Not signed in (Sign In)
Categories
- Main Junction
- CROSSED
- London Zoo
- Freakangels
- Music
- Printheads
- Culturegasm
- Web Nuggets
- WorldWeird
- Blogs
Welcome, Guest
Vanilla is a product of Lussumo:
Documentation and Support.
Main Junction: [Closed] Saturday Night Open Mic (7 June 08)
Bottom of Page-
-
CommentAuthorWilliamDanger
- CommentTimeJun 7th 2008
There was a flood yesterday, it rained for hours: 88mm. It was quite serious; luckily I'm on the second-floor and was able to stay dry. Can't say the same for people in the outlaying areas, some of whom were trapped on either side when the roads washed out.
Today: drove to see a local waterfall, bloated from rainfall, it was misty and wonderful. I bought a rubber batman cowl for a dollar at a yard-sale.
Then I cooked for six hours.
And now, I sleep. Bbl, WC. -
-
-
CommentAuthorbrittanica
- CommentTimeJun 7th 2008
@josh: i'm not even twenty-one, and i deal with the same fears. i've done all of one month of interning at a recording studio, after a year's work to get a fucking technical certificate for music technology. i'm worried i'll be working in a supermarket the rest of my life.
we'll all survive this whole... ick, "quarter-life crisis".
anyway, about me now.
i really am afraid i'll be working in a supermarket the rest of my life.
and not getting any decent hours doing so.
i worked all of five hours this past week, so i spent most of my time here. is that sad? you guys are more important to me than any of the "friends" i have... which is none.
i've been considerably depressed (can you tell?), and i'm trying really hard not to blame it on hormones. it makes me feel weak. i absolutely despise being a female human. been spending a lot of time reading the "what are you doing to your body?" thread, and it makes me want to get on birth control, finally.
secret society? no; i don't get invited to anything. is whitechapel secret enough to qualify? -
-
In High School, we called ourselves the 'Iguanoids' or the 'the brotherhood of the iguana with no name' - it was cover for the real secret society with real goals summed up by the initials P M T - which stood for Pussy Money Travel (and if anyone asked we called it photomechanical transfer). Two out of three ain't bad. We're a band of generalists, roboticist, development specialists, and so on. One of us died of pancreatic cancer - but we're still tight even after marriage death and babies ... and we recruit.
Tomorrow after work, I'l try and get the survivors on board to start saving the world. Wish me luck. -
What's the name of your Secret Society?
The Brothers Grubbs and it won't remain secret for long.Do you even want a secret society? In times past, secret societies, committees, salons and clubs have done the weirdest goddamn things. And founded magazines, too, I suppose.
Yeah, right now this one is doing great things and need to keep doing it. Anonymuos
I do 95% of my Ellis reading on the toilet, the only place really important reading gets done!
I'm redirecting my creative juice from pro wrestling to writing. Writing is harder for me then wrestling.
When I start writing I get so excited that my mind works faster than my hands and I start to skip words when I'm typing.
I also have trouble coming back to a subject at a different time.
Even after the slightest break my opinion, mood and overall feeling has changed and I just can't bring idea back to the same place it was before.
In closing I think Thin Lizzy is vastly underrated. -
-
CommentAuthorBrandon Seifert
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008
Extreme pain is my Achilles' Heel. Just getting that out there.
Just got home to Portland from the Olympia Comics Festival. Completely exhausted. Listened to an album of Dion McGregor, the world's most famous sleeptalker, on the trip up. Another man's narrated dreams are very, very strange stuff to be falling asleep to on a train.
Now I'm home, and I have lots of thoughts racing around in my head about Frankenstein's monster, Herbert West, and the Fountain of Youth.
I would like to be part of the Invisible College of Comics. Communicating with the like-minded through wiki data shadows we build to analyze our favorite books... putting it that way, I should go join the DokSleepless wiki.
The G Spot, far from being a semi-mythical province adrift in the uncharted depths of the vagina, is an actual geographic location (and a very easy to find one, but that's not my point). What's caught my interest in it this week is that G is short for Grafenberg -- Ernest Grafenberg, a German gynecologist who noticed the spot seemed to be extra sensitive, and who the spot is named after. I aspire to that. One day, there will be a part of the vagina named after me. -
-
The name of my society? If it isn't already in use, the Wired Monks.
Do I even want a secret society? Fuck yes, the reason of course being that a tightly knit group of individuals can accomplish wonders. Once we've eradicated widespread sloth and apathy, all that will be left to do is brace ourselves for the oncoming rush of creative works and inspirations. Who's with me? The first order of business would be to go out and create something, anything. Just do it and learn from your mistakes so the next time you'll be better equipped to channel your message. -
-
CommentAuthortrini_naenae
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008 edited
I suppose in the US it's still Saturday night, so I'll give it a go.
What's the name of your Secret Society? "We need a life."
Do you even want a secret society? In times past, secret societies, committees, salons and clubs have done the weirdest goddamn things. And founded magazines, too, I suppose.
No, hell no. I have a great dislike for the entire idea of excluding other groups of people. I've spent too much of my life around people who exclude others and I just don't want to put up with it anymore. A salon that is welcome to new people however, I'm all for. There's a group on flickr (Utata) that calls itself a salon of sorts, so I guess I'm part of a salon.
Vent, dance, slur, vomit, confess, make me squirm uncomfortably in my chair. Tell me things. I am your Internet Priest, and I love you all.
Why the hell else would I still be here?
I miss my friends in Fresno a lot. I miss being able to have a conversation and it not feel awkward and knowing the social rules and whatnot. I suspect most of the awkwardness is mine, but so far, there's not been much of this connecting thing. Short of that? A fun flirtation would be nice, I guess. I've only got two weeks left anyhow, so I highly doubt that's likely. I'm trying to not be lonely, and to be motivated, and hopefully I'll be successful (I'm trying not to doubt that). It's hard to force myself to do something on off days. And I wish my friend who I'm hoping to meet will send me a message because I really want to see her and I'm a little worried and I really want this to happen dammit.
I imagine once the week starts back up the homesickness will go away and I'll wonder why I was homesick at all. I might do the drawing on the sidewalk thing, if I can figure out how that all works. I need to work up the nerve to talk to the people who do that. And since you usually demand pictures, I'll use what I put in the self portrait thread yesterday.
edit: Oh and another thing, I don't think I've lost any weight for all the climbing of stairs and walking I've been doing. I'm supposed to be losing jeans sizes for all this pain dammit!!! -
-
-
CommentAuthorMagicSword!
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008
@ Jon Wake:
That was you? Man, getting drugged and waking up in a Bangkok hotel bathtub, sans right kidney wasn't fun, but it was a classy move to leave the business card.
The card-stock was lovely, it softened the blow a little. -
-
the name of my secret society is Ubermonkey, and my masturbation sessions are stained with better things than tears, thanks very much.
-
-
CommentAuthortrini_naenae
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008
@chris g: I'm 23 and I still have no fucking clue what I'm doing. I've been told it's ok and it lasts for a long time. You're doing waaaaay better than me I guess. -
-
What's the name of your Secret society?
I had a secret society once but I'll be damned if I can remember where I left it.
Make me squirm in my chair
Warren, for the last time I'm not into all that kinky shit. Please let's just be friends. -
Fuck you, clown.
No, I'm not talking smack back at you. That's the last line of the script I finished on Monday, meeting a deadline for the first time 10 gillion years. This shocked the aspiring Indie film princess who asked for it a couple of months. She's had varying degrees of success since putting out the call to her writer friends and lover that the producer of her last project (an ensemble) wanted to make her a queen. Our call went like this:
"Got anything?"
"Nope. Nothing. I run bars."
"This is for real."
"Let me think about it."
"Alright. But no moms, single or married. No kids. Nothing sweet and coming of age. I want something awesome and weird."
"I'll get back to you."
"You have 24 hours."
16 hours later she had the dread log line. Within 48 she had a scene and I had a June 1 deadline. After much I can't/I suck/I don't do this anymore the fucking thing took over April and May. Around 10pm that day I receive a text: "I'm on page 62. You are seriously fucked up :P" I'm nearly 37 years old. I came to grips with that a long time ago.
On June 2, I won, apparently. A meeting with all the principals to be set next week when princess comes home from a weekend shoot. The glow lasted about two hours. Once upon a time I'd bask for months because couriers showed up to my home to pick up pages. This time I used it as an excuse to buy some shoes with my stimulus check. I'm really bad with maintaining proper footwear.
Wednesday, the guy who hired me to run this bar threw a bunch of cash at me to run his new place. I agreed upon formalization on the details of bonus structure and such. Stopped for coffee on the way home to deal with the internal squabble of WHAT IT ALL MEANS. See everything that happens in my life has to go through an overdeveloped bullshit filter that turns things like someone paying me what if not more than I'm worth into a problem.
BUT THE SCRIPT, MAN. Yeah, I've made lots of decisions based upon what might happen to a spec script and each one turned out poorly. BUT THE DREAM-THE DREAM. I think the dream has always been to find some sense of happiness and cotentment in life. Somewhere along the line this becomes equivalent to selling some writing, but it's not the same thing at all. I always forget that so misery and full blown assholedom are at arm's length.
Got a secret society meeting in a couple of hours. It's the one for drunken, drug addled bastards trying not to be such. Haven't been to one in a while, but Friday night one of my coworkers left his vodka next to my water at my end of the bar. I threw back said vodka like it was water and got the instant happy burn. The demon bastard inside me grew very excited. The regular bastard I am got very angry at his coworkers and slightly disappointed at the instant need. It's been over six fucking years for god's sake.
Besides that I feel like I get signed up for another secret society every time I log on the Internet.
Other than that I yelled at a 330lb bouncer for taking all the lemons tonight. It was one of those nights when nothing came out correctly. My head formed a polite request for some common courtesy, that, yes, they may only be lemons to you, but, they are part of the garnishing life blood of this, the busiest place you could be standing in the restaurant, and no one really needs to squeeze 70 lemons into their green tea. Right, scary guy?
But it came out as Fuck You, Clown.
It's Sunday. Thanks for listening. -
- CommentAuthorJoshHechinger
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008
@heil_brittanicai've done all of one month of interning at a recording studio, after a year's work to get a fucking technical certificate for music technology.
Okay, new rule? People with cooler skill sets than me don't get to worry.
Also, I've worked in supermarkets; they are a special kind of weird retail hell, so good luck with getting out of there. -
I'm feeling a bit like Alastair. I guess, it's got smth to do with growing up.
i feel like i'm totally losing touch with my friends and totally feeling like i am am failing to make new ones. the people i get on with i feel lke an ass with.but yeah. i feel very sad sometimes.
-
My secret society really isn't that secret, because I tell people about it all the time. It's called 'The Church o' H8'
Its part Church of Subgenius, part Dischordianism, part two guys getting wasted and ranting about Nazis, Henry the Eighth, and comics.
We watch 'The Passion' or whatever the hell its called (y'know, about that Jesus fellow), The Libertine and Downfall.
We started a 'Book o' H8' but it went wrong when we started smearing badly photocopied pictures of Trinny and Susannah in our own blood and poo.
It's not saturday night as I type this, so i feel i have no right to do the rest of the stuff you ask, Mr Ellis, but I thought you should all know about The Church o'H8.
(Oh, I forgot to mention, its a spin off from the imaginary band I've been in for an entire decade, called Korean Bitch.) -
-
CommentAuthorAtomicSloth
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008
My secret society is The Cult Of Sol. I have just started it.
Today is fucking hot. According to my internet friends it is also fucking hot all over the world.
TEH WORLD IS BURNING.
Welcome to the future, thousands of years dedicated to worshiping prohpets and monodieties has caused The Sun God to become enraged, please wear sunbrella, a body-ice-pack and eat the hearts of the non-believers.
Global warming is a Abrahamic concpiracy! We dont need to build wind farms and solar panels, we need to build pyramids!
Membership is open to all, only dont tell anyone, apart from attractive ladies, ya know for the ritualistic orgies.
Our motto:
"Have you eaten the bloody hearts of your enemies in dedication to The Sun today?"
This week I go to camp in a field next to castle donnington to watch (mostly awful, yet a couple quite awesome) rock bands, I must pray to The Sun God to make it not rain. -
-
Secret Society, huh? I already belong to a bunch of societies, of which my ultimate favourites are The Ladies - our gaming group (I'm a nerd) - and Phequel's Angels. We're slightly demented, but in a good way, and there's very little that we wouldn't do for one another.
Sunday evening. I've had my current job for two and half months now. The first month was spent on training. I felt useless, because it's a job that I've done before in my life, and I'm good at it. Then again, full pay for that time was awesome.
It did fuck up my studies for this year. I'm going to get in trouble with the Powers That Be at the university for that. I couldn't care less about that. I've worked my ass off for three years on getting the necessary connections, the necessary courses, the necessary (so very fucking necessary) amount of money just to pay my rent and food. I'll be finishing my BA in a year. I was supposed to finish it by Christmas, but that was always a pipe dream. I'm not going to work myself to the point of nervous breakdown for my degree. I've had one burn out already in my life, I don't need another one.
Still, I am content. Next spring, I'll be studying abroad. Next year, I'll be beginning my Master's studies. If I am lucky enough, and nothing disastrous happens, I can afford to get a kitten next year. I've always wanted to have a pet, a cat in particular.
The hint of panic at the back of my head needs to be dealt with, though. -
-
CommentAuthorMagicSword!
- CommentTimeJun 8th 2008
As other people have said, of course I can't tell you about my secret society, it's a secret.
But rest assured, you're all already in it. -