Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Or rather, CCCA Vs. InSprite. Eventually, once I've done migrating the (sic) storyline over to CCCA and know a few people there well enough to Sprite them, I'll phase out the InSprite aspect. But for now, we battle! And it shall be a battle for the ages!
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
1 pink iced doughnut.
1 bag KitKat Choccettes
1 bag starburst jelly babies
1 plate chicken nachos.
Aaaaaad that's it for today.
Hooray for sugar! And salt! And by-products! LET'S HEAR IT FOR BY-PRODUCTS!
Oh, and the card-reader that I accidently left in an internet cafe yesterday was rescued today, unharmed.
And the project I was working on for my copywriting class got an A-plus and a "you should be in the biz" pep-talk from my prof. He says I need to get good with Illustrator. And Photoshop. And Quark. Anyone have these? In non-CD format so my computer can read them?
and I got Tanja's Christmas present. Heh. Oh, and apparantly Mulan is coming out on DVD here soon. Hurzah!
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Tanja's taking a mental health day today. And I have 12 hours of work today. Buggery.
Monday, November 08, 2004
You are Gigantor!
Born in 1963, You are possibly the original colossal death robot, being one of the patriarchs of the current crop, and definitely an advocate of old-skool enemy-bashing. Why use a clumsy particle weapon when you can create supernovas just by flexing your arms? Your one minor weakness is that you are entirely dominated by some kid with a remote contol - still, don't let it get you down. You can sink a nuclear submarine with jazz music.
Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
I don't WANNA be Gigantor. I wanted to be Bender! Or Optimus Prime. Although, admittedly, if I wanted to be a Peaceful Autobot leader, I probably should have drank less and gunned down fewer people.
Oh, and I got to meet Terry Pratchett.
Yes. Yes, that I did.
It was at a publisher's soiree at the Arthouse, a posh bar in the CBD, and Tanja and a few other Borders people got invites (including me, but since David couldn't remember my last name, my name tag read "Lucas: Borders City". Terry is a LOT shorter and skinnier than I expected (from his pictures, I expected a John Rhys-Davies-sized fellow in a cowboy hat. Instead, I saw a 5-foot-six man in a derby so big on him that it looked like a cowboy hat. And he had a silver scythe tie pin. Cool.)
I had brought along my Men At Arms book for him to sign, only to be told by a bitchy publicist/glorified assistant gopher that "Terry's only signing copies of Going Postal tonight. didn't you know that?" Grrr. I've read Going Postal but haven't bought it.
Then Terry starts wandering around to the different groups, speaking a bit to each. When he gets to our group, I'm so tongue-tied (a serious feat, for me) that Ikeda or whomever she is monopolizes Terry, and I miss out on a Discworld-themed l-space joke. Ikeda and Terry are talking about how big Borders is and she says they lose customers all the time, and I had the urge to say "yeah, we found the remains of some Christmas shoppers, and we ate their boots." But I didn't. Damnit.
But then he turned to me and saw my name tag and said "So, Lucas. What do you do at Borders?" and I said "Nothing, actually. I married into it." He said "Jolly good, fine old family. Old book money." Heh.
He wanders off and Dvid and I cornered and pounced trays of nibblies (meatballs and sausages and fish cakes oh my) and Tanja and I cornered and pounced glasses of free champagne (champers and champers and champers oh my) and then Terry gets up to speak. He's quiet and dry and extremely funny and I laugh far too hard at his explaining his hallucination of a sandwich vendor while on the operating table. Then he gets down to sign books.
Through side-handed trading, Tanja had enveigled me a copy of Going Postal to get signed, which I do, whilst gushing about the odd circumstances with which I came to have gotten it, and I realize he's not listening. And I wilt a bit, and go to shake his hand. He looks at my hand for a second, then switches his pen to his other hand, and sticks out his hand. I clasp it, but he doesn't clasp back (an odd sensation. Don't try it). I grab my book and skedaddle. I realize that by that point, the hardcore fans had already been past him, hence his kind of tuning my stuttering gushing out, but I was still to embarrassed to go into line a second time and get Men At Arms signed. David finally did it for me, slipping it into the pile of stuff they were getting signed for the Borders store.
Anyway. Yeah. That was my Pratchett moment. I felt good, even despite the wierdness. And I got Going Postal in hardback. Heh.
Monday, November 01, 2004
"A brass unicorn has been catapulted across a London street and impaled an eminent surgeon. Words fail me, gentlemen."
And the blonde witch in the comic is Tanja! Making her Insprite debut (or as the Aussies say it, "day-boo")!
We're all very happy for her.
And the Playstation2? It's getting on my damn nerves. Since the multi-zone DVD player died, we've been watching all our movies on the PS2. For the Halloween party, I had rented Vampires: Los Meurtos and Eight Legged-Freaks, and Anna brought Drop Dead Fred, but the player wouldn't read Fred Or Vamps, and stopped halfway through Freaks, claiming the discs too damaged. Being weekly rentals, of course they were damaged, but still! I ran back to the video store and exchanged Freaks for Aliens, which wouldn't read either. Then I exchanged Aliens and Vamps for The Dish and Old School. Old School played fine, but The Dish (which I really wanted to see!) stopped five minutes in. Damn it all to Hell. Stupid sensitive player.
Tanja doesn't want me to go and exchange The Dish, claiming that it'll just keep on rejecting these older discs. Grrrr.