Category: Journal
Journal

In which I am stupid

If you’ve never read the Persistence Pays Parasites entry of Cory Doctrow’s Locus column then I heartily recommend dropping over and taking a look. The short-version, for those without the time or attention span, runs something like this: Doctrow is a smart and internet savvy guy, but he got himself phished despite his high awareness of such scams ’cause they hit him when there was a short-lived crack in his defenses. Actually, let me quote the key message of the column, ’cause it’s worth repeating: Phishing isn’t (just) about finding a person who is technically naive. It’s about attacking the seemingly impregnable defenses of the technically sophisticated until you find a single, incredibly unlikely, short-lived crack in the wall. ‘Course, I still recommend going over and checking out the whole thing. It’s interesting stuff and it’ll make you rethink the way spam e-mail works (at least, if will if you’re like me and you assumed Spam merchanters were going after net-surfing

PeterMBall 20/08/2010
Journal

13 Days ‘Til Worldcon

Yesterday started out okay with the job interview. Then it kind of downgraded a bit. Then the following happened and it downgraded a lot. On The Sudden Discover that Your Parents Live their Retirement in the Same Way Most People Live their Early Twenties A Play in One Act Peter is at home, working on a few things after going to an interview. His parents are overseas. They’ve been taunting him with postcards from Vienna, because Peter has this thing for Vienna after watching The Third Man and Before Sunrise too many times. Peter’s Parent’s are classy like that. They send him pictures of Viennese food. They’re not actually in Vienna anymore, because old-fashioned postal systems aren’t as instant as e-mail. They’re meant to be coming home soon. The phone rings a few times. Peter rolls off the couch and answers it. Peter’s Dad calling from distant Turkey: Hello? Peter: Hello? Peter’s Dad calling from distant Turkey: Hello? Peter: Yeah,

PeterMBall 20/08/2010
Journal

14 Days ‘Til Worldcon

There are fourteen days between me and Worldcon, which means there’s fourteen days before people can get their hands on Bleed. Much as I’m all unsubtle about my desire for you all to give in to your base, capitalist urges and consume for the good of the economy (and, lets be frank, my rent-paying ability) there is still a tiny part of me that isn’t quite ready for people to see Bleed yet. And yet I stay calm. Almost zen-like. Mostly I’m doing this by pretending its not going to happen, so if you see me at worldcon and I’m all surprised that there’s a book out with my name on it, you’ll know why. And now I must go clean the house prior to write-club, and wait for a phonecall from my sister so I can explain the latest not-a-calamity.

PeterMBall 19/08/2010
Journal

15 Days ’til Worldcon

And so we have hit the slice of my calendar marked “The Cliffs of Insanity.”  For the next two weeks my days are packed – there are meetings to go to, there are house-cleanings prior to the arrival of guests, there are trips to the airport, and through a variety of circumstances there are now job interviews to attend. I generally don’t talk about being unemployed online because a) it’s a downer and no-one needs to hear me whinging; and b) because the spam-bots come a-calling as soon as you say the word “unemployed” in an effort to convince you that you too can make thousands of dollars for a big company if you only you send them one…little…e-mail. Besides which, there’s only so many body-shots your ego can take, and when you’re skill-set largely covers “writing” and “reading” and “saying semi-intelligent things about a select sampling of the Gothic literary movement” your ego takes a battering in the current

PeterMBall 18/08/2010
Journal

Fear my Sartorial Splendor!

The dreaded paperbaghat is one of my many bad habits; I seriously end up wearing the damn things for a half-hour every time I leave one laying around the house, largely because it’s the only way I remember to throw them out. It’s one of those things that you can do when you live alone. Or that you end up doing when you live alone. I’m not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg in this situation. In any case, most days I remember to take the dreaded paperbaghat off and depositing it in the bin *before* I answer the door. Unlike, say, today when I forget I was wearing the dreaded paperbaghat and answered the door to chat with the nice missionary types who were trying to convince me that I should fear the forthcoming apocalypse or something. -facepalm- Stupid paperbaghat.

PeterMBall 15/08/2010
Journal

A Post in Four Parts

1) There’s is nothing quite so pleasant as heading out to one of your favorite bookstores on a rainy night and having someone read to you, but it’s doubly awesome when the topic du-jour is the Art of the Reading. The irony is that this totally wasn’t my idea – my sister e-mailed a few days back and asked if I’d be interested, and I was all “sick now, whatever, yeah? Put me down as a yes and leave me alone.” And so I was put down for a yes and Tuesday night rolled around and after I remembered I needed to be somewhere at somewhen there was much confused flailing and wondering what the hell I’d gotten into and then…then…then there was a pleasant night of awesomeness. And Nando’s chicken for afters, ’cause nothing says “pleasant night of literary discussion” like following things up with fast food. 2) I’m finally starting to find my routine again after nearly two

PeterMBall 11/08/2010
Journal

My Hate, I show it too you…

 Peter wakes up to find the Spokesbear sitting on his chest, staring him in the face. Spokesbear: Time to work. Peter: Fuck off. Spokesbear: You’re not sick anymore. Peter: I feel like someone’s taken a razor blade to the inside of my oesophagus. Spokesbear: Yes, but you can *stare at a screen without bleeding from the eyes*. That means it’s time to work. Peter: You’re mean. Spokesbear: It’s what you pay me for. Peter: I pay you? Spokesbear: Yes. Peter: You’re an anthropomorphised fraction of my own subconscious guilt, why do you get paid? The Spokesbear punches Peter in the throat with a padded paw. Spokesbear: That’s why. Next time you ask a stupid question, I’m going after a kneecap. Peter: I kill you. The Spokesbear makes a cute face. Peter: Okay, I don’t kill you. Spokesbear: I don’t do this for free, dude. Time to work. Peter: Sadist. Spokesbear: Wuss. Peter: Crazy bear. Spokesbear: Slacker. Peter: Tyrant. Spokesbear: Slug.

PeterMBall 10/08/2010
Journal

Somewhere between Bletch and Booyah

So I followed my week of almost dying of cat allergies with a week of being mildly inconvenienced by a cold, which would have been fine were it not one of those strains of the common cold that makes your eyes blurry and sore every time you looked at a computer screen. Not being able to look at a computer screen is a fairly dire state of affairs in my world, especially when electronic proofs start appearing (one can type with one’s eyes closed, after all, but one cannot correct what one cannot read). On the plus side, I was apparently shortlisted for some Ditmar awards while I was away, which is kind of cool. Plus there’s a seemingly endless parade of friends on the short-list as well, which is always a good thing. ________________________________________________ Current Writing Metrics Consecutive Days Writing (500+ words): 2 New Short Stories Sent Into the Wild: 9/30 Rejections in 2010: 14/100 Black Candy Word Count

PeterMBall 06/08/2010
Journal

Bwah-ha-ha-ha!

This morning I woke up in the pre-dawn hours to hie myself over to the airport and pick up the globetrotting pair of friends whose house I’ve been living at for the last month. They’re now safely ensconced in their house and I am, officially, FREE OF THE DAMN CAT. Unfortunate news for those of you who’ve enjoyed the cat-posts for the last few weeks, but not a moment too soon for me – I ran out of antihistamines five days ago and decided against restocking under the hopes that I may have acclimatised to the cats presence. Turns out I hadn’t, so much of the last week was spent flaked out on the couch with a running nose, eyes so red you’d think they were bleeding, and a severe headache that defied the raw power of codeine. Some things that happened while I was away 1. I was the victim of a Drive-Byover on Angela Slatter’s blog. 2. I

PeterMBall 02/08/2010
Journal

Two Scenes of Feline Idiocy

Part the first The Cat: Feed Me! Peter: There’s food in your bowl. The Cat: FEED ME! Peter: There’s food in your bowl. I just put it there. The Cat: FEED MEEEEEEE! Peter: For fucks sake. Peter picks up the cat, puts it next to the bowl. The Cat: FEEEEED M– The Cat notices the presence of food. The Cat: Oh, right. Peter: You’re an idiot, you know that? The Cat, speaking with its mouth full: FEED ME! Peter: … Peter: Ten days to go. Part the Two Peter hears a comotion outside and goes to look. Finds The Cat engaged in deadly war with a dragonfly. The Cat: Is deadly beast! I save you! Peter: Whatever floats your boat, cat, just don’t bring it in and eat it on my feet. The Cat: Die! Die! Die! The Cat whacks the dragonfly with its paw over and over. The dragonfly waits this out and flies towards the fence. The Cat:

PeterMBall 23/07/2010
Journal

Travel and Taxes

Right now my parents are on their way to Turkey. Or they’ve already arrived in Turkey. Being unfamiliar with the vagaries of international travel and timezones, I largely just process such things in terms of “in the country” and “out of the country” and yesterday the parental unites transferred from one of these states to the other. I, on the other hand, am having one of those days when I’m dissatisfied with everything. I suspect it may have something to do with starting my taxes yesterday. There’s nothing quite so sobering as looking at your yearly income and thinking “well, that explains why I’m so angry these days.”

PeterMBall 21/07/2010
Journal

I call him Fritz for a reason

Today I wish to blog about oh-so-many things, but my brain is tired and poor Fritz the laptop isn’t handling the internets well at the moment, for he is updating Windows right now and the internet in the house-sitting house is capped at slow speeds, and poor Fritz is weak in the RAM and lumped with the worlds worst operating system to boot. Were I smart I’d go work with pen and paper for a while, but being in possession of a penlike object could prove fatal for The Cat* when he attempts to jump on me. And so I dance to David Bowie, and I update the blog, and I remind Fritz that I still love him for all his deficiencies because he has given me that most priceless of gifts: the ability to write on the couch, and in bed, and in other people’s houses where the computers are new and scary and save word files in odd

PeterMBall 14/07/2010