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Fade To:
Int. Daylog. Night.


I don't ever, ever, ever want to hear someone say that janitorial is a shit job for people who flunked high school.

With the end of the summer (Yes, August is the end of the summer here in the Yukon) and in the wake of a couple of recent firings, I've been left as lead bartender at the club I work at. (A large, shoe-shaped starship has also left me as lead bartender at a club I don't work at.) Huzzah for me and all, what with the increased 'tending tips and such, but it also makes me the lead janitor. Huzzah. Spending a quality half-hour cleaning encrusted, bright-crimson, fibrous vomit from a well-used toilet gives great credibility to the stay in school arguement.

Endless and undying respect goes from me to those who spend their working days cleaning up for the rest of us, everywhere we go.

Whereever you go, there is a janitor.

Cut To:
Int. Rambling. Night.

I'm to play Banquo in a modernized, Anime-ized, Kung-Fu, silent (with thick Scottish accents dubbed over top), subtitled version of MacBeth. Highly excited about this, even though I've got to start getting into better shape. I guess being 160 pounds stretched over six feet and four inches doesn't make me look like a Kung-Fu master. Fo shizzle.

The director/writer/producer is keeping the entire project entirely local, and, from the looks of it, entirely volunteer. And then wants to get it distributed. He says Troma is his last resort. I could be in a Troma movie. Kick ass.

My army of Warhammer 40,000 (I present you with the longhand, as acronyms are a detriment to communication) muTANTs continues to expand. The Lost and the Damned army list r0ckz0rz. My Defiler is miiighty. Mightily unpainted. Balancing it properly so it could be brandishing its claws was a pain, but well worth it.

Stabbity, crushy, stompy, shooty, killy death to Pansies!


Fade out.

Pipe for the Ages
ziggystarduzt ruleth

The earth has changed in such a way that I can no longer hide from the fact that autumn is at my doorstep.
Thundershowers came yesterday, and the wind and rain took dying leaves from tree branches, beat them to the ground.
Now the sun and wind are different, too – just so subtly. You can look outside the window of the computer lab I’m working in now and see it in how the leaves are moving– not as if the trees were spreading their arms wide in warm summer breezes, but holding them closer to their trunks, huddling in preparation for colder winds to come. The light filtering through the trees on my way up the hill to work this morning was muted, as if the sun has realized that its time is over.
I told him yesterday that it was as if I was part goose, and I was being silly, but I meant it. He doesn’t understand why the turning of the season affects me like it does; he doesn’t experience it the way I do. So I told him that I was part goose, and all my instincts are warning me to go south, foretelling the grim fate that awaits me if I don’t. That is how it feels.
It’s been like this as long as I can remember, but I’ve been more aware of it as I’ve grown older. Just an intense uneasiness, the feeling that something has changed, and that something is gone…
The end of August. It’s still summer, but not for long. The end of August two years ago, I conceived a baby that was never born. A baby I'll never hold in my arms, a baby I'll never see grow up. The end of August the year after that was when I wed my first husband, who is not my husband anymore. He was my first love and I am still scarred. This August ends with the death of my grandmother. She’s dying in a hospital in Missouri.
I don't want to think about my lost baby. I don't want to think about the husband who wanted to kill me. I don't want to think about death in a hospital, breathing and eating through machines, or what my grandmothers life and death mean to me. I just want to curl up and hide somewhere warm.

I had one of the most terrifying experiences of my life last night. I nearly had an eye damaged or lost for good. I'm still shaking every time I think about it, which is often because I'm still in pain.

It was the middle of the night and I was curled up in bed asleep after a hearty dose of Nyquil for general "icky I can't breathe, I hurt, I feel like shit" symptoms. Not usually my drug of choice, but Tylenol PM hadn't been keeping me asleep properly the last couple of nights so it was a last-ditch effort to get some rest.

A cat fell on me. I don't know if it was Sam or Misty although I suspect it was the larger, heavier Sam. He either slipped off the windowsill he was on or missed his target jump, a bedside table, and hit the bed instead.

He hit me right in my eye socket. I have six or seven claw scratches all around my eye socket and a huge gouge in my eyelid. If I hadn't been Nyquilled up, I would have started like I usually do when I hear noises in the night and bolted awake--opening my eyes. I'm pretty sure I'd have lost the eye if I had. The gouge is through several layers of skin, although not through the entire lid. But there's no way that would have avoided tearing through my eye had the lid been open.

I still don't know how to react. I'm still terrified of what could have happened.

Today was a very special day in my life. I mean, I'm not old, but I'm not young either. Mid-thirties caucasian male that was probably going to be a bachelor for the rest of his life. Not tragically, though, but by choice. I'd never really met anybody who rocked my world enough for me to notice.

Oh yes, I've been infatuated, and I have been in love, but I have always been happier to go my own way rather than compromising.

Until seven months ago that is. That's when I met an absolutely fantastic girl, whom I since have been falling deeper and deeper in love with.

It all culminated today when I spontaneously asked her to marry me. She responded "I love you very much". I told her I would not take that as a no, but as a maybe and ask her again some other time. That's when her face broke into a big smile and she said "yes. Yes I will marry you". I feel like the luckiest man in the world.

P.S. I promise not to write any poems about it, OK?

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