I've got a backlog frenzy like no other:
- Tuesday Night Supper Club Vols. 3 - 7 - Yes
- Ms. X says... - Yeah, I wrote that down
- Hamburg Happy Things #3 - Oh, hell yes
- Glühwein Challenge 2014 - In progress
- Becoming German: Tatort Edition - You crazy for that one, Ray.
I haven't blogged in months... but I've got topics for days. The list above is just a sneak preview.
That said, it's been the "good" kind of downtime (in which I just haven't gotten around to it), rather than the "bad" kind (in which I just want to wrap myself in a Snuggie until everything goes away).
That said, it's been the "good" kind of downtime (in which I just haven't gotten around to it), rather than the "bad" kind (in which I just want to wrap myself in a Snuggie until everything goes away).
Not this... not me... not... yet.
(Source: Drunk Good Idea/Sober Bad Idea)
It doesn't make up for no posts since September 26th, but I hope the following after the jump might.
Oh and, by the way, there's maybe one thing that's not safe for work (NSFW -- in internets lingo).
So, for the past few months -- around the time of my last post -- I've had a house guest. The homie C.J. moved to Hamburg to learn things and I've opened my apartment to him, while he looks for more permanent digs. Please note: I'm not gonna put him on blast. As far as house guests go, he's the kind of house guest that you want to have. He cooks. He cleans. He fixes things. He taught me a MacGyver-esque red wine decanting technique, for which I'll be eternally grateful. I'm not going to blame the radio silence on him... it's all on me, because apparently I'm unable to cross things off my to-do list with another human in the apartment. Not even watching over my shoulder... just, you know, in my general proximity. How weird is that? And he must now think I'm a total freak, because I've spent significant chunks of the past few weekends in my room. Alone. Watching Castle.
Part of me feels like my dad, who spent much of his downtime from work "taking 5". When I was younger, I thought "taking 5" meant "taking a nap". As I got older, I realized "taking 5" meant "Holy shit, there are too many goddamn people in this house. I just want to have some time and space to myself." Granted, at any given time, there were around 6 to 10 people living in my parents' three-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom house (with a converted garage). So, yeah, things tended to be a li'l claustrophobic (to say the least). And my dad had nine dependents to worry about (8 kids + mom) and sponsored visas for several of my mom's family members.
My case pales in comparison. I am me. I have zero dependents. I live in an apartment with 2 rooms and a kitchen. Mostly by myself... yadda yadda. A student loan collector named Jeremy called me a few weeks ago (about my massive student debt, duh). I could feel him judging me on the phone. "You can't make a payment this month... and you're *sure* you've got no kids?". After a long back-and-forth, I managed to get some of those extra Obama student loan forbearance months.
I know it's temporary and it's not like I live in No Pants Kingdom. Still, there's an irrational, yet visceral feeling that I'll never know when I'll be able to go pantsless in my apartment again. If I were active on Twitter, maybe I'd describe this feeling as #millennial or a #1stworldpantslessproblem, except I'm not really sure if I'm actually a millennial. And I'm not that committed to pantslessness. #OccupyPants sounds like I'm super into wearing pants, nevernude style. That is not the case.
#whoami???
Deep down, I still know that I can live the same way in my apartment now, as before I had company. What's stopping me? I mean, besides from my downstairs neighbor whose name means "precious" in Serbo-Croatian... but sounds like it means "dragon" in English. Also, she sounds like a real-life dragon in person. Dragon Lady.
Aside from that, it's just me being my own worst enemy as usual. That's some shit I gotta get over, like, yesterday.
I'll end this post incorporating one of the most important lessons that I've learned in the past two years as a narrative designer: If objects/items have distinct features that separate them from others of their kind (especially if they're inanimate objects with anthropomorphic features) then they should be treated as unique characters with unique names, voices, and messages.
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This was a message brought to you by Rectal Ralph, Queefton J. Vibratron, and Ringo Cockburn the mascots of my friendly, neighborhood sex shop.
Part of me feels like my dad, who spent much of his downtime from work "taking 5". When I was younger, I thought "taking 5" meant "taking a nap". As I got older, I realized "taking 5" meant "Holy shit, there are too many goddamn people in this house. I just want to have some time and space to myself." Granted, at any given time, there were around 6 to 10 people living in my parents' three-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom house (with a converted garage). So, yeah, things tended to be a li'l claustrophobic (to say the least). And my dad had nine dependents to worry about (8 kids + mom) and sponsored visas for several of my mom's family members.
My case pales in comparison. I am me. I have zero dependents. I live in an apartment with 2 rooms and a kitchen. Mostly by myself... yadda yadda. A student loan collector named Jeremy called me a few weeks ago (about my massive student debt, duh). I could feel him judging me on the phone. "You can't make a payment this month... and you're *sure* you've got no kids?". After a long back-and-forth, I managed to get some of those extra Obama student loan forbearance months.
No, seriously, I am still up to my eyeballs in student debt and had no more grace periods, deferments, or forbearance left... until this student loan forgiveness thing made student loan things oh-so-slightly easier on me. So, from someone who's still ~20k in the hole and will have that hanging over my head for 20 years... whatevs... I'm not sayin' that I'm loving all of Obama's (unscrupulous) actions/(devastating) inaction... but at least in this case, he kinda did me (and countless people in similar situations) a solid. So, yeah... thanks, Obama. And thanks, Jeremy from ACS.
(Source: Cyanide & Happiness)
I know it's temporary and it's not like I live in No Pants Kingdom. Still, there's an irrational, yet visceral feeling that I'll never know when I'll be able to go pantsless in my apartment again. If I were active on Twitter, maybe I'd describe this feeling as #millennial or a #1stworldpantslessproblem, except I'm not really sure if I'm actually a millennial. And I'm not that committed to pantslessness. #OccupyPants sounds like I'm super into wearing pants, nevernude style. That is not the case.
#whoami???
Deep down, I still know that I can live the same way in my apartment now, as before I had company. What's stopping me? I mean, besides from my downstairs neighbor whose name means "precious" in Serbo-Croatian... but sounds like it means "dragon" in English. Also, she sounds like a real-life dragon in person. Dragon Lady.
Aside from that, it's just me being my own worst enemy as usual. That's some shit I gotta get over, like, yesterday.
I'll end this post incorporating one of the most important lessons that I've learned in the past two years as a narrative designer: If objects/items have distinct features that separate them from others of their kind (especially if they're inanimate objects with anthropomorphic features) then they should be treated as unique characters with unique names, voices, and messages.
This was a message brought to you by Rectal Ralph, Queefton J. Vibratron, and Ringo Cockburn the mascots of my friendly, neighborhood sex shop.
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