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December 2002 Nice way to start out what I believe is the best month of the year, the month where one can watch a whole year die and make way for whatever terrors or wonders lay in store for the impending future, giving a face to the shadows which were portents and omens stretching far into the past for the prescient or those who are no better than superstitious animals. Of course I'm being sarcastic about starting off December in a good way. I'm lying here listening to the creepy song from Valley of the Dolls berating myself for taking things at face value. The fact I don't have the kind of closure I want with certain things and it's mostly because I'm a sociopathic prick. Plus I'm doing my yearly surfing of New Jersey sites like Weird NJ and The Midnight Society. Looking at all the roadside attractions, strange people, abandoned places and such and it makes me feel nostalgic. Of course I think about how miserable I was back there but that was more of a family thing than a New Jersey thing. To quote Jaybird, "All my stuff is there." It's a shame that the December logo is the suckiest logo but I get what I pay for I reckon I like dem taters mmmhmm. Spot was kind and let me sleep in to the late hour of twelve but at the price of Spot putting her paws on my chest and shoving her face into my face or her licking my beard while I lay here and type for you, gentle reader, or simply going "mrrp" at me so I'd get up and give her a fistful of dry food since Spot is starving to death. Regarding what I said in yesterday's entry, I really oughtn't expect people to even want my company in any regard because that would mean giving up friends, famliy and lots of other things tangible and intangible and my life experience has simply shown me that I am not that good enough by any stretch of the imagination. I was in another apartment, the kitchen was being renovated, painted red-orange and the counters and appliances were covered in masking tape. My companions in the dream were this one woman with red hair and a round face who was married and someone who I vaguely remember that I can best describe as a fairy godmother because she or he kept giving me advice. The red haired woman was decorating for Christmas amidst the mess of renovation. She was assembling a music box that was a ski lift with four figurines and it played a song which doesn't come to mind at the moment but I know it was a piece of music that is decidedly non-holiday oriented by any stretch of the imagination but very familiar. Conscious memory keeps telling me the tune is "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" but that just seems like a cop out so I can continue writing. The main room had three beds packed in tightly for all of us. The red haired woman had retired to bed, lying on her stomach tinkering with the ski lift musicbox and I sat on my bed staring at the wall. The fairy godmother kept whispering in my ear, "You have nothing to lose. She does like you." I whispered, "But she's married" and turned to look the fairy godmother in the face but she was nowhere to be found. A voice in my left ear said, "She's not that married. All you have to do is kiss her toes." Three times I tried to kiss her toes, once while she was distracted, once while she was sleeping and while she was perfectly aware of my intentions but she always pulled away or kicked me in the forehead. Feeling frustrated and cheated I went into the kitchen. Several rednecks were standing in the kitchen by the back door. Outside I could see a big river flowing serenely below through the winter. They ignored me to a point while they went outside so I followed them out of curiousity. The story being bandied about between them was simple, "The Arkansas River was always calm because the curse had been lifted but today the curse would be lifted when five great sticks of Right Guard came down from the heavens and rolled across its surface bringing back the raging white water of yore." As the redneck spoke I could see the deodorant come down from the sky the size of semi trucks. As the water flowed beneath their chalky surufaces it became agitated and flowed faster until the whole current was a white, foamy torrent. We crossed the river on four telegraph wires which were strapped together making a bridge only six inches wide and covered in ice. I grabbed the sides, balanced myself and pulled myself forward sliding on the ice behind the folks. On the other side I found myself at work dealing with an irritating woman who decided she would send in one application but all the requirements sent in were hers and the requirements of her friends who also wanted loans. The process seemed to be fairly normal with telling the customer what I needed and about the deadlines but once she said "How many overdrafts does my friend have?" knocked me for a loop. All of a sudden I told the customer I needed her to send in a dozen eggs before the hour was up otherwise I would be unable to process and approve the loans. I left the office quickly and realized when I moved to the renovated apartment it made the drive take that much longer which meant I had to wake up that much earlier which meant I screwed myself out of ten minutes of sleep. Frustration subsided when I reminded myself I was leaving for the day rather than coming into work so I got in the car and started driving home, timing the journey, to see how bad the commute would be in the morning. Turns out I kept getting lost and by the time I got home it was dark. The redhaired woman was gone, the apartment was dark and I fell asleep on the sofa feeling alone. While waking up from dreaming and falling into deeper sleep in the dream (see, when one is awake in the real world one's dream avatar is asleep in the dream world) I felt my arms crossed over my chest and in my arms were two dozen eggs which vanished once I woke up. Lately I've been going over the whole being dead kind of solipsism mostly because of Spot. Spot looks a lot like Cleo who was my father's cat and the first cat that I knew. I wouldn't be surprised if I started meeting folks who were very similar to other dead or missing people who tangented or involved themselves in my life. I wish I understood why the women in my dreams were always redheads. Brunettes or black haired chicks being a distant second and blondes not even making a showing. I reckon I figured out what I'm getting for the rest of Christmas gifts for someone that I alluded to in the previous entry. Funny thing about the word "reckon", it only entered my vocabulary a few weeks after meeting Raisinhead for the first time. She was always going on about how her ex-boyfriend's family was so southern using "reckon", "yonto" and "fixin' to" that I picked up the former in common parlance while the latter two were just used to irritate her in addition to reading her French books with a Hank Hill voice butchering the language of cowardice. Actually it will be a few things, one will reference something from their youth and the other one will just be strange with an offer for more. That's pretty much it. Back to the gift, the gift is just more evidence of the cool things which are in NYC and NJ. Let's see if I can make this entry any more haphazard. Sunday was boring, I went out and spoke briefly to maribou, I played Gauntlet Dark Legacy, I bought the first book in Brin's Uplift series, thought of what caused the ice age in the campaign that is kicking around my head now and again, I ate and realized how low on seltzer I am which must be remedied after work, I went through my site logs, I had quality time with Spot, I went to the Video Game Exchange but didn't find anything in my wallet's price range, set up my Lambda script so spivak will connect every night at midnight eastern time (ten mountain time), had a dirty thought about having my index and forefinger up a pussy feeling that rough speedbump along the top of the vagina while my mouth sucks on the clit and the leg beneath my body is rubbing against my leg and boner. Lately I've been obsessing over my various maladies. I think they're coming to the forefront after the broken tooth took center stage for so long and had nigh-legendary pain. Since my fucked up weekends earlier in November I've had achy pain in my right arm just below the elbow which I thought was simply muscles redeveloping after atrophy but the pain has persisted and I think it may be strained and slowly healing and the healing process being hampered by certain solitary pursuits like today. A couple of times I had chest pain, a line of pain which would pulse once and force me to sit down or stand stock still waiting for the disturbance to end. My left arm doesn't hurt, my pulse doesn't quicken or become arrhythmic and I'm able to breathe normally. In the past I've had times when I would not be able to breathe deeply because it hurt so I am thinking this may simply be an extention of that pain or an evolution of that particular malady. The worst one I had was the Saturday night before Brian came around and I was sitting in the Birds rocking chair when maribou asked me to pass her the bookbag but I just froze up and waited for the pain to stop. Minutes later I got up and looked in the mirror and my face wasn't flush and my pulse was alright. The back pain from last weekend has subsided but now and again if I push my luck it will remind me that I should take it easy so it can heal properly. Time to shower, read then bed. Good night. Came home and the apartment was a mess because the toilet and the shower backed up brown filth all over a third of my bedroom. Fortunately almost everything can be cleaned and only a wee bit has to be thrown out. When I got to the rental office the door handle broke off in my hand while I was getting out of my car. The door has to be replaced now which means going into my saved money. I am irritated. Spot's yowling in the kitchen because I blocked it off so that way she doesn't run outside and run away to wherever because she's my happy kitty and no one else's kitty. Fucking hell. Just fucking hell. My father's friend killed himself with a nailgun and his friend died of fucking cancer and one of his employees stole seven hundred motherfucking dollars from his moneybag. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Son of a bitch. God fucking damn it. God fucking damn it. Fuck you and eat shit and rot in hell. and... Deep sigh. I'm angry at everyone. There's nothing I can do. I can't bring myself to call my father because it would not do a damned thing for better or worse. Going over my logs pissed me off too but that's really fucking minor. What the hell is next? There's no way to even get any company or whatever because it is not me. There's god damned spivak again projecting other people's tragedies on him, look how it affects me rather than the person who's suffering through it. This whole fucking night is a god damned waste. I just want my fucking car door fixed RIGHTNOW, I don't want to fucking wait until Saturday to get a god damned fucking estimate. I want my apartment clean and dry RIGHTNOW. I want my father's friends to be alive and dying of old fucking age. I want to be home in New Jersey so I can do the funerals with my father. I'm fucking sick of it out here. My life is so god damned impotent and a failure on so many levels. anger does things, from the berg's-eye-view-dept Wired News 10:00 PM Dec 02, 2002 PT Goatse 'It' Guy Breaks Silence, Wind First he turned down Jon Katz. Then he said no to Harry Knowles. For years, Goatse Man, the mysterious Net celebrity who is featured at a popular website frequently featured on Slashdot, refused all interview requests, including those from the two titans of internet media. But Goatse Man, whose fame continues to grow even as he eschews the media spotlight, has finally granted his first sitdown with a reporter, albeit from an unlikely publication. The interview with the New York Times (free reg), the old gray lady of printed media, will be published Friday. In that article, Goatse Man reveals he was, as many of his "fans" had guessed, under the influence of drugs during the famous set of photographs lifted from Stile, but exactly what he took, editors at the New York Times aren't saying; all is revealed in the interview. The best guess is amyl nitrate, according to online scuttlebutt. "It sure as hell wasn't aspirin," said Gerald Boyd, the managing editor who conducted the interview. Goatse Man became an Internet celebrity after being featured in a set of forty ass-stretching pics taken by his wife for USENET. After the pictures debuted in 1998, Goatse Man quickly shot to Net celebrity, largely because the url is passed around to unsuspecting surfers. Very little is known about Goatse Man, Phil to his friends, except he's married, lives a stable life and has an MCSE; Goatse.cx isn't revealing any details. The New York Times claims the interview is his first. The interview contains a number of interesting tidbits, including details on how Hollywood came calling as Goatse Man's online celebrity grew. Besides inquiries from Letterman and Leno, MTV talked about doing a pilot show. The Farrelly brothers, directors of hit comedies There's Something About Mary and Shallow Hal, were thinking of offering him a role, but got cold feet when they found out the pictures weren't photoshopped. According to Boyd, Phil turned down Letterman and Leno because he's cognizant that his fame relies on an air of mystique. He is different things to different people. Too much exposure would cause his star to quickly fade. "He's pretty level-headed about all this," said Boyd. "He's very funny and is a good sport about it all." But, of course, in true Hollywood style, he now has an agent, Boyd added. Goatse Man is amused that people have t-shirts and coffee mugs decorated with his ass, but avoids Slashdot and Kuro5hin "because he's heard from friends there's some very weird stuff there," Boyd said. Phil also reveals how the pictures were taken in the first place. He's a friend of Robert Malda, the editor in chief of Slashdot. The pair went to watch some hardcore gay porn being taped one day, and a couple of spots happened to be open. Both he and Malda were photographed but only Goatse Man's wife caught the magic of the moment. Malda's pictures ended up at a small but increasingly popular website called lemonparty.org. The Goatse interview is being heavily promoted by the New York Times, which has plastered New York City with Goatse posters. "We've been hyping this pretty big," Boyd said. "There's certainly been some buzz. I'm excited about it. I think people will get a kick out of it." The paper scored the interview because someone on staff was an old classmate of Phil's. Goatse.cx has cautioned him not to speak to the press, but Goatse Man figured a newspaper that requires free registration would turn off every privacy nut that reloads slashdot every five minutes at their despairing and menial help desk jobs. "Goatse.cx is not incredibly psyched about the amyl nitrate rumors," Boyd said. Boyd said Phil is not a resident of San Francisco's Tenderloin district nor would he reveal any more about this rising star except that Goatse Man didn't need any help fitting a fire hydrant inside himself. The revelation that he wasn't taking amyl nitrate doesn't trouble his straight fans, who simply don't believe him. "I don't care what they say," said Rev. Samuel, who sells a line of Goatse-themed 'Stretch Different' T-shirts. "Duuude. Look at him. Just look at him. Oh sweet Jesus, my eyes." Yesterday's entry covers a lot of ground. You can either read the funny or read the lame bullshit about my life. I also did another rip-off strip. I am tired. I didn't sleep until two in the morning and that made the day drag very slowly. I took Spot to work, leaving her in the car and checking on her every hour until lunch when I came home and saw the entire mess was cleaned up. By the time I finally got to sleep I had Spot lying against my knee, her solid and comforting warmth helping me relax and finally fall asleep. I just want to read Sundivers, play Gauntlet Dark Legacy and keep away from other people. Looking at the site logs for heptapod.org only makes me more annoyed and confounded when I see my site visited by one person on a regular basis but rarely read by another person. maribou said it best before we got irreconcilably pissed at each other that the other person does not want to look at my site since it's devoted to being frustrated with that person. Nothing new to me, just another thing I beat myself up about but kept it unsaid for fear of shame. Thanks. This entry is going to irritate my sister. While driving home from work to the supermarket I remembered that I'm a lousy fucking lay when I am wearing a rubber. Wearing one of those is like wearing blinders, unable to aim and get in the right place, unable to feel anything but yourself and the tight rubber and all that kind of stuff. A couple of times with Malyss I almost fudgepacked her because I just couldn't aim for the right area which only served to irritate her and privately amuse me. Sure some people like them because it desensitizes them so they don't spurt in the first five seconds and supposedly the rolled up part acts like a cockring. How is anyone ever going to learn? Sure nowadays folks insist on them because of all the diseases going around and general and people would tend to distrust someone regardless of how much they love that person. Back when I was with Kinja the first few times were with rubbers and it was the same annoying bumping followed by the annoyed cuntspread all chicks do when they just want to get it over with or get it in motion. One night she asked me to stay at her place while her husband was away and I didn't have any on me and she wanted to do it right then and there so we engaged in thrills and spills. God looks out for morons who cheat, children and drunks. I came in her twice but she was on the rag both times and I was still lucky but I dropped at least sixty bucks on pregnancy tests because Kinja would complain, "spivak my nipples are really dark and my tits feel swollen" or "I threw up this morning" but each time it was a false alarm. Whew. I've only had good sex once while wearing a rubber, or a whole box of them due to the frequency, but I'm figuring that particular session was a once in a lifetime experience. The other times I was merely adequate and had to make up for it eating box or being told to go after the g-spot which made me think that I was going to be completely incapable of making this woman by cum thrusting my rod in her and not feeling like Tarzan. Time may tell, if there is another time. Shrug. When I do wear a condom I feel like I'm just having sex for procreation since it ends up being so fumbly and over so quick but when it's bareback I can gauge where I'm at and feel everything going on "down there". For me it's not about "It feels better that way" but it works better that way and I mean it works better that way for me and her whomever "her" may be. On another note, scrubbing bubbles really do work. I cleaned up dried up sewage from my shower by spraying them all over the shower and rinsing with hot water about ten minutes later leaving shiny white tile. The elation was so great I almost believed in God before realizing scrubbing bubbles are the creation of man and would not have been created in a world which is lorded over by a divine entity. Let this be considered a slightly happier entry. Funny that I'm posting this after posting how I feel impotent in the other entry. Still doesn't change that feeling though. oh you're so mean Yes, I am. Thank you. So Jaybird and I were waiting for maribou to come home from work wondering what was keeping her. Anyway around seven thirty maribou calls us and says that she was waiting outside behind the store for Jaybird to come along and pick her up. She forgot that she had the car today because Jaybird was feeling under the weather. Hee hee hee Z*I*N*G the site I have a gimmick for heptapod.org in January since I ran out of decent or semi-decent logos for the top of the page. Whee! this is npr Those fuckers at NPR did it again but this time I was too swift and I didn't need a certain someone's whiskers in the face to get me up and out of bed in the morning. Every so often when there's a ten minute story being run at the thirty minute block at six a.m. NPR forgets to do a time check. Of course I oughtn't rely on a time check and just turn the alarm clock around so I am sure of the time. Gives me half a mind to demand half my donation back from KRCC to protest the egregious lack of a time check every now and again. money So you want to get a loan at my job? I'd advise against it because in the end you'd be better off saving your pennies. Everyone wants to borrow the maximum of five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars has a fee of one hundred and fifty dollars which makes total payback at the time of the upcoming pay cycle. It sucks. Wait, it gets better. Say you wanted to repay that loan but in the smallest increments possible, believe me many people do this, then by the time the loan's paid off you will have paid $1,925 for a fucking five hundred dollar loan. That's fourteen hundred and twenty five dollars you could've used for anything else. Lemme show you how I got the figure of $1,925. You borrow the loan. You can refinance it, extending the loan four times, just for the fee which is $150. 150 x 4 = 600. The fifth refinance you must start paying down by adding on fifty dollars at the very least so this refinance is 200 dollars. After that you'll owe 185, 155, 140, 125, 110, 95, 80 and the payoff at 65 dollars. Some folks are dependent on these loans or just like the loans so much they'll take out loans at other processing centers. Their bank statements are a sight to see. spot Spot has a charming habit of jumping on the ledge by the front door, poking her head through the curtains and meowing at me as if she wants to come out, say hello and chat or help with the laundry. Silly kitty. disappointment I regret to inform you, gentle reader, that I left the brief notes I took early this morning at work regarding a nightmare from Thursday morning so I will not be writing it up for your reading pleasure until the next entry. more money It happens this week that I had exceeded myself once again at work and was in line to get a big bonus but it turns out that the five errors on my month's history held me back. Surprisingly enough my department manager went to bat for me, without me knowing, to get me the bonus or anything in recognition for my efforts during the month of November. I'm getting an extra hundred bucks instead of the extra three hundred bucks that I could've gotten except I had five errors out of heaven knows how many transactions I processed. Definitely triple figures because I complete about twenty a day. This certainly takes the edge off thinking I was screwing up or they were looking for ways to fire me and after hearing I'd get a little something my mood changed considerably since I had to deal with three pushy customers. One kept dicking around pretending to get me in contact with human resources to verify her employment while badgering me with "Why haven't you approved me yet?" This other customer was pissy because every time I called his work he had "just stepped out", the gentleman who always answered the phone was the same guy who completed an employment verification form and when I checked the company's number with directory assistance the number was completely different. Finally there was this one chick who had the audacity to claim a cell phone as her work telephone number even though her voicemail greeting was her talking in a soft voice with negro gospel music playing in the background. What fucking kind of doctor's office has that? So I checked directory assistance, which is my friend despite being the directory assistance for McCloud which really sucks and they have shitty operators, got the real number and learned the woman was fired last week. When I confronted the customer with this piece of information she had the audacity to say "Well you all can rip up my application I doan want it no mo'" and I was very close to hissing, "Too late nigger, I already denied you." Of course it was because she was a fucking liar, it had nothing to do with her particular heritage. time Ever since I returned from work time has been moving r e a l l y s s l l o o w w . I read the Pro Wrestling Torch, Daily Rotten, slashdot, Jerkcity and couple other sites then when I checked the time only fifteen minutes had passed. When I checked the clock on my computer, which is synched with the atomic clock in Denver because I like it that way, I figured it was at least a half hour away from going upstairs to bother Jaybird and maribou but there's at least an hour and a half left. I need quarters, I reckon I'm going to bug them early about getting my nickels and dimes made into quarters so my laundry can be dry. stupid Know what's really fucking stupid? People who insist on signing their emails, posts and messages when their fucking username is obvious in the header of the message. This question's stupid too. Do porn stars get pee shy when they're in movies that require them to relieve themselves on someone else? Okay, it's the day the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. Okay, I really should learn to let shit lie or to get answers to my satisfaction when facts and stories are relevant rather than coming out of the blue five months later with an extremely lazy l'esprit d'dscalier. Maybe it's just picking words apart or maybe I do have a rational point to make but for what reason? Plus I have to figure in the negative judgement applied to me by the person in question, Devo obviously for those of you living under a rock, or by you gentle reader as inferred from a recent discussion with one of my gentle readers. Okay, I just had a big mood change from troubled to ambivalent which bothers me. Okay, the setting was back in New Jersey at the small park up the road from my old residence. This park was a big place in my childhood because it's where my mother would shuffle my sister and myself off to during the summer since she didn't want us around though she said she didn't want us wasting our lives inside watching TV, being noisy or making a mess of the house. After we moved in the town I lived two minutes away from the park and would spend hours there playing with my friends, football or building snow forts out of the plowed snow piles from the nearby parking lot or going there late at night just to be someplace that I shouldn't be late at night. One thing that always came to mind about this park was it had the biggest view of the sky. All the other places were simply blocked by the multitudes of trees or tightly packed houses. Okay, enough preamble. Nightmare. Okay, I was walking through the park at night and the clouds were luminous from moonlight. I couldn't see the moon anywhere but there was no other explanation for the soft, blue light that made the clouds glow in the sky. What made them strange besides their luminescence were the shapes they formed, each one looked like a two dimensional representation of world leaders from past and present. Most notably were Emperor Hirohito, Adolph Hitler, Churchill, Stalin, FDR, Gorbachev and many others clustered together like the Beatles were casting the cover for Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club II. What stood out from this cloudy, cardboard crowd was a huge skull that resembled the Samhain slash Danzig logo but it was much more colorful rather than being a collection of blues, grays and wisps of white but a fleshy pink with bloody edges around the upper part of the mouth. Their eyes were upon me and that was definitely not a good feeling. Okay, I kept looking for cover hoping the shade of a tree would spare me from whatever wrath was building in the heavens among that assembly but it only turned into darting around an open field like a mouse trying to evade a hungry hawk. Each time I glanced behind I saw this heavenly host still glaring down at me with their mouths moving silently which made me imagine their voices were like thunder. They were judging me. Okay, once I got closer to the fence which surrounds this playground I came across people who wanted nothing to do with a madman who kept crying about things in the sky and those who did give me the time of day, okay night, would become very pissed at me since they didn't see a damned thing even though in my eyes the clouds now glowed with the full brilliance of a full moon casting long blue shadows on the grass. There was one person who did see the horror in the skies and he or she started running away towards the parking lot. Okay, around this time the sky began to lighten with an approaching dawn which I associated with having someone else who could see what I saw above the earth. Only now in the blue to pink light of the rising sun the skull was only more fearsome and intent now that it realized its time of pursuit was becoming short and the time for playing around had come to an end. Tree branches began snapping loudly like the crack of thunder falling down like wooden lightning bolts from the surrounding trees nearly hitting me and the person running ahead of me. Okay, that didn't really read as a nightmare. Reckon you had to be there. Okay, the only things I have planned for the weekend are driving over to this auto body place to get an estimate on replacing my car door followed by doing laundry which will be pleasant since I have something to read in the meantime and if I end up finishing that tonight then I can just run over to maribou's store and pick up the next book in the series. Finally I have to pay my bills and maybe do some food shopping. Every time I think that I should go out somewhere that has the potential for socialization I just think to myself that I don't have the money for such shenanigans even though I do have that kind of money but I'm just being a penny pinching miser. Okay, this entry is finished. Friday night I did something that I'm sure most homicide investigators will use to prove in the event of a suspicious and untimely death for yours truly, gentle reader, was not the suicide it appears to be because of the long range planning I have made for this site that stretches at least to June of 2003. No, this stuff isn't uploaded under files like february03.html or anything nor are my plans exciting except there will be a small change in presentation here. Yes, I will still write all the HTML by hand then upload it instead of using some fancypants blog script or switch to using something completely ghey. It felt surreal setting up those pages. Today I discovered the identity of the person with the Denver address. I'm surprised since I was thinking it was someone else that I don't speak with anymore. The unique URL I sent this person to was just for fun and to see how frequently they view my page. I really like Gauntlet Dark Legacy (GDL [heh, looks like some slashdot acronym]) even though it's mindless combat with bombs, keys, generators and all that from the original game but it's just too damn cool. I don't even mind in the sky world while flying around on platforms one can see the wallpaper of the walls which are supposed to give the illusion of distance and horizon. Just wish I had someone who would play with me. Spot has tried, bless her little heart, but she gets easily distracted and runs up to the television screen to bat her character. I'm playing the Joker but I started with the Medusa and I'll probably play the Dwarf and the Hyena when I unlock the Hyena. The highlight of my day was realizing I could change the color of the character, this aesthetic was very important since the first slot is reserved for yellow and all the yellow characters are negroes. While I was playing GDL earlier as the Medusa who is a sexy little snake but has no petrification attacks like I would expect I remember those heady days of being a freshman in high school playing Gauntlet in the back room at Dave's Sweet Shop. The worst insult anyone could receive was being forced to play the Valkyre because playing the Valkyre means the other characters corner you and make rape jokes. Sigh. I always played the Wizard. My father sent me a cordless phone which will make talking on the phone, when I'm not online, much easier on me because I'll be able to go to the can without making people wait or make sure stuff doesn't burn in the kitchen when I'm frying it up in the pan because I'll never make you forget that I'm paying for this god damned call. I still have things to do and I really don't want to do anything. I want to shut myself off from the world except when I work which means that I'll have money to avoid the rest of the world. If you don't already know, I'm a big fan of the comic Cerebus the Aardvark. Due to the fact that the black and white comics industry went bust about a decade ago which means there's less shelf space put aside for niche comics so they become the comics you can only get when you have a bag at a shop and you have four other titles which you collect on a regular basis. There's a story late in Cerebus where he is living in a state-run tavern and he eventually becomes the bartender. What leads up to him becoming the bartender are his friends or acquaintances or drinking buddies going south to Palnu leaving Cerebus behind in an increasingly emptier bar. This story hit me as I was coming back home from a walk. The Olympics guy has the driveway and according to maribou who heard from the leasing agent at the rental office he's been here for fourteen years which is why he has the driveway in addition to having the most expensive and biggest apartment in the building. I remembered writing recently about being afraid of the Birds moving away. My mind ran out a scenario of me fourteen years from now, the Birds have their own life in a house over in Rockrimmon with their adopted black kid named Chef, the Olympics guy having moved away to greener pastures or having been killed by his girlfriend who isn't a girlfriend but they sure do fight like they have that kind of relationship stabbed him to death and I'm still in the basement without any company. No, I'm not throwing a pity party for me. Of course I have nothing holding me back from returning to New Jersey other than some pipe dream which seems to have the same probability of occuring as oxygen spontaneously becoming iron. But if I did return to New Jersey then I'd just become a follower, on call if the friends of my friends aren't around and there just isn't anyone else to hang out. Out here I feel like I am my own person even though I don't have much of a life to take full advantage of being myself for the sake of myself. Most times I think I'd be happier back there and other times I feel like I'd end up in the same rut except I'd have less emotional abuse. Maybe I don't go out because I don't want to end up in the same rut out here. Lately I've been muttering to myself, "I want to go home" and I think that I don't want to go home but I want to feel like I am at home. Not home where I have my father dealing with his complex and fragile relationship with his wife and two fat labradors who whine on Sunday morning while a gay cat bothers me in the bathroom. Just to feel comfortable and drop all formality, to know no matter how much of an asshole I am or how vicious some things can sound when I'm not thinking about my words. This is not an indictment on anyone because I know one of my readers is probably very sensitive and stuff. I've been out in Colorado Springs for a little more than a year and it seems like I've been here for at least five years. I feel too down to drink. If I felt angry or happy then I'd drink but right now that's not an option of any sort. nigga please This movement among the Jews is not new. From the days of Spartacus-Weishaupt to those of Karl Marx, and down to Trotsky (Russia), Bela Kun (Hungary), Rosa Luxembourg (Germany), and Emma Goldman (United States)... this worldwide conspiracy for the overthrow of civilisation and for the reconstitution of society on the basis of arrested development, of envious malevolence, and impossible equality, has been steadily growing. It has been the mainspring of every subversive movement during the 19th century; and now at last this band of extraordinary personalities from the underworld of the great cities of Europe and America have gripped the Russian people by the hair of their heads and have become practically the undisputed masters of that enormous empire." Whatever "this movement" may be since the quote seems to be out of context but The Guardian has a keen article covering Mr. Churchill's less than memorable quotes throughout his career. Sniff. To think all I have are my trolls on slashdot and old fanfic from *anonymous. good news I have some good news. It seems that the chest pains that I've had are also happening on the right side of my body but they seem to be more pronounced on the left side. This makes me happy since it's probably something else, like being a complete fat ass, rather than my ticker getting ready to give up the ghost. randomness One of the most touching scenes in movies has to be in It's a Wonderful Life. It's when Uncle Billy just got chewed out by George and he slumps on his desk crying and the little squirrel scampers up and puts his paws on Uncle Billy's arm. Had the scene been done with a dog or even a kitty it would've been forced and only added to the sweetness of the movie but a squirrel? A wee little squirrel? Who'd expect that? I don't know if it was scripted or not but that is certainly my most favorite scene from any movie. recognition There's one thing that I want in my life and that is recognition. Positive recognition. I'm a master at generating negative feedback, most times I thrive upon it because it allows me to delineate my enemies from my allies by the kind of passions I stir in each of those groups. There are times among my friends where I'll perceive subtle things, regardless of anyone's assertations that they are not playing games or hiding things, which make me panic and fear the erosion of that relationship. Some people look down their nose at me when I am trying to elicit a positive response for reassurance, others simply ignore it and chalk it up to being needy or others simply acquiesce and give their meaningless pittance with no heart behind it because they know from experience that it will shut me up and keep me from pestering them even more in hopes of getting a response. Most times I feel like I'm not heard or that my words aren't valid in the eyes of other, that my words don't make people question themselves or their own outlooks or give them pause when they try to refute any of my arguments as being mere applications of spivak's razor or allowing my emotions to control my actions. I am always deeply shamed by the latter, moreso when others bring it to my attention for the simple fact of helping me better myself through self knowledge. I feel like I am not heard when others are talking and I want to add something to their conversation and it's ignored, when I give of myself in long winded emails or entries and there is little or no response which ends up being explained as awkwardness from my intensity or when I am at work speaking to clients and they just talk over me or will not listen. Of course I understand it when I tell the folks they were approved and all they want to hear about is the money but the other times it does wear on me. There, I stated my case using strangers and intimates as examples. At least I have this site where I can vent but I don't have many readers and even then they are readers at their own discretion. Some who a dislike or ambivalence towards me, the few who genuinely like (not love [zing]) me and the others which I can not categorize since my head hurts right now. Most times the ambivalence bothers me. Either love me or hate me. That's why sometimes I find myself wondering if I should've stayed with Kinja because at least I knew where I stood with her and she certainly knew where she stood with me. Plus there was a lot of sex but sex always gets turned around into where I'm the pervert, I'm the licentious satyr who only wants sex or makes women feel used for sex or just comes on while women just. aren't. in. the. mood. Maybe I shouldn't use the word pervert since the things I do or I am into are relatively vanilla considering what other people have done or will do in their lifetime. Peanut butter and jelly using strawberry jelly is not as good as using grape jelly. Strawberry jelly has less body, is relatively dry compared to grape jelly and completely lacking in a strawberry flavor. Maybe strawberries don't have a strong flavor like grapes but I was expecting something a bit more expressive than what I received from strawberry jelly. As you may have known I wrote a parody of this article but transposed the Goatse Guy for Ellen Feiss. The fun part is the other night I was talking with Kylie and asked her to check out goatse.cx and she opened the URL without knowing what lay within that site. Her reaction was priceless. Fire hydrant sized ass-plug: $49.99. Digital camera: $259.99. Someone looking at goatse.cx: Priceless. Spot has a lovely little game that she plays with me. Tag! Most times she plays this game at night when she's all wired and her eyes are shining red in the darkness. She'll sit back on her haunches, wave out her arms and swat at me then pounce away wondering why I'm not following her in her wee game of tag. |
The fact that the sun is so close to rising every time I go to work in the morning annoys me. Back in October just before the timeslip the sky was very dark all the way to work even when I got there just as NPR was rattling off their credits to its listeners. Now there's always a pink slash salmon glow instead of a deep purple twilight maybe with a hint of gold off to the southeast. I'm certain come solstice or beyond the skies will not be getting any darker in the morning. my car door I dropped off my car to have the door looked at and as I surmised the door will have to be replaced since the repairs would cost at least three hundred dollars in labor. Plus the metal that held the side view mirror in place is pretty torn up and using large washers will not do the trick. Well it turns out that they can't find a door but they're going to be checking down in Pueblo to see if any sites have spare driver side doors for a 1991 Pontiac Grand Am. I'm not going to keep my fingers crossed for this one. Speaking of rides, I was lucky and was able to get a ride off this one woman from work who I always though of being a bitch which surprised me and she offered to drive me to work since she lives around here and has the same work schedule. One thing she told me was that people come out to Colorado Springs and they get stuck out here. Good lord. I miss the food back in New Jersey. There are relatively few places where one can socialize with other people. Stuck? Maybe it's something psychological that folks see the big mountains to the west and decide this is as far as they can go so they settle down. It's almost as insidious as the Kansas rest areas that are spaced too far apart and folks just run out of gas and just kinda figure it's a good enough place to stop. This must be overcome. After work I spoke with my sister and it was good to hear a familiar voice with a familiar accent. I asked her if she ever saw goatse.cx or lemonparty.org, telling her they're really funny sites, then emailed her the URLs. My mother's computer has been acting up but I don't know why and I lack the patience to do long distance help desk even though that'd mean my sister would check out those sites and have the obvious and hilarious reaction. I was nice and sent her this picture because it's funny. It's my birthday. Hooray. Something that I've noticed ever since I've been out here is the fact I haven't had a case of the hiccups even though I'm still shovelling it in, gulping my food and being a fatass. I'm baffled regarding why I haven't had a case of the hiccups when they used to plague me back in New Jersey. Speaking of being a fatass I'm really hungry right now. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear spi... *BLAM* thud. and then... I sat drying myself on the edge of my bed watching Spot be a little puppethead, sitting behind the cat carrier, staring at everything that might move while I sung Glycerine to myself. That moment felt very real, like the videotape inside my head was writing down a memory for the future. My indelible impression of Spot upon my soul. While I was aware of my remembering I remembered back to a time with Kinja, heh I almost called her Stacy, one autumn where we were sitting out on a park bench at some nature area past Morristown. It was growing dark and a couple yards away was a little girl playing with her lab and her father in the leaves. I told Stacy that little girl is making a memory that will last her a lifetime even when she's old and gray of that autumn day with her playful friend. Eight months later Kinja calls me out on one of her vampire meetings, vampire because she was always wanting to meet me late at night. I figure she was doing all this behind her current (i believe he's still current) husband's back when he wasn't her husband yet after they met at the gym which is what I've inferred from what little she told me. We're on the side of Route 287 in a park that's a half mile away from her place and she's lying on her stomach on the platform of a slide and I'm rubbing her back. She tells me that she'll always remember this even when she's old and gray because I could still show so much love to her after how shitty we were to each other. Going back even further is that quiet night in May when I'm lying on the grass with a cinnamon colored girl who insists on pressing up against me while I watch the sunset over the garage and trees of Raisin Acres when I was feeling really down and stressed about going to work the next day in addition to going home to face whatever my mother had running through her head. It was a moment of joy. Pun intended. Of course there was a single moment on a bridge where I'm pointing out Mars and saying how there was a global duststorm raging across its ruddy face and then pointing out Scorpio. I was halfway to my destination, also I was deluding myself. Still I remember it. I still remember not hearing the first time, wondering if it was forced and just said to keep me from getting all intense and bent out of shape. Those words came out of the blue and nearly whizzed over my head. These memories make me teary eyed because they're all gone, just memories, and because of their nature I am unable to erase them and what gives me that chokey feeling in my throat is they will never ever happen again. This is my gift to myself on my thirty second birthday. At least there's Spot, playing tag and galloping around the apartment because she can and wonders why the bigger, fatter, hairier, smellier cat isn't engaging in her merry game. This entry is finished. not yet The entry's not finished because I found an unintentional pun and it made me laugh. Oh if only my birthday lasted thirty seconds. No more, no less. I'm playing Orion right now because it's a wonderful funeral dirge. My thirty second birthday is over and I think it was much shorter than that pun would imply because I was working and had minimal contact with other people. Dinner and wrestling with the Birds was lovely and wonderful and amazing and on Friday I'm going to go out drinking because I fucking can go out drinking because it's my fucking gift to myself because I know I'm slowly fading away from everyone's consciousness. If I'm not constantly in someone's face or if someone doesn't love me then the more I lose tangibility becoming part of the background radiation from that fateful day when two great powers unleashed a plutonium hell. Your family, our family, went into a vault where they waited for the surface to be livable once again. Now they need a water chip and you must ride the moon worm to claim the right as emperor of the big stall at the food court. Ever notice how people sometimes write down last year for a couple weeks after the beginning of the new year? Lately I've been screwing up writing 2003 or some variation thereof instead of writing the correct 2002 or some variation thereof. Hopefully this will stick, I'll keep an eye out so no important things are dated a year in advance and that once the new year begins I will not mess up and write down two thousand and two. One thing irritated me. The radio stations were wishing "Happy Holidays". Jesus fucking Christ. I'm in god damned Colorado where the population of non-christians is negligible. Why the fuck are they avoiding the dreaded oath, the maligned epithet of "Merry Christmas"? Isn't Christmas secularized enough to be a holiday that anyone can participate in without having to give homage to Jesus Christ? Jaybird. Giving Christmas a new name like Saturnalia or Jaybird or something would just be gh3y. Everyone knows it's Christmas, Santa would love to stop by the Jewish and etc. houses but the elven union has lobbied against it since the board of directors is old school and funded by Focus on the Family who isn't too keen on the idea of flying fat men, bisexual midgets with Spock ears and caribou which only serve to stifle the oil drilling above the arctic circle. Oh yeah, NPR was advertising some gay art exhibit. What the hell is so different in gay art than in straight art? If one attends will one see nothing but Tom of Finland pictures or this? And if there aren't any paintings like that and just sculptures or paintings that anyone could make regardless of their sexual orientation would they feel gypped? WHERE'S MY FIFTY FOOT CERAMIC PENIS WITH CHRISTMAS LIGHTS WHILE JUDY GARLAND SINGS IN THE BACKGROUND??? THIS IS NOT GAY ART!!! FUCKING LANDSCAPES I WANT MY COCKSCAPES!!! Same goes for you black and meskin artists. If you have talent they don't care if you bottom or eat watermelon tacos. Of course I have no talent. LOOK AT ME I'M STRAIGHT!!! TITS TITS TITS!!! After I got home two hours early from work I checked out a message board where I was banned and had to make a new username in order to post. There was a thread about bizarre Africa^H^H^H^H^H^H black names and the reason behind them. The thread was finished when one woman posted "I asked a black friend about the name and she said 'well it's just pretty'." Of course some black guy had to get all upset and angry which only makes me want to make someone even more upset and even more angry. Apparently being critical of black people or commenting on some of their absurdities makes one racist. There was one person posted the following: I am the human resources manager for a large company. My job is to find and hire the best-educated, best-qualified people who have a team-player attitude and can get along with others. My experience has been that, in general, when I see a name like Queshonda or Labwiesha, I will probably be dealing with a lower-class type, one who quite often has an "attitude". The name is a big red flag, and usually these applications just get tossed or buried. Holy shit. One, that person's an idiot for posting that and two that person's an idiot for posting that, and three, Jaybird. Of course most people started calling this person an asshole and rightly so, if he is indeed telling the truth and not trolling or pushing buttons and if he was trolling it certainly was brilliant because it brought out all the bleeding heart white people who feel the need to be the knight in shining armor for blacks who are unable to defend themselves properly against the vicious white man who once enslaved their ancestors. At least the fucking klan comes right out and says they hate black people. Jaybird. These people wrap up their racism in caring and sharing and oh my god that's wrong and not my fight but hey I'm going to shout off my big fat fucking mouth anyway even though no one asked me. Hurr, chocolate chip cookies. I decided to troll by paraphrasing American History X with "straighten up and fly right, slavery was four hundred years ago" which garnered a pathetic response which almost prompted me to post "Well, I guess it's back to burning stars of David on the lawns of Asian families" since in their righteous anger they wouldn't understand I was being absurd for the sake of absurdity. Golly, I thought I wouldn't have any content for this entry. At least I didn't complain about the people who mean something in my existence or whine about how my life isn't living up to my standards. much later I'm a tempest in a teapot right now and I reckon I'm going to go out despite Spot's protests that I'm never around and she feels abandoned. Yeah kitty, at least you see me once a day. There are folks who are as important as you in my life who I am lucky to see twice a year. Once in a lifetime. Of course Spot looks at me, tags me with her wee little white paw and meows, "Schmuck." Exactly what I was thinking. There will be an entry here but I'm working on something at the moment. Please check December 2002 archives for the previous entries. Thank you for your patience. it works What I did now works. I'll post a real entry before midnight eastern time. Once again, thank you for your patience. the entry I'm tired. I finished Gauntlet Dark Legacy today with my level eighty six jester and I've really done nothing else except try to find a program that allows people to play Gauntlet over the internet. I dicked around with Apache which explains those previous notes. Last night I tried writing another letter to New Jersey but it ended up being the worst thing I could possibly write regardless of my sobriety. I'm looking forward to the PPV because watching it upstairs is so much more civilized rather than running to Hooters three hours before the show starts then waiting and then going home feeling cheated because it's a big Triple H fest. Snore. There's not much more that's going on with me. In the past two weeks I've done three things which should generate some content for this site. I found Sarah and emailed her to say hello letting her know that I know how awkward this probably is but I figured it is worth a shot. She's married and that's about as much as I know other than she is still an artist. I emailed Ty and Stephanie after finding his email on their Star Trek fantasy ship site. The reason behind that is simply saying hello. I have yet to hear back and I'm not surprised since all three of these people seem to be typical early twenty first century folks who aren't obsessed with the internet and think of email and other forms of communication as being a novelty that could be useful later on. Also I haven't contacted any of these people in quite some time. The other thing is simply being petty and mean. Here's hoping it's a straw that breaks the camel's back or it provokes a positive response. Something that I forgot to mention about finishing Gauntlet Dark Legacy as the Jester is the fact that the little familiar he gains at level thirty eventually becomes a flying pig. I have no idea what it was before it turned into a cute flying pig. I always figured it was a tiny bat with white wings. Right now I'm playing the dwarf and I'll get around to playing the medusa but using the green color since she may look naked like that. Hurf hurf. There's not much that I remember from last night but I'll do my darndest to write down the basics. I was dating a meskin chick and she was always keeping me away from her family since she didn't want the stigma of dating a white guy on her. The understanding was that a meskin chick dating a white guy was akin to being low class like a white girl dating a black guy. When we did meet up we were always putting things in and out of her car's trunk. Later in the dream I got stuck in her house with her family just coming in the door which was awkward to say the least but I kept out of their sight and eventually made it into the street which was dark, gray and rainy. The buildings that lined the road were like banks and gleaming, slick Model T cars sloshed past on perfectly maintained concrete. A few other people started walking along with me as if I was their friend or the leader of their gang. One of the classic cars driving by had someone who shouted out, "You! Yes, all three of you! Come see me, you'll be great in our new motion picture!" One of my associates caught the tossed businesscard that stated it was for the Max Sennet studios in New York City and luckily enough there it was right down the street. Out of the rain, we were stopped by the studio guard who wanted to know why he was being bothered by rabble. He didn't believe our story but once he saw the business card he told us to sit down. We kept an eye on the end of the hallway which was lined with green, polished granite just like the floors and the higher bits were pastel blue painted sheetrock leading up in a gothic arch. The director came out of one of the side doors skipping along merrily wearing a gray, woolen suit and a straw hat. He looked like a cross between Jonathan Harris and Max von Sydow. He skipped past and told us to follow him. Outside the studio was a set being built to resemble ancient Rome. He pointed out how the sky was meant to show how the set should look like so the artists had something to work from instead of using their imaginations. He told us that the enormous garbage pails that lined the road would have flowering thorn bushes which would bloom whenever an actor literally died onscreen. Slyly he leaned in and told us the thorn bushes would also grab at the talent in order to keep them on their toes. I looked at the sky and saw a computer generated image of wire framed Roman buildings, which weren't much different from the earlier bank-like buildings on the city street, and pulsing coils and tendrils of the thorny plants. This flora was truly terrible as a wireframe animation, heaven forbid I should see what they really looked like once they were planted in the giant garbage cans. The only thing on my mind is trying to remember a particular word that would be akin to the word "scheme". A way of doing something. An established process. Not a tradition, though. Lately I've been feeling less intelligent and my kneejerk reaction is to blame my job for being basically mindless and that's the reason why I haven't been dreaming as much as I have dreamt in the past. Maybe I'm just getting old. Know what I really want right now? I want to go out drinking with someone and commisserate about my life. I'm sick of journalling, shouting out into the audient void I am the last Nyarlathotep. It really sucks out here in Colorado Springs since there aren't any places where a man can go drink in peace and quiet unless it's a coffee place. COME ON PEOPLE NOT EVERYONE OUT HERE IS A COLLEGE KID WHO HAS TO STAY UP LATE FOR FINALS. Go out to some old man bar and drink quietly and give a hard stare so no one knows to fuck with you but the staff knows when you sit a certain way you want a refill and to keep it coming as long as the money holds out with enough for cab fare home. I want to go out and drink somewhere and talk with someone without feeling like I'm a nerdy kid discussing transfinite numbers with someone who barely understands the concept of euclidean geometry and the talkee is thinking "Good god shut up or talk about Friends already" while being superficially polite since there's no way out, no priest hole unless someone they know comes in the door. I don't want to laugh anymore. I feel so down that I can't even beat off, even if I read a certain entry or go through the meagre handful of pictures that I have saved on my hard drive. Just what's the fucking point here anyway? Christ, I'm so down I can't even bring myself to beat off. This is the kind of sorrow, misery, adjective for a negative emotion that drags against the soul leaving a purple welt that will only turn yellow and ugly before it fades away that can be expressed with a musical instrument. I am Sunny outside in the snow for five hours, howling with all his soul at the feeling of abandonment. A final recording found in the dusty ruins of a dead civilization which conveys the awareness of the long vanished people that their time had come. The background radiation that eventually kills you. This has nothing to do with the holidays. It has nothing to do with the subtext which usually pervades the writing on this site. Anyway as far as I'm concerned that subtext is out of my life. Where does the U.S. government put Jewish prisoners? Unleaveaned-worth!  I listen to NPR so I can be up to date on important world events. My mood hasn't changed but I'm trying to change it by lifting your spirits, gentle reader. I have yet to find that fucking word I was looking for the other day and it's still on the tip of my tongue but it's not about to be remembered anytime soon due to my devalued intellect. My depression is still just as profound as it was the other day except I've gotten used to the mood. Right now NPR is playing Christmas music and it reminds me of sitting in the dark at my father's shop waiting out the lonely hours until I decided it was safe enough to go home especially with my paper moon light being the only source of illumination. Reckon my father's shop is decorated but it's not as lovely as when I would decorate it for him. When I ate tonight I almost choked to death but I forced my stomach over the back of a chair and everything was a-ok. I doubt that I turned blue. Now I'm tired. I get off work at one in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. During lunch and mindless times of work I think about my trip and repeat the itinerary as a litany. The Pacific coast of California at sunset where everything is covered in gold. Juneau or Anchorage to Vladivostok across Siberia to Moscow to the Black Sea to Istanbul to the various islands of the Mediterranean to Sicily to Naples to Berlin to the English Channel and London then crossing the ocean to New York City watching the Statue of Liberty rising on the western horizon before being joined by a familiar skyline that now lacks some of its former character then the PATH train into Hoboken and the train into Millburn where I call my father and ask him to pick me up so I can come home. My exile is over and it is my heart's wish they will all be there like Argus was there for Ulysses and then I'll go Hemmingway over at Meisel pond. I miss you. Good bye. oh yes Lest I seem an ingrate and a covetous human being, Jaybird and maribou got me great gifts for Christmas even though they were mostly books. Hooray! Opening them up days before Christmas felt bizarre but I understood since Jaybird's going to be working a seventy two hour work week. I felt honor bound to tell Jaybird I got him The Underground Comedy Video and I bought maribou a realdoll except it's one of those inflatable realdolls that squeak and I bought Chumky some catnip from Acacia Park and she damned well better like it because it cost a pretty penny but it stinks to high heaven. Of course it's possible to love a human being if you don't know them too well. I think I found the word which has been bugging me: convention. It is a convention in humorous science fiction to give bad guys a goatee. c.v. Spock in Mirror Mirror |
First I cleaned out the big dryer tube which was full of light blue lint. I realized that was the reason why the dryer seriously sucks at drying clothes lately. Later I found myself on the subway with a large camping backpack and Spot was tucked inside for safety's sake. When I got off, I was in Colorado. At work I was told that I was fired for some obscure reason which led me to snipe, "Well thanks for giving me any warning." After walking out I found myself at the Colorado office of one of my old jobs thinking I would get hired again even though it's been years since I've done desktop publishing. On Wednesday night I got to watch Spot standing on my desk staring at herself in the mirror. At first she was very still rapt with her reflection or that other cat who dared to stare at her. Now and again she would lift a leg or duck her head never breaking eye contact with her reflection. After a half hour of this quiet game she leapt down and put her paws against the mirror to get a closer look which is where Spot realized I was watching her all along. Spot is a kitty. Lately I've been going to bed late and waking up earlier than I would normally wake up without feeling groggy or having the thought of "Screw the rest of the day. When I get home I'm going straight to bed." Most times Spot will wake me by leaning against me while I sleep or putting her little white paws on my leg. What I like about Colorado is the fact it gets bitterly cold to the point that I actually cave in and close the fucking window. Oh it's not for Spot's sake that I close the window but moreso because I'm way too fucking cold. It's twenty six degrees outside of the Birdhouse basement. I am annoyed at the moment but it shall pass. Being hungry and desiring meat I decided to broil some sausages and make sammiches out of them. While they're cooking I get messaged which grabs my attention and I scramble over to the laptop to see what's going on. I end up talking with lipsy who's going on about how she thinks she doesn't deserve good things in her life. I listen and I try to commisserate and when there's a point where I could sneak away to check my food there are two blackened cylinders of flesh in the tiny aluminum brownie pans that I use to cook my Italian sausages. So I decided to make a roast beef sandwich and heat it up in the microwave. My mood lifted considerably after I found I'll Stop the World and Melt with You as an mp3 in addition to a bunch of South Park Christmas carols. If only I could find the mp3 of barking Jingle Bells. The Virgin Mary was sleeping For you can suck all the dick you want and still be a virgin, Mary. There was no room at the inn "'Cause you can suck all the dick you want and still be a virgin, Mary. Then three wise men did appear "You can suck all the dick you want and still be a virgin, Mary. So you can suck all the dick you want and still be a virgin, Mary. (Mary, Mary suck that dick!) I've got kitty. There's Dragon Warrior VII in the other room which is very merry. Oh dear, owning a PS2 only tells me that I ought to have a comfortable chair or some manner of sofa rather than sitting on my rickety folding chair. That brings me to my next topic. At a department store I was wandering around looking for the best recliner I could possibly acquire. I kept fretting about recliners costing upwards of six hundred bucks but I was lucky to find most were a hundred bucks at the very most even though they were all mauve or some fashion of deep red in color. The chairs were only a foot away from me, lined up like soldiers, but there was an invisible barrier which kept me from trying them out or purchasing one. Around this time Spot woke me by licking my left eyebrow. Speaking of the little kitty, lately she's been awfully mischievous, playing around with the styrofoam peanuts, trying to open closed boxes and generally jumping up and down to peer out the bedroom window. Plus she goes for the jugular when she wants to wake someone up. No more beating around the bush of "Hey, here's my warm kitty body leaning against your fat gut under the covers" Oh no, it's bite and tug the beard with wee whiskers poking my cheeks, eyes and ears. Kitty, I want to sleep. Now Spot's staring at herself in the mirror. She's seated on the desk with her tail regally wrapped around her legs except that didn't last very long since she just padded onto the floor to clean herself at the corner of my bed. Also Spotty is very cute in the fact that she's been coming on the bed while I'm going to sleep even though the apartment windows are closed and it's relatively warm down here. Hopefully it means in her eyes I'm not a porky furnace to warm her wee little bones. Sometimes I'm just overcome with love for Spot and I just want to hug her with all my heart but most times she's not up for that and I'm very wary since I don't want to hurt her like Lenny from Of Mice and Men. I'm probably going to start reading the books maribou bought me for Christmas sometime soon since Startide Rising is getting on my nerves with the haiku spouting dolphins and not giving enough attention to what's interesting me the most about the story which is the progenitor corpse that has half the galaxy fighting in Kithrup's orbit. Two dreams in one entry??? Yes, Virginia. My car was very close to giving up the ghost around Christmas. I had 6,785 dollars to my name and either I got a new car or I was going to get presents and sock the remainder away in the bank. My father came in, stage left, and said he'd help me buy the car so I wouldn't be completely broke for Christmas which made me happy but by the time we reached the dealership he disappeared and I felt like I'd been yanked around. When I reached in my pocket my wad of money was gone. I was very angry. Christmas Eve. Cripes, there's nothing to do in this town and I don't know anyone in this town. Even the Colorado Springs areas of meetup.com suck because there's nobody around or interested in going out. The metal is the seventh most abundant and makes up about 1.5 % by weight of the earth's crust. Potassium is an essential constituent for plant growth and it is found in most soils. It is also a vital element in the human diet. Potassium is never found free in nature, but is obtained by electrolysis of the chloride or hydroxide, much in the same manner as prepared by Davy. It is one of the most reactive and electropositive of metals and, apart from lithium, it is the least dense known metal. It is soft and easily cut with a knife. It is silvery in appearance immediately after a fresh surface is exposed. It oxidises very rapidly in air and must be stored under argon or under a suitable mineral oil. As do all the other metals of the alkali group, it decomposes in water with the evolution of hydrogen. It usually catches fire during the reaction with water. Potassium and its salts impart a lilac colour to flames. Merry Christmas. My shopping for the upstairs folks is complete but I am still behind on my purchases for two people. Unfortunately it seems one purchase will take forever and the other one will be relatively simple. I think the former will not be liked by the recipient and the latter is something I'd like to acquire for myself but I'd rather get it for this one person. You know what's really disappointing, gentle reader? I downloaded Metallica's cover of the Imperial March from Star Wars thinking "Hey, this oughta be good" but it was limpwristed, lifeless and fucking lame. Did I mention it sucked? Those are three minutes of downloading that I will never get back. Lately I've been running an idea through my head where humans are the most warlike creature in the known areas of the galaxy which is why humanity has been avoided by other races. This stereotype, founded or unfounded, is based upon the words of General Nicolai Nicolai of the USSR played by Rob Fenelon in a game many moons ago. "We detonate fission bombs in our atmosphere, we call our planet dirt and when our god came down to save us we nailed him to a tree. We are the human race. Do not fuck with us." Humans are slash were abducted by other races in hopes of creating fearsome hybrids who would wreak havoc over the known worlds. Unfortunately they are merely uncouth and prone to raise their voices rather than fists in anger but in galactic society they are considered to be on par with Genghis Khan. Once humanity takes its first steps out among the stars among the elder races situations will arise where humans are doing their best to emulate the Star Trek mentality but unintentionally instilling serious fear in the hearts of the ancient species of the known worlds. There would be factions who completely embrace the stereotype and rage across various peaceful planets, conquering them, committing genocide and plundering them of their resources. Of course the whole concept of humanity being the best at what they do with notoriety is anathema to what I believe about most stories and concepts. To balance this concept would be the fact that the aliens would be a caricature of a caricature of the UN. The other races would be hemming and hawing about using their devastating weaponry against the humans and eliminating the threat whatsoever, continually voting on the issue and losing by a majority because they don't want to be as bad as the humans and it goes against their basic nature. The best idea they had was to fuck the humans into extinction until human blood became diluted to being billionroons. I have no idea, I just made that up. It's like an octaroon except a billionth of what they used to be, kinda like how every fucking person out in the midwest claims they have indian blood despite their nordic, features that would give Adolph Hitler fits of masturbation. Funny how no one ever claims to have black blood. Of course there are the Sicilians except they tend to ignore that part of history. Thank goodness everyone reminds them of it. The hitch would be the fact that humans being egregiously violent compared to the races of galactic society have passion and a sex drive which makes even the most licentious race of the known worlds appear frigid and incompetent in the act of lovemaking. The root would be passion and it would be magnetic to other nonhuman species, perhaps an emination of some psychic force, while humans would be completely unattracted to their superiors and end up loving them like a brother I mean that's something we can't take away from each other don't diminish our relationship honey now if you'll excuse me I'm going out to bang some guy I met at a bar or party or while taking rohypnol with a vodka chaser somewhere that I forget only to come back and cry on your shoulder about what an asshole he is and why can't guys be more spineless, useless and easily manipulated like you so I can continually piss in your face about how I'm getting banged by people who aren't you. Please don't get the wrong idea, sex between us would be completely wrong since we're not ready for that. Didn't you tell me that you are still a virgin anyway? That's something special to share, not something to share with a big hose slut like me with roast beefy pissflaps that have a wingspan equivalent to an Andean condor. Holy. I went off on a tangent there. Eat shit, Marie Jamar. My revenge is knowing you're a fat, useless born again with three kids and an ass the size of a hottentot. HI CHUCK !!! I MAKE FUNNY YOU LIKE ??? WBS K TNX TELL THE TUESDAY GAME I SEND LOVE <3 <3 <3 <3 Right now I'm writing an essay about fantasy vs. science fiction (hard [huh huh i said hard] and soft) and why science fiction is better. Please note that Star Wars is not science fiction by any stretch of the imagination. I had to throw in that particular non-sequitor which is blatantly obvious to anyone with a dual digit IQ. Star Trek, at least the recent incarnations, isn't science fiction much lately since it devolves to their technological words of power, making complex sentences of technobabble which would rival the Enochian invocations of Dr. John Dee. I would like to make a reading suggestion for those of you who are so inclined to indulge in science fiction. Engines of God. Also The Forever War. I think there's a sequel to the Engines of God but I'm disinclined to acquire it at the moment due to my recent largess of reading material and I would not want my enjoyment diminished by the further adventures which may or may not live up to the original. Once I see what my finances are like after paying the rent I'm going to buy some CDs like Third Reich and Roll by the Residents, a Dead Milkmen CD and get that Misfits collection. !!!!! OMFGLOL !!!!!
!!!!! ROFL NICE 1 DAWG !!!!! O_o ^_^ ^_- *_* I believe that I have some manner of synaesthesia. Bright colors in the warm spectrum on the color wheel always strike a chord as being vowels while the darker, cooler colors are consonants. Of course I have not really ascribed various sounds to them like violet-blue being a K sound which ends in a harsh glottal stop or yellow-orange being a long vowel sound akin to the sound elbow. Ever since I was a wee spivak I've always ascribed the color green to the number seven because four (blue) plus three (yellow) [i almost wrote yellow instead of three] equals seven (green). Unfortunately I do not have the same experience when it comes to tastes, sounds and smells. I do not know if this could be true synaesthesia nor do I know if there is any precedent. The latter assertation is not my attempt at trying to be unique, the first but simply an admission of my obvious lack of knowledge which happens to be applicable to many other subjects hence spivak's razor which is wielded in times of ignorance or when feigning lack of knowledge to humorous effect. Back when I was a wee spivak my grandma told me about how the animals talk at midnight on Christmas Eve and I'd always want to get up, sneak downstairs and see if Brandy would talk to me. Of course I'm staying up late this Christmas Eve in hopes that Spot may say something to me. Maybe she'll say "Please let me go home" or "Christ, I never want to see your hairy back naked ever again. You make Albert look like a smooth buddy" or "More tuna plz, less kibble." When I was younger there was a mystique about being up late whether it was spying on the older folks playing that game with the choo-choos and the funny guy in a suit or simply being out at the kitchen sink with the moonlight streaming in making the whole world fulll moonlight on the new fallen snow blue when there isn't any snow on the ground. Now that I stay up past ten on a regular basis, when I'm not working, it's just like daytime without the sunlight and everything being closed. I reckon that if there was ever any chance that the animals did talk at midnight on Christmas Eve that I've lost the ability to hear them when that magic died in me or around me. At least I still have my dreams, real life ones that will never come true and the ones I have while I am asleep. Argh, the other night I had a dream and I remember repeating all of the events to another dream avatar in hopes that I would remember the story come daybreak. Sadly they all vanished, dissolving in the sunlight and the only thing I got was an unusual headache akin to having a railroad spike stuck in the leftwards top part of my skull. Thankfully the pain waned quickly letting me eat, play Dragon Warrior VII for four fucking hours. My father did call while it was still technically morning but I was otherwise occupied with Dragon Warrior VII. My sister also called to tell me she had a cold and a yeast infection for Christmas. Brian called later and wished me Merry Christmas on my voicemail. Yeah, the other two messages were on voicemail. I haven't called anyone back. I am not feeling particularly social and that's tempered by the fact that I'm thinking people don't particularly want my company in the first place. Plus I haven't been around many people socially so I'm bound to be awkward or worse, even if it's just on the phone. I really don't feel in a holiday mood or feel like there's anything to celebrate lately.  Strike while the iron is hot. There have been many times where I should have acted but procrastinated or thought biding my time would be the best strategy in order to ensure the best possible outcome. A couple of years ago I went to South Carolina with Malyss. She needed to retrieve her stuff that was in storage at her old boyfriend's place. During the day we'd drive up and down the strip, checking out shops while she gave the nickel tour of all the places she frequented and were good. Of course Malyss has a thing for antiques and wanted to stop at every antique store so she could see what she could find while I obliged pretending (badly) that I was bored. At this one store I found a wooden Ganesha statue about the size of little kid's ball. I had money burning a hole in my pocket but I was taken aback by the fifty dollar pricetag. I decided to sleep on it. The next day with every intention of procuring the item I discovered that the owner tracked it down and bought it back. Some taxi driver's girlfriend sold the statue out of spite. Bah. I felt really down after that and realized that I really should've bought it right then and there. On the drive back I found a replacement for a glass I broke a decade before that had white text giving recipes for making alcoholic drinks. Another situation was very recently when I was thinking, "Shit, I'll chat up the Mexico Way delivery chick" and slyly asked if the Birds were up for Mexican. Fortunately they were and unfortunately she didn't show up. Later in the week I decided to make a minimum order and no dice. I reckon I should've done something when the opportunity presented itself rather than hemming and hawing with "She'll get freaked". Fuck it, if she gets freaked then I don't have to wonder. Yet I still procrastinate. I trust in the words of others rather than listening to myself. The downside of playing out every scenario beforehand in order to get every possible outcome is the fact that every possible outcome ends up being defeatist or when successful is so wildly outlandish that there's no possible way it could happen. It's a lose-lose situation with my mindset. Also I've realized that I continually beat dead horses in hopes that somehow one final thwack with a two-by-four will somehow bring renewed life to the corpse, hoping my reality will overcome what is Reality (capital R) and Truth (capital T). One thing is that I'm finally understanding that a particular dead horse is dead, dead, dead and isn't going to be coming back to life ever even if I hooked a car battery up to its testicles. Hah. Let us see, denial? Yeah, I closed my eyes to the obvious after having it repeated to me in hopes of penetrating my thick skull. Shitloads of depression. Anger. Yeah, that was July. Now acceptance? Hah, maybe I'm in denial about acceptance.  Oh yeah, regarding yesterday's entry about how I don't believe there's much to celebrate nowadays, I don't believe there's much beauty in the world nowadays. I was going to write more but I am not in the mood. Keywords: snowbound, holidays, bad car, not around? Just for my later reference. site news I have an idea for two dating conventions for the upcoming year except I want to think up at least four more so I'll have something different to go along with the six things I have planned for each month up to June'03. After that I'll probably revert to normal. I'm still going to update this site by hand because I enjoy the control it gives me and I have a penchant for doing things the hard way even though there are easier solutions freely available. journal stuff The weekend is going to be uneventful, the highlight being food shopping, playing Dragon Warrior VII and cleaning up the kitchen yet again or just doing the dishes so I can make some food instead of ordering out or whatnot. hhsb sent me something unusual which was part of the gift envelope she sent me for Christmas. They're used letters and postcards from other people. I quote: Oct 3rd 1951 The front of the postcard is a young couple wandering out behind a house in their pajamas. The man is holding up a lantern which illuminates the face of an outhouse a few yards away from them. Very strange but the message on the back of the postcard is even stranger. Funny thing is the postcard is postmarked from Los Angeles. I have no plans for New Year's Eve beyond doing what I did on Christmas except with some manner of alcoholic beverage.
The Free Republic of Heptapodia is a tiny, socially progressive nation located in the Pacific, remarkable for its strong anti-business politics. Its hard-nosed population of 5 million enjoy extensive civil rights and enjoy a level social equality free of the usual accompanying government corruption. The large government is effectively ruled by the Department of Law & Order, with areas such as Social Welfare and Defense receiving almost no funds by comparison. The average income tax rate is 29%, but much higher for the wealthy. Private enterprise is illegal, but for those in the know there is a slick and highly efficient black market in Pizza Delivery. Crime is a problem. Heptapodia's national animal is the heptapod, which frolics freely in the nation's many lush forests, and its currency is the hepta.
Recently I've moved to reduce taxes and become more libertarian since this rubs me the wrong way. I saw The Two Towers, Shelob wasn't in the movie but from what I've read she will appear in Return of the King which, according to Jaybird, will end with the hobbits singing "yub yub". The Two Towers started out with a great scene that was much better than "Last time on Mannix!!! In COLOR!!!" One could say that the prologue to The Two Towers was akin to an episode of Dallas considering the enormous spoiler that appeared in the trailers. We arrived late to the movie which meant we missed out on the ads and some of the cool trailers. Terminator 3 looks very stupid. X-Men 2 looks pretty keen. Helms Deep was very good and at least three times during The Two Towers I kept thinking, "George Lucas is a talentless, fat fuck" and "Throwing money at a movie doesn't make it better". Lately I've been writing but nothing has been coming together. Most of what I write ends up being meandering rambles. The most recent and most complete item I've written was another letter home which I intend on mailing out real soon just like the letter home I wrote back in late May of this year. Right now I'm brooding over an article with the thesis of science fiction is better than fantasy. I mentioned this in my Christmas entry. Been wondering about remembering everything that happened while I was with Kinja and writing those entries down since I never got around to posting them here for obvious and blatantly pussy reasons. Trying to figure out if it's worth saying the obvious to Devo or if I'm just projecting shit once again. Either way I don't want to talk about it because I don't think it'll be fun or constructive and it'll just push her away yet again. malak_the_mad: I actually woke up in a fit of panic this morning. A very plausible situation regarding a real head-case who could probably become dangerous in the wrong circumstances. So after Jaybird and I saw The Two Towers on Saturday we went to used videogame store so he could pick up a Sega Saturn to play his old games. While we were there two cute chicks, probably still in high school, came in and asked if the guys running the store had a PS2 for sale. No dice. They left. Of course after they left all the bravado came out of "You can do four blowjobs, can't you?" and "Sure, I'll sell you a PS2 cheap... for a week of sex" followed by my comment of "Yeah, a week's worth of sex. That's 168 hours, not seven sessions." What amused me most was the fact behind the counter the shining countenance of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior was casting his eyes wistfully and most beatifically heavenward completely oblivious to the sinfulness of the conversation. a billion seconds In addition to playing Dragon Warrior VII and eating and doing laundry and food shopping I spent an hour trying to figure out when I was a billion seconds old, how many seconds make up 2003 years and trying to figure out how close friends are to being a billion seconds old. I've already passed the billion second mark and it wasn't recorded here or anywhere else for posterity's sake. Plus I had a lot of deja vu today and I did not record when I had those experiences or when I did experience deja vu. Sure I know the theory of deja vu is something perceived is registered by the brain before the sensory data is properly perceived by the organ. I did find a particular science fiction story that I kept telling someone about for years but I never got around to photocopying the tale and sending it off in the mail. Now I have it and I have maribou to thank. It is Prayers on the Wind by Walter Jon Williams. Now that Christmas has ended I return to being more miserly than I have been for the season in order to save up money for my long term plans. Hell, sometimes I think I should just take the whole pile of money and blow it on lottery tickets. The odds are barely better buying thousands of dollars of tickets compared to five tickets. oh yeah, i forgot something I also looked online for a replacement driver side door for a 1991 Pontiac Grand Am and submitted a request through a junkyard site after checking out after market sites and finding nothing that met my needs. It has automatic windows and the color is black though I'd probably settle for a door that didn't have automatic windows if I was completely sure the door wasn't a piece of shit. I just want my car fixed. shit shit shit Am I the only one who thought that Smeagol looked a lot like Peter Lorre? Especially considering this picture? I wonder if it was intentional or if I have my head stuck up my asshole. Have I mentioned how good The Two Towers is as a movie? It was so good that I shut my trap throughout the entire movie. Must remember that I have to make the minor changes tonight for the New Year. You know it really fucking sucks being seventeen hundred miles away from New York City on New Year's Eve. Yeah, I went into the city on a sporadic basis but there's something about being in spitting distance of that great city at this time of year. The ability to just say, "Let's go into the city" four hours before midnight and joining the throng. Watching it on the TV is pathetic, moreso when NYC is just some liberal fairyland with a black eye out on some mythical coast that the midwest never gives a second thought except to cast derision towards someone who speaks quickly or allegedly mispronounces "cawfee" or "hawnted". Of course I'd still feel the same way if I was in Los Angeles. letters, oh we get letters, oh we get letters every day Yes, I finally got an email from someone I don't know who reads my site. Looks like they're from Thailand from their email address. When I checked my logs I didn't see anyone from there but at least I'm sure it's not a goof like that Natashayas thing a couple months (years?) ago. Plus I heard back from a salvage yard which has the door. Right now I really don't have the money or maybe I do, I'll have to call them up and see what condition the door is in and all that kinda stuff. I do have three hours of overtime on the upcoming paycheck but I don't know if I'm getting paid for the office closing early on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. I'm going to go back to eating my clementines. With the new year I'm thinking about being less understanding or compassionate when it comes to people. |
