State Of The Smitty Adress

Last week Blizzard let me know I was to receive three free days of World Of Warcraft as soon as I redeemed the gift that was in my login screen.

The first day I played relentlessly, the second not as much and by the third, only somewhat. The small amount of time I spent on that last day was not unlike an elderly person "getting their affairs in order" prior to death. I tried to make sure my characters were left in a state where things could be picked back up without as much incident, unlike a lot of time I felt was wasted relearning to play each character and getting them to a place where I felt they could be productive.

My PC monitor stood tall and behind my laptop which I used to play the online stream of the Lincoln Saltdogs games as I quested away most of my weekend.

After having returned from a bathroom break my laptop monitor looked like a shattered window on acid. Colors and individual pixels danced about the mostly static screen that looked like a Microsoft Paint doodle in which someone went nuts with the paint bucket tool.

I did what any computer person would do in the above situation, I turned my laptop off and turned it back on. After two unsuccessful attempts, I let my laptop cool off as I feared I had let the poor thing get too hot ....no luck.

My fear upon seeing the screen was that I had let the laptop get too hot and I had melted or somehow damaged the graphics card but my eldest stepson was over and assured me that the screen had merely been punctured, broken or somehow hit with extreme force. He was kind enough to look up the cost of a replacement which ran right around $100 and removed the old LCD screen. Now I worry though that I lost the tiny screws for the LCD screen he had carefully gathered. He seemed baffled by what could have caused such extreme force. My guess would be my 18-month-old son who had spent the previous couple weeks popping off keys from my laptop keyboard one by one every time my wife and I were distracted for mere seconds.

I limped the laptop along getting precious database backups created and off the machine by hooking up the laptop to my flat screen tv. The second time I went to do so though resulted in a series of beeps and silences which made me worried I had lost everything else on the machine. The third attempt worked and now I can confirm that this indeed had all occurred on a Sunday because I left the laptop to copy files as the wife and I made our weekly trek for groceries.

The laptop worked a few more times after that, but a week later I can't get a visual at all anymore, regardless of what I hook it up to.

The epic and mysterious demise of my laptop plays a big factor in most of the issues I am about to list but ultimately just about everything below is also at least partially my fault.

My podcast is toast as my only unlocked version of Audacity rests in the unaccessible C drive of my laptop. By unlocked I mean, set up so that the audio can be exported. This is Audacitys way of not getting sued for people who might use it to copy or otherwise redistribute copywritten material, the name of the third-party software needed for this? L.A.M.E. I'm not making this up and can only guess that this software was both made and named as a sort of a subtle middle finger to the frustrating law side of things. Of all the issues in this blog this particular "lame" one is the easiest to remedy, and most likely will be by the time you read this.

I can't speak highly enough about Audacity, it's free, give it a go. I've seen videos on YouTube boasting that they could teach the viewer how to make music exclusively with Audacity which I may very well have to do because my only copy of FL Studio was on my laptop. I've had mixed results and the software is very expensive and somewhat frustrating. Despite these frustrations, the laptop had all of my works in progress and a working copy. I'm sure I'm allowed to download another copy if I can find my original login info, but that is a very, very big 'if'.

The above, although also solvable has for at least the moment put a halt not only to the podcast but to any headway I was making in the music creation process.

The laptop also had the best speakers I own, so even after standing up Audacity and even FL loops my playback would be limited to the cheapest pair of speakers I could find at BestBuy when I received this pc, I must remind myself, as a gift.

Another hardware failure (I think) has befallen one of the converters that enables me to use old Nintendo controllers to play Tecmo and Super Tecmo Football on my computer. Therefore the two leagues I have with my family the Smitty Family Tecmo Football League and Smitty Family Classic Tecmo Football League are both on hold again, no long after a brief return to glory since receiving new NES controllers my old ones had been devoured by the puppy of the house. Even if I pony up the dough for another converter, there is no guarantee the issue will be alleviated as my PC seems to be very picky when it comes to USB devices, especially allowing two controllers, so both of those leagues are shelved.

In addition to my two family leagues I was working towards a third solo league which I could technically work on even without being able to use both controllers but the other big factor in all of these is the general feeling of fatigue and lack of motivation that permeates my very being both at work and once at home.

Another solo league the Simulation Axis Franchise Football League sits mothballed but like the above could be getting worked on. As of this writing, I think the last tweet or the pinned tweet sums things up pretty well.

My two other leagues the NAFL and AAFL are still tangled in a database failure combined with issues from the C# front end which was as you might guess it....on my laptop. So even if I was to untangle the corrupted database their still is the systemic issues on the C# front end, I managed to get the files off the laptop as it turns out....just in time, but I doubt the links to the backend database still work and programming at home is even less appealing on my PC than it was on my laptop.

When contemplating writing this I thought about keeping up the charade of each of these accounts being attributed to different entities, but I doubt few will make it to, let alone through this entire whiny blog (Hi mom! Hi wife!).

I have other leagues like the PFL and my college league but both suffer from the same front end C# dilemma as the NAFL and the AAFL that thankfully for you none of which I created a twitter account for. As it stands only one league is still playable without effort put into external issues.

My train set is also mothballed as the curve I went to fix resulted in an entire side of the basement long layout being ripped up. I've tried to cludge together the curve from scrap wood but I think it's best to obtain a fresh piece of particle board and borrow a truck from somebody and do the thing right, in the meantime, the mediation of watching my locomotives do laps around me is also gone. Of course me being me, I was developing software and a database backend for my fictional model railroad reality....on my laptop.

Yesterday the wife and I rearranged the bedroom but not without casualties, she suffered a strained back that had already been reeling and dropped something heavy on her foot. I never should have let her move anything on that back of hers, it sucks, but that one is one me 100% she can hardly walk. The room is much better in both arrangement and functionality but I feel the cost was too high.

Our two toddlers are a constant strain on time, energy and sanity. I tried to think of a way to sugar coat that but I really can't. It's not like I'm not grateful for them but anyone who has raised a toddler let alone two at the same time can appreciate the challenge.

Most of the time we have four dogs in the house as well, one of which made quick work of the carpet next to the door here in the bedroom, I don't really mind honestly but the bare wooden subflooring acts as another reminder that the house around me is collapsing. The state of the house is also my fault but that patch of flooring yells at me for my own lethargy, laziness, and downright sloth.

The carpet in the nearby master bedroom was yanked up in what was to be a fruitless search for what was soaking the carpet in there. And as I write this my wife is trying to get the toilet in there to stop running after my efforts were ultimately fruitless. Speaking of fruitless, the bathroom that will soon pass year ten of its own remodeling abandonment, a monument to my own failures as a homeowner has a ceiling bulging with water damage, a look at the flooring between the two bathrooms reveals another potential leak.

Two of the dogs in the house are being babysat for free more often then they're not, much like the toddlers they have their positives too but additional chaos is inevitable. At work, I have a  project that is overdue and barely survived last week even with the 4th of July holiday. A holiday that went better than I ever could have imagined but stressed out about big-time beforehand.

The last home-related issue is a strange spell that seems to have been cast on my entire household where everyone but me is either unwilling or unable to sleep in their own rooms, it's bizarre, but I had to throw that in there.

This is going to sound extremely narcissistic but I feel like work is a place where I exchange part of my life, almost all of my energy and my creative soul for a paycheck. Don't get me wrong, I love my job and as far as the line of work it's in I'm convinced it's the least-worst place to be.

Many apologies as this has turned into a whine-fest but some positives exist. I'm in the middle of a good book: Ready Player One whose reality escaping premise is a welcome escape if said escape can be achieved amid toddler and dog chaos. The price for this escape is what feels like a very self-indulgent story acting as a mirror reflecting my own desires back at my being, making them seem petty, narcissistic and ultimately implausible.

Rediscovering World of Warcraft is another escape but often hinders any progress on the other ventures I have listed here. WoW offers a much easier and less tedious dopamine hit which proves addicting in my usual tired state.

I took a class on self-publishing but my lack of energy combined with, believe it or not, my inability to create enough content to fill a book compounded by constant desire to switch and think up new projects has thus far proved fruitless.

More exists but believe it or not there are problems even I won't share publicly.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

A Least I'm Announcing It This Time

You may see a sizable gap between this and my next post. I just don't get much out of these like I used to.

I'm going to try and focus more on my book. Really the biggest obsticles to this venture are this:

And my own inability to sit my lazy ass in front of a keyboard and not be distracted by the Internets many time sink land mines. Plans are in place to remedy or at least lessen these obstacles.

Catch you on down the trail.

Sketch

Sketch: noun a rough or unfinished drawing or painting, often made to assist in making a more finished picture.

Or my prefered definition of the comedic variety of a sketch (skip to the 4:51 mark if it doesn’t do it for you automatically).

Although these are both excellent definitions of the respective variations of a sketch, I’d like to create one of my own.

I haven’t come up with a catchy title, but I’m envisioning a written version to add to the above two types.

I don’t write fiction often, but when I do I get a clear single image or images in my head and write in great detail about that scene. I have no idea where this image comes from or where this ‘written sketch’ is going. I make no plans, no outlines, just feverishly describe with great detail what I see. I get the feeling that in the unlikely event I should ever finish a short story, the reader would drown in Chekhov's guns. I sort of delite in the idea, not in drowning readers but in breaking rules and restraints on how and what I should write.

In order to rebel fully though, you must actually finish something. Yet this is not the case. I invariably walk away from the keyboard with the full intent to continue on whatever sketch I just created later, but I almost never do. What is left is a written version of a few buildings, a lake or peninsula with mountains in the background and so forth.

The sketch gets filed away in its own folder and forgotten about. I daydream about continuing this sketch or that sketch but nothing ever comes of these thoughts.

So I’ve amassed a written sketchbook over the years. I can only think of one short story I’ve finished. The rest are just “rough” and “unfinished” chunks of texts taking up space on the google cloud. Some are only a few words long hinting at bizarre dreams from the night prior.

This used to bother me. It used to even make me angry or depressed. To the point where I would start thinking of these sketches, or have a flash and WANT to write out what I see but can’t at the moment. Instead I write a prompt and file it away. These thoughts angered me because I thought “what is the point?” I might sketch them, I might not. Even if I do it won’t amount to a completed work so stop thinking about it.

I usually can’t though, adding to the frustration.

I’m not sure when it happened or why, but I just came to accept them for what they are, vague, rough images used to quell whatever need to write I felt at the time. Yes, I suck at finishing things, especially written, fictional things, but at least some internal purpose was served and in the unlikely event I feel the need to revisit that scene, I know just where my sketchbook is.

In the spirit of sketches I thought I’d share one that is particularly fitting. I didn’t realize how fitting until I reread for the first time in a very long time. The very first line was the flash that got me going. Everything else was leading up to that line and made on the spot (during the feverish stage I mentioned above). In the story the main character laments the lack of desire to write even though he spends most of his workday wanting to. So I figured, right on topic for this particular blog.

“Maybe part of the motivation is that you’re NOT supposed to be doing it.” She questioned taking another long drag from her cigarette, staring off into the distance deep in thought.

I had never really considered myself the rebellious type but that could indeed be part of my problem. Still, it didn’t quite fit. I wanted it to fit, needed it to fit, but yet somehow, like the missing ingredient in the family recipe, something was just not quite right during the taste test.

“Nah” I said, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Or maybe you’re just fucking lazy.” She scratched her head with her right hand and her left held her cigarette at length while individual strands of blond hairs danced about her face in the early fall breeze. They seemed to have minds of their own, tiny tentacles reaching into the air for microbes to feast on.

I followed the tentacles back to their source, her dark brown roots had covered a lot of area on either side of her part. I’d never seen so much root on anyone else. Was that the ‘in’ thing now? Nah, she wouldn’t be bothered with that crap. Everything about her was so beautifully unplanned and out of control. If it was ‘in’ it would just be an annoying coincidence to her.

Unfortunately that lack of caring seemed to extend to me as well.

Suddenly she snapped back to reality. “Hey! Did you hear me?” she said before adding “I just called you fucking lazy.” Her head tilted to the side as she immediately started lightly laughing while flicking her cigarette.

‘She did didn’t she?’ I thought. And she didn’t care one bit about how I would take it. With her head turned and mouth open in a light laugh I admired her teeth. I couldn’t really describe them to you but they were special, special in a way that growing up with a parent who couldn’t afford to get you braces made teeth special.

I suddenly really hated my teeth. Then I suddenly realized I hadn’t said anything in a really long time.

Quick, say something, my brain urged! But be cool,......pretend you haven’t been Facebook stalking her since 8th grade.

“I….” was all I got out and probably for the better. I don’t know what was to follow but it couldn’t have been great. In fact, it would probably have been an immensely embarrassing bramble of words that would go in my hall of fame of awkward utterances to attractive females.

“Later” she had interrupted unknowingly, while ashing her cigarette right there on the handicap ramp in the back of the building. She didn’t know she interrupted me, which brought me some solace, but I felt like I was in a dream where a monster was chasing me and I couldn’t make a sound.

Instead the monster was up, swirling effortlessly around. Up the ramp it went, no hair flip exposing the neck, no look back at me.

An unbuttoned black and blue plaid shirt flapped uncaring in the wind. Only parts of the plain black shirt underneath could be seen as the plaid was tossed about by the wind. Her jeans were ripped in all the right places and black Converse shoes quickly made their way up the ramp.

And just like that it was over. After a summer where I had just so happened to end up interning at the same place she worked. A crush thought lost then brought back to life with all the subtlety of high voltage resuscitation paddles.

I stood there in a mannequin-like state until the metal door slammed on its own, jolting me back to reality.

In retrospect I should have given myself more credit. I’m surprised I managed to say anything. Then I began the first replay of the events that just happened for the first of what would be many many replays to come. I had been writing at one of the outdoor break area benches.

The voice had hit me like lightning, so fast and bright its source I didn’t immediately register. She had asked in a bored tone “Whatcha’ writtin’?”. After turning though, the sound of the voice resonated in my head. As it did so, I responded on autopilot, again perhaps better that way.

While her two words tried to penetrate my thick skull, the memories of our shared youth clouded the inside of my skull’s thickness. I managed simply, “They’re supposed to look like meeting notes, but everyday day during our morning meeting I write a little bit on a story. I’m not supposed to, but I’m so bored……...I always promise myself I’ll work on it more when I’m not busy or at work but I never do, and I never know why.”

My thoughts coming full circle, I was once again aware of where I was, in a small courtyard at the bottom of our building. At some point I must have stood to face her, although I have no recollection of doing that. I must have taken the elevator back up to the office, but the butterflies in my stomach could have probably gotten me up there just fine.

Chasing A Dream

From the day I set foot in middle school it became apparent that everything from that point on was to be done to prepare for College. I needed to know what I wanted to do when I grew up and I needed to know fast.

I even asked my counselor about this during her visit to my first period science class. The silliness of all of this wasn't lost on my then 12 year old mind. She responded with a calculated and matter of fact “Yes, you should have things planned” or some such thing.

From that moment on until the day I graduated from High School every action, whether solo or in a class of non-behaving students, was countered with a warning of how this or that wouldn't fly in college.

There were warnings of professors that were cold and uncaring, of writing forty page papers every night that no matter how well you wrote them, no matter how hard you worked, would totally get an “F”.

As it turned out I went to a small college filled with classmates from small towns who had no idea what to expect in college. Everything that was foreshadowed like a chilling Nostradamus prophecy never came to pass. Professors actually seemed more patient than the teachers from my former school district.

All of this planning resulted in constant tests to determine what my pre-teen classmates and I should take the following semester so we were on the right path to whatever our major was going to be in college.

I only remember one such survey. The end result was that I should be an author. Sounds great right? But why not rock star? Or Astronaut? The odds of a successful career in such a field seemed not worth the bother even then.

A classmate of mine didn't take the survey seriously, as well he shouldn't have. His end result was that he should pursue the “Tree Surgeon” career path. I’m sure the counselor involved didn't like that result as I’m not aware of any “Tree Surgeon” major at the local university.

Despite all the angst and distrust caused by all this future planning I must admit that survey was correct. I truly believe that I was wired to be an author or at least a writer. I can admit that now. Still, the prospects of being able to make a living doing so were and are on par with winning the lottery or Bo Pelini admitting fault for something*.

I instead went the safe route, heading towards the Computer Programming world, in which I’m happy. Still I don’t think it’s what I was designed to do.

For a time when the required Calculus classes for the Computer Science major were still making me their @#$%& and flunking me out of school very late in my College Career, I briefly considered switching majors to English. I wasn't forced to pull the trigger as my genius (and 5th and final adviser) managed to substitute the remainder of my Calc classes for some flowcharts business class and a business organization class I could take offline. On top of everything else, I never even had to do a final project. To this day I still have to remind myself that I ACTUALLY DID graduate.

How those two joke classes add up to Calc 2, 3,4 and a final project I’ll never know, but for that wizard of an adviser I’ll be forever grateful.  

I had a lot of English major friends though. All but two of them got their teaching degree to go with it. I only remember two friends who got their English degree and didn't go on to teach. One is working at ShopKo and the other has been working at Olive Garden for 10+ years now.

This reminds me of the old college major joke:

The Engineering major asks, "How does it work?"

The Accounting major asks, "How much does it cost?"

The Art major asks, "Would you like fries with that?"

Jokes aside, if that’s what you’re passionate about you should totally go for it. And even if you are in year ten of distributing free breadsticks and grinding cheese into a salad while waiting to hear “when”, at least you studied what you love.

So does that mean I’m quitting my job, buying an old timey typewriter and going to town? Heck no! Daddy needs his nacho money.

I’m struggling to get to my point here (big surprise) but I’ll take a swing at it. It goes a little something like this.

It’s all about setting your standards very very low and exploiting technicalities. How very American of me right?

Just like an indoor football player from some town you've never heard of can lay claim to being a professional football player even if he only makes $200 bucks a game, I can say I’m a professional writer if I get money in exchange for writing something, no matter how small that amount of money.

I never thought of this until just now, but someone could just pay me a dollar to write something for them. That would be way better than the scheme I was concocting...oh well. I’ll still roll with “Scheme A”.

The other dream I have is both more and less attainable thanks to advancements in technology. I work in the book industry, complete with a warehouse. Ever since college I've always dreamed of having one copy of my book on a shelf there, even if I never sell a copy.

Everyone knows just how bad the odds are about getting something published. All the submissions and rejections. In fact it’s my understanding most publishers won’t even read anything unless you have an agent. All these things combined made my “shelf dream” always seem like a far off goal.

This is where the wonders of technology and the internet come in. Thanks to the wonderful internet world we live in anyone can self publish. It’s just a matter of money (just like everything else in America, more on that in the coming blogs).

Yes, even Jethro from Raccoon Kill, Alabama can self publish his 800 page manifesto on how the squirrels in his backyard are involved in a secret government conspiracy to control his mind.

Obviously I need to do more research especially if I’m going up against Jethro, but it’s worth a look. In the mean time….back to “Scheme A”.

When I started writing this I didn't realize how much legalese was/is involved. So much so, I can’t even tell you how it works, what it is, or any other number of things I don’t fully understand. The good news is you’re all smart people and I’m sure you’ll figure it out pretty quickly.

I’m pretty sure even if I follow all the rules they will find their way out of the deal. If that happens I’m still okay with it, it’s all about chasing a dream. I’m just grateful I don’t have to keep running breadsticks to people while doing so.

*= You didn’t really think I’d let the Bo firing go without sneaking in a shot at him did you?