This has to be one of the best real-life love stories I’ve ever heard.

Two of Amanda’s childhood friends got married this week.  The two of them grew up together, like from before preschool.  They apparently went to prom together, but never went on a real date.  I don’t know the whole story there, but I suspect the Westermarck Effect had something to do with their never dating.  After high school, the guy joined the army while the girl went to college, and they lost touch.  He got rotated in and out of Iraq for a few years, then one day in Kuwait, he saw a woman who looked familiar.

It turned out his old friend had graduated and worked for a contractor that was operating in Iraq.  From then on, whenever he went to Kuwait, which was fairly often apparently, they would meet up for lunch or whatever.  When his enlistment ended, he tracked her down back in the U.S., moved to the city she was living in (when you’re leaving the army, one place is as good as another, apparently), and asked her out.  Now they’re married.

They are a pretty awesome couple of people, too.  When they asked Amanda to be a bridesmaid, they asked if she’s be bringing a “plus one.”  Apparently the conversation went something like this:

Bride:  So will you be bringing anyone?

Amanda:  Uh, I could, but…you know I’m gay, right?

Bride:  Well, yeah!  So you have a girlfriend?

Amanda:  Yeah…

Bride:  Ooh!  Does she want to be a bridesmaid, too?  We need one more.  I’ll pay for the dress.

Amanda:  You don’t even know her.

Bride:  You’re dating her, so she must be awesome.

And that’s how I ended up a bridesmaid in the wedding of two people I’d never met.

Banter, or passive-aggression? You decide!

Amanda is kind of a neat freak, though I’m slowly breaking her of the more anal-retentive parts of that.  This morning, though, she got up early and made waffles, which was sweet, if unusual, and when I went into the kitchen a while later, after she’d left the house, I discovered a minor atrocity.  There were dishes and batter everywhere.  There was a glob of batter the size of the tip of my thumb stuck to the wall a foot above and three feet to the right of where she’d been mixing and pouring it.  It was large enough to have started to slide down the wall, but then dried and stuck there, like a slug that had run over a line of salt.  The angle it would have had to travel to reach its final resting place seemed to be impossible from the area she’d been working in, and there were no other speckles or splatters near it, though plenty on the counter and toaster where she’d been working.

I sent her a text:  ”So you cooked, and you left a horrible mess in the kitchen; who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

Her: Sorry, it took longer to make breakfast than I thought and I had to go to work. Would you mind cleaning it up?

Me: I think I’m going to let the roaches do that.

Her: We don’t have roaches.  Do we?

Me:  We will, this will bring them in droves.  The cats will have a field day.

Her:  Ew.  Clean it up, please.

Me:  But then the roaches will go hungry!

Her: I don’t want roaches.  Or ants.

Me:  Well, maybe try not making waffles with explosives next time.

Her:  I though you’d appreciate breakfast.

Me:  It’s dinner time for me.

Her:  You know what I mean.

Me:  You just wanted waffles.

Her:  Yeah.

Me:  Okay, I’ll clean it up.

Her:  Thanks so much!

I’m gonna clean it up, but leave the batter on the wall as a mark of shame for her.  It will petrify and become a permanent fixture, an eternal monument to her ability to somehow fling waffle batter three feet away and not notice.

Or she’ll see it, start to ask me about it, then realize she did it and quietly clean it up.  Whichever.

Geeks and gays have a lot in common.

I wasn’t always a geek, any more than I was always a lesbian, but that doesn’t make it any less true now.

Some people are born gay. Amanda is definitely one of them. She’s so gay she has a hard time telling men apart. She doesn’t notice their hair or eye colors, and mainly recognizes them by voice. One of her coworkers grew a huge, bushy, black beard while away on vacation and she didn’t notice for weeks after he came back. With women, though, it’s different. If I trim my hair a fraction of an inch to remove split ends, she notices. If one of her female coworkers changes lipstick from “rose glimmer 710″ to “luminous lilac 715,” she notices. She just doesn’t see men the same way she does women. I don’t think you can get more gay than that.

I, on the other hand, was never even interested in girls until Amanda. I was a tomboy until college, and only had male friends. In high school, I had crushes on boys and generally hated other girls for being so stereotypically girly (even if they weren’t that girly). That may also have been because I was jealous of their ability to date all the guys I liked. In college, I did make some female friends, but never even considered dating them. I never had a crush on a female actress or singer, but plenty of them on males. I was 100% straight. Then, one night, I just sort of thought “why?” Why did I only like guys? Why couldn’t I date my best friend/roommate who was obviously in love with me and whom I loved being with? So I got up from the computer, went upstairs, knocked on her door, and (probably bright red from head to toe), asked her if she still wanted to try dating me. Then I kissed her while she stood there with a bunny-in-headlights look, because it seemed less awkward than standing there blushing or running away like a character in a teen drama. It was nice. Really nice. We’ve been together ever since.

Becoming a geek was kind of the same process for me. Most geeks/nerds were always geeky/nerdy. They got excessively into certain things from an early age, as either a cause or effect of being socially awkward. Most geeks end up gravitating toward the same types of activities, ones that require a large investment of time and effort to appreciate, like comics, sci-fi, and role-playing games. I had a geeky guy friend from when I was 10 right through high school, so I was familiar with most of these things but never got into them like he did. Then, in college, I just geeked the hell out.

All my life, I’d preferred being outside. Sure I was always kind of a loner, but I wasn’t a nerd. I ran, I hiked, I biked, I shot bows and guns, I played soccer, softball, basketball, volleyball, and even football (but never in any leagues or organized way). I did read a lot, but I didn’t like video games much unless I was playing them with someone. I preferred to watch my friend play Doom rather than play myself, and when I got my own computer I only played Starcraft, and generally only with my friends. Then I found myself away at college with no friends or relatives for hundreds of miles, and only made friends with the nerdiest people around.

It’s not that I wasn’t popular. In high school, I was a skinny tomboy, flat chested with no curves, and with hair that was only long because that way I could pull it back. Over that last summer and my freshman year of college, I suddenly got curvy. The “Freshman 15″ was more like 30, and it all went to the right places. I had to go buy bras. My jeans, which had been loose and comfy, became tight, sexy hip-huggers. My t-shirts now barely covered my navel and my sweaters were all tight up top. Like Annie on Community, I became hot after high school, and it was weird. I got invited to frat parties constantly, but only went to one, where I ended up punching a guy in the stomach for trying to grab my ass. The only people I could stand were the geeks, and they were just so much more fun than everyone else, too.

The only girls who didn’t piss me off in class with their insipid opinions and constant questions of the most basic concepts were the quiet, bookish ones. The only guys who didn’t act all smarmy around me were the awkward, geeky ones. And playing Magic: The Gathering or LAN video games is way more fun than being surrounded by drunk idiots while awful music plays too loud to hold a conversation. So I hung out with geeks, dated a geek, and basically became a geek. When I graduated and moved across the country with my boyfriend, being a geek came in handy, especially after we broke up and I found myself alone in a strange city again. It didn’t matter, I had the internet. When I moved across the country again, it made no difference to my friends because we all lived in different cities anyway.

I managed to make some new friends here, but only via my online ones. Amanda, for example, was a high school friend of a college friend of mine whom I’d kept in touch with online. Really, all of my best friends except her live hundreds of miles away, if not thousands, and I’m okay with that.

If there’s a point to these stories, I guess it’s this: don’t be mean to people who want to be like you. I still get crap from some of Amanda’s lesbian friends for not really being gay and never having endured their struggle for identity as a teenager. Never mind that I dealt with identifying more with boys than girls, or that I overcame not only societal pressure but my own natural urges to “switch teams” and have a long, monogamous, same-sex relationship. They just seem to feel that I get all the benefits of being gay without enduring the trials they did, and am therefore some kind of second-rate lesbian, or poseur, or something.

I also see people online criticizing non-geeks for claiming to be nerds because they play video games or liked The Avengers. The real nerds are understandably irritated by this because they grew up being shunned and harassed for their geekiness, and now that geeks run the world, they see anyone claiming geek status as unfairly co-opting their legacy. But really, they should be happy.

Geeks and nerds: You won. You won over people like me first, then proceeded to win over almost everyone. The Avengers is the biggest movie ever. The Lord of the Rings movies won just a silly number of awards. Superheroes have had series on every major network during prime time. Don’t complain that other people enjoy the things you always have, just be happy that there are more video games, movies, and TV shows you can enjoy, because there’s more people supporting them. Firefly would have lasted longer if it had come out a couple years later. Hell, that was kind of a landmark in the nerd domination saga; they never would have made Serenity if not for the unexpected outcry over the show’s cancellation. The world accepts and embraces most of your favorite things–don’t ruin it by claiming they’re not allowed to because they didn’t earn it. You earned it for them by showing them how great it was and how happy it could make them, and you’re increasingly making it easier and easier for kids growing up to enjoy these things and be themselves without being harassed. Through your suffering, and your triumph, you’ve made sure that others won’t have to endure what you did. Isn’t that just the best thing you can do?

And if nerds can do it, so can certain other socially-oppressed groups…right?

This probably says more about me than my “About Me” page.

It’s funny how you learn things about loved ones sometimes.
When I was in high school, I started writing funny short stories and essays, some of which got printed in the school paper and became pretty popular to the point that I was eventually made a columnist, then assistant editor for the paper, thus giving me exactly one extracurricular activity to put on my college applications. At some point in this four-year process, we went to visit my dad’s side of the family in Texas, and multiple aunts, uncles, and grandparents came up to me and said basically the same thing: “we had no idea you could write like that.”

I don’t know if they were surprised that I was funny, or that I was clever, or just that I could write whole sentences, but I suddenly realized that these people, relatives whom I’d seen three or four times a year since I was born, did not know these things about me and only found out when my mother started sending them copies of my papers every month. I’d been writing since I was in third grade and won the “Young Authors” competition at my school, and I’ve always been “the funny girl,” probably because as a tomboyish redhead, it was the best defense against bullying besides breaking fingers.

I bring this up because today I found out that Amanda has a Princess Leia golden-bikini fetish I didn’t know about despite living with her for more than a year as roommates/best friends and dating her for another year after that. Of course, being us, I couldn’t find out about this in any normal way, like while watching Return of the Jedi or discussing sexual fantasies or looking at cosplay pictures online or something. No, it came up while I was discussing becoming a prostitute.

Me: Did you hear about this guy who’s starting a nerd brothel in Nevada?

Amanda: Like, a place where people pay to have sex with nerds?

Me: No, a place that caters specifically to nerds.

Her: What, does it look like the cantina from Star Wars or the bridge of the Enterprise or something?

Me: Oh, so you heard.

Her: Holy shit, it actually looks like that?! Which one?

Me: Uh…both. It’s supposed to be modeled on the cantina, but there’s a “Kirk Room” with a replica of his chair. You really did not know about this?

Her: Nope. If they had Kaylee’s room from Firefly, I’d go there just to use that. Uh, with you, of course. No need for the hooker.

Me: Ha. You would. I wonder if the prostitutes are, like, familiar with their roles? Like if they’re cosplayers who want to make money having sex, or just hookers who are just dressing up.

Her: Seems like it would be easy enough to get some geeky prostitutes these days. You told me there’s geeky porn stars.

Me: Yeah, tons. Hell, I’d do that as, like, a summer job. If I had a summer. And was single. And lived in Nevada. And was skinny like in college…

Her: So this is one of the legal brothels like The Bunny Ranch?
(We had both seen a few episodes of the reality show before.)

Me: Yeah, same owner, actually.

Her: Ah. Smart guy. Too bad for him I have my own geek girl so I don’t have to pay someone to dress up in a gold Leia bikini.

Me: Wait, you have that thing for the gold bikini? I knew a lot of guys were into it, but…

Her, suddenly bright red: I…never mentioned that?

Me: Noooo… Should I look for one online?

Her: Eh, maybe. It’d have to be a good one or I’d probably just laugh.

Me: That’ll be expensive. And I don’t think I’d wear it to a convention or anything unless I lost more weight than I expect to.

Her: You could pull it off, though you might blind people if you wore it outside.

Me, flattered: Aw, you really think so?

Her, smirking: Oh yeah. You’re whiter than me.

Me: Oh, fuck you.

Her: Later.

Me: I’ll bet I could find one cheap enough if I shopped a bit. My fox ears were only twelve bucks.

Her: Those are fox ears?

Me: They’re orange with black tips, what’d you think they were?

Her: I thought you got, like, custom cat ears to match your hair.

Me: No, I just shopped around until I found some cheap ones that matched.

Her: Huh. I was afraid to ask how much those were. They match perfectly. (pause) …are you a furry?

Me: I don’t think so. I just think they’re cute. Cat ears can look cute, but they’re kind of…overdone. Plus, foxes are like half-kitty, half-puppy, but with floofier tails and they’re viscious predators for their size.

Her: Yeah…that’s you, all right.

Me: I was on Etsy for like 3 hours.

Her: Three hours?!

Me: Well, only about 30 minutes was finding the ears, but once I ordered them, I got into playing Etsy Wars…

Her: …Etsy…Wars?

Me: It’s a game I made up, like Wikigroaning, but for Etsy. You take two or more fanbases, like Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Dr. Who, and search for them on Etsy. Then you compare number of things for sale, number of handmade things, and the general insanity of the handmade things to see which thing has the largest number of batshit crazy people in the fanbase. Harry Potter won. So many creepy, lovingly-drawn portraits. And the handmade Gryffindor wedding garters. Dr. Who probably has the highest percentage of crazy people, though. Very few handmade things for sale, but most of them were really…committed.

Her: Like “they should be committed,” or just really dedicated?

Me: Both.

Her: Such as?

Me: Oh…like a drawing of a Dalek in a bathtub saying “EXFOLIATE!” or handmade Dr. Who perfume, or really, really accurate versions of scarves and coats and bowties from various Doctors.

Her: Well, the coats aren’t really handmade, I’m sure. Just similar to the one on the show…right?

Me. Ha! Sure.

Her: People hand make coats? That’s kind of over the top. What?

Me: You OWN a handmade Dr. Horrible coat!

Her: YOU found it! I thought it was just a costume.

Me: It is, but remember how I had to measure you for it? Yeah, that’s because it was custom-made for you by someone I found on ebay. Lab coats don’t actually button up the side and shoulder like that.

Her: Some do. Doctors used to wear them.

Me: No, you’re either thinking of Frankenstein, which was basically double-breasted, or the doctors from Firefly, which is where Dr. Horrible’s coat came from because Joss Whedon was recycling props. Like the death ray. Same episode.

Her: Oh. So you found someone who made me a custom Dr. Horrible coat for like forty bucks?

Me: Mmhmm.

Her: The internet is pretty awesome.

Me: Mmhmm

She is lost to us now.

Amanda got an iPhone recently, finally shedding the outdated technology of her Blackberry and moving into the modern age of pocket-sized computers that aren’t primarily email device.  Naturally, she wanted me, the professional geek, to help her.

Amanda: Can you help me set up my iPhone?

Me: It pretty much should walk you through it.

Her: Yeah, I did that, but I need help transferring my contacts from my Blackberry.

Me: Did you back them up before you changed phones?

Her: Yes…

Me: Then just run the…oh, you want me to do it for you.

Her:  Please?

Me: No, you know I have a moral objection to using any Apple products.

Her: but…

Me: …ESPECIALLY to set one up for a loved one and thereby thrust them into Apple’s evil clutches for all eternity.

Her: I’ve been a Mac user for years.  It’s why I got an iPhone instead of an Android, remember?

Me:  Oh, yeah, you’re already doomed.  Okay, gimme the phone.

Her: Here.  So…”loved one?”

Me:  Shut up.  What else would you be?

It then took a minute to get her to stop hugging me before I could set up the phone for her.  As a small act of rebellion, I deleted my cell number from her contacts after downloading them, so she’d have to punch it back in before texting or calling me.  I left my contact entry in there, just removed my number.

Two days later, she had yet to call or text me from her new phone.  I expected her to do it the first time she got bored, but nothing.  so I decided to send her an iPhone whale to make her smile.  Her response: “who is this?”

So that’s when I realized she’d forgotten my number and was too embarrassed to ask me what it was and thereby admit she’d forgotten it.  So I just had to mess with her a little, using my favorite technique of stating the truth in a misleading way.

Me: You gave me your number a while back at the pub.
Her:  When was this?  St. Patrick’s?
Me: No, before that.  You thought I was cute, but I wasn’t into girls at the time.
Her: And you are now?
Me: Well, I’m into you…
Her: I’m taken.

Her: By you.  You bitch.
Me:  Heehee.  When did you figure it out?
Her: Just now.  You suck.
Me:  You forgot my number.
Her: Touche.
Me: You’ll remember it now, though.
Her: You still suck.  Also, heehee?  Why can’t you use lol or lmao like a normal person.
Me: semicolon hyphen P
Her: …
Me: Type it out.
Her: You are a freak.
Me: An awesome freak.
Her: …sure.
Me: colon hyphen close parenthesis

Then I sent her a happy whale.
Her: What is that?
Me: A happy whale, of course.
Her: Oh, I see.
Me:  Japanese whale.
Her: It looks dead to me.
Me: Yep.
Her: You’re awful.
Her: Oh, wait, I get it now.  Because of Japanese whaling.
Me: Yes…
Me: You thought that was some kind of racist thing?
Her: I wasn’t sure.
Me: Wow.  And I’m the awful one?  What stereotype is that, all Japanese people look dead?  That’s not even a thing.
Her: I thought maybe you thought the x made the eyes look squinty or something.
Me: I think we know who the awful one is here.
Her: I’ll do unspeakable things to you if you tell anyone about this.
Me: If you do the right unspeakable things to me, I’ll promise not to.
Her: Deal.
Me: colon hyphen D

Maybe iPhones aren’t as bad as I thought.


I work nights, and I’m persecuted for it. It’s funny, because I’ve never felt persecuted or systematically looked down upon as a woman, even when I worked at a company that was ridiculously sexist. I also don’t feel terribly persecuted for being a lesbian, probably because I think marriage is stupid and I’m not really a lesbian the way Amanda and most real lesbians are. Also, maybe being a tomboy and reasonably attractive counteracts most sexism, I don’t know. I do know that I am physically and mentally persecuted for working overnight, even by people who supposedly love me.

When you work all night, you necessarily have to sleep during the day. Sleeping when it’s light out is hard. Your body doesn’t produce melatonin when there’s light, so even when you do sleep, it’s not good sleep. Eye masks don’t block all the light, it still seeps in around the edges, and turning in your sleep can dislodge them even more. Blacking out a room is hard. Most apartment complexes and neighborhood associations ban the really cheap, effective methods of blacking out windows like boards, foil, cardboard, and black plastic. “Blackout curtains” are a lie. Most aren’t opaque, and even if they were, light would still come in around the edges unless you stapled or glued them to the wall.

Even if you manage to black out the room or find one with no windows, having pets keeps you from really blacking it out. If I close my bedroom door, I either trap my cats in or out of the room, and they do not like this. But even if I lived with no pets or people and slept in a windowless room with the door closed, people would still wake me up. The world assumes you are awake during “normal” hours. There are even laws that dictate when companies can call you: 8am-9pm most places, which includes all the hours I’d have to sleep no matter what, so I get calls while sleeping even though I don’t get very many calls at all.

My family and friends also feel it’s acceptable to wake me up for things that they would get all pissed off about if I woke them up in the middle of the night for. Imagine if you were to wake your roommate or significant other up at 3am to ask where they left something, or if you called your parents at 4am to ask how they were doing? They’d be understandably pissed. Yet if you work nights and sleep during the day, even if someone knows you sleep days, they’ll think it’s okay to wake you up for these things, and get all offended if you berate them for waking you up.

There’s just something about daywalkers that makes them think it’s acceptable to wake up people who sleep during the day. Maybe it’s that they equate sleeping days with people who are up late partying and feel it serves them right. Maybe they just need society’s pressure to remind them that waking people up is rude, and if it’s not the time of day that society says is sleeping time, they don’t think about it. Maybe it just never occurs to them that anyone would really be sleeping at 3pm, despite what their conscious mind knows. Whatever the reason, people just don’t care as much about waking overnight workers up during the day as they would about waking other people up at night.

And it’s not just me and my friends and family. All my coworkers have this same problem. Nor do we wake up daywalkers they way they do us. We all wait until people wake up on their own to ask where they put the water bill or how they’ve been doing or whatever. We understand that people need their sleep and we can wait until they’re up to bother them about anything short of a serious emergency. I’m not saying we’re just better people, or that being a daywalker makes you a terrible person. I’m just saying that people who work nights are way, way less likely to disrupt someone’s sleep–slowly killing them–for their own personal convenience. That’s all.

If you are a night worker like me, you might look into taking melatonin supplements. I found it helps me sleep through little things a lot better (I’m a light sleeper), making my sleep much more restful. It might even help with the potential brain damage that can result from sleeping with too much light, since they think that’s caused by lack of melatonin. I only take about 1/4 of a 3 mg pill, myself, half at most. I took a whole 3 mg pill once and was groggy for hours after waking up from 10 hours of sleep. Ignore the people saying to take 3-6 mg and start at like 1 mg.

If you’re a daywalker, try to treat your night-working friends and family the way they treat you, if not better. Remember, we’re awake when you and everyone else is sleeping. The world is dark and quiet and there are very few people around, especially between 3am and 5am, after the partiers have passed out and the cops looking for drunks have gone off duty. The world is sleeping soundly then. I can drive around and see only a few people awake in several square miles at that time of night. We night people could do some serious damage if we were in a bad mood from, say, a lack of sleep. Not to mention that a lot of us–most, in all likelihood–are essential personnel. People who work overnight tend to be police and firefighters and paramedics and doctors whom you’ll need awake and alert if something happens while you’re sleeping. Try not to piss us off. Sleepy night workers cause problems for everyone

The Reluctant Blogger

I hate the word “blog.”  First off, it sounds stupid, like a sound you’d make to express your displeasure at something such as finding a fingernail in your food.  Secondly, it’s supposedly a contraction of the term “web log,” but no one has ever in the history of the internet used “web log” except as a way to explain where “blog” comes from.  I was reading blogs before the term existed, and none of those people ever had their pre-”blog” blogs referred to as “weblogs.”  I’m pretty sure “blog” was invented by some internet troll somewhere who wanted to see if he could get the world to use a stupid word for an increasingly popular type of website and succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.  I’ll bet if you dig deep enough into 4chan’s archives, you’ll find a thread of someone outlining this plan.  Then, years later, another one upping the ante with the term “blogosphere,” which thankfully died a horrible death.

I reluctantly accept the term as being appropriate for certain types of websites now, even though I hate it, just like I accept that “moist” is a word and sometimes the best one to use for expressing a certain degree of wetness.  I still think “vlog” looks like someone made a typo while writing “blog,” though.

I never thought I’d have a blog, of course.  Even if I thought anyone cared what I thought about things, I’m much too private a person to create a blog knowing someone could track me down through it.  Sure, you can get a “secret” domain or whatever, but really, how secret are they?

I ended up with this blog mainly because of one person, a friend whose real name I don’t know and whom I’ve only talked to online.  He told me I should share our conversations and my various rants in blog form so others could, as he put it, “revel in your insights and bask in your particular brand of cynical pseudo-sanity.”

He’s kind of weird.  Explains why we’re friends.

Anyway, I shrugged these suggestions off for years, until one day he told me he’d bought me a domain.  This one.  He said now that I was a lesbian (he knew me from long before), I had an extra level of marketability so it would be silly not to start a real blog.  Also, he thought the domain name was really clever and had always wanted to buy a domain.

Now I felt obligated, as he knew I would, the clever bastard.  But I still delayed, wanting to have a backlog of posts written up so that I could update regularly even if I had nothing new to say for a while.  I had so much fun writing the posts and turning conversations into posts that by now, I no longer care if anyone reads it.  Which is probably a good thing.

See, one reason I was so hesitant to start a blog was that I assumed it would fail.  The odds of it becoming even a little popular were slim, no matter how good my writing was.  Such is fame–it has little to do with quality most of the time.  Just ask Paris Hilton, the Kardashians, everyone from Jersey Shore, Rebecca Black, William Hung, or most viral video stars.  On the other hand, sometimes it does, so it’s easy to mistake the random flukes of popular opinion for quality or the lack thereof.  So just as Rebecca Black can think she deserves fame and make a terrible follow-up video saying so, a person who fails to become popular will always wonder if it’s because they weren’t good enough.

I’m good at a lot of things.  Mostly, I’m a fast learner, so I get good at them more quickly than most people.  I’m not great at  anything, though, so I never expected to be famous, nor wanted to be.  I don’t need people to tell me I’m good at something, especially since I usually hold myself to a higher standard than anyone else does.  Writing is the exception.

I want to be a great writer.  I want to write a book or something that people love and learn from, to entertain while spreading knowledge, like Larry Gonick or Jon Stewart or Bill Bryson, and this is an activity where other people’s opinions matter, because they won’t read your writing if it’s not good.  Finding Jenny Lawson’s blog made me think this could be possible with a blog, but I also know that I’m nowhere near as funny as she is.  So I was afraid my blog would fail and it would show that I’m not a good enough writer.  But I also knew that the key to becoming a good writer is to write, so I write.  Now I’m just putting them up here on this blog because someone believed in me enough to buy a domain.  If people read it, then great.  If not, I’m no worse off than when I was writing this stuff and keeping it on my computer for no one to read.  At the very least, I know one person who will read it, even if I don’t know his real name.

Just so you know:

Since this is getting less relevant every day, may as well post it first:

Death is not going to be a character in the next Avengers movie, guys, sorry.  In case you haven’t noticed, all the Marvel movies, by which I mean the ones produced by Marvel Studios, have been very careful to keep things more in the realm of science fiction than the mish-mash of sci-fi, magic, and mysticism of the comics.  Everything is technological, even Thor and Loki and the Asgardians are shown as aliens who were worshipped as gods, not any kinds of actual gods or demons.

Yes, the alien said “court death” to Thanos in the teaser.  That’s a common phrase, and it was meant as an in-joke for those who know who Thanos is, but that’s all.  Thanos doesn’t need a personification of Death to be in love with in order to have motivation try to take over Earth, so I seriously doubt they’ll open that can of worms for one movie.  Sure, the character won’t be the same as in the comics, but that’s how these movies work.  They have to stay accessible for regular, non-comic-nerd people, and even if you are a comic nerd, you have to admit they’ve made some really great movies doing so.  If they tried to cram in all the nuance of decades of comics, they would fail miserably, and frankly they shouldn’t try.  Pretty much every comic has had some weird shit that became canon at some point because the writers were pressed for time, having a bad month, on some specific kick, or trying to be socially aware (and usually failing).  Sometimes later writers manage to use these things as background and redeem their horribleness, but no one wants to see them in a movie.