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Insomniaville -- All the Stuff that Keeps Me Up At Night

1/11 -- The January Doldrums.

Sorry I've been a slackass about updating. Again. But I have a good excuse this time. I was making a movie! And here it is -- my proud directorial debut. (Warning: I think you have to have Flash and a reasonably quick connection and all that annoying stuff to see it. Sorry.)

Ta-da!

The site where you can do these is way too silly and fun. If you make one of your own, send me the URL.

I've officially been an Exercise Person for an entire week now. I'm extremely pissed off that after a whole week of treadmill walking and light weights, I still don't look a damn thing like WWF wrestling goddess Chyna. I think the heightened expectations are what's tripped me up in the past. I'd work out for a few days and when I didn't drop about five dress sizes in a week, I'd get frustrated and quit. All that effort and no payoff, man -- what was the point?

Because I haven't written a Breasts of Doom entry in eons, I'll share my latest breast-related issue: Sports bras. They always look so slick and so spiffy and so utterly cool in ads and in magazines. I went to Pentagram City Mall on Tuesday night to try to find some for myself and soon learned the truth: Sports bras are made for people who already look a lot like Brandi Chastain. In other words, not me. They had ones in my size, mind you. But they weren't quite the look I had in mind.

I tried on a couple and soon realized that if I had to tear a muscle to get into the damn things, the only exercise I'd be getting was one in futility. The ones that fit made me look like a water balloon with a rubberband in the middle. Not a pretty sight. Even less appealing, many of the bras I took off the rack came pre-stained with someone else's deodorant streaks. (Memo to Nordstrom's: You're already charging $35 to $40 for these things -- the least you could do is make some effort to clean them up a bit, or keep the stained ones off the rack. Sheesh.)

Hmph. "Breasts of Doom" indeed.

In other news, I finally taught myself some very rudimentary Flash, more than two months after I first attempted to learn it. I had some free time at work this week and decided to tackle it again, and at long last the frames and the tweening and the keyframes fell magically into place. I thought about posting some of the stuff I did here, but it occurred to me that what I've done is probably the same kind of boring and amateurish stuff people always find way kewl when they first learn Flash.

(My colleagues and I have discovered that abusing our company logo in Flash is a great stress reliever, though. I had it pulsating and swirling and getting huge and shrinking and turning all kinds of very unprofessional colors today. Oddly satisfying.)

And although I haven't seen the movie yet, I bought the "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" soundtrack after seeing a rave about it on a figure-skating forum I read.

I feel like I've been away from this journal for ages. I feel like I should have more to say.

I don't, though, and I don't even have any juicy random babble to share.

So I made you all another movie instead.

The next entry.

Previously, in Insomniaville...

Back to the main journal page.

January 2000