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Misogynyst Gynecologist's Journal

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"Remember that you must behave in life as at a dinner party. Is anything brought around to you? Put out your hand and take your share with moderation. Does it pass by you? Don't stop it. Is it not yet come? Don't stretch your desire towards it, but wait till it reaches you. Do this with regard to children, to a wife, to public posts, to riches, and you will eventually be a worthy partner of the feasts of the gods. And if you don't even take the things which are set before you, but are able even to reject them, then you will not only be a partner at the feasts of the gods, but also of their empire." - The Enchiridion, Epictetus

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Jan 25, 2014 - 09:16 AM
I am an atheist in favor of religion
As an atheist, one would assume I worship at the altar of Neil deGrasse Tyson (I don’t, can’t stand the guy) or Carl Sagan (now we’re talking!), but the fact of the matter is - my atheism doesn’t stem from Internet group-think or a simple “rage against the machine” youth-logic that a lot of it seems to come from these days. Nor does it come from having a super-science brain. I am not particularly smart (I would consider myself more “clever” than anything else) and cannot explain away God like so many other people smarter than I.

Yet I would not rid the world of religion if given the choice.

Putting aside the absurdity that one person’s or group’s belief system can trump others (a common point in theological and political ideals - read Eric Hoffer’s “The True Believer” to understand it better), the fact is that much of the history of art in all its forms is based on religion. The Louvre would be largely empty were it not for early masters and idiot children today would not have crappy pop music if those artists weren’t influenced by the Beatles. And the Beatles by Bernard Herrmann… and Bernard Herrmann by Percy Grainger and Percy Grainger by Edvard Grieg and so on. All the waters - both shallow and deep in the streams and rivers of music - eventually flow out into the sea of classical influence. And classical music has a strong grip on all religious views.

Think of all the music that came from faith. To rid the world of Mozart is a much, much greater crime than to rid it of any supposed God. To rid the world of God would bring some peace but to rid the world of music would bring complete silence. There is no uglier fate than that.

And I am not talking about pop song religious fluff either. I am not talking about “Jesus take the wheel” schlock, which sells Christ like Reebok sold sneakers with basketball stars. I’m talking about *music* - that art above other art that expresses the incommunicable and changes and grows with every performance.

Music music, not dance pop numbers or trivial rock music - but music that speaks to something greater than every day angst and doesn’t consist of little more than minor chords or synthesizer beats. Music that, by its nature, informs you of a part of yourself that had previously not existed.

Music is, in many ways its self, God.

So, I will live with the presumed silliness of (what I believe is) someone else’s outmoded belief systems if it means the world has George Frideric Handel’s “Messiah” and Morten Lauridsen’s (totally fucking sublime beyond all expression, that I have to use the word “fucking” between “totally” and “sublime” just to get the point across) “Lux Aeterna” and the “Missa Solemnis” by Ludwig van Beethoven. It would not be a world worth living to remove the greatest musical artists of all time from history - nor should we invest in a future where religiousness or faith is undermined or removed simply because there is no proof in the existence of God or the obviousness of science and an arbitrary existence.

I will suffer, gladly, your notions of a bearded or multi-armed deity if it means you leave me alone with music.



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A brief reflection on religion and music by i am good at jokes

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[public entry #893]

Jan 6, 2014 - 04:28 PM
Beliefs
Be excellent to each other. Don’t eat the yellow snow. Don’t screw anyone over, even if you think they deserve it. Stop hating so hard. Stop caring so much about your job - when you’re on your death bed, you’re not going to think “boy, wish I put in more time at the office”.

Be so passionate about things it may scare other people. If you see an attractive woman, you can look all you want until she meets your eyes - then you have to smile. Approach all situations with joy. Live every day like you’re going to die to the extent that you have a slight death fixation (this makes more sense and sounds less creepy when you get through it all). Eat really good food when you can manage it. Stop buying material possessions. Don’t fuck unless you absolutely mean it.

Talk to yourself - its the only way you’ll get an intelligent conversation. Get angry about things that piss you off but don’t nurse it unless its forced on you. No one is better than you, and you’re better than no one. Don’t use politically correct language. God is a limiting detail on greater spirituality; he’s an atheistic conception used to control guilt-minded people.

Support first and second amendment rights - if only because not having the option is scarier than never needing to use it. Give to charity but mindful of what charity it is since a lot of them are just sharks out looking for blood. Thank every war vet you meet and shake their hand for it. Forgive your enemies but don’t forget them - they may try it again. When you walk into any room, think of the James Bond theme and then notice how your posture and stride changes. Drink heavily, smoke a lot, have some abhorrently kinky sex - but be careful about it all.

Appreciate your parents but also realize they don’t trump your own self-respect no matter what. Take pride in your work but also take humor in yourself. Stop using motivational posters and self-help books to grow - just be, and the growing happens of its own accord.


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[public entry #892]

Nov 16, 2013 - 08:26 PM
Amanda, Epilouge - Sheinberg's edit, "Love Conquers All"
When I told you about moving to Texas, you told me you wanted to see me one last time before it happened. We make plans quietly - another day or short weekend in New Haven. No presumptions, no plans, just idle wandering. It gets compared to the movie Before Sunrise, where those two people just wander around a strange city and ignore everything but each other.

The Saturday morning rolls around and I'm standing in the train station again, my flat-cap in one shaking hand and the other in my pocket. And as you step up, you're wearing a purple scarf, or a purple beret, a purple something. You smile out of the corner of your mouth and we walk out into the street, holding hands. New Haven is busy and loud and we don't notice any of it. The pull of you has nothing to do with how you're leading me.

You talk about your life and your job and your marriage and your dog and how broken your car is and where you got your boots and how tired you are of your mother; with every new subject you creep closer and grip my hand harder until your fingers are pressing white between my knuckles. You coo quietly and say to tell me about my life instead. My job, my apartment (I want to see it! she says with enthusiasm), my cat Greta, my car that is always falling apart, movies, music, close-calls that somehow never turn into girlfriends. An existence of near-misses that somehow culminate into the misery of lost chances, bodies of dreams strewn about.

We duck into alleys and corners and the windows of book stores.You go to kiss me and miss my mouth and get me right under the eye. I ask how long I have with you and you pull away to an arms length before saying "Tomorrow, noon." The last word curves up to the corners of your voice, almost like a question, easily confused with hope.

I take you home and put on the television and we get to cooking. I'm a terrible in front of a stove but between the two of us we make something passable before deciding on throwing it out for Chinese take-out. Between the phone call and picking up the order, we become a mess of limbs on the living room floor, grinding like machines. I can hear the fabric stretch along your back, under your hair. You guide me once or twice - a hand here, no, move your knee - before we start laughing.

I stand up to get my keys - the Chinese is surely ready and probably cold by now - and you hold me before we walk out. My hands find your elbows and I wonder aloud how small they are in my hands. Weird detail.

The takeout is bland, the movie we watch is half ignored. The lights stay off after the plates are in the sink and the DVD player is still. Her glasses come off, the hair is down, we both know this is the one last time we have in a relationship of one last times. Your legs meet around my back and so it goes, on and on, for an hour and then two. You shake so hard that it might actually be me shaking. You curse loudly. It sounds weird coming from you.

===

Now - none of this happened. This epilogue just above. Its what I thought should happen and likely never will. Because, as life is always ready to prove, love does not conquer all. Love is a building block of life, like water, like carbon. It is a thing that is necessary to exist but it is also an inert element when left to its own devices. It is a thing that does not move on its own, does not change without outside forces, does not have any greater meaning without more placed on it.

And thats the cusp of our relationship I guess. And its inert because of you.

I'll allow myself a little bit of anger and a whole lot of self-loathing over that anger because, well, this is all unresolved. What I wrote above was what I would need to end or continue everything we had instead of the basic building block you and I started so long ago. We never finished what we barely even started.

What drives me nuts isn't that I lost to the lesser man. Its that I lost to you. I never tried harder with anyone in my life, never wrote more, never expressed more, never more more'd - and here I am writing fantasy-fiction as I hold a glass of vodka in the other hand. I am drunk enough to know I am right and sober enough to know I still love you; tomorrow morning, I will be sober enough to know its your own decision to make and I'll still be drunk on my affections. (Ah, the curse of the Irish holds strong in my genes!)

I don't like letting go. Ive never abandoned a friend in my life and have gladly welcomed back any who have wandered away. That is just who I am. And maybe you need to wander away for a bit too. And like the rest, you're always welcomed back - but I also have the gnawing feeling you never will. That you shut the door so quietly as you left, neither of us heard it click.

So, you are now a song from a summer too far away. A vibe from a passed era, the watermark from a flood forgotten. I loved you like all men would want to love a woman and you found it best served to be cast aside.

Maybe one day you'll find this blog, this entry, read it in full. Maybe you'll take my old suggestion and look up "When You Are Old" by W.B. Yates and know that that is where we've been shoehorned: part my fault, part your decision. And part of me will be waiting for that reply; though instinctively that part of me waits knowing that the reply will never come, or even if it did, it would be much colder than desired.

So this is it then. This is us in our thirties. The bond you and I had under so many dark nights, awake hundreds of miles away and wondering about the other is now tethered to a still lake, all life and living gone from it now.

My God, how I loved you like no one else in my life.

And how I wish that part of me would stop holding on.


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Nov 6, 2013 - 07:11 PM
Long Live Lou Reed. - 90 Minutes After The Annoucement Of His Passing, Aged 71 Earth Years
The passing of Lou Reed is an odd one. I suppose the big reason is that, by this point, we had all assumed his hard-living lifestyle would've kept him permanently embalmed. Like a Keith Richards or a Iggy Pop, here was someone who lived hard and fast and then harder still and kept on living somehow. His face looked like someone had left Lyle Lovett out in the rain and sun for too damn long.

I don't have many distinct memories of Reed's music either. I really started listening to him in my early 20s, when I'd be up until three in the morning talking on Instant Messenger and watching the Late Late Show. There was a thing I liked about him that escaped me for many years - but it was really about how simple his music was. Unlike a lot of other rock artists before him or following, the great point of Reed's material was how simple it was. At times, I'm even reminded a bit of Philip Glass - where its one idea stretched to its greatest limit, changed in the simplest ways, so its basically four minutes of a chord progression. But where Glass is brilliantly maddening, Reed was brilliantly approachable. His music (and especially his lyrics) were so much like the kind heard in art class rooms where bohemian wanna-be teenagers strummed a guitar and didn't sing a song so much as talk through it. Not quite poetry, not quite fumbling in the dark. But it was distinctly understandable: some half-way-there poet finger-banging greatness but never going the whole way.

And thats where I think the tragedy is in Reed's passing: the man was a simple storyteller. In an age where music has been castrated and cauterized by increasingly stupid pop music clap-trap - the immediacy of a guy struggling to make a song sort of work has all the vibrant workings of a story around the bonfire. Simple. Direct. You either bought it, or you didn't. Pure narration, in a way. I respect that - its the same approach Hemingway had with his readers. Except, you know, nothing about blowjobs.

Reed was the ultimate dream-come-true for all those high school rock band kids. He never made it very far in the charts Hot 100 sense but he never gave in to outside excess or pressures from trends. He was just Lou Reed. Here he is. And his talent wasn't in arrangements or big ideas; he was just a guy with some cute ideas and they were the kind you could see him scrawl on ratty cocktail napkins with ballpoint pens. His kind wouldn't last in this day and age if he was just starting out - which makes you wonder how many other people are out there like him and don't get the chances he had. After all, we don't like people who are just talent and we don't trust people if they're not interested in just taking our money.

But I listened to him a lot. I'll fault the movie Trainspotting for introducing me to my favorite song by him "Perfect Day" but there were others like "No Money Down" which is terrific and a throwback to his love of 50s rock, though it took me a long time to warm up to. "New York Telephone Conversation" with its oom-pah-pah bounce comes off as Danny Elfman finally not giving a shit after coming home to a dirty, laundry-smelling apartment after spending all night drinking mezcal in a dive bar in Hell's Kitchen.

So yeah, Lou Reed is dead. Long live Lou Reed. Ain't gonna find many more like him unless you look harder at the people struggling in high school art class with badly tuned guitars and not giving a fuck about it.


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Oct 22, 2013 - 02:18 PM
From The "Just So I'm Better Understood" File...
I am what I like to think a deeply empathic person. I feel for the misery and plights of others - be they strangers or friends, be they of any creed or color. I can put myself immediately into that other person's shoes and experience their good news first hand. I would like to think this is an element that makes me maybe not a good friend but a trusted one.

However, there is a fucking limit to it. And you know I'm somewhere near that limit if I'm using the word "fucking" to emphasize it.

To quote the late, great George Carlin - "I don't have pet peeves, I have major, psychotic fucking hatreds" and that is true. That is the other side of the deep empathy of people - the complete and utter revulsion of them. That is to say I can emphasize with people but it is such a tenuous and exhausting skill that I am an introvert by nature; dealing with people is literally the most exhausting thing I can experience.

So thats the set-up, and heres the meat of the joke.

I purposely delineate all parts of my life from the next. My personal life does not affect my work, my work life does not affect my family life, my family life does not affect some ... other thing that I can't think of right now. But everything is compartmentalized: I do this on purpose. I don't like bleed through. I do not like parts of my life interacting with other parts. If I am dating a girl and she asks me about my job, I'll likely shrug it off. I don't do this to be rude but my work life is exceedingly dis-interesting; more over, I don't want to talk about work outside of work. Similarly, I don't want to talk about who I'm dating with those I work with. I haven't told my mother about any dating I've done since probably 2006.

Now I realize that not everyone works this way and thats fine. But there is a boundary involved here that some people see and most people don't. The line is this: don't try to drag me across into your own values. If I do not want to mix my personal life with my work life, it needs to be accepted that way and thats it. My job is not who I am, its merely what I do. I do not wrap myself in the flag, I feel no loyalty to an employer past collecting another paycheck. Thats all I am there for and don't ever think otherwise.

I do not view my job as a second family.

I view my job as getting paid for having to deal with people I would otherwise avoid.

Similar to the line in the sand about values, as a rule, I don't talk about things like religion or personal opinions often. Its cheap, its chintzy and let me be totally honest (and an asshole) when I say that every one of these discussions at work end up with four people trying to out-yell the others, before they turn to me. "Well, see, I'm leaning more toward the concept that God is only the outward expression of Man's own inward nature as detailed by..." and then I realize I've totally lost everyone already. I am by no means a profoundly smart person - I am simply a well-learned idiot - but I also have no tolerance for people who want to swim in an intellectual ocean with water wings for an IQ. It also doesn't help that I am atheistic but don't identify as with atheist groups. Frankly, I think having a belief system of any kind is stupid; the moment you discard your safety net of an assumed reality, you take things as they come a lot better. Its not always easy but its much easier to cope with reality when you're allowing yourself to

Now where does all this come from?

A coworker of mine has had a family loss. I feel nothing but sad things for him because he's honestly a very nice person and I like his company quite a bit. However, someone else in the department suggested-to-the-point-of-commanding that we get a sympathy card.

And I realize my opinion of not wanting to sign it makes me out to be a monster, but at the same time, I didn't ask for nor did I get one when anyone from my family or friends passed. The point there isn't "I didn't get one, so why should they" sour grapes as it is "I didn't get one because I don't feel comfortable with it; why should I send one too if it makes me uncomfortable?"

I think this is a valid opinion. Its not one made in cruelty or emotion. Its simply saying "I do not want to be involved on this level." Because I purposely bond with very, very few people and I do not want to diminish that capacity by being shoehorned or be made guilty into doing something half-heartedly.

This is a huge reason why I need to leave my job. They are asking too much from me in this way. It is draining. It is vexing. And more over, I find it intrusive in the most horrible way. I am not at my job to peddle my soul to people who do not know me past what I allow them (nor do I ask them to peak into my soul to validate their intrusive nature). I am there to put money in my pocket. Were I to leave it tomorrow, aside from two people, I would not know the other two hundred or so people I see every week. I did not choose to know them; its membership by osmosis in the same way that we're all human - but so the fuck what?

The funny thing is is that my demanding these barriers, and this distance is purely because I do not have barriers and distance with my few close friends.

I am as human as the next person. But I prefer to be human over there.


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Oct 12, 2013 - 08:15 AM
This Revolution Will Not Be Televised - Gillian Anderson Photo Op, 2013
As with all people now in their 30s and full of themselves, I loved loved loved The X-Files. Usual nerd reasons, I won't bore you with them. So when Ally offered me a day pass to New York ComiCon this year, I *had* to go after finding out Gillian Anderson was going to attend that day. Photo ops were a touch expensive but I figured it was worth the cash for a determinedly awkward photo proving, well, absolutely nothing. Lets face it: these are cattle calls. I'd heard iffy things about the company that was doing them but I sent them a Paypal payment anyway. You only live once.

I got in line very early because the queue system wasn't handled well. The staff running the floor were generally very nice but totally out of their element past "don't cross this line" schtick. I had three giggling German girls ahead of me, all of which were super nice, and somewhere to my right and back (the queue went up and down and up and down several aisles) a very nice guy from Australia dressed as Mulder who was charming to talk to and gave really great insight on his experiences in America (all of them positive).

But what was suppose to be a thirty minute wait turned into ninety as Gillian Anderon's plane was late or stuck in customs or something. We got different stories. I didn't care. I was fourth in line and the first guy - my heterosexuality was proven that day, I'll tell you what. The MC working the line eventually said "She's here folks, get your tickets out, stand at the black curtain entrance until staff calls you in to take your ticket" blah blah blah. He was generally a very nice person but anyone who works at NYCC had to be burned out by four in the afternoon. His face was etched with the wrinkles you get from smelling neck sweat and acne topical medicine all day.

The first two girls go in, swallowed up by the velvet entrance. I give my bookbag to the staff to hold. The next girl is called in. Then me. The next few details happened within the span of 2 to 5 seconds.

After walking through the black velvet fabric, the room was a lot to take in. The size of a classroom, something like ten people running around, the light guy adjusting for height, the photographer, two people on computers, the printing guy, the ticket person. Aside from the girl who was just leaving and the girl whos having her picture taking next, I'm alone in the room, in the corner like a truant.

Gillian is 45 pushing 22. Shes wearing a black dress that, when she picks up her water or to turn to talk to someone, proves its actually a matching two-piece. Shes extremely polite and smiles broadly. She's trying to make small talk the people shes taking photos with and its upsetting the cameraman. He continually screams NEXT with the nuance of a drunk cattle baron.

My turn is next. She half-follows the last of the german girls out of the room and then turns to me. I held eye contact until I walked to the mark on the floor for the picture - all of FIFTEEN FEET. She smiled broadly as I approached. I tried to turn on some of the old Sean Connery style charm I use to get phone numbers while at bars. I'd like to think I was successful but ... well, the outcome isn't proof of that.

Me: "Good morning"
Her: "Hey! Good morning! How are you?"
Me: "Pretty good, yourself?"
Her: "I'm good, thanks."

Click. "NEXT!" The end.

So why aren't I posting the photo here? Right as I replied to "how are you", I had just walked up to her expecting to take a picture like the girl before me - side to side, crooked smile like you're saying "Hi Mom!" on the nightly news - when she grabs my hand and puts it around her waist on her hip, with all the subtlety of a dancing instructor with a new student. As if to say "No, honey - that goes HERE." Much to my credit, I got a firm hold. Between the surreal aspect of the situation, the unexpected physical contact and the fact that we were basically talking as it was taken, well, my face comes off as a half-hearted attempt at Jared Lee Loughner's mug shot - a bit too intense, though I've gotten use to the picture a bit since then.

I'm not disappointed by the photo per se but I am sort of deflated. I've rarely photographed well - I sort of have a brow that makes my eyes seem strained so I end up looking extremely serious when all I'm doing is thinking about what I want for dinner - and this was no exception. A badly timed no exception, actually.

But she did put my hand on her and you better believe I gently got a palm of that. It ain't Abelard and Eloise by any means but, well, fuck you, I'm sticking to the totally grand delusion she thought I was cute if she got that close on her own. Until then, I'm hiding that photo behind something else and taking it out as a great (visual) anecdote for when I'm drunk with friends.


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Aug 26, 2013 - 03:43 PM
ComiConn 2013
This weekend I got to meet two of my childhood heroes. The first is comic artist Mark Bagley, who was one of two Spider-Man artists I idolized growing up (the other was Sal Buschema). I was hoping to get a sketch but he was a bit too pricey. However, a signed $20 print meant that he didn't have to tire himself out with another commission and was thankful enough to get a picture with me. I look nonplussed but I'm pretty sure I was just trying not to vomit.



The second was J.M. DeMatteis, the writer behind Kraven's Last Hunt and (my favorite Spider-Man story ever) The Child Within - which was also part of the first Spider-Man comic I ever read. Unlike the artists that were taking up huge lines around the room, J.M. was sitting by himself and looking like, I kid you not, a depressed Larry David: an empty table aside from a Macbook and a sigh in his shoulders. I nervously introduced myself (afraid of going totally bonkers and fanboy at him) and thanked him emphatically for his run on Spectacular Spider-Man to which he replied with immense relief that it was his favorite thing he's ever written and so happy to talk about it. Luckily, I was able to chew his ear for 20 minutes - he pulled me aside and told me to sit when others were coming up to have stuff signed and we talked about writing and Stephen King and practically everything you can think of that can be covered in under half an hour. He said I should sign up for his writing workshop and I'm giving it serious thought, though the cynic in me says that he made the offer less because I impressed him and more because it has a $400 fee.



Christ I photograph badly.

Anyway, the other guys I got to meet are unfortunately unpictured but...

I bumped into Bob Camp, who is a long, long time animation guy and was co-creator of Ren & Stimpy. We have one or two mutual friends (well, they're more his friends than mine, I just know those people via Facebook) and he was happy to talk about anything other than John K or his time on R&S. He was doing doodles and selling cell art but he was waaaaaaay too pricey. He was a bit of an angry old guy but we got on well enough.

Then I ran into Michael Jan Freeman - whos written a metric-shit-tonne of Star Trek books and comics over the years - and a person who I won't name at the moment, but he was someone whos name I recognized but had little experience with his writing. Anyway, since they weren't artists, you could get a good conversation with them for as long as you wanted and we talked about problematic Hollywood actors (like how Sly Stallone wanted art redone on all the Judge Dredd comic adaptations because he didn't like how his mouth was drawn) before we landed on the topic of Harlan Ellison. Well, the guy I won't name tore Harlan a huge asshole for all sorts of good reasons - they'd written together in the past and Harlan had shit on him professionally - and Unnamed Guy and I went back and forth like an old couple, much to the amusement of some of the other people walking around.

Actor John Wesley Shipp was there (Dawson's Dad from Dawson's Creek!) and I wish I had snuck by to ask him about working with Mark Hamill on The Flash but by noon I was exhausted as fuck.

Then I went out and literally got drunk from 5 pm until 6 am with a bunch of really hot girls.

Then I talked to Andrew WK on the phone.

So, yeah, this was all pretty choice.


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Aug 11, 2013 - 03:23 PM
If I Ever Try Online Dating Again...
I'm putting this video as the profile. If no one can deal with how real it is, fuck 'em.

YouTube Video



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Aug 4, 2013 - 12:36 PM
Thoughts On GFF
Been watching that meet thread. You know, the one everyone is having meltdowns over? Acer (ACER ACER ACER!) made some good points about the community whole and people's thoughts on the site and the group going over to Facebook and all that. Instead of putting more :words: in that thread which I'm not really involved in, I'm going to put some here.

The problem with GFF isn't less use of the site but smaller numbers in long term members. We get plenty of people in and out but very few stay for long (CLUB ELITISM must keep the barbars at the gate) while those without true grit wander over to the sharing area and are swallowed up, never to return.

(My thoughts on the sharing area are old and long-stated and I will not put them here again, save to say they haven't changed and that I think closing it or moving it to its own area would help with the chaff versus wheat member situation.)

As to GFF on Facebook, its a nonissue. Everyone uses FB because... everyone uses FB. In ten years, no one will use it; like Friendster or MySpace, it'll be replaced by something else entirely and GFF will plant a flag there too. It'll help in communication between members but it won't be an identifying thing. No one goes to Facebook to see what's going on here, after all.

So the question is: what is there to do?

I still advocate that whole "sign on for a while before going to a meet" thing. It's popular with some and very unpopular with others (see: every opinion I've ever had) but maybe if we as lasting members started posting some links on FB to threads on here we'd get the new blood we've been lacking for so long. A perfect example is that FFIV playthrough thread which I've found immensely entertaining and moreover - it's not "cliquey". It's a bunch of posts where you don't have to worry about who likes who and internal drama and shit. So maybe if we had more (I hate to use this word but) "generic" threads and posted them other places (FB, twitter, etc) we'd attract more new members.

Not that everyone who comes here is worth keeping but word of mouth would go farther.

Just a thought. Go about your day.


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Jul 29, 2013 - 08:27 PM
I Occasionally Write Shit Still
This time, it's about the last great Star Trek movie.

I'm sure you're as surprised as you are enthralled.

http://letterstheyllneverread.blogsp...rek-movie.html


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