Proper Word Usage

Last night, as I was drifting in that awkward state between awake and asleep, I thought it would be a good idea to write a post proclaiming that Kurt Busiek is a misogynist, even though I don't think he is, based on the most recent issue of Astro City: Dark Ages. It would be easy to do because there are only two women in the book and neither one is a good role model. One woman is a gold digger who spends all the money her husband makes on herself. The other woman is a "superhero" who murdered a man. It's obvious that through these two women Busiek is saying that all regular women want to use a man for his money and women with any sort of strength and independence are out to eliminate men because they are threatened by the power men have. I mean it's totally obvious, right?

I realized, before I fell asleep, that it would be a bad idea because if people actually read it and even if I wrote at the bottom of the my intentions for writing it, they would probably be ignored because people tend to be blinded by the one bit that they want, whether that bit is a good or bad thing depends on the reader and his or her state of mind while reading it. (I do it, too. I'm not trying to say that I'm better, I just want to say that I realize it's going on within me as much as it is within every reader out there. Otherwise, how could you explain so many different religious takes based on one book?)

The whole reason I wanted to write it was to point out how by using a word in a place where it doesn't belong the word starts losing it's meaning.

There's this great strip over at Penny Arcade that helps to illustrate my point. Gabe is proposing to his then girlfriend, now wife, and says,

"It is not enough for me to say that I love her. I have used this same word to describe my relationship with milk, my television and those little bagel things with the pizza inside. So, to use it to describe the immense feelings and emotions that she elicits in me seems wrong."

Which is really good point. Do you think he loves his wife like he loves milk, his television, or those little bagel things with the pizza inside? I hope not.

I started thinking about this a while ago when I followed a link to a link to a link and came across some one's blog post where this woman wrote about why she wasn't going to read a certain online comic anymore. (I looked for the page, but I couldn't find it. Please pardon my memory if I really fuck this up, but I don't think I'm going to.) I don't remember what strip she wasn't going to read anymore because it wasn't a strip that I follow, but I do remember a comment. The person who wrote the comment said that she was no longer going to be reading PVP because Scott Kurtz, the creator, had written about (to find it you have to scroll down to the post titled "Jade," it's most of the way down) how he felt Jade had become a reactionary character, someone who stood in the corner, rolling her eyes, and telling the guys in the strip how they screwed up and that he wanted to make more time for her in the strip to flesh out her character more and then the next storyline happened to be one where Marcy and Jade tricked Francis and Brent into having a romance contest. Then she called Scott Kurtz a misogynist for doing that.

I got angry and wrote a horrible comment. I erased the post pretty quickly because I think a person should pause, count to ten, and reread an angry comment to decide if it was appropriate. And I didn't want to be pounced on by the people who would ignore what I actually wrote and be called a misogynist for it. Basically I didn't understand how a man can be considered a misogynist for writing that he wanted to take a closer look at a character he created and then doing a story about romance. Does that really make a man a misogynist? I don't think so. I think calling Kurtz one is a misuse of the word and takes away from it's intent and meaning. To know if Kurtz is a misogynist, the person who wrote the comment would have to know him, and I don't think she did.

Along the same lines are the women who jumped up (and those who continue to jump up) and say that Ron Marz is a misogynist because he created Alex DeWitt to be killed within the first few issues of Kyle Rayner's tenure as Green Lantern. One of my favorite pieces of writing on the subject is Kalinara's "Women in Refrigerators" post from way back in her first week of writing.

When people use a word like this too much in the wrong context, it reminds me of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf."

Let me put it to you like this:
Dave Sim is not a misogynist because Cerebus raped his wife, Astoria, and then divorced her. (It's in "Church and State.") Cerebus is a nasty bastard of a character that Sim created. Cerebus did the raping, not Sim. Plus, Cerebus and Astoria aren't real. They're fictional.

Dave Sim IS a misogynist because of the writings of Viktor Davis (who is a thinly veiled stand-in for Sim) in "Reads" (where he says that men are points of creative light and women are emotional voids trying to absorb the male creativity) and an essay called "Tangent" (where he agrees with what he wrote as Viktor Davis and bashes feminism and homosexuals and calls women beings of emotion who don't have the ability to be logical).

Maybe I'm wrong, though. Maybe I'm not allowed to even think like this since I'm not female and I don't think of myself as a feminist.

But I really hate to see and hear words with strong meanings lose their meanings. I don't say that I love those little bagel things with the pizza inside, I only say I really like them.

Nothin' Much

I've signed up for a test to get me out of this job. It's in thirteen days in Cowcity. I can bring a calculator with me. (I guess that means the math on this one will be harder than the math on the last one I took.) The pay is better. Whether this'll lead to a job and a place that I want, I have no idea.

After all, there's that song which says, "But how can you know what you want / 'Til you get what you want / And you see if you like it?"

A Few Bits

The First Bit:

I'm not going to finish the NaNoWriMo thing. A couple of weeks ago my main character started to become me and I really lost interest in writing it. I'm hoping to get another 2000 words out so I'm at least over the 20000 word mark. I may not, though. Who knows.

The Other Bit:

While I enjoyed my time back in Cowtown, part of me wishes that I hadn't gone because it just makes me loathe being here. The city is okay, but it's about to go through a growth spurt that will ruin the small town feeling that it's somehow kept even though there are over one hundred thousand people. Next year starts construction on two buildings in the downtown area that are going to be fourteen stories tall. If I wanted to live in a city with buildings that tall, I'd have moved to one when I started this job.

One More Bit:

I'm also going through a bit of post holiday self loathing. I'll try not to let it overflow here, too much.

Slumpin'

I have ten minutes before I leave. I've been catching up on work all day long. (Well, I've paused to catch-up on blogs that I didn't read over the weekend and the comics as well.)

For some reason, when I take a day off, The Supervisor, in her infinite wisdom (I hope you caught the sarcasm there), puts a stack of work in my basket. When other people take a day off, she distributed the mail only to the people who are here and then splits up any extra mail in the missing person's basket among those of us who are here.

Aren't I lucky?

There are other things that can, and possibly should, be said, but they won't be around until tomorrow, if I remember.

Is It Too Much To Ask?

I got this in my spam:
"Want to be BETTER then pornstar?
Amaze youre girlfriend"

Is it too much to ask that the spam people send me uses proper or, barring that, reasonable grammar?

Giving Thanks

I a few short hours, I'll be on my way to Cowtown for Thanksgiving.

I had a much longer post in mind, but then I read that Robert Altman died and decided to sit and read about his movies and think about his movies.

Be well, everybody.

Civil War #5

Anyone else think that Civil War #5 was kind of boring?

Don't fret, because Tetsubo Productions has made it much, much better.

Have a read.

(Via Blog@Newsarama)

It Has Returned

From July through the beginning of September, there was a turquoise Plymouth Belvedere parked along the road on my walk to and from work. Every day as I walked past it, I'd slow down a little to enjoy it. Sometime's I'd reach for it, but I wouldn't touch it, I'd just trace the lines around it, trying to get a sense of the shape.

And then it disappeared.

At first, I just assumed that the owner's work schedule had shifted and that's why I didn't see it anymore. But it wasn't there on weekends, either. One day I ran back to my apartment on my lunch hour and it wasn't there. I figured it was gone for good.

Saturday, walking to the post office, it was back. Parked right where it had sat before, as if it had never left. (Here's a picture I found of one online for those of you who can't picture what a mid-50s Belvedere looks like. It looks a lot like the one I see.)

I've never been much of a car guy. I don't car about power and torque and the rest of the crap that goes on under the hood. I'm not a fan of muscle cars or massive trucks. I have, however, always liked the way that American cars looked in the mid 1950s. They're the cars that make me stop and stare.

There's something about the basic design so many of the cars had that just tickles me. Especially the hood.

So, until it disappears, again, I'll be taking a pause on my walk to and from work to stare at a car. I hope you don't mind.

(And for my mom, here's a 1957 Nash Metropolitan, another beautiful car design. These things were works of art, I tell you.)

Because Sometimes We Need Some Help

"Snappy come backs" from Jazz.

I have to agree with one of her commenter, "A hard-on doesn't count as personal growth." is my favorite.

Work Woes

If it's okay for an employee to sit her cell phone talking about her kid's grades and the grades of other kids, loudly, at her desk for twenty minutes, why am I not allowed to put my headphones on?

Today, I found out that something that was rather simple to do will probably be turning into a real pain in the ass. If a copy service is hired by another copy service, we need to find out who they ultimately work for.

Why? I asked.

To protect the injured worker. I was told.

From what? I asked.

We're not sure. You have to ask to find out. I was told.

And what if the copy service company doesn't know? I asked.

Then they need to find out. I was told.

What do I do then? I asked.

After you find out, you find out why they need to look at the file. I was told.

Why? I asked.

To make sure that the employee doesn't need to be notified. I was told.

But weren't we told in that painful "meeting" a couple of weeks ago that the only time we need to notify the injured worker is when it's for employment pre-screening which is a box that's supposed to be checked on the file request form so I have that answer already? I asked.

Yes, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't check, even though we only notify the employee for employment pre-screening. I was told.

And after all that? I asked.

You get the file redacted so the copy service can look at it. I was told.

So, nothings really changed except I have to waste more time frustrating myself and the person who works for the copy service by asking questions that don't pertain to anything relating to the actual copying of the file because I can look at the request form to find out if the file needs to be redacted easily? I asked.

Yes. I was told.

Hunkle?

Someone here just said, "I'm trying to find Maxine's file."

"Hunkle?" I asked.

She stared at me for a bit and then said, "No."

She didn't get it.

Most of you probably don't get it, either. But that's okay.

Four, It's Not The Magic Number

Been tagged by Jazz, who was tagged by Choochoo.

P.S. I'm not hunting down pictures, no matter what it might add to the reader's experience.

Four Jobs I've Had During My Life:

Worked at the front desk of my dorm building my first year of college. Mostly, I sat back there and did my home work, read, or played Solitaire (sometimes on the computer, but mostly with real cards). I was probably the only student who went to that school who had his homework done before midnight on Fridays.

I worked at a sandwich shop making, duh, sandwiches. I was there for about 18 months. I saw all the tourist freaks who came up to the mountains to get away from the city, but wanted all the conveniences of the city near by. "What do you mean the nearest movie theater is fifteen miles away? Isn't there one closer?" I'd be asked. "There's only one in the whole county. If you want to rent a movie there's a place right near store," I'd say. "But I wanted to see [insert crappy action movie starring Will Smith name here]," I'd hear. And then I'd charge that person for the sandwich I was making the whole time. Sometimes, I marvel at the fact that I still have all my original fingertips.

I did the Starbucks thing for nearly three years. It's pretty well documented in the archived sections here between December 1, 2003 and September 2, 2005.

Now I work here trying to look busy so I can spend time reading things on the 'net.

And those are the only four jobs I've had where taxes were taken out of my paycheck.

Four TV Shows I Like To Watch:

Only reruns of Frasier and my DVD collection, right now.

If I had broadcast TV I know I'd be obsessively watching Gilmore Girls, Veronica Mars, Lost, and The Office. (Well, not Lost anymore, since the idiots decided on a "no rerun" policy and yanked it until February. That's a long wait.)

If I had all the happy cable channels, I'd have kick out one of those to put Battlestar Galactica in.

And then in January 24 is back on TV. Argh! So many good things to watch that I can't watch.

But I don't have either broadcast or cable, so I'm currently working my way through my parents' copy of the first season of Star Trek.

Out of the ones that I own and can (and often do) watch whenever I want:

Star Trek: Deep Space 9 - The best of the Trek, I'm still missing the sixth season, though.

South Park - I only own up through Season 5, for now. "Scott Tenorman Must Die" is one of the funniest things ever produced on TV. The last line of "Here Comes the Neighborhood" is awesome, too.

Wonderfalls - All of you who didn't watch it when it was on TV screwed up. You got a great show cancelled. Shame on you. Shame.

Daria - Simply the best.

Four Places I've Lived:

The question here is how specific do I want to get?

Is writing "Only in California." enough?

How about writing that I've lived in Cowtown, Cowcity, North Bay, and College-ville?

To clarify a bit:

Cowtown: Where I lived between the ages of 5-18, 19-21, 23-24, 26. My hometown.

Cowcity: Where I lived between the ages of 24-26 and thought I'd be going to Grad School.

North Bay: Where I live now.

College-ville: The city with my second university which only claim to fame was the fact that it had a university in it.

Four Foods I Eat Too Much Of:

Fresh, soft, super sour sourdough bread. The smell. The texture. The flavor.

Ice cream, in general, is one of the greatest things ever. In particular: mint chocolate chip, rocky road, vanilla, fudge brownie, and so many others.

Pasta. I just have a general desire for the stuff. Slather it in red or white sauce with our without meat (unless it's shellfish, in which case I'll send the pasta right back up onto the plate), in a salad with olives and bits of cheese, dry and crunchy straight from the package, it's all good.

Four Movies I'd Watch Over and Over:

Fantasia - It's simply the best movie I've ever seen in my entire life.

Clerks - I can't help it.

Sleepless in Seattle - It makes my insides melt every time I watch it.

I'm gonna reserve the fourth slot for everything else that I've already watched over and over.

Four Places I'd Rather Be:

This is assuming infinite money and no need to work ever again, right?

Europe, just in general. That's where the history of my history begins. That's where most of the stories that I love first came from. That's where more has happened to shape the world than anywhere else. It's dirty, dark, cold, beautiful, old, new, totally wonderful, and where I'd like to be.

I'd like to be in New York City walking off a nice meal and heading toward a theater to see some new play.

On a beach where the water is clear, the breeze is light, and the people are few and far between.

In a house on a hill in a snowstorm with a fire going a book in my hand and nothing to worry about.

Four People I'm Tagging:

I don't want to tag anyone. If you want me to tag you, leave a comment and I'll edit the post.

How To Have a Three Day Weekend And Fall Even More Behind On Your NaNoWriMo Novel

Be in a really bad mood on Thursday. So bad that you forget that it's Thursday and think it's really Friday and plan on going to a movie to make yourself feel better.

Get to the theater and realize that the movie you want to see starts the next day.

Wander around the town for an hour with no purpose other than to try to get rid of your mood.

Stop in at the comic shop and pick up some comics, but don't bother to read them because you're in such a bad mood it'd only ruin the experience.

Wander some more.

Eventually, get back to your apartment, turn on reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond, even though you don't like the show, and heat up leftovers that aren't fuzzy and don't stink, yet.

Call the good movie theater to see what's playing there.

Go to the only showing, the last showing, of Death of a President, which isn't the cheeriest movie out there right now but is still excellent.

Climb in bed and sleep as soon as you get back.

The next morning, actually sleep in, but wake up with that bad mood hanging on like a tick on a dog's stomach.

Stare at the sausage that's been in the freezer for three months and wonder if it's safe to eat.

Cook it and eat it with scrambled eggs.

Call the downtown movie theater to find out when the movie you wanted to see yesterday is playing.

Shower, get dressed, and walk to the movie theater for the first showing.

See a huge line and offer a quick prayer to Cricket Christ that they're all there to see Borat or The Santa Clause 3 and not Stranger than Fiction.

Sit back with popcorn with lots of greasy fake butter stuff to enjoy the movie.

Laugh out loud at parts you think are funny, even if the rest of the audience isn't laughing.

Feel a little better, but don't head back to your apartment.

Instead, look at new shoes since two of the three pairs you own have holes in the bottom and the other pair is so old that there's only most no traction left, especially when it's wet out.

Find shoes you like, try them on, and walk around a little.

Don't buy the shoes because you're not sure how much money you have in your checking account at the moment and you don't have your credit card with you because you leave it out of your wallet so when you are going to use it you actually have to think about using it to decide if it's really worth it.

Don't go right back to your apartment to find out how much money you have or grab your credit card, instead keep looking at shoes and then expand into looking at all the things you can not, should not, and would not buy.

Dream of what you would do with all the things you can not, should not, and would not buy.

Be horrified at the "shoe stores" that devote more room to hats and hoodie sweatshirts than actual shoes.

Watch the people walking around the mall and marvel at how people of all races and religions can get along here, but not at a high school football game.

Wonder if the only true form of worship in this day and age is the accumulation of money and stuff.

Get bored and head back to your apartment.

Cook ramen for dinner.

Turn on your computer and promise to sit down and start writing soon.

Put on headphones and listen to music.

Sit down at computer.

Instead of typing, get up and change the sheets on your bed.

Clean the toilet.

Wash the dishes.

Decide you're tired and want to sleep.

Take off headphones, turn off the computer, promise you'll work hard tomorrow, and climb in bed.

Wake up early the next morning.

Gather clothes for trip to the laundry because socks should only stand up when they're on your feet.

Shower.

Go to the laundromat and wash and dry and fold clothes.

While there, try not to stare at the better looking people.

Stop by the store on the way back to your apartment for milk and batteries.

Find milk and batteries.

Wander around the store just in case there's something you forgot you needed.

Find many things you forgot you needed.

Chat with the girl at the checkout counter about the weather.

Hope it made her day better because all it did was waste two minutes of your day.

Drive back to apartment.

Carry everything, including the clean laundry, up the stairs in only two trips.

Read a comic book to celebrate.

Turn on your computer and plan to get to work soon.

Put milk and other perishable groceries away.

Replace batteries in smoke detectors.

Read two comic books to celebrate.

"Clean" the pile of comics on the floor of your bedroom by pushing them around the floor while trying not to read any of them.

Fail.

Find a game you haven't played in a while in the pile and decide to play it, but only for a little while because you have to write more.

Suddenly realize it's 9:30 and you haven't eaten anything since you got back from shopping and you're hungry.

Eat something then turn off the computer and go to bed, after reading the rest of the comics you bought.

Enjoy Franklin Richards, Son of a Genius: Happy Franksgiving! and Phonogram 1 and 3 quite a bit. (You bought 2 the month before because the cover is beautiful.)

Wake-up the next morning later than usual, but earlier than you'd like and wander around your apartment trying to figure out if there's anything that you should be doing that's important.

Watch an episode of Star Trek while eating breakfast.

Clean the bathtub while showering.

Watch another episode of Star Trek.

Turn on computer and sit at it saying to yourself that this is the time to get cracking.

Play Minesweeper and Solitaire and Hearts and Spider Solitaire and Pyramid for an embarrassingly long time.

Finally open the file and look at it.

Play another game of Minesweeper and promise yourself that it'll only be one game, this time, but know that you're lying to yourself.

Turn on the TV and watch an info-mercial about a little blender and one about coins; switch quickly between the two in case you miss something important.

Put on another episode of Star Trek.

Play the game from yesterday, but only for a little while; help that by setting a timer for two hours.

Make dinner and watch another Star Trek while eating.

Turn off the TV after you've flossed and brushed your teeth.

Sit down at your computer once again.

Put on headphones and turn on random music.

Skip to a song you like.

Finally start writing.

Write until you get enough words to put you at where you should have been at the end of Thursday, if you had been on time then.

Turn off the computer, climb in bed, and go to sleep with the feeling of guilt gnawing away at your stomach.

Unhelpful Idea

If the fucking doughnut shop that's on my walk back to my apartment was open, I'd eat until I started vomiting.

Since that's not going to happen, I'm going to the movies and buy popcorn coated with fake butter substitute.

A Mood

Maybe it's because tomorrow's a holiday, maybe it's because The Supervisor is a lazy bitch, maybe it's because I stayed up late (for me) and wrote far too little, but I'm in a bad mood right now.

It's the kind of mood where I want to kick a dog that's being walked by its owner. It's the kind of mood where I want to walk up to an insecure person and tell him or her that he or she is fat. It's the kind of mood where I want to be a big asshole to everyone around me.

I'm never really an asshole, though. Occasionally, I'll do something that I consider asshole-esque, other people don't think it's asshole-esque or they just don't call me on it. And when I do those asshole-ish things on purpose, I want to be called on it.

Those moments are very few and very far between.

Still, I really want to kick a dog or make some poor woman burst into tears right now.

Ape-stract Art

Cheeta, the true star of the '30s Tarzan movies, paints.

Here's how to buy them.

And this is someone who did.

Two Words I Wish I Could Work Into Daily Conversation

Didactic

--and--

Epistolary

Grok the Vote

As many out there know (hopefully close to the number 300,000,000, since that's how many people live in the nation now), today is Election Day in the United States.

While I'd like a lot of people to go out and vote, especially in an off year, I don't expect it to happen. And I totally expect the block of wood to become the Governor, again. So, I'm not really going to talk about that.

Instead, I'm going to talk about how stupid it is to have Election Day be on a Tuesday.

Way back in the day, it made sense. Men (because that's the only gender which could vote) who lived on farms could leave their farm on Monday, ride into town that evening, spend the night getting drunk and whoring it up even though they had a wife and kids at home, vote on Tuesday morning with their heads pounding, do some shopping for supplies and such, and head back to their farms that afternoon to arrive that night. It was like this for that day of travel and to keep people from traveling on Sundays because God wouldn't like that (Unless the person was Jewish because then God didn't want them to travel on Saturday, but back then all Jews were Satan's children; or Native Americans who were kept moving around the country or drunk.), so no voting on Saturday or Sunday.

Today, that doesn't make much sense. I'm betting that that even a farmer who lives in Wankerville, Nowhere has a car that can get him, his wife, and any voting children into town on voting day, any day of the week. (I guess God doesn't mind people traveling on Sunday. Hell, He doesn't mind them going to Denny's and that's a sin, right?) Folks who live in the suburbs and work in a city (or worse, live in Lancaster or Victorville and commute into Los Angeles) have the problem. They live an hour, or more, away from where they work, but they have to vote near where they live. (And, let's face it, most people aren't going for the absentee ballots or the early voting. I don't understand it, but there you have it. Maybe all the states should go the way Oregon did and just insist on mail in ballots.)

So, on Election Day, our voter, who lives in the 'burbs, has to be at work by eight, but to get there on time, she has to leave at 6:30 to ride in the car pool. Polls don't open until 7, so that's no good. She does live in California, which means her employer has to give her "reasonable time off to vote," but according to the poster hanging in the break room "reasonable time" is an hour, that means she could vote at seven and then drive herself to work, but by then, traffic is so insane it'll take her more than two hours to get to work, not to mention trying to find parking and paying for a temporary permit.

The polls, though, don't close until 8, so maybe after work. Work ends at 5, but since she left with the carpool in the morning, she has to wait for everyone to get back to the car, which means they won't leave until closer to 5:45. The drive that takes about 80 minutes in the morning always take closer to 100 minutes in the evening, which gets her home close to 7:30. That would be, barely enough time to get to her polling place, if she didn't have a family, who she could probably take with her, but she's so exhausted it's easier to pop a frozen lasagna into the oven and sit down and try not to fall asleep before the food burns.

I know that's all a little over the top, but still wouldn't it be easier for nearly everyone if Election Day was on Saturday. That way, the only thing most registered voters can blame not voting on is not wanting to wait in line. And, honestly, if not wanting to wait in a line is your reason for not voting, maybe it's good that you're not.

A Thought

One of my favorite bands, right now, is (are?) The Dresden Dolls.

When I lived in Cowcity, I remember hearing their song "Coin Operated Boy" (low-res video) (which many of you have probably heard) and thinking it was clever and funny, but not much more. About a week before I moved one of the two radio stations I listened to, that weren't NPR based, played some snippets from a concert The Dresden Dolls had performed a month or so earlier and that's when I heard the song "Girl Anachronism" (the mp3) and I knew that this was an album I had to have. I didn't buy it, though. I was about to move and I didn't have the income to justify buying a CD.

About a year ago, I finally bought it. It was better than I expected. Odd and twisted (the song "Missed Me" (its mp3) is my favorite example of that) and wonderful. The piano isn't always used as an instrument, but as something for Amanda Palmer to take her anger and other emotions out on while playing the melody.

I don't know what it is, but there's something in their music that's haunting and lovely and frightening all at the same time and I can't seem to get enough of it.

I just got their new album, Yes, Virginia, but haven't been able to absorb it yet. This writing thing has pushed my musical appreciation off until the end of the month because I don't write so well while listening to music I've never heard before, but I'm looking forward to the time that I can sit back and really listen to it.

But that's not my thought.

My thought is that I want The Dresden Dolls to be huge. I want everyone to have experienced their music, even if they don't like it, because I enjoy it so much. If they become really popular and other bands start cloning their sound, will they be as interesting? Is it better for me, as a fan, to have them stay as they are, less known than they could be, because that keeps them more free to do as they please in their music?

I'm not sure.

Walk Sleeping

I only wrote about 800 words last night. I wasn't feeling well, though. I shut the computer off and climbed into bed around eight and pretty much fell asleep right away. (Well, after I read the latest issue of 52. I don't want to be confused when Newsarama posts their weekly interview with the editor of the comic.)

I woke up this morning just as tired as I was when I went to bed, but I climbed out of bed and shuffled to the kitchenette and made a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich for breakfast. (I wanted strawberry jam, but it's gotten a bit old and sort of crystallized to the jar.) The food didn't wake me up, neither did the shower, nor the walk to work. (No rain today, just clouds that I'm hoping will open up and dump down on us.)

I'm afraid this means I'm approaching the ill event horizon. I'd like to pull away before I get caught in it, but if it's unavoidable, I'm ready for the ride. The main thing I wonder, though, is why, if I'm going in, it had to happen on the weekend? Couldn't it have held off until Sunday night so I could ditch work on Monday?

If I'm out on Monday, which I doubt I will be I'll probably be just fine then, I'll spend the time that would have been spent at work watching Wonderfalls, which I had returned to me last weekend. It's a good way to spend a sick day.

It's Just Been

It's been raining today, though it's not right now. The building smells wet, but not in the good clean way that outside smells. It smells sour. And it's been hot in here all day. Why, when it rains, do people automatically assume that it means cold?

I've felt off all day today. I think it's the heat and the smell and the bad for me breakfast I had this morning. Hopefully once I leave I'll be my normal self. No promises, though.

I only wrote about 1250 words of my "novel" last night. More than I thought I'd write, but not as much as I should. If I keep up this pace, I'll get about 37500 words written by the thirtieth. Except I have to load the stuff at work, so I suppose it'd really be around 36250 words. I posted an excerpt on my profile page, but I'm having trouble just loading the profile, let alone the excerpt. It's the beginning of the story.

I should be working, but I don't want to. And I don't mean I don't want to in the playful sense, I mean that I don't want to work. At least I don't want to work here. Maybe it's because there are leaks coming through the ceiling like there are every time it rains. Maybe it's because people won't stop talking about SUSM's panic attack yesterday. Maybe it's the way everyone points out the obvious. (There's only so many times I can hear someone say that it's raining. And then there are those who passed by while I was getting the mail ready and each one asked, "Are you getting the mail ready?" I know it's a rhetorical question, so I don't answer, and then they hover. They're not interested in learning how to use the mail machine, they're just hovering. I can't just tell them to fuck off because that'd be rude, even though that's all I want to do.)

I have enough money saved for a deposit and first month's rent or first and last month's rent, but I don't quite have enough for all three. (I did, briefly, but I decided to pay off a student loan instead.) I should have all the money I need by the first of February, if nothing goes wrong.

I need a new job.

I need a new location.

I'd like a new state or country.

I want something different.

Test!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The West
Boston
North Central
The Inland North
Philadelphia
The South
The Northeast
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

I've lived in California all my life. I guess it was the TV that did it to me, huh?

Comic Book Wednesday

Last night, I discovered that I've been reading too many comic blogs with a feminist slant. (The two that I check every day are Pretty, Fizzy Paradise and Written World.)

How did I make this discovery? When I finished reading the first issue of the Geoff Johns/Richard Donner Superman, my first thought was, "Superman really should have talked with Lois before deciding to adopt that kid." My second thought was, "Shouldn't Lois be with him while he's asking John and Martha for help? She is his wife, after all." And my third thought was, "Why can't the people at DC leave well enough alone and keep Superman as the only Kryptonian left alive?"

A few months ago, I would have complained about the extra boy from Krypton, first, but not now, apparently.

I'm one of the (few, probably) people who really liked it when Superman told Lois he was also (and really) Clark Kent and I was thrilled when they finally got married. To me, it made perfect sense.

Since they got married, I've only picked up a few issues here and there of the Superman books. I often thought that the superheroics, after Jeph Loeb left, sort of missed the mark and tried to ignore the fact that he was in a marriage. The recent stuff by Busiek has been better. More give and take between the Lois and Clark. Geoff Johns helped to write the first arc after the one year later jump and I figured he'd help Donner to keep the marriage in the book. It didn't happen that way.

The only appearance of Lois in the issue has her sitting at her desk working. Superman flies up to her window and speaks with her for a while. She asks if the kid who crashed is from Krypton. Superman says that the government isn't sure, but he has a feeling. Lois writes an article for The Daily Planet saying that another Kryptonian has been found.

And that's it for her.

The next day, Superman goes to visit the kid and learns he's been taken. Superman threatens to zap Sarge Steel's head off using heat vision(tm). Then Superman takes the kid and goes running to his parents for help.

I still think the should have grabbed his wife along the way or let her know that he's got the kid. (I know, she's smart, she'll know right away.) Marriage should be a partnership, especially with a strong woman like Lois.

The thing is, I think I know why Clark/Superman wouldn't speak with Lois about it, she's not the sort of woman who wants to have kids.

Lois is the sort of woman who likes her job. She good at it and she knows that and she loves doing it. She knows that kids take a lot of time and effort that would be taken away from her job. She's smart, so she know that if she has a child to take care of, her work and the child will suffer. She can't be a full time mom. She wants to be out in the middle of the Pacific ocean watching the Navy test it's newest vehicle and be able to write a first hand account of Blank Manta trying to steal it. But with a kid at home, she wouldn't let herself to that because she'd have to be a mom first and even if she doesn't mean for it to happen, she'd resent the child a little for taking away the life she used to have and love.

On the other hand, I think she'd make a great aunt. She'd have all sorts of exciting stories to tell her nieces and nephews. She'd bring then gifts from exotic locations. She'd love them as much as she'd love any child she had on her own, with out the possibility or resentment.

Maybe it's time for Lucy to have a kid and to leave the rest of the Kryptonians where they should be, dead.

699!

WOOOOOO-WHOOOOOO!