the slack daily

Tonight! LIVE! And one hour earlier...

We're doin' it (ha-ha, "it") one hour earlier for you East Coast folks.  You don't have to be signed up at StickAm, just pop by and say hi.  Or check it out in the player below:

If there are any technical difficulties, please make sure to check Will's twitter stream to find out what's up or if we've moved. 

Grab a drink, and we'll see you tonight!

Also, my SlackStuff store is open and you no longer need to be logged in to view.  Check it out here.

New Digs.

What happens when your alarm goes off at 5:03am and you crawl out of bed and into the shower and get dressed and get to work only to realize that someone else thought they were working today?

The right answer:
You drive home and go back to bed,

The wrong answer:
You come home, partially redesign your blog, create a banner, and decide that it's finally time to tackle the merchandise dilemma.

I'll give you one guess.

the slack daily merchandise can be found in my zazzle shop.  If I'm missing something that you want (long sleeved t-shirts, hats, party hats), lemme know and I'll put it together.  Note: I set the rating for the merchandise to PG-13, not realizing that it wouldn't be public, so you'll have to log in to see it.  However, those who have - can you let me know if you think it's suitably rated G?  I can't tell anymore.

In the meantime:

Keep your comments to yesterday's post coming!  And yes, you will get to hear the Rest of the Story.

BetheMarriage LIVE! (On Ice) is definitely being moved to 8pm PST. We also may be moving to Ustream.  Stay tuned for an update on Saturday.

I think it's time for that nap...in my freshly-washed underwear.

Secrets and Lies.

Where the hell have I been? 

I have not been working on super-sekrit plans or on the lam from the mob or even traveling the world like my fauxbo neighbors.  I've been working.

Good, right?

Not really.

Last Tuesday night, in-between answering emails for one job and making phone calls for another and reminding myself that each extra second I was awake shaved another minute of sleep as I had to be up to work at the gym at 4:45am, I started to wonder when the last time I worked on a piece of writing.  Not a slack daily post, not a rumination on nerd-boy dating, not 140 characters in a row, but an actual piece of writing.  The outline for the book.  The rewrite on the script.  The new animated series.  Something that actually had to do with, y'know, the thing that I supposedly do, but hadn't done in...gulp.

But what was my choice, really?  I needed to stay on top of bills and we needed to do things like, y'know, eat.  I put this thought on repeat and let my brain do the rest of the work. Five minutes later I was in front of Will.

I need to quit one of my jobs, I told him.

So quit.

But then we can't pay bills.

But we'll figure it out, he promised me.

On the surface, all of the jobs are perfect part-time jobs - except the gym, although it's relatively easy and comes with the bonus of a free membership. I could cut down on my gym hours, work maybe once a week...

So do that.

I don't know, that's eighty dollars less a week.

And that's when it hit me.

I was being held hostage by eighty dollars a week.

Everyone has their own version of what failure feels like.  To me, it was to be held hostage by eighty dollars a week.  But the more i thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't that at all, but the idea that I half-assing it.  I had become the thing that I hate the most - the writer who doesn't write, the person with a goal who doesn't actually pursue it.

Will had said in our last chat that the one thing he wants is a quiet, anonymous, happy life.  I don't disagree, but I'd like that life to include things like creative endeavors, the ability to travel see our families more than once a year and a house, and actual house with a yard and electrical outlets and kitchen counters that aren't made of wood and no crazy packrat landlady and a parcel of fauxbos in the front yard.

So I'm using that eight dollars, that small parcel of financial breathing room to purchase myself some creative breathing room.  

What's the point of running the rat race if there's not a piece of cheese at the end?

Note:
Fauxbos = fake hobos, coined by BetheMarriage LIVE! viewer Ike.

I was looking for YouTube videos of hamsters running around in those ball things (or the American Gladiators in the Atlasphere) and came across this.  Enjoy!

Tonight!

Grab a drink and we'll see you there...

Things You Should Know About.

• Emily needs a home.  I know it's one post down, but she deserves a link of her own!

• There are a few hours left to vote on My Nerd Crush! So check out the semi-finalists and vote for your favorite!

• BetheBoy is collecting Fourth of July Stories.  What're you doing this weekend?

• Speaking of BetheBoy, have you joined his Facebook Network yet?

• Annika turns 30 this weekend!

• Yes, BetheMarriage LIVE! (On Ice!) is coming to you Saturday, July 5h at 9PST. Don't miss it.

• I find myself in need of ITC Coolman and Highlander Book fonts.  However, I can only find them available for purchase.  Can anyone help a sister out?  It's  for non-profit use.
Nevermind!

Don't Know if This'll Work...

In an ideal universe, you should see the show player for tonight's chat below!

Enjoy! (Or run.) If you want to join in on the chat, head over to the show page on Stickam!

What to do with Your Saturday Night?

Check it out here.

Life/Death.

Things that make me die a little inside:

• Hearing from someone that they took a check that was mistakenly sent to their house and wrote on the envelope "no longer lives here."  To be fair, they did email me about it - just to an email address that I haven't used in two years (and I haven't used to correspond with them in just as long.) 
• having a woman refer to me as "girl."  Not as in "she's such a cute girl" (I'll live with that) or "Girl, get it together!"  (sassy!) but as in "Girl, there's no toilet paper in the bathroom."

Oddly enough, those are also the same things that make me feel stabby.

Things that make life worth living:

• WE HAVE A WII.  (And a Wii Fit!)  Don't tell Will that Wii Sports sneaks in some exercise with his game-playing.  He's a purist that way.
• We had a GREAT chat last night.  My thank-you speech, here.
• We've decided to make BeTheMarriage Live! (On Ice!) a regular fixture, so check out the details here. For those too lazy to click: this Saturday, June 28th at 9pm PST.  BYOB.

I hate blogging in lists, but I hate not blogging even more.

Also!  SlackMom celebrates her second 31st birthday today!  Happy Birthday SlackMom!

My favorite SlackMom story here.

No Free Lunch.

One of the benefits of being an unemployed writer is that people always offer you writing work.  It's rare that a week goes by that I don't field some sort of offer to ghostwrite a book, pen a screenplay, assemble a television pitch or rewrite dialogue.  They've always found me through LinkedIn or MediaMatch or Variety's the Biz.

This week's contestants:

1. Person #1: 

Respectful, returns emails, inquires about my rate, is eager to discuss the project.  

2. Person #2: 

Offers me work on an "exciting project" that happens to be their screenplay. Does not inquire about my rate, tells me "it's all there except the story."  When I discuss payment am simultaneously told that a "writer" should work for "art's sake."  Explain that landlady is not willing to be paid in half-finished screenplays and discuss my hourly and project rate.  Receive an email in return insisting that they can hire the guy who works at the gas station for $5 an hour.   Respond saying that I hope to see him and Union 76 on the Oscar stage next year.

I'll let you guess which offer I receive more frequently.

I've done some writing work for causes I believe in, but that's a case where I've intentionally donated my time in a volunteer effort.  But why do people expect writers (and artists, and web designers, and filmmakers, and bloggers, and etc. etc. etc.) to work as a hired gun for no money?

Do you work for free?

...

Me to Will, last night:

You know what I think one of the secrets is to a healthy relationship?  You hate the same people.

...

Elsewhere around the web:

• I am anti-education. (See the comment on the left, and my response.)
• Will has Things To Do on a Friday Night.
• I can only offer you things to do on a Saturday night: BetheMarriage LIVE! (On Ice!) will be headed your way Saturday night, 9PST.  Check it out at Stickam.
• Tomorrow night The Doctor is In with yours truly.
• When Good Things Happen to Good People:  My friend Tomas' movie The American Mall is almost upon us - and is already in Sears!
• When Good Things, Part Two: TC gets into Moorpark College's Exotic Animal Training Program!
• Piglet reviews our first LiveCast.
• I've got stuff going on over at Antisocial Networking.  No really, go see!

Ways in Which I am a Jerk.

I was three years old when I attended the Ark preschool in Glen Ellyn Illinois.  It's the place where I learned to tie a knot and write my first and last name and sit quietly and read my book while the other kids went over their ABCs.  Outside on the small dirt playground I eyed the monkey bars in shape of a snake wearing a boater suspiciously, not entirely sure if he was going to swallow me whole or burst into The Music Man.  There was music time and quiet time and learning time and play time.  Honestly, the only thing that interested me was learning time. Quiet time was a waste, I could nap at home. Music time had us playing triangles and wooden blocks, which I would have enjoyed if the other kids didn't use the time to throw them at each other.  But play time was was the hardest, as everyone separated into groups and I'd have to figure out who I'd be friends with for the day.  I wasn't really willing to commit past that.

I've written before that I was an odd child, and I wasn't really interested in playing with the other kids.  This worried my preschool teacher, and notes were sent home saying I didn't play well with others.  I wasn't mean, I wasn't disruptive...I just didn't really seem to care. SlackMom finally took me aside and said pretend you're interested in playing with the other kids. That'll get her off your back.  Now that she had explained it in terms that made sense, I complied. And I learned how to get along with people I didn't particularly like.

Working the front desk at an upscale gym in Los Angeles, you'd think I'd run into cases of over-inflated egos with a sense of self-entitlement every day.  The fact is that it's rarer than you'd think.  But there are a few cases where my smile shines a little brighter, my compliments get a little more effusive, my hands clasp and I positively giggle. 

It was a moment like this that my boss, T., comes out of her office and asked what the hell was that?

That was me being a jerk, I responded.

If I don't like someone, I make no effort to connect to them.  Usually by way of ignoring them.  But there are some people you cannot ignore.  They're your co-workers or they're your clients or they're friends of friends and you have no choice but to interact with them.  So I'm nice  Beyond nice.  Incredibly nice.  I overcompensate for the fact that I don't like them. 

This used to be due to the fact that I thought there was something wrong with me, and perhaps by being nice I'd see whatever it was in them that everyone else would see. And y'know what?  That rarely works. Now it's just my way of being a jerk.  Because generally if you don't like someone, they know and don't like you back.  So if you're only nice to them, complaining about you makes them look like a bigger dick.  Because I'm a jerk that way.

How else am I a jerk? 

I think this is brilliant.  (Is that jerky?)
I have been slack on the slack daily.  I assure you I'm not sitting around eating bon-bons.  If you're having a slackmistress jones, you can always stalk me at Antisocial Networking, Twitter, and the Slackmistress Appreciation Society (I think having an Appreciation Society also makes me a jerk.)
I would consider item number two to take care of the jerks in item number three.

Ways that I am not a jerk:

I listen to my husband's songs about the air conditioner.

Your turn!