June 21st, 2004

flavored with age

Weekend update with your host, Gerald Shittypants

Busy busy weekend with busy busy week ahead. Had to work late almost every day last week due to various extremely boring projects going on at work; stressing self into oblivion over possible writing gig that I probably won't get; still to come this week, interviews with Nora O'Connor and the New Year, meeting with talented fellow writer to discuss possibility of doing a book together, feeling out a couple of agents because I'm about to become the kind of asshole who needs an agent, working on the goddamn crappy novel, and on top of all that I have to call up a publication who still hasn't paid me for some work I did for them several months ago and make threatening noises at them, which I am really, really not looking forward to doing and which is one of the reasons I guess I need an agent.

Friday was spent writing and taking care of some miscellaneous administrative business far too boring to go into in detail. Also did a brief amount of prep against the ridiculously distant possibility that I will be able to do some face-to-face roleplaying one of these days. Stayed up way, way too late working on the crappy novel and drinking frozen margaritas.

Saturday watched some SCTV in the morning and did some writing, fucked around like a Dartmouth education major for the rest of the day, then went over to rollick's place as part of what would become MEET LIVEJOURNAL PEOPLE IN AN ALCOHOLIC CONTEXT WEEKEND. (To clarify, rollick herself, inexplicably, does not drink, but I brought a bottle of sake into which I repeatedly dipped.) Delicious food was provided including some baked goods which were amazingly tasty considering that they did not contain narcotics, and a highly enjoyable game of strategy-cum-psychological-torture called "Witch Hunt" was played. I won the first game and then, having established myself as a person not to be trusted, spent the remaining four games being horribly slaughtered. Good time had by all.

Sunday hung out with Lara during the day; always good to see her and probably my last chance to do so before she goes back to see her family in New York. We attempted to go to a new restaurant that I wanted to review for the rag I review restaurants for (did you make it through that string of subclauses and dangling participles? Not me, a snake got me the first day), but it was closed for lunch, so fuck you, fancy new restaurant, you get nothing. Then on to the comic book shop, where I spent way too much money. On what, you ask? I will tell you, since you asked. If I can remember, because, narcotics. Anyway, I think I got the last Transmetropolitan book, "One More Time"; issue #50 of 100 Bullets; the last Formerly Known as the Justice Leagues, some Plastic Man, including #7, which might be my last because WHERE IS KYLE BAKER?; a set of Charles Atlas fridge magnets; some kung fu coasters; the first Alias collection; and the first anthology of Marvel's Conan comics by Roy "Roy!" Thomas and Barry "Not Windsor Yet" Smith, which for some reason are put out by Dark Horse. YES I AM ABOUT FIVE YEARS BEHIND ON MY COMIC BUYING WHAT OF IT.

Then later over to Delilah's, where I shot the shit and drank a half a bottle of bourbon with thevulgartrade as MEET LIVEJOURNAL PEOPLE IN AN ALCOHOLIC CONTEXT WEEKEND continued. Tim was highly enjoyable company, and I'm sure we could have talked much later into the night, but our discourse was cut short by the launching of a lengthy set of Beach Boys songs, the presence of a bunch of H-dealing burned-out biker/metalheads, and my being a sleepy old man. However, I feel sure it will resume again in the near future. He also vouchsafed me a copy of his 'zine, which I will whore elsewhere and in which I have a little bit o' writing. It can be yours yes yours by writing to this upstanding young lizard-torturer.

Now it's fucking Monday, I'm hung over, and I have to work again even though work is not only teh suck, ape balls and blowful, but also ass, buww-shit, bogue, and totally not groovy. Shitlist on its way, Shitlist fans.
flavored with age

MONDAY SHITLIST, PIP 9: Work, Work, Work

Yes, it's Monday, and time once again for the Monday meme/list/participatory thizwhipple that I like to call the MONDAY SHITLIST.

Every Monday in this space, to alleviate the crushing boredom and deep soul-hatred for all that lives instilled in me by my job, I ask you, the slavishly devoted Skullbucket reader, to tell me the worst of everything, so that everyone can share in the misery that fills every cell of my gargantuan frame. You are always free to post the Shitlist in your own journals, or to simply put your answers below, in comments.

Previous shitlists have dealt with the worst in fashion, movies, music, literature, celebrity, television, food, and things that are supposed to be fun but aren't.

Today, though, since I'm really hating my job of late, we're going to talk about JOBS. Today's shitlist: tell me the worst job or jobs you've ever had. Bring it on, wage slaves. Sing me songs about the most horrible, most soul-crushing, most thoughts-of-homicide/suicide-inducing gigs you've been stuck with.

GO, PUNY EMPLOYEE SCUM! DO AS I COMMAND!