For those of you keeping score
chronologically: 39.4 years est (earth standard time)
biologically: 48 (too much Ben & Jerry's)
relative heart age: 25
soul's age: 8 lifetimes of average 68 years, give or take
spirits age: um.... 5 (but I'm holding up 4 fingers)
Why am I telling you this? To get to this:
ME: still drooling over Dave's gift.
INSUB: Are you a trekkie? How old are you?
BRAD, monitoring the situation from his office, shoots me a Stewie kind of evil grin. His look seems to imply that he has front row center tickets to Armageddon.
ME: It isn't about age.
exit INSUB nattering under her breath. Dissatisfied, BRAD returns his attention to his desk.
ME to DAVE: This is why we like the Wheaton. We follow without judgement.
And I guess that is where CSI: Space Oddity has brought me. Its another uber nerdy convention show that has the "regular", "serious", "professional" guys picking on the fans for their irrationality while they hunt for a killer hiding among the stars' fans. But here's my point. Not only do we find out that Eckley knows the show, the ME and his assistant know the show. Everyone knows the show enough to know something, to recognize it. Everyone is a fan to some degree, even though you would never really guess that from Fishburne's character. We even get someone whose whole pro collegiate life is about deconstructing myths and figuring out why these things are so important to us.
The people who were part of the Star Trek world are fans of that world. It isn't just that Wheaton was on ST; He LOVES Star Trek. LeVar Burton LOVES Star Trek. Trekkies are in good company because the stars are among the fans. How often can you really say that about a show? Well, Stargate could probably make that grade too. I mean RDA goes nuts when he talks about it. It isn't how old we are. It is that we find a connection to other people through the show. It's about the way that the crew comes together as much as it is about the ships and the cool toys.
Star Trek is an institution to which I have been committed. Now they just need to get my bed ready.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Thor hates me
No really, I mean it. I can't think of a better reason for all of my Thursday's at work to tank before I ever punch in other than the fact that the god for whom the day was named, Thor, hates me. I have been wracking my brain for a year now to figure this out. And it hit me like a bolt yesterday... Thor hates me.
I don't know what I did to the cute little Asgaard whose loss I mourned as much as Deforrest Kelley's. Generally everyone likes me. The insub doesn't count; she's a monkey wrench. So how could I have pissed off the little guy? He is a Kirk kind of trekkie and doesn't like my constant Klingon quoting barbs thrown in Shatner's vast general vicinity. It's the only explaination I can find. But, as today has been so wonderful, I have to say that Saturn, the god of Saturday is totally on my side on this one.
Today was great. The insub took an unscheduled shower when, while cleaning a shower stall, the handle caught on her shoulder and dumped cold water on her, "I refuse to give her a pleasant good morning", grumpy butt. Then I found tips right before lunch. Having proudly presented them to the maintenance guy as proof that Saturday's gods like me, he says "Brad ordered everyone pizza". And Friday I told my twitteratti that he sometimes does that. WTG Brad! Then another room left me M&Ms and Dave brought in the surprise he told me he was bringing me. The surprise was a Star Trek Original Series sketchbook of how the whole shabang was done. It was a great Saturday. And even better is coming online to find that the twitterverse is happily dumping good things in my lap.
Now if only Fancast will work right and let me watch CSI's geek homage without a stutter.
Saturn loves me. He really really loves me. And I love him.
I don't know what I did to the cute little Asgaard whose loss I mourned as much as Deforrest Kelley's. Generally everyone likes me. The insub doesn't count; she's a monkey wrench. So how could I have pissed off the little guy? He is a Kirk kind of trekkie and doesn't like my constant Klingon quoting barbs thrown in Shatner's vast general vicinity. It's the only explaination I can find. But, as today has been so wonderful, I have to say that Saturn, the god of Saturday is totally on my side on this one.
Today was great. The insub took an unscheduled shower when, while cleaning a shower stall, the handle caught on her shoulder and dumped cold water on her, "I refuse to give her a pleasant good morning", grumpy butt. Then I found tips right before lunch. Having proudly presented them to the maintenance guy as proof that Saturday's gods like me, he says "Brad ordered everyone pizza". And Friday I told my twitteratti that he sometimes does that. WTG Brad! Then another room left me M&Ms and Dave brought in the surprise he told me he was bringing me. The surprise was a Star Trek Original Series sketchbook of how the whole shabang was done. It was a great Saturday. And even better is coming online to find that the twitterverse is happily dumping good things in my lap.
Now if only Fancast will work right and let me watch CSI's geek homage without a stutter.
Saturn loves me. He really really loves me. And I love him.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Huh?
It wasn't the color I was looking for when I left myself open to the futility of color correcting one word. Had I closed the spell check menu I wouldn't have had to worry. So there it is... a post of a different color.
Unblocked
I know without doubts that I am a writer. Those of you who have read in the past know that my triumphal moment was making a boy who'd read my short story in 10th grade cry. He dang near got us both busted. I have been writing as long as I have been creating art. The trouble has been that in the last year, when my pen has needed to write because there was no art, I didn't know what to write.
I've been an avid journaller and have lived on my own for years. I write painfully, honestly and without any kind of reservation whatsoever. Invariably something in those journals turns into a short story. And I get some kind of benefit through applying my natural empathic skills to the situations. And of course, like everyone else, I never listen. But I have been in a unique situation and that has meant that other people have had access to my writing. I would have thought that my thoughts were of no known use to anyone else. But I was wrong. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought there was a chance of having my words read. You know, the ones that I don't put here. The garbage that gets composted to become something else... something better. Comtria! But I've known. And I quit writing in my journals. So I am blogging and struggling with the blog.
Now I know why. I haven't been composting anything. To prevent the family from vilifying me I haven't journaled in better than a year. And so there has been no fodder for the blog machine. And that's where things stood. Until today.
Today I found a way to make all of this work; to build a writing project that would be uniquely mine and not a copy of Kenyon's Dark Hunter world. Oh I still want to write the quintessential werewolf story set in my neck of the woods. [Um, that would be a pun... if it were a vampire story.] But the project that I have to write first, to get my short story legs under me again, is to write for this project. A study in autobiography.
Yes. A study in autobiography. I've been in the foulest black place for a year. The daily struggle to write something interesting and mildly amusing, to be disciplined to write without knowing what I was writing is finally over. In part I have twitter to thank for that. I've met writers and kindred geeks who I feel more comfortable telling my semi-anonymous woes to. Twitter has let me send out short bursts to propel me forward. I have been following Brent Spiner's tweets along a crazy wild story arc that just keeps entertaining... all in 140 characters or less. A story that can be told in 140 character paragraphs... it helps to focus the mind on what direction to go with the plot, explore options far enough down a path to know how soon it leads to a dead end... and the inspiration fro ma suggestion by the most annoying sci-fi character since WFS, Rodney MacKay aka Dave Hewlett brought me to an epiphany as I was snapping sheets onto a bed today. I know where I am going with the writing.
I don't know if I will have an audience for it. I don't know where to publish the thing when it is done. Hell, I might even just post it for the sake of posting it on the blog. Although I have found that I am being targeted for "lifting". At least I can get it out there and have some idea of how it is received, conceptually as well as literally.
In essence I am going to explore the writing process through fiction. Specifically through the author's eyes. I was even thinking that this is the kind of thing that could be good TV with about four actors, each portraying a short fiction author. I see Spiner as one, Hewlett as another. I haven't a clear picture of the female authors.
No I don't see myself as the next cool thing [O.C] and writing a new career for my fave actors. But what I do see is that I can write a lot of things that have been going through my mind, frame them in the daily lives of my authors and write autobiographically all of my fears, frustrations and the slow boat to china epic of my boring life without having to take the blame for the things that I think, feel and fear. Four authors, two of whom are men... what is and isn't autobiographical? No one but me will ever know.
Unless I tell you guys first.
I've been an avid journaller and have lived on my own for years. I write painfully, honestly and without any kind of reservation whatsoever. Invariably something in those journals turns into a short story. And I get some kind of benefit through applying my natural empathic skills to the situations. And of course, like everyone else, I never listen. But I have been in a unique situation and that has meant that other people have had access to my writing. I would have thought that my thoughts were of no known use to anyone else. But I was wrong. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought there was a chance of having my words read. You know, the ones that I don't put here. The garbage that gets composted to become something else... something better. Comtria! But I've known. And I quit writing in my journals. So I am blogging and struggling with the blog.
Now I know why. I haven't been composting anything. To prevent the family from vilifying me I haven't journaled in better than a year. And so there has been no fodder for the blog machine. And that's where things stood. Until today.
Today I found a way to make all of this work; to build a writing project that would be uniquely mine and not a copy of Kenyon's Dark Hunter world. Oh I still want to write the quintessential werewolf story set in my neck of the woods. [Um, that would be a pun... if it were a vampire story.] But the project that I have to write first, to get my short story legs under me again, is to write for this project. A study in autobiography.
Yes. A study in autobiography. I've been in the foulest black place for a year. The daily struggle to write something interesting and mildly amusing, to be disciplined to write without knowing what I was writing is finally over. In part I have twitter to thank for that. I've met writers and kindred geeks who I feel more comfortable telling my semi-anonymous woes to. Twitter has let me send out short bursts to propel me forward. I have been following Brent Spiner's tweets along a crazy wild story arc that just keeps entertaining... all in 140 characters or less. A story that can be told in 140 character paragraphs... it helps to focus the mind on what direction to go with the plot, explore options far enough down a path to know how soon it leads to a dead end... and the inspiration fro ma suggestion by the most annoying sci-fi character since WFS, Rodney MacKay aka Dave Hewlett brought me to an epiphany as I was snapping sheets onto a bed today. I know where I am going with the writing.
I don't know if I will have an audience for it. I don't know where to publish the thing when it is done. Hell, I might even just post it for the sake of posting it on the blog. Although I have found that I am being targeted for "lifting". At least I can get it out there and have some idea of how it is received, conceptually as well as literally.
In essence I am going to explore the writing process through fiction. Specifically through the author's eyes. I was even thinking that this is the kind of thing that could be good TV with about four actors, each portraying a short fiction author. I see Spiner as one, Hewlett as another. I haven't a clear picture of the female authors.
No I don't see myself as the next cool thing [O.C] and writing a new career for my fave actors. But what I do see is that I can write a lot of things that have been going through my mind, frame them in the daily lives of my authors and write autobiographically all of my fears, frustrations and the slow boat to china epic of my boring life without having to take the blame for the things that I think, feel and fear. Four authors, two of whom are men... what is and isn't autobiographical? No one but me will ever know.
Unless I tell you guys first.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
when songs attack
I have a huge problem with songs sticking in my head. Just like with everyone else they get in and they won't get out. Most of the time it is with little provocation and they even have some relevence to what ever it is you are doing.
So I was listening to some podcasts. It was late in a D&D campaign when our heroes began to fall under the might of an evil necromancer [I know there is no other kind. Drama people, drama]. Omin Dran valiantly throws his polyhedron and rolls another one! Cursing. Despair. And the mighty F bomb lands on the table. As our heroes move onward to the next throw, Jim's squeky and totaly und darkmage like voice starts to sing "Good King Jerry rolls ones a lot, he cannot roll a twen-ty." And I was done. Good King Wenceslas' tune was stuck. Jim had a great little concept and the whole thing was on the fly. Why a Christmas carol? I don't know... wenceslas... rolls ones a lot... kinda fits. So I have been consumed all day long with the parodic ode to the heroes of Acquisitions Inc. But I've been composing while trying to work my hotel job. And no one will really see this thing but me and my one reader.
And still... somehow in the middle of a particularly trying line, as Iwas trying to work in Jim's favorite attack after the magic missile this instead is what slammed itself front and center of my attention:
my darkmage and your darkmage
sitting by the fire
said my darkmage to your darkmage
gonna set your dwarf on fire
talk about "hey now!" Hey now.
Iko iko I nay
yes. I am strange. And while I am usually tortured by what is stuck in my head, this has me so amused that I have embraced the song and sang it in a perpetual loop. I have almost called the radio station to request Iko Iko just so that I have more of the song stuck with me and can perhaps compose verses for Binwinn and Aeofel. Omin may have to surrender to the evil necromancer... too many epic fails.
I know I'm weird. That is rather the point. I am not the only weird person out there. We'll see what commentors to Wil's blog say when they see it. Yes Itold other people. i told my people who know me by my weirdness and still call me all the same.
So I was listening to some podcasts. It was late in a D&D campaign when our heroes began to fall under the might of an evil necromancer [I know there is no other kind. Drama people, drama]. Omin Dran valiantly throws his polyhedron and rolls another one! Cursing. Despair. And the mighty F bomb lands on the table. As our heroes move onward to the next throw, Jim's squeky and totaly und darkmage like voice starts to sing "Good King Jerry rolls ones a lot, he cannot roll a twen-ty." And I was done. Good King Wenceslas' tune was stuck. Jim had a great little concept and the whole thing was on the fly. Why a Christmas carol? I don't know... wenceslas... rolls ones a lot... kinda fits. So I have been consumed all day long with the parodic ode to the heroes of Acquisitions Inc. But I've been composing while trying to work my hotel job. And no one will really see this thing but me and my one reader.
And still... somehow in the middle of a particularly trying line, as Iwas trying to work in Jim's favorite attack after the magic missile this instead is what slammed itself front and center of my attention:
my darkmage and your darkmage
sitting by the fire
said my darkmage to your darkmage
gonna set your dwarf on fire
talk about "hey now!" Hey now.
Iko iko I nay
yes. I am strange. And while I am usually tortured by what is stuck in my head, this has me so amused that I have embraced the song and sang it in a perpetual loop. I have almost called the radio station to request Iko Iko just so that I have more of the song stuck with me and can perhaps compose verses for Binwinn and Aeofel. Omin may have to surrender to the evil necromancer... too many epic fails.
I know I'm weird. That is rather the point. I am not the only weird person out there. We'll see what commentors to Wil's blog say when they see it. Yes Itold other people. i told my people who know me by my weirdness and still call me all the same.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Just another day
I have to say that there has been nothing in the last 5 years that has entertained me as much as the last two CDs I bought and the D&D podcasts. Jim Darkmagic forever! or just until the necromancer gets him. Anyway, I really needed to be entertained today. I don't know what the problem is lately. I guess, after years and years of denying how I felt in the well-meaning but misguided attempt to "get on with it" de Nial has finally dried up.
I wrote my blog buddy today and confided the sordidness of it all. It helped to talk later butI still feel this overwhelming sadness from something missing in my life. Doing everything by myself is very brave on the one hand... but if I don't see a movie by myself then I'll never see a movie. And that's just not right. I guess for the last few weeks I have realized that as cool as it is to have my friends back via fb and new friends via twitter that the reality is that it only reinforces the lonliness. I've been thinking that a bigger city would leave me more opportunity to meet and mingle. But really, TC isn't so small that I couldn't meet and mingle and make it meaningful. But the fact of the matter is that I don't have a personality for it. Or maybe it is more that I am truly afraid of making more connections with people who will eventually leave.
It's been a week for chasing myself in circles. I am hoping it has something to do with my personal physiology and nothing at all to do with a deeper fundamental flaw. But... I am about to run out on some free music, a live performance at a newly redone coffee shop... you know the kind of place/event that makes it easy to meet people.
See what I mean?
I wrote my blog buddy today and confided the sordidness of it all. It helped to talk later butI still feel this overwhelming sadness from something missing in my life. Doing everything by myself is very brave on the one hand... but if I don't see a movie by myself then I'll never see a movie. And that's just not right. I guess for the last few weeks I have realized that as cool as it is to have my friends back via fb and new friends via twitter that the reality is that it only reinforces the lonliness. I've been thinking that a bigger city would leave me more opportunity to meet and mingle. But really, TC isn't so small that I couldn't meet and mingle and make it meaningful. But the fact of the matter is that I don't have a personality for it. Or maybe it is more that I am truly afraid of making more connections with people who will eventually leave.
It's been a week for chasing myself in circles. I am hoping it has something to do with my personal physiology and nothing at all to do with a deeper fundamental flaw. But... I am about to run out on some free music, a live performance at a newly redone coffee shop... you know the kind of place/event that makes it easy to meet people.
See what I mean?
Monday, April 13, 2009
May 2 deadline approaches
And the best way to celebrate my one year bloggiversary is with the Wheaton in Detroit. He's the inspiration and the coash and cheerleading team so FtheCupcakes... I'm going to Penguicon.
Pina Colada Free Escape
I guess that would require some explanation. I already have a Tracfone which means that someone who is looking for me, like last time, can't find me through an incompetant phone company employee, like last time. My brother can not say it is an emergency and even the law enforcement friends of his can't trace me with my account holder info because it doesn't exist. And the best part of this plan is that I just got my hands on a new tracfone abandoned at the hotel when we sorted the backlog of lost and found from 2 months ago. So when I make my move all I have to do is put minutes on the new phone number while allowing bro to think the old number still exists. While I have communications taken care of, there is a matter of having readily moveable cash that doesn't require a pirate chest or an armored car. What to do what to do.
The answer came to me as I was standing at the counter cashing last weeks paycheck. A CheckNcash card does not require an account that reports a statement. Nor does it required reporting to Federal authorities as with a bank account under the Patriot Act. There is a limit to how much you can load on a card that seems to indicate that the lawmakers have found a threshold of futility for terrorist funding. I guess no one thinks these cards will be used to transfer funds when they can move only these small amounts. So yea! I can not be traced by my card activity because one has to know I have the card to trace me with it. So step one in my escape plan is to have this card. Mission accomplished. Now all I have to do is keep loading it with amounts of cash. If bro decides on his colossally stupid plan to seize my assets and freedom and I have to disclose my bank statements, they will register pathetically low balances. He knows where I bank because I have found his boot prints outside of the mailbox which he has no business looking in. Oh, he hasn't tampered with anything as far as I can tell. But he certainly knows more than his family ties permit.
Step two is to continue to build my social network. I currently have a bazillion options for safehouses. Regretfeully MQT and Chicago are the most obvious choices so I will not be able to use them as a first resort... pass through yes. 1st resort no.
Step three is to reduce my ballast and find the most secure location to store possessions while obtaining and coordinating the transport.
Step four is a bit fuzzy. I guess one hsould have a job waiting for where ever one lands so one does not have to resort to piracy, sqwatting or homeless shelterness. But I have to be able to go when the moment strikes and that won't really work when an employer likes to have a when can you start date.
Admittedly, it isn't a fully formed plan, more like a rough draft than a hot of the press novel. But it is a start. And since I really want to be untraceable by means bro has at his dsipossal... this is the best one I've got. Of course I would prefer there to be some aliens, the Millenium Falcon or , the absolutely best, Asgaard beaming device. But since the Asgaard are gone... well. Ya know.
The answer came to me as I was standing at the counter cashing last weeks paycheck. A CheckNcash card does not require an account that reports a statement. Nor does it required reporting to Federal authorities as with a bank account under the Patriot Act. There is a limit to how much you can load on a card that seems to indicate that the lawmakers have found a threshold of futility for terrorist funding. I guess no one thinks these cards will be used to transfer funds when they can move only these small amounts. So yea! I can not be traced by my card activity because one has to know I have the card to trace me with it. So step one in my escape plan is to have this card. Mission accomplished. Now all I have to do is keep loading it with amounts of cash. If bro decides on his colossally stupid plan to seize my assets and freedom and I have to disclose my bank statements, they will register pathetically low balances. He knows where I bank because I have found his boot prints outside of the mailbox which he has no business looking in. Oh, he hasn't tampered with anything as far as I can tell. But he certainly knows more than his family ties permit.
Step two is to continue to build my social network. I currently have a bazillion options for safehouses. Regretfeully MQT and Chicago are the most obvious choices so I will not be able to use them as a first resort... pass through yes. 1st resort no.
Step three is to reduce my ballast and find the most secure location to store possessions while obtaining and coordinating the transport.
Step four is a bit fuzzy. I guess one hsould have a job waiting for where ever one lands so one does not have to resort to piracy, sqwatting or homeless shelterness. But I have to be able to go when the moment strikes and that won't really work when an employer likes to have a when can you start date.
Admittedly, it isn't a fully formed plan, more like a rough draft than a hot of the press novel. But it is a start. And since I really want to be untraceable by means bro has at his dsipossal... this is the best one I've got. Of course I would prefer there to be some aliens, the Millenium Falcon or , the absolutely best, Asgaard beaming device. But since the Asgaard are gone... well. Ya know.
Intuitional mathematics
Oxymoronic to be certain and yet, I can not explain several things that have happened today. First, I got up this morning to head to town intending to put step one of my Pina Colada Free Escape into action which meant that I needed to cash a check. So I go to CheckNcash. I didn't pay attention to the check cashing fees when I signed on because I knew that it would always be cheaper than allowing a check to bounce. So I hand the clerk the check, tell her I want to load a debit card with 300.00 and I just stand around waiting for her to verify the check type.
While standing there I thought, "So that means I'll get about 80.00 back." Then I thought "Wait. Do I know that for sure?" So I squinted real good and read the fee chart that was too far away for me to see without glasses which means next trip to the DMV is FUBARed. 5% fee for cashing this kind of check. I struggled to figure this the "easy" way. "5 cents for every dollar. 400.00. So that's 400x.05. So that equals... um... uh... um... frak!"
Yea me that I could figure out 5% of a dollar is 5 cents. But WTF couldn't I figure out 5 times 400? So the clerk comes back, hands me the loaded card and says "that's 79.change back to you." In other words... 80.00. Shocked me to my core that I knew the answer in a split nano second iwthout thinking about it but gave up on the problem when I thought about it. Math Anxiety? I totally believe. But how did I know when I couldn't figure it out?
So the next thing that happens is that I am trying to wade through tons of irrelevent material for an egyptian google search, get pissed and head to the Wheatons blog to take my mind off of my frustrations. It worked. I laughed until I cried and the shop owner asked me what was so funny. I may have made a new convert. So then I start to blog when I notice Space.com posted an article about a long lost twin of ours. I thought wow, they found Nibiru.
But no its called Theia and the source for accurate information turns out to be gravity wells that new probes are going to observe. Cool. Well I click on the multimedia button to see what a lagrangian point is. I've never heard of it. Before the page came up, myself thought to myself... well duh, a gravity well is a place where an object is going to spin perpetually without a large space object in the middle of it. Sure enough the presentation shows 2 stable wells and 3 unstable wells. And that's what the thing was. An object caught in a gravity well will have a halo (eliptical) orbit and it will stay there until something larger and more compelling snatches it.
So now my question is, how is this happening? How can I know a math answer wihtout doing the work? How can I know about a lagrange point if I don't here Geordie or Sam explaining it to Picard or Jack? Let's face it, that's where most of my space info comes from. Or at least this is why I look things up.
And why am I having so much trouble with this Egypt stuff? I don't usually have problems with language. But then... I've never really been so fragmented in my studies.
While standing there I thought, "So that means I'll get about 80.00 back." Then I thought "Wait. Do I know that for sure?" So I squinted real good and read the fee chart that was too far away for me to see without glasses which means next trip to the DMV is FUBARed. 5% fee for cashing this kind of check. I struggled to figure this the "easy" way. "5 cents for every dollar. 400.00. So that's 400x.05. So that equals... um... uh... um... frak!"
Yea me that I could figure out 5% of a dollar is 5 cents. But WTF couldn't I figure out 5 times 400? So the clerk comes back, hands me the loaded card and says "that's 79.change back to you." In other words... 80.00. Shocked me to my core that I knew the answer in a split nano second iwthout thinking about it but gave up on the problem when I thought about it. Math Anxiety? I totally believe. But how did I know when I couldn't figure it out?
So the next thing that happens is that I am trying to wade through tons of irrelevent material for an egyptian google search, get pissed and head to the Wheatons blog to take my mind off of my frustrations. It worked. I laughed until I cried and the shop owner asked me what was so funny. I may have made a new convert. So then I start to blog when I notice Space.com posted an article about a long lost twin of ours. I thought wow, they found Nibiru.
But no its called Theia and the source for accurate information turns out to be gravity wells that new probes are going to observe. Cool. Well I click on the multimedia button to see what a lagrangian point is. I've never heard of it. Before the page came up, myself thought to myself... well duh, a gravity well is a place where an object is going to spin perpetually without a large space object in the middle of it. Sure enough the presentation shows 2 stable wells and 3 unstable wells. And that's what the thing was. An object caught in a gravity well will have a halo (eliptical) orbit and it will stay there until something larger and more compelling snatches it.
So now my question is, how is this happening? How can I know a math answer wihtout doing the work? How can I know about a lagrange point if I don't here Geordie or Sam explaining it to Picard or Jack? Let's face it, that's where most of my space info comes from. Or at least this is why I look things up.
And why am I having so much trouble with this Egypt stuff? I don't usually have problems with language. But then... I've never really been so fragmented in my studies.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Sunday with pizza
Can I be any geekier?
I am sitting on the floor Indian style, eating pizza and Twittering away with all the geek guys who have found me to follow on an Easter Sunday. The only thing missing is my Dr. Pepper because I didn't want to stop at 7-11 this morning.
I am currently contemplating how I can get to Novi for the Penguicon convention May 1&2 because the Wheaton will be there to read/perform, lead a Rock Band gig and present a discussion on self publishing. The cash outlay for that has to be cheaper than the 3000.00 I couldn't raise to see Sting. Yet, as I tweeted: cash+car repairs+sheduling+place to crash on the cheap+non jello legs+ snowballs chance in Hell. Yet, I am doing the math. Most likely inappropriately.
And I couldn't be any more excited to have met a new friend via twitter thru Brent Spiner even though I am certain he doesn't know either of us exist beyond the frequency of our replies to his tweets. This crazy new world is getting to be really cool now.
I am sitting on the floor Indian style, eating pizza and Twittering away with all the geek guys who have found me to follow on an Easter Sunday. The only thing missing is my Dr. Pepper because I didn't want to stop at 7-11 this morning.
I am currently contemplating how I can get to Novi for the Penguicon convention May 1&2 because the Wheaton will be there to read/perform, lead a Rock Band gig and present a discussion on self publishing. The cash outlay for that has to be cheaper than the 3000.00 I couldn't raise to see Sting. Yet, as I tweeted: cash+car repairs+sheduling+place to crash on the cheap+non jello legs+ snowballs chance in Hell. Yet, I am doing the math. Most likely inappropriately.
And I couldn't be any more excited to have met a new friend via twitter thru Brent Spiner even though I am certain he doesn't know either of us exist beyond the frequency of our replies to his tweets. This crazy new world is getting to be really cool now.
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