bet Seuss liked bananas.
...your goddamn right he did.
[17:27] ME: leave a message?
[17:27] ME: how 'bout a banana?
[17:28] ME: dont like bananas? have a squash.
[17:28] ME: squash too much like a banana? have a cucumber.
[17:28] ME: or a banana milkshake. that doesnt even resemble a banana.
[17:29] ME: allergic to bananas?
[17:29] ME: bananas will fix that.
[17:29] ME: bananas are good for you.
[17:29] ME: eat them so they will be useful.
[17:29] ME: being useful makes bananas happy.
[17:29] ME: happy bananas taste better.
[17:30] ME: and a tasty banana is a much happier banana.
[17:31] ME: thus it stands to reason that a banana, by its very nature, is infinately tasty.
[17:31] ME: thats just good sound logic.
[17:33] ME: I dont have any bananas. I do, however, have a carrot.
[17:33] ME: carrots are good for you in a much different way than bananas.
[17:33] ME: carrots help you to see with your eyes.
[17:34] ME: if you can see without your eyes, you are either some form of super being or a person who eats lots and lots of carrots.
[17:34] ME: there is a threshold of 'better' when speaking of carrots and thier effect on your eyesight.
[17:35] ME: when does 'better' become 'best' ... for that matter when does 'better' become 'super human'?
[17:35] ME: the effects of carrots are both mysterious and mesmerizing.
[17:35] ME: (brief pause while i go get another carrot)
[17:37] Sturevant: Dude. Are you high?
[17:37] ME: not at all. im very very angry.
[17:40] ME: [summerizatoin of previous post]
[17:40] ME: im f u r i o u s at myself.
[17:43] ME: i find that a kind of suessian whimsy allows me to skim over the surface of my deep emotional disturbances and allow me to present a childlike smile to the world.
[17:43] ME: by the way, these carrots were dirt cheap and they are fucking delisious.
[17:43] Sturtevant: I bet Seuss liked bananas.
...your goddamn right he did.
Curtailed via Curb-Stomp
...
A 40 hour torrent.
A search for assistance crowned by waiting on hold for a full hour before the problem was fixed (apparently by placing a little check in a box labeled 'authorized').
Another nail-biting 40 minutes of patching while I read up on my chosen race/class.
The excitement of watching the program open and the cinematics scroll by.
The careful creation of what would be my avatar.
My character emerging from the basic dwarf model like a sculpture from a block of marble.
The moment of naming coming and going... The beginner area loading...
...
The massive fail that is the lack of reading the minimum specs for the goddamn game ahead of time.
My computer groaning and screaming under the weight of the particle physics and textures the graphics engine was flogging it with.
There truly is no one to blame for this but myself.
...
This is how super-villains are made.
A 40 hour torrent.
A search for assistance crowned by waiting on hold for a full hour before the problem was fixed (apparently by placing a little check in a box labeled 'authorized').
Another nail-biting 40 minutes of patching while I read up on my chosen race/class.
The excitement of watching the program open and the cinematics scroll by.
The careful creation of what would be my avatar.
My character emerging from the basic dwarf model like a sculpture from a block of marble.
The moment of naming coming and going... The beginner area loading...
...
The massive fail that is the lack of reading the minimum specs for the goddamn game ahead of time.
My computer groaning and screaming under the weight of the particle physics and textures the graphics engine was flogging it with.
There truly is no one to blame for this but myself.
...
This is how super-villains are made.
Savory Samples of Suck
Correction: The Warhammer Online Open Beta Preview Weekend started....around 10am.
But my account isn't working properly, so I cant login or complete the necessary patching to play the goddamn thing. This isn't stopping those dubious bastards I allow to consider themselves my friends from telling me ALL about it.
So, here I sit. Sauteing in my displeasure. Wishing a hell full of broken glass and road salt on those smarmy bastards that insist on updating me about how various functions of the game work. Waiting (most likely in vain) for someone at the other end of a nebulous email address to receive my query and respond with something helpful. Less probable things have happened... though I'm hard-pressed to come up with one.
Man, good thing I spent all that time applying for the beta and reserving a copy of the game at my local GameStapo to get into the limited preview weekend.
...Hojo-Damnit!
But my account isn't working properly, so I cant login or complete the necessary patching to play the goddamn thing. This isn't stopping those dubious bastards I allow to consider themselves my friends from telling me ALL about it.
So, here I sit. Sauteing in my displeasure. Wishing a hell full of broken glass and road salt on those smarmy bastards that insist on updating me about how various functions of the game work. Waiting (most likely in vain) for someone at the other end of a nebulous email address to receive my query and respond with something helpful. Less probable things have happened... though I'm hard-pressed to come up with one.
Man, good thing I spent all that time applying for the beta and reserving a copy of the game at my local GameStapo to get into the limited preview weekend.
...Hojo-Damnit!
8.21.2008
The Xbox Cometh
If there was a game called 'Holy Crispy Christ On A Crutch Microsoft Sent Me A Replacement XBox 360 And It Arrived'...
Today I would be the winner.
Also, Warhammer Online Beta opens at 3.00 am. I will be there.
FUN FACT: Pizza is ALWAYS better with beer. Remember that.
-PRAISE HOJO!
Today I would be the winner.
Also, Warhammer Online Beta opens at 3.00 am. I will be there.
FUN FACT: Pizza is ALWAYS better with beer. Remember that.
-PRAISE HOJO!
8.19.2008
The Insanity of a Manatee
First, if you've never played Psychonauts, do so post haste. It's funny and irreverent and psychotic and scarring, all requirements of keeping my attention. In and around all of this, it managed to be fun to play as well. A 3D platformer with a broken sense of self and a bent appeal. The controls could have used a little work (who the fuck ever wanted a game to invert EVERY axis? this is the default option) and the lighting is obstinately low at some points, but all in all its amazing.
Second, I expect Adam to make a post soon alluding to the fact that before he can do any webmastering of our comic, he needs to learn more Ruby On Rails. Thus he comes home from work and has work waiting for him. I feel terrible about that, and have asked him to progress at a pace that wont burn him out. Send love and support to our Adam, folks.
Third, this Mairead chick is awesome. That's all I'm gonna say about that.
Fourth, no matter how much you may think that putting chocolate syrup in oatmeal is an acceptable idea: YOU ARE WRONG. I tried it today, regular oatmeal, no flavor. 'Well' I thought, 'chocolate is good, perhaps I should put some in my oatmeal.' I believe I deserve to be punished for the sin I committed in the creation of this atrocity. I also believe that I suffered that punishment in the form of forcing myself to eat that swill.
-PRAISE HOJO
Second, I expect Adam to make a post soon alluding to the fact that before he can do any webmastering of our comic, he needs to learn more Ruby On Rails. Thus he comes home from work and has work waiting for him. I feel terrible about that, and have asked him to progress at a pace that wont burn him out. Send love and support to our Adam, folks.
Third, this Mairead chick is awesome. That's all I'm gonna say about that.
Fourth, no matter how much you may think that putting chocolate syrup in oatmeal is an acceptable idea: YOU ARE WRONG. I tried it today, regular oatmeal, no flavor. 'Well' I thought, 'chocolate is good, perhaps I should put some in my oatmeal.' I believe I deserve to be punished for the sin I committed in the creation of this atrocity. I also believe that I suffered that punishment in the form of forcing myself to eat that swill.
-PRAISE HOJO
8.18.2008
Mafioso Medicant
It's looking highly likely that come the first of the month I shall be running a tuxedo store. While this fuels (almost dangerously) both my current Steampunk fascination and my long established Sinatra Fanboyism, I am loath to return to any establishment that resides within a mall. On the other hand not only do I have other fingers, but it would be very nice to actually have an income capable of being spent on things that aren't directly needful for survival (something I miss very much).
So, shall I once again punch 'The Man' in the nads at the expense of my piece of mind, or shall I suck up whatever misgivings I may have about our culture and take the job in the mall? Even I'm not sure which will occur.
I must say though... It's been a while since I had legal recourse to order people around sheerly for my amusement. There's something inherently wrong in my longing for this.
Hojo Volente, my wardrobe is about to get a massive face lift.
So, shall I once again punch 'The Man' in the nads at the expense of my piece of mind, or shall I suck up whatever misgivings I may have about our culture and take the job in the mall? Even I'm not sure which will occur.
I must say though... It's been a while since I had legal recourse to order people around sheerly for my amusement. There's something inherently wrong in my longing for this.
Hojo Volente, my wardrobe is about to get a massive face lift.
8.16.2008
Nerds + Beer = Tabletop Gaming
Adam and John dropped by last night.
Drank all my beer, played all my BESM.
Threw a centaur off an airship.
Lit almost everything they saw on fire.
Caused the deaths of innocents.
Got blackmailed by children.
Refused to associate with goblins.
And drank all my beer.
Such is life.
PRAISE HOJO!
Drank all my beer, played all my BESM.
Threw a centaur off an airship.
Lit almost everything they saw on fire.
Caused the deaths of innocents.
Got blackmailed by children.
Refused to associate with goblins.
And drank all my beer.
Such is life.
PRAISE HOJO!
8.14.2008
Bright Red Aluminum Intestines
I just wrote a long entry, then pressed the back button. Presto-chango, what was a long post is now an empty text field.
Ok. Recap.
Mairead has a link in her blog to a review of F.E.A.R. The fellow who made it makes them weekly for various games/aspects of gaming culture. Go browse them, they are amazing.
School starts soon.
Name chosen for the comic. Prison Day.
www.prison-day.com will be ours very soon.
Brain trust meeting tomorrow to actually spend the money.
So much anger.
-PRAISE HOJO!
Ok. Recap.
Mairead has a link in her blog to a review of F.E.A.R. The fellow who made it makes them weekly for various games/aspects of gaming culture. Go browse them, they are amazing.
School starts soon.
Name chosen for the comic. Prison Day.
www.prison-day.com will be ours very soon.
Brain trust meeting tomorrow to actually spend the money.
So much anger.
-PRAISE HOJO!
8.13.2008
Loadstone Lullaby
Why is it that days that begin in the wee hours of the morning tend to not end until those same hours of the next?
Well, the die is cast and the decision made. There will very soon be a web comic out there with the names of both my jaded and overly artistic friend Paul and myself affixed to it. To be utterly correct, Adam's name shall appear in correlation to it as well, as everyone must needs pay homage to their webmaster. In our case said supplication will be in the form of small animal sacrifices, no matter how little he wants them.
Can three bitter, misanthropic twenty-somethings who've spent their lives critiquing the work of others successfully contribute something new and creative to the world without collapsing under the weight of their own hypocrisy?
Tune in next week to find out.
Well, the die is cast and the decision made. There will very soon be a web comic out there with the names of both my jaded and overly artistic friend Paul and myself affixed to it. To be utterly correct, Adam's name shall appear in correlation to it as well, as everyone must needs pay homage to their webmaster. In our case said supplication will be in the form of small animal sacrifices, no matter how little he wants them.
Can three bitter, misanthropic twenty-somethings who've spent their lives critiquing the work of others successfully contribute something new and creative to the world without collapsing under the weight of their own hypocrisy?
Tune in next week to find out.
8.11.2008
Ah, The Wonders of Education
[15:07] Sturtevant: She does Renaissance poetry.
[15:07] Sturtevant: Particularly the longest poem in the English Language
[15:08] Sturtevant: Which, according to her, has merits other than length.
[15:08] Sturtevant: I, hopefully, am similar in this way, in her estimation.
[15:08] Me: OH! HIGHLY EDUCATED VAUGE DICK JOKE!
[15:07] Sturtevant: Particularly the longest poem in the English Language
[15:08] Sturtevant: Which, according to her, has merits other than length.
[15:08] Sturtevant: I, hopefully, am similar in this way, in her estimation.
[15:08] Me: OH! HIGHLY EDUCATED VAUGE DICK JOKE!
8.10.2008
WTB SLEEP!!!
My bed is lovely dark and deep,
But I has promises to keep,
And blog to write before I sleep,
And blog to write before I sleep.
Finally home.
Luggage, Driveway, Steps, Door, Steps, Hallway, Door, Luggage, Bed.
Luckily my computer is accessible from my bed, so posting requires little to no effort. (I'm fairly certain this is a symptom of some larger problem.)
The Con (as you are aware) was phenomenal. Got stuff signed by Mookie, Hawk and Ananth (Hawk's writer). Got Domo-Kun plush. Got 'Horton Hears Cthulhu' shirt. Got pin addiction. Got most epic eye-wear ever (-175 Peripheral Vision / +50 Green Filter/ +10% rep gain with Goblins). Met new and interesting people with new and interesting psychosis. Ate a bacon quesadilla. Generally committed my person to excessive levels of abuse. (That's right Jessie, Aggressive Inline Coning hurts.)
PRAISE HOJO!!
- End Transmission-
But I has promises to keep,
And blog to write before I sleep,
And blog to write before I sleep.
Finally home.
Luggage, Driveway, Steps, Door, Steps, Hallway, Door, Luggage, Bed.
Luckily my computer is accessible from my bed, so posting requires little to no effort. (I'm fairly certain this is a symptom of some larger problem.)
The Con (as you are aware) was phenomenal. Got stuff signed by Mookie, Hawk and Ananth (Hawk's writer). Got Domo-Kun plush. Got 'Horton Hears Cthulhu' shirt. Got pin addiction. Got most epic eye-wear ever (-175 Peripheral Vision / +50 Green Filter/ +10% rep gain with Goblins). Met new and interesting people with new and interesting psychosis. Ate a bacon quesadilla. Generally committed my person to excessive levels of abuse. (That's right Jessie, Aggressive Inline Coning hurts.)
PRAISE HOJO!!
- End Transmission-
8.07.2008
And Thus It Continued
Firstly, I forgot in my initial post to thank Mr. Max Cannon (and his blithe web comic RED MEAT) for naming his individual comics so sardonically and hopefully not being angry with me for using one of his titles to name this blog.
Otakon is this weekend. From everything I've been told this sounds like it's going to be a good time. I'll be attending in the esteemed company of Mr. Portier et al. For those of you who'll read this, I'll be the giant guy in the Nixon mask. That's right, Nixon is totally anime. Search your feelings, you know this to be true. Also, I am personally firmly of the opinion that several people need to migrate towards Adam's house this weekend for some intensive Rock Band sessions. Kicking the crap out of anyone foolish enough to pick up a battle rifle is always acceptable as well.
If you know how to get ahold of me, do so when you arrive at the convention center in the morning. Be aware however, that if you spend the day in my presence, you may be witness to acts of violence towards anyone dressed as Rikku. I've been informed that my ex-fiance will be carpooling with those Dan Larson is attending with. This is not something I will be discussing, not something I will be addressing, and not something I will be dealing with. Should a situation arise where I am presented with her in person, I shall be walking away with little to no warning or explanation.
...I really don't want to go into that. Suffice to say that I'm officially a cold, broken, bitter bastard and if you're close enough to me to care about the details, you most likely already know them. That's so very much more than enough of that on the eve of what I'm told is the biggest Con on the East Coast. Prepare yourselves if you can, for the Terror, the Excitement, the Pontification!!
See you at the Con.
Otakon is this weekend. From everything I've been told this sounds like it's going to be a good time. I'll be attending in the esteemed company of Mr. Portier et al. For those of you who'll read this, I'll be the giant guy in the Nixon mask. That's right, Nixon is totally anime. Search your feelings, you know this to be true. Also, I am personally firmly of the opinion that several people need to migrate towards Adam's house this weekend for some intensive Rock Band sessions. Kicking the crap out of anyone foolish enough to pick up a battle rifle is always acceptable as well.
If you know how to get ahold of me, do so when you arrive at the convention center in the morning. Be aware however, that if you spend the day in my presence, you may be witness to acts of violence towards anyone dressed as Rikku. I've been informed that my ex-fiance will be carpooling with those Dan Larson is attending with. This is not something I will be discussing, not something I will be addressing, and not something I will be dealing with. Should a situation arise where I am presented with her in person, I shall be walking away with little to no warning or explanation.
...I really don't want to go into that. Suffice to say that I'm officially a cold, broken, bitter bastard and if you're close enough to me to care about the details, you most likely already know them. That's so very much more than enough of that on the eve of what I'm told is the biggest Con on the East Coast. Prepare yourselves if you can, for the Terror, the Excitement, the Pontification!!
See you at the Con.
Thus It Began
Apparently the course of human history has taken such a woefully wrong turn that it became needful for me to be able to inflict my broken little ethos on others. If I, perhaps, find some cathartic release in screaming from my soapbox until my eyes bleed, all the better. I've never really been a fan of either blogging or bloggers, but perhaps its time for that to change.
Before beginning this possibly unhealthy activity officially, I would like to take a moment to make something very clear. This is not about attention seeking, or angst, or drama. If you seek those things go elsewhere, for I have no use for you. Having said that, sad/unpleasant things happen to people. Should they happen to me, and be translated into text and appear in this blog... Ya know what? I'm going to try to prevent that from happening. It's better for everyone that way.
Right, Well. This is Post #1. Blame Adam.
I suppose its best to begin with the basics.
What you can expect here: Tirades on things that make me angry enough to remember them long enough to post them, Quotes from people who said things I wish I had, Responses to queries put to me by my loyal public (In case you aren't aware, thats you now, deal with it).
Thats all you get.
Before beginning this possibly unhealthy activity officially, I would like to take a moment to make something very clear. This is not about attention seeking, or angst, or drama. If you seek those things go elsewhere, for I have no use for you. Having said that, sad/unpleasant things happen to people. Should they happen to me, and be translated into text and appear in this blog... Ya know what? I'm going to try to prevent that from happening. It's better for everyone that way.
Right, Well. This is Post #1. Blame Adam.
I suppose its best to begin with the basics.
- My name is Nicholas, I go by Niq. (yes that's a Q, its not witty or clever or unique, its my name)
- I'm a quarter of a century old.
- I was born in TX, but moved to MD before age 2. Lived in this depressingly semi-police state ever since. It might be taking it too far to liken my place of residence to, say, Nazi occupied Poland. So I wont.
- Ive been a Dishwasher, a DirecWay Service and Installation Technician, Several flavors of Manager, a Tree Removal person, a cook, a bartender, a bouncer and a Remote Maintenance Tech. In and around all that I've tried very hard to be a student. Should have A+ soon enough.
- I write, read, run, play WoW too much, play Bass Guitar, and spend the bulk of my time pacing the few cleared square inches inside my much abused skull.
What you can expect here: Tirades on things that make me angry enough to remember them long enough to post them, Quotes from people who said things I wish I had, Responses to queries put to me by my loyal public (In case you aren't aware, thats you now, deal with it).
Thats all you get.
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