is a blog by Brendan
Okay, one more nitpick. From Jon:
“… a Danville Cracker Barrel restaurant has been unwittingly selling postcards of Louisville’s skyline, emblazoned with ‘Lexington.'”
Danville: Home to Centre College. Host of a 2004 Presidential Debate. Thanks, Danville. Danville.
We spent all of yesterday moving the entire world from Richmond and my old apartment into the new apartment with Maria. My forearms are killing me, and our living room is choked with stuff, but my room actually looks fairly good and my bookshelf is full.
I literally did move everything I own this time; I no longer have any possessions in Richmond, and only a few boxes in storage. There was a big ordeal with getting a moving truck (notice: when U-Haul says “your reservation is confirmed,” what they actually mean is “eat a fuck, shitbrains”), but Ian’s roommate’s family had one that was bigger than what they needed and they were kind enough to help.
So it all worked out eventually, but the process took so long that it was 2030 hrs by the time Mom could head back home. Needless to say, it was also a little late for me to go home and pick up the half-day of work I’d wanted. That’s why I’m in the office alone on a Saturday, putting together my presentation for the CEO ‘n’ company on Monday morning. The fact that I’m in the office is in turn the only reason I can post this, since we have no interweb at home for the moment.
Why isn’t there some source of free crappy broadcast interweb, like there is with TV? Ad-supported. Big networks. Come on, it would be so convenient for people who just moved in.
Also, why not make cell phone rings work like my cell phone’s alarm? It starts off by vibrating, then gradually makes its beeping louder and louder until you wake up. It obviously isn’t hard to do, and that would give you a little notice so you could go for the phone before it just jumped in at the same annoying volume immediately. I hate cell phones. I love my cell phone.
Probably no more activity until Monday at the soonest (although of course I make all my posts from work now anyway).
Says Mister Crummy, regarding this last entry:
“The obvious thing that comes to my mind is ‘3001’ by Arthur C. Clarke, which is an awful book but which features, among other things, tame, semi-intelligent velociraptors who do menial tasks like gardening. This is just an incidental detail which is not important to the story, but it’s portrayed as a good deal for everyone including the no-longer-extinct dinosaurs…
Another one is David Brin’s Uplift series, in which one type of genetic engineering (making semi-intelligent species fully intelligent) is seen as a social good and a duty. Some of the characters in the books are genetically engineered chimps and dolphins.
If a piece of technology is central to a science fiction story then usually something has to go wrong or the technology has to be abused in some way, or there’s no story. I like Brin because he’s good at coming up with different drivers for conflict.”
He’s right, and that’s a common weakness of science fiction: Neat Idea Syndrome. My Creative Writing visiting professor, Nancy Zafris, told me when asked that yes, SF did have a pretty low standing within her literary circles.
“Why?” I asked. “There’s so much vibrant, progressive fiction out there.”
“I don’t know,” she said, distastefully. “It just always seems like there’s a problem, so they have to… do something with the computer, and that’s the end.”
Which you know is ridiculous, if you’ve ever read SF, but it does make a point: Neat Idea SF exists, and it’s perceived by the casual reader as a) all the same and b) boring. The casual reader is pretty much right, when the story doesn’t involve you with a character. When it gets down to it, a Neat Idea may catch your fancy, but eventually humans are only interested in reading about themselves.
So yeah, now I want to read David Brin, because what Leonard says makes him sound like exactly the right kind of character-focused writer. Unfortunately, my current bedside reading pile is staggering. I went to the library again tonight, with my newly repaired bike tires, and picked up yet more of my reserved books (Frank Miller, Diana Wynne Jones, Rob Thomas). I’m going to have to get a new box when I move on Friday just to keep my library stuff in. Is there a twelve-step program for this kind of thing?
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Brendan: |
I need a journal entry for tonight so I don’t have a blank spot in my calendar. Give me an idea. |
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Maria |
Um… I don’t know? This is why I don’t have a journal. |
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Brendan: |
But you should! |
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M: |
If I had a journal it would be made up of random snippets of conversation. Out of context. |
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B: |
You’d have a quote log! |
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M: |
I think quote logs are supposed to be funny. |
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B: |
I just got an email from Mindy. I was hoping it was from my friend Mindy, but no. |
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M: |
No? |
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B: |
No, this is more “Girls In Heat Playing With Horse Studs.” |
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M: |
Maybe Mindy is trying to give you a message. |
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B: |
I’m so putting that in my journal. |
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M: |
No! Don’t! |
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B: |
*click* |
It’s DONE: I have successfully categorized (frequently up to five times) every single blasted entry in the history of NFD. EVERY SINGLE ONE. Besides going through one month at a time and filing them all, this also included a second sweep through the entire thing to fill an important slot I didn’t think of until I was almost done (landmarks).
With that done, I’m going to my apartment* with Maria to take measurements, then we’re both heading to Richmond so that a) Maria can see my ancestral** home before Mom sells it and b) I can help Mom empty the house of objects so that she can sell it. I’m not actually very worked up about this. I moved out emotionally and mentally at the end of my junior year of high school; that summer I lived at GSP, and the summer after I lived in Brazil, and in between I lived in Erika’s car. Mostly I’m glad Mom found a good family for it. I hope they appreciate the trees.
So yeah, I’ll be home all weekend hawking the remnants of my childhood at The Yard Sale. Expect posts to drop precipitately, but not entirely. I’m pretty sure Mom isn’t selling the phones.
* Did I ever talk about our apartment hunt? Sufficient: It was long, it was hot, nobody in Louisville thinks having two bathrooms is important and we ended up with the first place we looked at. Which is great, but not cheap.
** Not actually “ancestral.” More like “built in 1989.”
Today’s Doonesbury, even though it’s the “Summer Daydream,” implies that Mike is interested in someone other than Kim. The original (1998?) Mike-and-Kim story, including both major arcs, is collectively my favorite Doonesburies ever. If Mike is tired of Kim, Mike needs to die.
Speaking of great comic storylines, Checkerboard Nightmare just wrapped up (I presume) probably my favorite continuous run of strips in its history; Wednesday’s edition packs more great lines into four panels than the fire marshal really allows. I talk about Checkerboard Nightmare a lot, and I still don’t talk about it enough. I was going through the archives a while back and noticed that Mr. Straub produced these three strips all within one week. Those are some of the most perfect one-shots ever committed to pixel. I can’t stand it!
Did I say six of seven? Because officially, it turns out to be twelve of twelve. I generated an entire point release myself! I am Bug Barbecue!
Abruptly and without transition, check out Ken’s two–part account of his trip to Lollapalooza. It’s extreme!
“I, Ken Moore, the person you all know as a calm and not easily excited person, was jumping around and loving every second of it. These guy are the saviors of rock and roll.”
It’s great stuff, and I wish I could have been there, and I’m very glad Ken’s writing regularly.
I love my microfiber pants. They make me feel like karate.
In a convincing segue, I googled for kendo+Louisville this morning and found out that my new school has an aikido club, which is really interesting. I was always a little jealous of how good Ian got at aikido while he was in Richmond, and I would have liked to go to classes with my uncle John if I’d had the money and time in Danville. For ten bucks a month in grad school, though, I might just be able to do it. Anybody else want to go along?
Last night, DC and I were fortunate enough to host an exCentriate dinner party, and I was an adventurous cook! I made fajitas in the absolute minimum possible time: dinner plans were made at 1500 hours, and we ate at 2030. That included biking to the store, buying everything, making the marinade and pico de gallo from scratch, allowing said marinade and pico to refrigerate, setting up the table with the extra leaf and Foreman-grilling the steaks. I can’t claim to have done it alone, as DC helped with shopping and Alison actually fried the vegetables, but I’m still really proud. I mixed and matched ingredients from different recipes, and I even added ideas of my own (strawberries in the pico and Crazy Salt in the marinade).
And the amazing thing is it all turned out really good. We all ate until we couldn’t move; the only things left over were tortillas and pico, because the recipe I used made WAY too much (but now I get to eat fresh salsa on my nachos for a week). Afterwards we sat and talked about Centre people forever, the way Centre people always do, and Alison told stories and we played with Lucy (from The Yellow Dar) and it was really, really good to see them all again.
Jon said last night that it feels like it’s been a very long time since we graduated, and it does feel that way, even though it hasn’t yet been two months. We’ve all changed. For one thing, I’m suddenly this person who loves to cook, even as I’m still stumbling through things like the difference between pan- and stir-frying. Maria and I are making sweet and sour chicken later tonight, and I’m looking forward to it as much as I would to a game of Halo. Am I the same at all?
Well, yes, or I wouldn’t miss them so much again. I lived with Jon and Amanda for almost three years, really, and even though I love my new Louisville life, that’s not something I’ve easily let go.