GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1020: GREEN MAN

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I'm an atheist. As such, I do not believe in God or gods. However, I am a firm believer that the universe is a very strange fucking place, and that a lot of crazy shit is possible. I base that on personal knowledge of this exceptionally small corner of the universe, Earth, as well as my understanding of how the universe works. For example, did you know that the center of the Milky Way galaxy (and all galaxies) is a massive black hole? So massive that you can never get your mind around it? Saying it's bigger than the sun is like saying Lake Michigan is bigger than a drop of rain water. The mere fact that black holes exist is fucking nuts.

So I think it's possible for the universe to send a message. We receive these messages on a regular basis. For example, have you noticed the hellscape our weather has become recently? Perhaps this shit would calm down if we stopped treating our planet like a fucking doormat.

It's rare that the universe sends me such a blatant message, though, but I got one Wednesday night.

The first sign was from The Phoenician Scheme. I'd started watching it on Tuesday, but I got too tired and had to finish it Wednesday. The first thing I saw was the scene where they've all got mud on their faces after yet another plane crash. I saw Michael Cera's face and thought, huh, he looks kind of like Green Man. Meaning, the pagan Green Man. It meant nothing to me at the time, but . . .

The second sign was from Northern Exposure. Ed gets cursed by a magical green man. Graham Greene explains that Ed can never be a healer because he is plagued by the worst spirit ever, low self esteem.

The third sign came when I got a tickle in the back of my head. I googled Green Man, fully expecting the first thing to be from It's Always Sunny. The algorithm should have showed me that Greenman. But it showed me the pagan Green Man, symbol of rebirth, the new flowering season.

Greene goes on to say that low self esteem is the cause of all the heartbreak and destruction in the world. The only way Ed can banish his green man is to learn to love himself.

Unsurprisingly, I suffer from low self esteem. I've been working on trying to change that for at least a decade. On a regular basis, I do something dumb, and I slap my forehead and call myself a fucking idiot. I know that's really terrible to do, and I've been doing my best to stop that. And, of course, failing.

But I saw this as a real call to arms, especially now that I have this new permanent home, and I'm at a stage in my life where it is a time of renewal. I need to banish my own green man. I must learn to love myself. This is no longer optional. I can't just keep saying that I'm working on it, and when I fail, then double down on my self-loathing. I have to stop that. This is necessary to survival and, possibly, success.

So that night, just before I closed my eyes to go to bed, I whispered, "I love myself." I didn't really feel it, but it all starts with saying it. If you say it long enough, you will believe it. I'm fairly certain that's what got me in this mess in the first place.

Yesterday morning I accidentally knocked over my can of Monster. It was full, and it spilled on my coffee table. My reaction time is great, so it didn't ruin anything. Ordinarily I would have groaned and called myself a fucking moron. I would have continued to berate myself while cleaning it up. Instead, yesterday, I shrugged it off. It was an accident. Accidents happen. I didn't feel bad about it while I got some paper towels. And then I *realized* I didn't feel bad about it. I wasn't mad. I didn't despise myself. I felt pretty good.

Holy shit, I actually meant it!

Maybe I am a little crazy, but I think I made a promise with the universe. If I learn to love myself, I will succeed in life. The good news is, I keep my word. 

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1019: IS IT TIME?

 My weight goal has always been to get down to 200 pounds, ever since I went on my first diet in the summer between high school and college. I'd eaten McDonald's for dinner every night for five years at that point, and when I saw the video of me graduating, I thought I looked like Chris Farley. Not face-wise. I was heavy, and I moved like him.

Nothing against Farley. He was a funny dude. All the same, I did not want that for me.

I weighed 246 at the time. That summer, I lost forty pounds. I could fit in size L t-shirts again for the first time since I was in sixth grade. I kept struggling, but I plateaued at 205 before I ballooned out to 306.

I know I've gone over this before here, but I do have a few new readers who might not be aware.

Yesterday I went to the doctor and got weighed. I'm at 199, which means I can probably fit in L t-shirts again, but I don't want to. I think wearing the next size up is always more comfortable.

Also, the bottom of the shirt might not look all that great.

Not gonna lie, I have a spare tire of loose skin around my waist, and it does not look good. My belly button looks puckered. If I wore a smaller shirt, I think it would be a lot more obvious to everyone around me, and I'm not a big fan of this loose skin. It does not look good.

But when I'm wearing a shirt? So long as it's not tucked in, I look pretty damned good. Maybe even a little sexy. My face is a lot thinner, too. I can see my cheekbones now, for example. So I'm wondering if maybe I should shave the beard I usually hide my face fat behind. I don't think I have a double chin anymore, so do I really need the hair to hide it? The beard looks good. Great, even. But maybe it's time to show my face again.

What do you all think? Should I shave the beard? Growing one is fucking annoying, so if it doesn't look good, I'll be stuck with it for a while. Is it time?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1018: ONE SHALL STAND

 First, before I get into it, I want to mention that I've been enjoying what Image has been doing with the Energon Universe. Transformers, GI Joe and Void Rivals together make a great story with many potential delights ahead.

But I want to talk about Transformers for a moment, here. Obviously I will always favor the original Marvel books, as I grew up on those, and it is damned near impossible to separate that kind of experience from someone. Dreamwave was off to a good start, but they floundered shortly thereafter, and I'm glad that story died off, never to be taken up again. Storywise, IDW made the best TF comics . . . up to a point. Because those were characters instead of the usual good vs. evil type of thing. I can't tell you how it blew my mind when Megatron turned on the Decepticons and put the Autobot emblem on his chest, and how he spent the rest of the comic fighting his darker impulses for the greater good, even if swift and blinding violence would solve a particular problem. That's the kind of shit I love. And I loved it when they ended the war between the Autobots and Decepticons. But when they continued the story? That's when they fucked up. That should have been the end. It got so bad that I told my comics guy that I was going to drop the book. He said, well, it looks like they're ending it in a few months. Are you sure? Since it wasn't much more of a commitment, and I am a completist, I stuck it out to yet another disappointing ending.

Which brings us to Skybound's version. It's good. A lot of crazy shit happens. Ultraviolence throughout is a good sign, and I enjoyed the pure evil of Decepticons killing people simply for the cruelty of it all. And there does seem to be a concerted effort to make this version different from the others. For example, where's fan favorite Bumblebee? I relished his absence until today, when I saw his corpse in a flashback in the new issue. I really hope they don't go any further into that.

But they did something that all the other versions did that I absolutely can't fucking stand, especially since there's an effort to stray from the usual material. And let me not mince words. EVERY SINGLE VERSION OF TRANSFORMERS HAS DONE THIS. I was hoping Skybound would avoid it, but there's just something about Transformers writers. They just can't stay away from it.

The animated movie from the 'Eighties was so powerfully written that every TF writer since can't help themselves. They absolutely have to rip it off, even down to lifting dialogue. I suppose it's not "lifting" if you're doing it from the same series, but all the same, they fucking stole from this movie and dressed it up as fan service.

Not only did the new issue rip off a line from the movie, but it ripped off THE MOST RIPPED OFF LINE FROM THE MOVIE. When IDW's version ended, I told myself if I ever heard the line again, I'd punch the next TF writer I meet. I'm not going to, obviously, but I'm definitely going to shame that person.

"One shall stand . . . one shall fall."

Yes, it's a great line given the circumstances it was originally said in. But to have it repeated over and over again in every alternative variation of the TF story?

FUCK.

THAT.

SHIT.

I should stop reading the book on principle. It's lazy. It's larcenous. And it doesn't even count as fan service. I can't possibly be the only TF fan who is tired of reading the same shit rehashed over and over again. That's why I loved IDW's version so much. They went exploring. Sure, they ripped off the animated movie, too, but I could look the other way due to the reward.

If I could make any request of the TF writers going forward, please please PLEASE stop regurgitating shit you loved from the animated movie. Come up with new shit. New shit that's so powerful that future TF writers after you will want to rip YOU off.

I know I'm asking a lot, but I've come this far. Don't make me give up on the Energon Universe. I WANT to read these books. "One shall stand." For Pete's sake.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1017: PROOF THAT WE ARE NOT REPRESENTED IN CONGRESS

 Proof? What kind of proof could I possibly have? It's scientific, actually, so no one is going to listen to me, anyway. But there have been studies done, and because I've had a rough day (I'm going back to work on Monday), I'm going to let Cory Doctorow write my GF tonight.

Harken back to GF #1000 where I made the claim that We the People are no longer represented in Congress. Only our corporate overlords are. You'd think something like that would be hard to measure, but it's not. House or Senate, Democrat or Republican, if they're in Congress, they're doing their true master's bidding. I see these assholes at their townhall meetings, and I don't think it matters what they say at these things. While the voters still need to vote, it's the money that guarantees their positions.

And this article will explain the whole thing for you. There are a lot of links, and I know the last thing you want to do this late at night is to go down this rabbit hole, but think about the rabbit holes you've gone down previously. How many of them were actually worth it? How many did you have to stop and ask, "What the fuck am I doing?"

This rabbit hole is worth it. It will explain why our lives suck, which will help us find a way to do something about it.

If you want the direct study, here you go. Warning: it costs $30 unless you're with an authorized university.

Long story short, We the People want good things. We're the majority, so if the system works as advertised, we should have them. We do not. The system, therefore, does not work as advertised. Congress does not listen to any ol' voice. Just their master's.

Goodnight, fuckers.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1016: GOODBYE TO TOM LEHRER

 I first heard of Tom Lehrer through the Dr. Demento cassette collection, the one that's delineated by the decade. It was "The Masochism Tango" that caught my eye (not literally in your left castanet, thank you), and it quickly became one of my favorite songs. On another cassette I found "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park," which quickly became a second favorite. But it never occurred to me that he might have made more songs. (I was a freshman in high school at the time, so I wasn't very bright.)

Around the same time I caught an episode of HBO's Real Sex that featured the song. I giggled, thinking, I know that one! And I also learned that Weird Al Yankovic, the only musician I'd seen in concert at the time (now it's one of two, the other being Alestorm when they were too young to drink at their own show) and someone I respected a great deal, revered Lehrer, which meant he'd made more songs than two.

(Incidentally, I didn't have a bedroom back then, so I didn't have an inner sanctum to escape to with the volume low. I slept on a cot in the living room, but we had a basement where we--meaning, me and my brothers mostly--watched a lot of stuff. I was 14, so I could watch PG-13 movies, but my brothers were still forbidden. So we watched Real Sex with the volume low enough, and if we heard someone on the stairs, they would certainly be someone who would disapprove, so we had the remote set to return us back to another channel just in case.)

Back then we didn't have the internet, so I went to the library to do more research, and lo! and behold! We had one of his live albums! It was Tom Lehrer Revisited, and I listened to that tape so much it practically became my Bible. Imagine my pleasure when I discovered more albums, which I quickly purchased from Borders (because they could order it, and Best Buy wouldn't).

(Another side note: when the library decided to get rid of their cassette collection, I saved this one from the garbage. I recently had to abandon my own cassette collection, but I saved a few, and this is one of them.)

Without Tom Lehrer, I don't know what my sense of humor would be like now. He's an essential part of my building blocks. For the longest time I had a quote of his paraphrased on my wall next to my dinosaur computer (back when it wasn't a dinosaur but top of the line!): "If after [reading] my [stories] just one human being is inspired to say something nasty to a friend or perhaps to strike a loved one, it will have all been worth the while." But there's an even better scenario that he described that works more toward my way of thinking.

I think he was interviewed by the New Yorker back when I was still working at the library (I found it while I was working the periodicals section in the haunted up-upstairs area), but the gist of it was this. He said he described his humor as thus, and I'm going off memory here, so don't be too harsh if it's not exact. He said, "You throw a baby up in the air and catch it, so the baby laughs. But I throw the baby up and don't catch it, so I laugh."

I know for a fact that I've written a GF about Lehrer before, maybe a few, but this is the first time I've done so since he died last week. He was well into his nineties when he passed. He'd left music to go back to his true love, teaching math (he worked at Los Alamos . . . as a spy), but he was always a violently funny musician to me.

Tom Lehrer is gone, and I'm going to miss him, but before he died he released his music into the public domain so anyone could use it. That was pretty nice of him. You can go here for all your Tom Lehrer needs. And if you don't think I'm a big enough fan of Lehrer's, please know that I once got in trouble at Conference Plus, my first big boy office job, for singing one of his songs on the floor. This one, in fact. It's the greatest love song ever written in my opinion.

If you've never heard his songs before, I encourage you to listen. If you think it's too old-timey for your likes (they were mostly written from the 'Fifties to the 'Seventies), just listen to the lyrics. Keep an eye out for the guy who took a knife and monogrammed his wife and dropped her in the pond and watched her drown, oh yes indeed the people there are just plain folks in my hometown!

Goodbye, Tom Lehrer.

PS: He also wrote the greatest end of the world song ever.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1015: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROB TANNAHILL!

 

Right now my hetero lifemate, Rob Tannahill, is probably seething that I've forgotten his birthday. I have not. Surprise, ye bastard ye!

I've known him since I was 14 and he was 15. We briefly went to the same high school, and we met through our English teacher, Mr. Sibley, who was a former player for the Chicago Bulls, himself. We were in separate classes. Mr. Sibley knew we were both writers, so he had us swap stories and tell each other what we thought. Fast forward a few decades, and here we are.

Which reminds me, he's got a bunch of stuff out, including some music, but if you want to get to know him best, you should go for Prince Junkie, which details his life fairly well, or at least the early draft I read did. If you know him and would like to wish him a happy birthday, you should buy this. Or even if you don't know him, this is the easiest way to get into his work. He's also an artist, and if you want to see what he's capable of, check out GF #1000 for a piece I commissioned from him. Or, if you've got a twisted mind, you can check out The Cocaine! Bros., a webcomic by the both of us. Hunter and Tucker are evil and horrible bastards, kind of like what if MAGA assholes were Looney Tunes characters.

Happy birthday, Rob.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1014: GOOD RIDDANCE TO THE CAGE

 

And hello to the cast.

I woke up at 3:30 am this morning to get the fucking cage removed from my bad foot. When I was in preop I was advised that I would have a cast on, but I'd be able to walk short distances. No more walker. However, when I woke up after the operation, they told me that I can't walk anywhere, and I can only put my foot down to balance myself. I still need the fucking walker.

That pisses me off to no end, but at least I'm no longer in agony anytime my bad foot so much as twitches. It's also good to know that if I start to fall over, I can put my bad foot down and not get sent to another galaxy with the shock of pain. And hey, look at that bandage on my toe! The surgeon removed a couple of giant scabs while she got rid of the cage. I got those scabs because . . .

OK, I lived in a friend's basement in Joliet for a while, but the floor down there was hardwood, and I had an air mattress. So I had to roll out of bed every day and climb up the walker, and I couldn't do that without fucking up my toes, which were sticking out of the cage. So yeah, those scabs had been there for quite some time. (I should also mention that once, after rolling out of the air mattress, I noticed that the floor had bent back my big toenail. Good thing I couldn't feel that. I must have done something similar this morning because the same toenail was bent back. I didn't notice until I got to the hospital.)

I'm in a much better mood today, but I'm still kinda fucked in regards to being able to move around. I have a bit more freedom now, but not much more. I was hoping I'd be able to unpack all these boxes and get my study ready for work. With these restrictions, though, it might be a long time before that becomes a reality. I'll do what I can, but that's not going to be much.

I was also hoping to get my microwave from storage. It's pretty far back, and I have to move a lot of stuff to get to it, so that might not happen for another month, either. Holy shit, I really need to get back to work to earn at least two weeks of wages, or I'm going to have some financial issues, too.

I think I'm going to have to go back to work with the walker. Fuck. I was hoping not to do that.

But last night's GF had the desired effect. I did not stop off at the place down the street for a bottle. At least the docs gave me some fentanyl as they rolled me into the recovery room. That was a nice little treat on my way out of surgery.

I haven't felt any pain yet, so I hope that part is over. Not having metal rods going through my leg has improved morale around here, but it's good to know that I still have my laudanum just in case.

It'll be good to sleep in tomorrow. Goodnight, fuckers.