Not signed in (Sign In)
This discussion has been inactive for longer than 5 days, and doesn't want to be resurrected.
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    I work at a hotel in downtown Seattle.
      CommentAuthorAva Jarvis
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    For the first time in my life I've had time enough to wonder: who am I?

    I'm no longer someone who puts her entire mind into the technosphere in an attempt to ignore the crushing hold that her toxic parents were meting on her for over 20 years.

    I'm no longer a scared young lass trying to deal with two stalkers.

    I'm no longer distracted by big bad things in life. Mortgages are damned scary, but they aren't one of them. Not in the cinema history that's been my life.

    Through life, I always thought I got on by being obsequious. It's one of those "you are worthless" carry-overs from my wonderful childhood. Always play down your intelligence, because you can't really be that smart.

    But when I got into college, and as I got to know people--I found this other person in me, someone who had a hard head and who wouldn't accept being called stupid and who wasn't going to play dumb just because it's safer to.

    So I have my own personal internal war, whose sides I will now personify as Sanrio characters.

    There's "Hello Kitty Me", who interacts with the world at large. She's the one who will write moderately intelligent things, and then turn around and say, "Oh, but really I'm dumb." Through turning herself down, she thinks she comforts others (she kinda does) but yet somehow expects people to believe her work over those self-damning words.

    Then there's "Badtz-Maru Me", who seethes inside for the most part, but whose occasional outbursts of "No, I'm NOT dumb actually" surprise anybody who's been trusting that Hello Kitty Me has an unbiased handle on herself. Badtz-Maru doesn't play nice, and can listen, but only if Hello Kitty grabs a pinhole ear and yanks it open.

    Some people get the head shock of their life when Badtz-Maru pops up, don't know what to think of me, and stay far away.

    At which point Hello Kitty feels bad, and Badtz-Maru feels emo on behalf of Hello Kitty.

    And I wonder if I should feel bad because of the mixed signals I broadcast thusly.

    And I wonder if I even know who I am, so that I can stop the mixed signaling.

    I feel like all the teenage angst I didn't have time for is just now popping up.

    In the meantime, I try to write, or something like that.
  1.  (378.23)
    I have no presents for anybody this year. I've been too broke to buy, and too sick to create.

    I just found out I've got Lyme Disease, and probably have had it for at least 10 years, which explains a whole host of previous almost-diagnoses that never stuck. It's being on the antibiotics for the past two weeks that's made me so much more sickly, strangely enough. Seems I have more antibiotics in my future, IVs of the stuff, and more reactive sickness from it all. My immediate family has pretty much abandoned me to fend for myself, and hasn't bothered to check on me to see how (or if) I've been managing to feed myself for the past month, living all alone on the Jersey Shore. I'm living off of Christmas and birthday money for now.

    My birthday, Christmas Eve, is almost always a monumental wreck. Last year my non-boyfriend roommate fellow person thing lied for weeks about having set money aside to take me out, ditched me at home with two dollars to my name, discarded the promise to bake cookies with me, never came home, never called, and showed up at 9 am the next morning still reeking of whiskey. That was my 30th birthday. He never got me a present. Not for Christmas. Not for my birthday. Not even after the fact.

    This year, even though I'm just as broke, broken, directionless, and filled with ouchiness and ache... I'm pleased.

    I've been creative. Productive. Forward moving. I've learned to be alone. I'm starting to finally get tanglible answers about my health. After six long years of quiet grey doldrums, my appreciation of the physical has returned with ravenous force, and I've discovered what a wonderful anti-depressant and pain-killer it can be.

    Best of all, I've found myself a creative partner in crime. Someone to DO things with. Someone who isn't all just empty words.

    Here, have some Christmas images....

    The Cheezy Sibling Christmas Card
    (rejected by my family and reshot without me)
    Cheezy Holiday Card Photo.

    Insectica Christus
    miracle birth

    Spoooky Christmas
    A spoooooky sticky christmas.
  2.  (378.24)
    A three-minute bitch, since I am at work and about to close. Just finished 12 hours of bookselling and dealing with some truly stupid people. Just came off a full week of illness obtained in some fashion from bad guacamole, and capped yesterday by one of our dogs squirting gallons of bodily fluids all over the living room. I knew I was no longer ill because I could clean up said mess without vomiting. Just finished teaching and now have 75 exams to grade before Christmas Eve when grades are due. Did I mention that I am working for 9 hours tomorrow?

    Lots to complain about: out-of-work wife, annoying landlord, uncaring family, incomplete dissertation, $110K in student loans now due . . . there's always a list isn't there? What surprises me is not there is all this crap to deal with, but that I have not folded like a tinfoil accordion. Just keep slogging on, until the shit gets better, or you MAKE the shit better.

    And a three-minute bitch session helps too! Thanks Warren!
      CommentAuthorAva Jarvis
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    Also I think I will go stab the next person caroling "I'm wishing for a white Christmas" outside the window. Badly.

    That's both Badtz-Maru and Hello Kitty talking there.
  3.  (378.26)
    If there was a theme to this passing year it was revulsion. Disgust with my surroundings, circumstances and abilities. So June 13, 2007, I launched phase one of the Glorious Five Year Plan. The first phase is aptly dubbed: Fuck My Body.

    The purpose being to work myself to near death and expose myself to as many different things as possible. I will cancel my student debt, achieve a few more literary goals, make some projects work and learn things. I will become fitter, fatter, healthier and more aware at the expense of myself. Fuck you, body. You work for me.

    The only downside is the work that I have to do to steal the money. The railway can be equated to hefting bags of shit into neat piles for sixty hours a week. Except every three minutes in North America, someone is not killed by a bag of shit hitting them at 60 mph.

    I'm six months in and my debt is half gone, I've put on some muscle, I've been published (short garbage in small, garbage publications), the website is proceeding. My furniture is arrange neatly. There are 174 days left to go.

    June 13, 2008 is currently set as Ragnarok. The date might need to be pushed back to August 13, 2008 to round off a year of employment at the railway. Ragnarok is the end of the world for me. I am leaving every comfort and opportunity and possibility presented to travel to as many places as I can. I want end up on the ass-end of the world, looking up and believing it's down.

    Year Two of the Glorious Five Year Plan? Asshole Internationalé.

    I'm frustrated. I'm seeing my equals move into cities and working at coffee shops. Working under the table because it gives them that little extra beer money. Going back to school for middle management degrees. Playing in a cover band. Working for the weekend. Not the future.

    I don't sleep because I want to know:

    When is the next Great Leap Forward?
    Who has a Glorious Five Year Plan?
    Am I getting through to you Mr. Beale?
    What's fucking NEXT?
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    I hate working. In my current job, really. I know I'm only here as a temporary 'get money for fun things' measure, but my job is really wearing. Who the hell wants to be a Finance dept admin boy, anyway? My job is to date-stamp shit as it comes in, and check that invoices have the right spelling and numbers. A computer really could do my job.

    That said, I have two 2-day weeks ahead of me, a large lump of christmas time to hopefully catch up on writing and other useful things. I have, tonight, drunk 7 pints, of which I paid for two. Oh, and I might even have a date for the first time in a while.

    Who knows? This week may even find me cheerful.
  4.  (378.28)
    I'm getting ready to leave my home of the past 3+ years to embark on a journey where I'm not quite sure where I'll end up. I feel like a visitor in my own space, in my own skin.
    However, it's showing me how important relationships have been to me, and has thrown people's personalities into sharp relief. I have been truly blessed to know such people, and enjoy the potential of showing them new places.

    Sorry I've been gone, I've been out gaining new family members. My brother got married just over a week ago.
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    a couple of things,

    1 - tonight is the first night i've NOT been drunk in about 2 weeks. Mostly Christmas parties but a couple of dinners and drinks with clients and a couple of blowing off stress nights. What better way to celebrate the birth of the son of God than getting piss drunk every night

    2 - In-laws make Christmas suck. Rather than just my lovely wife and I enjoying a leisurely christmas day we have to deal with the uber-controlling sister-in-law creating drama and forcing everyone to come over for a dinner that night. Fuck her. I'm not shaving and they'll be lucky I even shower. And I'm bringing chocolate covered espresso beans for all the children. You create drama and mess up everyone eleses Christmas day, I'm causing all 6 munchkins to go full scale bat guano and tear-ass through your house.

    fuck it... I'm going to get drunk again tonight why ruin a good streak
  5.  (378.30)
    Good week during a horrible time of year, at least for the fact that I'm finally able to admit that I'm one of the lucky people Rantz Hosley contacted about doing the comic anthology project he has coming out with Tori Amos. It's amusing since I can so far thank Warren for any successfull contacts I made to get into this business. Essentially I am a complete unknown, and from posting a few things on the Engine, when you had it up, I could go and meet people at conventions that already knew my name and seemed to like what I could do.

    Anyways, if there is any bad this week, it has to do with the beligerent people food shopping who seem to think it's a good idea to get mouthy with a guy behind the meat counter currently holding very sharp objects and with an industrial size meat grinder right next to him... seriously it takes self control not to threaten or mame.

    Anyways, in a round about way, thanks Warren for helping to make this one hell of a good year for me.
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    Things have been up and down for me the past week, but i'm tired of focussing on the negative, so I'm ignoring those bits and only remembering the positive.

    There's been a fair bit of good music going on lately... Last wednesday night was the final open mic night at the local pub for this year, and Mel the 1920s style female jazz singer came back after about two and a half months absence after pushing out her third wee bairn. Mel is an unbelievable singer, she really makes you close your eyes and believe you're in a WWI era cabaret house.

    My friend Freya Hanly has had residency at the Windsor Hotel every thursday in December, and its been interesting to hear her play all her songs without the band, stripped back to just her voice and her accoustic guitar. Real nice. And since I'm the only filthy disgusting fanboy groupie to come along every week, we've been having great fun shooting the breeze between sets without anyone else to intrude and steer the conversation along stupid uninteresting lines...

    And last night was an EXCELLENT night of roots music, which I have recently really started getting into. Local boys Blue Shaddy put on a phenomenal set of slide guitar, harmonica and conga drums -- absolutely insane energy, and very patriotically west aussie songs. Then eastern states roots legend Ash Grunwald got up and did an equally energetic solo set, and called the boys up on stage later to jam with him while he played a lapsteel made from a skateboard. Bizarre, but awesome.

    Local music is absolutely mindblowing. You don't expect to find this stuff in your own backyard, certainly not in a place like Perth. Its my happiest distraction from the horror of existence yet found.
  6.  (378.32)
    Just got a job as a design trainee/office bitch with a company who do business listings for various different locales around the country. Could be a great start into actually using what I see as a third (maybe a quarter, if you include my power of dance) of my available skillset, or could be a waste of fucking time. Either way, I'll have more money than I have now. Want to do another aptitude test, I think I'm getting dumber. Also, more dour. I'm eager to get off my ass, but having trouble dealing with general confusion, and my creativity having dried up recently, which doesn't bode well for writing. Wish I could turn on a "churn out crap" switch, even just to have something to fix. I've always been pretty objective about my own work, but that doesn't lend itself to the "write first, then edit" approach. Looking for more input (to use a Short-Circuit-ism) in general. I really like the art of Siku, Gez Fry and Feerikart. Want to read more books. Girlfriend moved too far away too long ago. Having trouble with my world view, or more like my approach to developing a world view. Sick of being rational all the time, it doesn't lend itself to strong opinions (Ergo, confusion). Dealing with insane family for the holidays is split between being fucking terrifying and really quite nice, in equal measures. Want to travel extensively, but also not. Want to buy cool shit but, again, also not. Need to watch more of The Wire, and less of everything else. Need to stop procrastinating. I have a nasty feeling that I was born to be a critic, which is kinda depressing. Steampunk is very interesting but also kind of annoying. I really want Southland Tales to be as good as Donnie Darko. Inside Man is a great movie. I need to come up with a storytelling engine for a script I'm working on. I need to churn out some pages for 2 other things I'm working on. Second Life is way too interesting for my own good. Thankfully, my internet is shit. I'm very tempted to start a fight with somebody small so I can beat the hell out of them. Preferably, this person will be a absolute bastard who had it coming.


    PS: I enjoyed everyone else's rants. Cheers, everybody (And I very much mean that in the "Let's all drink NOW" kind of way).
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007 edited
    Yesterday I got a tattoo on my head, to the right of my mohawk. It hurt like hell, like getting a tooth drilled with no anesthesia. I actually hallucinated a little bit. Then I went to my work christmas party, which basically just means we throw the customers out and drink up the bar ourselves. I drank far too much, then went outside to partake in something smokable. I don't remember how I got back inside, but I've been told I required assistance. I then found myself passed out draped over the toilet of the bar so disoriented that I didn't know where I was, even though I never left the place where I have worked for a year and a half. My roommate had to physically drag me home as I muttered "Camera... did you.... camera. Talk to Josh... Josh... where's my camera?" So take it from me, kids. Tattooing, drinking, and pot smoking should not all occur on the same night. I found this photo in my camera.exessive behavior.
  7.  (378.34)
    tell me what you want.

    I want to bring back the dead tonight. I buried close friend on Thursday. She was a WWII army corps nurse, and she didn't take shit from anyone. I loved listening to her stories, and it feels like I've lost a personal library.

    FUCK PEOPLE. I have two more days of retail hell.

    And thanks Warren, I was really tickled to see my find on your website.
    • CommentTimeDec 22nd 2007
    At a scriptwriter's blog, a fellow poster (who called himself a writer) made the following statement:

    Firstly, remember Sci-Fi isn't a genre, it's a location...

    At first, I was aghast, but then mildly curious how the poster could come to such a conclusion. Said poster sited Star Wars as an example; the story could be told in any location. But because it was set in the future and in space, it made the story Sci Fi.

    I argued for two days, citing movies like Dannie Darko and Outbreak as science fictions movie set in current times. I stated that I understood the science fiction genre deals with the influence of real or imagined science.

    The response:

    I'm not saying Sci-Fi isn't kind of a "genre" because there's a very specific kind of people who like movies that use Sci-Fi elements but it's not a genre just a "branch" of the movie "tree"... In that regard it's like pornography...

    Anyway back to my original point, writing a film just because you have a good Sci-Fi premise is a bad idea because no matter how impressive your fantasy world or explanation of time travel is it's still just a prop or location and the examples mentioned so far are examples of good "sci-Fi movies" there must be 1,000's of unproduced or unsuccessful "Sci-Fi" movies out there that prove my point 'm just not a fan of the Sci-Fi so...

    However, I like Frederik Pohl's definition much better. I know I don't think that way, but I know people who do. May science fiction isn't just a genre. Maybe I'm not mad for believing it is.
    • CommentTimeDec 23rd 2007 edited
    I'm awash in greasy food hate, designer's anxiety, and baseline Montezuma's Revenge.

    Remembering just about everything that made me hate Georgetown: faux-military police parading in packs on M Street, ostensibly protecting shoppers from viking hordes of purse-snatchers, but really just from cliques of under-17 yr olds; meandering snow drifts of Virginia half-wits, come across the Key Bridge for some kind of imaginary excursion into cosmopolitan Washington, with all the common sense of vodka-soaked lemmings; and doe-eyed hipsters, whose tastes in fashion end five feet from the stoop of douchebag. Yammering squadrons of straight-toothed Americana, floating all fresh-faced and hopeful into mildly expensive restaurants, while they discuss blithely how they'll be ruling the world in the next seven years, as they step over/past/beyond homeless parapalegics and titter about Tammy's new boyfriend, Tad.

    It's not that it's worse than Soho, Georgetown. It's that it's Soho with none of the bustle. People navigate the sidewalks like starved beggars, and even the trendy kids, wrapped in pastel keffiyahs and throwback irony haircuts, seem somehow washed of any genuinely interesting traits. Even the passing attempt at kinky sex shops are bland and slow. And everyone wades down M Street at ONE-QUARTER THE SPEED OF THE WALKING DEAD.

    And all the things I actually liked about DC (which are not man)--the grime, the history, the human textures--are very quickly sloughing down a narrow drain of wine bars, ironically-named condo developments, and young white coffeebar mothers with affluent husbands and excess time to gaily sip soy chai lattes while nursing little Denver or Canyon or Christopher or John Patrick.

    In the interim

    I may vomit this Johnny Rocket's back up, momentarily.

    In the interim, reading this submission for 50.YFN and reviewing the video opening for this new podcast we're mulling.

    (link to podcast takes you to, where you can preview or download the video, as I'm in a sharing, lovable state, thanks to the mood-altering qualities of American fast food)
  8.  (378.37)
    Open Mic? 2007 + 2008 =

    1) My feet are both too big AND too small. Imagine my surprise.

    2) D. I. V. O. R. C. E. #1.

    3) Working on Christmas Day, ne?

    4) Some sort of advanced equation balancing a cold with sushi, whisky, vitamins, beer, karaoke and eggnog.

    5) Shopping for housewares.

    6) Can I marry coffee?

    7) "Trust me. I'd love to talk about it, but I've got to think it out first... it goes..."

    8) Scientific whaling.

    9) Poetry is 8 times harder than music, and 17 times harder than prose.

    10) Only nothing is impossible.

    @ Captain Legion:

    Step 1 - Fuck My Body
    Step 2 - Asshole Internationale
    Step 3 - ...

    When does your book come out? Your methodology sounds both intoxicating and alluring.
    • CommentTimeDec 23rd 2007 edited

    6) Can I marry coffee?

    g*d bless you, my son.

    g#d bless you.

    PS: found elsewhere on the Net this evening:

    "I am a genuinely good person, unbiased in any way towards anyone. Except the bastard Azerbaijani, who drive like living whiskey-sponges."
  9.  (378.39)
    I give everyone, a very special thread.

    Has been amusing a me as a random idiot keeps calling me at fucking 6:30 AM Sunday trying to get me to buzz him in because he can't figure out he has a wrong number.

    Special notice of page 14 guest star

    Edit: fucking moron bastard not letting me sleep. And need phone on the damn hook. Anyway, anyone have any idea why I keep getting an invalid URL when I try to link directly? Again I may just be too tired and pissed to think.
  10.  (378.40)
    Not quite Saturday night, but my sleep schedule's been fucked up for days now, so I can barely tell.

    I'm on "vacation" back in my hometown with my family for the holidays, and it's depressing. My mother and grandmother look like they've aged more in the last year than in the 20-odd years I lived here / near enough to see them on command. The room they've got me staying in is my brother's old closet of a room (which he moved out of when I moved out to college 7 years ago). Just being here feels like pain. Like the things I thought were sewed up and patched are oozing out between the stitches which have gone slack from their proximity to all this.

    ...and Christmastime was the only time of year I felt GOOD growing up. It was the only time of year everything seemed to be ok: everyone shut the fuck up and enjoyed the pretty little lights and trees and snow. And left me alone to read and write an watch TV as opposed to forcing me into shitty after-school activities.

    And the reason I was excited to come out here, the people I haven't seen in forever, are not getting back to me at all. Or being pissy when I haven't seen them in 3 fucking years. So, T, I'm sorry I sent you a text message, that's how I make plans nowadays. I'll pay you the goddamn 60 cents when I see you. You're a fucking basketcase. With one capitalised word, you made me kind of regret looking forward to seeing you.

    I hope that when I get back to LA, I'll have a callback for the leading role I auditioned for the day I left, and I hope that's a wake-up call to my lazy and seemingly uncaring manager and / or agent. I hope this crazy millionaire I met hires me to be his personal screenwriter and producer. I hope I know what the hell I want to do with my life again. Most of all, I hope some time away make me appreciate my girlfriend more, because if it doesn't, things are going to fall the fuck apart. The fact that I miss her so much I can't sleep is reassuring.

    Fuck. I need money. And I miss my cat.

    But I'm reading Hunter S. Thompson (Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72), and that makes the words in my head more understandable and coherent. My brother's turned into a damn fine person, and my dad's been in very good spirits. Stephen Fry makes me smile. And this shitty year's going to be over soon.

    I, for one, will be drinking tonight.

This discussion has been inactive for longer than 5 days, and doesn't want to be resurrected.