You're a Zero! What's Your Name? No One's Gonna Ask You
It's a hodgepodge kind of day.
Caprica is in the shop. My brand-new fucking car has a leaky power steering rack that needs to be replaced. And something about a faulty O-ring, which makes me glad my car hasn't exploded. What the fuck, Mazda. At least they gave me a rental car. I'm zipping around in a Jetta.
My little sister got into Rice!! I'm proud of her and still baffled that my brother didn't get in. I don't know whether she actually gets to go, though, and I might not know for a while, given that my parents made me think they were sending me to UT until after the deposit was due.
No one seemed impressed that I was asked to be on another panel, but here is the bio I wrote anyway:Polter-Cow, MS is officially a Drug Safety Associate but self-identifies as a Medical Writer, Drug Safety at EthicalMedical.net, where he began his medical writing career three years ago. Before landing his first real job, he sharpened his skills by writing science articles for the Michigan Daily while finishing his Master's thesis in pharmacology at the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor. Before leaving a prestigious doctoral program for the real world, he studied biochemistry and English at Rice University. You may remember him as the writer/director/producer of and actor in The Wrik*do. As far as you know from creative readings, he loves Gilbert and Sullivan and murder. He watches more TV than you.
And now, some linkspam.
Never mind that we haven't found me a wife yet.
I was supposed to be hooked up with some fashion designer weeks ago, but the family never got back to us or something? No one is biting. I guess I'm not that marketable. I am undesirable as a potential future husband to every Gujarati girl with a good family and a brother in America. This is just like selling my fucking car. Should I lower my asking price? ("You don't have to be super hot, just mildly hot.") Does my personality require a tune-up? Do I have too many years on me? Maybe I need to get my leaky self-confidence replaced.
My mom now predicts there is a 90% chance that she and a couple others will go to India in November to scout. I will be able to e-mail with the chosen potential future wives and then go to India in December to get married to someone or other. My mom emphasized that it would not be the way it was with her, where she talked to my dad for all of five minutes or something before marrying him; I would only go through with it when I felt comfortable and certain. "I don't want to get married for the sake of getting married," I said. She was all, "Well, you have to get married..."
My future is hurtling toward me like an asteroid, and I am nothing but an orbiting son. They've been threatening to send me to the wife factory for years, but it's never felt as real as it does right now. I need to do something, anything, quickly. miniglik wants me to ask out girls and go on dates, but I don't see the point in wasting anyone's time. I have to find and fall in love with a Gujarati girl with a good family and a brother in the next eight months. Casual dating is a luxury reserved for those without expiration dates.
No fate but what we make. Except I don't know how to make it.
Caprica is in the shop. My brand-new fucking car has a leaky power steering rack that needs to be replaced. And something about a faulty O-ring, which makes me glad my car hasn't exploded. What the fuck, Mazda. At least they gave me a rental car. I'm zipping around in a Jetta.
My little sister got into Rice!! I'm proud of her and still baffled that my brother didn't get in. I don't know whether she actually gets to go, though, and I might not know for a while, given that my parents made me think they were sending me to UT until after the deposit was due.
No one seemed impressed that I was asked to be on another panel, but here is the bio I wrote anyway:Polter-Cow, MS is officially a Drug Safety Associate but self-identifies as a Medical Writer, Drug Safety at EthicalMedical.net, where he began his medical writing career three years ago. Before landing his first real job, he sharpened his skills by writing science articles for the Michigan Daily while finishing his Master's thesis in pharmacology at the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor. Before leaving a prestigious doctoral program for the real world, he studied biochemistry and English at Rice University. You may remember him as the writer/director/producer of and actor in The Wrik*do. As far as you know from creative readings, he loves Gilbert and Sullivan and murder. He watches more TV than you.
And now, some linkspam.
- Courtesy of cofax7, this is epic. Someone wrote a "tribute" sequel to Breaking Dawn (about Jacob) AND IS SELLING IT ON EBAY. And she sees nothing wrong with that. Nor does her publisher. It's astounding. The stupid, it BURNS.
- Courtesy of miniglik, quite possibly the worst piece of writing I have read in my entire life. You've never seen so many ridiculous metaphors, I promise.
- Courtesy of tiggz, a Supernatural/Chuck credits mash-up. Awesome and cute.
- Check out Josh Schwartz's new web series, Rockville, CA, which highlights musical acts like the Kooks and Kaiser Chiefs. There is a cute brunette with glasses and Ryan Hansen being a douche. I reviewed the first four episodes last week, and the new episodes this week show improvement.
- I have thrown my name into an anon meme. Some anonymice have already said very nice things about me. Be one of them? Please? For, lo, I am about to get all angsty up in this hizouse.
Never mind that we haven't found me a wife yet.
I was supposed to be hooked up with some fashion designer weeks ago, but the family never got back to us or something? No one is biting. I guess I'm not that marketable. I am undesirable as a potential future husband to every Gujarati girl with a good family and a brother in America. This is just like selling my fucking car. Should I lower my asking price? ("You don't have to be super hot, just mildly hot.") Does my personality require a tune-up? Do I have too many years on me? Maybe I need to get my leaky self-confidence replaced.
My mom now predicts there is a 90% chance that she and a couple others will go to India in November to scout. I will be able to e-mail with the chosen potential future wives and then go to India in December to get married to someone or other. My mom emphasized that it would not be the way it was with her, where she talked to my dad for all of five minutes or something before marrying him; I would only go through with it when I felt comfortable and certain. "I don't want to get married for the sake of getting married," I said. She was all, "Well, you have to get married..."
My future is hurtling toward me like an asteroid, and I am nothing but an orbiting son. They've been threatening to send me to the wife factory for years, but it's never felt as real as it does right now. I need to do something, anything, quickly. miniglik wants me to ask out girls and go on dates, but I don't see the point in wasting anyone's time. I have to find and fall in love with a Gujarati girl with a good family and a brother in the next eight months. Casual dating is a luxury reserved for those without expiration dates.
No fate but what we make. Except I don't know how to make it.