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Let's hold off on doing the Time Warp again for a bit

Where the remake went wrong:

Well, first and possibly most important, it was too polished.  The original had a feel of, "OK this is good but it needs something more, hey here's a severed moose head I found in Wardrobe, let's put that somewhere" kind of thing going.  Maybe that's not how it was, but it was how it felt, and that was what was appealing.

And trying to one-up the original is wrong.  You won't match Tim Curry's Frank, don't try to (this is just an example and not a criticism, as I don't think Ms. Cox tried to match or even emulate, she just did her own interpretation, and I really had no problem with that).  One thing I would point to as an example is the Rocky Horror Punk Rock Show, a CD I came across many years ago, and while not a shining example (punk rock shouldn't ever be that anyway, except for Return of the Living Dead, whiich is), was the feel I was hoping to get from this.  Instead... polish polish polish.

Also... should today's Rocky (the creature) be less chiseled than the one from 1975?  Did nobody on the crew know about anabolic steroids, or did they really want a Rocky that looked like he occasionally went to Carl Jr's for lunch?

But the main problem was that there was no interaction with the audience.  When we go to the theatre and see RHPS, we are part of the experience.  Who ever forgets that first time you shouted out a riff that nobody had ever thought of, and got laughs?  It wouldn't have been easy, admittedly... whether they hosted servers for people to log into to riff live, or just a text crawl like MST3K used to occasionally do.  There was simply nothing to invest in as an audience except just WATCHING, and I'm sorry but I've downloaded the new Black Mirror and would rather watch that.

Columbia's hair was fun though, and I thought the new take on fishnets was quite a cool idea.  

Coming from behind, Butt Fiction (oops wait)

So talking about the Butt Fiction backstory (i.e. TR finding to his glee that the Fayette Mall Food Court sold beer on Sundays) got me thinking about another time with Teddy, where we did go to Hooters afterwards, all the way back in a snowy day of 1995 to watch 12 Monkeys.

This was a good example of why you should never underestimate somebody, because I knew little enough about the movie except a.) it was based a short French film, which is never a good sign, b.) it was a Terry Gilliam film, which always means the audience has to think, and c.) and d.) which I will come up with later.

I totally expected TR to sleep through it and indulge me, as I would indulge him with titties later.

IIRC, we were in Lexington to actually go to Hooters first and THEN the movie, but we got there early enough to get a matinee. Or a manatee. No, it was definitely a matinee, although if I was still driving that old Ford truck at the time we could have taken a manatee also.

The reason I still love the movie so much after all these years, besides the memories of seeing it with TR at the time, is that it treats two subject matters in the absolute correct way. One, time travel. Even if traveling through time was possible (sorry fellow Whovians, it's not), manipulating and changing past events would not be. I can go into why some other time, but I knew this already going into the theatre.

Something I didn't know at the time, however, is how your memories fuck with you. Think of it: how many times have you almost resorted to fisticuffs arguing over a memory you ABSOLUTELY know is true, yet somebody else who was also there contradicts it, because their recollection is ABSOLUTELY true and is in fact the correct one so fuck you?

That statement got away from me.

My point is, memory likes to play silly buggers with all of us. It's not a video recording we play back later; it is an amalgam of the actual event, but also feelings we have had about similar situations, and other related memories and facts we know about the world, and what ice cream we last had, and why do people in the NE of our country hate soft-serve so much when you can get it dipped in chocolate, and on and on with other things that don't matter that get all mushed up because our brains are still not smarter than our phones, where we can catch invisible imaginary animals in tiny imaginary prison-balls, whom we summon to fight other imaginary animals in events that are only *slightly* less goofy than "Professional Wrestling."

(I make fun of that in the utmost respect for the business, because when I met John Cena while living in Boston, I looked at him and said to myself "this little nerd is a wrestling superstar?" He was tiny. BUT, it was probably off-season, or between PPV fights, besides what does it matter, Alfalfa from The Little Rascals could probably kick my ass. Note: He was still very, very hot. Cena I mean, not Alfalfa.)

Sorry, typing with one hand is distracting, I got away from my point (well, not all of them, but shut up Kenny). James Cole, played as an adult by Bruce Willis, keeps having flashbacks about the terrorists in the airport when he was a kid. And as the story goes along, the terrorists change with time, each memory being different. Every flashback showed a different villain from young James Cole's eyes, until he finally realizes HE is the terrorist that he, as a child, saw, and realizes in his last breaths that he'd seen his own death as a child.

Oh. Spoilers, sorry. Also, the Enterprise blows up and it was all a dream by Patrick Duffy.

So I left and got in my truck (because driving a parking lot's length was TOO MUCH for my fat ass at the time, I mean, we didn't even have Pokemon Go back then, was I supposed to walk all the way across a parking lot *for my health*?) and we went to Hooters. I totally expected Teddy to just try to get laid or at least look at titties non-stop, but, after placing our orders (mine is always the cheese-steak sandwich and curly fries), he could not shut the fuck up about how much he loved the movie. And he got it, completely (well, at the time, I am sure he's forgotten the movie by now).

Also he looked at titties.

I've reached a New Low

270.

It doesn't even sound like a proper weight.  280, yes, 265, yes, but not 270.  I think I have some form of triskadelaphobia or whatever it's called...  irrational fear of certain numbers.  I remember 28... it felt wrong and I didn't know why.  28 was not an age.

Also, black eye.  Fell flat on my face TO THE FUCKING FLOOR tripping over a broom that had fallen into the floor.  It caused a cut over my eye that made me look like a crime scene.  I used a whole Swiffer tampon cleaning it up!

Keifer Sutherland passed by my studio and waved and said "Hi buddy" to me yesterday.  All the girls in the news section were acting like president showed up.  He's not as tall as Jack Bauer.  But from what I heard (since my studio has no real sound proofing) he's a really good guy.

Passed a kidney stone, I think.

So, yeah.  280.  If not for the fact that it doesn't run in my family, I would worry that I caught The Sugar, i.e. diabeetus.  But no, as much as my doctor can't believe a fatty like me can have proper insulin absorption, I can.

My time off will get me back here just in time for the big Sketch comedy thingsirmadoodle.  I forgot what it's called, but MARIA BAMFORD will be here!!!

In other news... RIP Amanda... sad now.  Oh.  Spoilers.

I would walk a thousand miles

According to my pedometer, I've walked 25 miles so far this week.  My weight has been down to as low as 290, but 295 seems to be the average.  And now, Ash Vs. Evil Dead.

WTC

I have always known the World Trade Centers, mostly through monster movies.  The first was King Kong, from 1976.  Was the movie good?  It was good for a five year-old kid, sitting in the front row of the only Winchester movie theatre at the time.  I had read about it's production in Famous Monsters magazine (yes, I was reading at five years old), and waited in extreme anticipation for the giant robot Kong deLaurentis built for the scene where they unveil Kong to the public.  Admittedly at the time, you didn't have C-3PO or other robots that seemed alive, but KK was so fake I actually remember saying "God that's stupid" when I saw the giant KK robot.

But I was still amped for the movie... because I wanted to see Kong astride the Two Towers... like in the poster!

This scene did not happen.

In fact, KK was DWARFED by the WTC.  He was fucking tiny.  What a ripoff.  How could he fight Godzilla again if he was so small?

Of course, Toho Studios wasted no time in ripping off KK's campaign for their release of the worst Godilla movie, and the first I ever saw, Godzilla vs. Megalon.  

I've narrated my feelings on that day, 09-11-2001, before, but I thought I'd just say how much it just was... weird... to know these giant Saltine boxes that were a symbol of American ingenuity, engineering, and icons of our largest city were gone.

Also I'm 44 now.

The new record

307.


I am not trying to lose weight, I am in fact making sure to eat, knowing that the anti-depressant robs me of appettite, just when you're lazy and just eat fruits and veggies because you don't have to cook them you're accidentally healthy.

I guess this is the feeling doctors have when they expect but find no trace of diabetes in me.  "What, fatty?"

Knowing

Instead of watching Tombstone, I am watching the Alex Proyas movie, Knowing.  Nick Cage plays a good drunk, as well as a good alcoholic (there's a difference).

My love seat finally arrived, and it is kind of grounding me.  I just had to order the one color that was new to the line, so it was back-ordered until now because it was so popular.  I guess Oakland doesn't have too many furniture stores, not many choices aside from Salvation Army, if you don't mind lice and bed bugs.

Just having this piece of furniture is making me feel almost normal.  Like I've got my life together finally.  I just went potty and looked at myself in the mirror...  my stress-pimples are disappearing since this morning.  That's kind of extraordinary.   Of course I hope it continues... I'd like to actually go out to a beer bust or something (not that I'd drink much beer because yuck)(unless it's Henry Weinhardt but they don't have that on tap).

Of course, I do not want to get into a relationship.  I'm obviously not good at that.  Or wasn't, I guess, and am scared of trying again and getting burnt.  But a beej isn't outta the question.

Not that that hasn't been repeatedly offered, for some reason.  I just haven't taken anybody up on it.

Tomorrow I have to go to Michael's and get a new vinyl album frame for my FNM vinyl.  I think seeing Dale from afar build his vinyl collection is influencing me to do the same.  I am lucky to live in a city with two Amoeba Records... it will feed any addiction I might have along that route.

Now I think I am going to settle down on the new couch-ish and watch a Godzilla film, after Knowing ends.

Jumper

There are things they don't tell you before you move to San Francisco.  Most people, like I did, ask how scary are earthquakes,  and they tell you, "Eh, not so bad."  The one that hit the other morning was 4.0, and I am not kidding when I said it was pants-shitting scary.  I absolutely would have shit the bed if I hadn't dropped heat minutes earlier.

Oh, and the place smells like shit.  This is not a euphemism for anything;  the drought has meant that the sewer system gets no runoff water to lube the pipes, and the crap starts clogging the system and you can smell it walking to work from the subway.  And the poopiest part of the city?  Where I work in the Financial District.  Yay, we're number One... at smelling like number Two.

And then there's the homeless problem, which probably isn't helping matters with the poop smell.

Oh, and it turns out that mentally ill people regularly fling themselves in front of subway trains to commit suicide.

The Incredible Shrinking Man - Shake Rattle and Roll

315 pounds.

After the stroke, and getting on crazy pills for depression, and losing pretty much all appetite until I moved back home after being laid off in Dayton, I think I got down to 308.  I'm seven pounds away from my lowest weight in twenty years.

While I of course like this, it does come with irritants... I have to buy new clothes, because all the shorts and pants I have now look like clown pants.  I hate shopping for clothes.  Also, it's pretty easy to feel fat now, because it is easy for my stomach to feel full.  I guess I felt fat before and just ignored it.  After lunch today I felt like my belly was about to bust open.

(I try to eat lunch because my doctor said not to skip lunch if I skip meals.)

And then there was the earthquake.

I've ruined three lives, me, America's sweetheart...

Soapdish was exactly what I needed to watch tonight.

As you wish

I have something of more importance to document, but I will say right now that I hate that watching The Princess Bride now makes me sad rather than nostalgic.  I remember seeing it in a theatre in an extinct mall when I had just started driving.  One of the best movies of my youth.

Now it is just a reminder of what I've lost and what I do not trust myself to have ever again.

I should probably stick to Return of the Living Dead and Elvira's first movie when I want nostalgia. 

Uneeda Medical Supply

This week I met Stephen Jenkins from Third Eye Blind, and everybody in X Ambassadors.  They were really nice guys but the lead singer was a bit of a dick sometimes, although he was on the verge of getting sick and it was affecting his voice, which understably would make him grumpy.  The only bathroom was in the front room of the recording studio we were at, where our winners were being corralled, and the drummer took a fifteen minute dump in there.  I assume he was trying to minimize grunting noises.  They were all nice guys in general though, especially considering their recent success with "Renegades."

I also will have walked a total of twenty miles by Saturday, definitely a record for me.  Monday I did five miles, and marveled at my pedometer when I got home as my legs turned simultaneously into both jelly and wood.  The next morning I woke up stiff as fuck, but after a warm shower, I got on my way to the subway and had no problems.

I've mentioned that I was on my last loop on my last belt:  that belt might as well be a Hula Hoop now.  I'm gonna try to get through tomorrow and then go clothes shopping at Walmart Saturday morning.

Whoa!  I just heard thunder.  Apparently there are some storms around.  Maybe I should stop watching ROTLD again and go to bed and watch the clouds.

Sixty-Six

That's how many stairs there are to get to my apartment, which I've had to climb each day for five days with the elevator being out.  If you had told me one day I'd be doing 66 stairs a day for a week, I'd have looked at you like a tiny door opened in your head, and then a little clockwork bird popped out on a spring going "Coo-koo!"

I did sweat profusely, I did take the stairs slowly due to my stroke... but I had no trouble doing four flights.  This is way different from my past.

I no longer sit down and rest on the way to or from work from the subway.  I didn't even notice I'd stopped doing it at first.  After a week I guess I did.

I need to stop going to The Melt.  I have gained weight back.  As much as I hate shopping for clothes, I'd rather keep the weight off.  Maybe the soup place, they have an awesome Greek salad.

Anyway.  Me.

Say cheese

I may have made a big mistake today.

Since a few days have thrown the curve on my Google Fit averages, and my doctor wants me to at least not skip lunch, I've decided to start having something to nibble on around one.

I have lots of choices if I don't feel like packing my own, from sushi to chili to grilled cheese.

I used to hate grilled cheese.  But then one day when Mom offered to make me one, I remembered how dill pickle chips made pulled pork barbecue sandwiches the tastiest things ever, and wondered if they could do the same with grilled cheese.  Turns out they could.  And when I switched from the sickly, pale and translucently green normal dill chips to the robust Vlasic brand, it became a gourmet sandwich.

I learned in Boston how to make my own grilled cheese sandwiches, although I used provolone... not sure what all Dale used besides provolone in the tomato soup, but his sandwiches were good too, although I'm of the camp that prefers the tangy tomato diluted with water rather than cream.... I know this is in the minority, but it's how I grew up.

So when selecting a doctor as my primary care physician, I chose one in the Embarcadero, which is a group of four buildings that's kind of like a shopping center and business complex.  My doctor is very nice and does not judge me on my past, or at least doesn't out loud, and I appreciate that.   I am being moved off of an alpha-blocker and onto a beta-blocker for blood pressure.   Soon I'll see a neurologist, probably get an MRI.  But the Embarcadero is where I found The Melt.

The Melt is one of many grilled-cheese restaurants that build their menu around that simple item.  I'd been meaning since discovering them to come try their Italian special, but when I got there, I saw their "Well Dressed" fries--

Russetts, cheddar, fontina & jack, bacon with crispy onions

What I didn't know was that this tastes exactly like a pub I used to frequent in downtown Lexington, The Holy Grail, and yes I did Monty Python skits for their commercials.  It had great food, but nothing better than their smothered fries, which, apparently, had a couple of cheeses I'm not familiar with.  I'm gonna have to learn about jack and fontina, because these were the best smothered fries I've ever had, and they tasted exactly like The Melt's, only The Melt's Russetts weren't shoestrings.

It's a mistake because I am on the last notch on my last belt.  Was hoping to keep that extra weight off.  This may not happen, now.

What's more to update.  Everybody likes me at work.  I keep getting lascivious offers for company and turning them down.  And I realize now I shoulda got a bigger TV.

Maybe I'll correct that this weekend.

The view seen from Kelly's VISOR: T-g

My litttle brother's review of Terminator: Genisys.

Kelly Sunday-schools you on the Bible

I've always said my little brother is smarter than me (not as handsome, but smarter).  Here are his thoughts on the Bible and gays:

I actually made two posts.  Here was the first one in regards to the quote from Romans...

The words in The Book of Romans are not the words of Jesus. That is Paul speaking. And if you believe Paul, keep in mind that he forbids women to discuss matters of religion. So all you women, please stop sinning up this thread. 

Jesus never spoke out against homosexuality. Guess what? He also didn't speak out against premarital sex, didn't speak out against birth control, but did speak out against public prayer and the death penalty. He also had brown skin and long hair. But that's only if you believe what's in the Bible.

11/17 The Dresden Dolls - The Jeep Song @ Roundhouse

Inside Out

Things I did today that I could cross off my bucket list, if I had one:

1. Found a great place to have lunch in the city on the weekends, and maybe once in a while do shopping, and see movies, right off the Powell St. subway stop.
2. Bought a new love seat, realized how much I hate that term.
3. Pre-ordered Arkham Knight.
4. Saw a passed out homeless person shit his pants on the sidewalk.
5. Had a carrot-fart from eating too many carrots last night.
6. Went on a movie date with a local game programmer who is a millionaire... watched the new Pixar movie next to this beefy stud worth a few million who thinks I am hot.
7. Bought an Amazon Fire because my old tablet is dead.
8. Was solicited for sex by a stranger in a mall bathroom.

And now I'm finishing laundry.  Tomorrow:  Target and Michael's.  Now, fruit bowl.

500,000

I couldn't think of a punchy title for this post, so I just put down the number of sportsball fanatics that were here in Oakland this morning to welcome back their NBA champions.  This place looks like a shit-hole now.

Anyway, this week has been odd for a few reasons.  One, I learned my stalker is definitely still stalking me.  Second, Dale also spoke to me, in a way.  And third, nine people in South Carolina were murdered by a racist.

"Every fiber in my body hurts."

As Seen Thru Kelly's VISOR....: Jurassic World recap

As Seen Thru Kelly's VISOR....: Jurassic World recap: So the new Jurassic World film is SOOOOO predictable.   Remember that park where a T-Rex om-nom-nommed on a bunch of innocent people?  ...

Bouts and Doubts

I had another massive hit of depression over Memorial Day Weekend.  So bad I had to tell my boss about it... he knew I was dealing with depression, but not how bad it had gotten for me.  I told him the worst thing was that there is nothing wrong in my life right now.  My job is great, my workplace is great, my pay is great, my health (physical anyway) seems improving... the only bad thing I can think of is being so far from home, but I've done that before.

My meds were off.  I was not getting the correct dosage.  They've been corrected, and I wondered when they'd kick in.  Then the Bottlerock weekend came up and kicked my ass with fun.  I was front row for the Mowgli's (or as I call them, Amy Pond and the Time Lords... see the girl singer) who weren't as hippie as I thought.  I had shit seats for Cage the Elephant, because I wanted to sit near the soundboard and grab the recordings as soon as possible, and I regret that because they really rocked the house.  I didn't see Zella Day, or Young the Giant, but I did stand in the back for ZZ Ward, who is an incredible blues-influenced performer and two of her band have liked my pic on Instagram.  I sat outside and waited for Michael Zanti to finish what sounded like either an enthusiastic set celebrating life and love, or an extremely punishing exercise class.  He is pretty incredible.

I had All Access at the chateau, so I went upstairs to the kitchen to grab a drink on the last day.  Just one band to record that day.  A group of human locusts already hovered over the food display, devouring.  A couple of them were on the balcony remarking how awesome the place was, and one remarked on my t-shirt and said he was into comics too, and we geeked for a bit while I munched on some fancy sandwich.  Then I excused myself to go get ready for the show.

Turns out they were the show.  I was chowing down on American Authors' nibbles with American Authors.  While they are not quite the type of music I like, their show was phenomenal, particularly their cover of "Yellow" by Coldplay, I song I hate, but their version?  Love.

This is a good job.  I told my boss that I had a great time before leaving Sunday.

Then I got to work this morning and found out we're doing another Nickelback promotion.

++++++++

I had doubts that the increase in my meds was working, it certainly would be unusual for it to start to affect me so quickly, but I received a notice on my phone this morning that would, at one time, would have sent my brain into a tizzy of trying to figure out why and what and how and what to do.

Today I just deleted it and walked on to work.  Maybe the new dose is working after all.  Or maybe it really was the first great weekend of many here.

Never use an electric cattle prod from behind the cow.  Edit for mr smarty pants:  because they will explode a gallon of shit water on you, dumbass.

I'm going back to school to study chemistry so I can invent a shampoo that doesn't  make it look like I just spunked in my hand.  And then retire on the riches that will follow.

Five cents change

As if to punish me for being optimistic about the new job and new opportunities open to me, fate decided that one of my first promotions would be a Nickelback giveaway.

It may be cliche, but I swear to all that is holy that I had trouble figuring out which guitar riffs I recorded went with which vocals.

Also I got my first paycheck today.  That makes up for it.

Good, bad, ugly

The job keeps seeming to get potentially better and better.  It appears I will be engineering the recordings of our private shows, which is a big thing.  I mean, a chimp could bus the audio to separate recording channels, and it's not like I'd be doing any post-production mixing... but it leads to a yearly engineering credit on an actual album we'll sell.  I mean, damn.

Plus, I'll be actually learning about mixing for music, which is way different than doing comedy skits with pre-produced music.  Kind of scared and excited.

My big debut will be at the Bottlerock festival at the end of the month.

In the meantime, today everything I had forgotten about Protools clicked back today, and I've built my old template again and what I'm putting together sounds awesome.  Still kind of doing things the long way around with Protools, but it sounds like they're buying me the plugins and the mouse I need, so I won't stop them.

The bad, got hit by a foreigner while driving to Safeway.  Still dealing with the insurance companies on that.

The ugly, my neighbors' kids, but our walls seem thick, and I am only bothered by them when doing laundry.  So far.

much much much

So much I want to talk about right now.  I still cant, for reasons.

I am slowly crawling out from the boxes of my moving life.  But even that needs to wait for later.

I won't be going to get comics again until Saga is out.  This actually could be the death of me and comics.  Who knows, maybe another writer will come along.

Bronze Monkey is judging me right now.

Sub-missive

San Francisco is a pretty cool place to live in, although I live in Oakland now, but it's just two subway stops away.  

I walk a minimum of two miles every day.  At first, when I was lugging my laptop to work as well, I had to stop at benches and rest.  Apparently the amount of weight I've again lost since going back on Zoloft is the same as what my laptop bag weighs, because my back pretty much felt the same.  This week, without the laptop?  I might stop and rest once during the walk to/from work, for twenty seconds or so.

I've steadily been sweating less each day, and finally figured out that I can basically take any East Bay train I want to get home, which is fucking sweet:  no waiting, unless I want to.

I have missed two concerts so far, because I am still exhausted from the accelerated move.  I could have seen Alabama Shakes the night after I arrived, but I was pretty much comatose that day.  I didn't get to see FNM for pretty much the same reason, but since they are from SF, they'll probably add a couple of dates after their tour.

My boss really likes me and I think he's pretty glad he got me.   The first things I wrote for him didn't even get altered, not one bit.  And he's inviting me over for Mint Juleps on Derby Day, which, I don't want to tell him how I hate mint in anything that's not a breath freshener, but hey, he's the boss.  There's only so many times I can get by with drinking beers.

Oh yeah.  The key to not being a drunk if you do it because otherwise you cannot sleep is to walk a lot.  It's 9pm, PST.  If I wanted to go to bed right now, I would be asleep for like five hours.  I might be getting used to the commute, but it doesn't mean my body isn't still complaining, and needing rest.

All of the pro framed pics survived the journey, but I may wait til my brother visits to hang them.  Tomorrow I go to buy a couch and a new, smaller TV.  

Life is pretty fucking good for me right now.  And to think, it wouldn't have happened if my life hadn't gone to shit after the stroke and Dad dying.

Sol Invictus

I actually didn't realize that I hadn't driven my car for three days until the weekend got here and I needed to stock up on oranges and apples.  I forgot bananas.  I am not purposefully trying to eat healthy... believe me, I'll get the lasanga if I go to a restaurant.  It's just, on the anti-depression meds, I just lose my appetite.  I have to set an alarm to remind myself to eat stuff, because while I'm not in danger of wasting away, I have again lost a lot of weight... nearly 30 pounds.

I am glad I chose to not live in San Francisco, but the East Bay area.  It forces me to use the subway, which is great, and I've met my Google Fit goals every day since I started work.  The area of Oakland my apartment is in is actually really safe, and my walk to the subway is short, as is my walk to work from the subway.  

My apartment is tiny and just the right size for me.  Next weekend I'll go get a TV at Best Buy, for now I'll just use the tiny bedroom one.

My boss laughed his ass off at the stuff I wrote yesterday.  I haven't felt that good in a while.

It's probably torrented or streaming, but I'm listening to the new Faith No More right now.  Liking it.  I think I'll get into one of their concerts here... hopefully they'll sing my current fave song from them, and "Be Aggressive."

Under the boardwalk

My reviews of the states

Kentucky:  If we had had proper rainfall this year, it would have been a normal spring and everything would have been green and smelled nice.  Between cities was unremarkable.  Louisville was surprisingly pleasant to drive through, not much traffic to deal with.

Indiana:  Boring, and once again I took a big gay dump in Santa Claus.  I was not even denied a wedding pizza.

Illinois:  Not much to talk about here.

Missouri:  East side of the state smells like poop.  Do not bother to complain to the locals about it, they will not believe you because they can't smell it.  It's because of the Mississippi River, I assume, since Memphis smells the same.

They've finished the construction that used to vex me in St. Louis, so it was a smooth ride.  It was weird seeing all the road and city signs again knowing they weren't leading to the happy weekends I used to associate with them.

This was the state with the most insects.  I left a Days Inn and saw no less than three Storm Chasers gathered in the parking lot preparing to, chase storms.  A woman larger than me (with a shirt that read "run the red lines" that outlined a special area of Tornado Alley) walked haphazardly past me on two leg braces and canes, eager to get back to The Good Work.  

Iowa:  A desolate shit-hole.  Also there was snow.

Nebraska:  A desolate shit-hole.

Wyoming:  I'd been in Wyoming before, but not this part.  Very impressive welcome sign on the border, and striking mountains began to rise.  Saw my first wind farms and my first tumbleweed.  And a bunny.  I did not see Devil's Tower.

Utah:  Amazingly beautiful, and since that's me talking about nature, it should be a strong indication of how pretty it was. I'd love to actually visit, since beauty lasts approximately 150 miles.  Also the Star Wars fans there do not know how to spell:

Nevada:  Every rest stop in Nevada is intended to addict you to gambling.  Even the Arby's had a casino.  It starts literally at the border, with a big casino town.  Traffic was tumultuous so I did not notice much of Reno, but the roads were for shit.

California:  They check you for produce at the border.  The guy in the truck in front of me was pulled over because he was hauling something they had to confiscate.  My movers warned me of the dreaded Gypsy Moth which has no natural predators in California, and which would land me in prison if anything they were moving was infested with Moth larvae.  The inspectors, however... they just waved me through.

I am in my extended stay hotel now, have already had a few offers for companionship, which I've turned down, and have had my first unremarkable pizza.  Tonight I am just staying in... tomorrow my new life begins.  It is a pity it will begin alone.

If I wasn't so sore I would be seeing Alabama Shakes tonight.  Instead I will just be sleeping more.

I do not think I like pizza with bits of garlic chunks on it.

24

Right now begins my last 24 hours as a permanent resident of Kentucky.

The Move

The next few days are going to be hectic.

In addition to continuing my full time job (and working this weekend so that my travel days aren't deducted from my first paycheck), I have to tie up loose ends.  See my cousin before I go.  He will want to drink, but that's okay if I have Mango-ritas again.  My uncle whom I've never met died this week, his funeral is tomorrow... I feel guilty about not going, but the thought of pall-bearing as a final duty here makes me want to get my tits out.  Besides, the family is the one saying focus on my move, so I'm honoring their wishes.

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop... this job seems too good to be true.  For one, what they really need is a copywriter... because I think the boss is used to a different style than what I began churning out in Dallas.  Just writing, it is so fucking hard.  It exhausts me, it exhausts my brother.  He'd honestly rather be in the gym.  Putting together the fiddle-faddle is easy, it's finding a new way to sell it that makes it stand out that is the challenge.

I seem to be succeeding on that front, anyway.  A few hiccups, but that's to be expected in the beginning.  Everything else is on the air.

I am back.

First Day Jitters

Today is my first day of the new job.

According to the boss, I am full time as of now.   I got my moving estimate and will be gone from Kentucky soon.

I have actually been working on writing stuff for them already and am producing stuff right now and writing more.  

It's exciting but scary knowing I'll be starting over again alone in a city where nobody knows me, with few enough friends that keep in touch anyway.  

Honest, if I have another stroke, it will be days before anybody notices.  I am taking the steps to ensure that doesn't happen again.  The antidepressants are working, I've even lost weight again, down 26 pounds.  I haven't had a drink since... wow.  Since my interview.

Doesn't mean I can't have a stroke.  Just didn't really notice trying not to, til now.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I got the job.

Yep. It is on.

Today it's almost official.  I have to cut cords with my past.  Spend what time I can with family and the friends that want to spend time with me, of which there are mercifully few who can't do that through facebook.

My next phase in life is beginning.  I picked the wrong week to want a PS4.

Moving time... getting ready

Well.  I have a little extra spending cash now.  

Some people collect silly things, and they take their collections seriously.  I definitely have done the former, and used to do that latter.  Although I may still have my figures, if they disappeared tomorrow I wouldn't be too upset except over a few.  Rom, Weeping Angel and MST3k busts, maybe some of the super-robots.  Definitely the metal Mechagodzilla.  He's not at all rare, but kids today all love the newer MG's that look like pimped out Transformers. 

I feel the same way about comics.  I used to be religious collecting them, but had to sell off a good amount to keep my addiction going.  Now I basically just buy Saga when it's out, and occasionally a few other books along with it to have dinner to.

At the comic con I met somebody interested in buying my run of Miracleman, and have sold it for a whopping $500, which I want to say I will spend on getting an apartment but will probably use for a PS4.  He was interested in my V for Vendetta run, but I do not want to part with that, yet.

By the end of the month the wheels should start turning.  I cannot wait to get on with life.

I am sure I am just having a psychosomatic reaction, but I've been on my meds for five (?) days now and have little appetite.  They can't possibly be affecting me this quickly but, hey, if it's working...

Too long

A good sign that I've been unemployed for too long is that fleshbot.com pops up as an autofill on one of my browsers now before facebook does.

Also, there is yet another opening for me to apply for.  Well, I need another one to keep my unemployment going, so...

Checks please

Cleaning out some crap, such as my Xbox 360 which I intend to trade in for a PS4, and found Ex's old checks.

They appear to be pretty old, certainly not from his address when we were dating, and I guess they fell out of the travel bag that he left (one thing I did keep... much better than my duffle bag).   So now I have to do the right thing and shred them, which gives me an excuse to visit Lexington tomorrow, as well as the PS4 thing.  I guess I could burn them, but my goal is to insure that I'm not responsible if he has a case of stolen identity, not some kind of symbolic ritual of cleansing or whatever the wiccans do for that kind of stuff.  

I learned that the symbolic stuff does not work for me... I kept a record of tossing what he left in the dumpster, which was supposed to be cathartic.  It was not.  In the end my little brother carted a lot of his and my stuff off to Goodwill.  Somebody somewhere has it, but it is not me.

Except for the travel bag.

Second day of Zoloft, but of course the effects are not felt yet.  Probably will be a month before I notice anything.  It's weird, as it builds up in my system, if it happens like last time, I just obsess less and less and don't notice my bad habits are starting to go away, until one day when I realize I haven't eaten all weekend because I really don't have an appetite.  I'm fine with that, I need to start everything over fresh.  Losing weight again can only be a good thing.

One of my go-to movies on my phone to go to sleep with is What We Do In The Shadows, a New Zealand mockumentary about vampires.  Here's the first six minutes.

Pretty funny all the way through, and one of the Conchords guys is in it (same one that was in Muppets Most Wanted.)  It's playing at the Kentucky Theatre, and I might go there tomorrow and watch it, as long as UK isn't playing basketball.  It's pretty funny.  Much better than Twilight.

In which good news continues to frighten me

First though... why is it that people who always claim to never put up with "drama" are usually the ones who cause the most of it?  Food for thought...

Talked with the boss and things are moving.  I can actually start seriously considering some of the apartments I've been casually glancing at online.  This will be expensive, but worth it for the experience, and all the amenities that come with living there.

A few other places have contacted me as I continue to apply so I can keep my unemployment benefits going, per Ohio's stupid rules.  One was WMMS in Cleveland.  A great job for a great station, but, nothing against Cleveland, but after this past winter moving north is not a priority.  But if they call again I will string them along just  to see how much they low-ball me.  That would be funny.

The other was ******* in St. Louis.

That took me by shock a bit because, well, the obvious reason, but also because I did not submit anything to them.  They got my demo through somebody else in their company that I did apply to, and the job has not been advertised yet, which says to me that somebody's about to get shit-canned.  

If this had been a year ago, I'd have pursued it, but for the wrong reasons.  I mean St. Louis is a nice enough market but also MURDER and besides, we all know the real reason why I would have considered it, which is why it would have been another Big Mistake in my life.  So I replied that I already had something lined up.  Mind you, when they told me how much it paid... I was tempted.  But no.  I've made enough mistakes in my life.

Speaking of, it's time to correct one of them... just picked up my first bottle of Zoloft (generic name Setraline) and it's time for my first dose in over a year.  Hopefully by the time I move it will be in full effect again and I won't be making the same mistake again.

One more month

This should mark about one month from me moving out and starting over, once again.

The difference being I am doing it for the right reason this time.  I've moved because of a broken heart... I've moved for friendships that weren't real.  I've moved for a better job that turned out to be a worse one, and I've moved just to have a job and a doomed relationship.

This time I am moving for the perfect job for me, in a city that I can build my life again and grow in more ways than just my job and expand creativity, for a boss I will trust and who I know isn't crazy, in an environment that will force me to be healthy whether I like it or not.

I have to conquer my impatience, which is my greatest enemy, and give up my past mistakes even when the people I've asked forgiveness from won't have anything to do with me.  

It should begin a very good chapter of my life, if I can just keep thinking with my head and not my dick, and keep my heart in my chest and not on my sleeve.

Jesus, that's a little too flowery.  Uh, also I will probably get good blowjobs.  There, much better.

Posters I got at the comic con

Buy your own at mattpeppler.com.

Shake zula, the mic rula...

This was the autograph I got from my little brother from Dana Snyder, voice of Master Shake, Granny Cuyler, and countless other animated characters.  (Well actually you can count them, they're on IMDB, but I'm not gonna.)   Also, a private idol of mine, if the gig takes off and I can actually do something to pursue making money in such a field, he will be the one I install an altar to worship at and sacrifice goats to.  

I have just one rule for cons... find ONE thing, and buy that, and get out.  I did, very artsy (and illegal) fan posters for Friday the 13th (for my older brother), Creature From the Black Lagoon (for my younger brother), and Return of the Living Dead (for me OMG IT'S SO AWESOME).  Pics to  come later.  The con vendor room was just as lame as I was expecting... most Lexington comic conventions have been so, but my brother wanted to check out the lower floor, so I told him I'd be out in the car waiting.  And then he brings me this.  Turns out the upper vendors were the cheap seats, the real action was downstairs.  And now I'm very glad I have this rule, because I would have spent my non-existing inheritance on Godzilla dolls.

But of course I had to go meet Master Shake.

Doctor, doctor

Doctor appointment for Wednesday.  Get back on a water pill and see about getting the anti-dep stuff going again.  If I can get my dental insurance taken care of today I'll even get that done before the move.

Comic con in Lexington today.  I thought of asking my little brother to spring for Guiseppe's, the fancy Italian restaurant I used to do commercials for, but I remember now he's got a huge bunch of taxes this year to pay, so maybe I should keep my mouth shut.  If everything goes well, I will treat him before I leave the state.

I had an idea for a post about some videos I watched this morning about love, relationships, and other topics, but I really should try to get some more sleep.  Also a hottie from Winchester's been flirting with me.  Hmmm.

On my knees

The recent damage to my left knee, where I nearly executed a perfect triple Salchow after an ice storm left a sheet of frictionless death glass on my driveway, has reached the healing point where it is like a crack addict looking to suck a dick for a rock, "rock" in this case being me scratching the wound like a dog chewing at his stitches.

"Yo man, just scratch me a little, I'll suck yo diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick," it screams at me (in what I might add is a completely racist voice).  "Suck yo dick for some scratch, muthah-fucker, come on."  While I tried not only to point out that scratching it would leave it susceptible to scarring, but also the physical impossibilities and impracticalities of my knee sucking my or anybody else's diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick, I've begun scratching it.  I figure it will be a while before anybody sees it again anyway, since I don't intend to get into another relationship soon, so I don't have to worry about anybody clutching their Jesus-pearls and flinging bottles of holy water at me.

Not much else going on right now.  The snow is gone and is probably not coming back, so I'm just hovering again waiting on the inevitable.

Baby

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ACADEMY AWARD WINNER PATRICIA ARQUETTE performing mouth-to-mouth CPR on a baby that was just recovered from a sinking car by James Van Der Beek after it had been stolen by hackers who used hijacked baby monitors to spy on it and who outsourced the theft to a drug mule who hid narcotics inside her breast implants on 

the 

first 

episode 


of a CSI spin-off titled CSI: Cyber. 

Next time, on a very special episode of BEWITCHED...

Turing Machines

++Edit 030915 12:17 am-- spoiler alert for The Imitation Game.  Sorry about that.+++

And that, reader(s), is exactly why I need to be on anti-depressants again.  And trust me, this little emo outburst is not even close to what it used to be like.  The day Ex left me... well, I do not even remember what happened that day.  Perhaps I drank, but I don't think I did.  I remember watching him through the keyhole until he disappeared.  Going to the window multiple times, hoping his car would return and he would give me another chance.  But deep down I knew it wasn't going to happen, because I recognized how he walked away as I closed the door.  I'd seen that same gait in Dallas, before he disappeared the first time from my life.

The purpose of this blog has been to give me a venue to air my thoughts openly without the ridicule that comes from Facebook and other sites, but still, after the Crazyjournal fiasco, where I also operated sans-meds, I've taken liberties of mentioning almost nobody by name, and only a few by pseudonym.  Writing out my thoughts and feelings and events in my life lets me capture them in amber, before the rot of memory tampers with them, confusing them with other memories and twisting new fictions, like memories are wont to do with everybody.  Capture the butterfly, pierce it and pin it down, preserve it in a pristine condition, then come back in a few days or weeks and look over your morbid sanctuary and wonder what the hell you were doing and thinking.

I couldn't even see a doctor to get back onto Zoloft until I had insurance, I could not get insurance until February of this year, I could not get in as a new patient before the February blizzards started, so finally, I should be able to see a doctor, re-up or adjust my blood pressure meds, and get going again on some type of anti-depressant, which I will be on for the rest of my life.

I wonder what my reaction would have been if Ex had approached me, in his roundabout way, if I'd stayed on those drugs.  Perhaps I would have just ignored his "views" on my profiles, which I tried to do at first... the Growlr views were not the first time he looked at mine.  My little brother tells me I'm like that, or used to be in the past, if somebody screwed me over I would have just cast them out of my life, fuck them and they can go to hell, and all that.  I agree I used to be like that, before I fell in love for the first time with X.  And the second time and third, with Ex.

I just watched The Imitation Game in my bedroom, while the cat played with my feet beneath the covers.  It was interesting and heartbreaking and I hated it and loved it.  I loved it because it is a story about science (even though it is about "maths" and not stuff like Theory of Everything) where science wins, as opposed to modern day, where science and reason are losing out to religious zealotry.  There is a tender and gay love story that is almost as heartbreaking as Valerie from V For Vendetta, but it is broken up as the movie rotates between three of Alan Turing's life periods.  I hate it because it is heartbreaking in the worst way, in that it hits all the bad stuff in all of Turing's life at the same point in the film, to suddenly open the window and expose this curious man who broke the Enigma code and helped save an estimated 14 million people's lives, and show you precisely why he was an absolute twat to everybody.  An absolute sledgehammer to the feels.

Benedict Cumberbatch was nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of the tortured mathematician, but honestly until the movie rounds the turn to the third act, he was simply playing a more demure version of Sherlock Holmes.  Where Holmes would be verbose and rude, Turing would be timid but dispassionate.  But in each character you can see the tick-tick-ticking of a mind that never stops.  Perhaps he could have done with some Zoloft himself, rather than chemical castration that Turing eventually succumbed to.  It certainly helps my mind from racing with thoughts, and I'm no genius.  I wonder what it could do to help a true genius organize his or her thoughts rather than have them all shotgunned out at once like a video game, only to scatter to the breeze before they could be gathered and examined.

The ending had me on the ropes because there is no sense of building dread for the finale.  It is non-stop punches to the gut.  Turing solves the Enigma, helps win the war, but then you find out that his young love died on holiday from bovine tuberculosis, which makes the fact that he named the code-cracking machine after his love all the more bittersweet, and the revelation that he would endure hormone therapy rather than chance giving up his one symbol of unrequited love, the machine that he named after Christopher, the only real love he had in his life, is heart-rending.  Would you do that?  How many of us would?

It ends with noting his suicide a year after the treatments began, and that his machine would eventually lead to what we now call computers.  Every interaction we have nowadays, be it social, economic, political, whatever, can be traced to this one man and the love that was denied him.

Admittedly, it takes plenty of liberties with the truth (Turing was never accused of treason), but the sentiment of the injustice is remarkably pure in those closing moments.

+++++++

I only got on anti-depressants because I thought I could win back the love of Ex if I got better.  Hint:  they don't work immediately, or very well at first, and it takes a while to find the right dosage.  By the time I found mine, Ex had moved on to another partner.  And for many months afterwards, I was not well.

Eventually as I moved onto Zoloft (from an initial prescription for Citalopram), and found some peace.  It was not easy.  Deep down I knew that I had to stay on them, or I would obsess about Ex more than I already did.  Eventually the obsession ebbed, and I thought getting off of them was possible.

Guess I should have rethought that.

I've gone through every emotion since he left.  Rage, sadness, longing, jealousy.  The worst has been betrayal.  The thought that I never meant that much to him to begin with.  It stands to reason that if I did, he'd have said something wouldn't he?  Why would he let me think the things my brain throws at me, thinking he is just a user of emotions, rooting for his relationships to fail, and that he was as bad as I was... he is okay with me thinking that?  I find it hard to believe he's that kind of person.

Then I remember the last time he liked a picture of mine on Instagram.  Silly, how such a thing can mean so much.  It was the picture I took as I was still losing weight, in my "the Angels have the phone-box" t-shirt.  I took it December 1st, just days after his birthday.  It didn't add up why he liked that photo if he was mad at me at the time, as he told my brother that he was.  

So, maybe he never did really like me.  Maybe this great love I thought I had was just a Turing machine, something I simply built on my own time but never figured out the correct cipher for.  Maybe it was me all along.  Maybe I was the failure, not at all him.  That's why Turing's breakdown at the end of the movie resonates so much, because I know my only other choice to get better is to let go of the straw-man I've built.  He probably never existed, except in my head.  Even admitting I will never hear from him again anyway is difficult... Turing had at least that much.  He knew Christopher was gone.  The Machine was all he had left.

I will be going to the doctor in about ten days, assuming we don't get hit with more blizzards.  Zoloft is preferable to chemical castration, but sometimes it amounts to the same thing anyway.

Injury

I want to blame not going out last night on my knee, but it was just one of many factors.

There was a bear get-together in town.  Even my little brother thought it would be a good idea to go to it, since I've been kind of a shut-in lately.  I didn't get to town until 10, though, and I noticed the first problem almost immediately... no street parking.  I forgot, the snow hadn't quite melted yet.

This actually could have been easily taken care of at the library, which lets you park for free after-hours in their garage, but I went past the bar first and... ugh.  Too many people, already.  No thanks.  I mean, yes all that AND falling into my knee in the snow and ice and basically tearing up my knee, but honestly when the crowd gets to a certain stage for me, it becomes "critical mass" and I have to leave or have a meltdown, as it were.  So I just went to the bookstore and then went home, where my brother cooked me an awesome steak.  A huge t-bone, that will probably haunt me in a few hours.  Yeesh.  But delicious.

I've never been the most graceful person, so slipping and ripping up my knee was not a big deal to me.  Some of the ice that had melted had re-frozen into a slippery sheet.  My older brother tried to help me up, but my pain was so great that I had difficulty explaining that I needed to get up by myself because I was on a giant slippery ice sheet and basically his help would doom both of us.

The aftermath looked like I had a fight with one of those machines from "Will It Blend?" and lost spectacularly.  But after the leg thing and having my gall bladder taken out, it didn't faze me.  It was just blood, and indeed, after cleaning the mess away, it was not as bad as it looked.

It did look bad enough that I doubt any action would have taken place if I disrobed with the lights on, though, so I passed up on the bear run.

Apartment hunting now... if I'm lucky the rain will have melted enough snow to make it up to my brother's house today.