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Monday, April 11, 2005
Okay. Just wanted to let you know - I'm not horribly suicidally depressed or anything. I'm just having a difficult time - made difficult by my current living arrangements and by all the health problems that sitting on my ass for the past six months have generated for me. I know what I gotta do to fix things - I just gotta go do them. (And hope I get them done in time.) I'm up to Chapter Seven of the great Nadesico Thumbnail Theater Re-Posting. Stay tuned. I'll try to have the rest put up soon.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
I hate my life.
Of course I don't hate the idea of being alive. It's just that my current living conditions leave a lot to be desired. My biggest problem (and the one which has been the bane of my existence for the past 1-1/2 years), is the fact that I have no room. None whatsoever. Nada. Zilch. If you were to stuff me in an oil drum, I'd have a lot more elbow room that I currently have now. I'd have more storage space, too. Here's a word of advice to all you aspiring entrepreneurs out there: If you're ever planning to start your own business and the only workspace you have available is a 10' x 8' room in your parent's house which must hold you, your bed, your computer, your equipment, and all your personal possessions, then I advise you to immediately climb up to the highest point in your neighborhood and toss yourself off. It'll be much less painful in the long run, believe you me. Here's what a typical day for me is like: I'm sitting and working in my room when I receive a very important looking package in the mail which might contain art supplies, tax forms, insurance forms, printer cartridges or all of the above. Me: Hmmm. This looks important. I'll have to open this right away. Me: Clear away spot for package on my dresser and place package down. I go to look for X-acto knife so I can slice away the tape on the edges of the package, open it, and see what's inside. Realize X-acto knife is in my sewing box which is currently sitting underneath a pile of freshly cut fabric, craft notions, receipts, my SBA handbook, and the notes from the last "How to Run a Small Business Without Losing Your Shirt and/or Having to Sell Your Kidneys" seminar I attended. Unceremoniously toss junk which is sitting on top of my sewing box aside, open sewing box and start rooting through it in search of my X-Acto knife. At this point, the lid from my pin case comes loose, dumping approximately 187,000 razor sharp pins into the bottom of the sewing box. 186,950 of these pins align themselves, as if by magic, to strategically plunge themselves directly into my hand as I'm moving it through the bottom of the box. Finally find the X-Acto knife, but see that the blade's come loose. Spend next two minutes rooting through the bottom of the sewing box in search of the errant blade, finding myself stuck with the remaining 50 pins which had somehow mamaged to miss me on my first root-through. Curse. Find blade. Stick it into X-acto handle. Turn triumphantly towards the package which I had set down onto the dresser moments earlier. Find that dresser has been completely covered with the junk I unceremoniously tossed onto it during my search for the X-acto blade. Package has vanished completely, sucked into the unholy extra-dimensional vortex which my room has become. Use newly found X-acto blade to slice my own wrists. So there you go. That's what every minute of my day is typically like (except for the slashing my wrists part. That part exists, as yet, only in my fantasies, which seem to be growing darker and more pessimistic as the days wear on.) The only cure for this situation, I know, is for me to move out of my parent's house and into a dwelling which has enough space for me to live and work comfortably in. But since I've only just started my business (and as such, currently have the salary of a small field rodent,) I know that striking out on my own is impossible. (Unless I can somehow figure out a way to regenerate and sell off my major organs. Then I'm good.) Until that day, I'm stuck with having to find someone willing to share my expenses with me. I speak of none other than that most dreaded of personages-- The Roommate. The most ideal place to find a roommate, of course, would be amongst my own friends-- those of whom might also be finding themselves in dire financial straights at this time and who might also be in need of someone with whom to share their expenses. (That would be ALL of my friends. So it would seem that luck would be on my side in this case...) Unfortunately, 95 percent of my friends live across the country or are in the military. The remaining 5 percent have personalities which would conflict my own or have cats whose personalities would conflict with those of my cats. So no luck there. Bummer... Well, says I to myself, I could always try an online roommate-finding service like Roommates'com... Five minutes after registering at and searching the database of Roommates.com... Me: Gee, there sure are a lot of lesbians living in (name of the city I want to move to). I wonder what's up with that? Not that I have anything AGAINST lesbians, mind you, but I think I would find living with someone of a different sexual orientation rather awkward, just as I would find living with someone who's a different gender. It would be just like that time at college when my dorm roommate brought over her homeless ex-boyfriend to live with us over Winter Semester. The two of them would sleep together in her bed, and I'd have to shave, dress and do all my personal business while he's there with his head under the covers, being as quiet and as unobtrusive as I could, feeling embarrassed about any noises I might make. (Fortunately, the situation didn't last for very long, as, three weeks after the boyfriend arrived, he got himself arrested for date-raping some girl who was NOT my roommate at an off-campus party....) You know... I'm starting to remember why roommates suck so much and why I've tried to avoid being in a situation where I would NEED one for the past 8 years.... Still, it looks as if I WILL need one soon. My mother has taken a solemn oath that if I'm not out of her house by the end of the month, she's going to take a hammer and destroy everything I own which is precious to me, up to and including my kneecaps... So I've got two choices: date-rapist, or psychotic hammer-wielding mother.... Did I mention that I hated my life? Good...
Friday, April 8, 2005
I've finally begun the long slooow process of reposting the Nadesico Thumbnail Theater feature. You may notice it's at a different URL, ostensibly to fool the microcephalic Canadian lawyers who months ago, e-mailed Kevin (the page's author), to inform him that the term "Thumbnail Theatre" was off-limits to anyone but their company, which copyrighted the term to describe one of their products. Of course, what the Canadian Lawyer Dudes failed to notice was that WE'RE NOT SELLING ANYTHING! They also failed to notice that, because of a little something called the Fair Use Law, we had a right to use that term in a non-commercial, parodic situation. (We didn't even coin the term, and we can provide ample evidence of it's being used elsewhere to describe a certain genre of webfeature, so we feel we're pretty much in the clear. We hope we are, anyway.) I'll try to get the other episodes of the Thumbnail Theater posted as soon as I can. I ran into a little trouble reformatting the pages to make them Firefox-browser compatabile, wso it's gonna take some time. Not too much, I hope...
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