Assembly line

Eury posted a picture of her wonderful Valentine's Day invitations. Pretty creative, ain't she? She mentioned not liking the assembly-line process of it, though. Yeah. Yuck.


I've had a lot of brainless jobs. My most mindless was when I worked for the company that makes those bead and wire toys.
Free Image Hosting at www.ImageShack.us

My job was painting the wires. If you're thinking that sounds like the most boring job in the universe, you're right! And I'd do it again if the wage were right.

At first assembly-style work is frantic and frightening. "Gotta get 15000 done before my shift ends. Oh no!"

After that it's cripplingly dull for a few days. That's when you want to quit.

But if you make it over the hump it's amazing. How the mind wanders when you're only using a pair of well-trained hands! It's almost like one of those sensory deprivation tanks. Some of my most creative and clear thoughts came to me when I was painting those dumb wires. You know how when you're drifting off to sleep and you get these great ideas or profound realizations, but then they *pop* like a bubble if you wake up too much? It's like that, except you're already awake and can hold onto the thoughts and write them down.

Painting wires, mowing lawns, stocking shelves... All of those dull, dull jobs paradoxically made my brain feel very alive.

Strange. The jobs I've had that called for the most creativity, like managing people or making crap sound good so I could sell it or making shit up as a "psychic," are the ones that drain that creativity out of me the most. I finish my work and I just want to sleep. But the brainless jobs, even the most physically demanding ones, only tire the body, not the mind. A week of that and I'm in shape again, and afterwards a quick shower after a shift picks me right up and I'm good for a night on the town.

Maybe it's just a case of "the grass is always greener," but I don't think I'd turn my nose up at a chance to paint wires or dig ditches for a living again. That's eight hours of creative juices going where I want them to go instead of into a job where someone else profits from my brain. I'd probably get some good stories out of a setup like that.



This velvet painting of Elvis? I call it Pieta. Like it?

I watched the most amazing movie tonight. It was called Fellowship Of The Ring. You know, Tolkien?

There was this short guy named Bilbo in it. He's just minding his own business when WHAM, this bearded robot guy named Gandalf appears from the future and starts trying to kill him.

See, Bilbo was going to father a man named Aragorn, who would eventually lead a revolt against the robots of the future, and Gandalf the time-traveling robot came back to make sure that didn't happen.

Anyway, a different robot named Boromir (or Faramir, I couldn't tell because they all had these English accents) was sent back to protect Bilbo from Gandalf. They duke it out, but Gandalf is really hard to beat because he can shape-shift and stuff.

Halfway through the movie an evil elf named Darth Elrond entered the picture from out of nowhere. He wore a black cape and a menacing black mask and had breathing problems. He built a Death Tower out of elm wood and fairy dust that could destroy all of Middle Earth. He was really, really evil.

Another short guy named SAM-1000 turned himself into an evil computer aboard the spaceship Discovery, and he and his pilot, Starbuck, tried to kill Gimli in the Mines of Moria. But in the end, Bilbo's nephew Frodo saved everyone by killing a whole boat load of face-hugging aliens.

Oops! My bad. What I really watched was I, Robot.

I, Robot was "inspired by" Asimov's body of work in the same way that the above was "inspired by" Tolkien's. In other words, if Asimov hadn't already passed away, watching this would have killed him. It had a character from Asimov's stories, a corporation, and robots. All of them have absolutely nothing in common with the character, corporation and robots in Asimov's books. Nothing. Let me repeat that. Nothing If they'd stuck those three things into Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom it would have been just as faithful to anything Asimov wrote. Crap. Utter crap.

As a sci-fi/action film it didn't suck too terribly bad, any more than Indiana Jones sucked. It was no less believable than Tremors, say, or Rollerblade. (I'm joking. Laugh.) But as a nod to Asimov? Get real! It was Asimov like Dan Quayle was Jack Kennedy. Except for the gender thing... not.

Stick Rhett Butler into a space-costume, have him battle Ming the Merciless, and call it a tribute to Margaret Mitchell. Pit an angel named Clarence against Hannibal Lecter in a boxing ring with Burgess Meredith as his trainer and say "inspired by a Thomas Harris novel" in the credits.

Go ahead and watch I, Robot if you've never read an Asimov robot story. It's okay, I guess. But if you are an Asimov fan, lock every preconception of yours in the closet before watching this film. In fact, forget you've even heard of Asimov and pretend everything you know about SF's roots comes from reading X-Men comic books. Then you might like it. Kinda. It had a few cool effects.



How I met Jaq

A while back I challenged CynLynn to blog about how she and Johnny met. I'll be damned if she didn't leave out the naughty bits. :( Still, it's only fair that I bore you with the Sean & Jaq story.

I was a 25-year-old punk and she was... oh, I'm not supposed to say what she was, am I? Well, she was a single mother of four, anyway. I'd been hanging out with the local BBS geeks for about four or five years, and had already dated many of the eligible (and less picky) single girls. None of those worked out.

Jaq wrote for the local paper, and had other writing credits under her belt. Someone told her that the local Writers Guild had a BBS and set her up for her first foray online. It turns out that the Writer's Guild BBS was totally useless - just a gathering place for wannabes, not anything for folks actually making a living at it. BUT, it had a list of numbers for other local BBSes, one of which was a 12-line chat board.

I hung out at that particular chatty place a lot, and had a bunch of friends there. She signed up and dropped into chat. She got along just fine with those folks, and eventually decided to come to one of the frequent user meets we held.

That meet was held on a Saturday in June. I almost didn't go. That particular date was when my town held their annual Beer Fest, and I always went. Always. Never missed it. However, the fellow I always went with had passed away a year earlier, and the person I was to go with instead wasn't really someone I could see myself partying with for an entire evening. And besides, there was someone coming who I hadn't met yet, someone who I got along well with on the BBS. And she was a woman! :D How could I miss that?

So I dropped out at the last minute and went to the BBS user meet instead.

To hear Jaq tell it, she went to that meet specifically to see me. She's lying, of course.

I showed up late. There they all were, sitting around three pushed-together tables, with a guy named Dave on one side of her and a guy named Mike on the other. Mike wasn't interested, but I could see that Dave was.

DAMN! Not Dave! How could I compete with Dave? He was a quiet, wonderfully warm and good looking man who made a decent wage at his job and a fair bit extra with his art. Dave was a catch. I never understood why the girls weren't flocking around him more. Jaq was an artist, too. They had something in common. I was a Radio Shack geek who still lived at home.


There happened to be a space across the table from her, so I reluctantly sat there. Reluctantly, because I didn't particularly want to watch them get along so well and then leave together. But she was polite and paid attention to everyone at the table, not just Dave. So we got to talk a bit. I casually asked how she liked Dave when he wasn't around and she told me she liked him fine. They'd already been on a date together.


They left together.

Actually, they left along with a user named "Blossom." It turns out that she was their ride.

I was sunk. She and Dave were a thing. Blossom was probably dropping them both off at Dave's place or something. Rats.

I left a bit later. When I got home I logged on to the BBS. She was online!

Me: Hey, it was good to finally meet you.
Her: Thanks. You too. I'm pooped, though, and have to get up early with the kids. Chat with you some tomorrow, okay?
Me: Sure thing. 'night.

Yeah. Kids. Pfft. She probably dialed in from Dave's house. :(

Just then, Blossom logged on and invited me to chat privately.

Blossom: So you finally met her. What'd you think?
Me: Nice person. Doesn't matter though. She and Dave are a thing.
Blossom: They are?
Me: Sure they are. They went on a date just a few days ago.
Blossom: Ah. Well, I don't think she likes him as much as you think.
Me: What makes you say that?
Blossom: We dropped Dave off first, then we talked on the way to her place.
Me: Oooooh. Oh. Okay.
Blossom: Yeah. She thinks he's okay, but the word she used most often was "dull."
Me: Dull? Dave? Dave's a great guy! He's cool!
Blossom: Sure. But dull. She asked about you.
Me: She did?
Blossom: Yeah. A lot.
Me: She did?
Blossom: Yes.
Me: You lied for me, right?
Blossom: Idiot. She asked if you were seeing anyone.
Me: ...
Blossom: I told her no.
Me: Did you tell her I live with my dad?

And so on. Two days later, while I was at work wearing my geek badge, she came into the store "to buy some headphones." I was tongue-tied. I think I walked her over to the telephone display or something. I totally don't remember what I said or did, only that my ears were hissing the whole time and I felt dizzy.

She came back the next day during my lunch break.

And the next. And the next.

I asked her about Dave. "HIM? He's nice, but GOD is he ever dull!"

"But I saw you leaning close to him all the time at the user meet."

"That's because he doesn't speak up. We went on one date, and I could barely keep my eyes open. He drones."

"But Dave's a great guy!"

"Yeah. Seems like it. But dull."


So there you have it. We met online.

Dave, if you ever discover this blog, I'm really sorry, buddy. You ARE a great guy and all, but apparently you're even duller than a 25-year-old Radio Shack salesman who lives with his father.

Holy CRAP, that's dull!



I dream about Worth1000 sometimes. Why not? It's the only site I spend any time at. Since my life is basically spent in front of the computer, clicking on a button until some sucker asks a question, one can safely say that Worth1000 is a big part of my life. That's sad, innit? But if I had to pick a web site to say that about, Worth1000 is the one I'd point to.

Oh yeah. Dreaming. I dreamed about Worth1000 the other night. (Why am I saying "Worth1000" so much instead of "W1K" or just "Worth?" For Google, that's why.) Anyway, in the dream there was supposed to be a user meet in Victoria. All the Pacific Northwest people were supposed to gather on the Island here, and it was up to me to show everyone around.

I don't know why I volunteered for tour-guide duty. I've only been here four years, and I sure as hell don't know my way around Victoria. It's on the tip of the Island and I'm in the middle.

So I'm expecting to meet meowza and MPolgara and hbomb and Tiddlycove and Arcaydia and lord knows who else at this coffee shop. I arrive early and sit there. I wait. I wait some more. I stare out the window.

Nobody's coming.

Wait! Who's that in the distance? I'd know those boob... er, I'd know that long hair anywhere! It's MP! Yay! Beside her is someone shorter with glasses on. She looks mad about something. Ah, that must be hbomb.

They enter the restaurant, spot the guy with the hair, and come over to the table.

"Galoot! Nice to finally meet ya. How ya doin'?" MP gives me a big hug and I blush and mumble something or other.

"You are Galoot, right?" hbomb says.


"Huh. Well, you don't look as stupid in your pictures."

I'm still flustered from the MP hug, so I don't really know whether or not that's a compliment. While I'm trying to figure out how to respond, hbomb punches me in the stomach.

I double over, gasping for breath.

"C'mon, sissy boy! Can't take it?" She starts yelling. "What are you some sort of pansy ass cupcake?" And she pushes my chair over with her foot. I topple to the floor.

I'm lying there curled up and clutching my stomach, trying to catch some air when she says, "I sure like you, Galoot. You know how to have fun."

"Thanks," I croak.

That's when I woke up. Now I'm no psychologist, but it seems to me that I either:

a) Fear hbomb or
b) Have a fetish I never knew about until just now.

The obvious choice is "fear." So why am I still hoping for a Worthmeet on the Island?

What Monty Python Sketch Character are you?

You'll never guess...

You are a Gumby! You love smashing bricks together and wearing your hankerchief as a hat...
You are a Gumby! You like to smash bricks and say
things that no-one can understand...

What Monty Python Sketch Character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

(Thanks for the link, MP.)

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]