I give his bit to you now:
Thursday, 8:27am. The Wise Owl Cafe, Walter Library, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis
I like this library. It’s really just a science and law library. Not much in the way of real books. But it does go down into several layers of stacks. And there is a door, marked “Staff Only” that leads to the occult section. Between that and the Rare Books Room, there’s some actual value to this place book wise. But more importantly, it has a cafe. A place for coffee. And for cookies.
Right now, I have both. I’m not eating or drinking though. I’m a little bit in shock.
You see, I sat down to enjoy my cookie and drink my coffee. I was all set to do that. Then this guy sat down across from me. He’s got a little goatee that curls up at the bottom, is wearing glasses that are just a pair of sqaure like lenses connected by wire somehow sitting on his nose, and is wearing a smoking jacket, pajama pants, and slippers. His hands are in fingerless gloves that look both like they are hand knit and like they’ve seen better days.( And now, for the REST of the story )
And no, that's not Reginald's Real Name. :)
I have a video somewhere of when it first started. Thought it was on YouTube, must just be on my laptop.
I'll try to take a video of what it looks like now, too, and post 'em some day.
Anyway, my coworker Matt calls it my pimp limp, which has prompted me to do the same.
This is the bottom of my left shoe, which really isn't affected by the way my right like rotates during the pimp limp:
This is the bottom of my right shoe, which IS affected by my pimp limp:
Fucking whee, right?
EDIT: YES I'M GETTING NEW SHOES. I have some Sketchers that fit my stupidly wide feet, I just haven't bought new canvas shoes yet. These lasted about three or four months.
Useless things I learned from bookmancu today: hanyak is a Czech / Polish word for "rascals".
It's also a word used for meth, but what word HASN'T been used for that?
Oh, here's a poem.
It took thirty seconds to write.
It's called "Hipster"
Get away from me.
Damn it, hipster.
Hipster, don't bring your fucking friends to this bar.
Motherfucker, what did I just say?
This bar is ours.
Hipster, you better listen to me.
Oh, you can't.
It's probably the pencils I just jammed it your ears.
God you're a douche.
I'm going to try to beat my writer's block to death with whiskey this weekend. Wish me luck.
No matter what, I have some drawings for you next week and will finish my Super Explodo So You Don't Have To post for Monday.
No, I have not been drinking, fuck you.
But that does sound like a good idea.
Drinking, that is. Okay, fucking, too, but...
Where was I?
Oh, right, anybody who lives withing spitting distance of me have a VCR I can use to dub a copy of a rare movie on VHS?
Also, I write for you tonight.
Also also, I made blueshat's list of 30 People Who's LJ's You Should Be Reading. When I finish writing, et al, I'll actually read the whole list. In the mean time, you should jump on his LJ like it's a new mattress. Or a whore.
Also also also:
Want to know more?
Look, I was an English major.
I have two freelance jobs: writing and editing.
I enjoy reading properly written things.
THAT HAVING BEEN SAID:
Split infinitives. I don’t give a shit about split infinitives. Indeed, now that most reputable reference people have realized that there has NEVER been a rule against them, you should be neither penalized nor chastised for using them. Indeed, you are more than welcome to boldly split infinitives all over the damn place.
Double negatives. In my world, there ain’t no such thing as a double negative. You know why? Because you know damn well what they mean when you hear one. This is English, not bloody math. You don’t add -1 and +1 for the negatives and end up with—HA!—a negation. It doesn’t work like that and it never has.
Ending a sentence with a preposition: First, insert crude sexual joke about the word “dangling” here. Second, oh come-the-fuck ON! Do you not understand what the person is saying? Do you not recognize that when the exceptions to a rule nearly equal the proper applications there’s something fundamentally wrong? I refuse to look over everything I write to be certain that something you understand can be changed into something you can’t understand. What do I need to do that for? Oops, my bad. For what do I need to do that, you fucking wanker?
Lay vs. Lie. Do you have difficulty understanding when somebody says “I was lying down” as opposed to “I was laying down?” If you’re not seriously critiquing somebody’s work, leave it alone. Even I have to think about this bastard when I have to write/edit it in a piece. The only time it matters is that it's rude to call somebody "a good lie."
Use commas wherever the hell you want to. If you think that you need a comma, put one there. If you forget to put one there and you should have one there, oops.
Stop pretending that “It’s about ” is wrong and that I should be saying “It’s almost/nearly/approximately .”
In addition to being a noun, access is now a verb as well. Languages evolve. Cope.
Sentence fragments? I like them.
Ain’t IS a goddamned work, you nitpicking ninny.
I can have six items or less, I don’t have to have six items or fewer.
That should do for now.
"Big news here. First, there's a new Leave It To Jesus (direct link) strip up. It totally rips on (or off, depending on how you look at it) this Cure song. Second,SO GO BUY IT!
the LITJ book is available for purchase!
Yup, that's right, kids. There's more info at the website, but here's a quick breakdown:
Sorry I didn't give you more warning, ben!"
It's funny and I get royalties. Half of that sentence is a lie.
Have been totally fucking blocked on any writing that isn't Reg. I was trying to dodge him for a while, but perhaps this will get my creative bowels to fucking unclench.
Perhaps all that popcorn will slowly diffuse the booze...
Perhaps I should have it with a soda, therefore...
Taki had run a lot of eating establishments in his life, from a high-end establishment in
Sometimes Sara and I bought hot dogs and polish sausages from him when we walked past, never suspecting that I would spend two and a half insane years working for him.
He opened his new restaurant in a “cursed” space. In six years, it had seen five restaurants come and go, sometimes for good reason. That didn’t deter Taki, though. Hanging the battered and worn painting that once belonged to Billie Holliday on his wall, hanging a whole bulb of garlic over one of the doorways (“it keeps away the evil eye”), and establishing that the whole joint was a smoking section, he set out to sell saganaki and 50 kinds of hamburgers, souvlaki and lemonade shake-ups, gyros and chocolate cake.
After about 3 years and some change, a crazy life and two or three packs a day caught up with him. Taki got cancer that spread quickly, through his kidneys and liver. If his doctor hadn’t been negligent, maybe they would have caught it sooner, but maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. After all, he eschewed all treatment, demanding that he’d rather die of cancer than spend years alive but suffering through chemotherapy and radiation on something that couldn’t be cured.
I have Harini G. to thank for the idea that's running the most recent Sir Reginald story.
It's writing itself in my head right now, but a few parts don't have joints between them right now, so I'll have to think about them tonight.
In the mean time, do any of you remember Serge, Mike, and the Moon Turk?
I just realized the whole Serge/Sir Reg thing, which I assure you was entirely unintentional.
I specifically chose Serge because it's Russian for "servant" or something like that.
Reginald was just a name I rummaged about to find that would sound good after the word "sir."
I find it interesting, though, as there are certain concepts/overreaching themes through all the stories/worlds I create. Even the restaurant Sushi Bastard makes an appearance in two apparently different timelines/dimensions/stories.
Am I subconsciously creating a huge woven tapestry through my own mind's time and space, or is it just an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato?
Either way, I think it's cool.
While I'm not diving back into Serge's story wholesale, it's officially on burner #5 right now.
Burner #1 = Last Shot, Burner #1.5 = More spec stories for Shonen Jump, Burner #2 = The Collected, Illustrated of Sir Reginald, Burner #3 = I can't remember, Burner #4 = The Man Who Was Thursday...
Right, here's the beginning of the Serge story, which I haven't touched in nearly a year.
I'll cobble it and the other parts together at a later date, perhaps after I finally tag all my entries.
( At least my brain has told me the secret of the Emperor now... )
Creatively, it was a total bust. What little time I did have for writing or otherwise was pretty much spent with me staring at the computer or notebook and contemplating stabbies in the eyes with Uniball Precise pens.
Sunday morning was lost to a BrainFuckHeadache.
Saturday night was fun as our sixty-something neighbor came over for dinner and wine and shouting about Republicans and their cronies.
I need to get writing done. I need to write a spec piece for Shonen Jump. I need to work on the jimmahgee thing. I need to get back to funranium about some stuff. I need to do more pages of "Last Shot."
My creativity fucked off to Paris, Texas, on Friday and is refusing to come back until I install a fucking bidet.
If nothing else, I WILL finish a flash fiction piece today before 5pm.
At least I have lunch with nhyrvana to look forward to.
And now, a quote from "juniperesque de Jew":
"I don't know about y'all, but I don't think Jezus died for my sins - though if he died to bring me Cadbury's Creme Eggs, maybe he and I are a'ight."
So, for now, feed me. Give me something. Music, saliva, fiction, words of hate and spite, boozahol, kung-fu. Anything.
( CLICK HERE FOR TWO MORE PICS. PLEASE. FOR THE CHILDREN. THE SMELLY ONES. )
And yes, after I write a few more pages of Last Shot, then I'll be doing a skeleton of The Man Who Was Thursday in screenplay format so that I will win forever.
I am not yet at liberty to discuss it.
That is not because it involves our
You should go check him out. Not like that. Check his LJ, and his website.
Okay, if you want to "check him out," then go for it.
But, you know...be subtle.
I need to finish a Shonen Jump article this weekend. That will make number five. I can totally call myself a "freelance writer" now.
Oh, and by next week, Norwegian Karl and I should have some samples from our comic Last Shot for you to gaze upon in awe and wonderment.
Now...to prepare to go eat eat random Chinese food. But probably not tripe. I've had enough tripe for a while.
Whose weekend is devoted to sorting 29 years of comix and drinking far too much with duosiceprincess
You should all go have a look. Sign up (it's free, and they don't spam), vote on stories, write your own, tell us when you've done so. It's a great place to piss about when you're stuck on something...
Mine are here.
pensylvania_joe's = Here.
farawaypoints's = Here.
chuckdawg's = Here.
xanthvamp's = Here.
scud_o's = Here.
twelvefootnine's ?? = Here.
My "little" brother's...
My "little" sister's...
I'm probably missing other ones.
The point is, it's terribly fun.
Get to it.
Pity me. But not too much, for there is much booze in my house.
Tonight is also part four of the Mo-Lan Devils story, 'cause it's totally written in my head, and I introduce several new fun plot points and we learn more about a great number of things.
I may wait to post it until tomorrow morning, depending upon when I finish it.
Finally, a drawing I did in 90 seconds for my friend Harini G., because she's BETTER THAN ALL OF US COMBINED, I GUESS:
I got nothing against it, but with a civil service job at the University of Illinois library, articles getting published in Shonen Jump, editing manga for DrMaster, and working on my own stories/comix, there just wouldn't be time.
Well, there'd be time for grad school, but not for the stuff I really want to do with my life.
Wish me luck, kids. I've already got my running start, now I just need to figure out where to jump from.