We used to go to Cousin's Pizza in Mansfield, or rather, they would come to use after we ordered online. I really liked them. Their pepperoni did that thing where it curls into a bowl full of grease. Now we go to a place called Briggs Corner Pizza, and it's not bad, but I still like Cousin's better.
We moved to a new town in December, and the biggest downside I can think of is having to find all new places to eat, buy groceries, buy miscellaneous stuff and so forth. It's mitigated a bit by the fact that we're adjacent to an area with lot of chain stores, but all those little local shops we used to like are now out of reach.
Other than that, I guess the other thing I miss is actually having a neighborhood to speak of. We're on one end of a cul-de-sac off of a main road, and there's nothing around for miles. It was nice being at the center of our old town, where we could walk to most of the stuff that was worth visiting. Here, walking takes you out onto a major road where cars are whipping by at 50 miles per hour or more, and it'd be about 3-4 miles to the nearest donut shop.
I mean, I like donuts, and I like walking, but people drive like maniacs around here.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Not Dead Yet
I'm alive and well, though obviously the blog is covered in cobwebs. My wife and I moved to new digs in a new town around Christmas, I got (and subsequently was laid off from) a new job, and we spent a lot of time visiting relatives.
But those are just a bunch of excuses. Really I've been playing Skyrim for like two months straight.
But those are just a bunch of excuses. Really I've been playing Skyrim for like two months straight.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Has it Really Been a Month?
If blogs were children, I'd be in prison for neglect.
My wife and I are looking for houses, and I wish I had something insightful to say about the process but all I've learned as that I really like old houses and that I don't want a house that doesn't have a basement. And if it does have a basement, it better have a high enough ceiling that I'm not smacking my head into it all the time.
But on the subject of old houses, there's just something I love about all of the little odd incongruities that were either built into the house or that have cropped up over the years as new owners have moved in and out and decided that they didn't need the attic, or didn't need two closets and tore one down for more space in the bedroom. Or decided that, hey, this big empty space in the bedroom would make a pretty nice closet. I have so many damn shoes, Herb! You know that!
The houses we've seen that've been around for about a century or so seem to have grown organically just as much as they've been built. There are dressers and drawers and cabinets built into the walls, and old wood with dozens or hundreds of little nicks in the finish, and little doors here and there that may or may not lead into John Malkovich. We saw a house recently that had a small door (presumably to an attic, possibly to an actor) set twelve feet up into the wall of the master bedroom.
In addition, we looked at one built around 1880-ish that had an all new interior... except for the basement, which had a dirt floor, a fieldstone foundation (just lots of big rocks mortared together) and was propped up by literal tree trunks.
It's kind of a shame that I love old houses, because I'm sure I don't want the problems that go with owning one.
My wife and I are looking for houses, and I wish I had something insightful to say about the process but all I've learned as that I really like old houses and that I don't want a house that doesn't have a basement. And if it does have a basement, it better have a high enough ceiling that I'm not smacking my head into it all the time.
But on the subject of old houses, there's just something I love about all of the little odd incongruities that were either built into the house or that have cropped up over the years as new owners have moved in and out and decided that they didn't need the attic, or didn't need two closets and tore one down for more space in the bedroom. Or decided that, hey, this big empty space in the bedroom would make a pretty nice closet. I have so many damn shoes, Herb! You know that!
The houses we've seen that've been around for about a century or so seem to have grown organically just as much as they've been built. There are dressers and drawers and cabinets built into the walls, and old wood with dozens or hundreds of little nicks in the finish, and little doors here and there that may or may not lead into John Malkovich. We saw a house recently that had a small door (presumably to an attic, possibly to an actor) set twelve feet up into the wall of the master bedroom.
In addition, we looked at one built around 1880-ish that had an all new interior... except for the basement, which had a dirt floor, a fieldstone foundation (just lots of big rocks mortared together) and was propped up by literal tree trunks.
It's kind of a shame that I love old houses, because I'm sure I don't want the problems that go with owning one.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Naked Came the Manatee
I just finished the book in the post title, primarily to get it back to the library as its a week overdue. "NCtM" got itself lost in my luggage during a short vacation to northern Mass and southern New Hampshire, and I was content to let it sit there a while.
The title caught my eye, and the plot is an odd thing involving the head of Fidel Castro and a manatee by the name of Booger, but while I like the idea of a collaboration like this, it just didn't work. The opening is a bit slow, and each of the book's thirteen authors felt the need not to only continue the story as it was, but to add a new element in each chapter. The result is chaotic, especially because none of the writers seemed to trust one another enough to just continue along with introduced plot threads, but instead threw out or trampled on previously introduced material.
The net effect is that what should be a shared story soup comes off as more of a pot luck with little coordination. Three people showed up with napkins, another three with potato chips, and it's up to Debby's modest tuna noodle cassarole to save the day... only there's only enough for six people.
The title caught my eye, and the plot is an odd thing involving the head of Fidel Castro and a manatee by the name of Booger, but while I like the idea of a collaboration like this, it just didn't work. The opening is a bit slow, and each of the book's thirteen authors felt the need not to only continue the story as it was, but to add a new element in each chapter. The result is chaotic, especially because none of the writers seemed to trust one another enough to just continue along with introduced plot threads, but instead threw out or trampled on previously introduced material.
The net effect is that what should be a shared story soup comes off as more of a pot luck with little coordination. Three people showed up with napkins, another three with potato chips, and it's up to Debby's modest tuna noodle cassarole to save the day... only there's only enough for six people.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Screw It
I'm ditching "Sinner" and using the rest of September to write something about dwarves. Dwarves are awesome. They drink, they fight, they mine for gold and construct awesome underground cities and construct awesome beards. That and I have an itch to write something pure fantasy. I feel like I'm still watering my writing down to fit some kind of norm, and that ain't right.
Fuck you, Norm!
Fuck you, Norm!
I Got Nothin'
So I brought Daryl to Cleveland and he's blown up a Mustang at the 50-yard line at Browns Stadium. On the plus side, I know what he wants, I just have no idea how to get him that thing, or what he could possibly do to achieve it.
It's frustrating because in a way it makes sense. I have a character who is stuck and has no idea what to do next, but that doesn't make for a compelling story. So the question is, if you're in Cleveland and you're the last person on Earth, and you want to find someone to go have a drink with, where do you start looking? Probably the bars. But, nah, that's too easy.
It's frustrating because in a way it makes sense. I have a character who is stuck and has no idea what to do next, but that doesn't make for a compelling story. So the question is, if you're in Cleveland and you're the last person on Earth, and you want to find someone to go have a drink with, where do you start looking? Probably the bars. But, nah, that's too easy.
Friday, September 9, 2011
You're in Albuquerque...
... and you just finished dropping the last of the bodies in the landfill. You get back to town and the entire places is yours. Just you. Nobody else. What do you do?
It's funny how stories evolve. I'm revisiting a short story I began a while ago--tentatively titled "Sinner"-- and it used to be that I knew the answer to the question above. This story had an ending, but on re-reading it, it just didn't fit. Long story short: "Sinner" is about a guy, Daryl, who wishes the world would leave him alone. It does. Daryl's the only person on Earth for probably several-hundred years (not that he's bothered to count) and he's going pretty mad. When he begins seeing people, Daryl realizes he has a problem.
How the story originally went was that, after murdering the same (illusory?) man over and over again, he realizes he needs to put back everything he ever broke or moved to get the world back. It's a Herculean task, setting the world right, but it goes by in a few paragraphs. And then, boom, he has his life back.
Way too easy.
So now I've scrapped that ending and I'm trying to find something else for him to do. Feels like he shouldn't have his epiphany so quickly, but I'm not certain where that would come in. I think he's halfway to realizing that he wants people back, but I'm not sure what pushes him the extra step.
Well, at the end of this month I'm going back to my first major edit of "Up in Hell". I've got 21 days to think about it.
It's funny how stories evolve. I'm revisiting a short story I began a while ago--tentatively titled "Sinner"-- and it used to be that I knew the answer to the question above. This story had an ending, but on re-reading it, it just didn't fit. Long story short: "Sinner" is about a guy, Daryl, who wishes the world would leave him alone. It does. Daryl's the only person on Earth for probably several-hundred years (not that he's bothered to count) and he's going pretty mad. When he begins seeing people, Daryl realizes he has a problem.
How the story originally went was that, after murdering the same (illusory?) man over and over again, he realizes he needs to put back everything he ever broke or moved to get the world back. It's a Herculean task, setting the world right, but it goes by in a few paragraphs. And then, boom, he has his life back.
Way too easy.
So now I've scrapped that ending and I'm trying to find something else for him to do. Feels like he shouldn't have his epiphany so quickly, but I'm not certain where that would come in. I think he's halfway to realizing that he wants people back, but I'm not sure what pushes him the extra step.
Well, at the end of this month I'm going back to my first major edit of "Up in Hell". I've got 21 days to think about it.
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