As November 1 approaches, I believe I am thinking too hard about where to (re)begin with Titan's Edifice for NaNoWriMo. Maybe I need to stop thinking so hard, just start writing, and fill in the holes in the research later.

I have a good direction now, I think. I just don't have all of the research to write it compellingly. After all, what do I really know about the ropes and tiny details of starting a new labor union, of the political implications for an employer faced with a new union starting under his feet, and of the struggles of loyalty for an employee who doesn't want to form a union but is being pressured into it anyway?

I was going to write Heirloom, but the problem with that one is that I don't feel I know the characters well enough yet. In Titan, I already know Tave, Mark, Flint, Silas, and Lynd. I've been with them for five years, for 221 pages that I scrapped, for another dozen plot outlines that have been revised and crumpled and free-throwed (yes, I know that is an improper verb ending) into a little blue garbage pail.

Hell, in Heirloom, the characters don't even have names. I know who they are. I can picture them. I can keep them straight. But I can't find the right names yet.

I also thought about writing Bridie, a book that has been on my mind since reading The Rapture of Canaan in high school, but I don't have enough inspiration to write that one yet. There just isn't a solid enough framework to run with. I'd quit within three days because I'd get bored with that one.

So I think that at this point, I need to stop researching, reading, and thinking and just start writing. Ugh. I hate writer's block.

I posted this video not too long ago, but I am posting it again simply because Ezekiel's flashback is the relationship that I want.






Things that are wonderful about this relationship:
(1) Peter Horton (Ezekiel) is an attractive guy, so that's a plus
(2) They are so sincerely happy together
(3) Ezekiel dies, goes to hell for killing his wife's rapist, and then RETURNS FROM THE DEAD AS A BAMF-ing DEMON HUNTER AFTER MAKING A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL TO SEND 113 SOULS BACK TO HELL IN EXCHANGE FOR A SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE.  Neither life nor death nor time nor space nor heaven nor HELL ITS FIERY SELF can keep him from her. Who wouldn't want a man like that?
(4) Roz (his wife) never remarries. He was the man she loved most, and no one else could ever come close. So she goes it alone instead of demeaning their relationship by "settling" for someone else
(5) It's simple. Their love, their lives. It's so simple. Snow globes and a bottle of beer and playful wrestling on the floor. That's what marriage should be. Simple. Happy. Playful. Laughter and loving.

If (when?) I get married, I don't want an intense romance. The more I see of romance, the more it seems to kill love. I don't need the flowers and the heart shaped candy and the diamond rings and jewelry. What I want is the tickling and the quick, punctuated kisses on the lips and the playful wrestling and sitting on the couch together watching a movie and just being.

The more I see of weddings and of white dresses and the traditional mumbo jumbo, the more I want a backyard wedding with me in a simple sundress and my groom in slacks and a nice shirt with a tie. I want someone to snap a few photos just for memories sake and then forget about all the posing and posture and formal shots. I want a backyard barbecue, with Dad at the grill and a battery operated CD player as a wedding singer. And there on the patio, in my flip flops and cotton dress, I want to dance with my husband like nobody's watching. I want to laugh with him (and at him!) and just feel his hand in mine as we make up our own style of waltz.

I just want simplicity. Just a few close friends and some family.

And, of course, a guy who would rend asunder the gates of hell itself to come back to me.

Of everything that happened yesterday -- the good, the bad, and the in between -- there is one thing that I remember above all else.

A little neon green inch worm crawling along Mike's pants.

We were sitting on a bench together in the Bird Haven Greenhouse park in Joliet checking camera equipment, and I was just looking at him as he sat there beside me (I tend to do that ... I guess I'm his creeper stalker). And then I saw this little inch worm, curling into an upside down U and and then straightening back out into a dotless i, inching his way over the creases of Mike's striped black suit pants.

And I said,  "You have an inch worm on your leg."

He looked away from the LCD screen of his camera as he was checking the SD card, bending towards me so he could see the side of his thigh. And he said, "Oh."

He plucked it from his pants, and for a moment I was afraid he had squished it. But it dangled from his fingers for dear life as he shook it to the ground, where it landed on his shoe.

And he said, "Now it's on my shoe." And he kicked his foot gently, until off flew the little inch worm.

Of all the things that happened -- of the ten hours that we were together -- the most vivid memory that I can recall is Mike sitting on a bench with an inch worm on his leg.

I accepted the position with Pamida. I am a supervisor, with full time. The job offer includes $10 an hour, Blue Cross & Blue Shield insurance (they pay 75%, I pay 25%), dental and vision, life insurance, a 401K plan, two weeks paid vacation after one year, and 3 personal days.

Sounds like a decent deal to me.

Aside from that, I'll still be putting in my $9 an hour at The Paper (God help me survive working an extra 15 hours per work on top of full time .... it will be like my 24-hour course load all over again...). So that should pay the bills, although sadly reduce my social life.

Even so, that means I can (1) start paying off student loans, (2) meet the phone bill and car payments, (3) pay off my credit cards, which I have been living off of for the past three months, and (4) start putting money back for Northwestern. I can officially start paying for grad school now.

Oh, and I can buy those shoes I've been wanting.

I bought these today for $36.

I've been looking at them for months at the thrift shop in Morris and never bought them because they were marked at $25 apiece, but today I couldn't resist anymore.

I asked the cashier if they were $25 for the pair or individually, and she said individually. Since I really don't have $50 to spend on two ceramic gazelles that I want for a future house/apartment, I dejectedly said, "Oh," and started to walk away. They then reduced the price to $17.99 since the gazelles have been there for months without anyone purchasing them.

Still, I wasn't sure if I wanted to pay $36 for them. So I wandered the thrift shop, bought three shirts, and returned to the counter to check out. Finally, I went for it. After looking at them for months, I splurged and charged them to my Visa.

When I got home, I looked up Haeger Potteries online and found my very same gazelles.

For $69.91 apiece.

So I am pretty darn happy right now. I got two for half the price of one!

I had my Pamida interview today.

I had a phone interview with their district manager on Saturday, and she apparently forgot to fax my info to the store, because when I showed up today they had no record of me coming and did not have my resume or application. So they decided to wing it and interview without knowing anything about me.

I don't think it went very well.  Usually I can gauge how an interview is going, but these three women were pros at poker faces. I have no clue what sort of impression I left.

Also, I think my journalism passion worked against me. They commented that I seem very passionate about journalism, then asked how that could possibly translate over retail.

No good.

So my Who's Who book came in the mail today. Which only depresses me all over again about losing the 4.0 literally three days before graduating.

I have the Wal-Mart job as long as I don't turn it down for Pamida. I would rather work at Pamida -- it is just logistically more convenient for me to hold The Paper job if I work in Dwight instead of Morris. But I don't know if Pamida is going to call back. We'll see. I'd like the smaller retail setting of Pamida, but I'll take the sporting goods spot at Wal-Mart if necessary. It might be fun to work that department. Besides, there is inspiration everywhere. Who knows what sorts of writing/art ideas I'll get from Wal-Mart?

My can of Mountain Dew just sweated all over my box of photo supplies. Crap. The box sits on top of my hamper and serves as a sort of table because I have no table in my room, and I also have no coasters, which means Mama Stroebel will kill me if I put a soda can on one of her dressers in this room.

Not much else to report on. I have been entertaining myself far too much lately with vivid daydreams and romantic comedies. I am also reading Community Journalism: Relentlessly Local and finding renewed inspiration for my job.

So yep. That's pretty much it.

I spent a much-needed day in Washington with Angie today, watching Resident Evil and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang before going out to Chili's for some good food and even better conversation.

The conversation was heartening, actually. Extremely so. I've been battling with myself over certain feelings and situations for some time now, and having a good female friend's perspective lifted my spirits immensely.

After parting from Anige, I bought a TON of fleece to start making people fleece blankets for Christmas. Yay for gift-giving!

I have my third Wal-Mart interview tomorrow and my second Pamida interview on Tuesday. Everybody cross your fingers that Pamida calls back, and that they call before Wal-Mart does. Working at Pamida would make my life ten times easier because it's in the same town as The Paper and it will make it more Julie-friendly to hold down both jobs.

Not much else to say. Just tired from a good day and mentally prepping myself for impressing employers tomorrow. Otherwise, I'm just thankful for a day with a fantastic friend and 3 hours' worth of thinking time spent with keys in the ignition and a full tank of gas.

I ordered my business cards last night, and they've already been shipped. I purchased 100 for $30, so let's hope that's all I'll need. How many people can need a card, right?

Anyhow, here's a sneak peek....
ARGH! I am so in love with this man's characters! It breaks my heart that Brimstone wasn't aired longer. It is such a gorgeous storyline. I want to buy the copyright and write a series of books. Ezekiel needs to get back to Roz!

(Well, that and it would give me an excuse to meet Peter Horton ... "Excuse me, sir, but I need help characterizing Ezekiel in this book. Could you work with me on that?")

Yeah. Definitely a fan of his. Last I knew, he was working as exec producer of Grey's Anatomy. I have no idea what he's doing now.
Although there is a clip of him on YouTube being his adorable natural self.


I love how he's so sincere and a tad bit awkward and just generally sweet and genuine. If I could have one wish, it would be to meet him. Peter even outranks Hugh Laurie -- that's saying something!

What are the chances that I could send Peter a business card and say, "Hey, I'd love to interview you for the newspaper." Think it would work? Ha. I know. Fangirl fantasy.

Anyway. I am officially wiped from this week, and it is well past time for me to be in bed. I have every intention of sleeping in late tomorrow, then hanging near the phone until my Pamida interview at 1:30 p.m. And then it will be off to Washington on Sunday to spend the day with Angie B. (hopefully complete with a Hobby Lobby run so I can buy Christmas gift-making supplies and then some Peter Horton watching back at Chez Angie). Then another interview, this time with Wal-Mart, on Monday, and finally a couple of days off on Tuesday and Wednesday. Then back to the office Thursday and Friday, and shooting a wedding Saturday with Mike.

I am jealousy and rage, insecurity and pride, fear and ambition, love and loathing, intelligence and faith, joy and dejection. I am the good and the bad and all that falls in the middle.  I am a slice of heaven and a sliver of hell and an abundance of this world that lies in between.

I have an interview at 10:30 tomorrow morning for a full-time position in sporting goods at Wal-Mart.  Not my first choice of jobs, but at least it's full-time. It means I can start paying down my colossal interest payments on loans and also take care of the car and such. And the credit card bills ... boo to those.

And I can buy those newspaper print Keds I've been wanting.

Anyway. If I get the job, I'm going to try to do the insane and still keep my hours at The Paper.  It will probably make me want to scream and pull my hair out, but I don't want to leave the newspaper industry entirely.

Let's also hope that Wal-Mart is kind enough to give me August 8 off, because I told Mike I'd shoot a wedding with him in Joliet that day. And let's face it: Mike Applebee trumps job anyday.

So yes. That's all I've got to say. Let's hope that I either land this job or get offered full time at The Paper in the next few weeks. Because I need the work.

Have you ever thought about ten second relationships?

Well, some of them are two minutes. Or ten minutes. Or a half hour.

But I like calling them "10 second relationships."

We have millions of them -- MILLIONS! -- in our lives, and we never really pay attention to them.

But I've been paying them lots of attention lately.  They've been on my mind constantly.  I've been noticing EVERYONE in my life lately.  It can be the twenty-something in her pink stretch pants and white tank walking her black lab (doesn't look to be much more than a year old, still very much a pup), her iPod in one hand and her leash in the other, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and swaying with her walking.  And I pass by her in the car on Chippewa Street.

And that's it.  We never see each other again.

# # # # # # # # # #

Today I was sitting at a red light (one of those lights set up when they shut the road down to one lane in road construction).  The line of traffic in the other lane passing by as we waited had a red truck, and the driver stuck his arm out the window and waved.  At first I thought he was waving to me, and I looked in the rear view mirror to check.  The man in the truck behind me was waving back to the guy, so obviously they knew each other.

I kept watching. The guy behind me was also in a red truck, with a black tool box mounted on the bed and a rack on top holding plywood forms. He was in the construction trades.  The guy who waved to him probably was, too.  Maybe they work together.  Maybe one is a carpenter and the other is a concrete finisher.

The guy behind me was wearing a baseball cap and had a puff of brown hair sticking out from under it on all sides.  He looked to be in his mid-forties.  I sat there looking at him in the rear view mirror, and then he looked forward.

And he saw me looking at him.

And I smiled.

And he smiled back.  One of those big, toothy smiles that pulls the upper lip away and shows a full row of white teeth, except he was missing one.

As we sat there waiting for the light to turn, I would glance back occasionally. And each time I did, he grinned ear to ear.  He was a weathered kind of guy, not unattractive but also not particularly eye-catching. Just plain.  But I think it made his day to have the twenty-something in the car in front pay attention and smile at him in her rear view mirror.

Then the light turned green, I drove the five-ish miles into Mazon and turned right, and he kept going straight.

We'll probably never see each other again, but while we were at the light, we had a relationship.  We had an interaction that evoke a reaction, and while it lasted it was meaningful on some level.

Ten second relationships.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # #

There was a boy sitting on the exit ramp of I-55 a few days back.  He had a suitcase he was sitting on.  It was getting late, about 7:30.  The light had turned deep yellow by that point.  It was only an hour until dark.

As I drove past, I had the urge to stop and ask him for his story.  He looked to be high school, or maybe early in his college career.  He had dark hair, jeans, a plain t-shirt.

My foot hovered over the brake, indecisive.  All those old mantras ran through my head.  "Don't talk to strangers.  Don't pick up hitchhikers."  But I was burningly curious.

The car decelerated, and I stared out the window, doing one of those head swivels as I moved towards him, alongside him, past him.  My eyes never left, pulling my head around in a circle to keep looking.

He looked up as I passed, and we made eye contact. Both of us swiveled our heads to keep sight of each other.  I was the first to break eye contact when I started to drift into the other lane.

He was out of sight a few seconds later, and I never saw him again.  I have no idea who he was or what happened to him or why he was there in the first place.  But we made eye contact.  We acknowledged the other.  And a month from now, we'll both be forgotten by the other.

But it was a ten second relationship.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Do you ever read the name tag of your cashier, or your waitress, or the store employee you ask for help?

I've started reading their name tags and calling them by name when I ask for help.  When the waitress brings a refill, I say, "Thanks, ______________ ."  When I go inside to pay for gas, I say, "Hi, _________________ . "  When I need help from the Wal-Mart employee in aisle six, I say, "Excuse me, ______________________ , can I ask you a question?"

You wouldn't believe how many times they smile when they hear their names. Or how much better service you get.

Ten second relationship. They have no idea who I am, but something as simple as saying their name makes a difference.  And it's a ten second relationship that lingers, because the next time they see me, they smile.

I'm going to start keeping track of my ten second relationships. I think I want to write a book, one to two pages per person, and try to find some interesting ten second relationships.

Who knows? Maybe one of my 10-seconders will even read it someday and say, "Hey, that was me!"

So yesterday I spent a few hours of the afternoon judging photography at the Grundy County 4-H Fair, and it was SUCH a thrill for me.  I hadn't realized how much I've missed being involved and being out there and just generally having a community presence.

Working with the kids was a blast.  I got to critique their photos for them and give them tips for the future, and it was just a joy to listen to their sources of inspiration and their ideas.

I miss leading things.  Pegasus meetings, workshops, working one-on-one with staff writers.  I miss tutoring at the Learning Center and helping friends with homework and essays.

Yesterday evening Mike called to ask how the judging went.  He was playing curious/concerned daddy yesterday and wanted to check in to make sure it went okay (he was the one who gave the 4-H people my name and number in the first place to be called in).  He laughed at the end of the convo and said, "You're becoming the teacher now.  You'd make a good one.  I'm trying to picture where to place you -- you'd be good at all levels."  He just kept on musing aloud and I just sat and listened (goodness, how I love when that man gets lost aloud in thought...)  "Where would you end up?  College, maybe."

Oh, how I would love to get my doctorate and be a journalism professor.  Dr. Stroebel.  How beautiful that would be.....

Maybe Angie and I should teach at the same college.  We could share the Communications department, and she could teach pop culture classes as part of the dept. 

Dr. Barry and Dr. Stroebel.  How awesome would it be to have offices next to each other.

Ha.  Our campus would have the most kickass newspaper ever. And the greatest entertainment section the world has ever seen.

I am due for a trip to Eureka again soon.  It has been too long.

The brakes on my car are fixed and working MUCH better.  What's more ........  ROD BAKER FORD IN PLAINFIELD FIXED THEM FOR FREE!

The reason for that is that the dealership said it should have been fully inspected before purchase and that the brake pads shouldn't have worn through four months after purchase. So they took care of my brakes without charge.  Rick Baker is my hero of the week. I am sending everyone to Rod Baker Ford for car purchases until I die. And even then, I'll make a note of it in my will: Go to Rod Baker Ford. Because they are one of the few businesses left with the integrity to admit a mistake and make reparations without a fuss.

Brunch with Mike tomorrow.  I shouldn't be looking forward to this as much as I am.  After all, it's just Mike. Ha.  "Just Mike."  Dumbest pairing of words ever.  He will never just be Mike. 

It's so rare to get face-to-face time with him nowadays.  I miss fourth hour lab aide like crazy.  But yeah .... we're going to meet and discuss details for the August 8 wedding I'm helping him shoot photos for.  It's just a business brunch, but still.  It's Mike. So yes, my week is all sunshine and fluffy kittens.

So I'm on the phone with a good friend, having a perfectly normal conversation about getting my brakes fixed and setting up a time to meet for lunch next week.  I chatted about my day, complained about how much gas I go through each week, talked about being excited about being a photography judge at the fair tomorrow.

Then I hung up, drove to Braceville, dealt with grumpy old people, and came home.

That's when it finally sank in.

Something is not right with my friend.

Maybe it's just stress, or maybe it's just exhaustion, or maybe not.

It took me ALL DAY LONG to realize that he's talking slower.  That he's introducing himself in his voicemails to me.  That he's gone into full-fledged professional mode.

There is a professional divide there now.

That upsets me.

Whenever I'm angry at someone or if I don't know how to handle a situation emotionally (which is a frequent occurrence), I use professionalism as my defense mechanism.  I have two modes: regular Julie mode and professional Julie mode.  If one fails me, I switch to the other.  If I'm having a fight with a friend and I need to keep my head to continue the argument, I step back and switch into professional mode.  My grammar cleans up, my posture straightens, my tone of voice flattens, my facial expression smooths over.  Professional Julie can't cry or yell or stare in blank distress.

I put a professional divide in place.

I don't want him to be doing that.  Because that means I did something wrong.

Knowing me, I am making something out of nothing and stressing for no reason.  But it distresses me to no end that he's not quite himself with me.

Worse, I'm worried that it's not me that's bothering him.  If it's me, then the solution is simple: I stop doing whatever is upsetting him or I just step out of the picture entirely for a bit.  If it isn't me, the solution isn't so simple.  It means I might not be able to do anything.

I have no real reason to be worried other than the fact that he has been leaving professional-edged voicemails and that he is talking slower (is it weird to notice that?).  But my Spidey sense is tingling, and it's telling me that something is out of whack.

UGH.  I can't wait to judge photos tomorrow and put my mind in a happy place (AKA, a professional place that doesn't allow me to think about anything other than the job at hand).

I need to find someone to be the Wilson to my House.

Or, I suppose, the House to my Wilson. Although I'd rather be House.

Still. I love these two. They're so perfect for each other. Everyone thinks soul mates have to be romantically involved, but I think there's a level of life partner that is more intimate than soul mates and doesn't require any sort of romance. House and Wilson are where it's at.



I relate better to men.  There aren't many women I connect to on a deep level. Not to say there aren't any -- there are certainly some. Frankly, Angie B. currently ranks as the closest female companion I currently have -- still, the most intimate friends are "the danglers," as House would say.

ANYWAY. My whole point to this is that romance is overrated and I like having my heterosexual life partners (men included -- in their case, it's a platonic heterosexual life partner). I think I want to get an apartment with four friends or something and live the bachelorette life, pissing everyone else off when I use their peanut butter or drink straight out of the carton, and getting mad at them in turn when they're still loud at 4 a.m. and I have to be at work by 6.

Yep. That sounds good to me.

Seriously. Maybe the Doctor has this figured out. Spend your life with companions, traveling around and seeing the world. Except he eventually fell for one of his companions, so I guess it didn't work out for him all the way. So I guess House is the one who has it figured out the most: stay single, have an AWESOME apartment, and snatch a hetero life partner.

Not that I would live like that forever. But I'm a twenty-something right now. And who wants to settle down in their twenties when they have the rest of their lives to do that?

Although I have to admit. 65% of House's sexiness is his bachelor pad. I would marry the guy for his piano.

Random Mike Applebee story to share, since I have nothing else better to fill the time with.

I was on the phone with him a couple nights ago and asked how far he made it in Doctor Who. (I sent him a four-season DVD collection in the mail without telling him it was coming -- his reaction made me laugh in that ribcage-cracking sort of way)  He hasn't made it far (it would be generous to say "He hasn't made it past the third episode of season one"), so I was telling him to bear with it if he gets bored because I want him to make it to season two, at the very least.  "The Satan Pit" is very much a Mike Applebee/Julie Stroebel episode. Especially Rose's reaction at the end when he comes back. Oh, and the Doctor's whole "Tell Rose...  Eh. She knows."

ANYWAY. I was telling him to stick with it if he doesn't like it, and he said, "I do like it."  He hasn't seen enough to know for sure, so I said, "Ok, well, just in case you don't, just bear with it --"

"I am going to like it," he said.

No room for questions. He is absolutely determined to like Doctor Who.

So I've realized that I always use pop culture references with Mike. In high school, it was X-Men. (Best Christmas gift to date are the two X-Men action figures sitting on my dresser -- Cyclops and Rogue FTW)    Now I'm plucking Doctor Who episodes here and there.

I'm like season one's Rose, really. I'm the girl who climbed in the blue box with a total stranger, second-guessed myself for a while (although I wasn't watching the explosion of the earth when I was second guessing), and then absolutely adored this goofy old guy who opened up my eyes to a whole new side of life and the world.

In eight years, I don't think we've made it to the end of season one yet. After all, I haven't been taken hostage by daleks or looked into the time vortex. But I'm ok with that.

After all, I don't ever want to hit the end of season two.

On an entirely different note..............................................

I LOVE HOUSE SO FRIGGIN' MUCH! ARRRGGGHHHHH!!!! I could seriously watch Hugh Laurie for hours. I watched seven episodes of season four today (in "You Don't Want to Know," I kept rewinding to watch this one part where he's looking at the patient and fumbling around for the door -- he couldn't find the handle -- it's subtle, but it's there, and it's hilarious).  I just can't get enough of his voice when he's speaking with an American accent -- it's got that two-tone quality, with that rumble underneath the regular voice.

Posture and voice .... those are the two sexiest things about men. So we just need to combine Keanu Reeves's posture with Hugh Laurie's voice and BAM! Sexiest man alive.

I suppose this is a testament to my own writing, but as I was reading my headline article, I began to get upset. The third and fourth paragraph sounded good to me -- great, even -- but it didn't quite sound the same as I remembered writing it.

So, in my usual fashion, I puffed up like a little angry wet sparrow and dragged my laptop out of its case to open the Word document with my original article. I wanted to see just how much the editors had reworded.

They didn't reword anything.

It's word-for-word as I wrote it.

And I had been mad, because I thought it sounded good. Not only good, but too good.

Maybe I'm not such a bad journalist after all.  :)

The title has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the entry. Just so you know.

So. I was LJ stalking Angie B. and reading about her ideas for her doctoral thesis, and that reminded me of how sharply I want to go to grad school and eventually get my doctorate. It also made me think, "Why the hell did I turn down Northwestern? After all, what's another $63,000 in loan debt?"

I would like to go to Medill for a year and get my master's in journalism, then work in the field for a while and perhaps start off as an adjunct at a community college, teaching journalism. Eventually I would like to go into the classroom full-time as a journalism instructor.

I miss being a student, by the way. I miss homework, and research papers, and sitting in classes. I miss reading assignments. And professors. Boy, do I miss professors.

I like the student lifestyle, actually. Books and research and learning new things. Debates and scholarly discussions. Hmmm. I want a scholarly discussion group.

Not much happening in my life today. Brakes are still busted on my car. Mike is raving about my headline story -- he kind of reminded me of a subdued version of Angie B.'s fangirly flailling, only he's not a girl. And he didn't flail. But he did make a big deal about it. It was flattering, actually. I dropped off a copy at his house -- he was inside and all four doors of the Suburban were flung open with a vaccuum cleaner sitting next to it in the driveway, so I just left it sitting on the front seat without telling him I was there. He called later to ask when I had been at his house. I didn't want to bother him while he was busy, though. Then again, who am I kidding? I always want to bother him. :)

I need to work on Ever Westward. And I need to sniff out some good stories for the newspaper. AND I need to find full-time work. Desperately need money. I guess I just need to crank out some chapters of Titan's Edifice and sign a $2 million book deal, huh? We'll add that to the "Yeah Right" column of Julie's Master Goal List.

That's all, really.

A fellow SHS graduate in editor of The Inferno and got in a bind, needing extra material for the most recent edition. So when I saw her Facebook status begging submissions, I decided to offer my services.

Check it out, if you're is interested. It's targeted toward drawing an audience to those who have not yet seen Doctor Who -- in other words, the legacy of Angie B. continues as one of her Who-fans reaches out to other non-Wholigans.

And while your at it, check out my latest Suite101 article about House.  Yes, I am shamelessly flaunting my writing.

In other news:

• Still hunting other writing/journalism opportunities.
• Car show article & NASCAR article both made front page
• Five of the photos I shot ran in today's paper
• Down to two days a week of work -- not good...
• Looking for ANYTHING full-time OR part-time at this point
• Feeling pretty good today, when it comes right down to it

Oh, Hugh, how I do love you....

Some men just look better as they age. Hugh Laurie is definitely one of those men.

I've come to realize that I don't love House so much because of Hugh Laurie as it is because his character has that Mr. Darcy-like brusqueness, that Randian approach to the virtue of selfishness, and a rather Applebee-ish look to him. It's like one of those shampoo/conditioner bargains that throws in the mini travel-size pack for free.  Three for one: shampoo, conditioner, and travel size.

Ok. Lame comparison.

So anyway. Angie introduced me to the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson a while back when she showed me the Evil Mug of Evil clip (I believe with RDJ, though I can't remember for sure). So as I was researching for my Suite101 article today, I was browsing YouTube (yes, I use YouTube for research ... I was looking for House clips so I could give direct quotes) and I ran across the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson and Hugh Laurie.

Now how win is that?



Basically the rest of my day was spent watching Hugh Laurie appearances on Ellen, Dave Letterman, and Regis & Kelly. I was terribly amused by the British vs. American slang on Ellen.  Yes, I have no life.

I kind of want to see Monsters Versus Aliens just to hear Hugh Laurie as the voice of Dr. Cockroach. He has a thing for playing doctors. Hmmm. Maybe he should play the Doctor.

Anyway. I've actually been making progress on Ever Westward. I am in one of those moods lately where I want to ditch creative and fiction writing for the sake of journalism and academic writing simply because I'm stronger at the latter.  It was somewhat of a discouraging wake-up call to go college and realize that I am by no means as brilliant a creative writer as I once thought. Throughout childhood and adolescence I considered myself to be the greatest writer amongst my peers, which, truth be told, is probably true since my hometown doesn't produce many prolific authors or poets (or even journalists for that matter). Seneca High School was far too focused on athletics and FFA to pay much attention to anything overly academic back in my day, although their most recent newsletter shows some promising developments in the drama and Spanish clubs.

Still, when you go to college and suddenly sit in a classroom full of some of the most talented writers to be found (big shout out to Angie B., Jacs, and Colleen in that respect), it makes you want to play ostrich and go stick your head in a hole and do what you're good at. I think I'm allergic to being second best (still haven't gotten over that whole 3.98 GPA deal yet ... 0.02 off the 4.0 SECOND SEMESTER SENIOR YEAR .... ARGH!)  Mike keeps telling me, "You're good, remember that. You're good, remember that. You're good, remember that."  (NOTE: Repetition here was to make a point. He doesn't really say it three times in a row like that ... just for clarification)   =)     But yeah. I'm just not feeling up to par on my creative writing, and I know the best way to get up to par is to DO it. Still, the inspiration is lacking.

Oh well.  "Onwards and upwards," as Dr. Logsdon would say.