"The waiting game sucks. Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos." - Homer J. Simpson
Thanks to this lovely bit of internet over here, I can now keep tabs of who's heard from which programs and when. Of course, I could just not visit the site. Not torment myself with the knowledge that others have heard their good news while I sit here developing endurance in my thumb muscles. Oh, but see, that would require a modicum of will power, would it not?
My job is joyless enough that I'm committed to the idea of searching for another in the event that Calgon U fails to take me away. This, however, is a terrifying prospect. Finding a job was soul crushing enough three years ago. I shudder to think of the narrow window of opportunities available in these times o' plenty. More than not being able to find employment, I'm afraid of finding myself in the fire while yearning for the pot. What if I get out there and scrap my way into a job that's worse than this one? What if, worse still, I realize that the problem wasn't the job, it was the employee all along?
To stave off crippling self doubt I've been obsessing over the latest run of Battlestar Galactica episodes (phenomenal), and immersing myself in the post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland of Washington DC via Fallout 3 (also phenomenal). I'm also trying to read several books, but somehow, they're not getting their due love. Oh, and occasionally I'll go to work, where I'll marvel at the bizarre feeling I get in my head, the one where it feels as if the lights are intermittently, incrimentally dimming. But it's not just the lights, it's everything. I swear, I can feel the brain matter up there rotting from disuse.
It's not all doom and gloom in Camp Funk Muffington. This week is extra awesome as it contains only three working days. I'm taking Friday and Saturday off to serve as sidekick and freelance photographer for Stankfoot at the New York Comic Con. I've never been to one of these and I have no idea what I'm in for, but I'm excited none the less.
Also, plane tickets and hotel reservations have been made, and the Dark Mistress will be accompanying me to California for a conference in April! Work picks up my bill (knock it all I want, the perks do rock), and the bonus is, we're staying the whole week so we'll get a chance to hang with the Queen of Kickassery herself, Aunt Laurie!
That should sustain me through the next few months of work. But seriously, someone freaking accept me, please? I'm a nice guy! I bathe regularly!
Showing posts with label Battlestar Galactica. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Battlestar Galactica. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
In Which I (Maybe) Get to the Point
In reading back over my posts, this month I have twice now compared favorably myself against Cylons, indicating that I have a plan. This makes me sad in two ways. One in that I have not yet finished what I started, which is explaining that plan, and two in that, c'mon, am I really that big of a nerd?
It's safe to say that, for the most part, the past two weeks were miserable. I'd been volunteered to work on someone's project at work and, being a perfectionist, I think I worked too hard on it. I took it to Atlanta with me, working on it every night in the hotel room. I've been stressing about it since mid March, but crunch time was these past two weeks. Between this project, an event I was working on, and my regular duties, I regularly came in early and left very, very late. Staying three and a half hours late after work is one thing. It's another when you usually get out at 11pm.
This weekend, even though I had to go in twice Sunday to take care of some events, felt like a vacation. No homework, no workwork to bring home. Saturday the Mistress and I went out to dinner in high fashion, treating ourselves to pricey Italian. Then we met up with some friends at another restaurant where we had dessert. For the first time in a long time I was able to indulge myself for a day, driving up to visit Stankfoot on Monday. We played video games, we hit Taco Bell, I held the ladder while he took down his Christmas lights. It was fantastic.
The following will only be funny to those following Galactica:
On our drive to Taco Bell, he turned to me and said in a mock school teacher tone: "So, what did you learn from this week's episode?"
"Um," I searched, "don't piss off Tory."
And then, with his hands cupped closed, he said "Very good. I want you to remember that as you take command..." He moved his hands toward me, opening them to reveal this:
For those not familiar with the show, he was mimicking a very touching scene from the series where father promoted son. He couldn't have done it better. Now that I think about it, that'd be a good way for two B*G nerds to propose to each other. It would have to be a private and serious moment:
"So, what do you think makes us work so well together?" A conversation of any length, as long as it's serious, introspective, and dramatically lit, should follow. Finally, the one who started should stand up, pull a jewelry box from a nearby dresser, desk, or table, and move to kneel, saying with as much throaty gravel as they can add to their voice, "good. I want you to remember that as you take command... of my heart."
Back on topic, though I'm sure reality will set in once I'm back behind my desk, it's fitting that I feel a reprieve from work at about this time when I'm thinking of how I would like to move on from it.
Class, though it's been frustrating, has done wonders for my poetry writing. In 2004, Mr. Templeton opened my eyes to the potential of verse. By 2005 I was writing like crazy, but by the end of spring I'd burnt out. I lost confidence in my ability, and distractions like "I'm unemployed and living at home all the sudden" didn't help me gain any perspective. Three years later, I'm feeling confident again. My writing has improved, though I was not notably active. I think it's because of a gain in perspective. My problem in 2005 was, looking back, I felt I'd run out of things to say. As prolific as I was in that short period of time, I'm not surprised. Though it doesn't feel like it some times, I've learned quite a bit these three years. Somehow, I've found a thing or two to right about.
It is clear to me that, though I don't know of any dream job, any path through life free of struggle, I would like to at least struggle for something that I enjoy, something that resonates with me. I've also learned that regardless of the method or the medium, I need to be creating to be happy. It's like a pressure valve. No, it's more than that. When I struggle for hours only to, in a flash, find the right word, the perfect turn of phrase, I'm filled with immense satisfaction. I am rarely more proud of myself, more accepting and forgiving of myself, then after I have made, and made well.
So, instead of crossing my fingers and hoping that through some convoluted series of miraculous and absurd events that I end up the as the new bassist for R.E.M., (sorry Mike, I'd have to), I decided I'm going to apply for creative writing programs with a focus on Poetry. This, of course, means a lot of work. I have to:
There you have it. My plan. I have about a year to make it happen.
It's safe to say that, for the most part, the past two weeks were miserable. I'd been volunteered to work on someone's project at work and, being a perfectionist, I think I worked too hard on it. I took it to Atlanta with me, working on it every night in the hotel room. I've been stressing about it since mid March, but crunch time was these past two weeks. Between this project, an event I was working on, and my regular duties, I regularly came in early and left very, very late. Staying three and a half hours late after work is one thing. It's another when you usually get out at 11pm.
This weekend, even though I had to go in twice Sunday to take care of some events, felt like a vacation. No homework, no workwork to bring home. Saturday the Mistress and I went out to dinner in high fashion, treating ourselves to pricey Italian. Then we met up with some friends at another restaurant where we had dessert. For the first time in a long time I was able to indulge myself for a day, driving up to visit Stankfoot on Monday. We played video games, we hit Taco Bell, I held the ladder while he took down his Christmas lights. It was fantastic.
The following will only be funny to those following Galactica:
On our drive to Taco Bell, he turned to me and said in a mock school teacher tone: "So, what did you learn from this week's episode?"
"Um," I searched, "don't piss off Tory."
And then, with his hands cupped closed, he said "Very good. I want you to remember that as you take command..." He moved his hands toward me, opening them to reveal this:
For those not familiar with the show, he was mimicking a very touching scene from the series where father promoted son. He couldn't have done it better. Now that I think about it, that'd be a good way for two B*G nerds to propose to each other. It would have to be a private and serious moment:
"So, what do you think makes us work so well together?" A conversation of any length, as long as it's serious, introspective, and dramatically lit, should follow. Finally, the one who started should stand up, pull a jewelry box from a nearby dresser, desk, or table, and move to kneel, saying with as much throaty gravel as they can add to their voice, "good. I want you to remember that as you take command... of my heart."
Back on topic, though I'm sure reality will set in once I'm back behind my desk, it's fitting that I feel a reprieve from work at about this time when I'm thinking of how I would like to move on from it.
Class, though it's been frustrating, has done wonders for my poetry writing. In 2004, Mr. Templeton opened my eyes to the potential of verse. By 2005 I was writing like crazy, but by the end of spring I'd burnt out. I lost confidence in my ability, and distractions like "I'm unemployed and living at home all the sudden" didn't help me gain any perspective. Three years later, I'm feeling confident again. My writing has improved, though I was not notably active. I think it's because of a gain in perspective. My problem in 2005 was, looking back, I felt I'd run out of things to say. As prolific as I was in that short period of time, I'm not surprised. Though it doesn't feel like it some times, I've learned quite a bit these three years. Somehow, I've found a thing or two to right about.
It is clear to me that, though I don't know of any dream job, any path through life free of struggle, I would like to at least struggle for something that I enjoy, something that resonates with me. I've also learned that regardless of the method or the medium, I need to be creating to be happy. It's like a pressure valve. No, it's more than that. When I struggle for hours only to, in a flash, find the right word, the perfect turn of phrase, I'm filled with immense satisfaction. I am rarely more proud of myself, more accepting and forgiving of myself, then after I have made, and made well.
So, instead of crossing my fingers and hoping that through some convoluted series of miraculous and absurd events that I end up the as the new bassist for R.E.M., (sorry Mike, I'd have to), I decided I'm going to apply for creative writing programs with a focus on Poetry. This, of course, means a lot of work. I have to:
- Study for and take the GREs
- Read more poetry, become familiar with poets I'd like to study under
- Find programs that I like with poets I like who teach
- Weigh the benefits of an MA vs. an MFA,
- Consider where and if I'd pursue a PHD
- If applying for an MA, creating a sample of Critical Writing, something which I do not have strong experience in
- Revise my best poems for a portfolio
- Find journals I'd like to seek publication in
- Submit my best poems for publication in various journals
There you have it. My plan. I have about a year to make it happen.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Goodbye March, You Bastard of a Month
What I should be doing right now: I should be unpacking. I should be... frak it, I should be doing dozens of things. But right now writing feels better.
Every week in March, hell, almost every day in March, something came up to write about. Seriously, it was interesting times. I've just been too busy to get to them. The following is a quick ass summary.
Your Own Rules Are The Most Fun To Break
I'm a stubborn man. I once stopped eating beef because I stayed up late one night reading the tall tale of John Titor, self proclaimed time traveler. Of course, as the number of sleepless hours increases, so to does their susceptibility to wac ass stories and conspiracy theories. Mr. Titor was making quite a bit of sense at 3am. In Mr. Titor's future, America's been split by civil war, nuked by Russia (just the cities), and it's population decimated by Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, which was a result of years of people unknowingly eating Mad Cow infected beef for years, as it's possible for years to pass before symptoms appear.
I stayed up the rest of the night reading about the disease and was both creeped out and fascinated. It's not caused by a virus or a bacteria, but by a protein, a chemical. It is, in essence, a chemical reaction that slowly disables your brain.
So I stopped eating beef. This doesn't sound like a big deal, but at the time I was eating hamburgers like it was my job, and touring Taco Bell once a week. How long did I stop eating beef? Long after my irrational fear of Mad Cow, as it had been replaced by an irrational fear of Irony: I was subconsciously convinced that if I started eating beef, I'd get the disease for sure, just because, well, wouldn't that be funny?
Shit, I didn't want to ramble because I'm in a hurry. Looks like I failed that one already! Point is, I didn't eat beef for years, and more than the fear, it was really because I was curious how hard it would be, and how long I could do it. One day, on vacation, my aunt's family left half a "hamburger" pizza sitting cold on the stove. No one was around. I was hungry. I was curious. I was bored.
It was delicious.
In middle school and high school I watched an impressive amount of TV. Prime time had to be watched: 2 hours. Then there was reruns at and around dinner: 1-2hours. Of course, there's after school: 1.5 hours. Ooh! X-Files: 1hr. You get the picture. I remember a health class where we calculated our weekly TV viewing time, and I remember being one of the highest in the class with something close to 30 hours of TV per week. Maybe I was the only one being honest. I'd make that mistake again in shop class, when everyone was talking about the size of their penis.
When I got to college I stopped watching TV, mostly because I didn't have a TV. I was amazed to find that I didn't miss it at all. I'd miss a show here or there, but mostly, I felt liberated. And, except for that stint of unemployment I spent on my parent's couch, I've been mostly TV free since. That is, until now.
It was thrilling to call the cable company. I felt as if I were doing something immoral, illegal I ordered extended basic, nothing fancy, but I'm also renting a DVR. Without it, cable wouldn't be worth it, as I'm never home during shows I want to watch. Right now I've got it hooked up to the projector, and I must say, it is nigh awesome.
What was the impetus for such a drastic break from principle for the sake of principle?
Battlestar Galactica is Better Than Life Itself
...and its FINAL season debuts TO FUCKING MORROW. I've waited over a gods damned year for this show to come back on the air. Seriously, if you're curious, don't watch it. Go, now, to the video store, to your Netflix Queue, and rent the Miniseries and first Season 1 discs. It is a glorious serial, and to carelessly see the final season's episodes before you're ready would be crime enough that, once you realized the gravity of your transgression, the promised land of plot you've spoiled, you would be unable to resist the compulsion to blind yourself with your mother's broach.
I couldn't pass the opportunity to see my favorite show of all time wrap itself up on the sheet hung on my wall.
While we're on the topic of sci-fi, I love Star Trek. I'm not going to go into specifics, I just do. (Battlestar Galactica is a far superior show, and I can admit that.) My friend Stankfoot, a Star Wars fan from childhood, sent me a link to a survey where folks can vote as to who'd win a fight: Han Solo, or Captain Jean-Luc Picard. The previous week, Solo defeated Kirk. Of course he's going to beat Picard. I'm not going to go into the details of what a fight between these two fictional characters would entail. I just know he's going to win, because when it comes down to it, Star Wars is the Wal-Mart of science fiction. There. I said it. Mediocre. Ubiquitous.
Another Reason March Was The Longest Month
R.E.M., my favorite band, released their latest CD two days ago. I haven't picked my copy up yet, but I have listened to it at least 40 times in the past week. I could write a thesis about why their latest albums began to misfire, but I'll just say this: I own every CD they put out, except their last. It was the first time I listened to a new R.E.M. CD all the way through, and was not captured or hooked even once.
Of course, the media are hyping this up as their "return". I won't go that far. I'm not 100% on every song, and there are issues. What is exciting though is there are songs here that I am in love with, 100%, and that's a magical thing no matter what the band. I'm thrilled that it's R.E.M.
I also made a pact with myself. No matter how much money I don't have, I'm buying concert tickets for their tour this summer. I've never seen my favorite band live, and it's something I want to do before I die (or they quit), why not do it while they're riding high?
There's more to write about, but I'm hungry and out of time. I've decided what I want to do in the next couple years. Unlike the Cylons, I have a plan. I just got in from Atlanta yesterday, where I attended a professional conference. That's a story too. Hopefully I'll get to it before May.
Every week in March, hell, almost every day in March, something came up to write about. Seriously, it was interesting times. I've just been too busy to get to them. The following is a quick ass summary.
Your Own Rules Are The Most Fun To Break
I'm a stubborn man. I once stopped eating beef because I stayed up late one night reading the tall tale of John Titor, self proclaimed time traveler. Of course, as the number of sleepless hours increases, so to does their susceptibility to wac ass stories and conspiracy theories. Mr. Titor was making quite a bit of sense at 3am. In Mr. Titor's future, America's been split by civil war, nuked by Russia (just the cities), and it's population decimated by Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, which was a result of years of people unknowingly eating Mad Cow infected beef for years, as it's possible for years to pass before symptoms appear.
I stayed up the rest of the night reading about the disease and was both creeped out and fascinated. It's not caused by a virus or a bacteria, but by a protein, a chemical. It is, in essence, a chemical reaction that slowly disables your brain.
So I stopped eating beef. This doesn't sound like a big deal, but at the time I was eating hamburgers like it was my job, and touring Taco Bell once a week. How long did I stop eating beef? Long after my irrational fear of Mad Cow, as it had been replaced by an irrational fear of Irony: I was subconsciously convinced that if I started eating beef, I'd get the disease for sure, just because, well, wouldn't that be funny?
Shit, I didn't want to ramble because I'm in a hurry. Looks like I failed that one already! Point is, I didn't eat beef for years, and more than the fear, it was really because I was curious how hard it would be, and how long I could do it. One day, on vacation, my aunt's family left half a "hamburger" pizza sitting cold on the stove. No one was around. I was hungry. I was curious. I was bored.
It was delicious.
In middle school and high school I watched an impressive amount of TV. Prime time had to be watched: 2 hours. Then there was reruns at and around dinner: 1-2hours. Of course, there's after school: 1.5 hours. Ooh! X-Files: 1hr. You get the picture. I remember a health class where we calculated our weekly TV viewing time, and I remember being one of the highest in the class with something close to 30 hours of TV per week. Maybe I was the only one being honest. I'd make that mistake again in shop class, when everyone was talking about the size of their penis.
When I got to college I stopped watching TV, mostly because I didn't have a TV. I was amazed to find that I didn't miss it at all. I'd miss a show here or there, but mostly, I felt liberated. And, except for that stint of unemployment I spent on my parent's couch, I've been mostly TV free since. That is, until now.
It was thrilling to call the cable company. I felt as if I were doing something immoral, illegal I ordered extended basic, nothing fancy, but I'm also renting a DVR. Without it, cable wouldn't be worth it, as I'm never home during shows I want to watch. Right now I've got it hooked up to the projector, and I must say, it is nigh awesome.
What was the impetus for such a drastic break from principle for the sake of principle?
Battlestar Galactica is Better Than Life Itself
...and its FINAL season debuts TO FUCKING MORROW. I've waited over a gods damned year for this show to come back on the air. Seriously, if you're curious, don't watch it. Go, now, to the video store, to your Netflix Queue, and rent the Miniseries and first Season 1 discs. It is a glorious serial, and to carelessly see the final season's episodes before you're ready would be crime enough that, once you realized the gravity of your transgression, the promised land of plot you've spoiled, you would be unable to resist the compulsion to blind yourself with your mother's broach.
I couldn't pass the opportunity to see my favorite show of all time wrap itself up on the sheet hung on my wall.
While we're on the topic of sci-fi, I love Star Trek. I'm not going to go into specifics, I just do. (Battlestar Galactica is a far superior show, and I can admit that.) My friend Stankfoot, a Star Wars fan from childhood, sent me a link to a survey where folks can vote as to who'd win a fight: Han Solo, or Captain Jean-Luc Picard. The previous week, Solo defeated Kirk. Of course he's going to beat Picard. I'm not going to go into the details of what a fight between these two fictional characters would entail. I just know he's going to win, because when it comes down to it, Star Wars is the Wal-Mart of science fiction. There. I said it. Mediocre. Ubiquitous.
Another Reason March Was The Longest Month
R.E.M., my favorite band, released their latest CD two days ago. I haven't picked my copy up yet, but I have listened to it at least 40 times in the past week. I could write a thesis about why their latest albums began to misfire, but I'll just say this: I own every CD they put out, except their last. It was the first time I listened to a new R.E.M. CD all the way through, and was not captured or hooked even once.
Of course, the media are hyping this up as their "return". I won't go that far. I'm not 100% on every song, and there are issues. What is exciting though is there are songs here that I am in love with, 100%, and that's a magical thing no matter what the band. I'm thrilled that it's R.E.M.
I also made a pact with myself. No matter how much money I don't have, I'm buying concert tickets for their tour this summer. I've never seen my favorite band live, and it's something I want to do before I die (or they quit), why not do it while they're riding high?
There's more to write about, but I'm hungry and out of time. I've decided what I want to do in the next couple years. Unlike the Cylons, I have a plan. I just got in from Atlanta yesterday, where I attended a professional conference. That's a story too. Hopefully I'll get to it before May.
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