New Year Funk

Well, if 2011 could have sucked any more dick, it would have taken home an Adult Video award for a record of year-long dick-sucking. Oh sure, it wasn’t all bad, but every time I had something that felt like an accomplishment, a day or two later, I’d get some news that sucked all the joy out of my wins and left me feeling just as frustrated and isolated as the days when I was being physically assaulted and counselors were telling me it was my fault for not “acting right.”

I’m not big on making new year’s resolutions because I figure most goals I set, I’d be setting myself up for failure and depressions on a special holiday. And I can set myself up for depression any day, really. But so this year, I’m thinking about what comes next, and I kind of want to have another goal. Writer didn’t work out. I don’t have enough confidence in my art skills to go that route, and I fear I’m always going to be a crappy guitarist. My voice is strictly lounge act quality, and I made one rap album and promptly erased it after a decent critical assessment. I did pottery in high school and thought that was fun, but somehow I can’t see running a vase shop, online or not. Plus, that scene in Ghost with all the muddy clay didn’t do anything for me.

That last sentence may be a partial lie.

Thing is, I don’t know what I do next. I mean, part of my plan is to play more video games, I guess. I need to do something to pass the time. But I also need something to keep my thoughts occupied. I have to stay busy, or else that gives me more time to process memories, to run back through the mental minefield for something else I have to feel ashamed of for remembering.

Writing filled that time easily, and I took to the work so well. People for years were walking up to me, complete strangers who asked, “What’s wrong?” because I looked so troubled. But I looked lost because my mind was totally occupied by working over the details of a story piece by piece. I glazed out of the real world and started writing new sentences in my head, often hundreds of times before I could ever commit them to paper. Nothing else requires this level of brain power. I can fix computers using only half my brain. No trust me, I should know. I’ve stumbled in to work dead tired after a night of hard partying and could still diagnose a bad PC back to good health. I wouldn’t dream of writing with half my brain tried behind my back, because I’ve done that too, and the results were shit.

Depression breeds rambles….

Christmas, I got hit with the crud that hubby had been incubating for about three days. Hubby’s just about over it, but it’s been kicking my ass all day every day. I’ve spent a lot of time laying on the couch, and this has led to depressed thinking.

This is not to say it’s had much sway over me. I can’t do anything about the problems plaguing me. Still no cure for MS, and I can’t afford the fancier medications on my meager budget. My relationships with my immediate family still sucks. Mom is lubbing Jebus to deny responsibility for her past, and Bro still thinks I’m the whore of Satan.

But hey, if you folks need comparisons of real entitlement, Bro’s STILL complaining about how our parents ruined every Christmas for him by not buying him more stuff. Yes, for real. Dude always had twice as many gifts as me under the tree because of his bitching, and all his gifts were the ones he asked for. (My parents had to guess what to get me. Hey, I only need to be shouted down once by each parent to know I’m not allowed to ask for girl things.) Yet despite how much our parents gave him, it’s STILL an ish for him that they didn’t give enough Christmas presents.

He could have chosen to bitch about Mom having him kneel in dry rice and popcorn in the kitchen, or how Mom and Dad always called me the “good son” even though Bro had higher grades, was more popular at school, and got invited to all the cool parties. (Half the time when I talk about being at a party, it’s because someone invited me after inviting my brother.) He could have gone with these legitimate beefs, and instead, his biggest bitch in life is, “I never got enough Christmas presents!”

Wanna know which ish I stuck with? Everyone in my life denied me my right to choose my gender. Parents, teachers, counselors; pretty much everyone who had a hand buried in my brain during my so-called “formative years.” Even after I’d made my choice, I had family members tell me, “I’ll never accept this.”

Anybody, Nobody, Somebody, and Everybody…

An important job had to be done and
Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.
Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.
Somebody got angry about that because it was Everybody’s job.
Everybody thought that Anybody could do it,
but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn’t do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody
when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.

Why suicide and comedians are like steak and eggs…

So last night, I read the suicide note/final blog post of Joe Bodolai, a Canadian comedian who wrote for SNL and worked as a script doctor for other writers. (Among many accomplishments, including a walk-on scene in a Python live performance.) The post had been linked on Twitter by someone who made the comment, “He had so much left to give.” Well, begging your pardon, respectfully, but it looks like the writer of the note disagrees with your armchair assessment. So you just failed your therapy entrance exam.

I’ve been thinking a lot how many people make these kinds of statements when it comes to people committing suicide, about how they can’t grasp why anyone would get tired of life with the rest of you insensitive and unsympathetic people. I mean, sure, just today I read about a little girl hacked apart by her neighbor with a chainsaw, but just because there’s near-daily atrocities like this in the news, that’s no reason to get depressed.

But with comedians like Joe, or like Richard Jeni, people are more likely to completely ignore their private life and say stupid shit like, “He always seemed so happy.” No, dumb-ass, he ACTED happy. It’s not the same thing, but you couldn’t be bothered to look beyond the surface. Because one thing you folks always forget about comedians, is first and foremost, they’re actors. They act out funny scenes in every routine, and they speak in different voices and accents, even if they mangle most of them. Yet even when playing themselves, it’s just another role they put on for the benefit of their audience. Comedians don’t often let people inside to see the real person hiding underneath, because that person ISN’T FUNNY.

It’s the same cycle for most funny folks. They start out just wanting to make people laugh. Then when they have some measure of fame, they also feel more pressure to speak out on topical problems, wrongly believing that fame also equals social clout. This is where things go downhill. It’s because comedians will never be taken seriously, even when they’re discussing the most grave problems facing our world and collective societies. Whole generations of comedians have spoken to the truth, only to watch the mass market laugh it all off, and never once think about the more important messages behind the jokes. And if the comedian gets mad and says “You were supposed to take that seriously,” people bitch and moan that the comedian is “no longer fun.” They’re never allowed to be genuinely angry, because anger isn’t funny unless it’s faked. Carlin fakes anger, HAHA, so funny. Carlin says something genuinely angry, and watch the fucking cricket choir fill up the resulting awkward silence.

Music Review: Hayes Carll – Kmag Yoyo

I found this album in a roundabout way. I’ve just signed up for Zune Pass, and looking for new rock, I found a playlist that said New Rock 2011. Well I downloaded all the songs, and this one song irked me because it most certainly was not rock. It was pure honky tonk, from the singer’s twang to the acoustic guitar backed by not one, but two fiddles. It’s not bad honky tonk, though, so I decide to look up the album the song is from, Kmag Yoyo.

What we have here is a honky tonk artist who’s been listening to rock and roll and said, “I might could do somethin’ with that.” And man, can he ever. I was blown away by how good this album was, and given that lately all my other reviews are piss and vinegar, I thought maybe I’d give a review that proves I don’t hate everything and everyone.

Start with Stomp and Holler, which is pretty good and reminds a bit of All My Rowdy Friends. It’s pretty basic as a theme: some people like to be quiet, but not me. I can totally relate to this. Then the next song, Hard Out Here, covers the tough life that a singer can have. I almost died on the line “Boy you ain’t a poet, just a drunk with a pen.” But even better is “My momma said I shoulda gone into easy listenin’.” And again, I can totally relate to his message that his job is a lot harder than other people make it out. But then, all he’s really doing is singing. That’s not so hard. Heh.

My Skyrim rant, which may also count as a review…

Hubby got Skyrim, and after watching him play through the first few levels on the Imperial side, I chose to play the game through as a Stormcloak. What I discovered in my short time playing is that Skyrim may possibly be the worst role-play game ever. This is because no matter which side you choose, or race, or gender, nothing about the story changes. There’s no role-play in this RPG. This is a ride on rails offering players no choice except not to engage in the main story, and should you choose to only play side quests, the game makers call this “choice.” It is not, and the moment you decide to go back to the main quest, the story proceeds as if you’d just come back from Helgen. The game world does not suffer for your procrastination, nor does anyone else step in to fill your “role.” The prophecy cannot proceed without you, so the dragons all just sit around twiddling their talons until you’re ready to come and kill them like a proper hero should.

I have a long, long list of problems with this game, but before I get to the glitches, I want to talk about my experience with the first dragon of the game, and use this to illustrate how almost all reviewers are nothing short of delusional for praising this game for “offering choices” to players. To call this the game of the year implies that nothing else came out in 2011 that was better, and I refuse to believe this garbage is the best that any company can do after blowing a few million in development. Sure, Rage sucked, but it didn’t suck this badly. If we just have to hand out the award to someone, why not hand it to the latest Assassin’s Creed? I didn’t even play a demo for that and I’m sure it had to be better than this shit.

Let’s talk about that dragon. I didn’t kill it. I got up on the tower, thinking it would sit in a defensible position and shout down on the soldiers like it had at Helgen. No, the dragon changed from this good tactical choice and instead opted to fly around collecting arrows from the soldiers I accompanied. It collected enough arrows to stop flying, and the surviving troops brought the dragon down with swords and axes. I went downstairs and watched a guy climb onto the dragon’s throat to stab a sword through the bottom of its jaw. That dude walked off, and I’m pushed to go to the body. Then bamf, I’m hit with the dragon’s soul, and from there on out, everyone talked about how I killed the dragon. Even my own journal reads, “I killed the dragon.” I didn’t have anything to do with it. Minstrels have more involvement with this story than I did. And yet, the story doesn’t care. There’s no attempt from the writers to take alternate choices into account, so no matter what really happens, the game will still project the desired outcome to keep the ride firmly on the rails.

Book Review: The Drowning City

This book started off so good, and all the way through, I was enjoying the complex plot split between 3 main POVs and one bit POV. But the final 50 pages are just awful, and the moment of denouement explaining one character’s inconsistent behavior paints her as a pathetically weak character, despite her back story being that of a tough merc witch and a survivor of a genocide that wiped out her family’s village.

What worked for me in this story at first because it was unique is revealed in the end as proof that all of the characters are bumblers. None of the characters are as skilled as the writer implies, so they all fail. I want to explain in excruciating detail why things that pleased me now infuriate me because the ending makes it clear that I was misreading the book. But I can’t explain my irritation without spoiling the whole thing.

So I will just sum up that if a writer is going to present characters as tough and strong magic users, only to make them into pathetic NPC-like losers during their first encounter with a spirit, then they shouldn’t give me a back story building up a tough character. There was a weak character who looked like she was learning strength from the main character, and I expected her to be possessed by a ghost because she was meek and pathetic, but slowly growing stronger. Instead it’s the strong witch character who’s the weakest of the three women. I find it sad that a woman who saw the world as a merc and fought for her independence comes home and abandons her partner of many years to join a racist hate group who murder people en masse for not agreeing with them. The excuse given for her acceptance wouldn’t be so flimsy if she wasn’t a powerful witch, if she was just a merc with no magic defenses. But she is a witch, and once I realized how weak she was being presented as, it started to rub on me in those final pages.

I’ll just sum up the week…

So, this week was better than last week. I’ve solved some of my more pressing problems, and yet I’ve been presented with another. GoDaddy supports SOPA. Well, I was planning to renew my domain and hosting account with them. Now, I’m not so hot on this. I’m scouting down a new host, and I hope to have the new account set up in January, making it a great month to start a new contract anyway. Still, I expect that in February, my blog might go down a few days. Also, my branded email could go down. I have a mirror blog, and a backup email at zoe_e_w (at) live (dot) com, so this is not that big of a deal. Well, I mean except my site host has taken the wrong stance on personal freedoms in our electronic age. But whatever, I’ll move on without too much bitching. I will be explaining in my parting email why I’m leaving, but I will be avoiding salty words like motherfucker and cocksucker.

Amazon has not had problems putting up Blood Relations, but just as I was about to celebrate a problem-free re-launch, they put The Life and Death of a Sex Doll on hold in review to ask if I’m sure I own the copyright. Try to appreciate how stupid this is. My account at Amazon is under my name, the same name that’s on the book. I’m using an email address with my full name, and they have tax forms in my legal name. The only other copy of the book they have is listed as discontinued by the publisher, but they STILL need to send me a letter asking for proof that the book is mine. My response…was not polite, and so if the book doesn’t show up, I will ignore this and just publish other stuff. Two tears in a bucket and fuck it.

I am not changing my mind on the giving up thingie. This despite the fact that I got some positive comments from people who just finished older stories of mine. (And I do appreciate both you reading and commenting, y’all. Really, thanks for that.) I gave it my best effort, shot my full load, and didn’t hit anybody with enough impact to create a chain reaction. I’ve got a lot of stuff planned and a lot in the queue, but nothing I have faith in to change my present circumstances. I thought briefly of releasing every book using the same tweet: “I released another book, or whatever: (link) Pretend there’s a tag line here.” But that was actually one level of pessimism too high for me…or maybe one too low. In any case, I’m more comfortable just releasing what I have and walking away from the catalog. I also gave thought to dumping everything now, without editing any farther. But I know in some cases that would result in really ugly books. And bitter as I am about this whole experience, I still don’t hate readers badly enough to drop a rough draft on them. (Or even a second draft. Third draft…no, that’s nearing “beta reader” stage, but it’s still not “ready for primetime.”)

I’ve got a troll…

No, really, a real troll, not just the imaginary ones in my head for a change. I’m not sure which is funnier, that I’ve finally got a real troll after I’ve given up on all forms of social sites and forums for promotion, or that their only bait seems to be “I live in reality.” And yet, you have so little to do in that so-called reality that you’re trolling me? Are you sure that’s reality you’re looking at? Cause it could just be high def TV. They look very similar these days. I know my TV tricks me right up until they go to commercials. Those little cartoon dudes seem so real!

I’m not complaining, though. I’m also not telling you to go away. Yet…I should add yet. But would you mind coming up with something a little better than, “You don’t live in reality”? Cause if I didn’t live in reality, I could pretend that I’m really a popular writer with lots of adoring fans, instead of admitting I’m a no-talent hack who only just now managed to pick up one troll after four years of troll baiting. Frankly, it’s disappointing, and the length of your insults means that by federal law, I’m supposed to throw you back and let you grow up a bit. But you’re my troll, and I love you, and I’ll put you in a glass bowl and call you Troll in Mah Bowl.

Tune in next week, when my troll and I go pfishing and discover a flame war in the province of Spam.

My religion has a first name; it’s F – O – R – Z – A!

I picked up Forza 4 this weekend, and some other stuff happened. The other stuff may have been important before, but not now. That’s cause I opened the game and played through the demo race bitching and moaning the whole time about the assisted driving. As soon as I got out of the Bernese Alps demo with the tragically wasted “fun drive” I shifted the game up to hard, shutting off the auto-braking, rewind and other features for “casual fans”. Perhaps this will sound ironic coming from me, but that shit is for pussies who don’t know how to handle a car and are unwilling to spend five minutes learning how to drive right.

Anywho, after setting up the game right for me, I’m not really clear on where the vast majority of my days have gone. I mean, I know I did other stuff between the races. But everything in between is somehow less important now. All that matters is the next race, and which car I’m going to pick after I level up again.

Before I review the game in full TL;DR glory, I need to give a rundown of my top driving speeds and the vehicles I was booking in. My first car was a 1979 BMW 325i, the first year that fuel injection was available. I was at the time a victim of five car crashes with my step-dad as the driver, a man who claimed to be a race car driver and yet never met a car he couldn’t crash. This is why I had a phobia of speed, and at the time, the fastest I could go was 85 MPH. However, I took that Beemer to a park that had posted limits of 35 for the winding gravel roads, and I drove my car all night at 55-75 to get used to the way it felt to lose control, and then fight to regain it.

After I was rear-ended by another BMW (what are the odds?) I upgraded to a Fiero GT. In this lovely little black 6 cylinder, I was commuting from San Antonio to Austin at gusts of 120-135 MPH for a night-shift tech job. So every drive home was on an empty straight ribbon full of invitations to be bad. I’m amazed I never got a ticket. Amusingly, I broke that car driving twenty miles an hour. The rear brakes froze, but I hadn’t noticed I was only using my front brakes. So I punked the plastic bumper of another car and barely kissed my paint job off. Thereafter, the car…it just dropped dead. Three mechanics tried to revive it, but that one tiny bump at 20 MPH was enough to wimp out my poor Fiero. It will always be missed, though. A really fun car, the best I’ve ever had.

And finally, my top speed record came in a Lincoln Continental, which I wrapped up to 165 MPH in the trip from SA to Austin, an impressive feat made even more impressive because I got stopped by a cop…for having one headlight out. Long story short, I fixed a computer problem for him and walked away with a citation. Good times. (EDIT: 185 was a typo, and I apologize for that. To the dude who thinks himself a car expert, that’s a 1985 Continental, and I wasn’t driving with stock parts. And you still need better trolling material.)

Ah, so yeah, I’ve driven a few cars, at fast, fast speeds, and I know what cars feel like when the road is talking through the steering wheel. I know what it feels like to watch a 3 lane highway thin into a ribbon that feels way too claustrophobic. So….does Forza capture this feeling? Oh HELL YES. The vibrations in the controller aren’t just nonsensical buzzing, like I’ve dealt with in older versions of Need For Speed and Driver. (Can’t say anything about the new versions, cause I haven’t played them yet) What you get is a real sense of feedback from the wheels meeting road. When you’re running clean and without tire damage, there’s just the faintest tremor that tell you you’re still in contact with the road, and when the controller goes still, it means the car is floating and it’s time to back off the gas, or slow down and then brake if you’re floating and nearing a turn. If your tires start to wear down (A feature you turn on by moving to the expert skill level) you will feel it either as a harsher buzzing when you try to accelerate, or if you’ve slicked the treads, as a dreadfully smooth ride that inspires greatly diminished confidence in turns. At higher skill level, tires wear more realistically, so if you jump big in your first lap, you’ll fade your acceleration away in later laps due to unevenly worn tires.