Metablogging, Part the Third: Get Down With the Sickness

Man, this "pacing myself" thing is harder than I thought it would be . . .

It sounded like a really good idea back when I was operating on zero sleep and was emotionally drained from dredging up a good portion of the least proud moments of my life; but after a close approximation of a good night's sleep or two, if I experience even an instant's worth of free time, I find myself being drawn back to the blog, like an obsessive homing pigeon. Looking at the Site Meter logs and seeing that some people check the site several times a day also makes me feel almost obligated to constantly provide them with new material . . . almost.

I bought myself a notebook to jot down anecdotes, topics, and other ideas for later use, to make sure nothing slips away from me (am now up to around 60 items or so); now I just need to retrieve the mini-cassette recorder (which, incidentally, contains a recording made by Flunky, G'ovich and myself during an excursion to Lake McMurtry our Sophomore year) which I accidentally left at the Stoneheart residence many moons ago, so I can see about dictating my rambling thoughts during long drives; I have a feeling it will seem like a good idea to me up until I actually have to listen to the sound of my recorded voice for any length of time; one of the most painful things imaginable is to be forced to watch/listen to myself. *braces for smartass remarks* Still, there are so many times I've found myself composing a large amount of prose, be it for the blog, a short story, or some other random target, only to find the best parts of it fleeing from my mind as soon as I sit down to type it up, that I might be able to handle the discomfort of hearing my voice on tape to help solve the problem; very few things quite as frustrating for a writer as losing that perfect turn of phrase somewhere between the parking lot and the apartment door.

While we’re on the subject of blog ideas, let me take a moment to talk to those of you who like to share with me your ideas for blog posts: I’ve gotten lots of suggestions for what I “need” to write about, some which have really inspired me, others . . . not so much. Some of the ones which have inspired me have yet to see the light of day; the Earth-K post was the result of a suggestion from G’ovich back in September, which took until last week to finally percolate its way to the top of my fevered brain. If I don’t respond enthusiastically to one of your suggestions, don’t take offense; it’s not that it’s a bad idea, necessarily, just that it’s not a good one for me. Some things will click, others won’t, and others will lie dormant until my muse decides to activate them; it’s all about what resonates with the writer in me. Suggestions are always welcomed; just please don’t tell me that I have to write about something; that’s a pretty good way to insure that I won’t be writing about it anytime soon. I can be stubborn and reactionary that way, sometimes.

I’ve gotten so used to writing these mammoth posts that anything under 1,000 words feels like I’m wimping out, like I’m not making it worth your time to click on that link to read the bulk of my post; but do I really want to have to stretch a post to its breaking point just to pad the word count? Is it better to have one super-sized post or a couple of shorter posts each day? Should I even worry about these things, or just write want I want, when I want, for as long as I want, and trust that it’ll be enough? I’m in the strange position of writing primarily for friends and family; I love being a source of entertainment for y’all, and enjoy the interplay that sometimes results from the blog, but I sometimes get so absorbed in the need to not disappoint my “audience,” that I lose sight of just who my audience is. It would be cool if my blog were to develop some more readers who weren’t actually mentioned in it on a regular basis, but I fear my scatter-shot topics make that a bit difficult; I wouldn’t be surprised if I ran off an anonymous reader or two with the angst-laden missives of the past few weeks. But again, I have to follow my instincts; I have to write what I want to write when I want to write it; I don’t think doubling my reader base would be worth it if I wasn’t writing what I was inspired to.

So, there you go, my second post of the day; the obsession has not attained full strength yet, but I’m sure it will; the sickness always returns.

Written Word Wed. - I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes . . .

I got about halfway through Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys last night, hope to have it finished soon. I'm not enjoying it as much as I have most of Gaiman's stuff, for some reason, although I did start to get into it a bit more after the first 80 pages or so. I think part of my problem with it is the constantly put-upon nature of Fat Charlie, the main character; he strikes me as a particularly British character, in a very Arthur Dent (who, honestly, was my least favorite part of any of the Hitchhiker's Guide novels) sort of way, and despite having a smidgen of the Anglophile in me, the "nothing ever goes right" jinxy character often gets on my nerves, especially when he's put in situations where everyone treats him like he's an idiot for no good reason . . . hey, G'ovich, I think I just remembered something else that annoys me about Meet the Parents . . . anyway, I think that the plot is moving away from that direction at this point. *knock on wood*

One thing that struck me as I was reading this book was how familiar Fat Charlie and his brother Spider seemed to me. Here you have Fat Charlie, who worries about everything and is convinced the world is out to get him and who practices his arguments in his head well in advance of having them, and then there's Spider, a smooth talker who can talk anyone into anything and who seems particularly adept at messing with people's head, especially the paranoid Fat Charlie; why does that sound so familiar to me . . . and why do I have the sudden urge to change Earth-K G'ovich from a snake-man to some sort of "spider"-man? Ooo, I kind of like that, it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Dang it, now I can't get that Jim Stafford song out of my head *sigh*

I'm hoping to not only find the time and frame of mind to finish up Anansi Boys soon, but also Terry Pratchett's Thud!, which I just got from the public library for the second time, after never even opening it up the first time due to obsessive blogging. I also just got George R. R. Martin's A Feast For Crows in the mail today and am looking forward to reading it and seeing just how much I've forgotten from the first three books.

TV Tues. - Don't Todd Out About It

And the attrition through inattention continues! Have officially relegated Smallville and Reunion to "watch on DVD . . . maybe" status. And now, on to the shows that I haven’t given up on . . . yet.

How I Met Your Mother: The weakest ep so far; highlight of the show was this conversation:

Lily: Oh, just play it cool, don't Ted out about it.
Ted: Did you just use my name as a verb?
Barney: Oh, yeah, we do that behind your back. To Ted out: to overthink. Also see: Ted up: to overthink something with disastrous results. Sample sentence: Billy really Tedded up when he . . .

Seriously, change the vowel, add a consonant at the end, and I have a feeling that a new term will soon have entered into the CoIM lexicon. Now, if only the character that spawned this phrase didn't do such stupid stuff . . . that's nothing like me at all!

Arrested Development: So, I'm taping AD on one vcr and watching last week's Everwood on another while waiting for How I Met Your Mother to start (yes, I have an insanely complicated viewing schedule, and remember, this is after jettisoning at least 10 shows from my schedule) when I get an IM from Zinger saying that George Michael reminded him of me in this ep; I responded that I would be watching it later that evening, at which time I would decide whether to be amused or offended. Fastforward to me watching the sequences of George Michael and his dad talking about doing guy stuff, and George Michael not only being uncoordinated, but actually ducking and covering anytime anything was tossed to him, and thinking to myself that I might need to start a "Curse You, Zinger Stoneheart" page as well . . . Anyway, couple of great eps, with the highlight being the Mole vs. Rocketpants in Tiny Town sequence. Great stuff.

My Name is Earl: Randy cutting Earl's toenails while he's sleeping was one of those great, "Where the heck did that come from?" moments. Love comedy like that. Was also great to see Missi Pyle as the snooty contestant: "I haven't thought about how much better I am than her in years." Priceless. Almost as priceless as Joy doing a soft-shoe on the pretend ashes of her dead mother.

The Office: Best part of the whole ep was the opening sequence with the prank involving Dwight's desk, just brilliantly executed.

Bones: Still loving this show; don't know a thing about the legalities, and couldn't care less: it's all about the characters. Loved Bones' total obliviousness to the massive flirting aimed in her direction. Also loved the Blair Witch references. But I have to say that I knew who the killer was long before they did; not because of my keen powers of observation in regards to the plot; no, I was able to apply the "Oh, look, only one of the suspects is played by an actor I know, he must have done it" rule, which is usually most applicable on CSI or Without a Trace. "Oh, look, it's three unknowns and star of stage and screen, Zeljko Ivanek, I wonder which one did it." In this case, it was Alex Carter who's been on a couple of failed series (Point Pleasant, Veritas: The Quest), but would probably be most recognized for his recurring role as a detective on CSI.

Survivor: I like the hidden immunity idol idea, I'm just doubtful that it's ever going to play a factor, other than wearing the contestants out searching for it. Hated to see Brandon go this week, but at the same time, it increases the chances that Bobby John will finally snap and whup the tar out of Jaime.

Ultimate Fighter: I pretty much knew going in that Luke didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of beating Joe; my one hope was that he would be able to hold his own and not be submitted. In the first round I was afraid those hopes were about to be dashed, but Luke managed do an awesome job in the last two rounds of keeping Joe from taking complete control. I was a little less certain of the Brad/Rashad match-up beforehand; I was hoping Brad would take it, but was afraid that Rashad's experience would give him the advantage; looks like I was right. I think if Brad could have had a little more control in his striking, Rashad would have been out of it, but all of his punches looked so sloppy, it was no wonder he didn't connect more. Really, the deciding factor was that Rashad was able to rock him twice; I think if Brad had been able to knock Rashad down even once, the decision would have gone the other way. So, neither of the fights went the way I wanted, but at least Luke and Brad both fought their hearts out and made it a close battle. I didn't have much investment in the other two fights on the card; the first one was okay, but I was really impressed by the level of activity in the Diego/Diez fight; best grappling I've seen in quite a while. Gotta love Diego's comment on seeing the replay "Wow, that's a lot of action, look like two little lizards going at it."

The O.C.: Still dislike the whole "evil dean" thing, am glad it seems to be over *knock on wood*; on the flip side, still enjoying the evil Jeri Ryan thing, and am curious how she thinks she can get blood from the stone that is Julie Cooper. I also enjoy the fact that they're letting Seth and Summer stay together and act as the problem solvers, even if their methods made me very uncomfortable in a "this is all going to blow up in their faces, isn't it?" sort of way. Although the whole "Marissa falling for the new guy" storyline is so soap opera that it makes me cringe, I think it's all worth it for this exchange from next week's trailer:

Sandy: Where's Marissa?
Summer: Oh, she can't make it, she's at the beach with Johnny.
Ryan: *stunned look of rage*
Seth: Ryan, try not to punch Summer.

Well, it made me laugh, anyway.

Everwood: The scene of Hannah and Amy freaking out at the horribly disgusting state of the guys' apartment gave me flashbacks to my days rooming with Wrath, G'ovich, et al; man, were we pigs. Good times, good times. And I'd just like to say that I love Hannah, and am hoping that the rumors of her departure are just rumors, and that they go ahead and move her to a full-time cast member sometime soon. I also really like Ephraim's piano student; he's surly enough to remind you of early Ephraim, but different enough not to seem like a carbon copy.

The Apprentice: Listening to Marcus rambling on endlessly about how precious time is while effectively wasting everyone's time was high comedy; listening to him spouting off at The Donald after he got fired was even more so; what's sad is that I'm sure that in his mind, he was an incredibly effective communicator and productive worker, and you'll never be able to convince him otherwise. Hearing him stumble through his final speech going "I um er uh I, I, I, um, speak intelligently, er, um, uh" . . . hallelujah he's gone! The fact that his worthless behind had managed to skate through while other, much more deserving people have been cut loose, has been incredibly frustrating. The Donald's reaction to finding out the Clay was gay was priceless.

Unscripted: Just finished the first disc of this mostly-improvised HBO series about struggling actors. One of those shows that borders on "unbearably uncomfortable" at times, and yet has enough really, really funny stuff that isn't totally based on embarrassing situations to make it worth my while to suffer through the uncomfortable stuff.

And last, but most certainly not least . . .

Trapped in the Closet: pts.6-8: Not only is this the very definition of the term "unintentional comedy," I doubt there is much out there which can rival it for sheer "they can't be serious?" laughs. I mean, R. Kelly talking in an exaggerated Southern drawl which is being lip-synched by an overweight white woman in trailer trash gear? Priceless. The DVD containing the final 4 parts is currently the top of my queue on Netflix; can't wait to see just what other "shocking twists" are in store.

The Battle's Done, and We've Kind of Won . . .

After an intense round of obsessive blogging and insomnia in an effort to defeat my mental demons, followed by a few days of zero-to-little blogging and a little bit of actual sleep, I think it's a perfect time to take a step back, glance at the landscape of CoIM and figure out the answer to this burning question: Where do we go from here?

Okay, so maybe the question isn't all that burning, but it has been occupying my mind as I neared the end of my journey through what I sometimes affectionately think of as my "dumbass days"; a journey that others refer to as my "moping and complaining for two weeks." I can admit that it has, at times, been a little heavy, depressing, and oppressive; with luck, we're past all that for the time being. So, now what?

When I first started CoIM, I had the alliterative structure in place to force me into writing something each day; as has become painfully obvious, that sort of structure is not really necessary anymore; in fact, I completely skipped Written Word Wednesday and 4-Color Friday this week without a peep from anyone, even the three people who actually read my 4-Color Friday posts. Having been able to break from my structure once without any negative reactions frees me from my borderline-OCD need to conform to the structure religiously; I'll still do those posts as they come to me, but I probably won't be making any more "Um, hey, didn't read anything this week, sorry" posts. Movie Mondays and TV Tuesdays will still be a staple for the foreseeable future, though; I enjoy sharing my thoughts on my latest viewings, even if my comments mean next to nothing to anyone else.

So, I'm keeping two structured things, and relegating two others to once in a blue moon postings; what about the rest of my time?

First of all, I'd like to start telling more anecdotes about my misadventures with Parkerites, Book Monkeys, Singles, etc. The only problem is coming up with anecdotes that are sufficiently entertaining and/or interesting, but which won't prompt the participants to hunt me down afterwards in order to rip my arm off and beat me with the bloody end for embarrassing them; it's a fine line to walk.

Next, I would like to do more character sketches about the people on the Cast List; I know lots of the anecdotes will work better if you have a better grasp of the people involved. I plan to have the Flunky spotlight post up by the end of the week, and the winner of the Book Monkey poll by the next week; I haven't decided if I'm going to go ahead and do a poll for the first Singles spotlight, or just run with it; we'll see how I feel when Friday rolls around.

I'd also like to come up with some more interesting polls to use as a springboard into future posts, but I think that might be a while in taking shape.

I don't know if anyone else enjoyed my little foray into Earth-K, but it amused the heck out of me, so you can probably expect to see a little bit more of that; I'm tempted to move it and other comic book style posts to a spin-off blog a la Curse You G'ovich; although, that sounds suspiciously like creating extra work for myself now that I think about it . . .

I'm all about the interactive CoIM experience here; I've really enjoyed hearing people's thoughts and reactions and wild interpretations of my posts. In that spirit, I would like to open up the floor once again to anyone who would like to add their voice to CoIM for a guest post; so far I have a commitment from Fellow Book Monkey and Blogger Bubblegum Tate, who'll be doing a special 4-Color Friday post soon, and Flunky Lover, whose topic of choice has yet to be revealed to me.

And, of course I'll still continue to create the occasional "random thought that just popped into my head" post as my muse dictates.

One final note: I'm going to try to pace myself a little better with my posts. The two- and three-a-day posts, while receiving some positive comments from people who can't wait for their next CoIM fix (and, honestly, who can blame them?), also tend to drain the very life-force from my body. Plus, there's always the fear that I'll run out of clever and amusing anecdotes before I get the opportunity to create new ones. Not saying there won't be any more multi-posts in a day; I think we all know that there are times when the compulsion to get something out there will be overwhelming (see the last 4 or 5 Secret Origins posts for example), but I probably won't be making double posts every day, unless the public outcry is too great; can't disappoint my massive public of approximately 10-15 regular readers, now can I?

So, that's sort of where we are right now: less mopey, more anecdotey, with a little lightening of the structure. We'll see how long this phase lasts.

Minimalist Movie Mon

Due to obsessive blogging and a weekend at Casa de G'ovich, my movie watching was severely curtailed last week. So, here are my whole two movie reviews for today:

Heights: Not at all what I expected; the synopsis made it sound like a straightforward story of a mother and daughter whose lives begin to unravel on the same day, but there's a lot more to it than that; there are multiple storylines with multiple characters who all finally intersect in the mother and daughter's lives. Glen Close plays the mother, and does a great job as usual. Overall, a well-done movie; nothing that really blew me away, but it held my interest.

Boo!: Started off pretty well for a cheap haunted hospital horror flick, but about 40 minutes in one of the characters started making some the most boneheaded moves I've ever seen in any sort of movie, ever. While I can commend the thoughts behind having the character totally flip out, the way it was accomplished was just annoying. Most of the actors did tolerable jobs, although the cop and the son of his old partner were both horribly wooden. A frustrating film in that it has enough cool scenes and concepts to make you want to like it, too much stupid stuff to qualify as a good film, but not enough quality badness to earn it points for cheesiness.

What Happens in Center, Stays in Center

I have returned, my dear blog monkeys, did you miss me greatly? I'm betting the general answer is "no," since my trusty Site Meter has shown that weekends are generally pretty low traffic. Anyway, I made it to the Center of Eeeeeeeeevil and back without losing my life; as for my sanity, well, I think we're all agreed that its health has been in question for quite some time now. I can only really think of three truly Eeeeeeeeevil things that the Doc did while I was there; lulling me into a false sense of security for next time? Perhaps. But now that I've made it back in one piece, I'm sure you're all dying to know all the juicy details of my trip, right?

Sorry to disappoint you, my insatiably curious blog monkeys, but the G'ovich household was declared a blog-free zone for the weekend; apparently, the Parkerites do not trust my judgment on what is and is not appropriate blogging material; I don't know why that might be, other than the fact that I once stated something to the effect “you’d better not just trust my blogging judgment and tell me if you want me to leave stuff out.” So, true to my word, I hastily agreed, and so the vast majority of the events of this weekend will not be revealed. However, there are three things I think I can mention without violating the spirit of the agreement and incurring the wrath of all involved. *knock on wood*

(1) Had a good time watching the eldest of Doc and Rocket's kids play football on Saturday; due to him being one of three kids on his team with the same name, he was given two nicknames by the coaches: Cujo, and Little Insert-apparently-very-popular-in-1997-boy's-name-here; for our purposes, he shall be known as Li'l Cujo G'ovich. Having inherited a good portion of my mother's DNA, I yelled very very loudly for large portions of the game; most of the time I tried to focus my attention on what Li'l Cujo was doing, but it all depended on which side of the field he was positioned. Biggest play of the game (from our perspective, anyway) came during one of the times he happened to be closest to our side of the field; the other team had the ball, and were attempting a rare passing play. Li'l Cujo, who, we learned later, had heard them call for a passing play, kept his eye out for a receiver, and positioned himself for the interception. As soon as the ball was thrown, I think all of the Parkerites could see that it was all Cujo; he was positioned just right so that the only other person close enough to interfere was his own teammate; well, no sooner had Li'l Cujo caught the ball, then that's what his over-eager teammate proceeded to do; apparently caught up in the idea of making an interception himself, the kid plowed right into Cujo, knocking them both down. When the play was dead and the dust settled, guess who it was getting up with the ball in hand and doing a mini victory dance? If you said "Li'l Cujo" then you are an optimist, and I praise you for your positive, if sadly naïve and mistaken, worldview. In the grand scheme of things, not that big of a deal, since their team was getting the ball either way; still, for Li'l Cujo to make one of his biggest plays of the season while we were all there rooting for him, and then have it swiped by a teammate . . . a bit irksome.

(2)The night before the trip I only got about 4 hours of sleep, due to my mega-blog posts of Thursday and Friday; staying up till all hours of the night after reaching Center and not being able to make myself sleep-in the next day resulted in another approximate 4 hours of sleep; I did manage to get about 7 hours of sleep last night, but the damage had already been done, especially in light of the fact that I spent a good portion of Saturday throwing the football around and roughhousing with Li'l Cujo; yes, that's right, I spent a large amount of my time beating up on an 8 year old; listen, it's not that often that I find someone I can pick on successfully, I have to take full advantage of it; besides, this morning he called in his sister for reinforcement, and I was the G'ovich children's personal punching bag and jungle gym for most of the morning. All of that to say: I'm exhausted. I spent a good deal of Saturday afternoon after the game just sort of zoning out sitting by the pond while the others fished, waiting for my 15th wind to kick in; today I actually felt less mentally sound after 7 hours of sleep than I did on the days I only had 4. I found myself in what might have been viewed as an anti-social mood; it's not that I didn't want to visit with people, it's that my brain just didn’t seem to be able to compose itself well enough to carry on a normal conversation with anyone over the age of 8 for lengthy periods of time; I'm afraid I was far from the most scintillating conversationalist for Pooh and Coronela on the ride home. It wouldn't surprise me at all if the loyal blog monkeys among the group were experiencing thoughts of "Oh, crap, what set off Cap'n Touchy this time?" at some point today due to my odd sleep-deprived state of mind. And if the phrasing of the following sentence prompts you to wonder if that means that there were some group members who weren't loyal blog monkeys, well, that brings us to the next point:

(3) The answers to Friday’s burning questions are, in reverse order, "yes" and "no." Apparently, when I sent out the mass email about CoIM, The Eskimo's got lost in cyberspace (I just double-checked to make sure that he was on the Send list), because while he was aware of my Infinite Monkey Press page, the blog's existence was a total surprise. And now, skirting the edges of the "no blogging zone" agreement, and not getting into any of the specific details of the resultant covnersation, let me just say that I discovered this weekend that the definition of "everyone" in the "everyone knows you don't like The Eskimo" statement was not nearly as all-inclusive as the phrase "everyone" should be; I now feel like a gigantic ass for having posted all of that without ever having discussed it with him; y'know the “no blogging zone” request is making more sense by the minute, isn't it? So, um, yeah . . . sorry about that, my Eskimo friend; please keep in mind, I was young, stupid, socially backward, and mentally unstable back then, and at least one of those isn't true any more.

So, that was my experience at the G'ovich house in a highly censored nutshell; even with today's oddly disassociative mental state (which a 45 minute drive home alone trying to compose this post in my head and lots of caffeine have temporarily eliminated), I had a really good time; lots of nostalgia, lots of interesting conversations, lots of Eeeeeeeeevil entertainment, lots of bullying 7 and 8 year old children; does life get any better than that?

Yea, Though I Walk Through the Valley of the Center of Eeeeeeeeeeevil

First things first: I hope you’ve enjoyed the mega-sized posts of the last few days, because there will probably be a paucity of posting the rest of the weekend. And why is that? It’s because I’m about to go forth on a perilous journey, from which I may never return . . .

Today, I shall venture forth into the center of the Eeeeeeeeevil one's power, a town called Center, Texas. Coincidence? Or an arrogant challenge sent out by G'ovich to the forces of Good everywhere, taunting them to try to take him on where his Eeeeeeeeevil has grown most concentrated? It seems pretty obvious to me which it is.

I shall not be alone in my travels; I shall have Pooh and Coronela by my side, but I do not know if they shall be able to help me stave off the power of the Eeeeeeeeevil one, especially since recent events have shown that he has succeeded in spreading his Eeeeeeeeevil to others; I’m afraid no one is safe.

And how did I come to be making this journey into the very heart of all that is vile and corrupt? What sort of emergency or catastrophe would prompt me to place myself in such imminent danger? The answer, my worried blog monkeys, is simple: Clan G'ovich invited me.

"No, Cap'n, no!" you call out to me through monkey telepathy, "don't go, it's a trick, it's a trap!" Oh, I know, my loyal blog monkeys, believe me, I know.

So, why am I embarking on such a dangerous endeavor, knowing full well that I may not return with my sanity intact, let alone my life? Curiosity is part of it, I suppose; I have never been able to resist the urge to peel back the layers of G'ovich's machinations, and well he knows it. Also, Flunky has insinuated that this is all part of a plot to have me removed from the playing field in his world domination schemes, due to my discovery of the Spawn's special abilities; whether this is the truth, or a smokescreen to distract me from Flunky's true plans, I do not yet know, but must find out.

Plus, I get to see the Doc’s 8 year old son play football, couldn't pass that up.

Also in attendance this weekend will be Clan Eskimo, whose presence will answer two burning questions:

1. Have they been reading the blog and following my "apparently everyone and their dog knew I didn't like him" posts?
2. Will they remember to give me back my Firefly DVDs?
   

Three guesses which one concerns me more.

I make this post, my poor, frightened blog monkeys, in the hopes that if I should fail to post by Monday, or post something that feels strange, or off, or (heaven forefend) pro-G'ovich, you will give the proper notification to the authorities: the first, best line of defense against the incursion of Eeeeeeeeevil has fallen.

Crisis on Earth-K!

Remember a while back when I talked about Dr. G'ovich having some interesting ideas for CoIM? Well, one of them was to take my trusty Cast of Characters, expose them to some cosmic rays, radioactive spiders, toxic waste, and magic brownies, and then chronicle their super-powered adventures. When he first suggested it, I immediately thought "Brilliant!" and then promptly forgot about it as the other aspects of CoIM overwhelmed my feeble mind; it would soon be taken out of my hands, however. Due to a cosmic alignment of immense proportions, I suddenly found myself inundated with visions of a neighboring reality as viewed through the eyes of a slightly different Cap’n Neurotic; a reality where good and evil do ceaseless battle while wearing gaudy costumes and spouting catchphrases like "It's Clobberin' Time!" or "By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggath!" or "Get That Out Of Your Mouth, You Don't Know Where It's Been!"

Yes, let us now turn our attention from our own Earth-M (the m is for monkey) to the splendiferous reality of Earth-K. The K? It's for Kickass!


To begin our chronicles of Earth-K, we shall focus on three of its more prominent super-beings, whose super-powered origins are more closely intertwined than they realize: the Earth-K equivalents of Cap'n Neurotic, Flunky, and Dr. G'ovich.

Cap'n Neurotic: Beaned on the head at a young age by a crate of radioactive comic books and suffering millions of paper cuts from their irradiated pages, the young man who would become Cap'n Neurotic began to notice his mind slowly beginning to fragment; fearful that he was going insane, he did his best to disguise the growing inconsistencies in his mental processes. He was able to minimize the effects for many years, until he was accidentally subjected to the stresses generated by the cosmic calamity known to the residents of Earth-K as The Crisis of Infinite Monkeys; in a flash of psychic power which caused him to witness the truth behind the Crisis first hand, the young man's mind was blown, for real: he suddenly realized that the fragmentation was due to his psychic abilities breaking through the borders of reality; ever since the accident his mind had been accessing several different alternate reality versions of himself. But due to The Crisis, he was suddenly connected to all possible versions of himself from across the multiverse simultaneously; countless numbers of alternate Cap’n Neurotic’s found themselves torn from their own bodies, and trapped in the mind of the Earth-K Cap’n, making him, if not the first Multiple Personality super-hero (that would be Moon Knight), or the creepiest (that would be Legion), or even the coolest (that would be Crazy Jane), at least the most recent. Armed with his knowledge of the truth behind The Crisis, Cap'n Neurotic has appointed himself as guardian of the balance, attempting to maintain the stability of the multiverse, even as he struggles to maintain the stability within his own mind . . . and the two are not necessarily unconnected . . .

The Cap'n's powers shift depending on which personality rises to the surface; not even he is sure what abilities he will be able to wield in any given situation; he most frequently calls upon the power of The Electric Toad, the least traumatized of the many personalities. Most of his powers are psychic in nature, although they run the full gamut of super-normal abilities.

Dr. G'ovich, a.k.a. Snake-oil: A promising student of the human mind, Dr. Gregorovich G'ovich was obsessed with exploring the secrets of the potential locked with the part of the human brain known as the "reptile mind." When faced with the loss of funding and confiscation of his research, the good doctor did what any self-respecting mad scientist would do: injected himself with his experimental formula based on radioactive snake DNA. And, like all self-respecting mad scientists, after the formula had wreaked its terrible changes on him and driven him even more insane than before, he swore revenge on the forces which he believed had conspired against him. He clashed with many heroes, including Cap'n Neurotic in his Electric Toad guise, and the idealistic Nature Boy, before exposure to a chunk of infinitmonkium changed him further; now, his insanity was back down to pre-serum levels, but his power and purpose were multiplied. The Doctor now views himself as an agent of chaos, and uses his astounding mental abilities to sow discord and disharmony throughout the cosmos. So twisted and Machiavellian are Snake-oil's plots that his opponents are never sure what his true motives are; what the hero might view as a win may be just what Snake-oil wanted to happen. While he claims to be Eeeeeeeeevil, Snake-oil's true motives are much more complex; he is just as likely to be at cross-purposes with Cap'n Neurotic as he is to aid him; Snake-oil's random nature is both one of his greatest strengths, and greatest weaknesses.

Snake-oil's powers are both physical and mental in nature. Physically, he gained increased strength, speed, and serpentine flexibility. Originally, he had the ability to access the fear centers of an opponents' brain in order to cause them to hallucinate and panic; following his upgrade, this has evolved into a form of telepathy; he can now actually read the fears and neuroses of his victims directly, preferring to use his pilfered knowledge to manipulate and intimidate them; the telepathy also grants him a form of enhanced charisma, which he refers to as his "super forked tongue"; many who have allowed Snake-oil to speak his words of mischief in their ears have not survived to hear anything else ever again.

Flunky, a.k.a. Nature Boy : The origin of the young crimefighter who once called himself Nature Boy is shrouded in mystery; one rumor says that he was granted powers when he was entranced by the spirit of the earth which was trapped inside a mystic flower on a soccer field; others say he gained his ecological powers after swallowing a radioactive toothpick which then bent his DNA; others say he’s just a freak. While he had an illustrious career in the world of superheroing, it was cut short when he suffered a lower-case-crisis of conscience following the death of his mentor, Shogun Ally, during the upper-case-Crisis. Incensed over the injustice of a world where a good man like Shogun could die while scum like G'ovich were free, Nature Boy retreated into seclusion, and reappeared years later, having taken the ironic name of “Flunky” as a symbol of his perceived role as a dupe of the system; he announced he would keep this new identity until he fulfilled his goal. And what is this goal? Total world domination, of course, in an effort to insure that all of the evils of the world are eliminated; he envisions himself as a champion of order, and is willing to sacrifice whomever he deems necessary to achieve that order. His obsessive need for absolute control often brings him into conflict with others who view themselves as heroes; many of his former associates fear that his new name might be more apt then he realizes, and that he really is merely a flunky of some other, shadowy figure, pulling his strings.

During his time as Nature Boy, his powers were tied directly into the biosphere, giving him some measure of mental control over the terrain and weather; also much like the mythological Antaeus, he drew strength and speed from the Earth itself; when he was in direct contact with the soil, he was nigh unto unstoppable. During his years of seclusion, he transformed himself into a walking instrument of war; he still retains his earthmoving abilities, but prefers to rely on an array of high-tech weapons, as any overt use of his eco-powers is a reminder of his painful past. As part of his master plan, he is slowly building an army of loyal (albeit brainwashed) subjects; aiding him in this are the shadowy figures known only as Flunky Force Five, only two of whom have been revealed so far: the Shadow Queen and the Spawn of Flunky.

And there you have it, representatives of the three sides of the Earth-K power struggle: Order, Chaos, and Balance; just like an L.E. Modesitt novel or an issue of Dr. Fate; hey, when we here at CoIM rip things off, we rip them off from the best!

So, what’s next in store for the residents of Earth-K? I’m afraid the answer to that is a bit hazy right now; as one of the lucky Cap’n Neurotics who was not absorbed into the Earth-K Cap’n’s mind, I can only wait until the psychic connection is reestablished, giving me a further glance into this brave new world.

A Phrase You Never Thought You'd Hear: "And the winner is . . . Flunky!"

I keed! I keed 'cause I love!

Spotlight on Parkerites

Which of these prominent Parkerites would you most like to see featured in a special spotlight post? Tell us about everyone's favorite whipping boy, the de-sainted Flunky! (4) We want to hear about the power behind the throne, Flunky Lover! (2) We're curious about that Parrothead, Pooh-bear! (1) The "deceptive silence" comment intrigues us, tell us more of this Zinger! (1) Diganos sobre Coronela! (1) C'mon, you've barely scratched the surface of Wrath teh Berzerkr! (2) We can't get our fill of Eeeeeevil, give us more Dr. G'ovich! (0) We're dying to know more about the Eeeeevil One's wife, Rocket G'ovich! (0) Parkerites, Shmarkerites, what about us Book Monkeys?!?! (3) Yeah, what he said, but about The Singles! (1) Total Votes: 15

It looks like I get to shine the blinding spotlight of truth and revelation on everyone's favorite future benevloent dictator, Flunky! Wrath and Flunky Lover were a close second out of the actual nominees, with votes spread evenly among everyone else except the members of Clan "If I never have to read that name on this blog again it will be too soon" G'ovich. And since there are apparently some impatient Book Monkeys out there, this week's poll shall try to appease their desperate cries for attention by selecting one of them as the target of a spotlight post all their own.

It's a Guy Thing pt.3 - Talkin' Trash About Trash Talkin'

Now, as much as I miss Hanging Out With The Guys, it's not all fun and games; sometimes its intense frustration and games, or psychological torture and games, or even murderous rage and games; can you spot the commonality in all of these?


After 18 years of couch-potato life, I was finally dragged off my lazy butt and pushed into athletic activity during my time at Parker; in the beginning, it was primarily basketball and volleyball, but other activities would later creep in. While the exercise was definitely needed, and I was enjoying the opportunity to finally Hang Out With The Guys on the courts, there were a few factors that kept me from fully enjoying the experience at the time.

The first was my total lack of skill, about which I couldn't help but feel self-conscious; this was a big part of the “embarrassing self on purpose vs. embarrassing self on accident” discussion between G’ovich and myself. Going out, trying me best, and falling flat on my face was never fun; I don’t care how often people tell you “trying your best is all that matters,” it never rings true to the recipient of the advice, who feel patronized; or, at least, I usually did. Yes, as I played more and more, I started to improve; the only problem is, as I improved, so did my friends; the gap between us might have shrunk a little, but it was still pretty significant. And no matter how much they might try to tell me that they didn't care, that I didn't have anything to prove, I still felt like I did; I didn’t want to Hang Out With The Guys and feel like I was a dead weight.

Part of this was due to the second factor: my competitive nature. While I might not have inherited a full-blown case of over-competitiveness from my dad's side of the family (my mom swears she once saw his cousins nearly get into a fist fight over a game of charades), I still pack a pretty large dose. I don't necessarily have to win every single time; I just have to not lose every single time; or, at the very least, not get beaten down like a dog every single time. And, since I knew all of The Guys were at least as competitive as I was, and most of them probably more so, every time I started to feel like I was sucking, I felt like I was dragging them down with me, earning their eternal contempt, so on and so forth, you know the drill by now.

And then there was the third factor: trash talk. By now you're all familiar with Dr. G'ovich's powerful ability to mess with my mind, his uncanny ability to echo the negative self-images that were bouncing around in my head; it was on the field of athletic competition that his abilities were at their most destructive. I know to him it was just part of the game, just a way to psyche out the opponent to gain an advantage; to young, unstable, manic-depressive Cap'n Low Self Esteem, it was an affirmation that he was the suckiest player to ever disgrace the field of play; no matter how much I might be able to accept it wasn't meant as a personal attack before or after the game, in the heat of the moment it killed me, every time; sometimes it manifested as anger at him, sometimes anger at myself, sometimes both; I honestly think the self-directed anger often won out, with the trash talk triggering factor two and its “Why aren’t you good enough?” spiel.

You may be wondering to yourselves why the heck I would be missing something that was obviously such a horrible experience for me; very good question. The answer is, of course, that it wasn't always horrible; I had plenty of fun times playing ball; those good times just don't stay in the memory as well as the bad ones; now, that trait I got from my great-grandmother, who held a grudge until the day she died against a girl who ticked her off when she was in kindergarten.

Out of all the different sports we played, basketball was probably my least favorite, the one I was least confident in, and therefore the one where the trash talk bothered me the most; I enjoyed volleyball quite a bit more, mostly because I felt I could see more improvement in my game play than I could in b-ball. I was also introduced to the joys of racquetball by Zinger, although it would be a while before I would really come to enjoy it whole-heartedly, since the Stonehearted one refused to take pity on me, and stomped my butt consistently (see earlier comment about hating to be beaten down like a dog); it wouldn't be until I taught J.D. to play several years later that I was able to fully enjoy playing the game, even after the danged quick study started to also stomp my butt consistently; the secret of said enjoyment being that our semester of playing coincided with one my the year I roomed with The Old Man, which was one of my more mentally stable semesters.

One other form of competition I enjoyed when Hanging Out With The Guys; beating the crap out of each other. Wrestling, trading punches, trading kicks, swatting the heck out of each other with plastic swords from the dollar store: it was all good. Now, this might sound strange coming from Cap’n “I’m a Lover, Not a Fighter”, but it’s the truth. I suppose part of it was me finally getting in touch with the aggressive part of myself which I had suppressed for so long, or, perhaps more accurately, the aggressive part of myself finally breaking free of its restraints during my time of near mental-breakdown; another part of it was feeling like I could almost hold my own with G’ovich and Flunky in the “beat the crap out of each other” arena at the time (although the You realize you’re not hurting me at all incident (for more of which, see the latest entry at Curse You G’ovich) seemed to put the lie to that theory, which (man, is this a bunch of parenthetical comments (just like Princess Bride, eh, Cap’n Disaster) or what?) is possibly why it bothered me so much at the time), which I really couldn’t say about any of the other competitions of the time; and then, of course, there was just the satisfaction of being able to hit the Eeeeeeeeevil one repeatedly in an attempt to inflict on him the same amount of pain physically he inflicted on me mentally; who wouldn’t love that?

Following the Great Parkerite Exodus and J.D. moving to Arkansas, I fell back into slug mode (not to be confused with S.L.U.G.S. mode: Single Liking Un-Gravy-ed Stuff), and would not come out of it until I started working out with Bizarro-Zinger and The Trumpeteer in ’03; unfortunately, once they both moved out of the picture, and I started grad school, I became spud-like yet again; here’s hoping that now that school is all over I can finally get myself back on the work-out wagon; but I digress.

I know that my intense self-consciousness playing sports has led to a lot of problems over the years (see the account of my volleyball self-destruction for a prime example), but I have high hopes that, if called upon to play sports while Hanging Out With The Guys, whether Parkerite Guys or not, the more stable version of myself will be able to just focus on having a good time, not worry about not being the best, and take any trash talk in stride; if G’ovich were to taunt me with a patented “You realize you aren’t hurting me at all” today, I’d like to think that I would not respond in a explosion of anger and frustration, but would instead calmly redouble my efforts to show him what hurting really is; because that’s what Guys do.

Secret Origin of Cap'n Neurotic pt.15 - The Grand Finale, or "Anti-Climactic. Anti-Climatic Means You're Against the Weather"

Well, here we are, the end of the road; what a long strange trip it's been, eh, my blog monkeys? I hope it's been an interesting and enlightening to you as it has been to me; I definitely have a better perspective on why things went they way they did, now. Regrets? I've had a few; but then again, too few to mention . . . well, except, y'know, for all the many, many regrets that I have mentioned; okay, maybe those lyrics weren't that appropriate after all.

Anyway, on to the mildly interesting conclusion!


In late 2003 I got a message from Wrath teh Berzerkr, inviting me down to Plano over Labor Day Weekend for the first annual live PFL draft, held at his house; the majority of the PFL was going to be there, including Flunky, whom I hadn't seen or talked to since well before 9-11, and who had been stationed overseas for a bit. So, I got to crash the PFL draft and see several people I hadn't seen for ages, including Special K. Clan Flunky was staying at the Berzerkr's house, so after everyone else had ventured off, I stayed and visited for a while. It was cool, because we picked up right were we left off when we were still rooming together; there was none of that awkwardness that marked the first few meetings with any of the other Parkerites after that span of time; truth be told, I had been a bit nervous going in.

The other cool thing about that weekend was that it marks the first time in a very long time that G'ovich and I were able to carry on a conversation that lasted more than two sentences apiece. What triggered this sudden thawing? Haven't the foggiest. Maybe I had finally reached the point of feeling comfortable enough with myself to let go off all of the weird psychological baggage that made me double- and triple-check everything I said in fear of screwing things up; I do remember feeling much more comfortable around the extended group of The Eskimo and The Squatch than I ever had before, and maybe he sensed that. Or, maybe I had blown all of the previous awkwardness way out of proportion in my mind, and now that I wasn't looking for trouble, there was none to be found. Not saying we were suddenly best buds again; but that weekend did go a long way to making me rethink the whole depressing "we'll never really be friends again" idea which had lodged itself in my head over the previous 4 or 5 years.

By the time of the next draft, they had decided to do it as an auction, and I was asked if I would like to be the auctioneer. On the one hand, I really wanted to say yes; as much as I had enjoyed my time at the previous draft, I had still felt slightly awkward being the only non-participant who wasn't a spouse or child of one of the participants. On the other hand, I was a bit nervous to be sitting center stage in that group, trying to keep things running smoothly while dealing with the info of NFL players with whom I was not overly familiar. But the gripping hand was that I was happy that I had been considered for it (even knowing that there probably wasn't anyone else they could ask), and knew that if I turned it down and still showed up, there would have been some weirdness in the air, even if it was of my own invention; yes, 3/4 of maintaining my new nearly-stable personality is recognizing what will definitely cause me to lose my grip on reality, and then avoiding it; being able to regain my grip more quickly when it does happen and having a sense of humor about myself is the other 1/4.

So, I said yes and had a good time overall; yes, I did get a little frustrated at times, and there was some snapping at folks towards the end, but when all was said and done, I was glad I'd participated. I got many compliments on how well I'd done; of course, 99% of them all come from an inebriated Eskimo, who was feeling very effusive; one of my favorite memories of the night was him turning to me during one of the breaks and saying "You know what? I just realized I know nothing about you; where are you from, anyway?" Now, by this point in time, my irrational dislike for The Eskimo had gone the way of the dodo; at the same time, I never felt 100% comfortable around him either; the stigma of everyone knowing of that irrational feeling was a bit hard to get past. But with that question asked, that acknowledgement that we had been around each other for 8 or 9 years and yet really knew next to nothing about each other, I was finally able to just say to myself "dude, that was years ago, let it go!" And thus was I one step closer to being at peace with my place in the Parkerite scheme of things.

It was after that draft auction that we tried to organize some regular Poker nights; where years before I might have been thankful for an excuse to get out of going and thus avoid my Outsider-born awkwardness, now I was getting bummed when I wasn't able to attend for one reason or another. By the time we had our next major Parkerite gathering for the Eskimo Clan baby shower, I had finally demolished pretty much all of the barriers I’d put up; it was like old times, with Flunky, G’ovich and I staying up late playing video games at which I stunk and they rocked, only without the whole “depression over sucking” thing hovering over my head. With all of these successes behind me, I was able to go into the gathering this last Labor Day without a worry in the world; not only was I willing to go out and shoot baskets with Zinger and G’ovich, but I didn’t let the fact that I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn bum me out. That, my blog monkeys, is what we in the business like to call “progress.”

You may be wondering why, if everything was so hunky-dory, did I feel the need to dredge up all of this junk? I’ve been wondering that myself, since at times it seems like doing so has made people think that my progress has started to regress. I suppose I could have just left well enough alone, but I guess G’ovich’s challenge to me to make myself vulnerable on the blog struck a chord with me; once I began to consider opening up the old wounds, it was inevitable that I would do so; once I started, it was impossible to stop.

I wish I could sit here and tell you that I’m 100% stable now, that all traces of my neurotic tendencies are gone, but that would be a lie; I still have moments of paranoia, still find myself shutting down around people I don’t know very well, still read too much into every thing that goes on around me; I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop any of that. But at the same time, I’ve learned how to push most of the paranoia aside; I’m aware of my wallflower tendencies and fight through them as best as I can; I may overanalyze most everything that’s said or done around me, but I’ve learned not to let it bog me down. Yes, I might be a little bummed if I find out I’ve been left out of some group plans, but it’s not going to trigger a bout of depression and grudge holding . . . well, not too big of one, anyway. I’m a different man, now; different than I was back in high school; different than I was in Parker; different than I was as a Book Monkey; heck, I’m even different than I was a year and a half ago.

This has been the Secret Origin of Cap’n Neurotic, but it’s not the end of his tale; the further adventures of the Neurotic One may test him in strange and unfamiliar ways. Sometimes he may stumble, sometimes he may fall; but as long as he continues to claw his way back up, and learns from the sins and errors of his past, then his saga will be a positive one.

It's a Guy Thing pt.2 - Watch as my Watching Waxes and Wanes

Well, I was planning on expanding on my experiences of Hanging Out With The Guys, but after Cap'n Disaster's oh so detailed summary of male bonding, I'm not sure I have anything to add; I mean butt-slapping and chest-bumping; what else is there?

I suppose I could give it a try anyway . . .


Back in pt.1 of my Secret Origin series I talked about my sports-avoidance issues, and mentioned how my interest in sports was directly related to who I was hanging out with at the time. In junior high and high school it was my role in the band that started my interest in football and basketball, but it was more of a school spirit sort of thing. Once I went off to OSU, the school spirit thing got kicked up a notch or two; the atmosphere in Stillwater on game day was crazy, and it was impossible for me not to get swept up in it. As I started hanging out more with Wrath and G'ovich, I began to get sucked into the world of the NFL; I was not yet a full-fledged convert, but I soon knew more about the Detroit Lions (Wrath's team) and San Diego Chargers (G'ovich's team) than I had ever thought I would; not that I knew all that much, mind you, but any sort of pro sports knowledge at that point was an aberration. Once we all started rooming together, my immersion in pro sports increased by another degree, as the TV was often commandeered for one game or another. My interest would wane the year I was rooming with The Old Man, but picked up again during The Year of the Flunky. And then came Fantasy Football.

Now, I wasn't too excited about the prospect of playing Fantasy Football with The Parkerites; my enjoyment of sports was all a matter of being caught up in the moment; when watching a game while Hanging Out With The Guys it was incredibly easy for me to lose myself in the spectacle of the competition; once it's all over, however, I have no head for figures and strategies and stats; I'm just not wired that way. But, while I wasn't exactly all gung-ho about the Poker Football League, I wasn't about to turn down the invite to be included in it, thinking that if I did turn down this invite, others would not be soon forthcoming; if only I had kept that in mind later on . . . So, I went ahead and joined the PFL; I have to admit that having a vested interest in how the players are performing does add something to the game-watching experience, and I actually had some dumb luck at the beginning of that first season which was nice, but I soon began to feel that I was nowhere near as serious about the game as everyone else was.

Case in point: the way the draft was set up was, we were given a random order; the first person would go online and make their first pick; this would send an email to the next person telling them it was time to make their next pick, and so on. Well, the second year I played, I was going to be in Miamuh without Internet access during the draft time, so I asked The Mag to go ahead and handle my draft; I had already kind of ranked the players before I left, and wasn't going to be that broken hearted if I didn't get all of them or not. Well, there was some miscommunication between The Mag and myself, and she didn't wind up making the draft pick nearly fast enough for everyone else's taste; I got not one, but two calls that weekend from Parkerites offering to take over the draft for her. Yes, that's right; they tracked down my parents’ number to call me because the draft was moving too slowly for their tastes. Now, that in and of itself was kind of funny; the fact that one of the calls was from the football-obsessed Wrath the Berzerkr made me smile; the fact that the other call was from Flunky, whom I hadn't heard a peep from for several months, was both funny and irritating at the same time.

But despite the humor of it all, that situation made me start to feel really weird about continuing in the PFL; I guess I felt like my half-assed participation was an annoyance to the others who were so into it, or that I was sort of the laughingstock of the group; you know, my usual paranoia of the time. So, once they started doing an entry fee so they could award prizes, I bowed out; didn't feel like paying money for something I wasn't getting that much out of, and was pretty sure that my sort-of weird feeling would only grow to a really-weird feeling now that cash was involved. Which, in hindsight, was a big mistake; leaving the PFL pretty much marks the end of any and all communication between myself and G'ovich, Special K, GMC, Flunky, etc. for the next several years; the Great Parkerite Exodus had claimed all but me by that point, and without that constant presence in the PFL, Cap'n Cellophane struck again, and I was quickly no longer a blip on any of their radars.

Without the PFL, and having no Guys To Hang Out With, I pretty much stopped paying attention to sports for the next few years; my lack of outward sports enthusiasm would lead several of The Singles to be surprised by how vocal I was during my first Super Bowl party with them; once again, get me in front of an exciting game, and I’m generally all in. I would have a brief period of much NBA watching thanks to Hyperlad's fanatical love of the Dallas Mavericks, and Bizarro-Zinger's Wrath-the-Berzerkr-like football obsession meant I got invited to a few watch parties at his place as well, but once both of them were out of the picture, so was my sports watching drive, pretty much up until I started getting invited to The Eskimo's house for Sunday and Monday games; once those gatherings were a thing of the past, so was my viewage.

So, does it make me any less of a Guy that I don't watch every football and basketball game possible unless I'm watching it with other Guys? Yeah, probably; less of a Guy-with-a-capital-G, anyway. I will occasionally watch a game if I happen to be flipping through the channels and find it on, but I'm just not the type to seek them out. So many other things to read, or watch, or write, that it often won't even dawn on me that there was a game on until someone mentions it the next day.

And there you have it; up until I get a regular invite for some sports-related Hanging Out With The Guys time, don’t expect me to be up on the latest scores, or who's playing for what team; it just ain’t gonna happen. In the next installment I’ll talk a little about the flip side of the sports coin: actually participating.

Secret Origin of Cap'n Neurotic pt.14 - Are We There Yet?

Oh, my dear blog monkeys, could it really be? Could this be the penultimate installment of the Secret Origin of Cap'n Neurotic? Es muy posible!


By 2001, I was starting to get restless in my position at OSU. I had been talking about going back to school for my MLS pretty much since I finished up my Bachelor's in '97; unfortunately OSU no longer had the program, and commuting to OU for their program really wasn't a viable option; I knew if I was going to go on to grad school, I would probably have to move to do so; therein lay the rub. Because hidden among my many, many, many fears, there lies a fear of change. I had to weigh the increasing boredom and lack of room for advancement in my position against the uncertainty of a future elsewhere, compounded with leaving behind my Book Monkey pals. After a while, I finally succumbed to the siren call of the Great Parkerite Exodus, and began looking for jobs in the Dallas area; I eventually got a job in the Cataloging department of the University of North Texas Library, and moved to Denton, TX in Dec. 2001.

When I referred to the siren call of the GPE, I wasn't just being figurative; Pooh-bear had started bugging me non-stop about getting my act together and getting back in school, and during a Parkerite get-together in Plano in August of 2001 several people, including Rocket G'ovich, bugged me about when I was going to move down there; interestingly enough, this was also the get-together which inspired the following ICQ message from me to Rebel Monkey the following week:

Although we were located in the same house for roughly 3 or 4 hours, the only words exchanged between my old friend Dr. G'ovich and myself were "Hello."

And yet, despite this ongoing disconnect between the Doc and myself evidence by that weekend, I had a really great time seeing everyone, and the questions about when I was going to move down made me start to think that it wouldn't be so bad moving down there; yes, that's right, I was actually optimistic for once . . . so, of course, once I did move down to the area, I saw most of The Parkerites, oh, next to never. I did make it down to see the Stonehearts once every month or so, but had little contact with anyone else for quite a while; I would eventually start to hang out with Clan Berzerkr (who had moved to Plano from Colorado) on those unfortunately rare occasions when our schedules would line up.

But even though I had my Plano Parkerite Pals, for the first several months I didn’t know anyone in Denton outside of my co-workers, and I hadn’t been able to really open up and be myself in the office; at OSU the energetic, frenetic staff and student workers drew me out of myself easily; the much more staid environment of Tech Services made me much more reluctant to release my more outgoing side.

Sometime around April or May, I wound up going to church for the first time since I had been in the house with G’ovich et al. I had turned down a side street one day after getting some fast food and driven by First Baptist, which had triggered in me a powerful need to attend a service. A week or two after attending FBCD, I received some visitors at my apartment: Hyperlad, Freezeout, Princess, and Angel; they were out on a visit for the church’s outreach program, FAITH, and had gotten my name and address from the visitor card I had filled out. They visited with me for a few minutes, told me all about Sunday School, and invited me to come to their class the next week; I took them up on their offer, which is when I discovered that my Outsider Complex was not quite dead and gone yet.

In many ways, my initial experience in the Singles class was a lot like my BSU days; lots of people who already knew each other, and with whom I could find no connection. One of my favorite memories of this period: one Sunday as I was sitting there in Fellowship Hall, waiting for the big All-Singles time to get underway before we split up into individual classes, one of the older Singles, who had been visiting with a couple of other guys about golf, wandered in my direction; I prepared myself to try to engage in small talk, never one of my strong suits; he stops, looks at me, says “Do you play golf?”; I say no; he then turns around and wanders back to the other guys, and never looks in my direction again. Oh, yeah, I was feeling the love then, baby!

Anyway, I sort of hung around the class for a few months, going to some functions, and feeling totally out of place; worst one was when I was forced to watch Meet the Parents for a second time, while sitting next to someone who was quoting the whole movie along with it; sheer torture; it was like the Southern Baptist Inquisition, only they weren’t doing me the courtesy of letting me confess to anything!

Finally, during a particularly Cap’n Cellophane inducing class, I made up my mind: that was it, I was getting nothing out of the experience, had found nothing in common with any of them, and was going to walk out the doors and not look back. But as soon as class ended, Hyperlad stopped me and asked if I wanted to be on his FAITH team in the upcoming semester. I, of course, did the only logical thing: I said “Can I think about it?” and left, totally planning on blowing the whole thing off. I mean, going around and talking to complete strangers? Cap’n Doesn’t-do-well-with-strangers? Get real, right? Right?

Of course, as I started to think of exactly what excuse I would give to Hyperlad, there was a little voice speaking up at the back of my head; a voice that I wasn’t quite as familiar with as I was the other voices; this was a voice that was saying “Hey, dummy, you’ve been saying that you want someone here to acknowledge you and make you feel wanted; isn’t that just what Hyperlad just did? And now you’re just going to flake because talking to strangers freaks you out? Fine, go ahead, run away, but don’t start moping about how nobody gives a dang about you.” Yes, that’s right, for once I realized that I was pushing people away before the fact, not after. I can learn after all! So, I listened to the nice voice, and called Hyperlad up and said “Sure, I’d love to be on your FAITH team”; I then got to the first meeting and discovered that he had traded me to a different team without telling me. So much for feeling wanted, eh?

It worked out pretty well, though; I was on a team with Trouble and Angel, and through them got to know the other Amigas pretty well; by the end of the year I finally felt like I was part of the class, even if I was still holding back a little. And then January ‘03 rolled around, and the Lightbulbs and Bizarro-Zinger and the Trumpeteer all joined the class, and the new dynamic inspired me to finally unleash my full pop culture, songbursty self on them one fateful Game night, wherein they tried to stump me on TV theme songs; I got tripped up on Bewitched vs. I Dream of Jeanie, as usual. And the rest, as they say, is history; I was soon invited to be a member of the class’s leadership and then, through Hyperlad and Papa L.’s incessant browbeating, er, I mean, ceaseless encouragement, I started to sub as teacher once in a while, and took the official position of second in command of the class just in time for Hyperlad to say “I’m moving to San Diego, see ya later, sucker!” Okay, maybe not that last part, exactly. So, with Hyperlad gone, I was now the official teacher of the Singles I class; yes, that’s right, Cap’n Neurotic was put in charge of other people’s spiritual well-being; it’s a scary, scary thought, I know.

So, let’s see, where does that leave us in my journey form total psycho to “hey, I can see ‘mental stability’ in the distance if I squint real hard” . . .

Outsider complex mostly suppressed? Check
Finally putting aside fears and moving forward with grad school? Check
Taking part in activities that force me to practice my communicating-with-strangers skills? Check
Finally listened to positive inner voice rather than negative one? Check
Accepting that people do like me and want me around? Check
Re-established communications with Dr. G’ovich and Flunky? Che . . . oh, wait.

14 pts. down, one more to go! And look, it will be divisible by both 3 AND 5! What serendipity! And if you have no earthly clue what the heck that has to do with anything, you obviously weren’t around for the Great Flunky/G’ovich Numeral Wars; count yourself lucky, it was a brutal time, we’re all lucky to have escaped with our lives; I ‘m still not sure we all escaped with our sanity. But, that's a story for a different time . . .

Anyhoo, be sure to check back tomorrow for the final installment in the overlong Secret Origin of Cap’n Neurotic!

It's a Guy Thing pt.1: Male Pattern Bonding

On the whole, I have to say my life is good: I like my job, have a fairly active social life for a couch potato, and have been successful in establishing an underground resistance movement to thwart the conquest plans of Clan Flunky. One of the few things that I'm lacking (other than that pesky elusive independently wealthy thing) is a sufficient amount of time Hanging Out With The Guys.


No, you didn't miss a post somewhere; The Guys aren’t a new addition to the CoIM Cast; no, Hanging Out With The Guys is my label for standard male bonding in groups of three or more, with no member of the fairer sex around:

• hanging out with Papa Lightbulb = two guys hanging out
• hanging out with Papa Lightbulb and Mama Lightbulb = hanging out with some friends
  
• hanging out with Papa Lightbulb and Cap'n Bumper = Hanging Out With The Guys

Growing up there was very little Hanging Out With The Guys time in my life, due to my misguided aversion to sports, cars, hunting, fishing, etc.; in addition, most of my activities in school (speech, band, Student Council) put me in a gender minority situation; I was all too often placed in the position of being the sole male having to listen to a gaggle of girls crucifying my gender, with any comment I might make eliciting a response of "Oh, we don’t mean you; you're different"; just the words every teenage boy wants to hear, right?

So, my formative years featured a dearth of honest-to-goodness male bonding; subsequently, over the years I've found myself drawn to any TV show, movie, or book featuring examples of what I was missing; I'm one of the few Buffy fans who hated to see Riley leave the show, not because I gave a flip about his relationship with Buffy, but because I enjoyed seeing geekish Xander finally having a guy to bond with. I think this early deficiency also explains why I latched on so hard when I did find a group of Guys To Hang Out With. Do I even need tot tell you at this point when this happened? That's right: all roads lead to Parker.

Even through all of my ups and downs (not to mention my way, way downs), I enjoyed a pretty consistent level of Hanging Out With The Guys time up until Clan G'ovich finally joined the Great Parkerite Exodus in Oct. of '99. Without the Doc there to coordinate things, I found my once thriving social circle contracting to just the Book Monkeys. Now, while I love working in libraries, there's one unfortunate side-effect: I was now once again placed in the gender minority. The big difference was that this time I didn't have to put up with male-bashing and "Oh, but you're different" comments; but at the same time, not having any guy friends around on a regular basis started to bum me out.

My move to Denton in Dec. of 2001 didn't change much for me at first; it wasn't until Jan. of '03 when Papa Lightbulb, Bizarro-Zinger (formerly known as The Firefighter), and The Trumpeteer all joined The Singles class that the Hanging Out With The Guys times would begin again. Unfortunately, The Trumpeteer would move back north within a year, and Bizarro-Zinger's commitments to work, the fire academy, and his girlfriend kept him pretty well occupied up until the time he started attending a different church. Papa L. has tried to get The Singles Guys motivated to Hang Out, but to no avail; outside of the Bumper Bowling excursion, most of his efforts have been a bust.

There was a brief period of Hanging Out With The Guys facilitated by The Eskimo last year revolving around poker nights and the NFL, but the difficulty of getting everyone's schedules to line up for poker finally killed that (which is too bad, because I've finally started to enjoy playing it), and the NFL viewing parties died off as soon as Clan Berzerkr moved back to Colorado. At this point, my Hanging Out With The Guys experiences are pretty much confined to the annual PFL Labor Day Gathering, and the occasional Parkerite Baby Shower, wherein the girls gush over baby stuff and the guys gamble away their hard earned earnings; I’ve tried telling Zinger that he and Pooh need to get busy with the baby-making so we can have another get-together soon, but Sir Stoneheart hasn't been that receptive to the idea.

Be sure to come back tomorrow for the next installment in this series, where I’ll begin to dissect the pros and cons of particular aspects of Hanging Out With The Guys.

Secret Origin of Cap'n Neurotic pt.13 - Meanwhile, Back at the Library . . .

In my obsessive quest to chronicle the bulk of my Parkerite-centered drama in one fell swoop, I was forced to skip over most of my early Book Monkey experiences to keep from interrupting the narrative. Y'know, if I had thought things out a little bit better, I would have gone ahead and did a Book Monkey post so that pt.13 would have been a post about the Eeeeeeeeevil one. Yet another missed opportunity *sigh*

Still, the show must go on . . .


I'm afraid that the Book Monkey chapter of the Secret Origins may not be quite as exciting as the Parkerites sections; my time in the land of the Book Monkeys was markedly less neurotic than my sojourns in the realm of the Parkerites. Yes, there were dramas aplenty in the library jungle, but even the ones that effected me directly didn't trigger my full on neurotic breakdowns; since the Book Monkey era coincided with the Parkerite years, it was almost like my sanctuary from neurosis.

I started working at the Stillwater Public Library in the fall of 1995 as a part-time circulation worker, and would eventually become the sole Interlibrary Loan worker for several months in 1996 and 1997. It was at SPL that I made my first lasting non-Parkerite friend at OSU, a co-worker who I shall call J.D. for lack of a better nickname other than "Rat Bastard," which is what I faithfully (and good-naturedly) called him when he started kicking my butt at racquetball on a regular basis; I spent a lot of time hanging out with J.D. and his wife, who lived beneath her parents’ flower shop, Little Shop of Flowers. Nope, that’s not a nickname, that’s really the name of the store. I was also invited over to her parents' house for dinner quite a bit, and spent a couple of New Years Eves there as well. In terms of my development as Cap'n Neurotic, I think the most significant factor in my friendship with J.D. was the fact that I never fell into over-competitive mode around him, never felt like I had something to prove like I had with the Parkerites. I'm guessing the fact that that there wasn't a huge group of guys that I felt I had to live up to helped out with that; plus, unlike most of the Parkerites (I’m looking at you, G’ovich!), J.D. wasn't a big trash-talker. I was able to just enjoy the game without caring too terribly much if I won or lost; MAJOR step for me. Now, if only I could have carried that back into my Parkerite game play at the time . . .

About 5 months after I graduated from OSU, I got a job at the Interlibrary Services office as a staff member in the Borrowing unit. I think the only place I've ever seen with a higher turnover rate than the ILS office was the telemarketing firm I worked for one summer. For the first month or so I worked there, I mainly talked to Golden Boy, an anal future lawyer who was loved by the boss and scorned by all the student workers, and who also just happened to live in the apartment above mine; we wound up walking together after work quite a bit. Personally, I liked Golden Boy; he had a pretty biting wit, and provided many hours of entertainment critiquing the work ethic of the rest of our co-workers. I also was on pretty good terms with The Mag early on, but wouldn't really get to know her or her roomie Rose Hips the Enforcer until I got invited to my first "cheesy movie night" at their place, which also included several student workers (including Rebel Monkey and Bunny), since The Mag had started out in the office as a student with several of them; I quickly discovered that we shared a similar sense of humor in a lot of respects. Before the summer was over, Bunny was able to get her friend hired as a student as well; a friend named Bubblegum Tate.

Tate and I bonded pretty quickly over our mutual comic geekiness, a fact that irked Golden Boy to no end; guess he didn't like me paying attention to someone else. Can you imagine that; someone getting all jealous and developing an irrational dislike of someone just because they felt threatened that the newcomer was stealing away their friend? I mean, what sort of neurotic person would do something like that? Pathetic, right? Right.

I had started in ILS in May of 1998; before that summer was over, I was already as comfortable being myself in the office as I’d ever been anywhere. For a library job, our office was a very lively place; there was lots of gabbing going on along with the work; it was especially rowdy during the summer, when the workload was much lighter. This started my brief “social butterfly” phase, which coincided with The Year of the Flunky; I was suddenly having to choose between activities with J.D., Book Monkeys, and Parkerites. That was a new sensation for me; in the past the only time I was torn in choosing activities was when my duties to the BSU Drama Team conflicted with some Parkerite outing; now I actually had friends who were competing for my attention. Well, okay, maybe not actually competing, since somehow throughout all of this I don’t think any of the groups ever inter-mingled; J.D. probably met The Old Man when he helped us move in, and Bubblegum Tate knew Coronela and several ATOs, and would eventually go on to room with Captain Ego, who had been Wrath’s roomie Freshman year in Parker, but as far as I was concerned, I had three totally separate lives going on. This went a long way towards demolishing my Outsider complex; it wouldn’t actually demolish it, of course; the Outsider complex was much sturdy and crafty to crumble that easily. But it did go into hiding for a while, watching . . . and waiting.

Before I had been in the position a year, I was promoted to Lending Supervisor, which meant I hired and trained all of the student workers, as well as one staff member, who at this point was The Mag. She would eventually get a job outside of the library, and her position would be taken over by Rebel Monkey. Now, after being in the office for well over a year, I think the number of syllables exchanged between Rebel Monkey and myself were probably on a par with my G'ovich conversations of the same time period; I was pretty sure she couldn't stand me. Now, that's not just my neurosis speaking; I was later to discover that most people felt that way when they first met the deceptively quiet Rebel Monkey. The breakthrough moment in our friendship came when we discovered a common passion for Buffy, which soon led to a discovery of a shared pop culture addiction to movies and TV. With this newfound solidarity combined with our common friendship with The Mag and Rose Hips, the way was paved for us to become The Core 4. The Core 4 was one of those magical group dynamics, much like The Clique or Clan Stoneheart; for the rest of my time in Stillwater, they would increasingly make up the majority of my social world, as the Great Parkerite Exodus continued and J.D. moved to Bentonville. Rebel Monkey would eventually leave the office as well, and then The Mag would return not too long before I made the move to Denton; she would take over my position once I left.

I feel like this post is a bit boring, what with its lack of mental breakdowns and emotional outbursts on my part, for which I apologize; I do promise many exciting non-Secret-Origin Book Monkey anecdotes to make up for it, including the Internet faux pas that would result in one of the most uncomfortable work situations I’ve ever been in; my run-in with Spammergirl.

Yesterday, All My Troubles Seemed So Far Away

It's not been a good day.

Yesterday? Yesterday was a good day. Yesterday was a fun day. Yesterday many things converged to put me in one of the best moods I've been in for quite a long time. Yesterday, I was an extremely happy camper.

Today? Today I was still floating high on my good-day-buzz when BAM! BAM! BAM! One thing after another, both personal and professional, slapped me in the face, knocking me off my cloud. Taken separately, nothing that earth-shattering in the grand scheme of things: nothing unrepareable, nothing unrecoverable, nothing unforgivable; really, nothing that rates the foul mood I'm in. And yet, coming at me one after another so close together, the blows managed to knock me for quite a loop; I guess the higher you’re floating, the further you fall when the cloud gets knocked out from under you.

Wondering what all this is about?

Well, keep wondering. Too soon, too raw, too close; maybe when there's more time and distance. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like to go into great, painful detail about the things that plague my sleep, that consume my days, that drive me to distraction; all of the past grudges, bitterness, and issues related in the Secret Origins are just that: past. Trust me, if I still had an irrational dislike of The Eskimo, I never would have been brought it up in the first place; if G’ovich and I were still unable to successfully exchange more than 3 words at a time, I’d have used even fewer to discuss it here; if I really harbored a grudge against Flunky for any of his Flunkiness, you’d have heard about it about as often as he returns emails; I resist the idea of unleashing all of my current issues on the general public if I haven’t dealt with them on a more personal level first. Not saying it won’t ever happen, but it probably won’t happen often.

So, why write anything about it at all if I'm not going to talk about it in depth? Because, by the time you read this, everything will be fine again; just the act of writing this out has helped drain my tension away, has helped put things in their proper perspective, has helped me to realize which things I'm blowing out of proportion and which are real problems; the act of writing is cathartic and healing and instructive; the act of writing is my coping mechanism. I suppose my comment in a previous post might have clouded the issue a little:

The whole Secret Origins thing is proving to be a positive experience for me, but it’s also served to stir up a lot of stuff I’ve tried not to think about for a while. Remembering how things were during The Golden Year, how messed up they were afterwards, and how much of it could have been so easily prevented: it’s tough. I’m overwhelmed by nostalgia and melancholy; I have a feeling that going through all of this has been a big contributor to my recent insomnia.

I'm guessing my saying things about "stirring up stuff" and "overwhelmed by melancholy" and "doing this has given me brain-imploding insomnia" could make it sound like these old feelings are right there at the surface again; or as G'ovich put it: "Part of the problem is everyone's read you mope and complain for two weeks and they don't all realize that it's just rehashing bad times and sweeping it under the rug, versus just boiling it back to the top." Or, to paraphrase my favorite G'ovichism: people seem to have a hard time separating CoIM from reality.

Interestingly enough, the ones who seem to have the most trouble making the separation are the ones who have been most directly referenced in the aforementioned posts; both co-workers and Book Monkeys have assured me that they see the posts for what I intended them to be: a way to air out all of the moldy baggage that’s been dragging me down for the last 30 years. But, unlike co-workers and Book Monkeys, most of the Parkerites had to live through the days of Cap’n Psycho, Cap’n Clingy, Cap’n Overreaction; is it any wonder when reading my comment that an action of theirs once caused me to crumple in despair or explode into a rage, that they might wonder just how far removed from the past I really am? From my point of view, it’s crystal clear; from their point of view, it’s muddy as all get-out.

In many ways this blog has taken on a life of its own; when I started it, I never had any idea that I’d be addressing ¾ of what I have so far; if you had told me a month ago that I would not only reference the Letters to G’ovich, but directly quote them as well, I’d have called you a loony. But as I began to reflect on those early days, began to see all of the ways I’d stumbled over the years, the urge to explore it overpowered me; as much as I've changed, as much as that isn't who I am anymore, the memories of those uncertain years, and the way I acted, have been lodged in my mind. Dr. G’ovich refuses to defend or explain away any of his behavior from that time, saying that he was young, that he was trying to find his way in life, that he refuses to beat himself up for doing things then that he would do differently now, and you know what: I understand that, I accept that, I even respect that; I just can’t follow suit.

I feel compelled to, if not justify myself, at least explain myself; you may not really care why I was the way I was, but it’s important to me that you know; it’s important to me that I cop to the fact that I was as much a part of the problem as anyone else, that I don’t view anyone (even the Eeeeeeeeevil one) as a total villain; it’s important that I explore why I drifted away from my best friends so that maybe I can finally understand it myself; it’s important to me that I publicly expose all of the dark creatures running around in my head to the light, to burn them away for good; it’s important that I stress just how much these people still mean to me, no matter what’s happened between us.

Yes, G’ovich has pissed me off countless times in the past; so have Flunky and Wrath and Coronela and practically every other Parkerite at some point; but you know what? I’m pretty sure each of them can say exactly the same about me. And, I’m sure they will continue to find ways to hack me off, and vice versa; heck, I just pissed one of them off yesterday and didn’t find out about it till today (yes, that was one of the BAMS!); as I stress constantly in my Sunday School lessons, we’re none of us perfect; we all have flaws, we all have faults, we all have things that hold us back in our lives, we all do things that affect others negatively; its being aware of these flaws, striving to overcome them, attempting to right the wrongs we’ve done, and, perhaps most difficult of all, struggling to forgive others who are trying to do the same; these are the signs of growth as a person.

Everyone has their own method of doing this; what works for one might not work for others; for me, this blog has become part of my method; writing is my way of trying to say all I want to say to the people I care about; trying to communicate to others that the bad times have passed, that I’ve let go of the past, that I’m hoping they can do the same. Much like with the Letters I once wrote in a time of stress and uncertainty, with each blog post that peels back a layer of my regrettable actions, I feel a weight being lifted; with each step through my tumultuous years, I feel like I can finally start to let it all go. I know it won’t be that easy; I may be a quick study when it comes to academics, but in the realm of learning from my mistakes and modifying my behavior, my learning curve is waaaaaay too steep.

Once again, this post took off in directions I did not quite expect; I hope it clarified things for some, and illuminated more for others; I know I feel better after writing it.

TV Tues - Playing Catch-up

I feel like I'm way behind on my viewage because I didn't watch nearly as much this last week, but in reality there wasn't nearly as much to watch due to Baseball and reruns. I did get caught up a bit on stuff that I didn't get watched the previous week, so several of the following reviews will be twofers.

Everwood: First, some catch up: favorite thing from the ep the week before last was Bright's reaction to his mom's "Scarlet C" comment; as soon as she said it, I wondered to myself if Bright would get it, and of course, he didn't. Does that make the show predictable, or just one with really well-defined characters? I vote for the latter. Now for the more recent ep: it's always nice to see Andy and Ephraim getting along. And I was going to be very upset if they had Bright break up with Hannah over the no-sex stance. Looking forward to next week's ep with Nina forcing Andy and Jake into therapy.

Gilmore Girls: Man, the awkward scenes in this ep physically hurt; watching Rory and Lorelei trying to reconnect and just communicate like normal people after all of the stuff that's gone down between them . . . well, let's just say I can identify with that on some level. And yet, even among the pain, there were some great moments; Emily's chilliness towards Luke, Luke's gift to Rory, the whole Rory's-having-sex issue: "If you give that gift away to the wrong man, then when the right man comes along you won't have any gift to give, and you'll have to give him a sweater." And of course, Paris and Doyle's "sleeping with the editor" routine; after the second time they said it, I thought to myself "I bet Paris made him practice that"; her critique of his delivery a few scenes later seemed to back that up. Once again, well-defined characters.

Supernatural: I continue to be impressed with this show

Everybody Hates Chris: "Cool guys have a way of making you feel like a punk for not doing what they say." Oh, how true that is, how true that is . . . Curse you, G'ovich!

Grey's Anatomy: This show has moved from "not too bad" to "really love" in its Sophomore year . . . guess that makes it the anti-Lost. Two eps ago: the "pron as pain-management" storyline was hilarious, and I always enjoy watching George stand up for himself; just wish it worked out better for him more often. And I love Dr. Bailey more and more with each episode.

Desperate Housewives: I haven't been too impressed with the show's Sophomore season so far, but last week's episode with Wallace Shawn made me laugh out loud several times.

Apprentice: Hearing Carolyn do the standard Donald spiel about "Blah blah is a blah blah dollar industry that does blah blah each year" was a study in how uncomfortable someone can be reading from a script; never thought I'd hear something that made the Donald's spiel sound polished. I guess some people just aren't as comfortable spewing bull malarkey. And I never thought it was possible, but I think Clay actually managed to out-annoy Markus. My biggest shock of the episode wasn't that the Donald fired four employees at once; it was that there could be a situation requiring such a drastic action that didn't involve Markus at all. I hate it that several likeable guys are gone now because of, to be honest, one miscalculation; yes, it was a big one, but c'mon! Still, I think it was all worth to me just to see the four fired employees stuffed into the cab together, very pointedly not talking to each other or the cameraman.

Ultimate Fighter: The fight between Luke and Sam last week was by far the best fight of the season; I was pretty worried a few times that Luke was going down; I know Sam rocked him hard once or twice. But everyone's favorite underdog was able to come back and deliver the first knock-out of the season. I'm definitely rooting for Luke in the final, but if I was forced to place money on it, I'd probably have to go with Joe Stevenson. As for last night's ep, it kind of stinks that Rashad had to go into the semi-final after fighting twice before while Jardine hadn't fought at all, although it didn't seem to have affected him much. To be honest, I didn't care too much which one of them won going in; Rashad's attitude bugged me a bit, but Jardine was a cipher. I think the Heavyweight title is a bigger question mark than the welterweight, but I'm pulling for Brad Imes, who, if nothing else, is the most likeable (not to mention funniest) of all the remaining contestants. Plus, he's also a bit of an underdog, being the least experienced of the heavyweights. My biggest regret for last night's ep was that there weren't any overtly-staged Xyience product-placement discussions between the fighters like normal; those crack me up every time.