Well, the to-do list of pain and suffering is actually going pretty well. I need to do another pass on the story outline before I can call it done, all my Bookslut stuff is sent in, I'm taking my car in tomorrow morning for maintenance (which means I should figure out if I've got any sort of warrenty, huh?). The Office is a shining jewel of awesomeness, I'm going to the yarn store tonight for some more yarn and advice on the Knitting Stitch That Plagues Me So...
Last night was the first time I'd ever visited a a comic book store to pay my condolences. It was surreal, to say the least.
I can't say I knew Bill Liebowitz, but I saw him all the time at GA, and he always treated me with respect during those early years, when I was frantically catching up with Gaiman and Miller and Moore. No condescention, no patronizing looks -- just a nice smile and perhaps a recommendation or two as he handed me my crack. Many girl comics nerds will tell you, that's golden. He was a true ambassador.
Oddly, I can tell you the last time I saw him: out in front of his store the morning of the AIDS Walk, playing with his yo-yo brigade and cheering us on as we limped past. It was 10:30 in the morning. He didn't have to be there.
There should be more people like Bill Liebowitz in the world, and the fact that we're one less is more than a little sad.
So on the drive home, I got bored of the Sox handing down another ass-whupping and switched to Which Way LA, where Warren Allney was interviewing the Libertarian candidate for US Senate, Judge Jim Gray.
And god help me for saying it, but Jim Gray is AWESOME.
I mean, he's a former Orange County conservative judge who left the Republican party two years ago over his beliefs regarding the war on drugs and the PATRIOT Act; he gives lectures to various organizations on how the PATRIOT Act affects our rights on a day-to-day basis, and he's won approval from a couple of different sherrifs departments over his stance on marijuana (because they agree about deemphasizing it in order to focus on bigger issues). His Libertarian beliefs aren't hardline, he believes in local government and "whatever works."
He's a fellow Trojan. He's slightly crazy. Oh, and during the interview, he apologized for the background noise, because he was at a junior high school in Irvine, where a musical he had composed had just premiered.
HE WROTE A MUSICAL. He wrote a musical called "Americans All." That premiered at a junior high school in Irvine. Yeah.
I'm a lifelong Democrat who likes Barbara Boxer quite a bit. But a part of me really wants to give this guy my vote.
Call it my Don Quixote Achilles heel, but I just can't get enough of underdogs. Especially ones with conviction.
I think the term for what I'm suffering from right now can only be irresponsibility hangover. Saturday and Sunday were so freakin' unproductive, with so little accomplished, so many commitments abandoned, that I've been beating myself up about it ever since. The cure, of course, will be four hours of writing and a trip to the gym tonight, but the complication in all this is that I feel some illin' coming on. In fact, that's why Sunday was mostly Hoovered away by sloth -- I used a sore throat and slight ickiness as an excuse to drink tea in bed at 1 PM while watching DS9. But I'm not sick enough to get away with using illness as an excuse. The show must go on.
It wasn't a bad weekend, and I had a lot of fun doing the things I did. The short film fest went over great (damn it, everyone's so freakin' talented), I carved a pumpkin whose terrible melancholy will strike ennui in the hearts of all who see it, and Deep Space Nine was the best television series in the whole wide world. But such a pittance of writing! Totally unacceptable!
This is a problem that can be fixed. And perhaps, once again, I'll be able to live up to the standards I hold myself to.
Besides, there are only four more episodes of DS9 left on my TiVo...
Busy weekend ahead -- the type that requires preplanning, pointing at chunks of time and saying, "Okay, this is when I'll sleep, and this is when I'll read a book, and this is when I'll pretend that I don't have a ton of other commitments."
But I'm gonna get my haircut. Gonna Do Lunch and Eat Dinner and see some fine fine music-making and watch some fine fine short films.
And read and sleep and write, too. Yesterday I staggered to the end of the second act of High-Con Rom-Com (not to be confused with Po-Mo Rom-Com, and yes I know these names are silly but they're very fun to say). My Unrealistic Goal of completing the damn thing by November 2nd (thus giving me two good reasons to drink copiously that night) seems almost possible -- the third act is very slight, almost gossamer. It's pretty much all one big chunk of action. I can write a big chunk of action in eleven days.
I am also, as of last night, having a Halloween party at my apartment, which will segue into a massive expedition to the WeHo Halloween Carnival. Which is fun and awesome, but also means that Ultimate Cleanliness will need to be applied to the rest of my apartment.
For those who don't read Penny Arcade, my brother over at TheoryCraft Masters has asked me to inform you that they're doing their annual Child's Play toy/game drive. Last year, I just added an item from their wish list onto an Amazon order of Christmas presents, and with gift registry shipping, everything was taken care of.
So if you're planning on buying something from Amazon anytime soon, take a look at one of the wish lists and consider adding something on. Like I said, easy.
I love the rain. Intensely. Perhaps because I've known very little of it as a fifteen-year resident of California, perhaps because there's nothing I love more than a good excuse to hide indoors with books, music, movies, and warm afghans. But unfortunately I haven't had a ton of opportunity to cuddle up with media during this first fall storm -- with the exceptions of pre and post-AIDS Walk (the walk itself was thankfully dry), during all of the other deluges I've been working or at work. So drinking tea while the clouds outside amass is the best alternative I can come up with.
Presented with the kitchen's options yesterday, I chose Red Zinger Herb Tea because of that one joke in that one Angel episode (that tea was actually Orange Zinger, but we only have Red Zinger here, and look, this is just the way my brain works, okay?). So I'm now addicted. So tasty and crisp and WARM in these cold dim offices.
So I shall now stare outside at the moody grey skies, thinking about the X-Men comic and the fantasy novel waiting for me at home, as my second cup of tea brews.
I may die of happiness if this turns out to be true. I've been listening to their first album for nigh on six months now, and it just keeps getting better and better -- tight, solid rock music with a beat you can dance to. On Saturday, I played it in my car on the way to the movie, and we cranked up the bass on "Take Me Out" and seat-boogied like mad as the rain poured down.
I have friends who make music, too. It's strange. Especially since they're all supertalented at it. Hollywood Trash has a show at The Gig tomorrow, and my friend Maureen is at Genghis Cohen on Sunday...
And tonight there's kareoke. Music can't always be a spectator sport, after all.
Mine was kinda great, on many levels. I mean, I didn't get much sleep, didn't go party hardy, didn't hook up with Luke Perry. But I did take a relaxing bubble bath, play softball, explore The Brewery Artwalk, eat the tuna at Phillippe's, see Shawn of the Dead, and finish the AIDS Walk in approximately two and a half hours (beating last year's time of approximately three and a half hours).
Plus, there were four episodes of Deep Space Nine, last week's Veronica Mars, last night's Desperate Housewives, and a little show called Farscape (about which I'm sure I'll have more to say after tonight).
Oh, and I wrote six pages of screenplay, reoutlined the rest of the second act, and got close to finishing a revised outline for another project.
Added about six inches to the scarf I've been working on.
Balanced my checkbook and paid off the credit card.
I'm sad that the debates are over. Not because I've been glued to them -- I've actually gotten some good brainstorming and writing done over the past couple of weeks while they played in the background. But it signals the end of the real discussion about issues and policy (I mean, there wasn't a LOT of that sort of thing, but there was certainly some talk about the way things are and the way they ought to be) and the shift to down-and-dirty campaigning.
For example: I have set myself an Unreasonable Goal. I have decided to finish the stupid romantic comedy screenplay before Election Day. Awaiting its chance to reward me is America: The Book, still inside its Barnes and Noble box, along with a hardcover copy of the Constitution I got for free (after pestering B&N repeatedly to hold true to its offer).
I miss history textbooks, you see, because as I get older I fully begin to realize what an impact my two intensive years of US History had on me. The AP class I took in high school was fully comprehensive, tackling civic, economic, and social issues of the past 250 years. I read John Dean's book about Watergate and made maps of European troops in WWII with little army men attached and wrote a paper on Mary Pickford and the impact movies had on the working class American family in the 1920s. I had a blast.
I also learned a lot. Like, for example, the Dred Scott Decision -- which is why I was super-confused by Bush bringing it up during last Friday's debate, especially in context. Dred Scott was an example of human rights being stripped away, not an example of human rights being reinforced. The analogy seemed to ring somewhat hollow.
But thanks be to the left-wing blogs, because it turns out that gay marriage wasn't really the analogy at all. Dred Scott = Roe v Wade. Super.
See how good I am at thinking about other things? Yeah.
I know this blog has been dull the past two weeks. I know you know it too, because I make sure to post every couple of days to apologize about that. Know that I regret this and am working on regenerating the brain cells necessary to be a cool functioning blogger.
In the meantime, you know what'd be a supercool help and would make you an Ultimate Friend of good ol' GFB? Supporting my participation in AIDS Walk Los Angeles 2004. I would be happy to trade web design work, mix CDs, or other fun funness in exchange -- and you'd get to donate money to a great cause. Which is way better than blowing it all on hos and tequila shooters.
At least, there's less chance of waking up in a bathtub full of ice, sans kidney.
Everyone and their goddamn mother has a blog these days. Today's discovery? Dave Navarro. Weirdness.
Today has been crazy sorts of busy. Page-long to-do list, items accumulating like mad. But it all got done, was all well-handled, and I'm ready for the gym and a shower and a possible rock concert. And three hours of writing. Gotta get some stuff done.
This weekend was really exciting. For one thing, I bought a decent vacuum cleaner ("No more of this girly-ass sucking," I said to Das Roomie, "I want something that'll rip the paint off my walls") and I cleaned the shit out of my room. Literally. It took hours. It doesn't look terribly different, but all the dust bunnies have been vanquished and the hair cleared away and all the dirt scrubbed from the flat surfaces it's accumulated on. Goddamn, but there was a lot of dust. Amazing how much accumulates when you don't vacuum for three years and leave your window open.
I felt like I was coming down with something all night long, to the point of passing out at 11 PM.
Apparently, you're not supposed to inhale three years of dust.
Because this has been an unremarkable day, and I myself am feeling profoundly unremarkable, I will provide you, dear readers, with something profoundly remarkable.
Memorable Quotes from "West Wing, The" (1999) Toby Ziegler : He calls you and me the Batman and Robin of speechwriting. Sam Seaborn : Well, I don't think he does. Toby Ziegler : He doesn't but he should 'cause that's what we are. Sam Seaborn : Okay. Toby Ziegler : We are Batman and Robin. Sam Seaborn : Which one's which? Toby Ziegler : Look at me, Sam. Am I Robin? Sam Seaborn : I'm not Robin. Toby Ziegler : Yes you are. Sam Seaborn : Okay, well, let's move off this. Toby Ziegler : You bet, little friend. Sam Seaborn : Listen, we're really not Batman and Robin. Toby Ziegler : No, we'll keep those identities secret. I'm Bruce Wayne and you're my ward... Dick Something.
run away from the WeHo Book Fair moments after realizing that I could buy books for a quarter there
gone trolling through Hollywood for free Wi-Fi or eaten a BK Veggie (those two are related)
accosted people on the street to find out their views on gay marriage
That last one was probably the most random -- special thanks to Sab and Sork, who asked me if I wanted to "get out the vote for the gays" when I ran into them at the book fair. I said sure, and within hours I was at the Coffee Bean on Santa Monica Blvd with a clipboard full of voter registration forms, asking the very attractive men in muscle tees and the sagging older folks in matching khaki shorts where they stood. "Just like selling Girl Scout cookies," I said more than once. Because I was fearless, in those days.
The group that gave us the clipboards, instructions, and bottles of water, Vote for Equality, also provided me with lots of interesting information. Such as the fact that a state amendment banning gay marriage in California will likely end up on the ballot in 2006, and Prop. 22 in 2000, a referendum defining marriage as between a man and a woman, passed 62%-38%. 2006 may seem like a long time away. But so did November 2004, once upon a time. And here we are.
I ran into an old classmate while I was harassing people yesterday, and he was very nice, and gave us his information and volunteered to hold a house party. But he was more than a little confused by my presence there in West Hollywood, holding a clipboard and petitioning for gay rights. "You're straight, right?" he asked.
"Yep," I replied.
"Then why are you out here?"
I shrugged. "Because rights are rights. And just because I have them doesn't mean it's cool for others not to."
At least, I wished I'd said that. In reality, I fumbled, stuttering about how "it's not right."
Because the truth of it is -- it's not a question I'd ever thought I'd need to answer.
So, because it is late, and because I have decided that this will not be a weekend of staying up late and sleeping in, I am going to go to bed. But before I do, I just wanted to leave you with something marvelous, heartpoundingly great:
"He kissed her with such fervor that her teeth rattled, several of them hitting the floor, kerplunk, kerplunk. The rhythm kept time with his barely beating heart."
"'My darling,' he whispered into the rotting stub of her ear, ignoring the smell of corruption. 'I'll love you until the stars fall from the sky...or your skin from your bones, whichever comes first.'"