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Posts for the date of Friday, September 27, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:53 AM |
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Well kids, it is done. I have registered Sciencefictiontwin.com. If you type that URL right now you will find . . . well . . . this. However, planning and work are now underway to create the world’s most mediocre website! For your semi-enjoyment! In the very least, I hope to create a website that will provide you with enough entertainment to amuse yourself through at least two mouthfuls of cottage cheese at lunch. Maybe more. Maybe even three.
This means that this website will go on hiatus soon and, eventually, die a horrible death. (Note, just poured coffee all over my chest. It was invigorating.) I’ll be moving all the archives over to the new domain. I don’t know what that will mean for this sucker. We’ll find out. Poor stupid website. It’s served me so well. And yet . . . I need my freedom!
Anyway, I’ll have to take a break from this because the new site needs to be planned, designed, built, loaded and all the other fun stuff that goes along with it. I’m dizzy just thinking about the implications. I’ll have space to store all the embarrassing screencaps I’ve taken from John’s webcam in the last few weeks. I have three gigs of stuff.
I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll be doing. However, I’m just not a designer. I have a gracious offer for help, but the fact remains that I’ll still have to DO it. I’m scared. Hold me.
So, I’m pretty hyped up, even though I’m extremely tired. I had weird dreams last night that kept me from having a good night’s sleep and now I’m walking around, waiting for the dream to become reality.
You see, in my dream, the Earth Roaches were in league with an alien bug that had an amazing armor system, huge, razor sharp teeth and were about the size of a fist. I was running around trying to kill them and save my family. It was kind of like a zombie movie, really. We’d move into one room and lock the door only to find the bugs . . . behind us! Ahhhhh!
Even though I’m an adult, I’m freaked out this morning. I can’t get rid of that creepy, crawly bug feeling. Grrr. I checked my shoes, looked in my cup before I poured the coffee. The whole nine yards.
And you know what? I KNEW those damn roaches would sell us out.
Matilda had her first Brownie meeting of the year yesterday. I didn’t think it would be worse than last year for me, but . . . it is. I went to pick her up and I was chatting with the moms that were there. Matilda saw me, grabbed her backpack and we left. I’m walking down the hall talking to a Mom and the Brownie leader comes screaming down the hall, “SIR! SIR! You have to check out with me!”
Gee. Okay. MAYBE if you MORONS who write the Brownie meeting notices would learn to COMMUNICATE I would have known that I had to check out with Betty Safety. Just like her communications skills were so GREAT that she didn’t actually tell us who to make out the dues checks to. Plus, we didn’t check out last year. We waved to the leader and left. Just like I did.
“I’m Patsy McStupid, the Brownie leader this year.” I’ve met this woman at least ten times. When I was trying to explain to her last year that we couldn’t participate in April Showers because we were already doing a March of Dimes event, she looked at me as if I were speaking Sanskrit.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Gary, Matilda’s dad. Just like last year.”
These Brownie moms have been so freaked out whenever I’m involved. I feel like they’re going to yell, “MAN!” and run away screaming. Not that any of my male counterparts at Daughter’s school are helping. In the three years Matilda has been attending, I think I’ve seen some of them once or twice. So, these Brownie women have no idea how to react to a man who is involved. Plus, they still think I’m unemployed.
Just wait until I volunteer to run one of the meetings. These Brownie Nazis won’t know what to do. Especially if I wear my shirt with the hibiscus flowers. Mwahahahahaha.
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Posts for the date of Thursday, September 26, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 3:19 PM |
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I think I need to get a golf club. It’s something to do. Because then I could go out to the driving range and hit stuff with it.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 9:05 AM |
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Wow am I in a rotten mood today. I mean rotten. Stinking angry. Festering, slithering, bubbling, puss-ridden vitriol. It’s a chronic grumpiness that I can’t shake.
I mean, I am in a mood where a Girl Scout could ask me to buy cookies and I’d yell at her for perpetuating an Imperialistic socialist society in which the cute Girl Scout sells overpriced cookies tinged with a searing does of social guilt. (I don’t think that really. I think Thin Mints should have won a Nobel Prize in Cookistrey.)
I’m not really sure of the source of my anger. And anger isn’t exactly the right word. It’s more frustration. I think I’m spinning my wheels. I’ve allowed myself to become complacent professionally. I attained a certain level, got happy with it and stayed there. I have almost everything I’ve ever wanted. Good job, good family, great music, fast computer. I’m happy in that sense. But it isn’t enough. There’s something missing.
Now I’m looking at all the dreams I had that I didn’t follow through on. And they’re sitting there, dusty. And it ain’t pixie dust. My dreams aren’t sparkling anymore. They’ve become a burden.
So know I need to decide. Do I cast aside the dreams or go after them full throttle?
I don’t know. That’s a tough decision. The things I want to do will take time. A lot of time. Blood, sweat and tears. A lot of tears. I wasn’t ready for the toil when I came up with my dreams, am I ready for them now that I have a full-fledged family backing me?
I don’t know. That’s the funny thing about dreams. They can dissipate like smoke. Poof! They’re gone in an instant. They have a freshness date on them and if you don’t act, they become this albatross tied to your neck that weighs you down. Unrealized dreams.
I guess what I have to ask myself is what I want to be when I grow up. Do I know that? Am I treading water or am I going to swim out deeper?
There’s a recognized concept that some dead guy came up with. “Dream, Believe, Dare, Do.” In this concept I have to have confidence in my dreams and go after them with full gusto. No one built castles in the sky by thinking about it. They had to do it. The library at Alexandria wasn’t built overnight by some guy lounging on his ass watching Survivor. And it wasn’t destroyed by some guy drinking eight cups of coffee proclaiming, “We should knock that sucker down.”
People have dreams. They follow them or they cast them aside for new dreams. My quest now is to evaluate my dreams.
I’m not the type to give up on dreams and live life in an insular comfort based on my own complacency. Neither is my wife nor my friends. However, I am heading in that direction lately.
I think GRAND act bland. I need a kick in the pants.
Look at the people I admire. Brian Wilson, Walt Disney, John Lasseter, Kurt Vonnegut. These are men who had dreams and desires and followed them. One was destroyed and reborn from his dreams. Two built amazing companies known for innovation and creativity. The other is a fantastic writer who discovered himself after years of wallowing professionally.
I should be learning something here. But I’m not.
Walt Disney used to tell his people, “Don’t tell me how it can’t be done. I already know that. Tell me how it can be done.” Maybe that’s how I should look at my life. Dream the impossible dream, so to speak.
Maybe I will. Maybe I should get off my fat Irish duff and plug away at my dreams.
Wouldn’t that be a great legacy to leave my kids? “One thing you can say about Daddy, he always followed his dreams. Even when there was no hope of success, he had to try.” It’s not a bad legacy. And it says something. It says, “When you believe in your dreams, there is nothing you can’t do. Except fly, because that’s against the law of physics.”
Okay. So, maybe I’ll do it. I need to sit down and just start following the path I believe I should be on. Now, to decide on which fork.
"The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing." –Walt Disney
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, September 25, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:15 PM |
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Another afternoon update. Another morning gone by and my body feels like it has been beat to hell for some reason. Who knew all this editorial freelancing would be so physically demanding? Copying, paper cuts; puncture wounds from paper clips and more. It’s hell, I tell you. Hell. Why just this morning I was accosted by a man who sells bathroom stalls for public bathrooms. Why did he accost me? I don’t know. Does Ugly Shirt Guy look like he needs to have a bathroom stall installed? No, he doesn’t. My regular bathroom is just fine.
But he had a really cool little bathroom mock up that even showed his new, state of the art latching system. Latch-o-matic or something. I was disappointed when the model didn’t actually flush. He seemed offended when I asked. Sigh.
We do have some good news today. It seems that Angie and Jeff are expecting a little Pudding Pop in April. I vote for an early arrival. April 21st is a great day to have a birthday. Not only would Pudding Pop share that day with me, but Queen Elisabeth II and Tina Yothers, of Family Ties fame. Yeah baby!
I congratulate Angie and Jeff on a job well done. I know conception is a difficult task that requires much thought; planning, diagrams and complex war plans. Trust me, you’ll enjoy being parents. It’s a tough job, but it’s rewarding. To see that little zygote take shape and grow into a thinking being is something that blows the mind. When that thinking being licks your ear and fills it with baby spit, well, there is no greater reward.
Speaking of thinking blobs . . . Mine is getting increasingly weird. I don’t know where it comes from. However, she’s falling into my hands and helping her older sister and I conspire against her mother for our benefit.
Case in point. On Sunday we spent some quality time at Target. Reason for going? Buying $10 dollar toy for birthday party. End result? $80 worth of crap. Target has a way of doing that to you. You go in for a Garden Hose and you walk out with a Phillip Stark designed tampon disposal unit. It’s a sickness. A sickness I tell you.
We were wandering around the baby department looking at clothes for Baby Gertrude. She didn’t need anything, per se. I just wanted her to have whatever she wanted. Since she’s still too young to know what she actually wants, I get to decide for her.
We found a cook Khaki jacket that is an exact replica of Dad’s retro-Fifties geek look. Gertrude had to have it. She had to look just like her daddy and be the slide rule of Daddy’s eye. I decided she needed it.
Mom, financial Nazi that she is, decided that she didn’t need it. She had a jacket. Three, in fact. All cute and all gender appropriate.
”Say bye bye to your jacket Gertrude,” I said.
“Ba ba” Gertrude says, waving.
The jacket went into the cart. But it wasn’t a guarantee yet. She also had to get this cute little Mickey Mouse outfit that would work as a Halloween costume as well as a cute outfit for the rest of the fall and early spring. At the check out, mom told me that we’d have to Veto one or the other.
“Say bye bye to your jacket Gertrude,” I said.
“Ba ba,” Gertrude said waving.
We got the jacket.
But now I had an idea. Whatever cute little baby wants, cute little baby gets as long as she displays ample amounts of cuteness.
Next stop: Ultimate Electronics. “Say bye bye to your Plasma Screen TV Gertrude.” But she wouldn’t play along. Did she not know how great Rolie Polie Olie would look on a Plasma? She’s got some learning to do.
But her cuteness didn’t stop there. Recently I placed a clock radio in my office/living room/dining room/TV room/children’s playroom. I was showing her how to work it. Press “Sleep” music appears. Press “Snooze” and it goes away.
She showed her amusement. Every time we pressed “Sleep” she’d grab onto the couch and boogie in that way only babies can. Bouncing up and down with an innocent glee. Turn it off she’d stop. We did this for fifteen minutes. I showed all the neighbors and videotaped it to show the powerful Hollywood producers who are looking for a cute bouncing baby.
She lost interest though. She wandered off to her plastic rocking horse, named Old Blue, and climbed on top and stood there squealing, as if to say, “I have no fear!” Then she took a header into the wall and laughed. And did it again.
That’s okay though. The song on the radio was the Edgar Winter Group’s “Frankenstein.” I think it has that effect on people.
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, September 24, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:27 PM |
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Ever get the feeling that you’re wallowing? Kind of flip-flopping around on the floor not really going anywhere?
I have that feeling today. I have a ton of work to do and the more I complete, the less I feel I accomplish. I’m like Sisyphus. That damn rock never quite makes it to the top of the hill.
But it’s less my pay work that I feel is wallowing, but my more creative work. I have a ton of things on my plate that I’ve been back-burnering for a great group of people. A short film, a new website, updates to existing websites . . . my own website.
I want to move on to bigger and better things and yet . . . I don’t know how. I don’t know where the time is to do these things. Lest I give up the work that feeds my family. I can’t do that, now can I?
I have two book manuscripts I’ve been working on here and there. They need to get polished and submitted for publication. I need to find an agent. I need to finish writing the story for that short film. I need to start my own website outside of Blog Spot with cool little sections that will amuse the general public.
I need to get those books published. I need to write a book for a friend. I need to find extra time in the day, damn it. Where is it?
My ultimate goal here is to succeed at something. I’m doing well as a freelancer and I’m very happy about that. But I feel like a hired gun, in that respect.
I want something of my own. I have never had something of my own. But what is it and how can I do it?
Since going freelance I feel like I’ve regressed to being a six-year-old again. When I was a Content Manager, I had a career. When I was an Editor, I had a career. Now I have work, but no identity outside of Ugly Shirt Guy. So, I’m at a point where I have to decide what to be when I grow up.
Here are all the things I want to be. Let me know if you have any ideas on how to begin.
Rock Star—preferably lead guitar in a Power Pop trio that specializes in neo-sixties pop.
Film Director—preferably in surrealism.
Animator--or at least “Head of Story” on an animated film.
Mickey Mouse—in Orlando.
Owner of a Drafthouse—preferably in the location of the old Shady Oak Theater.
Crazy Old Guy Down the Street—I think that takes time.
Radio Side Kick—In the local market. Just that goofy guy who says weird things at the wrong moments.
Coffee Shop Owner—Small place that specializes in damn good coffee.
Resort Owner—Pacific Northwest. An old lodge that resembles the old park services lodges from the 1930s.
Trivia Guy—Need to know who played Spider in Goodfellas and how that relates to The Sopranos? Who played drums on “Wouldn’t That Be Nice”? I know . . .
Essentially, I feel it’s time for my grand schemes to come to fruition. I need to take the time to finish what I started.
So, I hereby promise the following:
I will write the story to the short film by this weekend.
I will edit and polish manuscript number one by Halloween. Submit it to agents by Thanksgiving.
I will write John’s book by January. At least the first draft.
I will write the play I’ve been working on by next summer.
I will have my own website up and running before Halloween.
In ten minutes I will post a poll on what my URL should be.
I will solve all the world’s problems by inventing an ink cartridge for printers that never runs out in the middle of a big print job.
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Posts for the date of Monday, September 23, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 10:27 AM |
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I had the weirdest damn weekend. And I learned much more than a father ever should about his children. It scares me and I think I want to go home. Except I am home and there’s no escape from the knowledge.
It all started on Friday when we all settled down to watch the Monsters, Inc. DVD. Never mind the fact that we’ve been singing, “Put that thing back where it came from or so help me” ever since. That’s beside the point. Rather, it was baby Gertrude that provided the evening’s entertainment.
As soon as the movie started, she pressed her face up against the TV screen and started squealing in delight. Now, I don’t think she was excited about seeing the latest Pixar masterpiece in its full digital glory. Though she should. Rather, I believe she was like an old hippie who just found an acid flashback buried deep in the fatty cells in her brain. She tripped and was amazed at all the pretty colors.
She abandoned the movie soon enough and left Matilda and I to enjoy the show for what it was. Now, I know the movie was slammed for having a little too much emotional pastiche and overly cutesy little Boo. However, that’s what I loved about the movie. There were some amazingly touching, human moments in a film filled with monsters. For example, the slow development of the relationship between Sully and Boo. You can actually see him beginning to love this little being. And you can see that unconditional love on her face. Though this big blue monstrosity should frighten her, she sees him as a protector. Rarely in a film, much less an animated film, do you see such a deep relationship develop. But, leave it to Pixar to do so. These guys know characters and story.
The ending shot tears me apart. Both for its emotional content and its artistry. A slightly sullen Sully has been given the chance to see his beloved Boo once again. The shot is just of Sully’s face and you hear Boo’s term of endearment for Sully, “Kitty!” Sully’s face erupts into a smile of sheer joy. And the animators captured this feeling with the beautiful melting from unsure to rapture with an ease and care that showed that this moment was as important for them as it was for the characters. When Sully smiles you can almost feel his breath being taken away at his sheer enjoyment of the moment. Kudos to the entire Pixar staff for developing such a beautiful moment. A moment that makes you tear up because of its emotional honesty.
But I digress. Matilda and I were watching the movie and laughing really hard and clutching each other for comfort during the scary parts. Then we came to a scene that made us look at each other with mischief and goofy intentions. At one point Sully is throwing Monster Cheerios to Boo and she catches them in her mouth. When she wants another one, she opens her mouth and yells, “Ah!” Matilda and I looked at each other and then over to Baby Gertrude who was chewing on the wall with an intensity that no one truly understands. In that moment, Matilda and I knew exactly what our number one priority would be for the coming months. Training her little sister to catch Cheerios in her mouth.
And this plays perfectly into Gertrude’s latest developmental tic. She thinks she’s a dog. It started off with a simple panting with her tongue sticking out. We thought that was cute. But now she picks up a little rubber ball with her mouth and runs around the house growling. Matilda even taught her to play fetch.
But that betrays her human side as well. She got her first baby doll this weekend. A cast off from big sister. The doll is mostly naked and grotesquely out of proportion. But Gertrude clearly adores this doll. She picks it up and kisses it and loves it. Then she body slams it and jumps on top of it. I think it’s a mixture of love and fear. She feels the need to nurture the baby doll, but not at her own expense. She needs to let it know that she’s still the boss.
Sunday we went to a skating party that Matilda was invited to. First of all, I didn’t know they even had skating parties anymore. Secondly, Matilda was the only girl from her class invited.
I didn’t think anything of this at first. She’s a cute girl and very popular at school. But, until I talked to some other parents I hadn’t realized. One mother told me that Matilda had broken many hearts last year by turning down several marriage proposals. I assured this mother that Matilda is too young to get married. We’re waiting until she’s at least ten.
But I was horror struck. She hadn’t told me. I knew she was popular. She’s a cute, likable kid. But to have all these boys fawning over her, with an empty look as if their souls had been sucked out. For two hours boys were calling her, pushing her (sign of affection) and she just la-di-da ignored them. Thereby, of course, encouraging their amorous attention even further.
Ahhhh! No! Not my little girl. One boy was poking her in the shoulder as she gently ignored him. I told him to stop. He asked why. I towered over him and said, “I eat little boys for breakfast.” He ran away shrieking.
I held baby Gertrude most of the time, enjoying the platitudes of the other parents. Oh she’s so cute. So well behaved. She walks so well for a ten-month old. Blah blah blah.
One mom told me she couldn’t even remember when her kids were this young. I told her that maybe she should have video taped them more often. She stared at me wondering if I was joking or not. I didn’t give her an indication either way.
Gertrude, again, looked like she was wasted on LSD. The walls were painted with day-glo planets and stars, shining in the black lights and shimmering with thumping bass.
Gertrude walked around, touching the stars on the walls, trying to grab the glowing planets off the carpet. She was having fun. Then she fell to all fours and started licking the walls.
So, I picked her up and put her on my shoulders. She licked my ear, growled, panted like a puppy and laughed.
I live in a Dave Berry column.
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