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I saw an advert in gmail this morning for "Blogging Evolved" and that may have just made my day.

Now, it really was just -- nothing is ever as good as its title implies -- an advert for a service that designs you a professional online journal (I have never been able to use the word blog since I first asked someone what one was when I was seventeen. Blog is a horrible word that inspires in me visions of grey, overdone pork chops and humid swamps. Some would say this is not an inaccurate definition anyway).

But just think about the concept of journal evolution. And not even in the Harry Potter sense of "omfg this journal talks back to me" but in the Matinee sense of "Man has meddled in Godapos;s Plan and created a monster which will lay waste to Tokyo/Chicago/New York City." Directed, of course, by Bert I. Gordon.

The monstrous LiveJournals rears its ugly head as it emerges from the swamp, its face a terrible caricature of humanity represented by a [info]potterpuffs icon, emo song lyrics streaming from its mouth, slaying its first victim (Teen Girl In Broken Down Hot Rod in the credits) with a large-graphic meme. Nothing can stop it Servers nationwide scream and fail as it passes, sucking bandwidth with it, headed for San Francisco.

A team of valiant young userpic artisans try to get the governmentapos;s attention, but they are scoffed at; the Army has more important things on its mind Even invoking the Patriot Act does nothing Mwahahahaha They must don "Iapos;m Blogging This" t-shirts and Ray-Bans and go to battle the beast itself, armed only with Adobe Photoshop and Semagic V. 1.2.1.

Will they succeed? Will they fail? Will they be [info]metaquotesed? Coming soon to a cinema near you, itapos;s --

THE CREATURE FROM THE BLOG LAGOON

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Ianto and the Ninth Doctor equal love (not together....that would be Ianto+Jack and Doctor+Rose...:P)

Female Programmer: If youapos;re not holding us hostage, then open the door and let us out. The staff are terrified
The Doctor: Thatapos;s the same staff who execute hundreds of contestants every day?
Female Programmer: Thatapos;s not our fault. Weapos;re just doing our jobs.
The Doctor: And with that sentence, you just lost the right to even talk to me.

(I miss the Ninth Doctor every now and then....wish he wouldapos;ve stuck around another season)

Approaches automatic doors to a Supermarket.
Diane: Howapos;s it do that?
Ianto: Itapos;s automatic. It knows youapos;re there.
Diane: But how?
Ianto: There are wave bouncing detectors which emit high frequency radio waves, and then look for reflections-
Diane [distracted upon seeing a banana stand and dashes towards it]: BANANAS
Ianto: Of course, Bananas are far more interesting.

IANTO�SQUEE I�really need a Ianto icon.....must go search =D





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I was shocked. After a while I become depressed and start wondering: If the persons who said these things would know what tempest is in my soul now, would they say "I`m sorry, I never meant it"?

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Every Great Work, every big accomplishment, has been brought into manifestation through holding to the vision, and often just before the big achievement, comes apparent failure and discouragement.
Florence Scovel Shinn

ldquo;In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawingrdquo;
Vincent van Gogh




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So... Went to the doctor for my EKG and my bloodtests today. Afterwards I strolled round to my local branch to pick up two books that had arrived for me (remember - Iapos;m a librarian, so I actually work at this branch as well).

I get there five minutes after regular opening and is greeted by a few people who all smile at me and say: well, thatapos;s about time. apos;cause thereapos;s nobody there

So my boss who are responsible for planning shifts and so on, whom I called last night, has apparently utterly forgotten that I was supposed to have todays shift and not bothered to find someone for the shift.

Well, I get in, right, and call the main library just to, yapos;know, make them aware that thereapos;s not actually anybody at the library, and that they should probably take care of that. And then I leave. Because, frankly, Iapos;m home sick with stress, and my boss knows this.

And right now, 50 minutes after regular opening, thereapos;s one of my colleagues at my door asking for my key. Because my git of a boss has apparently not wondered about stuff like... Yapos;know... Keys and shit.

I know sheapos;s in a bad fix and all, me being home sick and it being a big week for vacations - but, frankly Iapos;m more than a little pissed that the main branch doesnapos;t have an extra key for each branch along with passcodes for alarms, logins, passwords and what-not that youapos;d need if you donapos;t work there regularly.

So... Yeah. Right now Iapos;m not sure Iapos;ll ever be back to my old job. Iapos;m not sure Iapos;ll ever be able to just lean back and accept whatapos;s going on with my bosses. And, frankly, Iapos;m expecting the county HR to pick up my case once Iapos;m sure itapos;s work-related stress and actually, for the first time in two years, do something more than just accept my bossesapos; word that everythingapos;s going perfectly. :-(

Also? I think my boss should get down on her knees and thank her lucky freakinapos; stars that I hadnapos;t had a car-accident and was in hospital in a coma. Because then she couldapos;ve done nothing more than drive to the branch and hang a sign that it was closed. She wouldnapos;t even have been able to get in.



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Okay, I will give people that Iapos;m better than I was.

But I really need people--and of course by people I mean no one who could be reading this and more as in anyone whoapos;s actually said something--to stop telling me I look fine and to suck it up.

Iapos;m better than I was, yeah, but I work for three measly hours and I feel like crawling into bed afterwards. And if I go beyond that, I leave work shaking. Itapos;s not a pretty sight.

Stupid plague. It should just go die Preferably without taking me with it.

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�This is annoying. Thereapos;s tons of karaoke business here in my place. Can you imagine, two annoying persons singing annoying hits at the same time, from different areas but you can totally still hear them? Buti sana kung maganda yung pagkakakanta eh. Now, theyapos;re having Beatlemania. I live the Beatles but they donapos;t give them justice. So far, theyapos;ve sung ruined Here Comes the Sun, Hey Jude, If I Fell... And right now, I canapos;t recognize the song. Trying hard I hope thereapos;s a bill here that they canapos;t sing annoy past 9pm�

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Small bright spot in the gloom today.

Something I realized recently is that much of my dissatisfaction with life - in particular with art, something that should satisfy me when nothing else does - is that, since school, Iapos;ve been doing nearly everything all on my own.

Writing is a solitary art.� I personally have little to no use for writerapos;s groups, and have generally found them to be artistic circle jerks, more often than not populated mainly by talentless malcontents who donapos;t want honest critical assessment, but hand-holding and unearned praise.� A sweeping generalization, but there it is.� Writing classes can be better, but only when theyapos;re moderated with a talented, and at least somewhat ruthless, instructor.

Iapos;m only a apos;writerapos; inasmuch as I write.� I donapos;t finish much of anything except journal entries, and I have no ambition to publish.� So thatapos;s not my real art.

One of the fundamental underpinnings of my philosophy of teaching drama is that it fosters and really depends on community.� Unless youapos;re doing performance art, youapos;re working with other people.� The strength of the work depends, not wholly on the talent of individuals, but on their ability to successfully combine their gifts to the success of the venture as a whole, and prima donna behavior detracts from that.

Theatre shouldnapos;t be done in a vacuum.� And thatapos;s what I feel like Iapos;ve been working in, and that, I truly believe, is a large part of why Iapos;ve been so unhappy in the last few months, with teaching, and with the idea of directing the upcoming show.�

At the mountain company, Iapos;ve been solo teaching, although at least over the summer I had two teenage assistants, and that was a real help, as far as it went.� They helped a lot with the daily activities, but all the planning and conceptualizing were my responsibility.� And the teaching since then, I havenapos;t even had them to work with - itapos;s just been me and the kids, and Iapos;ve felt like I was really just recycling the same ideas over and over, with far less success than I expected and far more frustration than I ever anticipated.

Substitute teaching, drama aside, is the same way.� Every day is a different school, a different set of kids and curriculum, and thereapos;s no one to work with and it just turns into a hellish kind of babysitting.

Iapos;m sick to goddamn death of being completely without community.�� I hate feeling like Iapos;m so much on my own.

This week I finally received contact information for my stage manager and set designer for the Christmas show.� I called and talked with each of them, and our first production meeting is this weekend.� I donapos;t know yet if Iapos;ll get a costume designer; need to rattle the bushes and see what falls out for that because we really need one.

In talking with the set designer tonight, I finally felt a spark - a real sense of joy again in the process that Iapos;ve been missing so very much.� I havenapos;t yet put a lot of thought into the concept (and auditions are only two weeks away - jesus...). But in talking with her, I had that familiar feeling of satisfaction that comes from my ideas synching up with another person, and new ideas forming from the infusion of creative impulses from a source outside my own brain.

It was the first real feeling of engagement with what Iapos;m supposed to be doing that Iapos;ve had in months.
I finally felt like like there was something to really look forward to again.

I needed that.� I needed - and need - that so much.� Iapos;m so tired of having every waking minute taken up with either scrambling unsuccessfully to generate money or escapist activity to keep me from thinking about how dire everything seems.

I need to be a part of something that feel like itapos;s worth doing.� And I need to be doing it with other people again.

I feel like thereapos;s some hope of having that again.







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Today would have been my Mamawapos;s 105th birthday. She took Mom, Kenneth and I in when Mom and Dad divorced. We lived in a 2 bedroom house in one of the poorest�areas of Bowling Green. She watched us boys while Mom worked at the drug store, starting out at the soda fountain, then cosmetics girl and eventually becoming a pharmacy tech before she retired after her accident in 1997. Mamaw didnapos;t play. I�canapos;t count the number of peach tree switches I was made to cut for myself . She was a wonderful cook and made so many quilts I canapos;t count them. I wish I still had one of them.

One of my favorite memories of Mamaw from my childhood was walking to town on the first after her check came. It was exactly two miles to the square from her little house in�Delafield. She would take me by the�hand and�pack Kenneth�on her hip, and she was in her 60s then.�Weapos;d walk to town, cash her check, get us each a prize at the Woolworthapos;s on the square and then go to Houchens on College Street for groceries. Because of the groceries, weapos;d get� a cab home. I�fell in love with the soaps at Mamawapos;s.�We had one tv back then and if you wanted to watch tv in the afternoon. You watched her "stories." Edge of Night and As the World Turns were her favorites, until Edge moved to ABC from CBS. Then it was General Hospital and Edge of Night. We also watched Search for Tomorrow and Love of Life in the mornings.

When I was in third grade, she fell off the porch and broke her hip. It didnapos;t stop her, though.�Within 6 months, she was back walking us kids totown at the beginning of every month.�By then, Kenneth was old enough to� walk on his own, so she took us both by the hand and tugged us along. A year later, Mark came along. When I was 16, she broke the tother hip. She was standing by our mailbox, when a drunk came barrelling� a long and knocked her into the fencerow. Again, it didnapos;t stop Mamaw.�She never walked to town again, but she got around pretty well still. He was one of the strongest women I know.�Thatapos;s where Mama and Aunt Nancy get it from. We lived with her until I was 17, when the urban renewal program came through and tore down Mamawapos;s old house and relocated her about a block from the old house..�We were considered "tenants." so they paid our rent somewhere for a year.� mamw fell again and broke her hip one more time after we moved out.�The cousins and I took turns staying with her. Eventually Ronnie moved in permanently. Mamaw died in 1986, almost a year before Margaret came along.

I donapos;t have a picture of Mamaw on a disc or anything, so I canapos;t post one, but hereapos;s a couple of me back then.�
� In mamawapos;s front yard, age 3

�My 14th birthday cake, made by Mamaw

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