I Don't Think This Parking Lot Is Big Enough to Hold All My Rocks of Rage
So I don't think I'm going to Austin.
See, most of you found out about the lack of marathon on Friday. It's easy to be gung-ho about it when you've been carrying all this excitement along all this time.
Rob told us there were Issues almost a month ago. Hell, for once, I learned something before eirefaerie did. At that time, we thought the entire thing was going to be called off. Rob said it was looking pretty grim. After a couple weeks, I pretty much resigned myself to the idea of the Alamo event not happening at all. Behind the scenes, the two parties were battling Warner Bros., but I was not hopeful. Every time someone mentioned the prospect of going to Austin or getting tickets to Austin, it bugged me not to be able to say anything, not to be able to say hope is an evil, horrible thing, and it eats you starting with your bottom.
Then, over Thanksgiving, Rob told me there was life still. But by that time I was already dead. All my enthusiasm and joy had dissipated. I wasn't going to get my hopes up again. Sometimes, being on the inside sucks.
A couple days before the tickets went on sale, I found out that the Drafthouse had negotiated a deal to make the event happen. The marathon was gone. The episode 11 premiere remained along with a clips/panel discussion. A clips/panel discussion. Twenty-two hours of awesomeness had been reduced to three. A unique experience had been reduced to the equivalent of the Paley Festival. Or Comic-Con. Or numerous other cast appearances. And I had not been preternaturally compelled to fly down for those.
See, in that month of thinking the marathon was off altogether, I did scrounge up some money I could conceivably use to fund a plane ticket to Houston (en route to Austin). Except I had been looking on the bright side and thinking, good, I actually have some money. Because, see, my bank account goes down every month. And, really, I hate complaining about that because I know I'm actually better off than some people. At least I have money in my bank account. But I have a crappy job that barely pays my rent, let alone my electricity, cell phone, cable, Internet, and, most recently, my loan payment. Also, I've been told I need food to survive. There is a real job in my future, but it is not here yet, and until then, I'm trying to make it as long as possible without going under and being forced to move back home. And that is something I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really don't want to do.
Okay, I used copy-and-paste for some of that. Most of that.
When the Marsathon became more of Marsa...something else, I decided I couldn't justify dropping money I really don't have on such a slim offering. If I hadn't already had momentum built up for it, I wouldn't consider flying down for something like that, right? I would just sit here and be jealous of the people in the area who could go. I mean, I still want to go, obviously. I want to meet eirefaerie and iheartbridges and the various other people who might end up going. I want to meet Rob and the cast. I want to be there for the world premiere of his directorial debut. To...support him, I don't know. It only happens once, you know.
The money from Kaplan, the money from my parents...it's not marked "Must use to go to Austin." It's marked "Here is some money." And, being as neurotic as I am, I can think of hundreds of other uses for that money. Maybe have some ice cream and feel like I can afford it. Maybe go to a play and feel like I can afford it. Maybe do...anything that involves money and feel like I can afford it. I think you guys are witness to the first LJ post that's made me cry while writing it. Maybe. Anyway. So that's why I'm probably not going, barring a sudden change in my brain chemistry or an influx of chicken salad.
larisa57: I had to tell you -- I was just talking to my sister, and mentioned "A guy I know got a shout-out on last week's VM." She responded, "You know Polter-Cow?!?"
spectralbovine: Haaa.
spectralbovine: Wow.
spectralbovine: That's...haaaa.
larisa57: you're famous!
larisa57: or something
spectralbovine: Apparently.
See, most of you found out about the lack of marathon on Friday. It's easy to be gung-ho about it when you've been carrying all this excitement along all this time.
Rob told us there were Issues almost a month ago. Hell, for once, I learned something before eirefaerie did. At that time, we thought the entire thing was going to be called off. Rob said it was looking pretty grim. After a couple weeks, I pretty much resigned myself to the idea of the Alamo event not happening at all. Behind the scenes, the two parties were battling Warner Bros., but I was not hopeful. Every time someone mentioned the prospect of going to Austin or getting tickets to Austin, it bugged me not to be able to say anything, not to be able to say hope is an evil, horrible thing, and it eats you starting with your bottom.
Then, over Thanksgiving, Rob told me there was life still. But by that time I was already dead. All my enthusiasm and joy had dissipated. I wasn't going to get my hopes up again. Sometimes, being on the inside sucks.
A couple days before the tickets went on sale, I found out that the Drafthouse had negotiated a deal to make the event happen. The marathon was gone. The episode 11 premiere remained along with a clips/panel discussion. A clips/panel discussion. Twenty-two hours of awesomeness had been reduced to three. A unique experience had been reduced to the equivalent of the Paley Festival. Or Comic-Con. Or numerous other cast appearances. And I had not been preternaturally compelled to fly down for those.
See, in that month of thinking the marathon was off altogether, I did scrounge up some money I could conceivably use to fund a plane ticket to Houston (en route to Austin). Except I had been looking on the bright side and thinking, good, I actually have some money. Because, see, my bank account goes down every month. And, really, I hate complaining about that because I know I'm actually better off than some people. At least I have money in my bank account. But I have a crappy job that barely pays my rent, let alone my electricity, cell phone, cable, Internet, and, most recently, my loan payment. Also, I've been told I need food to survive. There is a real job in my future, but it is not here yet, and until then, I'm trying to make it as long as possible without going under and being forced to move back home. And that is something I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really don't want to do.
Okay, I used copy-and-paste for some of that. Most of that.
When the Marsathon became more of Marsa...something else, I decided I couldn't justify dropping money I really don't have on such a slim offering. If I hadn't already had momentum built up for it, I wouldn't consider flying down for something like that, right? I would just sit here and be jealous of the people in the area who could go. I mean, I still want to go, obviously. I want to meet eirefaerie and iheartbridges and the various other people who might end up going. I want to meet Rob and the cast. I want to be there for the world premiere of his directorial debut. To...support him, I don't know. It only happens once, you know.
The money from Kaplan, the money from my parents...it's not marked "Must use to go to Austin." It's marked "Here is some money." And, being as neurotic as I am, I can think of hundreds of other uses for that money. Maybe have some ice cream and feel like I can afford it. Maybe go to a play and feel like I can afford it. Maybe do...anything that involves money and feel like I can afford it. I think you guys are witness to the first LJ post that's made me cry while writing it. Maybe. Anyway. So that's why I'm probably not going, barring a sudden change in my brain chemistry or an influx of chicken salad.
larisa57: I had to tell you -- I was just talking to my sister, and mentioned "A guy I know got a shout-out on last week's VM." She responded, "You know Polter-Cow?!?"
spectralbovine: Haaa.
spectralbovine: Wow.
spectralbovine: That's...haaaa.
larisa57: you're famous!
larisa57: or something
spectralbovine: Apparently.