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oh, really, it's kind of like, momentum. I wrote a load of stuff in this thread a few years back and then I have a bit of a brainstorm with loads of relevant thots I want to get down and may as well put it with the rest. just, like, "oh, this. need to file it in my bullshit thred" usually no one but belb replies so even some casually sarcastic comments come as a surprise to me |
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lol |
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i am xltronic's schizophrenia advocate and i care for you and your situation with lewis. it's cool you have a kinda pseudo-blog for all that. this thread is part of the furniture here now though |
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"I realized Spock would never think this way," he said. "With Spock I learned the importance of honing your own programming. There was a culling of thoughts that were bad for my preparation for the role. That really came from always thinking, 'What would Spock do?' As an actor, you have to weasel your way into minds that are not your own." drops a sly weaselpedia reference. |
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early this morning, i wake up before falling back asleep for a bit ~ i'm thinking of "inspection (check one)" by leftfield. i'm playing it back in my hed and just admiring the roundness of some of the noises -- and i'm thinking, i never noticed how good that noise was, how... round... and then i'm laughing at myself because i'm just playing it in my hed so some part of it must have been aware already have it on for real now, via youtube shuffle selection |
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all seems a bit familiar |
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so, with pandemic, whatever, i haven't been driving as much. seeing myself write this, actually, i should get on that. keep it in shape. i have to drive to the office this weekend, to get the stuff that's been sitting there for weeks, and it's in the city, and are my mechanisms rusty, because the city is god level difficult driving? this is on my mind as i drive out to the store earlier today. however, to my relief, the mechanisms seem fine. eager, even. i am playing franz ferdinand and singing. singing takes a certain chunk of my mental horsepower. when driving is simple, singing is fine. when things get complicated, the singing has to be de-prioritized. i am singing to franz ferdinand and there is a giant, 5-story tall crane for no the fuck reason and a cop directing traffic one lane the singing stops, the brakes are applied, and i am focused totally on navigating this novel situation. i am not even thinking about how my mechanisms are performing cop waves me on. i wave thanks. i resume singing i think all this does get into the ??? line that self-driving car technology can't quite seem to get itself across. self-driving cars can drive like i drive when i'm singing, or analyzing how i'm driving... but self-driving cars can't analyze how they drive while they drive i dunno sphere of context. |
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google maps street view, is there some alternative? because i need something like this, but i also want to hit it with a wrench. i am clicking along a street in street view, trying to see where the turn lanes are, and suddenly, i am teleported into a tunnel underneath the street i was currently on. it reliably happens anywhere on a particular stretch of a particular street. i have to be careful not to click too close, because then i have to click back, and lose the ten or thirty seconds i spent navigating from the starting point, at which i dropped the little yellow man -- awkwardly, never sure if the green target zone will actually take me where i want or teleport me underground or some shit i have a whole battle plan. i've been thinking about this for... well, embarrassingly long. over an hour. studying maps. there's a garage for sure-thing parking, but, no joke, the fucker will cost me at least $30, so this is an absolute last resort. parking on the street, kinda iffy, will things be deserted? i use maps to scout out which sections can be parked upon. it's actually really weird, with three separate zones with different rules. and there might not be any spots. so next option is illegally parking in the alley behind work, because i'm not going to be here long, but could i get towed? will the back entrance be open, in which case i'd really rather park out front on the street? if i park out back, will i have to walk around front, wasting valuable illegal parking time? will i have to submit to a temperature scan at the door, or at the reception desk? because i was warned they would definitely take my temperature before letting me in the elevator. i have pre-selected a box of the right size for my desk widgets. my stretch goal is a second trip for the monitors; i have pre-selected an appropriate screwdriver to de-mount them from the swinging ahms this is all pretty much a security blanket to keep me from melting down into a pile of anxiety and/or rage if there is an unplanned snag |
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there is more including planned routes to loop around from the back of the building back to where the garage is, and a backup for that in case i can't just drive across three lanes of traffic, there are lights but i do want to have a backup in case it's hopelessly busy. i have picked which highway exit based on which direction i want to approach the area and |
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you could include everything you post on this forum into this thread |
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it isn't only bullshit it is epicmegabullshit! |
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for you guys, here's how it went ~ i cannot tell you how long it took my hair to dry. i really need to cut my hair. i generally don't feel hungry in the mornings, but i ate some ground beef with taco flavoring, cold, because the next couple hours would require protein, but i wasn't really in the mood to go to the effort of making a proper burrito. besides, i slept in until 1pm, i want to get this over-with before evening driving to the city was actually a lot of fun. singing and tearing down the highway. but as you get a few miles over the city line, the driving gets a lot more mad max, and more max concentration is req'd. in the city itself is far worse... boston is full of one-way streets, pedestrians are all "hey, i'm walkin' here" (something i will plead guilty to myself), cabbies dgaf, etc. etc. this is why i planned so thoroughly. parking is always iffy, the garage costs $40 or some shit, and i only need ten minutes. and there are lots of one-way streets and it's easy to slip up and wind up in a pit of ffffusdfig god dammit where am i. and this is sheer hell to me. even the idea that it could happen bothers me quite much, and so visualizing the whole thing in my head, multiple branches of possibility, forming a three-stage parking plan based on spot availability and vibez, with planned routes to navigate between each spot without having to worry, we feel much better now the city was actually quite quiet, carwise... but, prime parking choice was filled up. i made a snap decision not planned upon to park illegally a bit of the way down. ran in with my box and my screwdriver. getting in was no hassle, no temperature check. but the elevator does not give me a choice of floor, it takes me to the wrong floor, and all the doors are locked. i start cursing audibly. then i take the elevator down to the proper floor, and my key card works |
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i hastily bung all the stuff into my box -- fit is perfect; nailed it. i want to take both LCDs home, but this will require two trips, and i am parked illegally. my planning kicks in: they are mounted to swingy arms. if we can't find the plastic stands, there's no point in taking them home, because they won't be able to stand on their own. there is a giant box of electronic crap, old laptops, phones, docks, in the corner, and, having worked here a while, i know about it. i go dumpster diving, and reject the urge to raid it of unrelated goodies. i seriously could. no one's here. no one's been here in ages... but, no, we want monitor stands. the only one i find is clearly for a very different one. this is for an HP beast, not a viewsonic plastic job... but, no, the bracket matches the swingy arm, so this will work, i suspect. i cannot find a second. i don't want to steal anyone else's monitor stand, so here we are at a good compromise: bring back one LCD, i can carry it on top of my box, keep it to one trip. i leave a bottle of beer, candy, and other goodies i do not wish to take into a hot car at high speeds on a table, despite the sign admonishing me to keep work areas clear when not in use. i hate that sign. the door says ENTRANCE ONLY but i just waltz through it like a boss, thank the desk attendant, and i'm out. as i pull my car out into the fray, two cops turn the corner and begin strolling up to where i'd been parked the drive back was fun. i am having a beer now |
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clay davis is in law & order :: svu and so is the russian whose universal remote paulie fucks with in the sopronos. there is a strange graph of minor character actors going on, here |
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jesus christ now there's bill rawls |
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a haircut would be nice... |
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and there's lieutenant daniels |
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i have been working on this stupid track most of yesterday and a bunch today and people will say "i wish it was longer" but jeez i'm not even sure i'll finish it today, i have work tomorrow there are a thousand compulsive little edits; getting into manually editing volume slides/levels is the best/worst thingk that happens/d to my milkytracker. it's much better, but i am also driving myself crazy, now that i have committed to three samples for the entire track, and lots of painting like, i guess, MIDI echo. half the track is ghosted out. there's like an anti-buildup why do i do this to myself. halp |
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you got yr process man. it maddens you slowly but it works when i was making tracks i just kept using paste-listen-undo over and over on samples, nudging and dropping markers through the ever-lengthening master wav. the gathering of the samples themselves was a whole other deal but having a nice big samplebank was key. you keep it stripped back. i respect that |
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sculpting is the process of removing the marble that doesn't belong |
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ok upon some reflection ~ i actually like getting lost in some stupid maze of details fapping around in milkytracker. the problem is that i want that to last a few days, maybe a week for a proper track, and instead i always have work. i wrote that, having taken a few extra days off around july 4th with the explicit intent of getting a bit of music done. i lost two days doing the normal weekend stuff that i had to take care of, shopping, then i was going pretty good and suddenly it's the night before i have work again and i'm already up too late and this track could be more but even if i stop here it still. needs. moar i would contrast this to writing an actual songy-song. i have a small library of made-up nonsense songs that i sing to myself as i do dishes and whatnot. they just go how they do and you riff around with it and there's no staying up too late. i have to move. i am trying to see if i can get someplace with more recording potential. i am shy about singing, but such classics as "indoor trumpet" and "what 'cha gonna do 'bout scones?" must be heard by the internet community |
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did you know that RussellDust made a dedicated channel just for you over at discord? |
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epic please come to the discord and bring your dupes. use an emoji to indicate which persona is speaking |
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good lord, the discord has been getting the good shit as of late. how will this thread ever top 1000 posts. i will now vaguely summarize the month of august on july 30, i leave my check on the washer for my landlady, as we have done reliably for almost two years. later that day, i am out for a smoke, and she tells me that she is in negotiations to sell house. but, don't worry, i can just stay on as a tenant the buyers are the religious institution next door that have been driving me nuts for months. they set up a playground for screaming children right outside my window and have aerobics classes once or twice a week at dinnertime; the same lady who encourages the kids to scream by going wooOOOoo now doing the same irritating woo, amplified by a PA system, over shitty pop music, and my immediate reaction was: i think i'd rather a change of scene she could not seem to fathom it; a thing that would eventually become an infuriating pattern: but why? why wouldn't you want to say? this first time, i foolishly gave her a pass -- if i was 23 and still drinking heavily, i would have torn into their aerobics class and told them to shut the fuck up months ago. no, instead, i told myself that covid is tough for everyone, and bought noise-cancelling headphones. and i get two weeks of peace before this bullsh- the first two weeks of august are sheer hell -- the water gets shut off with no warning. i have to park on the lawn because of the giant dumpster in the driveway, and a tree almost falls on my car. the inspectors are coming at 9 and 11, and i wait until 12 for the 11 guy and she texts back "oh yeah he already left." 2pm it's getting warm and it turns out the first inspector who did show up broke the AC |
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"but i called someone to fix it right away!" she complained. i responded: i still had to miss more work to interact with the guy fixing shit, the shit that would not be broken in the first place, if not for your fucking inconsiderate horseshit. but, you know, i said it in a polite and socially acceptable way trying to work as shelves are being power-unscrewed; hammered out. vibrations go right through my chair and into my ass and noise-cancelling headphones will not help you now. having a mild panic attack every time i see the handyman show up: what's going to happen now? being woken up at 7:30 in the morning to find a guy measuring my front steps for carpentry work she told me i had until october first then a few days later she tells me she's closing september 9th, but, for the fifth time, it's ok, you can stay on as a tenant -- and for the fifth time: no, no, fuck no. but politely i keep asking her: the fuck happens to my lease on Sep. 9th? and she just stonewalls me and tells me shit like that i just have to have faith that god will work everything out. and i'm like: you fucking dolt, i don't need faith in god, i need actionable information. and you refuse to tell me shit. and you are driving me nuts with construction and interruptions with work and now you are having a fucking family gathering right below me with the 30yo twat in an extended pickup who is wearing a sports jersey and a baseball cap with the cap backwards and are you going to give me covid too eventually, finally, she says: oh, yes, you also have to have everything completely cleared out by sep. 9th -- but you can still stay on as a tenant! you can have my apartment! it took great strength of will to not tell her to die in a fire just then |
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trying to find a place right now is sheer hell and i am apparently a good enough tenant for a few ok places but they're just leaving me hanging and still showing it; seeing if they can get anyone better. and first week of september i really have to be at work, and, fuck, djfkg |
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at this point, i just want to be done with it. i try to get her to just refund last month's rent upfront because shit is all first+last+deposit+broker_fee right now, and i could use the money -- but it's more than that. i want an agreement sorted out w/rt my exit so i do not have to interact with her ever again other than to perhaps throw the keys at her from a significant distance. but, no, of course she will not make it that simple. thanks to her purported faith, i probably will get my money back, but it would have been so much better to just wrap things up and be out of each others' hair. i spent four or five hours today packing things up; tearing out shelves. at least that much of it is straightforward: like, finally, something that is clear and obvious and i can just start working on it rather than spinning my wheels trying to understand what. the. fuck. is going on. a thunderstorm kicks up and i get quite into things. most of my shelves are cheap walmart shit and will not survive the mood, so i elect to dispose of them in the driveway dumpster rather than have to cart them off myself somewhere, later, in a panic. i grunt over a particularly shaky 7ft walmart special to the stairs, and almost lose it. then i think: that was almost an accident, and simply let go of the shelves. they hurtle down the stairs and leave a small dent in the door. the door is a piece of shit, it has been since i moved in, it has lots of dents and it always sticks then i went down and vigorously threw it down the next set of steps, and it blew into pieces. nice, now i'm being polite about use of dumpster real estate -- not shelves, just stacked boards. thinking similarly, i hurl slats and fragmented particle board into the dumpster, resulting in thunderous clangs, as rain pours and lightning: this will save a lot of space in the dumpster. and i hope the noise bothers you |
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reminds me of my uncle smashing everything to bits when he cleared the grandparents house. i get it at some point you just want to be done with it. picked up lots of good furniture from the streets though. counting quickly there are 6 major pieces we got for free or under 20€, which would otherwise have burned. mostly oak cupboards and tables. refurbished some by sanding or varnishing, others were just in perfect condition with lovely carvings. people just seem to refuse the old look and prefer to buy rectangular plywood, which doesnt last 10 years before it is trashed for good and still costs more than classified ads. |
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oh, no, it wasn't quite like that -- i mean, yes, i want to be done with it, but that wasn't why. no, i have spent months resisting the urge to tell the religious daycare center slash open-air aerobics venue to fuck off, die in a fire, if i hear that fucking aerobics class one more time i will i come stand in the middle of it and smoke a zigguraut and get a stiffy as you all have a conniption. similarly, with my landlady, well, there were some moments where i got a bit heated -- two of the three times, it was actually just, like... i've tried everything else with this old battleaxe, maybe if i actually raise my voice a bit some of what i've told her ten times will finally sink in... and, no, that's no good either. it did feel nice, however, and that's more where we're at. for mental health reasons, i've been making a list in my head. i have this vision where i'll hand over the keys, she'll say something falsely polite, and i will reply: die in a fire. it will be sharp and quick, and it will take a moment for what i've just said to register. when it does, she'll start prattling on about how there's no need to be rude, at which point i'll apologize: oh, i'm sorry, then fall off a cliff. this will still not be good enough, and i'll get more prattling about being rude. so, i'll try again: oh, i'm sorry -- fall asleep at the wheel, then drive off a cliff. step on a nail and die of gangrene. eat an expired tin of beans, and die of botulism. you get the idea i've said none of this; nothing like it. i may never say any of it. but she's been driving me to wit's end with the noise, the disruptions, the constantly shifting goalposts, and fussy bullshit. and i've held my temper. but, then, with those shelves, i finally had a proper outlet for my feelings and throwing them down onto the brick and then hurling the bits into the metal dumpster with great gusto and making a tremendous racket, you know, making efficient use of the dumpster, least i can do to help |
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hehe, well, better shelfs than landladys, or your back for that bit in the staircase. sometimes i ask myself whether being polite to people clearly fucking you over all the time makes things better or worse or will just accelerate the inevitable. |
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my natural disposition is to rain down flaming revenge, but, yes, i've shot myself in the foot doing that a million times, and i have to stop this shit, and what should our revenge policy actually be? where i landed is this: revenge is a waste of our time on planet earth, but if i don't really have to go out of my way for it, and there's no real risk of consequence, then go for it but, yes, now i have the reverse issue, that you describe. when she first start saying she was selling the house, she was like "i'm showing your unit in two days it has to look nice" and i was like: "that's not very much time, could you dela-" and she cuts me off, saying "it's the weekend, you have time!" and she would do this sort of thing over and over, dismiss my concerns and disrespect my time. but i still busted my ass and cleaned it up and she was quite satisfied. in retrospect, i should have not done jack shit for her, i should have started looking for a new place instead. but, still, be polite about it |
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the face of epic in case xltronic goes down *facepalm* |
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i prefer to spacepalm. |
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the house is an old house with some old house problems.... but, my new landlords seem wonderful. my realtor, never one to mince words said, "they're both kind of dweebs, but, you know what, you're kind of a dweeb too, and i think you guys could actually be friends." i had thought more or less the same thing, admittedly without the dweeb part. during the negotiations, my realtor texted me back, and asked, "do you smoke?" and i'm all shit shit because... i guess, my landlady dimed me out when they called her? but, anyways, somehow it became known, and i'm pissed. i quit for months, but the playground with screaming kids drove me back into it: i can't take this, i want to go buy some whiskey. i went and bought cigarettes instead, and, well, it's not much of an excuse, but it did seem like the less self-destructive option. i texted back as such: that's a habit i'll leave behind with this place. signing the lease, the wife half of the landlord half looked me in the eye and said, "we're so happy you don't smoke, we really appreciate it." it was one of those messages in a bottle, and when i uncorked it, it said: we've found out somehow you're about to quit cigarettes and we thank you very much for doing so." it was actually very nice -- if i kept up cigarettes there, i'm sure i'd get a proper threat, but instead she's going with "i appreciate what you're trying to do." a threat would be just as motivating, but this was much sweeter. so, i wake up this morning, and i hold out as long as i can. i finally go out for a cigarette, and the idiots in the religious institution parking lot are a bunch of 30-50yo people throwing a ball around, yelling, and hitting each other with pool noodles. "huh, that's probably not proper social distancing," i think, and light up my cigarette. two minutes later some 50yo fatty walks towards me and starts wheezing and hitting his inhaler and i feel the heat of lots of people staring at me. "that was a good cigarette," i think as i put it out and go back i |
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nside to resume packing. |
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packing up |
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over many years, great progress on things like: not letting anyone know how furious i really am, making smalltalk without going on elaborate tangents, and generally coming across as a reasonable, functional person. one thing i really need to improve on is being neighborly. it's stressful and complicated for me; so i tend to just hide and not really get to know the neighbors. i am not a bad neighbor, so much as an invisible one, when i should be at least attempting to network. case in point is today: a lady from one of the other units, whom i'd barely ever spoken to, in two years. her unit is right by landlady and i made the assumption that she was being kept in the loop much more than i was, because they live right together and probably talk more. today, i realized i'd missed a bit. she has two kids, and she's in the driveway, building a table for a grill because, fuck this shit, she misses grilling. hey, cool, from the few brief interactions, i never expected a proper maker mindset. "apprentice!" she yells at one of her kids, when he's slow to hand her the power saw later, i'm back out, going to my car to go out to the store, and we have a proper talk. turns out, she's been going almost as nuts as i have been. she's waffling between trying to move with two kids vs. what the religious institution next door will do the day they sign over ownership. we discuss our nightmare scenarios and we've actually thought of a lot of the same ones. she has a storage locker and i'm all yeah i finally got rid of my storage locker with this place and i was praying not to have to get another so, yeah. that was a good talk that made me feel much better, and, this round, i will try to talk to the neighbors more. today was a good start, the lady next door clearly smokes weed and her beagle wandered over to me and we got along |
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what the fuck is crown molding. why the fuck would anyone want to waste time putting this useless shit up. |
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hi, i survived the move. just writing in because for some reason or another people here worry about me sometimes. my current issue is that the internet is not working at my new place and i have to work at lewis's place and he will suddenly start talking about how we need to build a hovercraft or something and i currently do not have much ability to zilty aside from fighting with the voice dictation on my phone |
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bump |
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this motherfucker has been a twat with me from a height in the past, costantly bumping the threads with my most embarassing fuck ups and now that he found the Virgin Mary's compassion i have to feel empathy |
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until the next time he turns into a jerk |
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my previous residence, the landlady had a handyman who would come over to fix stuff; his name was marco. new place, they also have a handyman named marco who comes over to fix stuff, but it's an entirely different marco. in conclusion, your name is marco, you should clearly be a handyman. you'll need a white van, some tools, and a flexible schedule |
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I was going to be a handyman until corona took over, the company that was going to hire me instituted a hiring freeze, that is why I'm cleaning knobs for a living |
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who is marco |
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its me |
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