Month: July 2004

So here it is at nearly 4am, and I’m waiting for the cold and flu meds to kick in because after hours of basically nil sleep I realised there were some lurking in a back drawer somewhere.
Stupid stupid rat creatures. I should be asleep dreaming of gargantua and left-wing and Brando and coats of arms and sine waves and precise composites and Tiger Lily and multitudes and such. Instead I am awake.
I have, however, just eaten some chocolate and it is amazing how much better it makes me feel. Mmm.
And, apple and ginger tea.

Flights are booked. Paris in early August for about a week. Ireland in October for 2 1/2 weeks. Yay.
I have another sore-throat head-stuffed cold-thing. Dammit! I’ve had more of these little bug hits this year than the last three put together! (At least, unlike in previous years, they are only staying a few days before being beaten out of me.)
Word of the day: rabelaisian

I am watching Howard Hawks’ original The Thing From Another World right now on BBC2.
I just had a glass of water and it refreshed me more than anything.
We had a good roleplaying club meeting, and some people even realised it was our one-year anniversary. Our ‘sponsor’ at the bookstore chatted to me and says she wants to organise an event of some kind in October for the 30th anniversary.
I downloaded a fan-made Windows version of legendary C64 game ‘Head Over Heels’.
There’s a Hillary Clinton/Natalie Portman photo doing the internet rounds that made me laugh.
I am warm and comfy.

Had a sweet day yesterday. Nice work – did good stuff, fairly chilled out, played some wicked basketball at lunch. Massive goodness there, best bball workout I’ve had since leaving home. Workmate Russell loaned me a couple of CDs, including one of his own (he DJs on the side) – very cool – and lovely bosswoman Teresa loaned me a couple of recent BBC History magazines.
After work, tripped into Ephelant House to do some writing. Last week I sat down and started writing the second draft of Ron the Body. Two hours later when I put my pen down, I realised that I hadn’t got it. I knew right then. It was not working.
That is a terrible thing to feel. Instant doubts: am I not good enough for this book? Am I in that rewriting hell where nothing ever seems to work? Will I spend the rest of my life rewriting the front chapter?
Shush, self, I thought. Leave it. Come back. Try again.
The first chunk of Ron is all first-person, from the point of view of a woman named Cass. Last night, when I sat down again and straightened out a clean page and wrote ‘Ron the Body – 1 – Cass’ at the top, Cass came to the party. All is good.
Then Cal and I swung around the corner for a nice meal, headed home to dump our stuff, and hopped buswards back into the middle of town for the Salmonella Dub gig.
SDub are a Kiwi dub outfit, ‘world famous in new zealand’ as the saying goes. They deliver great dancefloor sounds. Cab Voltaire was full of Kiwis, unsurprisingly – the gig sold out with a queue at the door hoping for late returns. And the guys came out and played a burning set. I lost my connect a little early on, but when they swung into a more hip-hop flavoured second half I got right back in, fast. Some magic moments.
Some observations, partly from the downtime early on when my mind was wandering through this stuff:
* a Kiwi band playing to a Kiwi crowd in another country just needs to say Aotearoa and the room erupts. I cringed, I admit it.
* all the usual gig-denizens: the smelly natty-dreaded white guy who dances like a maniac even when the music isn’t on; the skinhead shirtless sixpack boys in the middle of things; the guy with the singlet vest and flat cap huffing vicks and flipping out right at the front; the Steve Stifler guy who doesn’t dance but puts his fists in the air and shouts the name of the band now and then. Heh.
* fashion really is different over here. The audience last night coulda been scooped off Cuba Street, and the it was a shock to realise how unfamiliar it was to see everyone wearing T-shirts and earthy colours; skirts of sensible length (but mostly jeans or trousers); not much makeup, not much cleavage. Less of a meatmarket, in other words. Mainstream young people clothes in New Zealand but scruffy and alternohemian on this side of the world.
And finally home after 2am. Sleep was good. (Waking up, not so good, but this is the price we pay.)

I still haven’t figured out what, if anything, I’m going to post on my LJ as opposed to posting here or sending out in morgueatlarge emails. So many channels! Anyway, you really should read the story of me and BBC Radio 4, which can be found on my livejournal here.

I recently set up a LiveJournal account. LJ is a blog service with a bunch of added extras that encourage networking among LJ members. I signed up primarily so I could comment on the blogs of my LJ friends and come up as an identity, as opposed to a strange anonymous guest. Also handy was the LJ friends system.
An LJ friend is basically someone you want to read regularly. You put them on your friends list, and then every time they add an entry it turns up on your Friends page. (Here is mine.) So you have a one-stop shop for reading all the LJs you follow. Very handy.
Anyway. I read LJs belonging to friends here, friends in NZ, and people whose work I follow – comics madman Warren Ellis, for example. I have put Warren on my friends list. Warren has about 2000 LJ readers who have done the same. 76 of those readers are on Warren’s own friends list – the people whose LJs he reads.
This is going somewhere, I promise. In fact, here’s the point now…
Roleplaying pro Mike Mearls first came to my attention writing the OGL conversion of Godlike (non gamers: just nod and smile) a few years back. He was the first guy to really throw caution to the wind and see what could be done with a great new toy. He’s carved out a freelancing career, and very recently signed on at Malhavoc Press as their first staffer who isn’t surnamed ‘Cook’. I read his LJ because he’s got interesting stuff to say about the industry. Also, he’s a funny guy.
So I made Mearls my friend. And now I’m his friend, in return. He seems to be the friend of everyone who friends him.
Why is Mearls my friend? Because he’s just a big-hearted guy, I guess.