Rough draft done.

A hair under 3200 words. Editing to come. At least two excerpts need to be rewritten. A couple other things I noticed when I read it all tonight. Will probably give it an editing pass tomorrow, then put it down for a week or two to get perspective. Panic attack is go in 3... 2...

630 words. Oh my.

I'm fairly certain that's a new record for me. I found the end of the story tonight. Now I just need to write the pamphlet excerpts, do a couple of editing passes and... wow. I'm done. O_o

Week in Review

0 new words, but I'm still rather excited. Started out with a readthrough & editing pass as has become my habit, did some light editing, then hit a section that's never quite felt right. It finally hit me last night that I wrote that section backwards. Reordered it, and I am well pleased. Was exhausted, so I called it a night after that. Turned out the light, started drifting, and a title finally popped in my head: The Quickening of Warren Nowlan. Still rolling it around to see if I like it, but it's the first that I've come up with that I'm willing to seriously consider. Thoughts?

One of my aunts and her husband came down to visit dad this weekend. The whole local clan got together for dinner and then to hang out at mom and dad's for the evening. Had a lot of fun... so much so that I lost track of time, and we didn't leave until after 10pm... well after the kiddos' bedtimes. Ah, well, it was a weekend.

Kidzookie woke up at 5am vomiting and having difficulty breathing. When he started bringing up blood we wrapped him in a blanket, gave him a bucket, and took him to the emergency room. Playing the stoic adult isn't fun when your seven-year-old little boy starts crying and saying "I don't wanna die, I haven't beaten Batman: Arkham Asylum yet." By the time he passed through the doors to the ER, he'd settled down and was just coughing a bit. We skipped the assholes at the ER by the house and took him to a real hospital, so he was admitted more or less immediately. Final verdict? Acid reflux. Who the hell knew acid reflux could be so damn scary? I'm happy to report that kiddo was very brave through the entire ordeal, including when they drew blood from his arm with the same needle they use when I donate blood (though his eyes were like dinner plates when they pulled that bad boy out), and he's no worse for wear now.

We spent most of the day recovering from the ordeal and the interruption of our normal sleep schedule. Lots of lying around napping.

Woke up to find that my mac has crapped out. The display is dead, dead, dead. This appears to be a pretty widespread problem with macs built around the time mine was. Apparently nVidia had a run of incredibly shitty graphics chips. So now I have to try to salvage the important data off the thing and then make an appointment with the techs at the Apple store to see what they'll do about it. I've read that they're fixing a lot of these issues for free, but with my luck, they'll try to charge me for it. So we'll see how that goes. Hopefully I'll at least be able to salvage the work I did Thursday and Friday. Sigh.

So ups and downs and all arounds. What a week. Still, the rewrite was awesome. Yay.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

I've been meaning to do this, but work has been rough this week. On the plus side, although it's sucked ass, the end of the day has quickly snuck up on me all week, which is nice. Anyway, Coyote called me out, so here it is.

Fair warning, there's some naughty words down below.

So Baltimore. I made a trip up that way to figure out how I could lure Coyote away from there. It's going to take crabs, I think. I'm not sure how to overcome this obstacle, but it's a problem, and problems can be solved. Maybe if I apply fire. But to what? More study is needed.

I had to use Mapquest to get my directions because Google does not know where Coyote lives. Coyote swears it works for him. Coyote lies. But lying is cool, so I was duly impressed.

Jack and I left early on Saturday morning. Cold, foggy, and almost rainy during the morning, which was actually pretty nice weather to travel in. The route they had me take through Virginia was very rural in some places, and a really great drive. Once the sun came up and burned off the fog, I opened the sunroof to enjoy the pretty weather. And sunburnt my brainpan. Oh well.

I passed one of those historical marker signs that said something about John Wilkes Booth at one point, but didn't stop because every 100 feet for miles there was a forest of signs warning me not to stop under any circumstances, including a cluster right around the marker. So that was odd. "Hey, look here at this interesting point of historical significance. No, don't look. Move along, citizen." Might have been because it was in the middle of a military training center, but I'm working on a theory that involves elder gods, an alien scouting expedition, and spaghetti.

The bridge over the Potomac on 301 is steep as hell. I think they were building a bridge to the moon and chickened out.

Wifezilla told me I needed to take the lady of the house some flowers as a preemptive apology for my behavior over the visit, so as we started to get close, I kept an eye out for a grocery store where I could pick up a moderately priced bouquet. I passed a Food Lion on the left and decided I'd hang on for something on the right. I never saw another grocery store period. I'm sorry for that, Ms. Coyote. I suck.

Jack did really well on the trip. I let him stick his head out of the window a few times as a reward for the excellent behavior.

So we pulled in right about exactly when I thought we would, which is amazing. I wasn't 100% sure of the number of Coyote's place, and Mapquest doesn't actually put the address anywhere on the directions when you print them out (what the hell?) so I had to call Coyote from the parking lot, about 100 feet from where he was standing. My name is Taco. I am retarded. Hear me splay clap. YAYYYYYY.

Gifts were exchanged. I gave Coyote an awesome zombie sock monkey that wifezilla made. Coyote gave me a shitload of awesome books which made my gift look paltry and embarrassing by comparison.

We think that Jack was abused before we took him in, so I had some minor concerns about him warming up to people when we got there. My concerns were largely unfounded. He took to Coyote and the missus pretty quickly, and Coyote now knows how awesome my dog is. Jack even demonstrated his amazing ability to prairie dog for extended periods as he spent the afternoon telling people to get the hell off Coyote's lawn.

We were whisked away to the library, which is amazing. I'm jealous as hell. Wifezilla promised me a while back that I could convert our dining room to a library, and what I have in mind is a lot like the glory I witnessed in upstairs 'Yoteland. While I was there I was treated to a demonstration of a bunch of autographed copies of books (so jealous), and was allowed to rub the armor of Divine Ray (Ray be praised!). I was properly respectful and did not rub too vigorously or on my junk. I may have had my other hand down my pants, though.

Then was the trip into town. We hit a comic book shop, but as you may recall from a few paragraphs ago, I am retarded, and it it didn't occur to me that I'd have Jack with me. So Jack and I walked around and watched a kid learning to play soccer while Coyote picked up some comic book goodness. I think Coyote felt bad, but it was a nice day, and I had fun walking Jack around. Plus he took a big steaming dump in the parking lot, which was pretty funny.

Then we went to get steamed crabs. Jack flipped the hell out over the smell and climbed into the back of the car to get at them. I called him back up front several times, but he kept winding up back there with the crabs every few minutes, so I had to leash him up even though he was in the car. The siren song of the crab was too much for him.

And with good reason. We got back to Coyote's place on Cap'n Mal Lane and Coyote dumped them on the table and sweet Jeebus. The seasoning they put on those things. But I get ahead of myself.

Coyote had to teach me how to eat them, because I'm from North Carolina and we don't have access to such delicacies. Leastwise not like you can get it in Baltimore. So teach me he did. There should be more foods that include the instruction, "Shove the knife up its ass." I'm just sayin'. And yes, I did feel like a moron when I asked where that was and was told, "Well, here's the face so... the other side." :)

Many apologies were given out for the crabs being out of season and small, and, one infers, less delicious than is their ordinary wont. If that was not good, I'm not sure I'm emotionally equipped for what is. The seasoning they cake the damn things in is so good I could have jammed a popsicle stick into a crab and walked around licking it like a lollipop. Hot damn. That shit ain't right. The dog, who was so unable to resist the crabscent in the car, absolutely refused to eat it when I offered him some. Weird.

Apparently the place where Coyote keeps his DVDs is called his "man cave." It sounds dirty and sexy, but apparently it's just a room. I know! You can imagine my disappointment! One wall of the man cave looks exactly like the exterior of my first apartment, so I told the story of how Grimm and I came to refer the style as "Neo-Holland Ghetto." I think I also mentioned how that apartment was briefly located behind a strip club (though I think I referred to it as a "titty bar" since I was a tad buzzed). I forgot to tell the story about the night I got drunk on vodka there, irretrievably lost my clothes, and exposed myself to an elderly woman. Oh well. Maybe next visit.

Down in the man-cave-that-isn't-what-it-sounds-like he hit me with Dark City (which I admit I need to give a fair shake to... the circumstances of my first viewing were not conducive to appreciation) and then chased me across the room with Hot Fuzz. I mean both of those quite literally. I do note with some satisfaction that he did not have a copy of Goonies with which to assault me, which I take as tacit admission of the movie's terribleness.

I chose to finish off my Battlestar Galactica collection the week that BSG season 4.5 and Dollhouse season 1 dropped. (In retrospect, a poor decision: the much anticipated commentary track for the final episode did not provide any explanations to appease my concerns over the poor endings of several important plot threads. Rather, it was several hours of people verbally sucking Ron Moore's dick and telling him how brilliant he is and what a privilege it was to work with him. Bleh.) So we watched the final, unaired episode of Dollhouse season 1. What a shame that never aired. As much as the show picked up steam and got great toward the end of the season, that episode really blew me away. So much want. Fortunately, season 2 starts tomorrow.

His couch is quite frighteningly comfortable. I'm fairly certain that something demonic is going on there, because no naturally occurring couch is that cozy. In fact, that may be the source of the supernaturally opening bathroom door I heard tell of. Whatever malignant spirits prank the house thus did not make an appearance that night. I'm pretty sure Jack kept them at bay. My dog is awesome that way. Now that Jack isn't there to protect them, I suspect there is probably an evil force rebound effect occurring. I'm not sure how you double up on evil door opening. Maybe it's opening windows now, too? Note to self: must investigate this. Anyway, the couch was so comfortable that I spent the entire morning on it. I didn't get off the couch until it was time to leave.

I showed off my beloved journal where I've been working on finishing my story. I even let Coyote flip through it some, which is huge for me, because I'm usually too insecure to let other people see my work. Side note: not a single word written in a little over a week. Need to get back on it before I stall out.

We played Mario Kart, and I got destroyed. Partly because I picked Baby Mario when I meant to pick Mario. But only partly, because I picked Mario in the second series and got destroyed just as badly. Mainly, Coyote was sober this time. When I beat him at Mario Kart, he was drunk off his ass. Great strategy, that one.

After Mario Kart, it was the dreaded time to leave. I asked Jack if he wanted to go for a ride and he started bouncing around so excitedly that he actually jumped ahead in time. So I had to hang around a little bit longer until we caught up to him. I kept the sunroof closed on the way home, so I didn't burn my brainmeats any worse.

Jack's a pretty small dog, with stubby legs, so he eventually took to standing on the arm rest between the front seats, as this raised him enough to see out the windows easily. Dogs aren't good at standing up in cars, though, and he'd take weird tumbles during turns or when I tapped the brake. At one point the guy in front of me slammed on his brakes, so I had to stop rather abruptly, causing the poor dog to do a faceplant on the dashboard. His shoulder caught the gearshift and threw the car into reverse, so it was a rather terrifying and thrilling moment there. Fortunately, I was pretty much stopped when all this occurred, so no harm was done.

Jack did so well on the trip that I was considering taking him to my folks' house for Sunday dinner, but by the time I got back into Raleigh, I was so tired I just wanted to go home and nap. When we pulled back into the neighborhood where the speed limit is low, I opened up Jack's window and let him hang out like dogs like to do. When we got into the driveway and I let him out, the wind had teased his face hair until it looked like his head had exploded.

So all in all, successful trip. I have data for my insidious plot to lure Coyote down here (there's more of us down here than up there, damn it). And I got to shove a knife up crabs' asses. So yay.

One day they'll invent a job where you fuck up interviews

...and I'll be able to retire early.

Okay, technically, it wasn't an interview, since she was a recruiter. But I guess I can safely assume I'll never land an interview through this lady.

RECRUITER: How would you rate your Java development skills?

TACO: Well, now, the thing is, I was just reading an article about this sort of thing a few weeks ago. And it turns out, people are really bad at self-assessment of skill level. People who are bad at a skill generally overestimate their ability because they lack the skill necessary to recognize how poorly they're doing. Whereas people who are very good at a skill generally underestimate their ability because they assume that if they can do it, everyone must be able to. So, since I've read that, your result set is now contaminated. I should game the system by deliberately underreporting my skills.

RECRUITER: [muttering as she makes a note] Well, you're a geek, clearly.

TACO: If you'd like to get a more accurate feel for where my skill level lies, I'd be happy to discuss a few technical topics with you. How about the Law of Demeter? Although every toddler in the country knows that one.

RECRUITER: Eh?

TACO: "Don't talk to strangers." I hate you, Larry.

RECRUITER: Who?

TACO: Long story. I've got a habit of telling my friend Larry I hate him whenever I hear a joke like that now. Sorry.

RECRUITER: I see.

TACO: Anyway, it's called the Law of Demeter because it originated in a project called Demeter. Which I always thought was a shame, because given the rule, it really should be called the Law of Persephone.

RECRUITER: I hate you, Larry?

TACO: Now you're gettin' it!

Pushin' Forward Back

Last week, around the middle of the week, I realized that it had been quite a few days since I so much as touched the damn story. That's what I do: I get intimidated by some tiny little detail, avoid it for a while as my paranoia inflates it to epic stature, then run completely out of steam.

Wednesday night, I forced myself to write some more. I managed 270 words. Not a lot, but pretty respectable for me. I wasn't very happy with it, but I did some light editing while I transcribed a bit in IMs to Coyote, and found myself reasonably pleased. For now.

I'm now into the very last bit of the story proper, and worked myself up again, and started avoiding the story again. I realized tonight that I was repeating -- well, not history. Present? -- and forced myself to write again. Once I got going, it got out of hand, and about 450 words ran out of the pen tonight before I got too tired to continue. There's only one important concept left to work into the scene now, and then all that remains is to find the end.

And then I have to write what I've been calling the bookends, though in truth, they're more like interstitial excerpts from a pamphlet in the story. Writing that part really scares the shit out of me. So I'll probably avoid it like the plague. Though snippets of the excerpts have been rising unbidden into my brain when I'm not paying attention for the past couple of days. So we'll see.

The other morning, I passed a car on the way into work that had a sticker on the rear window that said LWFC. I've decided to read that as an acronym for "Local Women's Fight Club" but that might just be a side effect of having been listening to Jucifer at the time.

My friend Dave brought this article from Computerworld to my attention the other day, and it seems to be making the rounds. It's basically an article about how to deal with IT people's quirks from a management perspective. They're referring to IT in the strictest sense, but I found that a lot of it applies to any computer nerd. I know I recognized some of the dysfunctional behaviors they describe in my own routines. One of the more interesting thoughts I took from the article is that no employee is completely happy, and you hire computer geeks to work around difficult problems... so if you're never hearing any complaints from your computer geeks, you're probably the difficult problem they're working around.

Attending a funeral for a guy I went to high school with tomorrow. I didn't know him very well, but his brother's an old friend of mine. His passing has kinda rattled my cage. He was younger than me, and the same age as my brother. I guess we're not young and invincible any more. Who the fuck dug up the kryptonite? Put that shit back where you found it, asshole.

And his name that sat on him was Taco, and Whiskey Jack followed with him. To Baltimore. In less than a week. Bitches.

Damn recursion will destroy us all.

In memoriam.

GIRLZOOKIE: [sits on the floor of the living room playing with her My Little Ponies]

GIRLZOOKIE: [holds up a piece of cardboard, cut from the packaging of one of the playsets, which bears the face of one of the ponies]

GIRLZOOKIE: ...and let's remember our friend Pinky, who was killed last year by zombies...

Manboobs

GIRLZOOKIE: [walks into the room wearing her brother's padded Spider-man costume]

TACO: Hey, darlin', how's it... what are you wearing?

GIRLZOOKIE: [cups the pecs on the costume] Look! These are my manboobs!