A new scale for a new century.

After doing some yardwork (which involved hacksawing off the ends of trees), I took off my hoody and shoes in preparation for showering off all the leaf-gunk. I took my iPhone out of my pcoket and briefly checked Twitter in case someone had replied to me. They had not, but I spotted a tweet from @punky_and_me with the word "Amazeballs" on it, a word I had used in a tweet the previous day, so I was intrigued and clicked the link. It was a link to the mobile page version of a blog post featuring amazing claymation art from Etsy. I really liked one part, so I went to leave a comment. Tapped "Leave a comment". I typed my comment into the field on the mobile version of the comments page. It asked me what ID I wanted to used, I choose my Google ID then pushed "post". I was then taken to the non-mobile-web version of the comments page with a suddenly-blank comments field. I dutifully retyped my comment, and filled in the Captcha, which was something like "Cohardleb", then pushed "post". However, in the time it took for my finger to go from typing to "post" my iPhone autocorrected "Cohardleb" to "cohabitable". The page then spat me back to the comments page, where I had to carefully re-enter a new Captcha, aptly "RitardSm", then pressed post again. I was the redirected to a Google log-in page where I needed to enter my email address and password. Then hit submit.

Finally, it posted. This whole thing took 7-9 minutes of frustrated pecking at my phone. For one two-line comment.

I reached a 6.5 on the Tanjabraun Scale of Anger-At-Technology (similar to the Rounsaville scale for measuring racism).

So far, in this dimension, the only event which has caused a full 10.0 Tanjabrauns was a left-ward swipe on the trackpad of a Sony Vaio laptop being interpreted as "back" on a browser, in which sat a 10-page blog post that it had taken the better part of 2 hours to write.

All my mornings should end up as comics.

Brought to you by my trusty Moleskine Storyboard Notebook!

Huge Huge Huge Reductions! Never Pay Full Price Again!

Trop tarde.

(Written Thursday morning, uploaded Friday night, not posted until Sunday. Work ethic!)

Godfather of Gaming

(technically). Monday, I couldn't be arsed posting, Tuesday, business dress, and now it's Wednesday. This was not going to be a shirt-post, but I couldn't get picture-blogging to work from my phone, so I'm posting from here.

This is one from the TeeFury Grab bag that arrived Monday. I was wearing my business-y clothes for most of today, but when I needed to relax once home, straight into it. It's called The Godfather of Gaming, and it's by Scott Robinson, the same guy who did my Walker This Way shirt.

And now the actual post I was trying to make earlier:

(click if you find my writing too tiny)

Polar Beer Maaaaaaaaaaaalt Liquor

Day 8, late in the evening.

So this is another Teefury shirt, by the great Ian Leino. It was my second purchase, bought when Tanja and I were watching Lost like nobody's business, before the inevitable burnout mid-season 3. The shirt is crammed full of references, but as I learned, Lost as a show is so dense that very little of it has filtered through into Pop-cultural Osmosis, ie that someone on the street would recognise a reference.

My struggle today has been with my main iTunes playlist. Basically, when I had my 32 gig iPod Touch, I had about 25 gig of it filled with music and the rest with podcasts, TV shows, movies and apps. Then when I got my iPhone (same size), I tried to put the same playlists on. No dice. Not enough room, apparently. So I whittled it down, but then had very little room for other things.

Time passes and I decide before Christmas to clear off the main music list, put a small music list on, and fill the rest with video. This was in preparation for the Christmas break, where we'd be at Tanja's folks' place and I'd be bored. What I didn't expect is that I'd get new CDs during the break, add them to the list, then realise the playlist was too big.

Time passes again. I've got more apps now (4.5 gigs worth) and the list I'm STILL trying to add is 25 gigs. So now I'm trimming songs. The going is is slow, because the more recent tracks I've uploaded are much larger in size (due to my hating compressed sound on my big headphones), and the old songs I'm sick of are 2-3 megabytes. Also, throughout the process, I've been downloading new things, getting new CDs, and (here's the worst bit) taking old CDs and re-ripping them to replace old compressed songs because I want the better quality. It's a Sisyphean task, damnit.

Daydream Believer

(yes, I just named a post after a Monkees song)

So I'm still sick, though things have changed a little.

1) I got a doctor on Friday who actually listened to and examined me (who happily agreed with my opinion that the previous guy was a quack), took blood and... other samples and sent them off to be tested. She was extremely worried by how long this virus had been hanging on, and also by the fact that I had walked up to Broadway with a 39.5 degree fever. In the sun. Without a hat or sunnies. Dumbass. Now, we don't have a thermometer at home, nor do I really know what my temperature should be. Only by using Google and a little math did I realise that, as it's the equivalent of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, 39.4 is the threshold when you should seek medical attention for fever. Oops. All I remember is that Bret Hart once wrestled for his Intercontinental Championship against the Mountie with a 103 degree fever.

He DID lose that match, though.

So anyway, the good doctor said she'd call me with test results and that I had to chill out and monitor my diet in the meantime. Also I needed to get a thermometer.

And 2) (And apologies if this is a bit squicky), my illness has changed to the point that instead of chills, I now have to visit the bathroom 15-20 times per day. Yeah. Do the math. This has resulted in my drastically reducing what I eat out of self-preservation, which has resulted in an overall loss of energy (I'm fine moving around the house, but take me outside and I start shaking and spooking at shadows within 15 minutes). Tanja (who had IBS when she was a kid) recommended I fast for a day. Not liking this idea, I did some research, on INTERNET. Turns out I should be eating cooked or tinned fruit, Greek yogurt with active cultures, dry cooked rice or pasta, tea, toast, and especially applesauce. Bananas too, but I hate bananas. Yesterday was the first day of that diet (after two days of surviving on 1 or 2 pieces of bread and peanut butter per day), and my god, was I glad to have food again. Tanja even whipped up a pasta dish with plain pasta, chicken breast grilled without oil, yogurt and basil leaves. I fell upon it like a hyena. Hopefully the new diet'll kick in soon.

So why'd I name the post "Daydream Believer"?

Because since the first day I've been limited (that'd be Wednesday, when the cramps and fever were too strong for me to do anything but nibble bread) I've been daydreaming about food.

And I don't mean, leaning back and going "Man, I'd sure like a cheeseburger." I mean, I'll be reading or doing something else, and a vision of food will crowbar it's way into my head and take over my entire brain, to the point where my mouth starts to water. I'm talking serious mental-food-porn description. Most recent ones have been a particular almond-and-apricot-custard tart that Caketown used to make before they went on vacation, and oddly enough, sliced pepperoni with cheese and crackers. I told Tanja about the pepperoni, and she said "What, like on pizza?". Then i couldn't stop thinking about pizza. Thanks, hon.


Yeah. It's like that.

I have been restricting my diet for a little less than a week. Admittedly, it helps that I don't feel hunger anymore (at all) due to the cramps masking the hunger pangs, but my GOD how do vegans and gluten-free people and kosher folks DO IT? Admitted, though, with them it's a choice, made from willpower, as opposed to an option taken in weakness. So perhaps I need to adopt a more philosophical bent and get in touch with my inner Chi and all that.

However, on Thursday night, Tanja ate a fragrant massaman roast beef curry with rice and a Peroni right in front of me and I wanted to die. That sort of thing fucks with my Zen.

Quack.

So I've been sick the last two days. I came home with a head and body ache, and was running a fever before bedtime. I spent the first two hours in bed shivering uncontrollably (not little winter-shivers either, full-body muscle spasms). When the shivering let up, I went towards the bathroom, got nauseous and blacked out (would have hit the floor if I hadn't caught the door) then slept maybe a couple hours before waking up at 5am. Still sick, but less feverish, back to nausea and body-aches. I call in sick and go to the doctor in Marrickville due to being scared stupid by the evening I had just spent.

Got in to see the doctor. I explained it to him, and he looked at the back of my throat and made a face. An "ugh!" face. Then he asked if I was a smoker (what?). I said no. So he then let the matter drop (what?! What if I had said yes?). He asked whether I could have a few days off work, I said yes, he wrote the certificate, stamped it, and handed it to me and showed me the door. I asked if I should take anything, and he said just painkillers and rest.

When I got out, I looked at the sheet. He had said the cause of my absence was URTI. I puzzled over that for a moment before realising it meant "Upper Respiratory Tract Infection". You know, in your nose, lungs and throat. So coughing, sneezing, runny nose, sinus pain, NONE OF WHICH I HAVE.

So I'm here now, in the evening, feeling the fever heat up again (seems that this time I get the "too-hot-unreasonably" night as opposed to the "too-old-despite-blankets" night). And I'm angry, damnit.

The Sliding Scale and Perpetual Overcome-ances of Frustration and Anger

Overcome-ances is totally not a word.

I am finally playing Bioshock.

I downloaded the demo when I first got my PS3, and was intrigued by the art-deco steampunk feel of Rapture and the story. What I didn't like, and frankly, it's what I never like, is when games try to scare me.

Okay, seriously, video games. I'm 28 years old. I've lived on two continents where much of the wildlife is actively trying to kill you (like mosquitoes in Canada, and everything in Australia bar some of the sheep). I have enough actual phobias to fill a textbook. You don't need to foist a fear of the dark, fear of creepy children, and fear of disfigured monsters into my head. It won't all fit, like when I took that home-brewing course and forgot how to drive. But I digress. FEAR, that's it. Basically, video games, creepy children and disfigured monsters don't scare me. They won't scare me. So you shoving them into my face going "See? SEE? You have to harvest the Adam while horrible clown people try to eat you." is just annoying. I feel like I have to wade through the attempt at scaring me to get to the actual game.

So the game, and the titular sliding scale. Bioshock, you are a good game. Sometimes. However, you are also an extremely difficult game. Even on Normal mode. Ammo is scarce and occasionally non-effective. Your plasmid attacks use so much of your meter that you only get a few shots before you're out. I didn't discover the fine aim/zoom button until 6 hours in. Hacking the machines is hard and frustrating. And if you DON'T hack, you're killed by rapid-fire machine-gunning robots. The respawning system seems to choose a point at random when it brings you back, so you have to spend ten freaking minutes going "No, it wasn't this destroyed, dripping corridor, it was another destroyed dripping corridor." Early in the game, you have only two plasmid spots. One is electric, the next is fire. Then you're offered a telekinetic one. "Cool, says I, "I'll switch out for a second and if I don't like it, I'll switch back." WRONG. Once I swapped out the electric, it was gone. And did I mention electric is the handiest non-hacking way to kill the robots? Because it is. And now that's gone.

I also reached breaking point when facing one boss (the doctor). I fought him, dying 5 or 6 times, then running back and attacking, then dying again. He'd regenerate health in between. There was a point where I stopped and realised that I had little-to-no-health, little-to-no-Adam, no first aid kits, no syringes, no ammunition, and no money. I actually, physically sat back on the couch and said "No, I don't want to do this." and turned off the game.

Later, as I was playing again (shut up), I fought a Big Daddy for the first time, dying 7 or 8 times, then running back. Happily, he did not regenerate. I defeated him. "YES!" thought I. "Now where's that Little Sister?" She was gone. I combed the level, but all I found was another Big Daddy, who happily began to slaughter me again. WTF, Bioshock? I beat your hurdle, and then you glitch out my reward? You know what? Fuck you!

So anyway, I found, like I said, some bits of the game to be immensely satisfying. The minute you get the shotgun, the fun multiplies. I've also heard from others that the upgrade system late in the game is interesting. But why do I have to grind and grind through endless frustrations to get to the fun?

I had a similar moment in God of War 3. It's a game I've come back to a few times, play a bit of, then put away for a few months. This latest time, I was slashing along, having fun, when suddenly I get to a puzzle. Most puzzles in God of War are hard, but you can work them out.

This was not.

This was a version of Guitar Hero, using a controller. You have to get 45 consecutive button presses correct, including some two-button presses. Any mistake knocked you back to the start.

After 15 attempts and not getting more than halfway, I walked up to the TV, put down my controller and turned the game off. It's now sitting on the shelf, mocking me. I know that any time in the future that I want to play that game, if I want to progress the story, I'll have to beat the stupid mini-game.

Frankly, I couldn't be fucked. There's a moment Tycho from Penny Arcade describes in one of his posts about WoW, where he refers to the moment of transfer between leisure and obligation.

I've transferred.

Why I Hate Firefox

It's very simple. It will occasionally, for no reason at all, without warning, not work. I'll load up Firefox, click on a link from my favourite toolbar, or type something into Google, or whatever, and I'll get this response:

Not just once, not twice, but three times I have to reclick the link (refreshing just reloads the error page). Then it remembers that, oh right, it's meant to be a web browser and yes, these are websites, so I'd better let Lucas browse them.

This has shown up in the last 3 revisions, and each time I hope they'll fix it. They don't. And worse, it won't happen all the time. Just every 6th or 7th link, and it brings my experience grinding and crashing to a halt.

I want to support open source developers and all that but god DAMN this is such a basic thing.

Further anger? MOV files. They look great playing at 720p on the Quicktime player, but no video editor I can find, including Windows Movie Maker, Adobe Premiere Pro, or any of the free things I find can edit the suckers. The minute you try to speed up or slow them down, the framerate goes to hell and the video gets choppy. Any converter you get lowers the framerate. Argh.

Technology, why must it be two steps forward and one step back?

PS and by the by: Anamanaguchi's Scott Pilgrim vs The World: The Game soundtrack makes even the crappiest typing seem like epic haxxoring. Here are some snippets in this trailer:

Commitment And More Lands That Border

More Lands That Border

More things that are satisfying about Borderlands:
1. The World is HUGE. I keep discovering new outposts with different mission, some as trivial as "collect 5 mission recorders and bring them back" to "collect 50 crystal samples, defeat the two giant monsters guarding the samples, refine the crystals into an artifact."
2. The Sorting Algorithm of Weapons: The weapon that was your best friend and most trusted problem solver will be nearly-useless later on, as all the enemies around you level up as you do. Even the ones with comically low levels (a Lvl4 Skag attacking you, a Level 30 Gunslinger Hunter) can still nearly kill you if you ignore them. Sure, they die comically in one hit and you get little to no XP for them, but if there's a pack of them, you can still croak.
3. Different experiences. I was discussing this game with Luke at work, and I had an experience I haven't had since Fallout 3: We were discussing the game and the environments, and we had had completely different experiences. He played as a Bruiser (a Tank class, with a berserk ability and a love of fisticuffs and rocket launchers, quite the opposite of my Hunter's love of ranged weapons and one-shot kills), and as such had a different playstyle and strategy, and in the end, got a different result.

This segues me nicely into the unsatisfying thing about Borderlands, though, the more I think about it, it's something that's wrong with me. I had the same issue with Fallout 3, and in discussion with Ted, that many people had with Diablo. The inventory.

Now, in Borderlands, you're given twelve slots in your backpack for weapons, shields, grenade mods, health kits, and class mods (which give bonuses to skills). You also have two equipped slots (later four), which are mapped to the D-pad. You can complete Claptrap side missions to increase your carry capacity.

Here's my issue. I'm a hoarder, and a worrier. I try to carry a mixture of weapons, so I can be covered in any situations. My twenty-seven slots are filled with, currently:

-6 revolvers (two normal, one with zoom, one without & four elemental)
-6 sniper rifles (two normal, one with a stupidly huge zoom, one with massive damage, and four elemental)
-3 shotguns (two elemental, one automatic and fast-firing)
-2 submachine guns (one with scope, one that does 4x projectiles & reloads super-fast)
-2 repeater pistols (one with Shock damage, and one with a scope)
-3 combat rifles (one with large magazine for support firing, two elemental)
-1 rocket launcher (after much deliberation)
-2 shields (one high-capacity with corrosive resistance, and 1 medium capacity with fast health recharge)
-1 grenade mod (changed often, depending on the situation)
-2 Class Mods (Gunslinger & Ranger)

Now, where this gets frustrating is that when I find a piece of loot that I like (or just one worth a lot that I can sell), I then get to spend loooooooong minutes, staring at my inventory screen, agonising over what to leave behind, the distance to the nearest shop ("If I pick this up, then drop it, then run to the shop to sell something, can I make it back so that the thing I dropped is still there?")... I'm also a cheapskate, so the idea of dropping a weapon that's worth four thousand dollars bothers me. I'll occasionally do an inventory cull, leaving a few spots open for sellables, but the minute I find something decent, it becomes "Well, I have a Shock Revolver already, but this one does more damage, even though it's got a lower fire rate and only holds three bullets... it has a higher accuracy and zoom, though... I could do more damage more accurately, but if I miss, I'm screwed..." For ages.

I was the same with Fallout. Most people I talked to customised their character with a persona, based upon the upgrades they took and the skills they developed. My overarching ability? I could carry a lot. I took every Strongback upgrade to the pount where I was carrying 300 pounds of gear on my back (mostly weapons and armour, with some space for things I wanted to sell). Doesn't make for a memorable character.

Think of it as a video-game based fear of commitment. "Do you take this sniper rifle, to have and to hold, in sickness, and when something better is dropped by a dead Rakk?"

Forced typesetting

I spent most of today (well, the parts not spent having brunch and walking back from brunch) locked in the spare bedroom, writing an assignment.

"But Lucas!" I hear you posit. "You aren't taking an courses or classes! What gives with the assignmenting?"

That's true. I'm actually finishing assignments for a course put on by work that I began in early 2008. It's a course whose last assignment was due in May of 2009.

Now, when it came to assignments in school, or university, or the various tertiary courses I've taken (be it work-based, or my advertising stuff at TAFE), I alays try to be my best. One memorable work-based-course-presentation was supposed to be 10 minutes. I overprepared and went for 25, although if they hadn't had a stopwatch, I don't know if they would have noticed (no bragging, that was my feedback). I like being able to pit my brain against something and put a project together.

But I don't know. Something happened with this course. I liked the presenters, the subject matter was relevant to my work, but somewhere along the line it stopped being important to me to do the assignments. I got the knowledge, I participate in class, I took notes, but once I was home, I had no motivation or drive to complete things, let alone complete them well. The last assignment I turned in late, incomplete and didn't think about it again.

That is, until the presenter showed up at work in June with a paper full of notes and corrections with a big legend across the top saying "Not Competent". I took it, saying I'd try again (I couldn't even lie and say I had tried. We both knew I had half-assed it).

I put the assignment on my desk at home and there it sat for 8 long months. I didn't think of it again. I'd occasionally look at it, but the only emotion I could raise was a sort of impotent anger towards "fake assignments about fake meetings" that even I know what bogus and childish.

Eventually, as they were wrapping up the course (they're revamping it next month), the presenter got around to marking some of my old assignments and emailing me the results, full of glowing praise about my written composition, the structure of my arguments, and my in-class participation. I do not pretend that ego did not play a part in what followed. Guilt was also there. It had snuck without paying while the show was starting and snuck in a bag out outside peanuts to throw at the screen.

I responded to the email, thanking the presenter for his marking my paper, and complimenting him on his new beard that I had seen him sporting.

Should have seen it coming.

He responded with thanks, then... "Oh, by the way, I'm still waiting on Module 8, as well as parts of Modules 4 & 6. It's been months If you don't turn them in by the end of this week (it was Monday), we'll be forced to mark you not competent and you'll need to start the course over again."

Well, shit. Part of my new slacker personality wanted me to just go "Fuck it, let 'em fail you." but there was enough of the old overachiever in me to respond in the affirmative, asking for a list of what I was missing from each assignment, so I could sort them out by the end of the week. Yes, by Friday.

The presenter responded by explaining that I'd missed out on small-to-medium bits of 4 & 6, but all of 8 needed to be redone, preferably using his notes.

"No problem", says I. "I still have the copy you gave me in June." He took the opportunity to tell me that he was rather disappointed in me, since I was clearly good enough to do this, and I was the first to hand the assignment in, and now the last to finish. Thanks, Dad.

So Tuesday night, I sit down and I clear off assignment 4. Then I prep assignment 6 to do later at work (since that assignment is about meetings and one-on-ones and I had based my prepartion and reflection on imaginary meetings, the part I was missing was, you know, the meetings).

I also noticed that I couldn't find the copy that the presented had returned to me with his notes. I also couldn't find the book of data from that lesson that was necessary to do the report. Non-plussed, I emailed the presenter, saying that if he could, could he bring me a copy with his notes and another booklet, or I could go pick it up before work.

Felt good about myself.

So good, that when I came home from work Wednesday night, I sat down with Tanja after dinner and watched a bunch of Madmen. I remarked on the way to bed that I hadn't done any assignment work, but it's okay, I'd do the hard yards Thursday night, and hand it in to the presented on Friday, right on time. I put the stuff I'd finished into my bag to bring to the presenter at the other office in my lunch break sometime this week. He hadn't emailed me about the booklet/notes, so I sent him (and another presenter, for good measure) another email saying that if he wanted the assignment done by Friday, I was willing, but I needed him to help me out.

Oh yeah, and did I mention? On Wednesday I got a flu shot.

Thursday I was sick. Really sick. Like wake up at 4 am to throw up kind of sick. II didn't go to work, I didn't think about the assignment, I just laid in bed and literally (with no hyperbole, superlatives, or exaggeration) cried, and willed myself to stop hurting and not die.

Friday arrives. I've shaken the flu. My immune system for the freaking win. I go to work and find an email from the presenter saying "Hi Lucas, yes, you can come get the booklet and my notes whenever you like." Also, the second presenter that I'd emailed, whom I've known for longer, stopped by the office to needle me about the assignment, um, I mean, to say hi. Actually, I'm making it sound callous, he was actually really nice and cool as he always is, and just gave a gentle reminder that these assignments should be a snap for me (again, ego). I called the first presenter and said I'd be over in my lunch break to get the booklet & notes. I head over there (about a 20-minute walk, in the rain. He calls when I'm just outside his office to say "Don't worry, I'll be over at your office, I'll bring it."). So I get the details from him, and give him assignment 4, completed. I make an offhand comment about how it's really quite tough filling in the blanks on an assignment I did in June of '08, and frankly, didn't give my best effort to then. I found it hard matching the more-complete answers with some of the sketchier stuff I'd put in earlier."

Should have known that was laying it on a bit thick.

"Well, you know, Lucas, I'd prefer if you you didn't write stuff out of context. I mean, if you need a few more days to rewrite it all and make it good, then that's fine."

*deep breath*

A FEW MORE DAYS??!

It's okay, I'm calm. He put the guilt boot in a few more times, and I left.

I wrote up his comments in Lucas-speak on Saturday, so I'd know where to start. I would have done more work, but Tanja had decided she felt like cleaning and was doing this thing where she talks to what she's cleaning. "Oh, well, that's no good, is it. It's so dusty!" It makes it hard to concentrate.

Also, I was distracted by internet.

Anyway, wrapping up, I sat down today and did it. The whole thing. And it was fine. Actually, now that I knew I was writing for content, I expounded a bit more than I usually would on a business-report-style format. The questions that had frustrated me previously were much easier, thanks to the practice I have now with handling metrics and strike rates at work. Frankly, as I said to the presenter, I'm a different team leader now than I was then. Admittedly, the math I used was different to what they wanted, but I got there in the end.

So now I'm in a frenetic writing mood. I left two loooong and one longish comment on blogs, and now I've written one of my own. It's not too long, though.

...


...


What?!?

Introspection & Gazing At Navels.

I love my wireless keyboard. Not just because I can operate the computer on the TV, but mostly because when I type quickly on it, it sounds like a typewriter. I have always loved the solid, clunky immensely satisfying *clunk* of typewriter keys. I even briefly flirted with the idea of buying an old one off eBay, just for the cathartic feeling of typing (I was held up by the fact that you can't buy ribbons for them anymore, and anyway, shipping would be a bastard).

 

Today is my first day on prescription pain medication. As anyone who's known me more than 5 minutes knows, I've suffered from headaches pretty much all my life. I hesitate to call them migraines, as what people have described to me as migraines does not fit what I get. More accurately, they're just really bad headaches, usually focussed at the base of my skull in two little knots. I have no doubt that things like stress or adrenaline bring them on, and they are occasionally resistant to medication, and often helped by physio. Lately, and by lately, I mean in the last fortnight, I have been having... different experiences. I'll go to sleep about 11:45 or midnight, then wake up roughly an hour later with a headache. A specific kind of headache, only on the left side of my head. For a moment, it'll feel like a minor thing, like you might have after just one too many beers the night before. But then as soon as you shift in position, it levels up.  If you'll forgive my purple prose for a moment, I'll describe the feeling: imagine a ball of lightning. Not a big ball, perhaps the size of a golf, or ping-pong ball. And it's spinning and roiling on the surface, kind of like the CGI Sparks in the Beast Wars: Transformers TV show. This ball sits just inside my left temple, and throbs. Then, in a motion I can only describe as similar to the lightning attacks in InFamous or Storm from Ultimate Alliance, it will lash out with lightning strikes. These strikes can hit anywhere along my head, but seem to like just behind my eyebrow, the sinus next to my nose, my upper molars, the hollow behind my jaw, and yes, the base of my skull. When they strike, they tend to march along a path, like an ellipses (you know, one of these --> ... ... ...) and then conduct off the bones in my face, before retreating again. The severity of these strikes can range from electric-shock-uncomfortable to body-wracking-painful. The first time it happened, it hurt so much I could barely speak. I have never hurt that much that I can remember. I tried to get up, but couldn't. I had to wait until the strikes died down, then lurched out of bed, staggering, really, up to the kitchen looking for some panadol. I also heated up a wheat-bag heat pack, and laid it on my face until the medication kicked in, and I could relax enough to go to sleep. The next morning, no pain. However the next night? Repeat scenario. This basically was three nights of last week. Only once did it carry over to the day after. Night before last, it happened again, just as severe as the first time. But it stayed. I had the same feeling all morning. I took more panadol (panadiene now, with codeine) but or once, the edge did not come off. No. Instead it got worse. And I was at work. Blurred vision, loss of balance... I at one pointed wished I could do something as dramatic as collapse so people could see how much I was hurting. Finally, after a "go to the doctor, you bloody fool" email from my loving wife, I did. Dr. Lentham, who I'd gone to before for my other headaches, looked on my file, and tried to offer my Cafergot. "You gave me that last time," said I. "The caffeine nearly did my head in." (see earlier post for caffiene related wackiness). So after hearing how bad it was, he prescribed Durotram XR (or tramadol hydrochloride to those playing at home) along with a huge pack of dissolveable aspirin. Instructions? Take one Durotram before bed. It will slowly dissolve over 24 hours, and take 3 aspirin when I get a headache, and 2 more if it doesn't help after 3 hours. I took the Durotram last night. I woke up at 1:00am with another lightning blast. Got up, took the aspirin, went back to bed. Did I mention that my brain tends to process the pain visually? Blame years of video games and TV. When it hits, I usually involuntarily picture marching lightning bolts raining destruction. Last night? It was raining fire. Odd, surreal, cartoon fire. I eventually got up and slept on the couch to spare Tanja my tossing and turning. This morning, I was wide-awake at 7:15 with the oddest feeling. I'm still in pain, but I feel like my head is numb. As I described on Twitter, it's like I'm standing between two white sheets on two clotheslines, looking West, while behind the East sheet is a huge grey silhouette (that would be the pain). There's a breeze blowing, and the sheets move and someties I get a glimpse of the grey in the corner of my eye (followed by a brief, but solid pain that, were it in a comic book, with have the sound effect "SPANG" like the glint of sunlight off a blade), but then it will fade back. And, if you'll keep to the metaphor for a moment, I don't want to turn, or move too quickly, because the sheets are barely any refuge. I feel fragile, like a spiderweb.

 

Also, if I may dirgress for a moment, I'm finding myself focusing on things too intently. Anyone who's known me for the afore-mentioned 5 minutes also knows that I doodle. A lot. Almost compulsively. It's a habit I picked up in high school, carried on to university, and worked into my various careers, be they retail, on-phone, or managerial. When I was on the phones, I could go through a pen in 5 days. As a symptom, I've also gained the habit of buying pens (usually gel pens of varying brands, I prefer 0.7mm points or above, rollerball better than brush) from newsagents. I have a huge pencil-case at work (which at one point 6 months ago, was raided and many of my pens stolen, which displeased me to no end). I usually have a few in my backpack, in case the mood strikes me. This morning, as I was watching The Digg Reel & iFanboy, trying to relax, I had grabbed the desk calender from the computer room and was using my Pilot Vpen (you know, the ones with the fountain pen nib?) to doodle. My usual subjects are stars, which I've taight myself to draw freehand, without interior lines, specifically what some people refer to as "<punk stars", but compounded with many layers, and random words being said around me or thought by me in block letters, usually serif, done in alternating outline and filled styles, though occasionally I'll like the look of certain letter) were being used, but I realised something: I was bringing my face closer and closer as I drew, the edges becoming sketchier and sketchier, like something out of a Spawn comic (ironically one of the discussion points on iFanboy). After a while I was not paying attention to the show, just watching myself draw. I had to shake my head to break my concentration. Is this part of the medication? I don't know.

 

And I still find it ironic that a potentially side effect listed for headache medication is "headache".

Costanza'd

So this week is sort of planned out for Tanja and I. I'm on 1:30-9:30 shifts, and we're planning our barbecue on Sunday. So Tanja made a huge spinach pie/quiche thing, with the intent that it can be my lunch and her dinner over a couple of days (Monday & Wednesday). I was to make chilli on Tuesday, which would be my lunch and her dinner for Tuesday and Thursday. Also, at some point, I was to take down the skeletal remains of the pagola in our backyard, and also make a trip to Dan Murphy's to pick up booze.

So this morning, Tanja takes the mince out of the freezer so it'll be defrosted by Tuesday. then goes to work, reminding me of the schedule on the way out. I get up, have my breakfast and coffee, loaf around a bit watching Avatar, then decide, "Okay, time to take down the pagola". It goes relatively smoothly, with me not having to hacksaw anything, and only one of the pieces dousing me in liquified rust. I get finish, wash all the grease & crap off my hands and glance at the clock. It's 10:41.

"Oh no," says I. "I need to get the chilli on the stove. It takes an hour to cook, and if I still want time to eat it, I'll need to start right now!"

So I do. I prep the vegetables, get the spices, get the onion simmering, then take the mince out. It's frozen solid. "Stupid fridge!" says I. "It's almost like it hasn't been out of the freezer more than an hour!" So I use the microwave and a hot knife to break it into pieces.

I get the chilli simmering, realising it'll finish at 12:30, and that'll only leave me like 10 minutes to eat. I make my sandwich, and wrap it up. I go to put the lettuce back into the fridge when I see the spinach pie. And realisation hits me.

I call Tanja and explain that I'm an idiot. She really agrees.

So now I'm putting the chilli in Tupperware as soon as it finishes, wrapping up some Spinach pie, and having that today.

Also? Today being Monday? I start at 1, not 1:30. So I'll have like 10 minutes to get to my train.

For I am Costanza, Lord of Idiots.

Shirts.

As I went up to Oporto to get my lunch today, I walked through the street market they have in Newtown every Saturday. As always, there are people just selling random stuff, like belts made from recycled materials, old albums and CDs, books of all sorts, and the inevitable t-shirt printers. Now, most of the people at markets who do t-shirts are screen printers, with a few tie-dyers and tailors/seamstresses thrown in. Nobody seems to do shirts they way I do. Admittedly, the method I use (cutting the stenicls, then painting with brushes) is not the most efficient, easiest or most practical way of doing things, but it does give me a level of control that I enjoy.

However, lately I've been thinking hard about my printing. My first thinkings were in the vein of more artisitic and impressive (read: difficult) designs to really how what I can do. That line of thinking has been difficult to develop, seeing as the majority of the shirts I do are demand-focused (ie I do what people ask me to do), so these new shirts would pretty much be for me. Also, Stencil Revolution, which was my main source of inspiration, was shut down about a year ago, and has not really gotten back on its feet since. I've come up with a few sort of meta-design examples (my Irgendwas Auf Deutsch one, or a few based on the cartoons of Phil Somerville such as "Tragically Born Without A Logo" (overlaid on a collage of logos I've done for other people, such as the Firetrybe logo, the Carbon Cowboy Design I did for Phil, a Triforce with wings and others) and "Due to computer error, this t-shirt is completely free of advertising," (directly above my logo, heh), but I'm not getting the oomph I wantedto. Most people just assume I got them at JayJays or something and don't give my shirts a second look.

As for my process, it's actually cost me a few jobs. It's fairly difficult to accurately mass-produce shirts, as they never quite turn out identical, and paint builds up on the stencils, make each use afterward less accurate. Large areas of solid colour are also a problem, as it's tough to get a smooth, even shape with clean edges. I made some shirts for a local band that turned out not-so-great because their logo was a large yellow oval (large area of solid colour) with the band name on it and they wanted a dozen shirts, but couldn't afford good ones, so had cheap $3 shirts, which were so thin they barely held still under my brush. The results were less than stellar, and I've never heard from them again.

Recently, the mother of one of my workmates called me to ask if I could print some shirts for a singer she is doing promotion work for. She sent me a design which was very easy, but said that design was from the last tour and they wanted a newer one. We talked for a bit and after I dissuaded her from putting words on the back of jeans, she said she'd get back to me. A few weeks pass. I suddenly get a call, and after a few confused moment, relise who it is, and that yes, she's still interested. After debating every tiny detail of what she wants (to a ridiculous degree, taken two further calls, each spaced about 5 minutes apart while I'm at work), we agree to two prototype shirts using the new design and then many more to come later. I buy two blanks and wait on the email. She calls again to make sure the shirts I got are the right type, and casually asks me to photoshop the logo onto the promo picture, since I'm "good at those sorts of things." The email comes and the design is, in a word, impossible. It's a spanish-style cross with so many criss-crossing loops and whorls and patterns that even if I could cut a stencil, it would be impossible to use more than once and would probably break apart. I photoshop the image though, even throwing together a few cool effects and a couple different versions and send them back, with my worries about the design. I mention that maybe they could come up with a simple design for the shirt for me to do. I get a short email back saying they would run it by the artist and get back to me.

I've heard nothing back. It's been 3 weeks. I even did the plaintive email of "Are we still doing the prototypes?" and got nothing.

So anyway.

The reason I brought up the markets is that the designs I see at markets are always awesome and original and different. They're huge, sprawling, detailed (whereas my designs are usually limited to A4 or A3 size due to my printer). Also, they're mostly selling the shirts for $10 or $15 dollars. I sell mine for $20, and though Tanja keeps saying I should raise my prices for the amount of work I put in, I feel bad asking more (possibly due to being afraid that someone will tell me my work isn't worth more).

So even if I pony up the dough to get a large stock of blanks, find some designs that can compete, I'm still going to be two stalls away from people who are better at it, can mass-produce, and are selling for less.

Basically, it makes me wonder if this is ever going to be more than a hobby for me.

Haiku Saturday

Cert Four Assignments
With their endless navel-gaze
Make me want to cry.

Tanja posts way more
On her blog than I do on
Mine in the last month

Think you’re good at the
Warhawk Demo? Buy the game.
Blown to smithereens.

It's 12:30 and
Apart from one done before
I've finished no work.

Falling behind

Ack! I've been meaning to update this thing for the last week. First I wanted to blog about the terrible morning I had, then about how I tend to subconsciously boobytrap myself when I'm stressed, causing me to try to grab things, misjudge, and knock other things over, stressing me more. Then after a few days I still wanted to blog about the morning from hell and was starting to wonder why I wanted to blog about that so much. Then I thought about blogging about how I tend to hang onto bad experiences, turning them over and over in my head. But I didn't.

So now I'm blogging about how I didn't blog about all that.

The fires in Victoria are terrible beyond belief, and watching the newscasters hovering like vultures waiting for someone to step out of the wreckage to say how it feels to have all your belongings burnt to a crisp makes me a bit sick. On the plus side, I found a bottle of Gold Wasser which tastes lovely and will allow me to make Duck and Covers.

Bliss.

Freedom from pain! Yes, friends, after 35 days straight of headaches, I am free from pain. It came to a head Friday when I woke up with a absolute humdinger. The entire left side of my head felt like it was going to fall off (and judging by how much I was hurting, I wouldn't have minded if it did).

So I went to the Doctor in the morning, making a 9:30 appointment. Got there at 9:25, but I didn't actually get to see the doctor until after 10. Why do I bother making appointments? So the doc sees me, and says I should get some physio. Okay, fine.

I call the University Sports physio that fixed my whiplash. They're closed until January for Christmas. Same situation with a few other places I call, some until February, even. February! That's a nice long Christmas break! So I get a recommendation from a workmate of Tanja's for a place on Erskineville road. I go there, but they’re all booked. I sign up for the cancellation list and just make it home when I get a call that there’s an opening.

So here’s what the physio guy said was wrong with me: all the little muscles that connect my neck to the base of my skull are all knotted up and scrunched together. These snarls put pressure on the bones of my skull, keeping them from their natural movement and locking them together. The lack of natural movement causes a build-up of pressure, which causes pain and headaches. Think tectonic plates locking together and causing LA-rattling earthquakes.

So he, using some high-pressure massage, pushed back the snarled neck muscles one at a time, letting them fall back into place where they usually sit. I was sore the rest of the day from the manipulations, but as of Saturday, fine! It may not be permanent, and I may need some remedial physio, but I am one relieved guy.

I am also a relieved guy with a new 32 gig iPod touch! Tanja got it for me for Christmas. It’s got Wifi, web browser, pop-up keyboard, it takes applications from the App store, and has a huge widescreen video screen. I like it a lot. I’m now in the process of streamlining my 13000 song play list to fit on the new iPod and phew! I have a lot of stuff I’ve never listened to.

Busy, busy, busy.

So I have a busy weekend ahead of me. Tonight, Tanja, Ted and I are going to see the Cat Empire at the Metro. Should be awesome. As this is Ted's first Cat Empire show, I hope they're going to be on-form. I reminded Ted (who had forgotten that he gave me ticket money) who then reminded me about band practice with JesusPete Saturday morning (which I had forgotten about). Making my weekend that much busier because Ted and I are going to see Zombie Ghost Train again at the Annandale Saturday night. The show starts at 8:15, but ZGT doesn't come onstage until 11. So Ted and I are going to go early and drink. :)

All this is of course compounded by the fact that Tanja is on Study leave for the next three days (and last night) to write her BIG-ASS MAJOR ESSAY. Which means she's understandably stressed. So I'm walking quietly at home. That not hard. The hard part is MY stressing that SHE'S stressing. This is no fault of hers. Example: my father came over to borrow some movie last night. Due to his wonderful timing, he showed up just as we were about to start dinner. He was also in a taking-the-piss mood, and didn't know why I was acting so twitchy and odd (I was the equivalent of Bruce Willis in Die Hard 2: Die Harder, kneeling on the runway, waving torches to stop the plane trying to innocently land, unaware that it's going to crash and burn on the runway). He saw her piles of post-it notes that she had arranged to help her organise her argument. "You missed a spot. And they're out of order" he says. (Wave, wave, pull up!) Tanja, slightly tersely, explained what they were. "Why would you do that? (wavewavewave, stop!) Tanja starts eating, and my food starts to get cold. I was acting so twitchy and tense that Dad left, thinking I was a bit batty (and slightly narky with me for being short 'n' sharp with him). I gave myself a tension migraine in that 15 minute time that nearly comatose'D me for the rest of the evening.

So yes. Now at work. They've cut off the booze run today because legal bigwigs will be walking the floor. Bugger.

If you don’t want my peaches, baby, why’d you shake my tree?

In other words, if the world doesn’t want me to get angry, why does it keep doing STUPID THINGS?!?

So. I emerged from a nightmare of bureaucratic horror this morning (a bureaucrat being defined (by Dictionary.com no less) as “an official who works by fixed routine without exercising intelligent judgment”). I’ve been trying to get my passport renewed, which has been made difficult by the following facts:

1. The passport office is only open until 12 on weekdays.
2. It’s a labyrinth of paperwork and authorisations.
3. I’m really lazy so haven’t done the work in the months leading up to the deadline of the 8th of November.

Ok, first there are the forms. I fill them out, and hit the first roadblock. I don’t have a guarantor. A guarantor is classified as a banker, minister or lawyer who has known you personally for two years or more. I refuse to associate with these people, except my mother, who doesn’t count due to having birthed me. So there’s another form to fill out. And get notarised. Now, this morning, I was meant to start at 11 am. I cleared it with Rick to come in later if need be due to all the running around. So. First thing’s first. I’ve got to get my passport photos.

They take the most wretched photo I’ve ever seen. Say it’ll be 30 minutes. So I hang around Newtown waiting. Come back. Instead of giving me the photos in the legally required format of four-square, they’ve cut the photos individually. I say no, I need them together. They say it’ll be another 10 minutes. I wait, grab the pictures, and then go to the courthouse to get the ill-tempered Justices of the Peace there (Justice-of-the-Peaces? Justi of the Peace?) to notarise all the documents (which include a photocopy of my passport, despite the real passport being in the pack, because hey, I refer to the passport in a different sub-section of the paperwork).

I ask them to sign the photos first. She taps a sign. “WE DO NOT NOTARISE PASSPORT APPLICATIONS OR PHOTOS”. Fuck. Well, who does? She says she could print me a list, and then disappears back into the cubicles. I wait. Another guy asks if he can help. I start to explain, but he taps the sign again and says “We don’t sign photos.” “I KNOW! I just need to know who does.”

So he prints me a three-page list of JPs. Just phone numbers. No names. It is at this point I realise that the photos were not stamped on the back with where they were printed and when, making them invalid. I go back to the camera shop. They stamp the photos. With difficulty.

But before I do this, I call Tanja. Saying it’s all a fucking shambles. That I can’t get things notarised. And now I don’t have time to go to the consulate today.

She says I probably should have been better organised.

I reply incredibly rationally to this comment. I’m so calm it’s scary. I deliver a treatise on bureaucratic socialism and economic reform (Ok, no, I ranted and raved and was stupid, but give me a break).

So I come in to work, remembering a throwaway comment made by Rick that the Big Boss is a JP. I see the Boss on the way in. No, he says, I’m not a JP.

At this point I went numb.

So anyway, I’m relating this to Tanja via email that no, Big Boss can’t notarise stuff.

Tanja: "It's just ridiculous, isn't it. Can you call the consulate back and see if they can verify everything for you? I think I saw that on the paperwork that they will do this, but charge an additional $50 for it. Perhaps you can just take everything in and sort it out then and there."

Me: *furiously telephones the consulate in the two minutes left before 12 and finds out that yes, you can do that* “Hey, we can!”

Tanja: “Whosaclevergirlthen!”

Yes, she is.

They're gonna put me in the movies...
They're gonna make a big star outta me....
They've wrote a role for a man that's pissed and angry...
And all I have to do is... act naturally.....