A wise woman once wrote, “If you’re that unhappy, then just leave.“  Sensible enough.  So I’m leaving.

I wish I could say this wasn’t necessary.  But this is it.  I’m leaving LiveJournal and moving back to Blogger, grinding my teeth the whole way.  Blogger isn’t necessarily better or easier to use.  But they haven’t messed with their users or their content either.

LJ simply isn’t trustworthy anymore.  They censor.  They obfuscate their own policy.  They distrust their own customer base.  How does anyone with even the most rudimentary desire to write and express oneself hope to feel safe in that kind of environment?  No, sooner or later, someone is going to say something a little more unmutual than the usual angsty emo-crap.  And when that happens, I predict a riot.

And no, all the hype about LJ’s advisory board does not impress me.  The current Powers That Be simply ignore the board’s advice.  They have never acted on it.  It’s a sop to the fanbase, nothing more.

I’ll do my best to keep up on my favorite LJ blogs.  I’ve done what I can to make it easier for folks here to follow my words around.  My new/old/new-again blog can be found at http://darkkarma.blogspot.com/ .  I’m putting in subscription options of various sorts.  If you already have a Google account, commenting should be fairly easy.

And for those LJ and WordPress users who don’t want a Google account (people have their reasons, cut ’em some slack), Blogger lets you use your blog URL as an OpenID login.  Go to the comment page for a given post, select a provider (like say, LiveJournal), and type in your blog’s URL.

Hopefully I’ll see you there.

Hey, please excuse the construction for the next couple days as I customize this wordpress theme and just generally spruce up the whole site. So if you find anything broken or missing, rest assured it is temporary!

I’ll keep this short and simple. 

Months ago, a message board was set up for our friends at the Sonic Society.  But don’t look for us there.  Ollin Productions no longer maintains a presence there.

Jack Ward and Shannon Hilche, the co-chairs and delightful lead voices of “The Sonic Society,” were offered the use of a message board space.  It’s called Audio Drama Talk.  They wanted it to be the watering hole for audiodramatists, where people could share their knowledge and experience.

However, you can’t share much in the way of knowledge unless there’s a mutual sense of professionalism.  You can be as friendly, complimentary, and informal as you like.  But you need an effective work environment — a mature atmosphere — where ability and merit are welcome, not simply a token word of approval.  There must be room for disagreement and reasonable discussion, not conformity.  And you can tell that’s not happening when you get certain signs.  A grown woman (Jamie) is addressed like an irrational child.   Points raised are sidestepped, so people can discuss more popular views.  Someone appeals to community instead of merit, basically truth by majority.

Or when somebody says to you, “Did a director pee in your coffee this week or something?”

At that point, Jamie had had enough.  We asked Jack to delete our accounts.  So before anyone starts a rumor or smiles to themselves, Jack and Shannon can tell you:  We weren’t thrown out.  We walked.  Better things to do.  Death in the family, it turned out.  But that’s another story.

Also for the record:  We at Ollin Productions are proud members of “The Sonic Society.”  Jack and Shannon are good people, and we’ll stand by them any day of the week, even if it is a long walk from here to Nova Scotia.

Because it is.  A long walk, I mean.

How does affect “Afterhell,” you might ask?  If you want our take on something, go to the source.  Always the best place.

I thought I should let folks know, in case they had been following.  I’ll get more into it later.  Still shellshocked, myself.

For now, I can tell you this much.  We asked the vets to come out to our place.  They’re accommodating that way, not to mention expensive.  I carried her to her favorite pillow in front of the fireplace.  I sat beside her.  Her head was resting on my knee.  I held her while they prepared the injections, one that would end the fear, another that would end…everything else.

I said sorry.  I said goodbye.  Then she went away.

You think you know how to cope when you’ve been through it before.  The shock.  The loss.  Feeling gravity fail under your feet.  But it’s been hard.  So hard.

Yup.  Back… in all sorts of ways.

When we first found out that Lilith was sick, Jamie and I were too.  That crud that’s been going around ever since the year started?  It nailed Jamie in January, then me in February.  And somewhere in between, Lilith had lymphoma.  Coughing and post-nasal-dripping, we dragged her all over town, looking for a way to stop her pain.   And a way to deal with ours.  To our disbelief, it seemed to work.

We’ve spent the last few months chasing and wrestling with Lilith, dragging her out from under our futon, our closet, or the bed to wrap her up in a towel and ram pills down her throat.  The more effective the pills were, the harder it got.  That part, you already know.

So it’s April now.  The crud, or something like it, hit us again like a freight train.  Jamie was down for days.  Once she got back up, it slammed my ass into the ground.  I’ve had it for a week.  Exhausted.  Wheezing.  Rest and liquids, squeezing in scriptwriting duty while the energy comes to me in drips and drabs, have been my whole life for several days.

And what happens while we’re so tired, so damn weary that we literally crash into bed?  Lilith is in trouble again.  The lymphoma is back, only now it’s… expanding the bridge of her nose.   Her eyes water.   Her nose oozes the same flesh-colored junk.  It’s back and it’s worse.

We’re practically strapped to the wheel of pain, fer crissakes.  Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s too much drama.  But damn it, I’m tired.  The weariness goes down to the heartmeat core.  I knew her disease was going to return sooner or later, that it was going to win somehow.  But did it have to be like this… when we’re all running on fumes, feeling that we’ve been going around, tracing the same ouroborus path, back to the end and starting again, left to wonder what was the point?

Strange thing, though.  When we were first confronting Lilith’s mortality, the knowledge torn us apart.  Jamie and I talked and talked, going over the same ground for days, uncertain about… everything.  We weren’t sure if we’d done enough or whether we’d done the right things.   Now, three months later, we already know the outcome.  Jamie might feel the pressure, I’m not sure.  But I certainly don’t.  I feel sad of late, but rock solid accepting.  We know what to do; and that there isn’t much else we can do.  We don’t have any doubts.  I’m not sure whether we even have room for regret.

Actually… I think we do.  We don’t want Lilith to go away.

But she will.  We took the time to deal with that.  And now we deal with it again.

Her time is almost up.  It’ll be soon.

Maybe today.

I noticed it had been a while since I posted.  And I basically left people hanging on a dark note there.

Catz, catz, catz!
A frequent refrain in our household.  Usually mine.

Anyway, Lilith has actually improved.  We can’t afford chemotherapy for her (it sounds nasty, but reportedly cats respond to chemo much better than humans do), so we went with more conventional medication.  Shortly after I posted my lament of woe-squared, we got some prescriptions for her,  an antibiotic and a steroid, that are supposed to boost her immune system.

We chop the pills to the right dosages and fit them together into gelatin capsules.  That way, we only have to ram one big pill down her gullet while she’s spitting and clawing her way out.  We got used to her being so weak, offering no resistance.  Now we wrap her up in a thick towel.  The minor — but many — bites and scratches snapped us back to reality.  Bactine:  the sweet nectar of success.

Well, that and seeing her.  Her coat and her eyes shine.  She talks more than ever, not so much “meow” as squeak, cranky squeak, and terrified squeal!  She jumps around like crazy, bumping our legs, bounding across the apartment, maintaining her regular security patrols, and watching birds from the window sill with laser light intensity.  In short, she’s acting like a kitten again.

But sometimes she lets out a loud violent sneeze.  And it’s enough to stop my heart for a second.

I keep thinking about a line from Blade Runner, probably the most important one:  “It’s too bad she won’t live!  But then again, who does?”

LJ Uber-drama
I’m sure everyone else has heard about this by now.  Certainly lots of blog postings out there.  Some of them are even useful.

I’m not going to get into all the back-and-forth, the horribly translated Russian interviews with the Powers That Be, the yay’s or nays (deliberate word choice) regarding the big boycott on Good Friday, or any of that.  My understanding of the whole thing boils down to a few simple things:

1. LJ intends to close up the no-cost, ad-free Basic Account level.
2. They didn’t intend to let anyone know about it.
3. They were also caught censoring user interests, rendering them invisible on key listings.
4. They have now fostered a hostile relationship with their customers — and their content — for several months.
5. There’s no sign that it’s going to stop.

On the first point… sad, I guess.  But it happens.  It’s a business.  They have to make money, yadda yadda.  That’s a fair complaint.  If they had just said so, and not resorted to item number two, people would grump, but eventually deal.  Look at DeadJournal.  I bitched, but I moved on.  And they’re still around.

But it’s the last three items that give me and Jamie pause.  And how many times has LJ gone to war with its customers over content — two times? three?  — in the current management’s first 100 days at the helm?

Content issues are a big deal for us.  It’s not just a hobby for us.  This is our business.  We have to make money too.  We do an audiodrama show that’s clearly, loudly, proudly not for everybody.  How long will it be before LJ has a problem with us?

We’re really busy now.  We don’t need this kind of grief now.  I’m working on several scripts, some of the Willamette Radio Workshop, some for Afterhell.  I’m mixing a new episode fast as I can, when I’m not writing, collapsing from fatigue, fielding family emergencies, or trying to medicate cats.  Deadlines are looming close behind.

So we’re left with two choices.  Pray that LiveJournal never comes after us.  Or take Afterhell off of LiveJournal ourselves.

We’re preparing to move the Afterhell blog.

I’ll be cross-posting this elsewhere.

Taken from one of our personal blog entries:

LJ Uber-drama
I’m sure everyone else has heard about this by now. Certainly lots of blog postings out there. Some of them are even useful.

I’m not going to get into all the back-and-forth, the horribly translated Russian interviews with the Powers That Be, the yay’s or nays (deliberate word choice) regarding the big boycott on Good Friday, or any of that. My understanding of the whole thing boils down to a few simple things:

1. LJ intends to close up the no-cost, ad-free Basic Account level.
2. They didn’t intend to let anyone know about it.
3. They were also caught censoring user interests, rendering them invisible on key listings.
4. They have now fostered a hostile relationship with their customers — and their content — for several months.
5. There’s no sign that it’s going to stop.

On the first point… sad, I guess. But it happens. It’s a business. They have to make money, yadda yadda. That’s a fair complaint. If they had just said so, and not resorted to item number two, people would grump, but eventually deal. Look at DeadJournal. I bitched, but I moved on. And they’re still around.

But it’s the last three items that give me and Jamie pause. And how many times has LJ gone to war with its customers over content — two times? three? — in the current management’s first 100 days at the helm?

Content issues are a big deal for us. It’s not just a hobby for us. This is our business. We have to make money too. We do an audiodrama show that’s clearly, loudly, proudly not for everybody. How long will it be before LJ has a problem with us?

We’re really busy now. We don’t need this kind of grief now. I’m working on several scripts, some of the Willamette Radio Workshop, some for Afterhell. I’m mixing a new episode fast as I can, when I’m not writing, collapsing from fatigue, fielding family emergencies, or trying to medicate cats. Deadlines are looming close behind.

So we’re left with two choices. Pray that LiveJournal never comes after us. Or take Afterhell off of LiveJournal ourselves.

We’re preparing to move the Afterhell blog.

I’ll be cross-posting this elsewhere.

Noble, loyal listeners! You tolerated the long delays and the lame puns. Now the final episode of the “Giallo Hotel” storyline has been podcast.

If you like structure in your horror stories, belly up to the bar. The hotel’s structure is the only thing left standing! Part Nine brings the Giallo Hotel arc to a bizarre, bloodletting close. Boss Giallo and his undead rival Pensari wage one last battle for all the marbles. And victory isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Yes, the “Giallo Hotel” podcast is complete. The final CD release is on the horizon, set for May 2008. We burned the entire story for the perusal of this year’s Mark Time Awards panel, but our official CD will have some creepy new artwork from Alida Saxon…and a few surprises.

Speaking of surprises, keep your radio tuned and watch the skies. The best of the worst is yet to come.

It’s a good thing that leap years come only every four years.  Judging from the month I’ve had, I wouldn’t survive it.

Oh jeez, I hear somebody say, what could possibly be so bad?  You get to surf the net, eat bonbons, and watch “Tiny Toons” all day in the comfort of your own home.

Odds are that the folks who keep up on my little rantings already know.  Well, some of the info might be new to somebody, so be patient while the dorks in the back catch up with the rest of the class.

There’ve been a few family emergencies.  My father has Alzheimer’s.  Jamie and I made a point to drive a few hundred miles to visit him over Christmas.  We said hello.  He led us around the house in his walking frame (my God, he needs a walker now) giving us candies and tangerines and words of wisdom that occasionally made their points clear.

He’s so frail now.  He’d had a bad fall months ago, and his growing dependence on others depresses him.  One minute he curses everybody for hovering over him.  In quieter moments, when they’re not around, he calls them a blessing…and cries.  And yes, his thoughts wander.  He rambles.  But he did that even at the height of his powers.

One thing that’s definitely new:  He’s like a kid, getting into mischief.  Months ago, he had an ongoing battle with a KFC near his house, badgering them about their lousy service, forcing the manager to placate him with a fistful of gift certificates.  This morning, my sister e-mailed me that he’d just eaten a whole box of tangerines and gotten himself sick.

I’m gonna lose him.  Seeing him deteriorate, seeing the difference in just six months, shook me harder than any storm.  It made an abstract certainty real.  He was a well-intentioned brute when I was a kid.  I’d always felt like Bilbo Baggins facing Smaug in his lair whenever he called me to his room.  Every fourth Saturday, he spanked me with a belt.  He once tore my shirt, balled up his fist, and tried to deck me.  When I was eighteen, he threw me out of the house because I hadn’t taken the garbage out, first thing in the morning.  But all the grudges seem pointless when he’s so fragile.  Now he’s like chipped, faded china.  I’m…gonna lose him.

Yeah, I know.  Old people go mental and die all the time.  Newsflash, it’s always different when it’s yours.  And you’re never ready.

Another case in point.  My second best friend is dying.  It’s just a cat, so who cares, right?  I mean, ten to fifteen years is a good run for a cat.  I knew that when we first took her in.  Ten years ago.

Her name is Lilith (for the mythological character, not the one on “Cheers,” so for God’s sake, world, please stop asking.)  She’s a black domestic shorthair, a classic Halloween cat.  She chose me.  I’d chosen several cats as pets over the years.  This one chose me.  I didn’t know cats ever did that.  She ran up my body, planted herself on my chest, where she did that kneading, “making biscuits” thing.

She has lymphoma, deep in her left nostril.  It’s growing well beyond it.  For a while, it was so bad that she held her head up, her dark face coated in snot, gulping down air, struggling to breathe.  We took her to a specialist who performed a rhinoscopy, taking some of the tissue out for analysis.

The preliminary results.  The preponderance of evidence.  The how fucking burned out I am, watching Lilith sleep longer and longer, knowing I could look forward to weeks of watching her fade away.

The rhinoscopy has actually helped her. I hoped it would, but didn’t expect this.  Her nose bled a little, but she could breathe.  She’s relaxed, become more energetic.  Last week, when the early results were in, I slept sitting up because Lilith wanted to sleep between my feet for the first time in weeks.  At first I couldn’t sleep at all.  I figured I should savor it while we both had the strength.  I stayed up.  Cried a few times.  Quietly, so I wouldn’t wake her or Jamie up.

I get on with my day.  I want to do something more productive than feel wounded, angry, or powerless.  Look at me.  I’m so productive.

Oh, and that e-mail from my sister.  Something else she told me:  My uncle Fred died yesterday.

My father is down to two tangerines a day.

Lilith sleeps.

I’m tired.  Haven’t been sleeping well.

Other than that, everything’s fine here, situation normal.  No, really, everything’s perfectly all right now, we’re fine, we’re all fine here now, thank you… how are you?

Okay, now this is something I can get behind.

Scientists Create a Black That Erases Virtually All Light