Raisin' me higher and higher

Out of the blue I got a raise.  

I mean, I still am looking for a full-time job with benefits, but I was pleasantly surprised because I can't remember the last time I got a raise doing radio that didn't involve getting a new job somewhere else.

Technically, beginning next month, I'll be back in the black again, and if no other knock-on-wood unexpected expenses crop up, I will be able to work on my credit card debt next... my car is paid off already, two years early.

(Oh also I have paid my car off.)

I think the next thing to do is to buy an actual, custom built audio/video editing rig, so that I might also begin editing video again and doing voice-work.  My brother's house is all wood, so it's nearly impossible to voice anything without sounding like you're in an echo chamber.  Plus this laptop really doesn't have the power to render graphics like I want to start doing.  Also, I'd be able to supply character voices for my projects, and play an MMORPG I have my eye on that's in development.

Also I am thinking of buying a Nintendo Switch.

Anyway, back to work.

There might be a thing.

Well fuck

That job possibility went tits up faster than a hooker in the Oval Office.  Dammit.

Spreading the news

In most people's lives, you are considered lucky if you get to reboot once or twice.  Pick up all your belongings, travel to a new destination, begin again, fresh.

I don't so much reboot that way... my changes are more akin to Morty incurring the wrath of the squirrels or Cronenberging an entire planet, and having to scuttle off to a side universe and hope nobody notices the me-sized lump of freshly dug dirt in the backyard.

Seems like things are lining up for me to do that again.  Not sure I'm really digging it.  After all, if I have another stroke, pretty sure that means this time I will be a goner, so I better start practicing dialing with my left hand.

Also, it would shine an unwelcome light on me, and I really don't relish flotsam and jetsam from my past washing up to pretend nothing's wrong because of my situation.

Also I am pretty sure the pizza sucks.

Once again so we keep track of it

Oh, cock a doodle doo, crazy

While finally seeming to get over this atrocious sickness and being able to cough up some phlegm to clear my lungs, I have noticed that another bit of sputum has decided to rouse its presence.

Hello.  Perhaps I didn't make it clear before-- this is a log of the sickness I battle inside my head every day.  I do not retract past blog posts... they accurately reflect my feelings at the time, if not now.  If I haven't been clear enough, my lifelong attitude has "Want out of my life?  I completely understand.  If you wish, go.  Do not assume you'll be let back in, however."

I don't know why anybody would want to, honestly, so I fail to see how telegraphing me once again is going to accomplish anything.  What, am I worried about the Ex?  No, he seems happy, good on him.  Voldemort?  His meth addiction early in his life has probably erased me from his elderly brain as he approaches early senility, so honestly, good on him as well.  There is really nobody else who will miss me once I've evacuated this planet, and I'm quite satisfied with where I am today, so... perhaps you need to get a life focusing on bettering yourself?  Go play Uno or something with the people who allow you to be around.

Message ends.

The wyrm is turning

Oh, thank you, livejournal, for returning from the dead to send me emails reminding me of all the wrong decisions I've made with my life.  I fully expect an AIM chatbot window to open and ask me if I'd like to come down to the Slade rest area and fuck, now.

The current regime

The job is a bit surprising.  I keep learning new ways to make what starts out sounding ordinary to standing out with subtle effects.  I am learning about making music using loop based files, and relied on it heavily for this production I just finished.  I am learning that pauses in the scoring can actually strengthen the action and emotion by highlighting one word, or phrase.  

I am also finding myself referencing other bits of drama when I'm putting together a show.  And it's not just finding sound-alike music I can use... for example, there is a track that is obviously inspired from the Matt Smith-era of Doctor Who.  I thought it was a coincidence at first, but then I saw the track's title was "The Ginger Girl," and didn't use it.  

BUT I did do a show where I slid in lots of Tarrantino references... all of it completely legal to use, we've got the license... and the one I just finished has a John Carpenter-feel to it.  In fact, as I've started using and layering loops for my scores, I'm starting to understand how people like Carpenter and Trent Reznor create their stuff... of course, they really create their stuff, I'm just buying loops and emulating them.  But I also bought Acid (now owned by Magix) and am looking to buying Kontakt, as that seems to be the program all the cool kids are using.

I do, however, miss the old days of imaging, of just being able to sample some cool piece of music I heard in a movie... I doubt those days will ever return.

I actually had a whole post I was going to write about the Trump regime after this brief prelude, but I think I'll get back to the shows.

That feeling when...

...you are ripping your DVD collection because why not and you find one of your favorite documentaries that you'd last lent to somebody who hung out with your crowd when you didn't want to because you didn't really care for him even if "the crowd" liked him so you lend it and get it back and pack it away until just now when you have to clean it because it looks like he slathered his semen all over the backs of the discs which might not be hyperbole because he was a bit of a slut.

That feeling is EW and it makes me glad for bittorrent.

Delicious schadenfreude

scha·den·freu·de

ˈSHädənˌfroidə/

noun

1. pleasure derived by someone from another person's misfortune.

I really, really don't normally delight in somebody else's bad luck, really I don't.  Unless they have fucked me over for no good reason.

Even Voldemort, and finding that he'd hooked up with somebody in Atlanta who's mental problems went way past my bouts of depression and complex-PTSD... a guy who was seriously mentally ill and could literally not function in society without a dozen medications.  (Honestly they didn't help that much anyway.)  So when his whole life in Georgia collapsed because he was stupid enough to put a mental patient on the deed to his house, I didn't smirk or laugh.  I also didn't feel sorry for him, but that's not schadenfreude.

However, when I got canned in Texas so the new loser boss could hire his drug dealer to do my job, when I heard that toad got canned (as well as his wife, his druggie, all of his staff) I did feel satisfaction.  Ten minutes later, however, my then-current boss called to say he'd hired the toad to be my new boss in the new city I'd moved to.  Ouch.

However, this won't be a repeat of that.  The boss with the most idiotic sideburns (apparently wanting to be a Flash villain or something) was canned last month and is hosting a vlog where he is going to document his journey to find a new job.  It's hosted on a domain he registered for the last time his incompetence got his ass canned.

He registered a domain high-lighting this.  AND KEPT IT REGISTERED TIL HE GOT CANNED AGAIN.

So, yes, I am going to be childish and relish this schadenfreude sandwich.  Was it because he fired me?  Partly.  But it was mostly because he never actually intended to give me a chance.  I'd rather he have been up front with it if that was going to be the case.  I'm a big boy, I've been through the washer before, I just need to know if I need to re-up my lease for the apartment.

Meanwhile.

I do have a well paying job now.  I will be basically full-time employed, working from home, producing extremely fun podcasts with a growing company.  I CAN DO MY JOB IN MY UNDERWEAR IF I WANT HOW COOL IS THAT.  Speaking of, gotta get back to work.

YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES...

via GIPHY

Tender Mercies

I understand and accept that we are not normally in control of our dreams, but I really wish one day to learn how to do so.  Besides the obvious (wet dreams, something I still have never achieved even at this age), I could avoid the dreams I had recently.

One involved Voldemort, the guy who first tore my heart out, emotionally abused me every chance he got, and basically turned me from what I was told a "fun guy who could be obnoxiously hilarious but maybe is not for all tastes, and has a good heart" to "constantly sad, depressed, drunk."  I started having dreams about V again recently, as a job opening I was perfect for was near the major city near him.

That sounds like the corny, never-use line for a cover letter.  "I was born for this job!!!"  But I was, in this case.  Everything they asked for, I had in spades.  A great city, one that I love, and would love to live in, with one of the most awesome comic book stores in the world, and one that practically every musical act I'd actually pay to see stops by for every tour.

I didn't even bother applying.  They hired some guy out of Salt Lake, who sucks... not in comparison to me, just plain sucks.  There was a molecularly sufficient chance that I would run into He Who Must Not Be Named, even though I never go to bars anymore, or socialize much.  Even the smallest chance, so I didn't go for the perfect gig.

Soon after the job opening posted, the dreams/nightmares began, of him creeping into my life again.  The one this week, I had some control over.  He talked to me, talked about old times, remarked how much he'd missed me, much like the last time we tried to be friends again.  This time, I ignored him, and did not reply.  It did not frustrate his dream spectre, like I hoped it would, but the point is, I ignored him with contempt and never spoke to him. Probably the most satisfying nightmare I've had, honestly.

The dream last night, however, was not as satisfying. 

Job Search

The job search continues.

Since January, I have been producing podcast dramas for a company out of Los Angeles.  This is incredibly fun.  It seems I am good at pacing my music, dialogue, and sound effects, which is something I knew already, but is a quiet different beast when it's a podcast production where the final product is anywhere from one hour to two hours long.  It pays pretty decent, considering it's really just part time and I'm pretty much producing in my skivvies in my brother's house.

They are a growing company.  It is possible that they might eventually hire me full-time, but whether I'd want to live in Los Angeles, much less the west coast again, is not something I've thought of much.

Another job lead would allow me to also work from home, but it's not something I can talk about in a way that I can't even talk about why I can't talk about it.  But it, coupled with my ongoing podcast project, would keep me from having to uproot everything again, and would solve any financial hardships coming my way.

There are other opportunities, but I am loathe to discuss them as I'm sure my stalker still monitors any and everything I do.  I really don't understand that guy.  There's nothing remotely interesting or attractive about me to that degree, nothing that would make anybody in their right mind want to stalk me.  And there we go--that's the answer.  He's not in his right mind.  Luckily, everybody still in Texas is aware of this.

I am of course not superstitious, but it seems to me when as many job opportunities as have arisen in the last month pop up, all at the same time, it usually means one of those is meant for me.  Four possibilities I have applied for would allow me to work from home.  Three would require me to move, again... Texas (ugh no, not because of PityPartySadfaceStalker, but because Houston, ick), Florida (not really my bag but I'd be working with an old boss, which would be cool), and... St. Louis.

So I don't know how to feel about that last one.

But I do have a full-time (if temp) job lined up for a few months starting in a couple of weeks.  It would be tedious, but it would get me straight with my finances.

I should have just learned computer coding.  Seems any idiot with fully functioning fingers can do that (even when they're addicted to meth).  Anyway.

Back to work.

Parameters

@@ON
READY:::::

ENTER PARAMETERS::
 
COMMENCE SEARCH:::CONNECTING
[0] RESULTS RETURNED::

REVISE PARAMETERS:::
CONNECTING::::
CONNECTING::::

[3] RESULTS RETURNED::: DISPLAY? (y)
SCANNING [A]::: SCANNING
DATAQUERY:::COMPATIBILITY?
54.0983% SYSTEM COMPATIBLE::::
INSUFFICIENT:::DELETE? (y)

SCANNING [B]:::: SCANNING:::: SCANNING:::::
**DANGER** **DANGER** **HIGH VOLTAGE**
DISENGAGE SCAN? (y)
FIREWALL ACTUATE::::SUCCESSFUL.
DATAQUERY:::COMPATIBILITY?
INSUFFICIENT DATA:::PROBABLE MEMORY LEAK::::
INCOMPATIBLE CANDIDATE:::
DELETE? (y)

SCANNING [C]:::: SCANNING::::
DESIRABLE ATTRIBUTES DETECTED::::
DATAQUERY:::COMPATIBILITY?
80.9902% SYSTEM COMPATIBLE:::
LIST>ATTRIBUTES
SINCERETY 88.7
COMPASSION 90.0
ENDURANCE 90.2
ATTRACTION 98.7
INTELLIGENCE 50.2

DATAQUERY::::RESCAN INTELLIGENCE
>INTELLIGENCE 50.3

PING SUBJECT
>2.6 ms

ACCEPTABLE? (y)
INITIATING MATING SEQUENCE:::
APPEND TO CURRENT PROGRAM++
INITIATING:::::
CONNECTION ACCEPTED::::
APPENDING:::::
APPENDED.

DATASCAN::::
ACCEPTABLE BONDING.
EFFICIENCY BOOST 53%::::
EMOTIONQUERY:::ACCEPTABLE 68%
LOVEQUERY:::ACCEPTABLE 69%
HAPPINESSQUERY::::ACCEPTABLE 67%
ACTUATE RELATIONSHIP::::
FINALIZING:::::

***DANGER*** HOSTILE EXECUTABLE DETECTED@@@@
UNDO APPEND::::UNDO
UNABLE TO PURGE::::CORRUPT DATA:::: 
###SYSTEMFAILURE IMMINENT###888::::
****(((93((())####
CORRUPTDATAPURGE######
UNABLE::TOCOMPLY#####
@@SYSTEMSHUTDOWN@@
















::::




@AAEEEXE..



*&




INI----##










@@ON















@@
###BACKUP RESTORE COMPLETE###

READY::::

REVISE PARAMETERS:::
CONNECTING:::::

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.