15K Writing Challenge Update: 1036 words through day 8. The sad thing is I'm kicking Brady's ass so far. I've actually only written on two days of the challenge, including a solid output of 600 words last night, so it's not as bad as it seems. At this rate, I'll finish the challenge in only 115 days! Sweet fucking Christ that's pathetic. I smell a New Year's Resolution. Why does it smell like semen? Eww.
Since Jim moved out of the condo, I now have a writing room. Now I love the trusty green recliner in my bedroom, but there's something to be said for having a supportive, sturdy chair to sit in while writing. I successfully locked myself in The Writing Room for 45 minutes last night, allowing myself to leave only to retrieve Diet Coke or pee (there was no retrieval of pee, if you were wondering).
You'll notice to your right -- unless you're looking from the other direction, in which case it's one of those crazy mirror scenarios so I can't even begin to guess which way you should look -- the addition of a profile picture. Feel free to use it to help you masturbate. Really, I don't mind.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
15K Writing Challenge
Brady and I have entered into yet another writing challenge. The goal is to write 15,000 words. It's a speed contest, and the loser must buy the winner 100 cans of Diet Coke, to be delivered to the winner's front door within two days of the contest's conclusion. Once someone reaches the 15K plateau, the other has a three-day window for catch-upsies.
Day 3: 0 words.
The good thing about this contest is there's no daily requirement. Sure, it might take us five years to finish, but, damn it, we will finish!
I once wrote over 6,500 words in a day. I also wrote 50,000 words, or 1,667 per day, over a period of thirty days. I'm not nearly so prolific these days. I'm not exactly sure why. Boo to me.
Day 3: 0 words.
The good thing about this contest is there's no daily requirement. Sure, it might take us five years to finish, but, damn it, we will finish!
I once wrote over 6,500 words in a day. I also wrote 50,000 words, or 1,667 per day, over a period of thirty days. I'm not nearly so prolific these days. I'm not exactly sure why. Boo to me.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Christmas Party
It's 11:30, and you know what that means: It's time for Amtelco's annual Christmas party at the McFarland Park Ponderosa. In other words, it's time to get sloshed before noon! Wee! Well hey, it's noon somewhere, right?
I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just really thirsty.
I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just really thirsty.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Story
Feeling happier. While bathing I thought up a new angle for a story I've been working on that I think takes it to a new level. I really hope I can finish this fucker. It's been a while since I've finished a short story. This one has some potential. Then again, I've thought that about other stories of mine I've begun only to feel utter despair the morning after.
Reading Michael Crichton helps. His writing is so...simple. In a good way. It gives me hope. Crichton is one of my favorite authors because of this. Of course there's a load of research behind all his novels that I'd be too lazy to do, but still. Plus, his books read fast, which is always a bonus.
Why the hell am I writing here? I should be writing fiction, damn it. This is a delay tactic.
Off I go. I'm trying to plot out my story using notecards. Plotting usually equals death to the creative process for me, but this notecard thing is a tactic I used back when I wrote my novel-length P.O.S. back in...whenever the fuck it was. A few years back. Just writing out ideas for scenes on notecards. Maybe that'll help me stay organized, which is usually my problem; the task of writing a complex story seems daunting, overwhelming. Perhaps laying down each piece of the puzzle before me on notecards -- which allows me to rearrange, add, remove, etc. -- will act as a remedy for my admitted disorganization.
Anyhoo, off I go for real this time.
Reading Michael Crichton helps. His writing is so...simple. In a good way. It gives me hope. Crichton is one of my favorite authors because of this. Of course there's a load of research behind all his novels that I'd be too lazy to do, but still. Plus, his books read fast, which is always a bonus.
Why the hell am I writing here? I should be writing fiction, damn it. This is a delay tactic.
Off I go. I'm trying to plot out my story using notecards. Plotting usually equals death to the creative process for me, but this notecard thing is a tactic I used back when I wrote my novel-length P.O.S. back in...whenever the fuck it was. A few years back. Just writing out ideas for scenes on notecards. Maybe that'll help me stay organized, which is usually my problem; the task of writing a complex story seems daunting, overwhelming. Perhaps laying down each piece of the puzzle before me on notecards -- which allows me to rearrange, add, remove, etc. -- will act as a remedy for my admitted disorganization.
Anyhoo, off I go for real this time.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Fantasy Football Woes
Feeling sad.
Just lost in the Amtelco league by 0.8 points. I needed the Chicago defense to score a measly six points, which they had done EVERY SINGLE WEEK. Until this week. They scored five.
I am going to bathe with toasters now.
:(
Just lost in the Amtelco league by 0.8 points. I needed the Chicago defense to score a measly six points, which they had done EVERY SINGLE WEEK. Until this week. They scored five.
I am going to bathe with toasters now.
:(
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Dear Proton League
Dear Proton Fantasy Football League,
Is he coming down with a cold, or is that coughing I hear the sound of Brett choking his fantasy football season away?
It's the most wonderful time of the year for a three game skid.
Now, to makes matters worse, I'll undoubtedly have my hat handed to me by a team starting half its players. Oh bollix.
This is all I have, people. This league is all I have in life. Please let me make the playoffs. Take pity. I beg of thee. Truly, I do.
Sniffle.
Listen, I don't really care if I make the playoffs, but there's this other guy who none of you know who follows the progress of my team, and, I don't know how to put this so I'll just write it, he's dying. It's IDS. He could go at any moment. His last wish is to see my team make the playoffs and win the fantasy championship this season-- if he can bear to live that long through all the pain and suffering and torment. Last night, I visited him in the hospital.
He curled his forefinger, gesturing me to come closer.
So I did.
His voice was pained and weak, so weak--barely a whisper, like a whistle on the wind--and when I finally nestled my ear just above his mouth, I wondered if he would even have the strength to utter what might amount to his final words.
"Get--"
"Yes?" I said, in a frantic whisper, praying he could clutch upon the purchase of consciousness long enough to speak his mind.
Face ashen, skin alabaster pale (much like my own, except due to sickliness, not Irish heritage), he struggled to say, the words crackling out, "Get off my arm. You're sitting on my arm."
"Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry. Your arm is so waif-thin because of the, you know, IDS, that I couldn't even feel it."
Um, where was I? Oh right. Later, a few hours later, actually (or was this a couple weeks prior? I can't remember), he told me the only purpose left in his life was to see me hoist the Proton league's fantasy football trophy above my head. I didn't have the heart to tell him we don't actually hand out a trophy, but the long and short of it is that my friend, suffering from Imminent Death Syndrome, would truly love to see me win this thing.
I couldn't care less, frankly.
But my friend, oh my friend he cares so much about this trifling league of ours. I think we owe it to him to make his wish come true.
What say you, folks?
Will you make my--err, my friend's--dream come to fruition?
p.s. I think everyone else in the league should pony up the dough for a trophy, too. You know, just for some physical evidence of my glorious triumph. My friend would so very much love to see me hoist a trophy is all...
Is he coming down with a cold, or is that coughing I hear the sound of Brett choking his fantasy football season away?
It's the most wonderful time of the year for a three game skid.
Now, to makes matters worse, I'll undoubtedly have my hat handed to me by a team starting half its players. Oh bollix.
This is all I have, people. This league is all I have in life. Please let me make the playoffs. Take pity. I beg of thee. Truly, I do.
Sniffle.
Listen, I don't really care if I make the playoffs, but there's this other guy who none of you know who follows the progress of my team, and, I don't know how to put this so I'll just write it, he's dying. It's IDS. He could go at any moment. His last wish is to see my team make the playoffs and win the fantasy championship this season-- if he can bear to live that long through all the pain and suffering and torment. Last night, I visited him in the hospital.
He curled his forefinger, gesturing me to come closer.
So I did.
His voice was pained and weak, so weak--barely a whisper, like a whistle on the wind--and when I finally nestled my ear just above his mouth, I wondered if he would even have the strength to utter what might amount to his final words.
"Get--"
"Yes?" I said, in a frantic whisper, praying he could clutch upon the purchase of consciousness long enough to speak his mind.
Face ashen, skin alabaster pale (much like my own, except due to sickliness, not Irish heritage), he struggled to say, the words crackling out, "Get off my arm. You're sitting on my arm."
"Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry. Your arm is so waif-thin because of the, you know, IDS, that I couldn't even feel it."
Um, where was I? Oh right. Later, a few hours later, actually (or was this a couple weeks prior? I can't remember), he told me the only purpose left in his life was to see me hoist the Proton league's fantasy football trophy above my head. I didn't have the heart to tell him we don't actually hand out a trophy, but the long and short of it is that my friend, suffering from Imminent Death Syndrome, would truly love to see me win this thing.
I couldn't care less, frankly.
But my friend, oh my friend he cares so much about this trifling league of ours. I think we owe it to him to make his wish come true.
What say you, folks?
Will you make my--err, my friend's--dream come to fruition?
p.s. I think everyone else in the league should pony up the dough for a trophy, too. You know, just for some physical evidence of my glorious triumph. My friend would so very much love to see me hoist a trophy is all...
Monday, December 04, 2006
Monday
It's 10 AM on a Monday and I've been at work for two hours already.
Why would God let this happen?!
Why would God let this happen?!
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Fantasy Football
My Fantasy Football Player of the Week: Stephen Jackson.
Jackson has three 100 yard performances this year so far. In the last three weeks, he has averaged 80 yards on 16 carries per contest (5 ypc). He's added 47 ypg receiving in that span, and he has scored two touchdowns. That amounts to about 16.7 fantasy points per week.
Going against me in two leagues, Stephen Jackson is guaranteed to have a monster performance. Look for 100-150 yards and 2 TDs-- between 22-27 points. It's a virtual lock. Like the Men's Warehouse, I guarantee it.
In fact, you could see the rare 100/100 feat pulled off; yes, he might actually have a hundred yards both rushing and receiving.
Let the games begin.
p.s. Pray for me.
UPDATE: Well, Jackson had 16.5 points--pretty typical, though still pretty good considering his failure to reach the end zone. Enough to cast my playoff hopes in serious doubt in the Proton league, as the Crusaders crushed me. It's the second time Gonzo has gone off against me this year for 20+ points. Bah. But I managed to pull off a lucky victory in my other league, The Fuckups, which I care about more anyway (seeing as I actually drafted my players, not some robot). I also won the day in the Amtelco league, which is sort of bittersweet, as I had second place locked up anyway and I was playing my dad, who will likely be bumped down in the seedings thanks to this week's thrashing. C'est la vie.
Jackson has three 100 yard performances this year so far. In the last three weeks, he has averaged 80 yards on 16 carries per contest (5 ypc). He's added 47 ypg receiving in that span, and he has scored two touchdowns. That amounts to about 16.7 fantasy points per week.
Going against me in two leagues, Stephen Jackson is guaranteed to have a monster performance. Look for 100-150 yards and 2 TDs-- between 22-27 points. It's a virtual lock. Like the Men's Warehouse, I guarantee it.
In fact, you could see the rare 100/100 feat pulled off; yes, he might actually have a hundred yards both rushing and receiving.
Let the games begin.
p.s. Pray for me.
UPDATE: Well, Jackson had 16.5 points--pretty typical, though still pretty good considering his failure to reach the end zone. Enough to cast my playoff hopes in serious doubt in the Proton league, as the Crusaders crushed me. It's the second time Gonzo has gone off against me this year for 20+ points. Bah. But I managed to pull off a lucky victory in my other league, The Fuckups, which I care about more anyway (seeing as I actually drafted my players, not some robot). I also won the day in the Amtelco league, which is sort of bittersweet, as I had second place locked up anyway and I was playing my dad, who will likely be bumped down in the seedings thanks to this week's thrashing. C'est la vie.
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