Saturday, July 31, 2010

A Brief Break

new zealand air's very own david pritchard visited me and my hardwood floor this past wednesday and though we may have walked too much and i may have talked too much, it was an absolutely great weekend.

for one, the very idea of hanging out with someone i hadn't seen in a year-- and had only seen in the audience of a double-decker tour-- excites me. but more than that, i do love hearing other workers of the hospitality industry explain their pet peeves.

"when you go to refill their water," david was explaining, "most people will lift their cup up and block the pitcher. but there is that rare few, the ones that decide-- for whatever reason-- to just move their cup out of the way at the very last second. and i spill water all over their crotch and they just glare."

we had a bit of food at the cheesecake factory (which i'm told wins the hearts of any new zealand air's folk) and then made our way slowly up the hill and back home. david is a kind an entertaining gentlemen and we lightly made fun of a variety of countries based on loosely generalized statements regarding our experience with vacationers-- and that was oddly refreshing.

there was also a small photo-walk in which travis (d) joined travis (b), david and i. and in which i unfolded a stray piece of binder paper only to discover fresh semen. that wasn't a whole lot of fun.

then, a block later, david found scraps of binder paper and picked them up with hesitation. his findings didn't have baby-batter, but it wasn't a lot better than what i'd found.

in fact, it may have been from the same notepad of debauchery. tasty.

anyway, it was a quick but pleasant trip-- and definitely goes down in my books as "revolutionary" after all, david was the first city sightseeing rider to add me on facebook as a friend and now is officially the first to extend beyond the bus, beyond digital and into the confines of my tiny apartment.

i left mr. pritchard with my uk version of harold & maude and he left me with two packs of new zealand air playing cards and four new zealand air pens. i think that and a suit may just be enough to convince strangers i too am a flight attendant.

i can't wait for mr. craig's trip from wisconsin.

we all ought to do this more often: hang out at semi-strangers houses and trade toys, debate about mindless things, and drink beers all while occasionally finding sperm on a sheet of binder paper.

it's good times.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Heavy Exposition Will Kill Your Novel

I recently purchased a fantasy novel that I had been eagerly anticipating for many months. Naturally, I put everything aside and settled down to give it my undivided attention. Unfortunately there was something about it that caused me to lose my excitement early on. While the novel was well written, I found myself a little over seventy pages in realizing that nothing had happened.

Don't get me wrong, the prose was exceptional, I learned a great deal about the author's world as it once existed, and there was an amusing passage that was as witty as the dialogue of any Monty Python film, but the sad fact remained--nothing was happening. There was no direction, no conflict, no obstacles of any sort. In other words there was no story, just a couple of wasted hours reading the musings of a semi-interesting character who had done nothing to encourage me to keep reading.

I closed the book in irritation, which got me thinking about every novel that I've ever hated. Now, there are many ways that a novel can suck: some suffered from poor character development, a great deal were tainted with unnatural dialogue, a few butchered an otherwise compelling story with pitiful examples of deus ex machina, and a few offenders had believable characters making unbelievable decisions. There was one thing they all shared however, and that was that their exposition was early and often; as a result, the pace of the novel suffered and it failed to draw me in.

Your completed novel is likely 60,000 words
 or more. Do you really need to saturate the reader
with exposition in the opening pages?
I'm a relatively forgiving and patient reader. Many people, however, are not. Don't allow exposition to kill your novel. One of the easiest ways to lose me as a reader is to dump too much exposition at the start of a book. You have a great deal of space to work in the subtle nuances of your characters and their background. Why is it necessary to hurl it all at me from the get-go?

When writing, a good question to continually ask yourself is: would the reader be lost if you scrapped this chunk of exposition? If the answer is no, then is it really necessary to put it in right now? Surely there are alternatives to be considered.

Granted there are always exceptions to the rule, but what I'm trying to drive at is that exposition is tricky business. Too little exposition and the reader is left scratching their head, while too much bogs the reader down until they grow frustrated and either skim your writing, or stop reading altogether. To toss too much exposition the reader's way early on could very well kill their desire to finish your novel.

The sooner you can create a sense of urgency, the better. When I read, I need to know that the characters are driven towards a goal. At that point I'm likely invested in finding out the resolution. Work the exposition in light doses, sprinkling it here or there, and pay attention to whether or not it damages the pacing of your work. Don't even consider keeping your meaty exposition if:

a) It lags the pace of your novel
b) Your reader has yet to develop an interest in the outcome of your character(s)
c) The exposition is not critical to the reader's understanding

Failure to adhere to these rules could leave you with a very frustrated audience, or worse yet, no audience at all.

My question to the readers of this blog: what turns you off of a novel? Cheesy dialogue? An unbelievable plot? Clunky exposition? Share your thoughts!

intoxicated poop segment: part lxxxviii

it's been a busy week and weekend, so you'll have to excuse me for this tiny post. there's more to come!

but for now, do enjoy the magic of pimped-out urinals and other such wonders.

popular mechanics has published their 18 strangest bathrooms in the world. from floating toilets and bulletproof bathrooms to anti-gravity poop devices, it's worthy of a read or at least a skim-through.

and, on a sidenote, chelsea clinton is keeping her wedding "small", which means she's instituted $15,000 porta-potties.

good times.

Starting the Countdown

after the long conversation we had with our program lead, the three of us were called in for one-on-one meetings with our least favorite manager. i had checked my email from home just before heading out and realized this in time to changed my outfit for the event.


"why are you dressed like this?" he asked uncomfortably.

"i don't want to be written up for dressing casual on a tuesday," i stated.

"and you felt it necessary to wear a tuxedo? you look like you're going to prom."

"i just wanted to make sure you knew i take this job seriously."

"look," he sighed, "you and i both know this is not appropriate for a business setting."

"based on what?" i asked, "i'm strictly abiding by the formal dress code: slacks, loafers, collared shirt, optional tie, and blazer."

"i'm not going to write you up for this," he said, "but you can't dress like this again."


it would've been my great pleasure to be written up for wearing a fred astaire tuxedo to work.

"you seem like you're in a bad mood," he continued, "you're hardly making eye contact with me."

"i am in a bad mood," i stated, "because it took you one month to respond to my email about a schedule change. you responded to only my third attempt and simply because my program lead got involved."

"you should've given it to me in person."

"i did. the night of july sixth, i handed you one."

"no you didn't. you never did that."

it's like playing checkers with an eight year-old. in the world of "cover your ass" corporate america, am i expected to take photographic evidence of everything i do as well?

"did you expect to just get your schedule changed immediately?"

"no," i said, "but i expected a reply that might prove you'd at least read my request. had i treated a client, or even you, the way you treated me i would've been in a great deal of trouble. i thought this company was all about timely responses and confirmations-- but you can't even respond to me till the third email? after a month? you have no trouble emailing us when you want something from us-- like a request that we come in on our days off."

"there just seems to be all this pent up anger and it's coming out of nowhere," he said confused.

"it's not coming out of nowhere," i said, "i tried to play by your rules-- which i did not initially understand-- and now that i'm emailing, following up and doing everything i was taught to do, i'm finding playing your game doesn't work."

"who taught you to email everything? you could've just come to me with your concerns."

"I DID!" i shouted, "and guess what? you don't remember it happening and i now have no proof i did. versus the email: i can prove i mailed you july 10th and it took you twenty days to respond."

there was a pause and i watched the cars speed by on the bay bridge. i remember being so excited about having a view of the bridge when i first got the job. now i just feel bad for all of those commuters headed to a depressing office where not even office plants have enough soul to survive.

my manager looked me up and down, focusing mostly on my white bow-tie.

"i just feel like i'm having trouble finding the person i used to know," he said sadly, "you're all upset and you don't seem interested in being here."

"look," i said calmly, "you never knew me. so i can't begin to understand what that statement means. but more than that, i am not happy to be here 2-11pm friday through tuesday. that's why i asked for a schedule change: so i could have a scrap of my own life rather than just coming to work, going home and sleeping and repeating five days out of the week and then spending my entire weekend doing the chores that cannot be done due to a 2-11pm shift. it would be one thing if i was coming here during those hours to actually work, or to actually be appreciated. but i'm utterly useless and ignored."

"why did you sign up for this shift then?"

oh i am in such a dark time of my life right now. considering it all, i think i'm doing alright. the way this job began, the circumstances of it, and being an extrovert who recharges by talking to people but is forced to stay in an environment where talking to people rarely happens. considering it all, i think i'm doing alright. but it's a dark time.

"i took the shift because i was dating a server and it would've worked well with her shift," i said, having a horrible silent flashback,"but again, i'm not as upset that it can't be changed as much as i am your complete disregard of my request and the fact it took this long to find out it can't be changed. that's just rude."

"you have to understand," he plead, "we on the manager team do a lot of other work and it's easy to forget those things."

he was wasting my time. not only was the experience with email incongruous to the supposed morals of this office, but his excuses were even worse. i couldn't handle it. this man spends the majority of his time in the office walking back and forth looking for someone to lecture. writing people for wearing shorts in an office that no clients visit. the shorts were what caused my tuxedo.

"i'm gonna be straight with you," i stopped him, "i do not have to understand any of that and here's why: it has nothing to do with me. it's your job. do you remember when i got hired and was going through a horrible break-up and kept fucking up at work? that nearly cost me my job. and why? because my issues, behind the scenes, had nothing to do with you. it didn't matter what load of work i had at home or in the office-- i was expected to make no mistakes regardless. so you being busy means nothing to me. you have responsibilities that you signed up for as my manager."

i'd like to believe everyone will find themselves dressed in a 1920's tailcoat and bow-tie while yelling at a superior once in their life. if not, this was a special moment which i will never forget.

"so," he said, "what do you want here?"

"i want you to know i'm upset," i said, "and i want you to know it's not just me. i happen to have a mouth and i don't sit quietly when i'm upset. all this company is doing is stacking bricks higher and higher as fast as it can, saying, 'let's go global! faster! faster!' and no one is stopping to think about the foundation. you think it can just keep growing regardless of how you treat the people on the bottom and i will say this: as a concierge i have a much closer relationship with the concierge team than you as manager, and i'm not the only one who is pissed right now. i'm also not the only one who failed to receive a response to an email regarding a schedule change, raise, or a day off."

"oh believe me," he said, "i know you know more about the other concierge than i will. that's just how it is. but how can we fix this?"

"how about paying us commission for what we do?" i started, "whenever i book a hotel, a car, a show, anything, they always ask for our IATA number and say, 'just want to make sure you get the commission you deserve.' and i clench my jaw because i know someone is getting that money, but it certainly isn't me. i don't even want all of it, but the concierge deserve a percentage and you know that."

"well, you have the superscores."

i'll hand him, he's pretty good at distracting you from what you were talking about by bringing up something else that's even worse but only hardly tangent.

"the superscores?" i laughed, "if i get 100% on my q/a scores, i'll get 2% of my quarterly pay. first off, no one can get a 100% because by saying 'um' once, we lose 4%. by not referring to the client by name three times in every call, we lose 4%. it's designed so no one gets 100%. then there's vendor screens: if i book enough hotels, cars, etc and make enough vendor screens i can get another 2%. the company gets something like $4,000 and i get $200. and that's before tax. bonus tax is 50%. so i get a $100 bonus. do you see what i mean?"

"you've broken down every part of this job," he said, "and don't like it. so why are you here?"

"you and i both know most of us cannot afford to leave. and again, this is not just me: your team is not happy-- i'm telling you this as someone not afraid to speak up so you'll do what you can to change it as a manager."

"i really feel like if this is not a fit for you, it may be best you called it quits."

"it sounds like you're asking me to quit. if that's your route, you're just going to have to fire me."

"what time is it?" he said suddenly, "this meeting has gone over time. you should go back to your desk. cool?"

"cool enough for me."

interesting. i don't believe he can fire me. in fact, i'm sure of it. he wanted to get rid of me so badly, but he couldn't. i haven't had any more escalations than anyone else and i haven't ever missed a day of work. i've never even been written up.

i left that meeting room as a small hero amongst other upset concierge. the very definition of "bad management" is when a manager admits his minion knows more about his other minions, yet tries to suggest they quit when the low morale of his team is mentioned. many of the concierge cannot afford to lose their job due to marriages, families, or simply having been a part of the company for so long they wouldn't have anywhere else to go.

but i don't have any attachment here.

this needs to be said for everyone else who can't do it themselves. and you would not believe how many salutes and pats on the backs i got after the one-on-one with our ignorant manager.

"it's been tried before," a veteran concierge said, "but it's refreshing to see a new face come in and try it again."

"am i far off base?" i asked the concierge. i respect him quite a bit and would hate to hear him call me a baby about the situation.

"no," he said, "you're dead on. and it's great to see someone try this again-- but it doesn't work-- it's been tried. every five years or so, there's a new concierge team and one of them stands up to the company and it's refreshing... but it never works. it's been done before."

"has it been done in a 1920's tailcoat and white bow-tie?"

"it hasn't," he said, "and it is really nice to see someone try this again. it's like a new hope."

Thursday, July 29, 2010

At this Time...

on july 6, i wrote about losing my grip of the julian calendar and the general happenings of society due to my shift. that day, i handed my manager (one of four) a SMF, or schedule modification form.

four days later, i'd received no response and the manager had left for a business trip to chicago. occasionally he would email us from chicago telling us he was having a wondrous time and that we were doing a horrible job. the usual. i swiveled in my chair a few times, wondering why the ergonomics nazi had not provided me with that new, spectacular, chair she'd promised my back would appreciate.

and then i sent out what i believe to be a very professional follow-up email.
To Whom it May Concern,

Recently, I filled out a Schedule Modification Form requesting earlier hours and wanted to follow up to see if that had been looked over. I currently work Friday through Tuesday 2-11pm and while the days are fine, I would really love to have the hours changed to something in the vicinity of 10am-8pm.

It seems with the patterns of call volume, I will be a greater asset during an earlier part of the day as there are very few calls after 8pm and the mornings can always use an extra hand. I would much rather come in during the peak hours and be of more use—also, the constant inbound calls would keep me in a certain flow that I believe will improve my performance as a Concierge.

I would love to hear back about what options I have or don’t have whenever you have the chance.

Thank you in advance.
after two weeks of waiting for a response to my follow-up email i was a bit confused. how can a company which preaches customer service so much that they even have a team of people grading every call ever made and every email ever sent have so much trouble responding to what is already a follow-up email?

i wasn't sure if i should write a follow-up email to my follow-up email or just quit.

on monday, the scheduling team emailed a couple of my coworkers (who were having similar issues) asking the two of them to come in for overtime because they'd given a concierge a week off and needed coverage.

"why would you give someone a week off," one of them asked, "before being sure you had coverage?"

"and why should we be expected to cover someone else's shift because of it?" the other asked.

"why should i even respond to this email," the first continued, "when they never reply to my requests?"

"it seems to me," i chimed in, "managers have no interest in addressing our problems, but are on top of us the minute we make a mistake."

a company chat message came to me from a third concierge that read, "so true, bro. so true. speak the truth!" we weren't the only ones upset-- just the only ones with mouths.

"the trick is," the second concierge said, "wearing shorts at work. if you wear shorts on casual friday, a manager will be at your desk writing you up faster than anything. that or just don't sign into the company chat and suddenly they have time for you."

"i wrote about getting a raise two weeks ago," the first concierge continued, "i've been here for a year and i'm ranked second best in terms of client ratings. i deserve a raise and i haven't even gotten a response to my request."

"you have to understand," our program lead said, "these managers are also answering to the clients and they are naturally more worried about what the clients think-- hence they will message you quickly when you slip."

"yes," i said, "and the importance of keeping their clients happy should be equivalent to the importance of keeping their employees happy. after all, we're the ones pulling the weight of those clients."

the program lead-- who, by the way, is amazing and quite possibly the only person in the upper-up team that actually listens and responds to our issues-- informed me that i ought to forward her my request for a schedule change and she'd see to it i get a response.

i did and, within two minutes, there it was: a timely response to her request that my follow up request be taken care of.

this is what i received:
At this time, we do not have an opportunity to change your schedule because you cover hours in the evening. At this time, we are going to keep it on file so that when we are bringing additional staff on or making changes to existing staff we have this request to go from.

If you have additional questions, please reach out to me as myself and WFM would be your primary contacts for this request.

Thank You.
first off, that's not even true. i've had plenty of time to think about this and there are only two days out of my work-week that i am even remotely necessary-- the other three days, there are two other concierge with the same hours as me and we collectively take four calls at night.

if this weren't true i couldn't be having three-day nerf wars.

secondly, he just copied and pasted the standard "fuck you" letter. he didn't even add the classy-corporate "My apologies for an extended delay in response." or bank of america's, "After trying to reach you several times by phone..."-- no, just an "At this time we don't fucking care. At this time we can shit on you all we like at this time."

the response was a complete insult. partly because it was over two weeks late, but also because it in no way addressed the benefits of my potential schedule change which i had highlighted in my email. if he wants to talk about coverage, i agree, that's why i should be working an early shift-- when there are calls to actually cover.

it looks like i'm just doomed to die in a lonely office unless i find a new job.

i'm a-looking. but let it be known this does, of course, mean war.

Adventures of the Jejune Institute

a friend of mine took me out on an adventure without telling me much more than the address and the name of the place. i think anyone who knows me and my current job knows i need an adventure-- and this was refreshing in many ways.

i will say i wasn't very prepared for the event, however. all i knew was that my adventure existed on the sixteenth floor of 580 california street-- the building with those faceless angels. and confused as to how anything in the financial district might be considered an "adventure", i yelped the place.
"I was very impressed after my free introductory workshop at the Jejune Institute. This place is definitely worth a visit! It really only costs you a little time and less than a few hours.

Do yourself a favor and don't look at any of the posted photos, nor research this place until after your visit. Go in with an absolute open mind and make your opinions after. I'm glad I did. Who knows how long this place will be around."
i'm just going to have to agree and leave it at that. though, i will say to avoid visiting if your body is very sore from an extreme three-day nerf war. but i guess i'd have to recommend you don't do very much at all in that case-- so i suppose that's irrelevant.

i would love to write a fantastic post about the event, but it'd be at the cost of ruining the experience for all of you. so just check it out yourself some day.

don't go googling it because you're bored at work and might as well. just go check it out for yourself. bring a friend and arrive earlier than 4pm-- that's all you need to know. if you research it before going, you lose 10,000 wishnack respect points.

and for those of you who may have heard techboy referring to my trip the jejune institute as joining a cult, just see for yourself. besides, giving a pint of blood is not actually that weird after you go through the jejune's entire seminar. and the tattoo isn't visible if you wear long-sleeves. that's hardly a cult.

CHECK ITOUTOUT!!!2

the jejune institute
580 california street, 16th floor
san francisco, ca 94104

hours: tuesday-sunday 12pm-5pm
phone: (415) 325-4014

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Aliens, Theories & Ramblings

one thing i miss very much about san jose is how the lack of things to do lead its people to engage in four-hour conversations. getting caffeinated and having a conversation was considered an activity.

in san francisco, getting caffeinated is only a necessity prior to running around the city doing a million things that might not even be half as interesting as one san jose conversation. and most people are only half-listening because they have somewhere else they need to be.

the other day, alex (san jose porch veteran) facebook-messaged me a short debate regarding the anthropic principle: that humans can only really imagine things within the boundaries of what they already know. sort of like how people used to believe flight would not be possible unless your aircraft was lighter than air. or, as kyle once explained, the native americans could not understand what they were looking at when they first saw ships because their minds had no way to make sense of it. they just thought they were magical creatures.

we used to debate about this sort of thing endlessly on my porch, back in san jose. and i miss those days.

you see, it wasn't always used for smoking weed and making mouth-farts.

my theory, in line with the anthropic principle has always revolved around aliens-- particularly our earth-centric view of the idea. it may be the fault of films, but we don't quite think outside of the box when it comes to imagining extra terrestrial life. the mere fact we expect we could see an alien life-form is ridiculous-- after all, eyeballs are earth-talk. and, even on earth, we can't see half of what's going on-- take ultraviolet and infrared.

an alien could be sitting on my shoulders as i type this post and i would have no reason to realize it. why should my body be designed to perceive bodies from other planets?

we have defined life as needing water and oxygen and having the ability to eat and reproduce. the second part may be true, but the first half is more earth-talk. saying life requires oxygen and water (on an oxygen/water-filled planet) is the same as fish saying i need fins though i live on land.

in my mind, the only thing we can say about life on other planets is this:

1. the sun is relevant to their lives.
2. so are cycles (or circles.)

every planet is a sphere, rotating in circles, and orbiting another sphere in a cyclical manner. and the sphere we all orbit is the sun. that is the only commonality we have with the other planets and the only thing we can base the idea of "life" off of. water and oxygen are not deal-breakers-- we need it because we live on earth, where life is coordinated with it. places like jupiter may very well have a different form of life that doesn't require either because neither exist.

in fact, it's possible jupiter's life-forms are gaseous and that weird storm that has always existed on the planet is merely a jupitarian café, where all the citizens go and congregate to debate about life on earth. to be honest, i think that makes a lot more sense than a tornado that has been ongoing since 1665.

our theories on extra terrestrial life are too human. anthropic principle. we need to get away from the question of whether or not a planet has water. all we truly have in common is circles and the sun.

but here lies the problem: given the galaxy works in circles (i.e. orbits, seasons, waste and fertilizer) we, as humans, need to work toward creating things that coincide with that pattern. we need to remember that anything we create should be designed to come full-circle-- in other words, we need to have an idea of how our creations can end where they've begun the same way nature and everything else works.

but, we're show-offs. we like to create rays, rather than circles; we like to say, "let's see how far and how fast this fucking thing can go and who cares what happens!"

plastic is one of those rays. it was brilliant at first-- revolutionized the way things were made in the fifties. but we weren't thinking about how it could come full-circle; we weren't thinking about the fact it cannot be broken down without damaging the planet. and now what?

air-conditioning is just the same: an amazing idea with no end because why end something amazing?

the problem is-- despite what we want to believe-- the galaxy worships the sun and circles. and if we create a ray, the galaxy will do whatever it can to destroy our ray and bend it back into a circle. and if we resist (which it seems we plan on doing), we'll be bent out of that circle and our species will just disappear so the rest of the galaxy can continue on.

but back to aliens.

my initial thought was that we had them all wrong-- that we were looking for them in a way that was too human and would naturally never find them because of it. but what i've realized is we are not looking for aliens and probably never were. we're looking for planets our species can survive on. we're looking for a planet to house us when we've officially fucked the earth.

and that means we are still thinking in rays, rather than circles.

even after we realized we've messed up, we aren't looking for solutions that work cyclically like everything else in the milky way-- we're just looking to keep moving forward till there's nowhere else to go. we don't hope to save our planet, we hope to ready mars in time for our move-in.

and when mars dies, hopefully we'll be ready to move to venus.

if i were an alien, i'd be really pissed at humans.

The Carmen Code

back at bush and powell, carmen the cat destroyed one of my favorite dress shirts and declared my best armchair her's by leaving claw marks and grungy calico hairs all over its fabric. we left that chair and i swore to move to an apartment that allowed me to lock her out of my life.

of course, when we got to our new place, i realized i had too much furniture for a regular sized room and opted for the living room. this room had two doorways, but no doors (a.k.a. carmen blockers.)

and in the first month i discovered that simply ignoring a cat or expressing no interest in it does not teach it to leave you alone-- after all they don't very much care what you care about in the first place. carmen the cat taught me that i needed to shoot her with a nerf gun or throw a beach ball at her if i ever expected her to stop coming into my room and meowing in my eye at 7am, or clawing at my new loveseat.

it was a weird lesson because i don't like being outwardly mean to any animals and most dogs seem to understand the concept of being ignored and what it might mean.

anyway, after too much carmen, travis and i set out to install doors in my room. we'd stolen them from the basement and had a great deal of trouble making them work-- but we were on a mission.

the entire time, carmen ran in and out of the room and i laughed, "enjoy it while it lasts, you filthy beast."

and since then i've had no trouble. i sleep with the doors closed and make sure they are shut when i'm not home. it's magical.

but, occasionally, i'll leave them open while i grab a beer or go to urinate. little trips, mostly.

recently, i was working on a mediocre post about circles and rays when the need to poop hit me hard and without much warning. bubble-guts. luckily, my bedroom is a straight shot to the bathroom.

but when i came back, i found carmen the cat sitting on my desk, swatting my keyboard repetitively. it was almost as if she thought it had somehow offended her-- like she'd read what i've written about her on this blog and hated the keyboard for helping me.

this is what she typed:

98 [;';;;;kl;;l;lll ll;l;kllll,ll;l;l;....;ll;l;;l;;l;klk;;l;l;ll;ll;;ll;l;l;l

if any of you cat-lovers can help to decipher her angry feline message, i would greatly appreciate it. at this stage, i am mostly positive she and i are arch-nemesis and she has it out for me. any information on what she was trying to tell the internet would vastly benefit my better being.

i believe she may be on to me just as much as i've been on to her.

it seems there is a full-on war approaching.

doors or not.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Stoutwest Airlines

The local woman was flying standby, paid full fare for the last available seat, got on board, stowed her bags and sat down – only to be told she would have to deplane immediately.

The reason?

A late-arriving passenger required two seats because of her girth.
[via the sacramento bee]

first off, it you hadn't guessed, the airline was none other than the very classy southwest. which gives me reason to believe their unprofessional anti-skinny people move was only to distract us from their kevin smith fiasco.

but ignoring southwest's reputation, i find it horrible that the 5'4" 110 lb frequent flyer who was asked to deplane said the entire experience "didn't seem right" but opted to remain anonymous "for fear some might regard her as insensitive."

to me, the situation doesn't just "seem" wrong, it is wrong. this isn't like seeing a square watermelon for the first time and thinking, "huh, that's unusual"-- this is undeniably wrong, like beastiality or sarah palin. and the only insensitive thing would be not saying so.

can i add that the overweight passenger-- who was late, and only paid for one seat-- was a 14 year-old?

the airline spokeswoman admitted normal policy for airlines would be asking for volunteers to deplane (or just telling the girl she was late for her flight and they couldn't accommodate her), but southwest went around this because they were trying to protect the teenager's feelings-- they didn't want her to, you know, feel bad about being so gigantic she required two seats.

look, we need to stop trying to avoid embarrassing fat people at the cost of skinny people. this is what i was talking about earlier: outlawing salt because of fat people who can't control themselves. making it so it's near impossible for skinny people to find food that has carbs and calories that can suit their high-metabolism.

i'm not saying we should outwardly make fun of fat people, but when a 14 year-old girl can't fit into a single airline seat, something needs to be said-- wait till she finishes puberty: she'll be a a fucking planet-- the proper answer is not dancing around her weight and kicking skinny girls out so the fatty won't have her feelings hurt.

there are these websites saying southwest discriminates against fat people and could be sued if brought to the right court and i just wish these people would spend the same amount of energy exercising. here's the truth: all airlines have a similar policy regarding very large characters-- it's for the safety and comfort of the rest of us. personally, i hate sharing half of my seat with an overweight person.

but, more importantly, southwest happens to be the only carrier that offers the extra seat for free (assuming the trip does not sell-out.) so if anything, they are the most accommodating to fat people.

this is all just getting out of hand.

at this rate, the future will be full of blob-like school-kids who crowd around computers during their recess break, and it'll be the kid wanting to go out and play handball who gets made fun of.

Dear Nob Hill Inn

the first time i walked by your establishment on pine and taylor, a very high-pitch frequency rang in my ears and caught me off-guard. i thought i was witnessing a strange side-affect from a heavy night of whiskey-drinking.

i was off-balanced and uncoordinated-- it reminded me of that one scene in computer worn tennis shoes when the bad guy phones kurt russell and plays a horrible dial-up modem-esque series of beeps and squeals to rob him of his computer mind-powers.

if you've seen it, you'd know what i mean. but what i'm getting at is the sound legitimately made me feel like a part of my strength was being stolen right from my body-- like an audible kryptonite.

but after two or three more walks i realized the sound came from your hotel, and not my malfunctioning brain, and it happened every time i passed. it's painful to hear and it's quite unwelcoming for a hotel.

i think it might be an electronic contraption to confuse raccoons into staying far away, but i've never known raccoons-- or any animals for that matter-- to be very fond of nob hill hotels in the first place.

then again, maybe it's because of your device.

but i am not a raccoon and i do not appreciate feeling like someone is sliding a cold sewing needle into my brain by means of my ear every time i walk by your hotel on my way to work.

can you at least turn the motion-sensor off during the day? raccoons are mostly nocturnal. or could you possibly change the frequency to one that only raccoons can hear?

don't your guests ever complain about the sound? there is no way i'm the only one who can hear the damn thing-- it's unbearable.

today, at work, i was asked by a colleague what my thoughts on your establishment are. i used to be a tour guide and i think they were hoping for some insider information they might be able to relay to one of our clients.

all i could say was, "if you get too near the front door, it squeals at you and it is absolutely horrible. don't send our clients there. there are better boutique hotels in the city."

i felt bad, but it's true.

i would like to know that you are working on this issue, so please get back to me as soon as you can. if no one else has complained about hearing the ungodly sound it is quite possible i am the first known raccoon to own a blog.

and in that case, i deserve an award.

both ways, please write me back.

agitatedly,
president wishnack

Monday, July 26, 2010

Here's the Deal

it was a challenge. a challenge that came with the conditions i do not admit it is a challenge. i should explain it, i suppose, due to the high number of facebook messages and ims it gathered.

i think it started because i was feeling really uninspired (thank you work), but noticing i was tantalizingly close to beating my record for number of visitors in a month. and techboy came to my aide.

"you must accept the challenge before i tell you what it is," he'd said.

"ok, deal," i said.

"i'm going to send you a picture," he explained, "and you have to write about it within the week."

"hmm," i said, "this could be fun. send it."

"and if you don't accept this photo," he continued, "i'll send you a second, but you have to write about that one or you owe me a bottle of whiskey."

once whiskey gets involved, you know matters are serious. nonetheless i accepted. this wasn't the first time we'd challenged each other in a bloggish manner-- and i was psyched about being handed inspiration.

the first photo was this:

i declined because there was something too posed about the entire thing-- it was a touristy shot with a clear punchline and it limited what i could do with the photo that would be outside of what you'd already expect. it would've just been commentary on what was already funny.

the second photo was found on google image and is the one you likely just saw in the post before this. the pantsless kid in the bathroom.

this i could do.

but then techboy added a small catch:

"you cannot mention this is a challenge."

i think this was in direct response to the time i wrote a really horrible story about mr. heptagon and saved my face by explaining it was just a challenge and you can't expect a brilliant piece of work.

well, i sat on the idea for a day-- trying to think of how i could write about this unconscious kid. the file name was something to do with tryptophan, so i promised myself i would not write about turkey.

it also seemed that the black censor box might help make the story more interesting since there is no saying what's beyond that rectangle.

ultimately, i figured it this way: if there is whiskey at stake and techboy has made me promise not to tell anyone this is a challenge, the only reasonable way to write about the photo would be in a manner that would make him wish i had told everyone it was a challenge.

hence a story of star wars pederastery.

so no, none of the post below is true-- i think most of you should already know that-- techboy would never do anything like that. firstly, he loves that boba fett action figure. but truthfully, techboy's been there for me during some real fucking shitty times (true) and for those of you who followed my many links to his blog and thought, "this fucking pervert has hardly unpacked and he's already molesting boys!" i will say i have not once witnessed him put anything in a child's butt, nor has he seemed remotely interested in the idea.

he has tried to kill me once or twice, but i've also called him a pederast on my blog-- so fair is fair.

anyway, with all that said, my apologies, techboy. you had me cornered.

p.s. - that post pulled in my third highest number of visitors in a day, and techboy's highest in a day. scientifically speaking, one test out of one test proves you like hearing about techboy putting toys in boy bottoms. so maybe the perverts are you.

Why?

i turned down a drink for the first time in many years sunday. and within very good reason.

long story short, i was given sunday off at the cost of thursday, and i thought it'd be nice to hang out with techboy on his weekend for once. i'd helped him move, but i'd never actually hung out at his new balcony-included fillmore pad.

i brought my nikon as a sort of two-in-one: i'd heard the aloha fillmore festival was going down and i've been meaning to actually use my camera more often.

but after riding the geary through traffic with nothing outside of espresso and cigarettes in my belly, i had a sort of emergency that required immediate attention. as soon as techboy greeted me at his apartment, i was cornered into saying a very quick and impolite hello before pushing aside to run for his toilet.

i can't say this is the first time i've done this to someone-- and i suppose i had the benefit of already knowing techboy, which hasn't always been the case with emergencies like these.

but i threw his bathroom door open and hit the lights to find the toilet. . .

and i found this instead.

what. the. fuck. i still remember the moment i saw this kid, just laying there, i thought i was going to pass out. what you can't see-- courtesy of my editing-- is that there was a medium-sized boba fett action figure poking his head and gun out of his rear. i have seen some things, but this is easily the worst sight ever. my need to poop was immediately overshadowed and outdone by my need to speak with techboy and get some answers.

"what the fuck is this?" i yelled at him, while pointing at the unconscious child.

"haha," he laughed, "don't worry: it's fake."

"what?" i said, shocked, "he looks pretty fucking real to me. what the hell happened?"

"no man," techboy said calmly, "it's just plastic-- it's not real. geez."

"I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT THE ACTION FIGURE!" i screamed, "i know that's not a real boba fett-- he's fictional-- what the fuck is with this kid?"

"i don't know man," he mumbled,"he was just like that when i got home. do you want a beer?"

"bullshit," i said, alarmed at his nonchalance, "that's your fucking action figure! fuck your beer!"

realizing i was not going to get a straight answer out of him-- and that he'd quite possibly lost it-- i took a picture with my nikon (thank god i'd brought it) and told him i was getting the cops. i was in a serious panic and for the first time ever felt afraid to be in the same room as techboy.

look, i don't like talking to the police and i certainly don't like calling the cops on my friends, but i refuse to be the guy who finds a partly molested child with a star wars figurine crammed in his rectum and does nothing about it.

throughout the entire process, techboy remained calm-- occasionally sipping at a smirnoff ice and seeming confused why i was so frantic and upset.

luckily, the hawaiian street fair was going on and the police officers were easy to find and very responsive. on the lighter end of things, it felt amazing to have five cops marching behind me, through a parade, on their way to fight the reported crime. i was worried they wouldn't believe me and i wouldn't know what to do, but finally, to serve and protect.

when we got to techboy's molestation station, he opened the door politely and invited the group of us inside.

and the kid was gone.

the cops turned toward me.

"no way," i said, "i have no reason to make this up."

the cops were getting frustrated and i could tell. without the existence of the unconscious kid, there was no doubt i looked like more of a criminal than techboy.

i scanned the room for any hint of the child, but he was most definitely gone.

"you are aware we are not here for your entertainment." one of the officers said.

techboy grinned and i started to sweat.

there is no way i'm being fucked here.

and then i saw it.

"wait," i said, "he's hiding the kid somewhere and i know it. the boba fett action figure is standing on his shelf now-- it wasn't before, it was... you know."


the police didn't move. this wasn't enough.

"oh, and!" i shouted, "i have a picture-- i have a picture of the whole thing!"

why didn't i think of this before?

and that was all it took. techboy was on the ground and in cuffs faster than i'd ever imagined. this was the first time i'd watched a friend taken down by the police and actually rooted for the side of the law. it was a scary experience, but think about the kid.

the cops let me use the bathroom before taking the two of us back to the station for a formal police report. they said they would send officers to find the child, and in most situations like these (it's sad that they've had these situations before) the kid is hid somewhere inside the apartment-- that techboy wouldn't have had time to send him off, especially not unconscious.

that relaxed me a little.

anyway, i'm not sure why i'm writing this here. i'm not sure it's appropriate, or fair, or what-- but it's been a crazy weekend and i don't know what else to do to calm my mind, or where else to write this.

i guess at the very least, techboy now has a decent excuse for not updating his blog.

why is it always the ones you least expect? and why a kid?

i need a drink.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Essential Reads for Aspiring Authors - Part 2: Orson Scott Card's "How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy"

Orson Scott Card

On recommendation of a friend I recently purchased Orson Scott Card's How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy. For those unfamiliar, Card is most famous for his sci-fi novel Enders Game and the seven sequels that followed.

Despite being a noticeably short read, (it clocks in somewhere shy of 140 pages) the advice is solid and easy to apply. This book is well suited to anyone with a penchant for sci-fi or fantasy, regardless of whether you've started your first draft or are already knee deep in revisions.While the examples used in the book are more often than not bent towards sci-fi, most of the advice offered is applicable to any aspiring author of speculative fiction. 

My only qualm with the text is that its advice regarding literary agents seems dated and overly skeptical (This is likely due to the fact that it was first published in 1991). Card advises seeking out an agent only after you've received an offer from a publisher. As a great deal of publishers are no longer accepting unsolicited queries or manuscripts, I'm not so sure that this is heed-worthy advice. Furthermore, he insists that the best agents are charging a going rate of 10%, (as opposed to 15%) something that I'm also quite skeptical of. Perhaps this was the case two decades ago. Today I'm not so sure.

The book is divided into five sections:

1. The Infinite Boundary: this chapter primarily deals with how to recognize and label speculative fiction, and helps explain how sci-fi and fantasy differ from one another.

2. World Creation: offers a great deal of advice about the process of creating a believable world, with a focus on setting firm rules surrounding your magic and technology.

3. Story Construction: especially useful in determining whether you should write your story with the milieu, idea, character or event in mind. This chapter is also benefitial in that it helps you determine whether or not your protaganist should also be your viewpoint character.

4. Writing Well: this chapter was invaluable to me, as it aids the aspiring author in writing exposition. How much is too much? How much is not enough? How do I integrate it into the story without slowing the pace of the novel? There is also some practical (and humorous) advice about integrating jargon, slang, and made up languages within your work.

5. The Life and Business of Writing: unfortunately the weakest of the five chapters; largely to blame is the outdated material and advice pertaining to literary agents. There are a few nuggets of wisdom to be found here, but be skeptical--particularly in regards to what's written about literary agents, finances, and querying--it is most certainly not the most up to date information available. 

Minor faults aside, this was a fantastic read and has provided me with a great deal of practical advice to help hone my craft. It'll definitely be studied more thoroughly during my revision period.

To the readers: what other books about the craft have you read and enjoyed?




Grave No. 3240

[via mostly forbidden zone]

well, damn.

how long, and at what speed, must someone be swung around by the heels before they cease to live? a centrifugal death. or centripetal actually (someone once told me there is no such thing as "centrifugal force" and it was only a scientific lie this whole time-- like how the brontosaurus was really just a brachiosaurus.) both ways, i don't imagine it to be a quick or accidental murder and i would assume this damn clown was aware of what he was doing.

that may be a horrible way to go-- but going is always horrible in its own right-- however, this particularly awkward death has somewhat immortalized william snyder as it is truly interesting.

when each one of us slowly dies of cancer, no one in the future will post our haphazard obituaries on their blog whilst drunk. no one will care because there is nothing curious about cancer; there is nothing unique.

my greatest wish is that an ill-practiced circus clown ends my life. or perhaps a hummingbird. i've never trusted those syringe-beaked crack-addicts.

i just want it to be interesting.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Nerf or Nothin

nothing makes you feel surprisingly old and surprisingly young at the same time like a good ol' fashioned nerf war in a corporate office. cubicles make for great battling tactics. and when better for our war than when our manager is trying to hold a company-wide chat-meeting?

it was me, d, and b. everyone else attempted to work.
C (manager): Seriously, what is D doing
C: all that noise
B: music
B: he's performing a symphony... of sorts
C: nope, it sounds like football
D: aerobics
C: all that banging
B: it's definitely not football
D: man aerobics
the child was alive in us all, though the adult was having trouble keeping up. we had to take a good number of "i'm not as young as i thought and i need to rest" moments between battles. and i've never wished i was a non-smoker more.
D: NERF WARS RULE!!!
W: is anyone else sweating right now?
C: I just need you in this chat for when we test your acct
C: TEAM HERE COME THE INSTRUCTIONS
C: PAY CLOSE ATTENTION
W has left the room.
B has left the room.
D has left the room.
C: OMG team.
what you may not know about corporate-set nerf battles is that there is never just one. once it's begun it becomes a full on war-- eventually everyone is coming to work with their own weapon. i more or less have to take calls while clutching my 10-shooter now. i take my breaks with the gun and go odd routes to throw the enemies off. i've even sacrificed smoke breaks just to sneak-attack fools. vietcong style.

i pee with the damn thing.

i split open the knee of my last un-ripped pair of jeans, but this is exactly what i needed.

though we collectively lost five darts.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Essential Reads for Aspiring Authors - Part 1: Miss Snark

Beginning today and reoccurring periodically I will share some of my favourite books and blogs that I have encountered while aimlessly wandering. My focus will be anyone of notable involvement within the publishing industry, be they agents, editors, interns, authors, publishers or anything in between. While I'm aware that some of my favourites can be seen on my sidebar, I feel that many of these are such a treasure trove of information that they warrant additional commentary.
Let's begin.

Part 1: Miss Snark

An anonymous literary agent with a host of devoted snarklings, Miss Snark offered aspiring authors essential advice about the publishing industry between 2005-2007 before announcing her blogging retirement.

Miss Snark is of special significance in my case, as she was the first person in the know within the publishing industry that I stumbled upon. She remains a personal favourite on account of her straight forward advice, no nonsense attitude and her ungodly mastery of sarcasm.

If you haven't read her material yet then the following should offer a small taste of what's to be found at her blog. If you're anything like myself or her countless supporters, you'll find yourself reading all two years of her posts in an extended sitting.


Here's but a small sampling:

Agents 
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Cover Letter Critiques 
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

First Page Critiques
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Query Fails
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

If time is an issue, I recommend visiting 
The Snarkives, which is a collection of Miss Snark's wisdom, but topically organized for easy browsing.

So there it is. I encourage you all to check her out, or if you've already read her material, read it again. Feel free to share your thoughts about this wonderful agent; at over 2.5 million hits on her blog she is obviously appealing to quite a few people.

Addendum:
And just where is Miss Snark these days? Some claim the identity of Miss Snark to be remarkably similar to literary agent
Janet Reid, particularly on account of the work they represent, their location and their writing style. The unconvinced claim otherwise, noting Janet's lack of Clooney love and affinity for gin that were part and parcel with Miss Snark. As for myself, I'm still on the fence about it. 

Get Out of Your Apartment (By the 31st)

after my failed attempt at purchasing inexpensive dvds online, i decided to hit blockbuster's 3-for-$20 aisle and deal with things manually.

i grabbed the men who stare at goats, fantastic mr. fox, and sherlock holmes. i figured that'd be enough to redeem the experience of recieving a crusty malkovich and european harold & maude.

"for $3 more, you can get a bag of candy and a soda," the clerk reminded me, "cheaper than walgreens!"

"do you get commission for this?" i asked.

"no," he said, "i just don't get yelled at." that was, technically, the wrong answer because i would've bought the candy had he said he was getting a commission. the yelling part happens to all of us and i don't really care. oh well.

"ah," i said, "no thanks. can i see those dvds for a second though?"

when the clerk was ringing up each video, i could've sworn i'd seen a roaring tyrannysaurus rex on the cover of one. mentally, i scanned the potential plot-lines of each movie, looking for a reason there would be a dinosaur in any of the three. i'd seen fantastic mr. fox and while there were a number of animals in the film, i couldn't remember any dinosaurs. the men who stare at goats shouldn't have a t-rex. and sherlock holmes definitely shouldn't either.

he gave me the stack of dvds and-- sure enough-- there it was: a screaming dinosaur right on the cover of sherlock holmes.

"there should be no t-rexes in this movie," i said.

"have you seen it?"

"no," i said, "i started it on a plane, but blacked out because of drugs. but it didn't seem to be heading in the dinosaur direction..."

"oh!" the clerk said, "you want the robert downey jr. version."

he was right, but in my book no version of sherlock holmes should involve dinosaurs. and no movie should have the same title as another in order to trick someone into buying a crappier version.

the important thing is i was not gotten. it was close, but i managed to escape blockbuster without being screwed over by a company. marketers, man. marketers.

of course i got home only to be welcomed in with this letter:


how can a company blindly mail me a notice to vacate? i moved in less than two months ago! my mind immediately went to reasons for potential eviction: perhaps they discovered i had stolen two doors from the basement and installed them in my bedroom, they realized we never paid a pet deposit for our particularly loud and greasy feline who enjoys destroying good shirts and running out the front door at any given chance, or maybe they smelled the plant-life simon sometimes burns for a night-cap...

i've been fucked before, but i've never been asked to vacate my apartment in under two weeks with no new apartment lined up. i mean, i've raised $899 in a month without a job and i've raised $1350 in two weeks similarly-- but this was going to be the bad news that broke me.

i called the management and left one of those "please call me back as soon as possible" messages with a firm voice. i explained in that message that i had no intention of moving out by july 31st and i saw no reason why i should be asked to.

in his room, travis strummed at his guitar, singing, "get out of your apartment. get out of your apartment. by the 31st!"

carmen the cat meowed because she was hungry again.

i shot her with my new nerf gun.

this one called for some beers.

travis and i got a six-pack of shiners (the beer, not the face-punch) because it was the cheapest and neither of us had tried it before. i put my nerf gun on the counter with the beer and took out my wallet.

"what's this?" the clerk asked while pointing at my gun.

"it's a stick up," i joked.

he stared at me.

"you know," he said calmly, "i was just robbed last night."

this was not meant to be an awkward trip the liquor store, it was meant to distract me till i got a call back regarding my possible eviction. of course, the minute the clerk informed me of the earlier robbery, i noticed there were three men fixing a television.

initially, i'd thought they were maybe preparing it for a game or something-- in hindsight, it's clear they were scanning it for footage of the gunman.

sometimes i'm an accidental asshole.

after two beers, i called laramar sf urban apartments and was greeted by the accounting department.

"oh!" she chirped, "i was just about to call you but i didn't have your number!"

"really?" i asked, "because i left my number in my last message. and how were you about to call me if you don't have my number?"

"yeah," she said slowly, "it wasn't in our files. we tried, though."

"that aside," i said, "i'm not planning on moving out of my apartment and was hoping you might be able to shed some light on why i received a notice to vacate."

"haha yeah," she laughed, "that was a mistake."

"okay," i said, "i figured that. but what happened?"

"oh, it was just a typo."

"a typo that resulted in the full and proper spelling of my name and address?"

"yeah, but just ignore it. everything is fine."

i suppose it's great i will not be evicted from my apartment at short notice, but i don't believe that makes "everything fine." this was coming from laramar sf urban apartments, whose slogan is "committed to exceptional property management."

typos that lead to accidental eviction notices are not what i call "exceptional" unless we're looking at it like "this situation was exceptional-- it doesn't usually happen." in that case, this was a quite exceptional experience-- least it better be.

"can i have that in writing?" i asked, "i have a letter stating i must move out by july 31st, and i'd like another letter saying you're calling it off."

"okay," she said, "we'll mail that right out."

"and please," i added, "make sure there are no typos. i really want to receive this letter immediately."

i've seen some typos, but i've never run into one that happens to coincidentally spell the entire name of someone who happens to live in the exact apartment you've mailed it to. but i couldn't squeeze any other explanation out of this accountant.

the best theory we had was brought on by travis-- suggesting laramar has a keyboard with our full names on each key, and while they may have meant to hit the "james dawson" key, they hit the "president wishnack" one instead-- you know, maybe they're right next to each other.

ridiculous.

between my failure with amazon, my near failure at blockbuster, and an accidental eviction notice, this blog is inches away from becoming "chaos, nonsense & tourists: the story of how president wishnack gets fucked by companies every single day and is quietly losing his mind over the entire thing."

This was Written Wednesday

the day started at 8th & folsom: wicked grounds; a cafe that is self-described as "the one and only kink cafe," complete with good coffee and a fine selection of dildos and bondage paintings.

they also sold herpes. stuffed herpes. i gave a friend/ex-girlfriend the same kind of herpes as a present once.

interesting place.

after coffee and dildos, we sped to jeffrey's toys for a new nerf gun and plenty of backup ammo. i wasn't joking about the battle happening thursday and needed to be sure i was strapped for anything.

we ate some cheap tacos and headed home before making our way to the artists in residence trash-art show. naturally, we ran into a bit of chaos at our apartment-- mostly regarding bad news delivered by the postal service-- but that's an entirely different story.

i have to say, the art show had a great attendance but a horrible location. we were there the moment it opened and made our rounds quickly. but after about ten minutes, the place was crowded beyond what i'm sure the fire marshall would approve of. it got to the point where we were just crammed in a corner with nowhere to move. naturally, i got few pictures.

other than that, the pieces were pretty great. i could've stood to see more than they had on display, but it was still worth the visit.

i dug these trash dresses made from a mixture of beer caps, finely woven caution tape and recycled computer wires-- they reminded me of my high school 3d art teacher. her claim to fame was constantly being involved in a lawsuit with mars co. because she'd made these gowns and tuxedos out of candy wrappers.

the coolest thing, though, was seeing nemo gould's tiny piece. you might remember me mentioning this trash-artist in the past. i can't say i formally met mr. gould, but i did stand in line in front of him while waiting for complementary alcohol.

nemo gould's work is the little wheeled robot with antlers and i recommend you all take some time to check out his portfolio.

anyway, my claustrophobia and overly puffy jacket called the viewing to a quick end and we all headed back up the hill. but again, it was well-worth seeing.

now, i just need to schedule a tour of the dump.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

So Here is the Game

prove you exist.

your tools are your Mind and, its vessel, your Body.

as they are your only tools, you should keep them in good shape.

there are no rules in this game, but you'll find that rules will often affect whether or not you succeed.

there are seven billion players.

every player may go about proving they exist differently. this does not mean your way is wrong.

you may choose to tackle the situation with a partner, or a team.

or even a cult.

that part is up to you.

there is a time limit, but it's different for every single player.

furthermore, you cannot know what the time limit is.

a mixture of your Body and your choices will determine your time limit.

bad choices in this game can still prove you exist, but they can drastically shorten your time limit.

for instance, one player may decide to shoot seven other players, hack them up and hang their severed genitals on the flagpole at a public library.

they would almost instantly exist across the entire world, but their game will end abruptly and without much Love.

Love is key in this game.

sometimes you might feel like eliminating Love would improve your chance to prove you exist, but this is never true.

there is no point in existing if you do not have Love. and there is certainly no point in proving you exist if you do not have Love.

Love comes in many forms, and sometimes it's scary. but it is most definitely on your side.

in this game you will run into players that Fear something about you or something about themselves, and they will approach you with Anger.

Anger most commonly exists in order to mask another player's weaknesses.

while Anger is an easy emotion to turn to in a moment of panic, it is important to approach everything logically and open-mindedly.

although there are seven billion players, this is not a game of competition.

no one has to lose in order for you to win.

don't panic when you're not in control of the game. there is no situation in which panicking helps.

the sooner you accept that Chaos will happen no matter what intricate precaution you've taken, the sooner you will be able to enjoy this game.

be ready to improv, and be ready to alter plans.

be ready to Love and be ready to die.

but remember, it's just a game.

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