Recently, on Pax Gobelinus: Stopped working two jobs. New job moved closer to home, so commute went back to normal. Accepted offer for newer new job that starts in a month. Currently biding my time at the "old" new job, were I am not currently able to do any work and wouldn't want to do the work they assigned me even if I could. (It's a long story. What I was told I would be doing is not what they want me to do.)
I spend most of my day reading the paper from cover to cover, completing the crossword, sudoku, jumble, scramble, and cryptogram. The rest of my day I spend anonymously commenting in an off-topic manner to several internal, official work blogs, narrating my on-going adventures as a subterranean hobo king in a fictional shared world based on the on-going construction at the new building and the fact that thousands of us don't have desks there and therefore mill about aimlessly all day.
So: the Pat Rothfuss readings were great. I don't remember what else I wanted to say about it. He talked about porn in the Library of Congress, which was amusing. I was surprised at how willing he was to rip into the questioners during the Q&As. He did this thing where he would "slip" and use a name other than "Oot" when referring to his son -- only it was a different name nearly each time.
There was a young woman at the second Rothfuss reading who really grated on my nerves. She did that thing that a minority, but noticeably sizable number of people, in fandom do where they act like they know better than everyone else and interject contrarian statements into conversations around them. I know that she didn't mean it that way, or see her actions in that light, because she has little or no grasp of the social layer. So I didn't blame her. But that didn't make me less annoyed by her. *sigh*
I once told Connie Willis that I thought we should have a properly socialized member of concom in the front row of every panel with a Nerf dart gun whose job it would be to shoot anyone during the Q&A who started being an ass, or just asked an incredibly stupid question. She was kind enough not to call me a fandom-snob, and said that you have to take people on their own terms. There was more to it than that but I don't remember the rest. Whenever I get too annoyed with people I just remember that Connie Willis once gave me some wonderful advice that put it all into perspective and I give her the benefit of the doubt, even though I can't remember it. She's Connie Willis, after all.
Lastly, I said I was going to discuss Diddy - Dirty Money's "Coming Home" with respect to P. Diddy's Peter Pan complex.
I'm coming home.
I'm coming home.
Tell the world I'm coming home.
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday.
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes.
I'm coming home. I'm coming home.
Tell the world that I'm coming --
So far inoffensive. I rather like the non-Diddy part of Diddy - Dirty Money. (I guess they're Dirty Money?)
Back where I belong, yeah, I never felt so strong.
(I'm back baby.)
I feel like there's nothing that I can't try,
Sure. Try anything. That doesn't mean you're going to succeed, as P. Diddy's career attests.
and if you with me put your hands high
(put your hands high).
If you ever lost a light before, this ones for you
and you, the dreams are for you.
Is he ever going to stop referencing Biggie? You miss him. We get it.
I hear "The Tears of a Clown".
Damn, I hate that song;
I always feel like they talking to me when it comes on.
"Tears of a Clown" was released in 1967. P. Diddy was born in 1969. There is no way Smokey Robinson & the Miracles were writing about him, unless they had a time machine. (Which would actually make a really cool comic book, I bet.) So: egotistical much?
Another day, another Dawn,
another Keisha, nice to meet ya, get the math I'm gone.
What am I 'posed to do when the club lights come on?
It's easy to be Puff, it's harder to be Sean.
The only demonstration of self-awareness in this song.
What if the twins ask why I ain't marry their mom? (Why, damn!)
How do I respond?
Admit to them that you're a commitment-phobic douche? You're over forty; it's time to stop acting like a 22 year old.
What if my son stares with a face like my own
and says he wants to be like me when he's grown?
Sh-t! But I ain't finished growing!
You're over forty. You're an adult whether you want to admit it or not. You need to start acting like it.
Ugh. I can't go on. I am open to alternate interpretations.
So, yeah. Hello again.