Please forgive me as I just don't have much time to write.
I found a bike left by the former tenant. Calling him reveals I can have it, so I'm biking everywhere.
It's murder on my legs and my thighs have bruised from using it so often already, but it gets me from Point A to Point B very fast, even if Point B is a number of miles away.
I broke my face on a bookshelf. I have this gross bleeding crater that runs up into the very corner of my eye. I'll get some pictures of the resulting scar in a few weeks. Right now it keeps oozing and gluing my eyelids together. Naturally, it's not nice to look at and I'm feeling pretty ugly.
Talked to my friend's mother. I hope to convince them both to get on the wagon together for the sake of their relationship and so they'll support each-other when they think about jumping off. I've yet to do that, but I have to do it in about thirty minutes. I'm a little worried because although we spoke yesterday, she was pretty intoxicated and I'm worried I'm going to get a faceful of hung-over rage.
Got invited to play GetAmped 2 with Liam and his half-squeeze. It's a game I used to be really good at because I sort of cheated by having a counter-centric class paired with a counter-centric accessory, paired with ranged weaponry, paired with using the game's Auto-Guard which simplifies my ability to counter. I can't, however, play as it's simply been too long and I believe they've seized my account or something on grounds of Inactivity. Admittedly, though, it's not like I don't have better things to be doing, and a shortage of time on my hands. I feel a lot like Lone Survivor's "You", spending my last battery on a game of Soul Brother.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Kryskowski, the Writer, and Oscar Pistorius.
I had one of the oddest dreams I've had in a long time. It took place as three possibly unrelated vignettes.
An old instructor of mine was teaching an unruly class. Apparently, we were going to be dissecting things in a rather impossible manner, splitting them up into perfect metric cubes - practically dicing them mathematically.
I joked with her about my familiarity with the funding of the U.S. Public School System. That we'd never be able to dice things so perfectly because the scalpels would be so dull we'd have to saw. I remember students kept taking my seat. And eventually she scolded them. And then scolded me for browsing artwork she'd done using a remote. She joked that women always have control of the remote and that it was a breach in etiquette. I apologized. This vignette concluded with me holding my shirt and shoes and walking in the summer sun. I passed her house, which was large and had a plank sign in the front advertising her artwork which was apparently being bound into a story or comic soon.
Meanwhile, a man was sitting at a desk. He was writing, and apparently, he had details vital to affecting the outcome of a war. Many soldiers had gathered around him while he wrote, not looking up from his desk, until they practically filled the massive room he was in that only contained his desk and chair. They all drew firearms in synchronicity, and he looked up. He began to whirl through the lines of soldiers - nobody fired because they were afraid of killing each-other if they missed. One soldier came after him with a bat, at which point the writer turned, exasperated, and screamed "Sincerely? This is how we're going to do this? I've got enough on my plate!"
He explained that he'd been struggling with a dark pact made with some sort of genie or witch-like being. No sooner had he explained did the woman come out from a door. Her hair was so long and curly that it barely fit through the door-frame, and she walked a small dog. She quickly did away with the soldiers, taunting and domineering one that writhed on the floor.
Meanwhile, Oscar Pistorius was running through a Disney-Pixar attraction called Pic-torius, which was something of a McDonald's Play-Pen full of merchandise from successful Pixar films. He turned and began breaking into a full sprint in the direction he came, but the attraction rotated beneath him, making him stationary. He challenged it, running faster until I awoke.
An old instructor of mine was teaching an unruly class. Apparently, we were going to be dissecting things in a rather impossible manner, splitting them up into perfect metric cubes - practically dicing them mathematically.
I joked with her about my familiarity with the funding of the U.S. Public School System. That we'd never be able to dice things so perfectly because the scalpels would be so dull we'd have to saw. I remember students kept taking my seat. And eventually she scolded them. And then scolded me for browsing artwork she'd done using a remote. She joked that women always have control of the remote and that it was a breach in etiquette. I apologized. This vignette concluded with me holding my shirt and shoes and walking in the summer sun. I passed her house, which was large and had a plank sign in the front advertising her artwork which was apparently being bound into a story or comic soon.
Meanwhile, a man was sitting at a desk. He was writing, and apparently, he had details vital to affecting the outcome of a war. Many soldiers had gathered around him while he wrote, not looking up from his desk, until they practically filled the massive room he was in that only contained his desk and chair. They all drew firearms in synchronicity, and he looked up. He began to whirl through the lines of soldiers - nobody fired because they were afraid of killing each-other if they missed. One soldier came after him with a bat, at which point the writer turned, exasperated, and screamed "Sincerely? This is how we're going to do this? I've got enough on my plate!"
He explained that he'd been struggling with a dark pact made with some sort of genie or witch-like being. No sooner had he explained did the woman come out from a door. Her hair was so long and curly that it barely fit through the door-frame, and she walked a small dog. She quickly did away with the soldiers, taunting and domineering one that writhed on the floor.
Meanwhile, Oscar Pistorius was running through a Disney-Pixar attraction called Pic-torius, which was something of a McDonald's Play-Pen full of merchandise from successful Pixar films. He turned and began breaking into a full sprint in the direction he came, but the attraction rotated beneath him, making him stationary. He challenged it, running faster until I awoke.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Ce n'est pas une Mise a Jour.
(et bon anniversaire, Sabina!)
It's a sad fact that I hardly remember a thing from my French courses. Most of the French I wind up using casually nowadays are either cooking techniques (a la "Chiffonade") or the phrase "Tres interessante!" which I've picked back up after a hell of a hiatus for reasons not quite known to me. I think it started back up after my stay in New York City. "Plat du Jour" got some use, but it's been a long time.
Plat du Jour. Gosh, it's been awhile, but I was considering - if I can find my serving dish - trying to turn left-overs into a fairly presentable dish. I've some chilled chicken, potatoes, and a respectable honey-garlic sauce. I was thinking I'd spoon and smear the sauce with a wooden spoon, then kind of fan cuts of leftover chicken over it with the potatoes on the side kind of domino'd like a stack of spilled quarters. It would be the prettiest mess of cold food ever.
I've actually just come into a very good recipe for Macarons, which have experienced a sort of flare in popularity after the success and popularity of Ib (whose translated edition I will continue to host for your enjoyment Here alongside the notoriously frustrating to install .flow) and ideally I would make those, but I lack a frosting pipette. Admittedly, I can't imagine them shipping well to anyone, either. Too many folded egg-whites. I thought maybe I could send them unassembled like little pink Nilla Wafers that people could glue together with various jams and creams, just that just doesn't sound as pleasant.
Yesterday was kind of crummy. I spent most of my day lifting a four-hundred pound Pepsi-Cola Machine before unloading my sister's clothing while my family went out to eat. I pick the absolute worst times to fast.
Now that I'm done, though, I'm going to treat myself to an eggplant, and a cup of espresso. I've had the most bizarre craving for eggplant as of late, and it's been very persistant.
Also, yes, it's Sabina's birthday!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SABINA!
We spent the morning-evening (Ohoho, Timezones, you wily cards, you!) discussing Bionicle, romance, baby-pictures, and telling inappropriate jokes about people who fart on subway cars. It was pretty wonderful, though it sounds significantly less-so typed out. You simply had to be there, I suppose.
I'll write more later, but the cafes are just opening, and I want coffee. Expect more-frequent correspondence for the timebeing, as I've finished my oddjobbing, and am nearly finished helping my family move. Thanks for reading and take care.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Update.
I hope this to be a full-blown update. Actually, no, I'm starting to feel a little mentally pent. We'll make this one an UNINTERRUPTED, and I'll go clear my head over some meditation afterwords. You'll know why once I start talking about my slight melt-down. It was a really stupid melt-down, but I've been having some abrasion with people I hold dear, and it's starting to be a bit of a problem.
Right, where to start, where to start. We should probably start with my new home situation. It won't last particularly long, because the paperwork for my Naval Enlistment has all been submitted and the Intel Sector is actually just conducting my background check at the moment to make sure I'm not a COLOMBIAN DRUG SMUGGLER. I have just moved my family into a new house next to Gentry - that seldom-mentioned guy I'd worked for a few times. Nothing else is really here. The furniture's here, but toiletries, clothes, blankets, and the like are just non-existent.
Worse still, I've got to change banks. This isn't particularly bad because HSBC went the way of the Dodo here. They've begun selling their New York branches to First Niagara. Which kind of sucks, because HSBC has been, quite frankly, the best banking service I've ever used. Before they swapped to being a First Niagara, I sauntered in and since nobody else was there but the clerks and I, I kind of ringmaster'd it and just told them that they're the best and I resent that the most qualified group for the job is leaving.
But the point is, they have left, so there's not much of a change now. I'm got my paperwork submitted to be a new member of Key Bank, which feels like it has all sorts of good, A.B.A.'y undertones. Para-bank. Hah.
The biggest concern is, I'm no longer in the vicinity of the Gym or Post Office. This means not only is there a chance my physical fitness will be slightly off-kilter before I enlist, which I won't stand for, but that mailing parcels just got a whole lot harder. I still haven't mailed Sabina's package out and it's three days away. My package is going to be a bit belated, but I simply don't have markers or tape or even paper here yet.
Such is life in a new house.
I've been working freight, though. For outrageous hours. And I'm told I'll be payed quite handsomely to compensate that. It's begun to take a bit of a toll on my body. I sleep like a brick and make noises like "Uoooohhh--...gh" when I lay down. My forearms are pretty cut-up from wooden boxes. My legs are shot from lifting things I cannot lift with my arms with them. All in all, I just feel like a pound of chewed bubblegum. Supposedly, on Sunday, the oddjob'll be over and I can unwind a bit and de-sore.
I particularly miss talking to Emily. Lately, all I've had the opportunity to do is leave long and rambling text-messages and occasionally call.
I've also begun singing lullabies to people on occasion. Having a friend in the ABDL community is a little weird sometimes, but it's just unlike a lot of other things you'll encounter. If you ever have a chance to meet someone like that, don't instantly turn them away because of what you've heard on Doctor Phil or something. Not all of them quit their jobs. Not all of them spend outrageous sums of custom furniture. A lot of them are ordinary people who simply enjoy the comfort and care that comes with infancy, and they lead quite normal lives. In fact, mine is an aspiring pilot. Tres interessant.
Shit, that reminds me,
Gotta make sure I don't stand him up. That would be a dick move on my part. Speaking of dick moves on my part, there's one coming up.
I exploded on a few people last night. Not even in a good way. In a resentful, hoity-toity, victimized, stupid way. My grandmother - the cool, spiritualist one whose senility versus enlightenment I cannot discern - has recently taken a turn for the worse. Her blood-pressure spiked really high and she entered tachycardia. This is kind of an ordinary panic for someone like her, so it seemed like it was going to be okay. They gave her a few anticoagulants to no avail. The medications left her mildly amnesiac. They performed surgery after a defib failed to fix her, and post-surgery she was doing really awful. Then she started getting better in physical therapy and over a meal.
Last night, she explained that she was not from Earth, and gave us a planetary coordinate before peeing herself and promptly passing-out. They're talking about putting her in a Nursing Home. My grandfather and my mother said they're "Waiting for her to just get pissed-off. To get her fight back and tell them all what-for," but she's not doing it, and I don't know what to do other than feel assured in the fact that she and I had a pretty good relationship.
After picking up my little sister from the airport and telling her all the wonderful news, she cried. It got to me. I started to piece together this notion that I was sore, underpaid, lonely, and in grieving throes. This was irked the moment I greeted a few friends, only to hear their problems.
After listening to how someone lost their computer and is too afraid to call his brother in to the police as a red flag for domestic violence, how another is hopelessly envious of me for being busy all the time and visiting people, and getting belligerent with someone who I'd anticipated was going to tell me what I'm already quite aware of - that I'm not around enough - I'd kind of exploded.
In a really dumb sort of way. I apologized quickly and pulled my head out of my ass.
If death, work, and loneliness are the biggest concerns of my life, I've got a pretty sweet gig set up.
I talked to Emily for what feels like the first time this week, and then I promptly cleared my head before sleeping.
Now I'm here, typing this.
In a side-note, I've had this growing pile of artwork from a few of my friends. Namely Pyon (The cool guy in the hospital - you know the one.) and Imouto (a weeafriend of mine who used to work out with me.)
I just thought I'd share some of their work. Imouto's been working very hard to learn to draw Annie-May style characters, and Pyon's been engaged in a summer-long project to draw the cast of Tribes: Ascend as lolis. That said, behold their work and/or progress:
Right, where to start, where to start. We should probably start with my new home situation. It won't last particularly long, because the paperwork for my Naval Enlistment has all been submitted and the Intel Sector is actually just conducting my background check at the moment to make sure I'm not a COLOMBIAN DRUG SMUGGLER. I have just moved my family into a new house next to Gentry - that seldom-mentioned guy I'd worked for a few times. Nothing else is really here. The furniture's here, but toiletries, clothes, blankets, and the like are just non-existent.
Worse still, I've got to change banks. This isn't particularly bad because HSBC went the way of the Dodo here. They've begun selling their New York branches to First Niagara. Which kind of sucks, because HSBC has been, quite frankly, the best banking service I've ever used. Before they swapped to being a First Niagara, I sauntered in and since nobody else was there but the clerks and I, I kind of ringmaster'd it and just told them that they're the best and I resent that the most qualified group for the job is leaving.
But the point is, they have left, so there's not much of a change now. I'm got my paperwork submitted to be a new member of Key Bank, which feels like it has all sorts of good, A.B.A.'y undertones. Para-bank. Hah.
The biggest concern is, I'm no longer in the vicinity of the Gym or Post Office. This means not only is there a chance my physical fitness will be slightly off-kilter before I enlist, which I won't stand for, but that mailing parcels just got a whole lot harder. I still haven't mailed Sabina's package out and it's three days away. My package is going to be a bit belated, but I simply don't have markers or tape or even paper here yet.
Such is life in a new house.
I've been working freight, though. For outrageous hours. And I'm told I'll be payed quite handsomely to compensate that. It's begun to take a bit of a toll on my body. I sleep like a brick and make noises like "Uoooohhh--...gh" when I lay down. My forearms are pretty cut-up from wooden boxes. My legs are shot from lifting things I cannot lift with my arms with them. All in all, I just feel like a pound of chewed bubblegum. Supposedly, on Sunday, the oddjob'll be over and I can unwind a bit and de-sore.
I particularly miss talking to Emily. Lately, all I've had the opportunity to do is leave long and rambling text-messages and occasionally call.
I've also begun singing lullabies to people on occasion. Having a friend in the ABDL community is a little weird sometimes, but it's just unlike a lot of other things you'll encounter. If you ever have a chance to meet someone like that, don't instantly turn them away because of what you've heard on Doctor Phil or something. Not all of them quit their jobs. Not all of them spend outrageous sums of custom furniture. A lot of them are ordinary people who simply enjoy the comfort and care that comes with infancy, and they lead quite normal lives. In fact, mine is an aspiring pilot. Tres interessant.
Shit, that reminds me,
I HAVE TO SING SOMEONE ELSE A LULLABY ON SUNDAY.
(Remember this, Zack. You forgetful, no post-it having motherfucker.)
Gotta make sure I don't stand him up. That would be a dick move on my part. Speaking of dick moves on my part, there's one coming up.
I exploded on a few people last night. Not even in a good way. In a resentful, hoity-toity, victimized, stupid way. My grandmother - the cool, spiritualist one whose senility versus enlightenment I cannot discern - has recently taken a turn for the worse. Her blood-pressure spiked really high and she entered tachycardia. This is kind of an ordinary panic for someone like her, so it seemed like it was going to be okay. They gave her a few anticoagulants to no avail. The medications left her mildly amnesiac. They performed surgery after a defib failed to fix her, and post-surgery she was doing really awful. Then she started getting better in physical therapy and over a meal.
Last night, she explained that she was not from Earth, and gave us a planetary coordinate before peeing herself and promptly passing-out. They're talking about putting her in a Nursing Home. My grandfather and my mother said they're "Waiting for her to just get pissed-off. To get her fight back and tell them all what-for," but she's not doing it, and I don't know what to do other than feel assured in the fact that she and I had a pretty good relationship.
After picking up my little sister from the airport and telling her all the wonderful news, she cried. It got to me. I started to piece together this notion that I was sore, underpaid, lonely, and in grieving throes. This was irked the moment I greeted a few friends, only to hear their problems.
PSEUDO-RANDIAN MONSTER, REAR YOUR UGLY HEAD.
(And tell everyone how you are entitled to your work, how you can do anything so long as you're willing to suffer for it, and how no one but those hand-picked by you have a mortgage on your time.)
After listening to how someone lost their computer and is too afraid to call his brother in to the police as a red flag for domestic violence, how another is hopelessly envious of me for being busy all the time and visiting people, and getting belligerent with someone who I'd anticipated was going to tell me what I'm already quite aware of - that I'm not around enough - I'd kind of exploded.
In a really dumb sort of way. I apologized quickly and pulled my head out of my ass.
If death, work, and loneliness are the biggest concerns of my life, I've got a pretty sweet gig set up.
I talked to Emily for what feels like the first time this week, and then I promptly cleared my head before sleeping.
Now I'm here, typing this.
In a side-note, I've had this growing pile of artwork from a few of my friends. Namely Pyon (The cool guy in the hospital - you know the one.) and Imouto (a weeafriend of mine who used to work out with me.)
I just thought I'd share some of their work. Imouto's been working very hard to learn to draw Annie-May style characters, and Pyon's been engaged in a summer-long project to draw the cast of Tribes: Ascend as lolis. That said, behold their work and/or progress:
And why not? If I've not showed-off Sabina's work, or you haven't scoped-out Her Blog yet, here's a taste of what's to come:
And you know what? Ana is pretty awesome too. I'd show off her work, but it needs alignment-correction in Photoshop and I've got about fourteen minutes to eat, and go to work. Anticipate that at a later date.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Synopsis.
This isn't really an update. I don't have time for an update. It's more of a synopsis.
I've been in New York City visiting two friends in preparation for leaving New York for my naval career. Which might be just a bit premature, but who cares. I feel like I successfully told both of them that someone gives a damn about them, and gave one a push towards a career.
Supposedly, today at Noon I'm finally getting conscripted, which is nice.
Now that I'm home, I'm working exceptionally long hours moving furniture, boxes, and doing odd-job tasks like varnishing floorboards, painting walls, and other nonsense.
It's quite taxing - my legs are sore, my hands are blistered, my shoulders ache, and I've covered my MP3 player and work-out clothes in all sorts of paints and sealants, which I also spent a good hour scrubbing off floors later with Mineral Spirits.
I want to tell you about a really ingenious character I'd read about.
I want to try and draw Birdgette Plaird, and Atual Luxiavi.
I want to complain about having accidentally thrown away the entirety of D.B. Krmmstopp's Universal Almanac while cleaning my computer.
There's a lot I want to do, but I just don't have the time right now.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Shit, and the Chronicles of Liam.
Let's kick this off early so that we can get the latter half of the title out of the way with a quickness. It's a happier occasion anyways:
LIAM'S BIRTHDAY IS TODAY.
(Give him gifts of myrrh, in-game currencies, and nudes.)
Liam, if you didn't know, is a good friend of mine with whom I share a really bizarre history. You probably know a lot about it, because it was a huge learning experience for the both of us. All the same, Today's a day to admire how far he's come over the years, laugh about stupid-ass guild shenanigans in VidyaRO, Maid-Salute, and generally appreciate our resident Dark Reign pro, Maid Overlord, and Maker of "Mmph"s. If you've not already, hit 'em up Right Here and throw some confetti for him.
Skirting right on down the line and knocking the next happy occasion off the list, I'm going to talk about pornography. About two years ago, I was experimenting with my ability to draw - I'd seen a lot of occasions where people were drawing with pencils or tablets, and then coloring-in the subsequent line art. I'd become acquainted with Swedish pornographic artist, RockCandy through his Yume Nikki flashes, as I was very much a fan at the time and hadn't soiled-up my love for it with my love for .flow.
Paging through his material, I grew really fond of his sole male character, Sixten Tubén, and left a message on his Guestbook stating that I'd draw Sixten, because he seemed really under-appreciated when put next to the female cast. Dicking around in Photoshop a bit, I realized that there was absolutely no way I was going to color-in a lineart of Sixten piloting a FlatSpace space-taxi. I just didn't have the know-how.
I always felt sort of guilty about that, and yesterday morning while reminiscing about that old game Dark Cloud, I suddenly remembered RockCandy and the artwork I'd said I'd do for him. Only this time, I owned up on it. I was elated when he hosted the piece on his page, but embarrassed to find he'd listed the artist as "A guy named Hank".
My Yahoo Mail name is "Hank Rearden," a character from Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. All things considered, though, I know I'm the artist and, well, I don't really have a name I use when doodling!
I think it's because I just doodle. I don't really consider myself much an artist.
And now we land on the other half of the title - Shit.
I'm wrecked. I just trekked twelve miles on foot for thirty bucks. I hope it gets me where I need to go, but that's nowhere until I get it deposited and order my train tickets.
I wasn't aware that they charge such an outrageous rate because "Two-Way Ticket" is actually conductor lingo, and means "Buy two separate tickets."
In my spare time, I've been sorting out the tumultuous relationship between two of my friends - one's young and really undefined, that is, he doesn't know what he wants, where he wants to be, and who he wants to be there with. The other person in the equation is level-headed, persistent, and already on really stable ground. They're really juxtaposed - even age-wise - and it leaves them communicating very poorly and at a sort of conflict of interest as of late. I don't really know what to do, so I've just been coaching them on each-other a bit, trying to get them to convey themselves, and praying that it all works out somehow.
In addition to all of this crap, I'm in the middle of moving, sort of.
I'm not really moving. My parents are moving, but they've recruited me to help and it's just a fuckin' mess.
It doesn't pay either.
But anyways, that's the gist of things.
I've got to go call someone to make sure driving lessons for someone important are all lined-up.
I should get a shower, too. Those twelve miles have left me feeling sort of, y'know. Greasy.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
HEY, SATHYRE.
WHERE DO BABIES COME FROM?
Sabina's birthday's rapidly approaching on July 25th, and I was requested to draw a pixel-y doodle wherein Sathyre Merekki explains where babies come from. She's also getting rainbow-themed clothing. There was much rejoicing.
Happy Early Birthday, Sabina. You're the crudest, most bad-ass girl I know.
And your accent is BITCHIN'.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
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