Old vs. New

Shapes and Colors

I have worked here for two years, and the blue sky against this horrible building has always fascinated me. It's like looking through your prison windows...

My Letter to Apple

While the new GUI of iPhoto '08 is impressive, the compatibility of opening items in my iPhoto library with other programs (PhotoShop, Final Cut, etc.) is terrible.
I import my photos from my camera to iPhoto, allowing it to organize photo folders as it sees fit. The problem lies in the fact that, if trying to open another a picture or video in one of the aforementioned programs, it proves something of an impossibility.
For instance, if I am using Final Cut and would like to import a video I took on my still camera which has been filed under the iPhoto library, it simply cannot be done, as the iPhoto library icon is locked, providing no access to the subfolders. The same problems occurs in PhotoShop. I now have to either export the photo to somewhere else on my hard drive or go through the annoying process of unlocing the subfolders and copying them. This is especially annoying with large video files.
I am aware that I can show those folders using the OS Finder option, but this cannot be done from another programs "Open File" menu.
I understand that is is considered a new safety precaution to keep people's iPhoto libraries from getting corrupt, but I would like the option to forgo Apple's opinions on the integrity of my library and do what I wish. This is a very "Windows" thing to do, in that it is streamlined to be compatible with only Apple's products.
I called Apple technical support, only to be told that there is no workaround, and that's just how it is. I will now be forced to rebuild my library from scratch and not let iPhoto organize them. This is proving to be a gigantic hassle, and I seriously hope that Apple fixes this inconvenient feature in as quick a time as possible.
This is the first time I have had any problems with Apple's software, but this is the biggest headache you could make for someone like me, who has relied on my iPhoto library for years.

I Hate iPhoto '08

Though iPhoto '08 is pretty as a picture, its file system makes me want to puke. And after twenty minutes on hold with Apple tech support, I quickly learned from an unsympathetic geek named Casey that there is not a damn thing I can do about it. This is the first time Apple has fucked me like this, but this is one serious pain in the ass. To make a long and complicated explanation short, it appears that Apple is stealing ideas from Windows in that now anything I want to do with my pictures and videos can only easily be done with Apple software and is a huge bother to open using other applications like PhotoShop and Final Cut. More on this later...

The boat

The lincoln town car of yore, dead and rotting with an invaluable comic book collection depreciating every day that car sits there. Kind of depressing.

Broseph

Broseph doesnt like scat porn.

The Editor Is In

At the infamous lush For Life headquarters.

One Month Later

I don't know what's going on with that whole thing. It is all set to work, but I don't think it's going to happen. Oh, well. I'll live with that.
At least I know I'm not hated.
So back to the drawing board...
Kind of comforting, actually.

How It Went

I did what I had to do. I apologized, which, apparently, I didn't need to do.
She hasn't changed. Except she glows, now. Motherhood really does bring out the best in people.
And her boy. Zac. He was sleeping, but he was beautiful. Instantly, I wished he were mine. Sure, I'm not ready for that kind of thing, but he looks like the coolest kid ever.
She missed me, and I missed her.
She gave me a breathing treatment. She is a respiratory therapist. How appropriate.
I am going to call her when she gets off work, tomorrow. This is going to be the longest twenty hours ever.
I can't believe it went so smooth. I can't believe I feel like this.

I Am Giddy as a Schoolboy

I got a phonecall tonight that I have anticipated and dreaded for years. For six years. Since the day my life was forced to restart itself.
The one and only true love of my life, Ms. Nicole Marie Kempton, called me to express condolences at the loss of my dear grandmother.
I missed her call, initially, but returned it as soon as I saw. From "hello", I knew it was her voice. I was instantly nervous and felt my cheeks turn a red usually reserved for cheap Nebraska Avenue whores.
"It's Kempy."
After she told me about my grandmother, I feared that would be it until another personal tragedy before I heard her voice again. But it wasn't.
We talked for another five hours, as if we had never missed a beat. I still can't stop smiling.
I feel for her as she has just endured another divorce, though. She has a child of three. His name is Zachary Benjamin Kernus. I talked to him, and he sounds like a smart, cool kid.
I am doubly excited because I get to meet him, tomorrow.
Maybe my hopes are misplaced, but of all the wonderful that was our conversation of remembrance, one shining diamond rings a sound in my ears like a chorus of angels:
"We blew it, didn't we?"
"No, we didn't. What do you think?"
"No, I don't think we did, Casey."
Tomorrow at seven I go to meet her and Zac. I absolutely can't wait.
I hope it goes as well as I feel it will.
She is still, no matter what terrible things I may have tried to convince myself, the coolest girl I have ever met. Ever.

One of Many

Studying hard, yeah?

"yep
hey... dinner today wasn't a date, right?"

Haha.
I didn't see you coming home with me, haha.

"hahaha
well I was just making sure cause people seemed to think it was..."

Well, I doubt it would be too smart. really.
Not that it wouldn't be nice, haha.

"haha"

But I understand how things work.

"yeah... ok...
just wanted to clarify things..."

OK.

":)"

Abandoned Letter from the Editor

Dearest Reader,

I’m thinking: what’s your soapbox?
As of the publishing of this issue, we’ll have been publishing for thirteen weeks. Hopefully, some of you have had a chance to read our little leaflet. The feedback has been positive, and the public at large is starting to give us a little recognition. That’s nice.
But we want to hear from you. In a world so saturated with the likes of blogs and MySpace and all these little avenues of self-expression, our individualism is killing us. With all of these personalized splinter cells, if you will, our generation will soon fall apart. Our voices will be only our own, and cannot possibly be heard.
We need a little unification. Forsake your MySpace and start thinking about OurSpace.
I don’t really know how we can help without your input. We want to know what you love. What you hate. What you wish to see.
Sure, it’s all bullshit. Hell, maybe our satirical, biting approach to the world at large is just another avenue of apathy for you, but it doesn’t have to be.
So the soapbox. Maybe you’re on one. Jesus, I hope you are. Maybe it’s about global warming or the War in Iraq or the existence of God or Women’s Lib or whatever-the-fuck. But this community, this town… it cannot progress on hundreds or thousands or even millions of lone soapboxes. We need to push them together. One voice of many.
Maybe this is the wrong place, the wrong time.
I know that this is too over the top. Too melodramatic. But I don’t care. We do this to make a difference. To change the way this burg works. It’s dying, choking on its own apathy.
Maybe you are a young, pissed-off liberal. Maybe not. But you have something you believe in. Find a rally point.
Our intentions are clear.

Daylight Come

The birds are beginning their morning song, and I am still not fast asleep. They call to each other in a harmonious song of plenty. To them, the bright sun signals a fresh new start of gathering food and making love.
Yet, somehow, I am on the verge of destroying them...
Volume 1 Issue 4 was put together tonight, and this may have been the most annoying one since. Not because of the paper itself, but because Danny Albertson has truly lost his mind.
I now am beginning to regret this decision to enter into a business with the likes of him. In the past months, his brain has begun to eat itself from the inside out. If a neurologist is not summoned at once, I fear that his grey matter may begin leaking out of his ears.
Danny has always had, say, aggression issues. Seemingly small annoyances could set him into a rage, destroying property left and right and screaming like a sissy for endless minutes. I've dealt with it.
He is also a completely selfish person, but absolutely ignorant to it. I can't recall coming to a compromise with him, ever. It's either his way or bitching ever since I've known him. And that's been... Jesus... ten years.
Lately, though, the actual brain damage is becoming obvious. Alcoholism and drug addiction are quickly taking their toll. For two weeks, now, his speech has become extremely impaired, as he noticably slurs everything he says. While on the phone with him, I often mistake it for eating, but no, it's his brain shutting down his speech center.
His stuttering and use of the words "like" and "uh" have become unbearable to me, and I make fun of it at every opportunity.
He also has no concept of a true work ethic. I mean, not even an idea. Most people have that idea, but not everyone follows it... He just has no clue. He is a blatant liar when it comes to performing his duties, which had to be assigned to him because he is totally lacking in the common sense department. And, of course, he resents the fact the the duties were assigned in the first place. And then he should not be "made to feel guilty" about not performing his duties for this company that lives issue to issue, with zero room for fuckups.
Tonight, though, was the worst.
Deadline is 10am, and it takes a long fucking time to edit, copy-edit, re-copy-edit, re-re-copy-edit, ad infinitum... Not to mention the article I need on the Oscars...
Well, he gets drunk, instead, and can't figure out why everyone, including his obviously blind girlfriend, is angry at him. We sent him to bed, causing us to have to work even harder, picking up his slack. But what can we do?
In the end, though, he is my friend, and I will try to help him. Though he is deaf to my warnings, I will help him back up when he falls. And he's about to hit the floor.

New Wave Renaissance

I have just discovered about twenty new bands to drool over, thanks to a brilliant music doc called Urgh!: A Music War.
Now, I have always been a huge New Wave fan, far out of what someone my age should be obsessed with, but never new how much.
I feel like Navin Johnson when he heard his first Montavanni song... like I was living an unnatural life and havfe found my roots.
Devo has always been one of my absolute favorite bands ever, but now I've all these new-to-me bands to fawn over...

'There's No Fucking C.O. Here'

I have been asked to begin blogging again. I guess I will.

I have a hard time keeping up with it things to write about and actually doing it; so many mundane things seem to happen that I can’t weed the good from the boring.

I also refuse to edit/rewrite or even reread this shit to make sure it’s of any quality.

And I also get distracted. To wit: between previous paragraph and this one, I managed to get lost online for a good 30 minutes…

What’s going on in my life?

What’s going on in my life?

What’s going on in my life?

I am so fucking busy. This newspaper is the most time/brainpower/money/conversation robbing thing on the planet. I wish people were as excited about it as I am.

So I don’t want to talk about that anymore… for now.

Women are still impossible to me.

Nothing is different.

I have no analyses.

I have been reading a lot of newspaper design and style guides. That doesn’t make for interesting blogging, either.

All that does is the truth, which I dance around like a Spanish flamenco.

I could talk about the bullshit that fills my head, constantly. But it’s all about women.

Oh, here we go. At the release party, I got insanely drunk and hit on a girl and was flatly denied (as usual) and then some faggot blondy assface starting hitting on her right in front of me. Wow. Come to find out, he works for a competing publication. So, I belittled him and his gay little magazine and ran off in a drunken stupor, yelling at “niggers” (like I said, drunk) and walking (literally) through horseshit.

That sums up most nights out for me.

---

It’s a wonder I am not suicidal. I really should be.

I think I don’t want to kill myself because I know I am the second coming of Christ and don’t get to die for another five years. I cannot find a woman because I already had my Mary Magdalene. I have to become a born-again virgin to be sacrificed to save humanity a second time.

May 25, 2012 is when it all begins, I believe. I know.

It sucks to know that you are Jesus.

I just wish I had super powers like Jesus I.

Maybe I will gain them, soon. I would like to heal everyone. That would totally get me laid, right?

And why does he bitch about women so much? Well, how long is it since you’ve been laid? Really? Well, it’s been a bit longer than that for me.

Of course I am preoccupied with that shit. Duh!

---

These dumb hoes I know keep telling me that I would obviously be a great boyfriend, or some such childish drivel. Whatever. They tell me that they will keep their ear out for a friend to introduce me to.

I met one of these girl’s friends last week. I practically begged for just a kind word to be said or a proper introduction. Never happened. Fucking cows.

I am cursed. Like Burroughs, Jr. From birth. And it will continue forever and ever, until I get this stupid monkey off of my back. I am actually astounded by how long it has been since I have been given any kind of attention by a woman. It is building up right now. This very second. I am getting really upset and a bit depressed.

I should stop writing now.

Now I can be accused of whining too much, great.

What did I tell you? I ramble and don’t stay to the point. Ever.

“There’s no fucking C.O. here.”