The World's Most Helpful Employee

I went to Target today, and they had their yearly $7.99 sale on DC Universe Classics figures (normally they are $15.99). Unfortunately, the local store hasn't gotten a single new figure in in months, perhaps not since last year's holidays. What they have on the shelf are figures I've returned (or others have returned), and not a single one that's worth $7.99, let alone $15.99. But I'd discussed this so many times with my cousin that I'd planned on stripping the shelves if they ever went on sale again, in hopes that the store would order some new ones.

Unfortunately, they had three of probably the most worthless figure in their entire series, Cyclotron (it's probably more worthless than the much more-prominent Captain Cold, since he at least comes with a Build-A-Figure piece), and I was torn between buying ALL the figures, and buying all of them except for him. And an employee of the toy department just happened to come by, so I asked him.

"These are on sale," I said. "Should I buy all of them, or is leaving only three enough so that the store will order more?"

"It doesn't work that way," he said, smugly . . . then didn't explain how it did work.

"Okay, how does it work?" I asked.

"The warehouse sends us more when they have more. It doesn't matter if we have them on the shelf or not."

"Oh. But this store hasn't gotten a new figure since 2010. Since they're on sale, will you be getting some new ones in?"

"There's no way of knowing that," he said.

"Can't the manager or somebody order another box?" I asked.

"Nope. The computer keeps track of those things."

This frustrated me, since I was now getting visions of the HAL-9000, and that shitty Michael Bay TRANSFORMERS movie. "Alright, isn't there anything I can do to ensure your store gets some more in?"

"Well, you could buy all the ones on the shelf, if you want," he said.

Sigh.

short story unsale

I got an acceptance letter about one of my stories a few weeks (months?) ago, and was excited that a) someone other than me liked it and b) I'd get to hear somebody produce it for audio. It's a tale I'm quite proud of, and might have been the first story I wrote with a pair of girl protagonists (rather than my typical male ones).

But life is what happens when you're . . . a loser, I guess. So I got an email from the editor who, sadly, can no longer do the story (or any story, it would seem), due to matters beyond her control. That was disappointing to me, mostly because I now won't get to hear how someone interprets and performs the story, but also because it's a rejection in a way.

It ain't world-ending or anything, but it's a bit of a bummer. Of course, a real writer would have already sent it out there to another publisher, in the time it's taken me to write this. Sigh.

Parenting

"The Charter" reading over at Strangely Literal

A while back, I auditioned for a part in a "Firefly" audio drama, and while I didn't get the part I wanted, I got a part. But before the fun could begin, each of the new cast members were sent a short story to record, as a secondary audition, I assumed. Mine was called "The Charter," a very short story set (sort of) in the "Firefly" universe.

Well, I was going through my files today, looking for stuff to delete, and was reminded of it, so I did a search, and I found my reading as part of the "Strangely Literal" podcast, which is a fan fiction publisher of stories set in the Joss Whedon-verse(s).

It's a crossover with a very popular Nineties sitcom, and the story is pretty amusing really, so I figured I'd mention it here. If you like that sort of thing, check it out over at strangelyliteral.com. Tell 'em Badger sent you!

R. "You're killing Independent Rish" Outfield

Stupid Thing of the Week

I was in the grocery store today, and a toddler (maybe three, but probably two) had a t-shirt on that read, "I have the biggest dick in my family."

With Some Nameless Dread

Was it Poe or Lovecraft who liked to use the phrase "it filled me with some nameless dread?" I always found that to be a nebulous, old-fashioned, almost nonsensical turn of phrase. But late tonight, I was leaving my friend's house to go home, I understood exactly what the crazy dead bastage meant.

You see, a few minutes earlier, my buddy's wife woke up to the sound of a pair of cats fighting or yowling or communing with the unholy spirits of darkness--whatever it is cats do--worried that her cat might be participating. He told her it wasn't, but I had heard nothing.

It was time for me to go home, and I went out onto the front porch. Then I heard it. The sound was bloodcurdling. It sounded like somebody dying. It sounded like the devil having a baby. It was an echoing, horrible, feminine, inhuman sound (sure, it was inhuman because it wasn't made by humans, but why would it be feminine?). It was the most awful sound I can readily imagine, and I've heard more than one song by Ke$ha.

"Jeez, that sounds like an old woman wailing in pain," I said, laughing, as my friend bid me farewell.

But once I was alone, and it came again, I was no longer laughing. The hairs on my arms and taint stood right up, and for the first time in I don't know how many years, I was almost overcome with the urge to run. Run in the direction that ghastly sound was not coming from. There was no logic to it, but I was simply, and most unjustifiably terrified.

I quickly got into my car, and fought the urge to scream at the prospect of something grabbing hold of me before I could close the door, or worse, something leaping onto the windshield to get at me. How that's worse I don't know. I guess because I'd see its face then.

Anyway, it was such a strange and childhoodesque experience, I thought I'd share it here. Seems like that might've been a mistake.

Rish "The Fonz" Outfield

Guest spot on "Star Trek: Outpost"

I'm not sure why I haven't mentioned this before, but I recently did a three episode arc over at Giant Gnome Productions' "Star Trek: Outpost" audio drama series. The storyline is called "The Melnoran Solution," written by Tony Raymond and Daniel McIntosh.

I've done a couple of Trek fan productions, with varying levels of success. This particular series is very dialogue-heavy (as would be expected in audio), and this series of episodes are heavy on politics, diplomacy, and protocol. Audio drama is really hard to write and pull off well. I don't really know the series, except that it is very popular, award-winning, and each episode is massive, around an hour ten.

I play the part of Kar'rl Droonga, in pretty much a more formal version of my own voice. He's a Betazoid emissary that's been living among an alien civilization without (most of) them knowing he is not one of them (kind of like that episode of "Next Gen" where the natives worship The Picard as a god and Lilith Sternin-Crane always wanted to have sex with an alien, unless that's two different episodes). But all is not as it appears to be, and my character takes a bit of a turn in his later appearances.

It surprised me, since hadn't known where it all was going, and I wondered if I should have played the part differently, having been tipped off as to motivations and destinations. It must be a bit like playing a part on a TV show with no idea what is to come, only to find out your character is a murderer, or a spy, or a love interest, or is killed, as soon as you get the next script.

It was one of the more difficult productions I've worked on, and required a hell of a lot more time than I'm used to. But the show is high-quality and professional, with original score, sound effects, and a full cast of better-than-average actors, so I guess it's worth it in the end.

Wait a minute, check it out yourself, and you can be the judge.
Part I
Part II
Part III

Rish "Red Shirt" Outfield

Not far from the truth

At least, not according to my mother.

Best Commercial of 2011

Last year, there was a cellphone commercial that nearly made me cry. It was trying to speak to people about why having a phone was important, but it ended up speaking me to be about the human condition. My friend Jeff is as opinionated and even more cynical than I am, and when that ad came on during an episode of "Fringe," I just knew that he'd bad-mouth it. He hates both cellphones AND commercials, so I knew it was bound to earn his wrath . . . but he didn't. He said, "Man, this is a great commercial! It almost makes me want to buy one of their phones."

And from that moment on, we were best friends.*

This week, I was at his house, watching the pilot episode of "Terra Nova," which I knew he only watched because I wanted to see it and probably stifled a groan through the whole thing. At one point, a Playstation commercial came on. Only we didn't know it was a Playstation commercial. Heck, I'd be blown away if ANYBODY knew it was a Playstation commercial. Eff those guys. Right up their A's.

But once I'd gone home, Jeff looked up the commercial (which ended midway through without having told us what it was about), and sent it to me. And I was floored.
Still am.

I'm not a gamer. I don't have a Wii or X-360 or Pi-Bot-93 or PS4. I did have two X-Boxes in Los Angeles, both of them stolen within three months of each other (by the same guy, who with any luck is being sodomized by a Rubik's Cube as we speak), thereby preventing me from truly appreciating video games in the 21st century. But this commercial makes me wish I were part of that culture. It makes me think I need a Playstation. It makes me wish I were Michael. It makes me want to be a better man.

Rish "To Michael" Outfield

*Give or take twenty years.

Son of the Year

I said "bullshit" to my mother today for the first time.

For some reason, my mom has a giant phobia/problem with profanity. Always has. You know you've made her as furious as she can possibly be if she ever resorts to it. To this point, I've managed to never use it around her (except for saying "bastardized" when talking about Spanish, and muttering "oh shit" when we crashed our car in 2004 or so). But today, I guess I got pushed too far, or she made me as furious as I can possibly be, I don't know.

Nobody under Thor's green earth can make me madder than my mom and dad. And they have some kind of speed-dial shortcut to getting me there faster than anybody else does. I went for a drive, worked on the show, ate a microwave burrito, went to the library, listened to an audiobook, took my nephew out to look for worms in the backyard, and talked to Big on the phone for half an hour . . . and I'm still mad.

Life is weird.

Stupid Thing of the Week II: Solar-powered Boogaloo

I've got something of a love-hate relationship with the town library. We didn't have a library in the village where I grew up (there was something called the Bookmobile, that would come to the elementary school every other week or so, and not only could students check out books from the small bus, but everyday townsfolk could too), and in Los Angeles, it was just so much of a bloody hassle to go the libraries there (I went a couple of times, but it just made more sense to get my books at used bookstores, or buy them new and resell them when I was finished).

Lately, though, I've been grabbing as many books as I can, as well as audiobooks, and kiddie stuff for my nephew or niece. Unfortunately, they've got something called late fees, for when a book is overdue, and many of the books on CD are so in demand that, if I return an overdue one, they won't let me re-check it out. So, I keep them until I finish, and pay the fees.

But I was surprised today to get an email from them saying I owed $19.80 in late fees, and I couldn't check out or renew anything until it was paid. I'd made a trip to the library just this pass Saturday to return three books, because my late fees were over seven dollars. But I couldn't figure out how my fees could have more than doubled in three days (one of which was a Sunday, and probably should count fee-wise, right?).

My nephew likes to go to the library with me, so I brought him along, and he wanted to take a whole stack of books, but first, I told him, I had to get to the bottom of this late fees thing. I stood in the line, and the boy stood beside me, and I explained the situation and my puzzlement. The late fees are ten cents per day, so unless I checked out, what, thirty books, all overdue, the huge late fee made no sense.

The woman told me that one of the books I had returned had been damaged, a nature book about the life cycle of frogs (which I'd checked out for the three year old, not me). "Damaged?" I asked, not really getting it. "I just brought that back on Saturday." The woman told me that they'd only just noticed it was damaged, and that I had to pay for it because it was ruined from water damage.

Well, I suppose that sort of thing is possible, but I told her that if I had to pay for the book, I might as well get to have the book, and she agreed. She went to get it, and I didn't remember getting it wet or putting it anywhere it might have gotten wet, and wondered if, in the last three days, something else might have happened to it.

She brought it out, and sure enough, there were water spots on the lower third of every page. But it was a big book for kids, and it was far from ruined. "Well, I'll buy it, I guess," I grumbled, "But it's not that badly damaged, and I honestly didn't get it wet." The woman looked at me, and at the book, and decided that she agreed, and said she could waive the fee. That was a relief, and I said as much, as well as, "I can't imagine how it could have gotten water on it, since I brought it here in my car just the other day." The woman typed something, and a child's voice beside me said, "I dropped it in the sprinklers." "What?" said I. My nephew said, "The sprinkler was on and I dropped it in on accident."

Unfortunately, the woman was still sitting there, and she heard him say that too. Sigh.