Ethan Frome, eat your heart out…
After a week of trying to shake this crud that's been going around at the germ factory at work, I just can't get up the strength to head in and immerse myself in everybody else's sickness today.
So, it's my turn to call in sick.
Blech.
Thanks to the stalwarts who came out for the Singin-Storytellin thing last night at Chilbo's Haus.
I think Matthew's streaming computer's got the bug I've got, but tapdancing and blithering to cover is what I do, even if I'm running a temperature and expelling enough mucous to lubricate a battleship.
Okay, so MS Hawker had the roof decorated for Valentine's Day, and I'm rambling off Abraham Lincoln tales... they go together, right?
(Oh well. Maybe I'll prepare some lovey-dovey stuff for next time... if I ever write that pap.)
The core issue I have with Skylar is that her constant stream of bad advice and cycle of starting and abandoning projects.
This wouldn't be a problem if it were just her following it... not that she does, really... sorta... kinda...
It's that she has has caught good people up in her wake and swamped them when they least need it.
Whiskey Monday, for instance, got tangled up in one of her writing schemes. Not something that someone in her situation ought to have had to deal with.
The worst of that was Skylar trying to convince me it was Whiskey that was to blame.
Time after time, the lies... the hypocrisy... the social-climbing and abandoning... one lack of accomplishment after another... makeupbreakupmakeupbreakupmakeupbreakup...
I swear, if she ever jumped off a cliff, she'd never hit the ground because she never finishes a damn thing she starts.
How many more people will she hurt before she stops?
So when folks with strong bullshit detectors like Ron/Zero/Hiro take her on in her comments, rip off the facade, and she's in such denial that she's pulling out the "agree to disagree" line, yeah... at this point, folks are seeing how things are.
Oh well. Anybody who gets caught up in her next tidal high of activity should know by now that they'll get left high and dry on the rocks eventually.
And, no, I'm not doing this because I want to be your exclusive source of bad advice, either.
Me, I'm just clown shoes, eh. A few laughs here... a few laughs there... a scowl or two...
But when I see good people get suckered and hurt time and time again, yeah, I can't just shrug it off and figure folks get what they deserve for falling for that claptrap when she's frickin' documented her track record of derailments and trainwrecks.
Wise up, people. Caveat emptor.
Unlike all us fucked-up Punch and Judy dolls wailing on each other not doing shit for anybody but ourselves, there's this Art Screamers thing coming up this weekend where Claudia222 is showing off some cool stuff.
Cool. Glad to know that somebody is doing cool artsy pretty stuff and others are providing a space for it all for folks to see without having to fuck around with sim-on-a-stick and grids and 10,000 Ruths and URLs the length of Prokofy posts.
Okay, so we gotta drag out yet another blog for the blogroll. Let's go with Linden Endowment for the Arts which showcases the latest builds they've let build over there in LEA-land.
Lots of good stuff there, as Honour and Chestnut and others have shares in their travelogues. Some of it's got some cool interactive features that aren't just photograph-on-a-ucking-cube or glowly-twisty-rotating-shit... immersion that draws in the artist. They are an integral part of the experience, not just a spectator.
Although I gotta ask: If the Lindens want to bring in blog posts on to their site for exposure and proof-of-concept and sucking-up and whatever, why is LEA over on BlogSpot?
Some shit never makes sense, right?
Maybe the excuse is "independence" and "fig leaf" and all that happy breedable horseshit, what do I know, right?
(Tomorrow, I'll probably finish off the NyQuil bottle and do the roundup. Who the hell should I drag out?)
Coming home from work yesterday, I saw a familiar furry face on a fence...
Yup. It's Myst's boyfriend Boy.
I let him sniff my hand, he let me pet him, and we chatted for a bit while I coughed and hacked up things HP Lovecraft wrote stories about.
Myst went out later to play with him, until Bruwyn stalked them both and broke up the happy dirt-rolling party.
Cats. So weird.
I just realized that by posting this blogpost where, I can't submit it to the Second Life blog.
Damn. There I go again, being shortsighted and stupid.
Oh well. That's fuckin' life, right?
About The Author
Hold the phone. My experience writing with Skylar taught me a lot, most of it good. The opportunities that I found after we parted ways were worth any heartache I dealt with from that experience. She didn't cost me money, Crap. She momentarily made me question my talents when she abandoned "her project," and that cost me more than anything. But I'm smarter for having dealt with someone like her, and that's priceless.
I know my integrity and my values, and anyone who takes the time to get to know me does too. That's what is important to me, not the background sniping that goes on.
Thank you for correcting me on that one.
I'm removing "And it cost her quite a sum." from that paragraph,
Maybe I should change the section there to one that compares her to a vaccine of dead viruses and infectious material, sort of like a flu shot, and then you get stronger from the experience? (I've compared Prokofy to that, although the scar from the inoculation cuts pretty deep and itches constantly.)
-ls/cm