Venom
Animator Chad Strawderman created a short called "Pass It On," which follows a circular arrangement of abuse in a very cartoony fashion. The lesson is, what goes around comes around.
Friday was my last day with VeriSign, and I was treated to a long lunch with many in the department, as well as my old boss and other people I've worked with in the company. I was presented with substantial ad appropriate parting gifts, and I'll have to write thank-you letters to all of those who contributed. These are added to the letters I already have to write to local counsel who sent gifts. I'll clarify. Some of VeriSign's local representative counsel sent gifts to a departing company paralegal. It's an honor and unusual recognition. It's almost unreal. Some people experience significant transitions with a sense of detachment, but after months of planning, I have no delusions. I left immediately after my exit interview. All personal possessions left on site fit neatly into a medium-sized plastic shopping bag. Went home and took a nap.
Good friend joeanon was floating a bit more after his own farewell party at Nation (much) later that night. However, that might have had something to do with his wearing a dress for the entirety of his set. Hurrr! Luck be with you, DJ Kid Amiga, I'm sure you'll raze Seattle.
The rest of the weekend was Anime Mid-Atlantic, and aside from minor quirks (broken air conditioning, idiot attendees prank calling 911) technically a good convention weekend. It had balance, as in prophecied-to-bring-balance, that must be good, right? There were long stretches and peaks of good times produced in a surprisingly short weekend, but also a few negative elements, which did not cast a pall over the events for someone so fringe as Yours Truly. However, even I could sense the taste of bitter almonds that says there's something wrong with the party mix.
The weekend's weirdness down in Richmond came to a personal head during my chill out period in the Artist Alley, the din of crowd and dealer's room busy and vital. I use this cookie cutter time of closure to get my thoughts and ideas in order. I'm used to the mob. Then an acquaintance comes along in the company of mutual friends, to "jam" on his guitar. I apparently didn't understand his intent, because he proceeds to spend half an hour playing and singing, somehow outdinning the postconnus crowd, four feet from my left ear. His little jam is showing no signs of stopping despite falling back on a two-year-old retinue he can't quite remember, and friends are apparently enjoying it. He's also "put out a hat" and is collecting change. I pack up and move, making the reason (I hope) clear.
I sit and draw elsewhere, then finally pack and am headed back to check on the group and say farewells when I pass by Gitaroo. He says, with a touch of sarcasm, "Thanks for letting me use your space."
I considered saying, "It wasn't my space, you sat at the already emptied Alley table next to mine."
In retrospect I could also have added, "I had no authority to grant you the privilege. I also have no authority to comment on how you've been relentlessly flirting with a friend's fiancee after breaking up with your own girlfriend. But then, you have no control over his actions to reassert his claim to her affections, which action unintentionally antagonized two other mutual friends, and through a bizarrely convoluted series of events brought a little grief my way. So we must all be victims. You sing decently and play guitar well, and people like it. But you were giving me a headache, which is why I moved."
What I actually said was, "You're welcome."
Heading back home, I was following a highly polished black and red two-tone '55 Buick Roadmaster, while a neat line of cumulus marched to the East. On an overpass, several people propped a large cardboard sign reading, "TUNE YOUR RADIOS TO 107.9 FM." Curious, I did so, and listened for a few minutes to calm recitation of the symptoms of prostate cancer. This public service announcement was followed by an exhortation for older men to see their doctor, followed by a literal chapter and verse Bible cite, and the apparently offhand observation that in the Lord all wounds are healed. This might make doctors uncomfortable, since as far as I know the Lord never takes cash tithe personally, and that makes for some tough competition for even the most cost-effective medical practice.
Caught up with family to have an altogether enormous Japanese dinner at Hama Sushi, thank goodness, during which the wind picked up and temperature dropped and the day turned absolutely perfect. Then went to see Batman Begins, which was great and tempting to see again. Then finally got home, sat back, and thought, today is the first day of the rest of my life.
And it was good.
My personal quote of the weekend from Anime Mid-Atlantic, Sunday afternoon at the hotel entrance:
GIRL (~10): I saw a boy...in a dress!
MOM (tolerant): That's nice, honey.
Friday was my last day with VeriSign, and I was treated to a long lunch with many in the department, as well as my old boss and other people I've worked with in the company. I was presented with substantial ad appropriate parting gifts, and I'll have to write thank-you letters to all of those who contributed. These are added to the letters I already have to write to local counsel who sent gifts. I'll clarify. Some of VeriSign's local representative counsel sent gifts to a departing company paralegal. It's an honor and unusual recognition. It's almost unreal. Some people experience significant transitions with a sense of detachment, but after months of planning, I have no delusions. I left immediately after my exit interview. All personal possessions left on site fit neatly into a medium-sized plastic shopping bag. Went home and took a nap.
Good friend joeanon was floating a bit more after his own farewell party at Nation (much) later that night. However, that might have had something to do with his wearing a dress for the entirety of his set. Hurrr! Luck be with you, DJ Kid Amiga, I'm sure you'll raze Seattle.
The rest of the weekend was Anime Mid-Atlantic, and aside from minor quirks (broken air conditioning, idiot attendees prank calling 911) technically a good convention weekend. It had balance, as in prophecied-to-bring-balance, that must be good, right? There were long stretches and peaks of good times produced in a surprisingly short weekend, but also a few negative elements, which did not cast a pall over the events for someone so fringe as Yours Truly. However, even I could sense the taste of bitter almonds that says there's something wrong with the party mix.
The weekend's weirdness down in Richmond came to a personal head during my chill out period in the Artist Alley, the din of crowd and dealer's room busy and vital. I use this cookie cutter time of closure to get my thoughts and ideas in order. I'm used to the mob. Then an acquaintance comes along in the company of mutual friends, to "jam" on his guitar. I apparently didn't understand his intent, because he proceeds to spend half an hour playing and singing, somehow outdinning the postconnus crowd, four feet from my left ear. His little jam is showing no signs of stopping despite falling back on a two-year-old retinue he can't quite remember, and friends are apparently enjoying it. He's also "put out a hat" and is collecting change. I pack up and move, making the reason (I hope) clear.
I sit and draw elsewhere, then finally pack and am headed back to check on the group and say farewells when I pass by Gitaroo. He says, with a touch of sarcasm, "Thanks for letting me use your space."
I considered saying, "It wasn't my space, you sat at the already emptied Alley table next to mine."
In retrospect I could also have added, "I had no authority to grant you the privilege. I also have no authority to comment on how you've been relentlessly flirting with a friend's fiancee after breaking up with your own girlfriend. But then, you have no control over his actions to reassert his claim to her affections, which action unintentionally antagonized two other mutual friends, and through a bizarrely convoluted series of events brought a little grief my way. So we must all be victims. You sing decently and play guitar well, and people like it. But you were giving me a headache, which is why I moved."
What I actually said was, "You're welcome."
Heading back home, I was following a highly polished black and red two-tone '55 Buick Roadmaster, while a neat line of cumulus marched to the East. On an overpass, several people propped a large cardboard sign reading, "TUNE YOUR RADIOS TO 107.9 FM." Curious, I did so, and listened for a few minutes to calm recitation of the symptoms of prostate cancer. This public service announcement was followed by an exhortation for older men to see their doctor, followed by a literal chapter and verse Bible cite, and the apparently offhand observation that in the Lord all wounds are healed. This might make doctors uncomfortable, since as far as I know the Lord never takes cash tithe personally, and that makes for some tough competition for even the most cost-effective medical practice.
Caught up with family to have an altogether enormous Japanese dinner at Hama Sushi, thank goodness, during which the wind picked up and temperature dropped and the day turned absolutely perfect. Then went to see Batman Begins, which was great and tempting to see again. Then finally got home, sat back, and thought, today is the first day of the rest of my life.
And it was good.
My personal quote of the weekend from Anime Mid-Atlantic, Sunday afternoon at the hotel entrance:
GIRL (~10): I saw a boy...in a dress!
MOM (tolerant): That's nice, honey.