fatrockstar

You are an idiot. Pull your head out of your ass and email your daughter. She is pregnant with your grandchild and wants to know that her daddy loves her and cares about her well-being. There are no "lessons" to be conveyed here. Nothing at all will be gained by sharing long-winded philosophical navel-gazing with her. She will simply think that you are a loony who cares only about himself.

Please, for all that is sacred, do the Christian thing and show your daughter some love and consideration. Our children inevitably disappoint us, but that does not make them unworthy of love and acceptance.

Oh, and Fuck You for being a pious asshole in the first place. "Intellectual Christian" my ass.

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In the year 2000, I had just begun my relationship with Garret. In the course of two weeks I started a new job, attended a family reunion, and had my 19-year-old sister join me in my one-bedroom apartment. It was a little crazy.

I promised my sister I would not bring up anything about the month she stayed with me to her, mainly because it was a difficult time and I was stressed out by her visit. I wrote a lot of things on my then-blog, wynnec.com, vented with Garret, and butted heads with her. Not that it helped much, but in an effort to set a good example of not dwelling in the past I told her I didn't want to discuss it anymore because there wasn't a damn thing either of us could do to change what had happened. All we could do was move on.

Ken was getting acquainted with my art supply cabinet recently and found one of my old sketchbooks. It had a lot of old sketches in it that I had forgotten about. A lot of them were of Garret, back when I was all memegoo over him. Some were of Teamun in all his turtley goodness. I think there were some character sketches for a comic I wanted to do in there, too, but I digress...

( Behind the cut is a strip I did of a daily occurrence in my apartment while my sister stayed with me. )

City of Heroes has been on my list of Stuff I Pay For since about a year ago. Before then, Garret paid for it with his credit card. I rarely logged on because, you know, I had things to do like cook, clean, shop, work, and take care of myself and him. Bottom line: He wanted me to want to play games with him, but was too passive-aggressive to encourage me. Four years later, I have this MMO on my computer that I've been paying for and not playing.

Once I canceled my billing for this game I was told the month of September was pretty much paid for until the 27th, so I decided to get back into it for a while. Without a job, I have a ton of time to do this. I leveled my toon ten times in the last three weeks. How? By getting over myself and interacting with other people online.

I'm not going to lie and say "omg these people are so totally normal and kewl we should make out" or anything. Some are cool, some are not. I'm not into RPG's because I find them incredibly, painfully nerdy, but people in the game will sometimes role play, and I'm still really blurry on the protocol for these people. Parenthesis, no parenthesis... reacting to some of my "mundane" comments "in character..."

I could go on about the different things I've experienced in the game, but it would bore the crap out of you. Instead, let me tell you what I learned about myself.

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I like to play games. I have game consoles. I do not think I can spend every single spare waking minute playing. I don't like to play alone, I know that much. I also know that when the frustration outweighs the fun, it's time to stop.

Yep.

I've hit rock bottom before, and the only reason it scared the hell out of me last time around is because I didn't want to tell anyone what was really going on inside my head. I shut my mouth and decided to listen for a change, and it pulled me out of it. Bad times pass.

I shouldn't have to tell a grown man that some shit you just don't kid about. And no, it's not a burden -- it's manipulation. My patience for that is very low, if not nil. I should have told you to fuck off. Instead, I took you seriously. I hope whatever I said to you helped.

Therapy. Works.

Fuck.

It was in a hidden pocket of Garret's backpack. The same backpack I had looked in a dozen times and found nothing. Oh well, at least I have it now. I can call off the gestapo.

Recently I've been witness to some interesting internet drama. It led me to some strange discoveries that I'm not sure I understand completely. I don't drop people from my F-list without a decent amount of thought, but I'm considering it. My reason would be primarily due to a lack of activity in favor of a newer account (one I'm not added to). But let me get on to the "interesting internet drama." The drop thing isn't even drama -- it's just a side effect of what I've learned during the drama.

space_ghetto was a shock community. I lurked there vicariously through another person's F-list page. Its content was pure crap: The dregs of the internet. Inspired by 4chan.org, the members posted everything from vanilla porn to dismemberment and poop. It had a pretty good following, with a dozen or so regular posters and commenters. As a tight-knit group there was a tendency toward the vilification of posters that didn't understand the no-holds-barred nature of the community, and because of that nature the community often received complaints about its content.

It also had about 20 community maintainers, all trusted members. Until yesterday.

In the wee hours of February 15, one of the maintainers deleted all the others in order to delete the community altogether. As of this writing no one is entirely sure who it was. The regulars gathered at a message board elsewhere and a new community was founded: sp4c3_gh3tt0 (NSFA) Regular shock content has resumed, and for the most part people are happy again. Every couple of pages there's a question of who deleted the community and why would they do such a thing. I think they have a right to know. If whoever deleted it didn't want to deal with it anymore, there were less malicious ways of creating distance (like leaving the community and removing it from their F-list).

Here's the side story that confuses me: ( Read more... )

Last week I was agonizing over an email exchange between myself and Ethan. It was a very difficult time for me, because it felt like a breakup -- something I haven't been through in ages and ages. I honestly thought I was going to lose my band, my closest friends, because of something I said without thinking.

Recap: Ethan listened to the demo tracks at home and heard something he didn't like. To him there were things that needed remastering. He sent out an email demanding that we listen to the demo on as many systems as we could and send him our feedback immediately. There was very little explanation for this. Laurel called me the morning she read this email. I was still somewhat asleep when I talked to her and interpreted her concern as something bigger than it probably was. Bleary-eyed and groggy I stumbled to my computer and wrote Ethan a scathing response. He replied in kind, and backed up his irritation with a bitchy IM telling me to never, under any circumstances, write shit like that to him again. I got another phone call from Laurel after that, this time I could tell the whole thing was getting out-of-hand. I assumed the blame and text messaged an apology to Ethan, who accepted (for the most part). He assured Laurel and myself, separately, that things would work out. I wasn't so sure.

So I grieved a bit, then called Ethan to arrange a time to have drinks or coffee so we could talk this out. Enough time had passed that we could talk to each other comfortably and plans were made. We met at a local bar and had happy hour snacks, cocktails, and coffee, while talking about what the fuck just happened.

His explanation? "Email-itis." Not sure what that meant and not sure I cared, so I asked for an explanation (which I promptly forgot). After asking many pointed, specific questions, I got my real answers. Most of the miscommunications were driven by panic over unrelated things, the rest were driven by his tendency to "shoot from the hip" and "get to the point." Getting to the point means actually making a point: You can't make a point if all you deliver is the fucking punch line. While the thoughts in his head were "this mastering is not good enough to submit to BMI, copyright, or a marketing firm, so we'd better clean it up some more," all we heard was "DO THIS. NOW. DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $200."

As the evening went on we talked more about what goes on in his head, especially the long-ass email he sent along telling us in a nutshell that he is the self-appointed band manager and felt that our band business relationships were pretty much his doing. I chose to not take that feeling too seriously. We develop relationships as a team, always have. The only person I can think of that we didn't do that with is Dave at The Workshop.

The meeting was a success, though, meaning a number of my concerns were addressed and my fears put to rest. He apologized for his own behavior and I offered to make changes of my own (like "no answering email before I'm awake" for example). It was strange to see him and have the two of us fall into our regular flirty patterns like nothing had happened. I welcomed that. It was the reassurance I needed that we'd continue to be The TroubleFakers for a long while.

He suggested we play a little joke on Ed & Laurel and I agreed, but when the time came neither of us could keep a straight face. The rehearsal went well. I was sad to not have the group do our standard post-rehearsal meeting at The Pumphouse, but it was Sunday, things were still a little odd, it's the holidays, bla bla bla.. We all promised to go "next time."

...And that's the story.