Yearly : 2007

in Books, Poetry, Life of Giang

Gimmick!

This weekend, I finished the “novel”, nearly finished reading Two For the Lions, finally got through the backlog of magazines (Ai, I have no idea how you manage to keep up with all those magazines and not want to just die) for scrapbook worthy stuff, organized my cozy little craft corner, and I even managed to thread the sewing machine without causing (undue) bodily harm. That, my friends, is a good weekend!

One of the articles I read was about happiness, and how happier people live longer, more fulfilling lives. It blah-blahed for a little while, then gave little “tips” on how to be happy, one of them being to list three things every day that make you happy. It’s a little cheesy – but what the hell: a little happiness never hurt anyone. So, I’m implementing that here, too, in hopes that it will spread good cheer and remind me (on a daily basis) of all that I should be more thankful for.

Of course, these three things will go at the bottom of the entry, after I’ve done complaining for the day. Hee-hee. ;)

Also, I thought as I very much enjoyed writing again after such a long dry spell (several years!), I would write a little every day, too. That will count towards my “creative thing every day” quota and, as I told Friend Dodds, keep the ol’ brain rattling along. This, too, will appear at the bottom of every blog entry. Which, I guess, means that I’ll be blogging every day. Hrm. This ought to be interesting…

in Writing

“You’ve burnt my waffles for the last time!”, Part 1

Harold Mumford sat in the dark booth by the restrooms of Wally’s Wonder Waffles and dreamt of revenge.

Sally had passed his booth three times already, twirling her hair, looking down at her feet, sorting menus – anything to avoid looking at him. Once, while she had been waiting on the people in the booth across from him, he had managed to catch her eye. She’d turned red, and quickly retreated back to the safety of the kitchen.

Harold had felt a pang, watching her go. The bitter bile of betrayal rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down, a sneer of contempt curling his lips.

So, Sally. You’ve abandoned me too? Very well, he thought. Very well.

Oh, he knew it wasn’t her fault, but she was standing up with the enemy. There could be no mercy. Harold knew what would happen if he budged.

He would not budge. Instead, he dug in his heels underneath the Formica table, straightened his glasses, drew his raincoat closer about him, and waited.

It had all started a week ago.

No! Harold thought vehemently. No! To understand, it had to be taken back further!

It had all started four years ago, on a rainy night just like this one. Harold was trudging home in the rain, weary and bedraggled from having to spend long hours at work preparing last minute tax returns for one of his chronically dawdling clients. People always waited until the 14th to remember how much they didn’t want the government to come after their money – they always waited around, and expected him to bail them out.

And he always did. Because Harold was a bailer. He spent all his time helping others fix their crooked numbers, and he was good at it. Harold could thwart an IRS auditor in the blink of an eye. His clients waxed poetic on his god-like abilities with the State and Federal tax codes, praising him, idolizing him. That was, until April 16th rolled around. Then, he became just another name in their address books. Tossed aside. A nothing.

Yes, he remembered sadly, his thoughts had been very gloomy that night, indeed.

The rain that night was particularly heavy and cold. It was not long after he’d left his office that he was forced to seek shelter in the doorway of a brightly lit, garishly red, white and blue diner-type eatery.

Harold goes in despite the fact that he does not like waffles, does not like decor, and finds himself obsessed with their waffles. he goes home. Tries them. Tries lots of recipes, lots of irons, and cannot reproduce it. he finally goes back, swallows his secret shame at having to go to the waffle house, and has another. They are wonderful. But then one day, Wally is gone. There is a new cook. The new cook doesn’t make them the same way. He burns them. Over and over. And wally seeks revenge. At the end, he is taken away to jail, and on the first day there, they serve waffles. They are perfect. Harold is happy.

in Life of Giang

Naughty Me

I’m up to my old tricks again, staying up past 2:00 AM. So, I actually got the bulk of my presents from Curt Claus before the big 2-5: my new camera lens, the aforementioned scanner, and a little sewing machine. I’ve been thinking a lot about stuff lately – see my entry from a few days ago when I realized I sometimes value the wrong things, over and over and over again, being human and fallible (shhh, don’t tell) – and I have come to the decision that this year – not this this year, but next this year – I will write or do something else creative every day, and post it here on this blog.

Oh, and I should probably resolve to not use dashes in everything I ever write ever. Or, possibly, to never use ever again more than once ever per entry. Or, to read more books than I watch movies (‘Cause whoa there, did i get a little carried away with the watching of the movies this year? YIKES!), or at least read a less shameful number of books next year.

Of course, you know how resolutions go. Meh: thus is life on the blog. ;)

I’m looking forward to all this creative stuff – suddenly I don’t have enough free time for all the hobbies I want to pursue. That’s a pretty good feeling.

in RANT

DUDE

Here at 7G, we made a democratic decision to exchange some Christmas presents early, so I just spent the last three hours of my life setting up a lovely scanner (for photos and other fun pseudo arts) while Bob Ross spoke to Curt from the television.

AND THEN we turned off the DVD player and it was on C-SPAN, and ANN COULTER WAS TALKING.

Bob Ross…and then ANN COULTER.

I want to skewer my eyes out with forks, just to never have to set my eyes on her horrible, sepulchral face, ever ever ever again.

I admit to having some conservative leanings, but Ann Coulter is just fucking evil. If I only had a pail of water to throw on her, I would totally own her flying monkey army.

/ shudder

…happy trees, happy trees…

in Life of Giang, Writing

Nickel Slots, Here I Come!

My words are merely a shadow of what follows here. I let the pictures speak for themselves.

nano07.jpg

Oh, oh, what’s that say on it? Can’t quite read it? Let’s see if I can get closer…

nano07close.jpg

BAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHA!

The story is not yet finished, but the 50,000 words are. I will finish tomorrow. Tonight, I revel. There were a few days there where I really hated sitting down to write anything, but after it all: I am pretty damned proud of myself for doing this. Excited at the lifetime of bad writing to come! Soon as I’m done with the actual story (a scant few pages, monkeys!), another life goal will be checked off my list.

I am whittling away at them. Slowly, but relentlessly.

Off to read now, as promised. ;)

in Writing

* pant, pant *

I wrote 14,300 words in the last day and a half, making up for the first five days during which I wrote nothing. I’m roughly 8000 words away from winning. Then, I will get special, awesome powers with which to make the world my secret puppet!

I miss reading. My library book is overdue and sadly neglected because of this little project. That’s the first thing I’m going to do once the book is done: read something for leisure. I’ve snuck in things here and there – I’ve been reading short stories in the precious ten minutes before bed – but nothing like a full on pig-out reading. I look forward to it. Only 8000 words left! 8000!

Thanksgiving was alright. I’m also mostly done with Christmas shopping, which kicks ass. AND, since Curt’s mom accidentally told him he had received a package at the house in front of me, I got one of MY Christmas presents early: a 70 – 300 mm zoom lens for my D40! Now I can take pictures of people all over the place FROM EVEN FARTHER AWAY!

No more updates until it’s all done, though. Back to C++.

in Life of Giang

Humbug wakes early this year

Last year on Black Friday, I bought glass ornaments and yarn. This year, I am thinking about actually doing Christmas shopping.

And that’s ridiculous.

I am not immune to Christmas, of course: the shiny lucre, the stuffs-getting. But how much stuffs do you and I really need? Not very much. I would wager that if you are here and reading this blog, you’re in my circle, and that renders unto you certain privileges: shelter, food, people who love you, and EXTRA TOYS (like teh internets). Granted, many more people have more toys, better toys, toys with more flashing lights! And this is not to say they should not – it’s the only life you have, and after all, stuffs is very nice.

But it’s just stuffs. Humanity has gone to fodder in its quest for stuffs – the finding of it, the mining of it, the buying and selling of it. I, at least, have too often wanted things that I do not need, and convinced myself I would never be happy until I have it (whatever it is) – of course, only to get it and realize that it did not make a hair’s breadth of difference in how happy I am. I have Wanters disease, the only known cure being a good swift kick in the ass to remind me of how goddamn lucky I am to have breath still in me, relative health, and the love and respect of a good man.

How’s that for badass!?

;)

in Writing

Past my bedtime

I am half an hour past my bedtime, but closing in on my novel: 21,000+ words. I’m still behind, but picking up speed. Thanksgiving weekend should be good for some words.

Anyway – I have to sleep. Can’t write here. Writing there. All is well. /wave