Shark Fighter

Ok, so I am torn between two options.

One: I put this on the back burner for awhile and do a follow up vid with the remaining 1min 7seconds of Lacrymosa next year for Halloween and then be done with the project forever.

Two: I take what I have and re-purpose it  Then I animate the remaining 1min7secs and make a trailer for a tile based strategy game called the Skeleton War (think Warcraft I meets chess.) Start working my ass off to finish it by next Halloween because I couldn’t code my way out of a soggy cardboard box(cuz pathing issues.) And finally give steam their blood money so I can pretend I’m cool or something.

After my teacher introduced us to this theory, she asked us, “is love a feeling? Or is it a choice?” We were all a bunch of teenagers. Naturally we said it was a feeling. She said that if we clung to that belief, we’d never have a lasting relationship of any sort.

She made us interview a dozen adults who were or had been married and we asked them about their marriages and why it lasted or why it failed. At the end, I asked every single person if love was an emotion or a choice.

Everybody said that it was a choice. It was a conscious commitment. It was something you choose to make work every day with a person who has chosen the same thing. They all said that at one point in their marriage, the “feeling of love” had vanished or faded and they weren’t happy. They said feelings are always changing and you cannot build something that will last on such a shaky foundation.

The married ones said that when things were bad, they chose to open the communication, chose to identify what broke and how to fix it, and chose to recreate something worth falling in love with.

The divorced ones said they chose to walk away.

Ever since that class, since that project, I never looked at relationships the same way. I understood why arranged marriages were successful. I discovered the difference in feelings and commitments. I’ve never gone for the person who makes my heart flutter or my head spin. I’ve chosen the people who were committed to choosing me, dedicated to finding something to adore even on the ugliest days.

Had my MRI Friday. This was the third one I’ve had, so I go in thinking “no big whoop.” But apparently this tube was slightly narrower than the ones I’ve been in before, so when they got my arms down by sides, secured, and slid me in, it turned out to be a VERY big whoop indeed.

Like full-blown panic attack whoop, or since I don’t have them, what I suspect one to be like. Tight chest, instant tears, get me out of here right now panic. The very awesome techs calmed me down & were able to reposition my arms in a less “freak me the fuck out” position and I was able to get through it. But the beginning was no kinds of fun.

Also, a little PRO TIP: If you’re inside an enclosed tube, and have freaked out earlier, stay focused. Don’t let your mind wander and think silly thoughts like, “If the power goes out, how do I get out of this thing?” or “If the Rapture happens and everyone disappears, how do I get out of this thing?” or “SERIOUSLY HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS THING IF I HAD TO?!? DOES ANYONE HAVE LIAM NEESON’S PHONE NUMBER BECAUSE HE’S THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE ME!!!”

Funny, but mostly painful.

I’ll try to watch out for the tone policing phenomenon in my office and call it out. I’ll also keep an eye out for cases where a woman hasn’t been saying anything (and doesn’t just look bored); I’ve already started explicitly inviting comment from female colleagues when they’re quiet, and it seems to have improved the intellectual honesty and productivity of our discussions.

To snip out the Jennifer Lawrence quote from the beginning of the article:

“A few weeks ago at work I spoke my mind and gave my opinion in a clear and no-[BS] way; no aggression, just blunt. The man I was working with (actually, he was working for me) said, ‘Whoa! We’re all on the same team here!’ As if I was yelling at him. I was so shocked because nothing that I said was personal, offensive, or, to be honest, wrong. All I hear and see all day are men speaking their opinions, and I give mine in the same exact manner, and you would have thought I had said something offensive.”

That male coworker’s reaction is important: it’s defensive. This was something they felt they had to defend against.

A story:

Once, I ran a small staff of help desk personnel. I was very good at getting things fixed, at teaching college boys getting paid more than me how to set down their memorized list of computer parts for a moment and apply some goddamn critical thinking, and at somehow miraculously making both staff and patrons like the IT department. I also happened to have boobs. Our sysadmin had been there basically since the company was founded and, as far as he was concerned, was the untouchable lord of his domain. He made a networking change that should have gone in a maintenance window, and brought down connectivity for half the facility. After 20 minutes of consideration of his experiment, he put it back. I was never informed of what was going on, and had already scrambled the staff I had on hand to key locations (medical, front desk, switch closet serving the largest portion of the grounds impacted.)

We were all relieved when connectivity was restored, though staff wanted explanations my staff couldn’t give. An hour or so later, the sysadmin commented glibly on it to a member of the dev team while in the office, and I said the following:

“Excuse me, but could you please let support staff know next time you’re going to implement a change like that? It was during peak operating hours, and I’d like to prevent downtime, or at least know why it’s happening to prevent wasting tech time and to keep staff informed and things running smoothly.”

I was written up for verbal assault.

Let me write that out one more time, because it’s really easy to laugh at it until it sinks in, and I was THERE:

I was written up for verbal assault.

It didn’t matter that any of the staff in the pen that day could have told you I was polite, that I never once raised my voice or moved toward the sysadmin, or that I was right. The sysadmin told the head of the department that he “felt attacked," and I was kept in a room opposite my Very Disappointed Manager, staring at a long double-sided sheet of paper explaining that I was a bad, mean, lady with no manners until I signed it and accepted disciplinary action so I could go back to work. I was told I was lucky I hadn’t received a temporary suspension.

1st: Birth month

January:Marrow

February:Femur

March:Phalanx

April:Vertebrae

May: Rib

June:Pelvis

July: Tooth

August: Fibula

September: Tibia

October: Sternum

November: Skull

December: Humerus

2nd: First letter of last name

A-E: Sucker

F-I: Nutz

J-M: Bong

N-Q: Slapper

R-U: Fucker

V-Y: Humper

Z: Douche

3rd: Birthday:

1-5: the fuckboi destroyer

6-10: master of the bone zone

11-15: player of xylobones

16-20: maker of dank memes

21-25: devourer of candy corn

26-31:crypt keeper of puns