Extra Evil - Trees.01

Omens

The White House temper and attention span traded strikes.

Ukraine lobbed drones like zerglings.

Lindsey Graham's body joined his soul.

Mitch McConnell's body...you know what, I'll wait for confirmation.

Based on the yelling downstairs, France lost.

Xbox ran a one-company industry crash.

Mirage

Announcements

Because of who I am and what I do, I spent Monday typing at Japan Village. The vast majority of you aren't from Brooklyn, but consider who I am and what I do. You know what Japan Village is like. The food never lets me down.

While haunting Japan Village, I watched someone that looked far too much like me spend six minutes taking pictures of his own wristwatch, hand aloft. He held said hand toward the sun, for maximum white spots, and ignored the massive and photogenic koi mural behind him (keep in mind, this is another omega-grade weeb). For all the gaps in temperament between us, its comforting to know that my doppelganger is just as ass at photography.

A small thing I miss: a new doomed dating app coming out monthly. Match has scared all the entertaining fish out of the water. We should have versions of FarmersOnly for every occupation by now. But there's just one data-scraping game in town (Bumble isn't real).

I fell in love with Notepad, and then my Pomera, and Scrivener. And while they're all still great, I suspect the main message is that I'm sick of Word. Publishing's fetish for it and Acrobat are a sin.

Then there's the question of venue.

Libraries win, when the barbell/Wanikani/food loop doesn't seal me indoors until 2 PM every time. At that point, there's no point, except picking up books saner people wrote in libraries. Clever bastards.

As for coffee shops, they feel like late-stage romance. The coffee illuminati are tired of hosting chic WeWorks. And I get it, but I also tip-toe across deadlines like a trapeze artist. And writing brought me here. Back in adland, I was caffeine free. Dabbling in Everything Else, but caffeine free.

Then there's the trees.

I'm torn about writing outdoors. A nice sensory experience, sure. Colorful backdrop, amusing neighbors testing festive explosives, and a coin flip on free food if there's a party nearby.

But the word count's iffy.

I'll blame the kind of projects I chase. You channel a bit of your environment, unless you're a Cylon. An OG cardboard Cylon--the fundie reboot androids totally channel their environment. While I jump around formats and genres, my target tone's never been "how I love the golden splendor of nature" or "the joy of uniting with my community." I aim for a brick with a smiley face on it.

In short, I think I'll buy an iron maiden soon. For the craft. I'll always have a golden scapegoat in the craft.

Or maybe I just need a tiny table. Something bench-friendly. With the time spent fidgeting with the laptop's eyeline, I could have produced an old-school fantasy trilogy. Lesson learned.

Fun fact: writing about Blondie involves reading Blondie. My mind is ash.

Maybe I should get a watch. One or two or seven kind souls have hinted that "sporty warlock" is a strange look. I'm not changing it: adding a nice watch could let me start a masculinity cult, sans subtlety. That trend's started to look like bellbottoms, so I should cash in while I can.

Entertainment

Yet another still from Battle of Fates, where everyone goes mad.

Blondie (Radio): Sucks real bad. (1.5/5)

Battle of Fates Finale: A comedic peak vs. a moral low. (0&5/5)

Wanikani (Month Three): My mind is gone. (4/5)

Unbeatable Banzuke - Foam Bridge: A beautiful testament to human ingenuity and cruelty. (5/5)

Casino

How to Dodge a Cannonball dawned in paperback.

I talked about MacGuyver and horses on The Dogg Zzone 9000.

Blondie made marriage look like purgatory.

The creative life is tough.

Nonsponsor

Toys are timeless, innocent fun. Let's hit some ads for toys.

Oh, good. It has a non-despair mode too. Otherwise there would be something creepy about this.

The product should be put to the sword. The ad is a bunt—perhaps wise, when the product should be put to the sword. Who volunteers to slay the beast?

As hideous as the junior homunculus is, I do love the work-life balance implied by the soft effort. This is a copywriter that got home to their own family early, and thanked God that they're not Cheerful Tearfuls.

Creativity: D+ | Persuasion: D+ | Sanity: F

Gasleak

Content in this slot may vary.

Overheard, in Coffee Fortress:

Stool: I don't think stimulants do anything for me anymore. I don't mean like, straight meth. I'm not crazy. But coke doesn't do it.

Chair: Oh.

Standing: I went into my first k-hole last night.

Stool: Where was that?

Standing: I was at a bathhouse.

Stool: Not for nothing...you weren't in the water were you? Hell of a place to drown.

Standing: No, no. My girlfriend was there.

Stool: But were you in...nevermind. The line between feeling great and [puke sound] is thin.

Chair: Someone was telling me the best way they've done ketamine...they got a medical-grade suppository.

Stool: There's also intramuscular stuff.

Chair: Or an IV.

Standing: I'd rather take the suppository.

Postcard

Be Evil.