Neither Fish Nor Fowl

GOD EATERS HARDCOPY!!!!

2006-08-30T20:18:43Z

Ooooh I'm so excited! *dances around* Bear with me if I'm a little disorganized, I'm just too hyped to make sense!

'The God Eaters' is now available in print!

I know it took forever and ever, there were a zillion confusions and delays, but it's finally ready! It's listed in 'Books in Print' and can be ordered by any bookstore!

Here's the Lulu link. It's cheapest there, but because I marked the content as 'mature', you have to be logged in and set your 'preferred content access level' to 'mature' before you can see it. This is a pain, but if you want the best price, go ahead and set up an account. They don't spam.

Here are some other links where you can find it:

Powell's Books (I love these guys.)
Barnes & Noble
Amazon

Or, of course, you could ask your local bookstore to order it for you. ^_^

I'm sorry it's so expensive; Lulu's base price is over $13 a copy. The trade paperback is good quality, though. It's a hefty brick, too; you could beat somebody up with it. :D

Thanks so much for being so patient, everyone, and I hope you enjoy having GE on paper!

gomichan @ 2006-08-13T11:00:00

2006-08-13T16:44:55Z

This had me laughing out loud. And if you haven't heard of this guy already (I'm aware I'm late on the bandwagon) check him out. He's hilarious, and occasionally really profound. I seem to recall that Real Live Preacher, my favorite blogger in the universe, has linked to him at least once. If you've ever worked in the food industry, Waiter Rant is a must-read.

I've done my time in the food industry. Lemme see...

Age 16: McDonalds. My very first job. I was so very earnest. I tried so hard. I actually burst into tears the first time a customer yelled at me; you cannot imagine how I loathed myself for being a pussy little weener when that happened. I was horribly allergic to something in either my uniform or the establishment -- I burst out in a rash my second day, and it got worse every day thereafter, until I looked and felt like I had chicken pox. I lasted two weeks. My dad was so disappointed. He thought I should've stuck it out. But he was having a bad year and there was no pleasing him, so I didn't argue, I just quit. Went and got a job heaving couches around for Pier 1 at a dollar more an hour and we were both happy.

Age 18: Dishwasher in the college cafeteria. LOVED IT. Of course I was ass-deep in gross discarded food my whole shift. Of course I was soaked from head to toe within ten minutes of arriving. Of course it was hard, hot, noisy work. But the sprayer, man! That sprayer could carve my name in the friggin wall if I turned it up high. It was a machine gun firehose mass accelerator of boiling hot soapy doom! And the giant dishwasher with the conveyor belt! I loved that job!

Age 19: Waited tables in a Chinese restaurant. Knew from the start I was in trouble. Only anglo in the place. Only one who didn't speak Cantonese. Scary shrill stereotype owner-lady gave the the stink-eye from day one. Kitchen staff deliberately buggered up my orders, 'explaining' in rapid-fire Chinese and then laughing. As if I can't tell Kung Pao from Moo Shu by freaking looking at it, you pricks. Lasted maybe a month? Called in an hour late one day because a power outage knocked out my alarm clock; got fired over the phone. Would've said good riddance except for the part where I ended up homeless. Oh, and the clientele was all students; if I got any tips at all it was a good day.

Age 19, some dumpster-diving months later: Sandwich line at Davanni's. Now that job, I liked. Started out in Minnetonka; intimidated at first by all the grumpy pregnant women. Every single employee of rank, shift managers on up, was at least seven months pregnant. When there's one lady whose back is killing her and who has to go to the bathroom every three seconds, you cut her slack. But when every one of the people you could go to for resolving a question or problem is in likewise state, how do you get anything done? A wise coworker told me: "Wait it out. They all drop litters at once, next thing you know they're all glowing with motherhood and throwing raises around." Well, I didn't get a raise, but I did find them very sweet and pleasant people once that weight was off their bladders.

I liked being a sandwich cook. The pizza line was a fussy place to be, and whenever I worked there I was tense and I screwed up a lot. But sandwiches was a mellow country. Sandwich line also did prep. Boy did I love prep. They kept giving me the lecture about the slicer because I looked too happy, they thought I didn't take it seriously. "I have a bandsaw, a drill press, a table saw, and a lathe in my basement," I told one anxious trainer. "Look, ten fingers!" The other cooks started foisting their prep work off on me, since I liked it so much. I didn't mind. Nothing happier than Jesse on the slicer. Zzt! Zzt!

And they let me wash dishes too. You heard me right. I say let. They allowed. They granted me the honor of washing dishes. Why was this an honor? BOILING WATER GUN!!! DISHWASHER WITH CONVEYOR BELT!!!! CLANG! CLANG! WHOOSH!!

The pay was nothing to sing about. The hours were ass. But the only time I ever had to look at a customer's face was when I bussed tables or subbed for a cashier, and that was temporary, so it was okay. I didn't meet many jerks anyway. This is Minnesota. Land of chilly passive-aggressive Scandinavians. I LIKE chilly Scandinavians. They don't yell or throw stuff or try to con you. Worst I got at the register were ditherers, and they were always magnificently apologetic.

I worked at a few other locations. Uptown Minneapolis was the best for a long time. I shared sandwich line with a cross-dressing flamer of epic fabulousness. He and I had a riot throwing pickles at the ceiling when it was slow. You throw it right, it sticks there for three, four hours, then suddenly comes down *plop* when you've forgotten all about it. I promise we cleaned it all up as soon as they fell. Reals.

Unfortunately, after I'd been there long enough to start seeing the other workers as real friends and the restaurant as a second home, I got a Bad Manager. This woman was determined to squeeze some PRODUCTIVITY out of the staff. Never mind that the store was raking in money already. Never mind that we had like no complaints ever, never mind that we all knew the product like the insides of our eyelids and could put out an order in the absolute minimum time, no delays, no errors, nearly 100% of the time. No, she wanted us to LOOK BUSY. You got that right. This woman, I dunno where they dug her up from, but she was obviously tense and insecure and had never really worked the business. I think they got her out of some management-school crackerjack box.

See, here's the thing. You work a kitchen, you need to pace yourself. You're on your feet 8 hours if you're lucky. 12 or 16 if someone called in or they scheduled a double. You've got a hot oven blasting in your face, your hands are scoured raw from being washed 50 times a day (you think I'm exaggerating that number? I assure you, my dears, I am not!), by the end of the first hour there's garlic butter behind your ears. In order to make the food your priority, everything else has to back off a little. When you get a lull, you take a breather. Sit down on the crate in the corner and massage your calves for a minute. Chat with your neighbor while you take your time wiping down your space. Stroll to the cooler and fill up your little ingredient bins while asking the pizza guys next to the cooler how their day's been. Bus a couple tables and chat with the regulars. Then when the next burst of busy comes on, you're ready to give it your all.

This fool of a manager actually had the cojones to tell us to stop "socializing" on our line. She felt that conversing while we made sandwiches was slowing us down. She told us this from the other room. She never actually watched us work while we talked. Our mouths were going a mile a minute, sure, but our hands were like lightning. She didn't care. What she was actually saying was, "Nobody respects me, nobody pays attention to me, why isn't anyone listening to me? NOTICE ME!" You know that doesn't work. We mocked her. We fell into a deathly silence whenever she came by. The sandwich line slowed to a crawl. Everything did, really.

Then I had the audacity to catch bronchitis. I had no insurance; I told myself it was a cold and kept pushing myself until I ended up bedridden. She let me have ONE sick day. The next day, she told me if I didn't come in I didn't have a job. I walked to work in a Minnesota January, hacking up acrid yellow loogies on the sidewalk the whole way. I worked about an hour and a half, and she sent me home. Back through the arid lung-cracking cold. This scenario repeated until I finally croaked at her, "[manager] honey, I can't get out of bed to go to the bathroom. I need help to piss. You want me at work, come pick me up." She told me there was no need to be unprofessional about it, and to take as long as I needed. I could hear that warning tone in her voice that made it clear 'as long as you need' actually meant 'two days, and I want a note from your mommy and the Pope to prove you're not faking.' I got antibiotics from the free clinic and dragged my ass in before I was quite ready, but at least my cough was dry and I wasn't contagious.

I found she'd cut me to ten hours a week.

"I can't schedule you if you're not reliable," she told me with a light of triumph in her eyes.

Eventually, Seebs got me a job as junior programmer where he was senior programmer; I got paid two bucks an hour more than Davanni's paid me, my hours were beautifully predictable, and all I had to do was sit in a nice warm office and double check his code and write up bug reports. I gave Miss Business School negative 15 minutes notice. That is to say, I showed up 15 minutes after my shift was supposed to start and told her, "Good luck finding a sub, honey; I got a nine to five."

"You're not working your shift today?" she said hollowly, a stunned look passing over her that made me almost feel sorry for her. The ship was sinking under her and she knew it. But hell, she probably shouldn't have been drilling holes in the hull, huh? "You couldn't give us a decent amount of notice?"

"You couldn't give me a decent amount of hours," I shrugged. "Make the sandwiches yourself. Remember not to socialize on the line." And I walked out grinning like the fucking Grinch.

When I went in there for lunch a couple months later, they had a new manager. I talked with my buddy, asking him if his friend ever came through with those Chanel dresses. She did, they look fabulous on him, and I should've stuck it out; the new manager's a dream. Plays to people's strengths, knows where to step in and where to stay out, has the whole place running smooth like butter. I was glad to hear it, I told him, but my new gig's better.

"They pay more," he said doubtfully.

"Plus, you know. Junior programmer."

"Does sound good."

"Also sex in the freight elevator."

"WHAAAT?"

But that's another story.

Notice:

2006-05-29T20:25:50Z

Anyone who's been following 'Summerlands': I'm posting it in riverside_hq from now on.

Index post: http://gomichan.livejournal.com/185409.html

Latest post: http://community.livejournal.com/riverside_hq/132774.html

Thanks for reading. ^_^

Oi! You!

2006-05-17T07:17:00Z

Whoever logged onto my server as 'Milolovesya' in order to send me cryptic tells: it was sorta cute until you logged out without identifying yourself. I was willing to play along for a few minutes, but I don't appreciate having days to ponder the question of whether this is someone I know being funny, or some creepy stalker kook who's going to hound me and my guildies until we have to bring in a GM, or something in between -- say, someone who thinks I'm there to pay attention to them, rather than play the game.

I don't like surprises.

So, long story short, identify yourself and talk like a real person or I'll put you on ignore. Thank you, drive through.

Pointless as a round thing

2006-05-09T00:04:20Z

WoW icon geekery and tempura yams temporarily suffice to distract me from the slow, gentle disintegration of my mind. Itadakimasu!

No warlock with a good wand needs to be justified.

2006-05-08T19:18:42Z

I am a fearless bandit hunter. I fearlessly hunt bandits. I kill them and take their cheese.

Stop laughing.

gomichan @ 2006-05-01T06:32:00

2006-05-01T11:42:59Z

AND WE ARE NOT ALL VIOLENT ALCOHOLICS.
IT'S JUST ME.
I SWEAR.

Allcu for the win.

Oh, and the post he was responding to the posting of (/grammarsoup):

Only Chinese Canadians are allowed to dress up like ninjas! Cultural exchange is bad, yo. Because some people don't fully understand the cultures they enjoy. Liking sushi without taking a degree in Asian Studies (Asian, not Japanese, because certain Chinese Canadians want to be included) is a form of racism.

Uh-huh. All the obvious things about leprechauns and Nanjing have already been said, so I'll just leave it at that.

You know, once upon a time, some friends and I had a thing called the Mutt Club. We met weekly at the New Horizons restaurant in Minneapolis, which was ostensibly Chinese but had things on the menu like hash browns and, I seem to recall, tacos, which made it the perfect venue. The original point of the Mutt Club was to form a group that could oppose racism without perpetrating it. We had observed that the only approaches we'd ever seen were, on one hand, the "My group is oppressed because white people are evil oppressors! Down with Whitey!" and, on the other, "I'm a proud member of the White Race, you mudbloods! Pheer my confederate flag!" (I am, of course, exaggerating for effect.)

We were probably drunk when we came to the realization that there is no such thing as a 'white race', nor, for the most part, any 'racially pure' individuals at all. Race is a continuum, not a binary. And that this meant we should get together at New Ho and eat eggs and shoot the shit until they kicked us out. I can say with certainty that I wasn't stoned, because I'm allergic; I can't speak for anyone else.

Anyway, we never really achieved anything but talk, and most of that was off topic. We engaged in no activism whatsoever. We weren't activist types. It seems to me that those who really excel at activism prefer to see things in terms of Good vs. Evil, Us vs. Them, which polarization was precisely the opposite of what we meant to demonstrate. But I still kinda wish we'd staged a march or something. We could've marched down Lake, holding steaming mugs of coffee and nonsensical signs, chattering merrily. Just to Lyndale and back. They'd have held our tab open that long.

gomichan @ 2006-05-01T00:34:00

2006-05-01T05:33:09Z

Twas recently pointed out to me that HSFC (Have Some Fucking Class) is quite a handy potential internet acronym. I can think of a number of places where it would be even more expressive than STFU. Or, naturally, the heinous TL;DR, which says more about the commenter than the post.

I went out with Spider. I am full of sushi. I wanted to be asleep hours ago, but I made myself stay up to take my meds at what I want to be my regular meds-taking hour. Now I zonk.

gomichan @ 2006-04-29T12:24:00

2006-04-29T17:22:27Z

Seebs got me Corel Painter 9!

Digital watercolor, yo.

I am in love with my tablet again. Thus the not answering people. Will get to that, really.

gomichan @ 2006-04-25T22:21:00

2006-04-26T03:33:55Z

Here's the skinny on that 'email tax' panic that's been floating around. Clue courtesy of seebs.

Misinformation memes do us all a disservice by wasting our time and attention, sapping our emotional energy, and ultimately training us to be apathetic. If you ever feel a cause is important enough to spread the word about, be sure to include links to reputable, informed sources so people can check out the background on it themselves. And if you're going to be calling for some action, such as petitions, be sure that action is correctly targeted and effective. For instance, I've seen people urging their friends to petition AOL; AOL is a for-profit corporation, folks. Those don't respond to petitions. There is absolutely no point in petitioning them. Use some common sense.

TMI

2006-04-25T06:39:56Z

Seebs: You made the bed all gooey.
Me: Oh yeah, all by myself.
Seebs: You know how it is: your child got arrested, my child made the honor roll.

Financial perspective

2006-04-25T02:22:24Z

An awesome meme by ravenblack:

If you were intending to buy a Red Wing engineer boots for US$110.00, you could instead buy:

two hundred and ninety-four cigarettes
one fortieth of a real human skeleton
twenty-eight hand buzzers
two hundred and ninety-seven litres of unleaded gasoline (in America)
one hundred and forty-six packets of itching powder
two cast-iron woks
seven kung-fu lessons
thirteen litres of Red Bull energy drink
fifty-one cups of coffee from a café
one third of an entry-level desktop computer

What are you thinking of buying?

Thanks to the perspective provided by this delightful generator, I've decided to go with the boots. As soon as Seebs gets paid. I really hope my shoes hold together until then. The right sole is cracked right across.

... What's that? Buy the boots with my OWN money? Hahahahahahaha! What money? *sigh*

gomichan @ 2006-04-24T09:57:00

2006-04-24T15:04:59Z

I need to get out of Frogtown.

How am I supposed to work when every time I get in the groove some screeching, rumbling truck or some moronic teenager trying to deafen himself with his car stereo or some shrill woman tirading at her boyfriend snaps me out of it? Maybe I'm too white, maybe I'm too suburban, but I persist in thinking that making that much noise is FUCKING RUDE. This neighborhood doesn't feel lively and vital, it feels chaotic and trashy. Why can't these people shut the fuck up? Ever? For one fucking second? What's wrong with everybody?

I want to start a neighborhood renewal project, and I'm going to call it STFU. I'll print posters and buttons and everything. I'll even have a little checklist.

Hey Neighbor!

Are you the one whose car stereo rattles windows as you drive by? SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Are you the one who parks outside his friends house and honks the horn instead of walking twenty feet to the door and knocking? SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Are you the one who has a screaming fight with your sig-other at the bus stop and stomps off down the block still shrieking obscenities at the top of your lungs? SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Are you the one who runs your gas-powered leaf blower at 9 on a Sunday morning? SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Are you the one who roars up and down Western in your beat-up Mustang with the glass-pack muffler all night? SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Are you the one who lets your children set off firecrackers for hour after hour in the middle of the night? GET OUT THERE AND SHUT THEM THE FUCK UP BEFORE I DO IT FOR YOU!

And to all the other noisy, thoughtless, selfish people who make this neighborhood such a shithole: Christ, what is WRONG with you people? HAVE SOME FUCKING CLASS.

THANK you.

Oh yeah, I'm totally gonna do it.

Preaching to the choir

2006-04-23T17:46:12Z

I'm certainly not the first person to point it out, but I've been thinking about it lately: have you noticed how froth-mouthed ranters, illogical podium-bangers, and smug small-minded jackasses seem to make converts at an alarming rate, while sane and reasonable people are unable to inject sanity or reason into discussions that lack them? Time and time again, the voice of reason goes unreported by the press and passes into undeserved obscurity, while outrageously faulty logic and outright lies are treated like balanced political discourse.

The reason for this is pretty clear. Well, reasons, plural. Lemme break it down:

1. Hysteria is more interesting than calm. Everyone wants to watch the drama. It's hard to make drama while being reasonable.

2. Black-or-white, all-or-nothing concepts are easy; ambiguity is hard. This means that the idiots have a natural appeal, because they're willing to chop big chunks of reality out of their arguments -- or invent supporting data if they don't have it -- in order to package their views in easy-to-swallow absolutist terms.

3. People are tired. This is a corollary to #2. Note that I don't say people are lazy. No, in fact people are surprisingly hardworking and sincere. They would very much like to understand. But most folks are already exhausted from their everyday routine. They don't have the energy to do their own research, even if they knew how. This means that the loudest, simplest message is the only one they have headroom for.

4. People are numb. I learned this one from Dan Savage. In Skipping Toward Gomorrah, he observed that the force which draws people toward gambling (and, illustrated but unstated, toward other vices) was not greed, but the need to feel something intense, something real, even if it's the crushing blow of a big loss at the blackjack table. The moral-outrage peddlers provide that; reasonable voices don't.

5. People make themselves feel bigger by belittling others. They make themselves feel accepted by marginalizing others. They make themselves feel secure by eroding the security of others. This is a basic primate dominance tactic. We all saw it in its simplest form on the playground; then we outgrew it; then we resurrected it and applied it to politics.

I believe these five observations explain what's going on in American politics right now. What they don't do is tell us how to respond. I, too, am frustrated that no matter how much evidence we discover of lies, hypocrisy, corruption, or foolishness among them, the hystericrats continue to win elections on platforms of hate, fear, and nonsense. But now I understand why: corrupt, lying hypocrites serve the public need better than straight-shooters do. The public does not demand straight-shooting. In fact, they reject it if it interferes with their needs for simplicity, drama, and primate-dominance-exclusionary-tactics.

So what can a reasonable person do against this dynamic? I dunno, man. I'm as stumped as you are. Maybe we can play the rules against each other. Tired folks can get tired of drama too, no matter how entertaining it is. People can feel superior to someone whose argument has holes you could drive a UN weapons inspection convoy through, provided it's presented in a properly entertaining, sufficiently (I hate to say it) belittling manner. Folks like Dan Savage and Jon Stewart have this down. Gotta give props to PJ O'Rourke on that front too; however rarely I agree with his general position, he does score points with humor and fairly solid arguments rather than hysteria.

I'm pretty tired right now, so I may well be talking out my ass. I know every time anyone posts anything remotely political, there's a flood of discussion in the comment threads, and a 50% chance of wank-war. So let me just mention this in advance: discuss all you want, but I'm not going to go to the mat for my opinion in some battle of wits with you. I'm thinking out loud, not running for office.

Random thoughts

2006-04-23T14:19:45Z

The sin of Sodom was, in fact, a lynch mob. I suspect the reason Lot offered his daughters was to point out to the mob how insane they were being, not because he thought it was okay for the girls to get gangbanged. Not that I try to make the OT make sense. Thank God I'm not a literalist. Literally.

...

If Dan Savage were any hotter, I'd have to read his books with oven mitts on.

...

Seebs said something adorably raunchy in the car today, and I made a mental note to jot it down here for the amusement of all, but that was hours ago. It's gone now.

...

It's a gorgeous day, and I've been drinking sweet iced tea all night; I think I'd better go walk off the caffeine-and-sugar buzz. Lately I've been testing the unwritten rule that says people with headphones are Not Really Here. So far, no one's attempted to interact with me while I had them on. If this streak holds, I might actually start to enjoy walking a mile or two a day, like I used to when I was aggressive and self-centered enough to actually scare off people who dared to, for instance, ask me the time or try to bum a cigarette.

...

Oh yeah, I remember what Seebs said. I was laughing at him for catching a frisbee-golf disc with his hand and hurting himself; those things are heavy and hard and have sharpish edges, they're designed to hit inanimate objects, not your hand. Catching them is stupid. "Stupid, but macho," said the Seebs. "While you in some ways resemble people who like macho..."

"Empirically... no," I drawled, glancing at his nerdy bishitude. "I have enough macho for the both of us."

The conversation turned to other topics. Some time later, he was nerving himself up to try unfamiliar foodstuffs, which is a real bungee-jump for an Aspie. I told him he could borrow some of my macho if that would help.

"I'll give it back to you later," he said in a campy sort of flirty way. I, of course, cracked up. Rah, in the back seat, didn't hear, and demanded what was so funny while Seebs and I laughed our asses off.

And yet, written down, it isn't all that funny. I guess the reason it amuses me so much is because we're such caricatures of ourselves sometimes. I like us. ^_______^

I have a cool aunt.

2006-04-22T03:43:55Z

My aunt Gail, my dad's little sister, lives in Duluth. She has a cat named Poontang. She's been a hairdresser, a piercer, a cab driver, all kinds of interesting things. She gave me my first piercings, way back when. I talked to her on the phone the other day, and she told me she's never met Seebs.

That's so weird. I know I've seen her a few times in the last twelve years. Somehow, it seems, Seebs was never with me when I did. So I must remember to take him with me to Duluth to hang with her sometimes. Most relatives, you visit, not hang with. With Gail, you hang.

Cool chick icon for the cool aunt. I can't believe she's never met Seebs!

gomichan @ 2006-04-16T05:59:00

2006-04-16T11:03:19Z

I just had the coolest ever dream.

Luka and Rain and I were driving around this landscape of unbelievably beautiful spring scenery and taking pictures. That's all it was. Scene after scene of incredible gorgeousness -- apple blossoms drifting across a dew-silver meadow in dawn mist, etcetera -- interspersed with mild witticisms and cameraderie, if you'll excuse the pun. It was mostly my job to drive the car, and Rain always got deep into conversation with the locals when she went to ask if we could cross their property, but Luka was getting the most incredible photos. I took only one photo, borrowing Luka's camera to do so: the corner of a gray clapboard house, with a window, the window half-covered with slat blinds, and the drawstring for the blinds blowing in the breeze. It was supposed to be a study in right angles set off by that one not-straight line of the blowing string.

I'll never know how it came out.

Well, now it's time to get to work shading the update. Wow, that's a lot of pages. This is gonna take me a while.

gomichan @ 2006-04-15T20:05:00

2006-04-16T01:21:48Z

Find your Celestial Choir

Wrote six pages of 'Death's Lieutenant'. Not my best writing day ever, but not bad. I'm still waiting for the happy pills to put my muse to sleep, but for now they've just convinced him to take a break from setting things on fire and come into the office for a half-day.

Oh, I didn't tell you about the happy pills? I'm back on meds. A half-dose this time, to see if maybe that'll help without turning me into a happy stupid marshmallow. I'm pinning a lot of hopes on this. Off meds, I'm too scattered and freaky to have any discipline; on a full dose, I was too apathetic. Discipline is very important to me. I know that sounds laughable to anyone who knows me, since I never have any. Or rather, any that people can see. Because time is weird for me, I can only be disciplined on a very short time scale.

I can't, for instance, regulate my diet, since I can never remember when I last ate or what it was, what's in the fridge, when to go grocery shopping, what I need to put on the list, etc., and I freak out at the crowds of cranky mothers and spastic children that occupy the grocery store. I have the willpower in any given moment to eat what's good for me, eat small portions, or even -- should it be necessary -- function on little to no food for days. (Note that I don't think the latter is a good idea, just that I've sometimes had to.) But since it's not real bright to eat nothing but a green salad and a piece of toast when you suspect your last meal was thirty-six hours ago and you can reasonably expect to forget food for another twenty-four, I tend to eat big meals instead. Usually fast food, since someone else always offers to bring me a burger before I realize I'm hungry. Thus my metabolism is always in famine shutdown mode, and all I give it is crap.

If I could remember just a little more, and freak out just a little less, I could get a handle on that. Frankly, I like veggies more than beef, and fish more than cheese, and fruit more than ice cream. It's just a little more effort; harder to shop for, doesn't keep as long, and can't generally be had at fast food places or cheap restaurants.

I know I have the potential for impressive discipline. I can keep silent when most people would scream, I can play drill sergeant when most people would run like bitches, I can climb mountains with two bum knees, I can hold my temper when I'm seeing red. But I can't keep the simplest daily routine together because time is chopped into random chunks all sproinging around on rubber bands. So. Trying the low dose. If that doesn't work... I don't know what I'll do, but I'll think of something.

Zen-monkery is looking more tempting with each passing year, but I don't think they'd let me keep a Seebs for purposes of sexors. :D

gomichan @ 2006-04-14T23:38:00

2006-04-15T04:37:20Z

Seebs: Are you made of bubblegum?
Me: No, I'm not.
Seebs: Color and texture, yes. Flavor not so much. Two out of three -- statistically, you're probably made of bubblegum.
Me: I'm not made of bubblegum. Please stop chewing on me.
Seebs: *nom nom nom*
Me: Okay, you discovered my secret, I'm made of bubblegum.
Seebs: I knew it.

Random thoughts

2006-04-13T13:58:08Z

Contrary to popular belief, it's possible to play an evil character in a non-evil party without the rest of the party having to kill him. I quite enjoy playing lawful evil characters who make no secret of their alignment, watching good characters waste their time trying to convert this fellow who, after all, must have some good in him if he keeps his promises. Neutral or chaotic evil, you'd probably have to either fake nice, or be one hell of a roleplayer, but you could still do it.

Speaking of RP, I've been playing Yakov the werecat in a game with Rah. I'm having SO MUCH FUN playing a catboy who acts like a cat. I don't know why catboys in manga and fic are always sweetsy-cutesy cuddlesluts. Granted, Yakov is a tomcat and behaves accordingly, but unless he smells a female of his species in heat (which, since he's the only cat-shifter in the world, is not going to happen), sex is just a game. Boys, girls, furniture, whatever -- and he can be distracted from it with toys or food, just like the other way around. Also, when he gets overstimulated, he bites. Not the sexy kind of biting. The 'oh fuck I need sixteen stitches' kind of biting. He's breathtakingly selfish, hoards food, kills things for fun, and recently threw up on a Magical Girl's bedspread. I love Yakov to bits. :D

I've been working on Metanoia script, and the plot for the next story arc is kicking my ass. I have so many plot threads I have to keep hold of at once, and the characters keep doing things I didn't plan on them doing. Milo just spilled a piece of information I'd been counting on Star not knowing, and since it's absolutely in-character and logical for Milo to tell him, I now have to re-think everything that was hanging on Star's ignorance. And Star keeps responding to Zan's relentless reasonableness by... calming down. I don't want him calm! He's supposed to be heading for a breakdown, not learning Zan's maturity by osmosis. I think maybe I need to keep Zan too busy to play supernanny for a while. On the upside, this all makes it way more fun to write. I don't know what's going to happen. I have to write it to find out.

My sleep schedule is completely fucked. I went to bed at 4 in the afternoon and woke up at 1am. I have a doctor's appointment at 4:30 today and a dinner thing at 7, and there's no way I'll be coherent for these. I suck at taking naps, though. I just lie there with my braincogs whirling, tense and bored, and get up more tired than I was when I lay down.

I played WoW for about 6 hours overnight. I just want to say: when I hit 60, those fucking devilsaurs are going DOWN. Bastards keep sneaking up on me while I'm busy with a power crystal or something, and I am holding a grudge. I'm going to be a one-man extinction event, just you wait.

gomichan @ 2006-04-12T12:27:00

2006-04-12T17:32:01Z

It was a full Catholic mass with Spanish music, candles, incense, and a choir. Too long for Michael; he didn't quite understand why nobody would chat with him about his two plushie lambs, which he stuffed into the hymnal box on the back of the pew. He wanted us to understand that they were cozy there snuggled up together. He knew we were there to say goodbye to Gabriel, who was sleeping in the tiny coffin below the altar, and also simultaneously in Heaven; Michael didn't have a problem reconciling these two concepts. He knows he goes elsewhere when he sleeps. But the lamb plushies were here-and-now, and we were ignoring them.

He didn't fuss. He's not that kind of kid. He was very quiet and polite. He just kept reminding us about the plushies, and about how he was Hug Guy today and it was his job to hug everyone. He sat on my lap for ten whole minutes. Then he crawled under the pew and took a nap.

At the graveside, he took a big bunch of flowers and put them on the coffin. "I gave those to Gabriel," he explained proudly.

So here I sit now, in my brand new dress slacks that I bought yesterday because I didn't own anything suitable for funerals, smelling like incense, and I know I'm minus one nephew. So why do I feel like I gained something more than I lost?

gomichan @ 2006-04-10T17:25:00

2006-04-10T22:29:13Z

The Rock
You scored 11 constructivenes, 4 selflessness, 3 loyalty, and -9 supportiveness!

Constructive, giving, and loyal, with a healthy dash of tough love -- you are The Rock. Your friends smell what you're cooking, and it's fucking delicious. You listen to them, you carefully weigh what they tell you, you offer honest, blunt, constructive advice to make any situation better, you help them when called upon, and you'd stick with them through rain, sleet, snow, or the apocalypse.

The only problem here is that you may get a little smug sometimes, and some people just won't like you. They'll feel like you're judging them. But it's mostly balanced when you smile that inscrutable smile and ask, "Can I help?" And then -- here's the really good part -- you usually do help. Even if your friends don't always like the medicine, it usually works, and you'll be there hugging them when the fighting's all over.

That's why they love you. Keep on rocking, and avoid the urge to judge.

View all the categories:

The Death Star

All Talk

The Wolverine

Fireworks

The Time Bomb

The Backstabber

The Force of Nature

Blind Faith

Great Expectations

The False Friend

The Realist

The Blowhard

WTF?

The Politician

The Rock

Diplomat/Doormat

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 30% on constructivenes
You scored higher than 27% on selflessness
You scored higher than 16% on loyalty
You scored higher than 30% on supportiveness

Link: The 4-Variable Friendship Test written by sundust8 on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Yeah, I think that's exactly right. I know I seem like an asshole because I don't have a crying shoulder for people who aren't trying to solve their own problems, and I tend to reject soothing gestures and sentimental overtures, and if you ask me what I think I'll actually tell you, /especially/ if it's not what you want to hear. But if you come to me for help, you got it. Sympathy, I don't do well, but help is always on the menu.

So you threw up on the boss at your office Xmas party and now you're fired? Tough titty, kiddo, you should know better than to get trashed at a work function. You want a ride to a job interview? I'm on it!

gomichan @ 2006-04-10T06:21:00

2006-04-10T11:31:41Z

Of all the places to find one of these, one's pillow has to be among the most alarming. If I'd known it was a stinkbug, I probably would've pitched it outside when I saw it sitting on my bookshelf. But I just thought it was... well, pretty. And it was nowhere in evidence when I went to bed. An hour after I fell asleep, I was awakened by a loud, angry buzzing. When I lifted my head to try to figure out where in my room the noise was coming from, I got hit with a reek of armpit-and-gasoline.

So of course I did what any self-respecting jello-eyed uke would do: I bolted out of the room and demanded that Seebs come find the damn thing for me and get rid of it. He found it marching across my bed like it owned the place, popped it in a vase, and took it outside. But my bed still sorta smells.

...

It feels like I ought to say something about how I'm dealing with my family's loss, how I feel about it, something anyway. But I really can't. There aren't words. I don't know how I feel. When it's fully sunk in that it's real, maybe then I'll have feelings I can name.

For now, I'm just living on this planet, breathing air and eating food. Interacting in limited ways with other living things, like roommates and crocuses and stinkbugs. We are all very small.

gomichan @ 2006-04-07T16:28:00

2006-04-07T21:31:52Z

My baby nephew died in an accident last night. It's taking a long time to sink in. I won't be talking to much of anyone for a while. Except family, of course, if they need me, but I don't think there's much I can do for them. My brother and his wife are staying with my parents for now. My older nephew is just old enough to understand what happened. That's what distresses me most; thinking about Michael growing up knowing he had a baby brother who died. I am SO going to be there for that kid.

Seebs and I are sad but coping. I don't have words for conversing about it, so comments are off. I prefer to deal with sorrow mostly alone, doing quiet no-brain things while my subconscious assimilates the change, so don't worry about letting me know you care. I know you do, and I appreciate it.

Wowzers. ducks the blood spray

2006-04-05T09:08:21Z

1. Setting up a soapbox in someone else's journal is impolite.

2. When your rant is off topic or tangential, that's upgraded to rude.

3. When your rant is based on a complete misreading of the original post, that's rude and stupid.

4. When you Godwin in the first comment, that's rude, stupid, and funny.

5. And when you do all of the above in lukadia's journal, it's plain suicidal.

I'd have mentioned this to the commenter in question, but he was already reduced to a fine red mist when I got there. Fare thee well, total stranger who didn't pull his head out of his ass in time to see the orbital strike come down, we hardly knew ye.

Neither Fish Nor Fowl

GOD EATERS HARDCOPY!!!!

gomichan @ 2006-08-13T11:00:00

Notice:

Oi! You!

Pointless as a round thing

No warlock with a good wand needs to be justified.

gomichan @ 2006-05-01T06:32:00

gomichan @ 2006-05-01T00:34:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-29T12:24:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-25T22:21:00

TMI

Financial perspective

gomichan @ 2006-04-24T09:57:00

Preaching to the choir

Random thoughts

I have a cool aunt.

gomichan @ 2006-04-16T05:59:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-15T20:05:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-14T23:38:00

Random thoughts

gomichan @ 2006-04-12T12:27:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-10T17:25:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-10T06:21:00

gomichan @ 2006-04-07T16:28:00

Wowzers. *ducks the blood spray*

Wowzers. ducks the blood spray