Date: November 12, 2007
Time: 22:18
Main Entry: 1dread
Function: verbPronunciation: 'dred
Etymology: Middle English dreden, from Old English dr[AE]dan
transitive senses
1 a: to fear greatly b archaic: to regard with awe
2: to feel extreme reluctance to meet or face intransitive senses: to be apprehensive or fearful
This is the first of three definitions of the word “dread”, and I think the second of these two fits well with how I feel every single morning.
I wake up, if I’ve even gotten any sleep, and I see what the time is, and the first thought in my head is “Oh G-d, I gotta get going.” This is repeated several times until I actually get out of bed. Then I have to figure out what I want wear, which is rather easy as I only have slacks in three colors, black, blue, and gray. But then I have to figure out what sort of mood I’m in, although if it’s Monday, like today, then I wear black. I always wear black when I have a class scheduled where some form of mathematics is involved.
But still there’s that feeling of dread that comes with each piece of clothing I have to put on. Because it means that with each piece I put on, then it’s that much closer to where I have to leave to go to work. Now you’ve probably heard it from a lot of people “I hate my job”, and for one reason or another they probably do, and their reasons are somehow justified in their minds. But do they feel what I feel every single morning for over a year? Do these people dream they’re at work? Or worse, dream they’re at work doing something, they wake up, go back to sleep, and dream they’re at work doing something else?!?
Welcome to my world. Strap in, the horrors are just beginning.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Journal Entry #13: Storytelling
Date: November 11, 2007
Time: 21:42
When I write, I don’t set out to write a book. I set out to tell a story. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that, but it always needs to be repeated. You see, a book is limited by the number of pages. A book, in order to be classified as such, has to have a minimum number of pages to a maximum number of pages.
A story, on the other hand, can be as long or as short as you like. I heard tell of an author, his name is Fredric Brown, and he wrote a book called “Martians, Go Home!” that was made into a not very good movie starring Randy Quaid. Fredric Brown was purported to have written what is considered the shortest horror story in the world. Here it is. "The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door."
Now I haven’t written anything as short as that, but I never wrote anything as long as “War and Peace” either. I did write something that, when turned into double-sided pages, adds up to about 125, which is about the size of what is referred to as a “novella”, the basic definition of which is “a story with a compact and pointed plot.”
I will admit one thing though; I am technically working on a book. I am writing a series of short stories featuring a detective who specializes in the paranormal. I mentioned him in an earlier post. I think that I’m setting my sights so high is one of the reasons I’m having trouble with one of the stories. It also might be that in a sense, I’m attempting to re-write the history of characters of fantasy. But then again, I’m my own worst critic.
Time: 21:42
When I write, I don’t set out to write a book. I set out to tell a story. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that, but it always needs to be repeated. You see, a book is limited by the number of pages. A book, in order to be classified as such, has to have a minimum number of pages to a maximum number of pages.
A story, on the other hand, can be as long or as short as you like. I heard tell of an author, his name is Fredric Brown, and he wrote a book called “Martians, Go Home!” that was made into a not very good movie starring Randy Quaid. Fredric Brown was purported to have written what is considered the shortest horror story in the world. Here it is. "The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door."
Now I haven’t written anything as short as that, but I never wrote anything as long as “War and Peace” either. I did write something that, when turned into double-sided pages, adds up to about 125, which is about the size of what is referred to as a “novella”, the basic definition of which is “a story with a compact and pointed plot.”
I will admit one thing though; I am technically working on a book. I am writing a series of short stories featuring a detective who specializes in the paranormal. I mentioned him in an earlier post. I think that I’m setting my sights so high is one of the reasons I’m having trouble with one of the stories. It also might be that in a sense, I’m attempting to re-write the history of characters of fantasy. But then again, I’m my own worst critic.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Journal Entry #12: The Day It All Went Wrong
Date: November 10, 2007
Time: 21:51
Have you ever felt like your life has gone totally wrong, but you’re able to trace back to this one moment that you felt, if you changed it, everything might be better? I feel that way all the time. I feel that way when I go to work in the morning, when I leave work in the evening, when I go to school and when I leave to go home.
For years, I was able to trace back all the problems I believed I had, to this one moment in high school. I was walking down the corridor when my 12th Grade Geometry teacher beckons to me. I go over to see what he wants and he tells me that he’s starting a computer literacy class, and asks if I would like to join. I said, “Sure. Why not?” The one drawback was that the only time he could schedule it was around lunchtime. Should’ve taken that as a warning.
We walk into this little shack near the shop building. As we enter, off to the left, there’s what appears to be a control room like you see in a film or television studio. We walk into this little, gray-colored, windowless room, and I take a good, long look around. By the door are two computer screens with keyboards; behind them at the far wall are 5 more screens and keyboards. If you were to face the far wall, then to your left would be a dot-matrix printer, and a floppy drive. Oh, each computer screen had a cassette deck hooked up to it.
I looked around the room and decided right there and then “This is what I want to do.” So we started the class and I did rather well, I believe, and some months later, I graduated high school. I then went to The Office of Vocational Rehabilitation, or OVR, to get funding for vocational training. The counselor asks me, “What do you want to do?” “I want to work with computers.” I replied. “Good,” she said, “What do you want to do with them?”
I had no idea. And I told her as much. I said “I don’t know.” So she said “Well, think about it for a bit.” So I did. And then she asked me again, “What would you like to do?” “Work with computers.” What do you want to do with them?” “I don’t know.”
And here I am, more than twenty years later, and I still don’t know what it is I want to do. I keep finding out what I don’t want to do, but I can never find out what I want to do. And for all of those twenty-odd years, I’ve been blaming that moment in high school as the start of it all. But within the last six months or so, I realized that it goes back a little further than that. My problems really stem from the day I saw this commercial on television.
Years ago there was this commercial that featured a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk, and in front of the desk is the stereotypical nerd. The man behind the desk is reading off a list of video games and their accompanying high-scores, and every time the man ticks one off the list, the nerd nods his head while wearing a goofy grin. The plot is, the middle-aged man is an interviewer, and the nerd is the interviewee, when the interviewer reaches the end of the list he says "So, Mr. Johnson, you seem to know an awful lot about computer games... But what do you know about computers?"
And then the look of sheer horror washes over the guy's face.
So after seeing that, I thought that it might be a good idea to get some education in the field of computers. So I filed that nugget of an idea away until a moment presented itself that would allow me to utilize that idea, and now we’ve come back to that day in high school. But I think, if I really had to pick a moment when all of my troubles truly started, I think it would have to be this moment in June of 1964, the day I was conceived.
It’s been downhill at breakneck speed ever since.
Time: 21:51
Have you ever felt like your life has gone totally wrong, but you’re able to trace back to this one moment that you felt, if you changed it, everything might be better? I feel that way all the time. I feel that way when I go to work in the morning, when I leave work in the evening, when I go to school and when I leave to go home.
For years, I was able to trace back all the problems I believed I had, to this one moment in high school. I was walking down the corridor when my 12th Grade Geometry teacher beckons to me. I go over to see what he wants and he tells me that he’s starting a computer literacy class, and asks if I would like to join. I said, “Sure. Why not?” The one drawback was that the only time he could schedule it was around lunchtime. Should’ve taken that as a warning.
We walk into this little shack near the shop building. As we enter, off to the left, there’s what appears to be a control room like you see in a film or television studio. We walk into this little, gray-colored, windowless room, and I take a good, long look around. By the door are two computer screens with keyboards; behind them at the far wall are 5 more screens and keyboards. If you were to face the far wall, then to your left would be a dot-matrix printer, and a floppy drive. Oh, each computer screen had a cassette deck hooked up to it.
I looked around the room and decided right there and then “This is what I want to do.” So we started the class and I did rather well, I believe, and some months later, I graduated high school. I then went to The Office of Vocational Rehabilitation, or OVR, to get funding for vocational training. The counselor asks me, “What do you want to do?” “I want to work with computers.” I replied. “Good,” she said, “What do you want to do with them?”
I had no idea. And I told her as much. I said “I don’t know.” So she said “Well, think about it for a bit.” So I did. And then she asked me again, “What would you like to do?” “Work with computers.” What do you want to do with them?” “I don’t know.”
And here I am, more than twenty years later, and I still don’t know what it is I want to do. I keep finding out what I don’t want to do, but I can never find out what I want to do. And for all of those twenty-odd years, I’ve been blaming that moment in high school as the start of it all. But within the last six months or so, I realized that it goes back a little further than that. My problems really stem from the day I saw this commercial on television.
Years ago there was this commercial that featured a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk, and in front of the desk is the stereotypical nerd. The man behind the desk is reading off a list of video games and their accompanying high-scores, and every time the man ticks one off the list, the nerd nods his head while wearing a goofy grin. The plot is, the middle-aged man is an interviewer, and the nerd is the interviewee, when the interviewer reaches the end of the list he says "So, Mr. Johnson, you seem to know an awful lot about computer games... But what do you know about computers?"
And then the look of sheer horror washes over the guy's face.
So after seeing that, I thought that it might be a good idea to get some education in the field of computers. So I filed that nugget of an idea away until a moment presented itself that would allow me to utilize that idea, and now we’ve come back to that day in high school. But I think, if I really had to pick a moment when all of my troubles truly started, I think it would have to be this moment in June of 1964, the day I was conceived.
It’s been downhill at breakneck speed ever since.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Journal Entry #11: Imagination
Date: November 9, 2007
Time: 22:45
Flushing-Meadows Corona Park, the official name of the park everyone calls “Flushing Meadows”. Long before there was a movie called “Men in Black”, and even a longer time before there was a comic book by that name, there was Flushing Meadows. The site of not one, but two Worlds’ Fairs.
The first was held in the years 1939 - 1940, and among the scientific marvels that could be seen were a working robot, and a new-fangled invention called “television”. The second Worlds’ Fair to be held on that site was in 1964. That was when they constructed these towers. They put them right next to the New York Pavilion. The tallest of these towers was a fancy restaurant.
Many years later, the restaurant, and the cafeteria situated beneath it, stopped doing business, and the towers fell into disrepair. But they were never torn down. This left people with the ability to view a bit of history as they walked around the park, or viewed it from the highway.
When I was going to a summer day camp, there were many times I had the opportunity to see the towers from the highway. The very first time I saw them, I thought that the tops of the towers looked like flying saucers. I thought that way for years, and then “Men in Black” was released, and the writers of that movie decided that they were indeed, alien spacecraft, camouflaged as a tourist attraction.
Some years after that, I finally had the chance to go to the park and take a good look around. It was then that I found out what those towers really were. But even after getting a close look at them, or as close as I could get what with them closed to the public, even after reading the placard that is posted on the board fence surrounding the towers explaining what they are, what they were, and why they were built, even after all that, I still think the tops of those towers look like flying saucers.
See, that’s imagination, and that’s something I hope I never lose. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use Google Earth to fly through space for a little while.
Time: 22:45
Flushing-Meadows Corona Park, the official name of the park everyone calls “Flushing Meadows”. Long before there was a movie called “Men in Black”, and even a longer time before there was a comic book by that name, there was Flushing Meadows. The site of not one, but two Worlds’ Fairs.
The first was held in the years 1939 - 1940, and among the scientific marvels that could be seen were a working robot, and a new-fangled invention called “television”. The second Worlds’ Fair to be held on that site was in 1964. That was when they constructed these towers. They put them right next to the New York Pavilion. The tallest of these towers was a fancy restaurant.
Many years later, the restaurant, and the cafeteria situated beneath it, stopped doing business, and the towers fell into disrepair. But they were never torn down. This left people with the ability to view a bit of history as they walked around the park, or viewed it from the highway.
When I was going to a summer day camp, there were many times I had the opportunity to see the towers from the highway. The very first time I saw them, I thought that the tops of the towers looked like flying saucers. I thought that way for years, and then “Men in Black” was released, and the writers of that movie decided that they were indeed, alien spacecraft, camouflaged as a tourist attraction.
Some years after that, I finally had the chance to go to the park and take a good look around. It was then that I found out what those towers really were. But even after getting a close look at them, or as close as I could get what with them closed to the public, even after reading the placard that is posted on the board fence surrounding the towers explaining what they are, what they were, and why they were built, even after all that, I still think the tops of those towers look like flying saucers.
See, that’s imagination, and that’s something I hope I never lose. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use Google Earth to fly through space for a little while.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Journal Entry #10: Pictures
Date: November 8, 2007
Time: 21:26
Many years ago, I lived in a group home in the East Village, Every week we had what we referred to as a “house meeting”. One week, after one such meeting, this guy with grey, curly hair shoves a camera into my hands and says, “Shoot a roll.”
We then go outside, at about 8:00 PM, and I start taking pictures. Now remember, it’s not only night time, but it’s also around winter, and it just happened to start snowing a little while we were out. So I took pictures of some pigeons, of a lamppost, especially one where you could see the snow falling through the light, and whatever else I could at that hour.
We then went back inside and up to the darkroom to develop that roll of film. All we had, and could possible afford for use by the residents was black and white film, chemistry for developing black and white film, and photographic paper. I had very little patience when it came to the mixing of the chemistry, especially when we had to make up a new bottle or two. The water temperature had to be just right, not too hot, and not too cool, or the whole batch was ruined and we had to start over. But once I got some practice in, I turned out to be a pretty good photographer. I was even given the job of being the official photographer for the basketball team we had.
But then he got very serious, and I was told three things, that I have remembered to this day.
First, “Always look at the world as if you had a camera in your hands. Think to yourself “What would make a good picture?””
Second, “Always try to take picture of things that other people wouldn’t. If you see something that you find to be interesting, take a picture of it.”
And the third thing he said to me, and which was the most important, was this, “If you were to tell me right here and now that you wanted to do this (photography) for a living, I would do everything that I can to stop you. The reason for that is this, professional photography is a cutthroat business. You have to be better than everyone else just to get the job, and then, when you have the job, you have to be better than you were to have gotten the job in the first place.”
So I have contented myself to being able to take good pictures. But I can look at a picture, and see where certain aspects can be brought out to accentuate the picture. What makes that even more fun is I know how to do it. Even if the picture is “only” black and white.
Time: 21:26
Many years ago, I lived in a group home in the East Village, Every week we had what we referred to as a “house meeting”. One week, after one such meeting, this guy with grey, curly hair shoves a camera into my hands and says, “Shoot a roll.”
We then go outside, at about 8:00 PM, and I start taking pictures. Now remember, it’s not only night time, but it’s also around winter, and it just happened to start snowing a little while we were out. So I took pictures of some pigeons, of a lamppost, especially one where you could see the snow falling through the light, and whatever else I could at that hour.
We then went back inside and up to the darkroom to develop that roll of film. All we had, and could possible afford for use by the residents was black and white film, chemistry for developing black and white film, and photographic paper. I had very little patience when it came to the mixing of the chemistry, especially when we had to make up a new bottle or two. The water temperature had to be just right, not too hot, and not too cool, or the whole batch was ruined and we had to start over. But once I got some practice in, I turned out to be a pretty good photographer. I was even given the job of being the official photographer for the basketball team we had.
But then he got very serious, and I was told three things, that I have remembered to this day.
First, “Always look at the world as if you had a camera in your hands. Think to yourself “What would make a good picture?””
Second, “Always try to take picture of things that other people wouldn’t. If you see something that you find to be interesting, take a picture of it.”
And the third thing he said to me, and which was the most important, was this, “If you were to tell me right here and now that you wanted to do this (photography) for a living, I would do everything that I can to stop you. The reason for that is this, professional photography is a cutthroat business. You have to be better than everyone else just to get the job, and then, when you have the job, you have to be better than you were to have gotten the job in the first place.”
So I have contented myself to being able to take good pictures. But I can look at a picture, and see where certain aspects can be brought out to accentuate the picture. What makes that even more fun is I know how to do it. Even if the picture is “only” black and white.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Journal Entry #9: Accomplishments
Date: November 7, 2007
Time: 23:28
Ever accomplish anything? Before you answer, let me explain what I mean.
When I wrote my first story, the Doctor Who story where my friend meets the Doctor, I was so proud when I finished it. Not only was I proud of the fact that I wrote it, but that it took me such a short time in which to write it. I was so proud of it, I found a Kinko’s®, had them make up twenty copies, and had them bound. And none of that spiral binding, or that weird plastic wannabe spiral binding garbage either. No, I went with what they referred to as “Vellum Binding”. It features a clear plastic cover, a vinyl backing, and the pages and covers are riveted together. At the time, it cost $120.00, but at that time I didn’t care much about the price. Well, I did, but I figured it was worth it.
It was. I was thrilled when I got the copies. I gave a few of them away to friends, and I still have a few of them in a drawer. Of course, as I said in a previous post, it will never get published, but that doesn’t matter, it was the first story I ever wrote.
I got pretty much the same feeling when I wrote my first Original Story, but got an even better feeling when I got the notice that it was copyrighted.
So, each time I complete a story, or write a few lines or even a few pages, I feel as though I’ve accomplished something. That’s the thing with me. I have to feel I’ve accomplished something. I have to have the sense of it, I have to know it in my heart and mind and soul that I have done something.
Do you see? This is what I meant. Have you ever gotten that feeling that you’ve actually, honestly, truly accomplished something? If you have, great! If you haven’t, don’t despair, you’ll get that feeling sooner or later.
But I don’t have that feeling right now. I didn’t have it last week either. In fact, unless it has to do with something I’ve written, I’m not getting that feeling. Oh, and before you think you’ve got me trapped by my own words, you don’t. I’m not getting that feeling from doing this blog. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an interesting concept and all, but, like I said, I’m not getting that feeling, that sense, that I’ve accomplished something. And maybe I’m not supposed to get that with this, but I’m definitely not getting that feeling with the job I have, and I most assuredly did not feel it at all in my last job.
Oh sure, one of the managers I had told me how much I had accomplished by learning something we called the “Branch Office Support System”, and another manager told me that I learned it faster than anyone he’s ever seen get trained in it, but I just didn’t feel like I accomplished anything.
I don’t know, maybe I can’t really explain it.
Time: 23:28
Ever accomplish anything? Before you answer, let me explain what I mean.
When I wrote my first story, the Doctor Who story where my friend meets the Doctor, I was so proud when I finished it. Not only was I proud of the fact that I wrote it, but that it took me such a short time in which to write it. I was so proud of it, I found a Kinko’s®, had them make up twenty copies, and had them bound. And none of that spiral binding, or that weird plastic wannabe spiral binding garbage either. No, I went with what they referred to as “Vellum Binding”. It features a clear plastic cover, a vinyl backing, and the pages and covers are riveted together. At the time, it cost $120.00, but at that time I didn’t care much about the price. Well, I did, but I figured it was worth it.
It was. I was thrilled when I got the copies. I gave a few of them away to friends, and I still have a few of them in a drawer. Of course, as I said in a previous post, it will never get published, but that doesn’t matter, it was the first story I ever wrote.
I got pretty much the same feeling when I wrote my first Original Story, but got an even better feeling when I got the notice that it was copyrighted.
So, each time I complete a story, or write a few lines or even a few pages, I feel as though I’ve accomplished something. That’s the thing with me. I have to feel I’ve accomplished something. I have to have the sense of it, I have to know it in my heart and mind and soul that I have done something.
Do you see? This is what I meant. Have you ever gotten that feeling that you’ve actually, honestly, truly accomplished something? If you have, great! If you haven’t, don’t despair, you’ll get that feeling sooner or later.
But I don’t have that feeling right now. I didn’t have it last week either. In fact, unless it has to do with something I’ve written, I’m not getting that feeling. Oh, and before you think you’ve got me trapped by my own words, you don’t. I’m not getting that feeling from doing this blog. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an interesting concept and all, but, like I said, I’m not getting that feeling, that sense, that I’ve accomplished something. And maybe I’m not supposed to get that with this, but I’m definitely not getting that feeling with the job I have, and I most assuredly did not feel it at all in my last job.
Oh sure, one of the managers I had told me how much I had accomplished by learning something we called the “Branch Office Support System”, and another manager told me that I learned it faster than anyone he’s ever seen get trained in it, but I just didn’t feel like I accomplished anything.
I don’t know, maybe I can’t really explain it.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Journal Entry #8: Acceptance
Date: November 6, 2007
Time: 21:17
I am a science-fiction fan, a fan of fantasy novels and movies, and a comic book fan. This means that I do not fit. It means that I find it difficult to find acceptance among those who are supposed to be my peers.
The problem was, when I was growing up, among other things that I had problems with at that time, was growing up. When other guys my age were starting to turn to playing baseball, or basketball, I still wanted to play cops and robbers. Still do.
I don’t think it’s a longing for simpler times, or any other piece of psychoanalytical hoohaw you want to throw at me, it’s just that sometimes, I feel that I never got much of a chance to be a kid, and I’d like to be one again. Or still.
But regardless of all of that, I still love to read comic books. I buy mostly titles published by DC Comics, and some from a little known label called “Moonstone Comics”. I watch cartoons whenever I get the chance, but I try to watch what made me happy growing up. Although I cannot understand how I used to watch “Scooby-Doo” every week. I can almost see people starting to read this blog entry, thinking it’s going to go somewhere else, but, upon realizing it’s not, they’re turning away.
This means, that once again, I have to go elsewhere to be accepted, but that’s okay, I know where those places are, I’ve been there before and I had a good time. The trouble with at least one of them is I can’t get to it, and in another few years, it’s going to go away. That one particular place is a Doctor Who convention in Chicago. At this time in my life, I can’t afford to go, and I don’t have the time to take off. But there is a fan club I belong to, and if I can ever get my schedule and theirs to mesh, I’ll be able to go to the monthly meeting, and there is still the Video Meet near the end of the month that I can attend, as long as it isn’t in upstate New York.
As for the comic book thing, there’s always my friends, and beyond that, there’s the New York Comic-Con to look forward to next April.
Time: 21:17
I am a science-fiction fan, a fan of fantasy novels and movies, and a comic book fan. This means that I do not fit. It means that I find it difficult to find acceptance among those who are supposed to be my peers.
The problem was, when I was growing up, among other things that I had problems with at that time, was growing up. When other guys my age were starting to turn to playing baseball, or basketball, I still wanted to play cops and robbers. Still do.
I don’t think it’s a longing for simpler times, or any other piece of psychoanalytical hoohaw you want to throw at me, it’s just that sometimes, I feel that I never got much of a chance to be a kid, and I’d like to be one again. Or still.
But regardless of all of that, I still love to read comic books. I buy mostly titles published by DC Comics, and some from a little known label called “Moonstone Comics”. I watch cartoons whenever I get the chance, but I try to watch what made me happy growing up. Although I cannot understand how I used to watch “Scooby-Doo” every week. I can almost see people starting to read this blog entry, thinking it’s going to go somewhere else, but, upon realizing it’s not, they’re turning away.
This means, that once again, I have to go elsewhere to be accepted, but that’s okay, I know where those places are, I’ve been there before and I had a good time. The trouble with at least one of them is I can’t get to it, and in another few years, it’s going to go away. That one particular place is a Doctor Who convention in Chicago. At this time in my life, I can’t afford to go, and I don’t have the time to take off. But there is a fan club I belong to, and if I can ever get my schedule and theirs to mesh, I’ll be able to go to the monthly meeting, and there is still the Video Meet near the end of the month that I can attend, as long as it isn’t in upstate New York.
As for the comic book thing, there’s always my friends, and beyond that, there’s the New York Comic-Con to look forward to next April.
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