Dose of Ramble

Brian Greene, Fabric of the Cosmos . . . I'm so dumb. Working my way through it, but so slowly, and I'm ashamed to say three or four pages put me out like a light, without fail. Granted, I've been ridiculously tired, lately, but. . . .

Back and forth between that, and Beyond Good and Evil. I know, I know, me and my junk-reading habits. Hee, though I did spend a goodly chunk of this day off from work reading what some might term crap. But hey, there was this awesome quote--can't remember by who, Hemingway, maybe--about how writing one story is like facing down a rhino, but writing several stories at once was like playing ping-pong.

In my experience, that's strangely true. And it applies to reading particularly difficult books.

Which reminds me of another awesome quote--I really should start keeping track of who says these things--I used to parrot: if you're in difficulties with a book, put it down, and sneak up on it at an hour when it isn't expecting it.

Something like that. Bettr than that, but you get the jist

Tried reading Richard Feynman, didn't like the way he wrote, which saddens me. He comes highly recommended. Though it's way, way more probably that I'm dumb, than he's an over-hyped writer.

My own writing is coming along slowly. The first original fiction I've written in . . . years, maybe. I've lost the knack of characterizing my own characters. My protagonist is too much the two-dimensional, wronged antihero, my antagonist is a cardboard hero, but a real person underneath, a real fuck up--which is actually the way I planned it. But I still can't tell which way is up, don't know what my motivation is, other than the joy of writing.

Sheesh, that sounded smug.

I'm having doubts about the over-the-top french accent the antagonist is sporting, though it's so in keeping with the character.

Blech, tomorrow, it's back to hell. My cute little nickname for work. If we're still 40-60 calls in the red like we've been for the past week, I may just walk out. I seriously can't do this anymore.


"If wishes was horses, we'd all be eatin' steak."--Jayne Cobb

A bitter pill, but not for me

I've had a bit of a back-and-forth with a tool.


His initial post.

My response.

The tool's response to my response.

My final smackdown of his monkey ass.


I'd worried that I'd indeed been offensive, or derisive--beyond reason, anyway. That maybe my sarcasm was a little too, as it can sometimes be. But fuck self-doubt, that guy's shit was all 'tarded. I simply felt the need to school him on that fact.

No, I shouldn't say that, that's mean. There is no 'tarded shit, only 'tarded individuals. . . .

. . . I watch Idiocracy waaay too often.

But if that poor 'tard-burger can't even defend his ill-conceived, badly-worded ideas to me, he needs to get off of RD.net, or bend over and take his dressings down like man. (Heh, the mods told him if he didn't stop making personal attacks, they'd kick him off. Good looking out, RaspK)

Arguing with people is delightful. Especially when I happen to be right, though I'll play devil's advocate at the drop of a hat. Must be my huge, humanity-destroying ego :D

Another killer day at work, by which I mean I fantasized about killing each. And every. One of my customers, and at least a third of my coworkers. My job requires me to be nice to idiots and assholes--I'm not allowed, not supposed to argue with them, or hang up on them, or be honest about all their myriad short-comings. Which is painful to the point of actual physical pain and stress. Hence the job hating. I need to get a job at the DMV, where I can be as honest to people as I want and treat them like shit all day. . . .

That'd be nice.

Because I'm sick of being respectful to my mental inferiors. Not that I'm so wonderfully smart, but that so many of the people I meet are so exceptionally dumb. It's a good thing for them there is no objective point to life; if there was, these jerks wouldn't exist. They're cockroaches. Worse, really, since if put down in a truly adverse situation, they wouldn't adapt or survive nearly as well. My apologies to cockroaches everywhere. I'll try to think before I speak, in future.

On an up-note, oh, my gawds . . . isn't it ab-fab (and aren't I horribly bad at being femme):

Seattle.

I'm a New Yorker by birth and by 'tude. But there are a few other cities that I'm sure wouldn't be a step down to live in: London, Toronto, Sydney, Chicago, Edinburgh, Cardiff, San Francisco. Seattle tops that list. I've got such a deep yearning to be there, have for years. It just about kills me that I'm not there right now. . . .

I suppose my life has a point, after all: get the hell out of Kingston, and out to Seattle. Once there, I'll sort something out--if I'm not totally distracted by all the unparalleled happiness, that is.


"The Seether is neither big nor small. The Seether is the center of it all."--Veruca Salt