• Also leaving her work post is Veronica, who has had the (un)fortunate fate to be mentioned in some of these posts. I'm glad she doesn't read through this at all. Anyway, she was the last cashier with more experience than I—now I'm the "senior cashier", whatever significance that has at a place like Roberts. She's focusing on her other job, whatever it is, so gone are the days when we can exchange questionable glances, race each other to the last customer, whine about stupid people, and laugh about the locals. And until someone else brings her perky self into our workforce, I'm left with only customers to ogle.
Yes, I look. I am a guy. We do that.
• Just because we see a problem doesn't mean that it's actually there.
The thought came to me while I was reading another rack-sizer, and found myself more concerned with his and her than the material being discussed. Since our language does not possess non-gender pronouns that comfortably apply to people (I find one less versatile than it could be), we've apparently chosen he/his/him—the masculines—as our preferred series of references. The troubles begin when people take offense to this choice in the name of gender equality, and insist that we be more "inclusive" with our semantics. What this then creates is an alignment where in many cases there once was none.
I've distracted myself many times whenever I come across these, because now I'm actively searching out these "anomalies". With that, I would like to congratulate our linguistic activists for ignoring more pressing problems for the sake of personal gratification, and creating another unnecessary stress on our society. Ethical masturbation, by which I have been stained.
I will not be your cumhole.
• Reading through the additions to my carpet library, I find questions and answers to many problems refracted in varying contexts. It's as if we have all the answers, but have littered them across a multitude of books. For instance, a book on the degradation of American society cites our search for privacy as a circular problem. In dividing ourselves, we feel lonely and isolated. A similar argument can be found in an exploration of spiritual purity.
My question is why we seem slow to fix ourselves. Are there too many differing answers? Do our problems prevent us from solving them? Does everyone believe that there are problems to begin with?
• Home, at last. I left the party about two hours ago. But that's the way it goes when Light Rail turns hourly around midnight, and you missed the train by 5 minutes. In a gesture of kindness, Anna offered to accompany me over to the station. However, by myself, I am the perfect Downtown traveler. Though I can take care of my own, I neither betray nor expect any hostile intentions. And I'm male. (That still counts in our society.) There was a point to be made, but I can't quite find it at the moment.
So yeah, turns out that Anna (and roommate Tom) can throw a "band party" as well as anyone. Of course, since it's her party, you had to expect her KSJS buds around as well. I actually found myself a little more engaged than usual, but just enough to make me uncomfortable. I know that when given time, I'm actually pretty cool to talk to. It just takes a little more effort, on my part as well.
Still, one thing bothers me: How did Felicia find out my name? Not that she shouldn't have it, but it was just unexpected. I have enough trouble remembering the names I don't know of people who do know mine. Dammit, it makes more sense before 2am...
• Balconies own. They're like sky-bound posts from which the world can be observed, but still close enough to be a part of it. My second-story window is something closer than what I've had before. However, the cops get a little nervous when I hang out on the roof of the garage. The police, the "fratboys" across the street, and those gangbanger stakeouts—none are around, but their existence is enough to motion for refrain.
• And for once, I was able to have a drink without immediately thinking about Christi...
...crap. >:)
• Carina: "Oh, you want to eat too, Nahum?"
My stomach was made for digesting, not for kicking. Stop downplaying me, whore.
• It's pretty uncomfortable here, physically and spiritually. I'd rather not be here, but the alternatives are few and distant, and I'd prefer access to my computer. I'd make do with what I have here, but Carina and Long are downstairs. After all, it is her house, and the living room for her is the natural place to "deal" with him. Because I still have the capacity to care, I'll try to not disturb them.
I want to jump out the window and slip away in silence.
• Damned, friggin' nightmares... Apparently, I am affected in a way. It takes sleep deprivation, a possible fluid imbalance, a conversation with Kris, and some worries to trigger it.
I finally got my phone, a "1930's" style German communication device. But only after failing to find the treasure in some organ-laden temple because my family ran out of battery power for the flashlights. After hearing how someone almost slept with someone else (related to discussed household drama), I found Dinah waiting in line for the Incubus concert. We picked up some free stuff (folding chairs, music stands, broom handles, and those tethered balls on paddles) and sat in the back section, where the appetizer act, some hip-hop group, played some tune "from Manhattan", which was probably a dream reference to 52nd St., or whatever that New York Broadway play was. I decided to look for better seating, which I found in the highest aisle at what was now a baseball game with Dad. I was distracted for a bit by the radar gun in the backfield, a huge device which trained its electric eye on flying baseballs. Then I went down to the field and watched some clips of those infect-truth people wreaking havoc at sporting events. A couple of them wanted me to help them fling maggot-ridden paste at the soccer players onfield. Asking why, they said that their countrymen had allowed some legislation to pass, which had nothing to do with drugs or smoking.
At this final failure of logic, I got up, wrote an entry in my journal, waited for Dinah to call, and went to an Incubus concert later tonight.
• Just home from an excellent concert, but what's the one song stuck in my head right now? Papa Don't Preach by Madonna. Apparently, Ozzy Osbourne's daughter (the on-screen one) will be singing it with Mike Einziger and Jose Pasillas from Incubus. During a lull, we caught Brandon Boyd singing Like a Virgin, which could be a little foreshadowing by the singer.
• The Five Dollar Concert Recap
Hoobastank:
Hoobastank opened up with a powerful set, giving the fans an early chance to get their mosh on. There was only one for the whole concert, but it was very active. At various points throughout the concert, the crowd surfer rate approached one every 4 seconds. At least one girl was known to ride twice or more. Hitting notes with spot-on accuracy, Markhu Lappalainen makes an excellent frontman. And much like Third Eye Blind, all of their songs from their debut are ready from the get-go. For now, they handle a lot of peppy, energetic tunes with heavy hands. Despite a somewhat narrow approach, their repertoire is distinctive, and each song stands out from the other well. Instantly, their hooks are memorable and layered. If this somehow hasn't been a good start for them, Hoobastank is more than ready to catch everyone with their next album. They've earned a range within my playlist, though.
With their limited stage space, Hoobastank put on as wild a show as any. But the back curtains were soon withdrawn, revealing a massive crescent walkway encircling the turntables and drum set, separated by a staircase. Below them lay couches, and above was an LED screen of Jumbotron quality. This set the backdrop for an enjoyable Incubus experience. As is customary for them, they pulled songs not only from their current album, Morning View, but from previous albums as well. Especially so is the case with "New Skin" and the three tracks I hadn't heard before. It's also possible that they pulled a new one on us. I'll have to check out lyrics from their Fungus Amongus EP and whatever other random songs they have.
Lots of sci-fi, outer space imagery filled the screen during tracks such as "Stellar" and "Wish You Were Here" (summoning forth tears at times). For "Echo" through "Pardon Me", they pulled out the couches and sang from a cozy den-like set, light stand included. Then Brandon's shirt came off in trademark style for some hand drumming on "New Skin". It's during these heavy songs that I realized that the crowd knows every lyric, sometimes even more so than I. This is the power of their music, infused with tender emotion and triumphant purpose.
Sadly, I heard no "You Will Be A Hot Dancer" or "Summer Romance (Anti-Gravity Love Song)", but I'll let them get away with it this time...
• Coming down 87, there were some orange flashes in the sky. Kinda like bursts or explosions from below, but we didn't have a good angle on them. Then coming down Entrada Cedros, the whole neighborhood went dark as great blue flashes came from the Oakridge area or so. The power surged back a few times, but I think the area is still black. My street is still lit, for now at least. But I wonder what's been going on down there...
• Preparing my mobile phone for use. But I notice it's a Cingular. Why did the voice mailbox at my number say "Sprint PCS"? Did I leave a message for someone else? Or is my service a little more complicated than I think?
• Hmm...seems I didn't leave myself a message. It was just a reminder-to-self that I had a phone, anyway. I think I can remember that much. My phone's fully charged as well, and all the service details have been worked out in advance. Bonus. Reception is clear in my room, but a little compromised downstairs. I'll be spending some good time getting accustomed to my phone. What should I name it?
• "We're not supposed talk about it."
Screw that... I say, "We must learn from our mistakes." In this case, the mistake consists of a bunch of story elements expected to work together. Some are merely to be assumed, some end up being forgotten, and some are underused. That said, "We need to feel pain, to suffer, if only to know that when we are happy and successful, it is something most desirable."
• So right at the moment, I'm covered in new shirt scent. Or is it New Shirt Scent™?
What I mean is: is the scent a natural one created by the manufacturing process and subsequent silk-screening? Or is it one of those artificial/synthesized scents, like New Car Smell™ or New Shoe Smell™? For those in the know, odors are the one sense most closely tied to memories. I hypothesize that they are also the most tamper-resistant, but that's digression. You know that the shirt is new because it smells so. By this reasoning, since I smell like a new shirt, I must be one.
...hmm. I'm not sure that was what my original thought was. Oh well...
• Seems that the morning cup of coffee works better when consumed over the course of the day. Spread, not shot. Instead of a jittery speed demon that wanes without warning, I am a lean, cut workhorse. Just a little giddy, but not by much. And the toilet doesn't smell so much of coffee grounds. I need to keep this in mind.
• It's the franchise-old paradox: less workers, more customers. There were literally more customers here today—the receipts say so. I'm so glad I got off to at least a decent start today. Everything works better when I work better. And for once, lounging in the Lobby was not as exciting as before. Perhaps I missed on the usual rush of people. After all, with Veronica gone, I've got more hours to deal with. It changes things a bit.
• Over the course of a day, my knowledge of my phone has seemingly surpassed that of my brother and his respective. I do try to learn things as quickly as possible. Well, that and people aren't rushing to call me either, and thusly getting in the way. His friends are much more connective. I've been jealous of that at times, but now I think about how differently we approach things like that, how my mindset is very divergent from his. I'm not Jare; he's not me. That's all. :p
• Janice and Mike = bust
If I may be critical about this for a moment, there's a lesson to be learned: Don't rush into marriage until you've given your lover a chance to lie to you. Then you'll truly find out how strong your love is.
It'll be a while 'til Mike comes by for his stuff. ([edit] He didn't come until we were vacating the house.) None of it is in my room—let's hope he remembers that. With a house full of sympathy, Janice seems to be doing fine. Let's also hope that such remains true for as long as she needs.
• As is appropriate for me, this new mode of connectivity feels like another reminder of how lonely I can be. If I was anyone else, I would probably be calling any and everyone I could, just for the thrill. To me, it just seems...wrong. Like an invasion. Damn me.
So there it goes again, another period of high spirit gets recycled. It'll likely come back once I stop playing these damn Piazolla tangos. They're quite beautiful, and I put them on because I thought I was bothering my roomies with near-endless alt blaring from my speakers.
It feels like a pattern now. I'll get up from this chair, clean myself up for bed, but lie there for a few hours, stuck in thought. Probably drawing or reading, awake. Then morning comes, and I'll have to sprint to the bus stop again, and plug away at a register and be as busy as that little bookstore will get this time of year. A few days later, I'll be laughing at this, citing mood swings or serotonin-laced chicken or whatever the hell I can think of in a moment's span.
Fuckin' Monotony... Why don't I break it?
• Go hormones!
• Made my first call today. As calls go, it was average, but the positive side of increased connectivity is starting to trickle in. And true to Batcave style, this first call died a horrible death. Here's the cool part: my reception got shot when someone started their car. The EMP created by the engine jammed the signal. I got pulsed. Word of mouth is that reception sucks there anyway, especially on my network.
I've also drained the battery for the first time, so it's just sitting there, happily plugged into the wall. It has the cutest recharging animation, though I'm sure some of you know that already.
• In a strange coincidence, a sales rep has left us with some new phone-related items to sell. There's a phone-sized lawn chair and a folding basket, in vibrant colors. In another, less exciting coincidence, it seems that the Nokia model I have is pretty widespread. Carmen, the Greek/Art supply manager, has one, as well as one of the book clerks.
• Now for a compound coincidence: while buying a ticket from Theo, who's hawking them for Akbayan, I ran into Alpha again. She happened to be talking to a friend about old friends. So now the possibility of a renewed acquaintance reveals itself, and I'm sure she'll be taking full advantage of it. As a sorority sister, she gets to make all her Greek-related purchases at the only store in the Bay Area that sells Greek wares, work. Seems she hasn't changed much, and for a while, it seemed like I hadn't, either. Now that I think about it, I wonder if over the past six years, I've changed, or become more of myself instead. It's not a question I can reliably ask myself, and the answer is not mine to discover.
She doesn't like the cell phone rests, though.
• And just what the hell is "Calypso Cooler" anyway? Did someone just toss a bunch of flavors together and make up a name? How do you describe Calypso in fragrant terms? I guess I'll have to taste...I mean, try it sometime. :p
• It's a meatful dinner I'm enjoying right now. But will three different kinds of meat play well with each other?
• Me: it smells a little rank in the guest room, also...might be the carpet Jare: there's an ant colony under the carpet along the long wall Me: impressive Jare: yeah, it was a pretty huge colony
• Damn my curiosity! It's not even three days with the phone, and I'm already about to wreck it. Trying to change some codes, I found that it's not using the default ones which would allow me to customize. Now my phone's blocked, and I have to take it to a dealer before it blows up or something. I don't even know where those bastards are to be found around here. And I'm sure going to be taken way the hell out of my way to fix something that probably isn't my fault. Fuck me.
The world really is a smoother place when I'm not overreacting. Help was just a few phone calls away (of course, I had to use land lines). And contrary to all given advice, the Cingular person was a breeze to work with. Probably 'cause I knew exactly what was wrong, and I cooperate easily.
So now I've got two out of three phone codes down, and expectedly, the third one isn't the default one. I ain't messing with that one...
• I also managed to find some middle ground where pets are concerned: a beanie cat. He's cute, cat-like, and polite. More importantly, he's hypo-allergenic, and he's portable. I say he because the Ty people say so. I guess they figured I was supposed to infer that from his blue eyes, and not from his pink accents. Then again, it won't matter once the tag is off. If there's any downside to owning a beanie cat, it's that s/he isn't too attentive, and s/he could use some exercise. A little limp, but that's how they're manufactured.
• Sharp pain in right shoulder. Typing with left hand. Annoyance level rising. probably won't be doing much of anything tonight. Might as well see to that pile on the floor... Related to sleep or drawing habits?
• Congrats to Theo and Marissa for a great show tonight. Aside from a period dance together, Theo also does the narration for Aking Pilipina, while Marissa does a few more dances, especially one with the brave Ted Miranda, President of Akbayan. I'm afraid I can't describe it well—like Time Machine, you just have to see it. But I guarantee with this one, you'll like what you see.
• I feel really weird when I go to things like the Pilipino Cultural Night at SJSU. Yes, I'm Pinoy, but I'm not at all hardcore about it. I don't feel much obligation to uphold the Philippine traditions. I was a total outsider when I visited the "motherland" with my family close to a decade ago. But I don't mind being around it all—I'm still hip to the culture, I make fun of fobs on occasion, and I get all the jokes.
It just feels a little lost on me, Filipiniana, or whatever it's called. My parents wanted me to be American—I haven't disappointed them there. If I had grown up earlier in Vallejo, I probably would have picked up on more of it. But keeping it from me probably made more sense in places like Virginia, and Orange County.
• So I was riding the 66, passing by Oak Hill Cemetery when I heard that Lane Staley, lead singer of Alice in Chains, passed away. Most of you know that one of his band's hits—Man In A Box—has been my theme song even before attending SJSU. So I felt a little down, looking at all the gravestones, listening to Nickelback sing, "This is how you remind me of what I really am / This is how you remind me..." Powerful stuff, this "music".
• Dinah and Jare are headed out to the Sakura Matsuri, wherever they're holding one of those. I've always wondered what those were like; annual celebrations of two or three days out of a cherry tree's life, when its blossoms are shed in a storm of pink petals: midare sakura. It's a beautiful sight, or so the anime features say.
• I accidentally left Silver in my vest pocket at Roberts. I'm a little worried, but then I remind myself that Silver's just a beanie cat, not a real one. He won't mind. Much. Hopefully...
• Alcohol and roommates don't mix. It's hella funny when you try, but just don't.
• It's with only a dizzying sense of frustration, coupled with unexpected awe, that I can look upon the yards. In front, stalks of small magenta flowers pervade the shrubs. The color is very pleasant, but the plants' protruding manner is upsetting, and an eyesore from the street. For now, the stalks are tender enough that I can pull them out manually, but I'll have to find the base stems after that. In between, a field of struggling grass and weeds grows unhindered, not a single blade rising to contain it. And since Nikko left the backyard a shambles, all the green areas have been overrun by dandelions, and the walkways are coated in a peculiar mix of dirt, blanket stuffing, and random trash. Don't ask about the hot tub.
It's been a few months since I've had time to even attempt a cleanup. Out of the household, only Mike and I have tried to do so, and he's leaving. Lawn care figures in low on the list of things to take care of around here, well below clubbing, partying, and shopping. I won't have much luck pushing for a few tools to manage our surroundings. A lawnmower is out of the question, since that would involve the entire house pitching in for something only I would use. Besides, the irrigation system distends in a few spots, making mowing more of a task than it should be.
I would love to take a slow May weekend, or even a week, to have at the garden, unconcerned with work, Five Dollar Studios, or even the goings-on at State. I'll have to make do with the Sundays I would usually reserve for me time.
• The Pursuit Of Loneliness, the paperback about the American decline in social values, examines this very problem. The desire to have our own living spaces, distinctly separated from everyone else's, brings on the added responsibilities of maintenance and cleaning. When we tire of this, we look to other sources of potential comfort, which often tend to antagonize our sense of being overwhelmed. We constantly try to outlive ourselves, and get frustrated when we have to push ever further.
• Sweeping up dirt and leaves, you find out why our respiratory systems are equipped the way they are. I've blown out at least an ounce of airborne particles which would have otherwise been lodged deep in my lungs. By this, unfortunately, I've ruled out dust, or at least fine dirt, as an allergen. Other sources include mold, which has found it's way into my room on occasion, and certain pollens, which are in abundance in the yards, and possibly near work. I don't count out the possibility of paper-borne dust, though.
• Just received my first pseudo-call. Apparently, someone was trying to message me, but ended up calling me instead. All I heard were the tones intended to be a message. This person is either very inattentive, or couldn't hear me through their earpiece, since they had to look at the screen to compose their no-message.
[update] Never mind...it was Noah playing around with Jerry's phone.
• Speaking of which, Noah's birthday re-party is this Saturday. I'll be spending the morning watching some tables. If you want to keep me company, or help celebrate at Noah's belated party, let me know.
• Looking down at my double mocha today, I knew this day would be a little out from the ordinary. In its own way, it was just more of the same. But when you consider what this "same" could be in the Nahum-centric perspective, your poor little brain goes *pop* trying to make sense of all the possibility. Or not.
There's just too much to explain. Sorry.
• It gets pretty hot around here now that summer's starting to set in. (Not a clue where spring went...) Aside from Carina's sunroom-cum-bedroom, my room gets a fair amount of heat, but a somewhat unfair amount of airflow. It's receded enough tonight, so I can still get to some work before the night turns crisp.
But Hawkeye, what's the other half?
• In my bargain quest for knowledge, I think I'm succeeding in answering a lot of the questions I had about myself. A "crippling, paranoid lame-ing" has been downgraded to "passive obsession" and further. Dozens of people have worried about the stuff I spent nights crying myself to sleep over. It's actually a little fun afterwards, but feeling shitlike for any reason is not well recommended. The short version is that I feel much better about myself than I ever have. I get down, but I know that it's temporary.
But I still wonder what keeps me from doing certain things I feel I should be doing. I've ruled out fear and stupidity, mostly. This leaves among the possibilities a set of rules that I abide to, sometimes illogically. We all do this, and often the results are favorable. It's a problem when your own rules obstruct yourself. Even at my giddiest, I feel restrained. There's one happy little child in here that no one gets to see, because he gets pushed aside by an overbearing morality. Does he deserve his playtime? Should he grow up instead?
It's my fault for wanting to give absurdity and seriousness equal billing. They've unionized, and I'm being blackballed. It feels like I have to resolve this. Could this feeling be done away with?
• Well, it seems that someone stole my idea for a television/film product based on the marching band experience. Not much of a loss, since I'm sure bandies think about it every now and then. But how long was it until the critically important people thought that "Drumline" might be a good movie idea? Go check out IMDb.com for preliminaries.
• If you don't mind me complaining for a bit, I'd like to look at AOL and spam. How hard is it to design a system that can root out suspicious mail? Everyone got tired of the free diploma offers and dental plans long ago. At the very least, they could unify the address book and the mailbox (and maybe the calendar for kicks) so you could tell when your friend HottieHooch14 sent you an email, and hesitate to delete it with spam from people like slutkitten and Bob118. Since AOL allows its members to see if people read their mail, spammers can abuse this. It complicates things when the full address is obscured by an unyielding mailbox window. It sucks when I have to open a spam just to further block it, which probably won't work since they'll just rotate some numbers in their name or other tricky shit like that.
It's not I pay them $24 to have crap piled onto my hard drive. This money is better spent on anti-spam measures than the billions of 1000 hour CDs they burn. Get a clue, AOL. Take my survey, too.
[edit] They took care of this quite handily. Yay.
• On Heather's Celebration, Friday: Can a brother get a drink around these parts?
After that first Malibu and Coke, further attempts to garner refreshments were thwarted by various devices. The first: a lack of bar presence. Just speculation, but I think the servers were a little wary of the quiet Asian guy taking up a seat at the pub. It became more and more difficult to get anyone's attention, especially after the Sharks fans crowded in after the playoff advancing win by the home team. Second: Insufficient bar voice. Asking for the "beers on tap", I was provided with the tab for the night's drinks and meals thus far, causing major confusion and disappointment with the party. And lastly, the glass remaining from my only drink of the night. To the bar staff, the hours-old melted ice must have appeared to be some stronger concoction I refused to finish swiftly.
Despite these "setbacks", Heather is still excited about her new job. She's accomplished the unthinkable here in San Jose, a median college career straight into a secure job. So further congratulations to our new friend in the EPA, and death threats if she ever exposes my suspicious dumping activities.
Well, now that I think about it, my sister had an easy transition from school to work. After obtaining her psych degree, she's now either an astronaut or a research assistant for NASA Ames. I forget which...
• The remaining Friday was spent keeping Noah occupied while Dinah made his First Birthday cake. It stuck to the animal theme of the party, with an Arkful of little plastic animals parading around a vanilla/chocolate cake. Foolishly did I keep him up past 1am, for he was pretty grumpy the next morning. He started crying when my "cousin" Ericson and my sister's friend Marco dropped by. Noah's usually friendly with people, but people change, I guess.
Once again, the weather threatened to rain us out at the park, so we turned it into a tightly packed house party. Lots of children were around to give Noah some company. He also got to play outside, which doesn't usually happen the few times a month I visit. But there are a lot of things outside that he really wanted to see. One of them was the street, which we spent a lot of effort steering him away from. I had to show him why he shouldn't walk off into the street. It probably freaked out a few drivers caught unaware of the toddler standing between cars, but a little emotional distress is vastly preferrable to grieving over a lost life. As for the kid, it's better to explain to them why we don't want them doing certain things, instead of just yelling "No!" at them.
Along with the cake and the life lesson, Noah also got to kick his second piñata, since he was scared of the first one Silvestre's family had him bat around when they were visited in San Diego a few weeks ago. And after all the fun and games, we spent the rest of the evening watching "Iron Chef" Japanese and his challenger duel over sushi. I think I'll go visit Tengu tomorrow while developing pictures and checking out Reno's recital.
• Yay! My one-day pictures from Friday are going to take one more day to turn around. It's not like I gave them an extra day over the weekend to process them. They got my party pictures from Saturday, though, so I'm not too miffed. And let me tell you, this 200 speed film is working wonders. I should stick with it more often. Once the other set comes in (tomorrow), I'll see about scanning in all of these, as well as some Dave's Birthday pics.
• A $5S Premium Ownage award goes to Reno for putting on a great show tonight.
Percussion recitals are a bit eccentric compared to others, but he took advantage of this, demonstrating command over a wide variety of instruments. Also, I believe he's the first to address the lack of visual stimulation. For two of the pieces, the lights were dimmed to showcase a video projector. And for two moments out of the evening, all watched as the music performed was translated into visualizations. Kinda like Winamp's AVS, or any of the third-party viz plug-ins. (I wonder if I can program some of the effects I saw tonight...) This is something we need in clubs and raves, if they haven't thought of it already. Scott is even thinking about getting one for the next Marching Band concert.
• A Happy Day to my dear mother, who will turn 29 for the 26th time today.
• MEAT LOVING TEENIES (FREE): The best spam I'm not going to open.
• Seems Dad almost ruined my credit (again). Back when I first got my card, it didn't occur to the creditors that I was not my dad, whom I am named after. Recently the credit offers started coming in a mix of our names, some combined entity that even inbreeding can't hope to create. After I (finally) changed my card to better reflect my autonomy, I decided to move my official contact numbers back home. So when the credit people called back to congratulate me for sticking with my card (that's why my rates are the same, right?), Dad answered in his usual jovial manner, but noted that he didn't have an account of any sort with the major carrier. Luckily, after confusing the hell out of them, Dad hinted that he probably had a son with a similar name.
That's exactly the sort of thing I didn't think about when I picked up Carina's party pics. Oh, and Mom's enjoying her birthday as well.
• Congratulations to Ian J. for not-sucking at his prom. Of course, I didn't suck at my prom either.
You didn't go to yours, loser.
Up yours, inner head-voice!
• May 11th. Work from 10-4. But the Vallejo Classic, I just discovered, is that very day. I've never seen Eddie perform since he DM'ed for Vallejo Middle. Friends I haven't seen in years will also be there, undoubtedly. Also, Charlette has hired me to do some photography work that day as well. I can get paid for my talents, not my skills. The amateur can become something more. Other friends I haven't seen in years will be there, too. And let's not forget Mother's Day on that Sunday.
Sure, I'm a little thrown thinking about everything I've agreed to do, but what bothers me most is that I have more than one thing to do on a weekend. This just doesn't happen. My world is broken.
• Just got my first Guestbook entry from someone I don't quite know. A little more venturing has been done on my part lately, and I suppose Icalia must be one of those random people who stumbled happily upon my work. (Kinda like my relationship with artfag.) Wandering around is fun, so go visit their websites why don't you...
• Though my employer won't provide insurance for my not-full-time-employed ass, and the rest of my body, I was rather surprised to hear that I am included in the profit-sharing plan I just found out about. It intrigues me especially, since roughly half the profits to be shared were handled by yours truly. Note that I don't claim responsibility for said profits, but address the fact that I touch a lot of money. It doesn't fully kick in for another three years, but whatever happens, this job will have pulled bank for me.
I got a raise, too. Gotta pay off those snacks and drinks I down every day, huh?
• So much for inviting you to Chuck's surprise party. His sister let him in on it, because she didn't know how to get in touch with his friends.
Hi, I'm Nahum...Chuck's Friend."
Anyhow, come celebrate Chuck's Not-Surprise party on the 17th or 18th, since they're now quarrelling over the date. Hey, they're allowed...they're family. But yeah, just ask/email/phone me, Chuck, or Charlette for details.
• I love putting things together. The new marimba and xylophone for the Marching Band are pretty sweet. Synthetic keys to resist the weather, large wheels with brakes to keep them from rolling off the (flat) field, and an attached rack to prop up cymbals and other mountable percussion instruments. However, the racks now make them take up more space on the trailer, and there probably isn't an easy way to make everything fit. If Scott ordered one, the new vibraphone would have to be a foot and a half wide to fit in the space remaining. That or someone's going to have to get tricky with the pit equipment...
• Walking home after the 73 detoured early, I realized that I should have watched Izzy at his Zodiac rehearsal instead. Fate is one hell of an allusive bitch.
• I got my first moments of four-bar cell phone reception in the Band Lobby today. The magic spot is near the floor in front of the not-couch. I suppose if that sad, cloth-covered-foam pretender threw me onto the floor, I could utilize that magic spot to best advantage.
• Too Much Crap Saturday is no more. They never gave me my day off. After all, I only asked for it days before the people I could have switched with did a little Saturday scheduling between themselves, even knowing that I needed the free day. Shows how much clout my senior cashiering ass gets.
I guess on the positive side, it gives me a chance to identify with Mom, whose workplace peers are bitter, devious, vindictive bitches who put their own advancement before the stability of the store. Is it truly necessary to employ drastic means to get what I want around there? I've been working there non-stop for over a year. I never get vacation time except during holidays and commitments to Scott. I won't be insured because I work full-time hours but am still considered "part-time" for official purposes. There is no visible room to advance, with management positions comfortably filled, and all expansion possibilities accounted for.
I'm feeling mighty underappreciated right now. I'm starting to feel weary of everything, and wonder if this even matters to anyone. This is what happened back when I was running copiers and presses over at A.S. Print Shop. I didn't have the heart to tell anyone that I was feeling oppressed, so when my performance started to wane, they had to let me go. Here, however, I know that I'm an important member of the workforce, and am willing to stay as long as needed. Yet I still feel disjoint from that energy. This probably won't go down well...
• In losing that Saturday, I lost the opportunity to do professional work for Charlette. I wonder if she expected me to renege on the deal. Her enthusiasm has been questionable, like she doesn't trust me entirely. I lost a chance to challenge that. I've disappointed.
• Visiting Bunkie and the ladies this afternoon, I was instantly reminded of the time I started moving into the house here in Blossom Hill. A two-bedroom apartment's worth of crap would be made to fit tightly into one small bedroom and matching garage space. A healthy front lawn and backyard were imagined to be future flower gardens. Spare weekends in the hot tub beckoned from the shining land of possibility. And all this would be shared with friends old and new.
I don't think I've realized these visions yet. Instead of spending time tending to the greenery, enjoying the comfort of my spacious room, and chatting with pleased guests, I've wasted myself in here, piling up all kinds of shit and hiding away from everyone. I need to finish moving in, and make the mark I came here to make.
• A few outdated and needless remarks have been removed from the Guestbook. I thought these issues were taken care of. Unfortunately, some prefer to hold onto their anger. I believe our problems can only continue as long as we want them to. Thusly, I find it more honorable to end a dispute than to begin or continue one.
I must insist that my gifts not be used as instruments in your personal conflicts. I will not be your tool. Not only do you waste yourself in hatred, but you also misrepresent everything you connect yourself with. Even my own struggles are at best temporary. Reading my journal should be your first indication. My emotions seem to change every day.
I would like to remind everyone who is kind enough to sign the guest book to refrain from insulting/attacking my other guests for what they believe and what they stand for. Be considerate and respect my friends and guests. Whatever you type into the guest book should be a reflection of your experience here at Five Dollar Studios. Anything else should be communicated only to the proper people, as it has no place here.
• Yes, the 6th...the 6th, and not the 5th, like I was writing on all my paperwork today. The 6th...
• I was about to ask why my pretty shirts seem to stain more often than the crappy ones. Common sense dictates that the pretty shirts will see more exposure than the competition—∴ the pretty shirts will receive more chances to get stained. Accordingly, I've failed two savings throws vs. discolorants. The sky blue shirt I'm pretty fond of took some mocha stains, which, thanks to Amanda, mostly washed out in cold, light soapy water. I'll Shout those out afterwards. Forward thinking prevailed; the wooden letters I was spray painting fluorescent orange stained my undershirt, since my overshirt was drying comfortably upstairs. The paint dust wiped clean from my khakis, though. I fail to understand how I got paint drops on my (manly) chest when my targets were diametrically opposite the paint can. Wonder!
• To get back to the letters, theft in the Greek department has brought us to some desperate measures. All of the small wooden items the frat boys and girls love to steal have now been placed behind a manned counter. We didn't have a manned counter before. Thusly, one of us has to divert ourselves to attend to the Greekies, leaving other important work undone. I reckon with the money we'll save with this system, we could hire a full-timer to deal with the Greek counter. Hiring is not on my managers' agenda, though.
The core problem here is that certain people think themselves more deserving than others, and are willing to skirt past civil principles to have their selfish ways. They are breaking society, in the name of brother/sisterhood. Good job, fuckers! You all are too proud to admit that your contributions to your fraternity/sorority are not as impressive as you would like, and disgrace yourselves, your organizations, and the very system you pledge blood and buttocks to. You forgot to pledge your honor as well, but that I can understand—where there is no honor, there is no shame. Remind me to slice you miraculous piles the next time you think stealing from us to give to yours is the way to go. I've got some tension to release.
• That's the problem with growing up. You realize that all the sharing, cooperation, and organization you learned as a kid was merely classroom filler, since everyone around you can't look past themselves. Community and compassion are becoming things of the past. We're too eager to have our own, distinct and separate from everyone elses'. Millions of years of social interaction are being lost to self-interest. Unfortunately, this seems to have been inescapable. Our society, thanks to commuting and travel, consists of strangers walking past each other, where before communities thrived within themselves. We've achieved much in this modern age, but we're falling away from the things that make us human. Is it possible to have both technology and civilization?
I'm going to burn some dinner. You're free to join me.
• The SJSU Orchestra Concert is tomorrow. But I don't want to miss Smallville. Decisions...
• Whoa...messages. I've been getting the lamest phone calls on my land line. This first loser wants me to log on to his sorry website and suffer viral attacks, worms, and javascript fever. Well, he didn't refer to those in words, but I could feel the Lame in his pre-recorded voice.
This other hole of a person offered "me and my spouse" something. I couldn't stand listening to the rest of the message. Where has my patience gone? What about my attention span?!
Lost in the chasm, dude! Get your head out of there...!
• Excuse me for saying so, but freezer-burned, mostly cooked cow makes for one tasty steak, in the proper hands of course...
• I just saw the birthmark on the back of my head for the first time in the bathroom mirrors. Previously, this was the sort of thing only the nice Viet ladies over at Saigon Salon and anyone else behind me could see. Now with the latest vanity optics and a loose neck, I can admire myself, more so. It seems to be perfectly situated on the rearmost portion of my scalp, and hopefully is symmetric. According to my stylist, this strategic positioning indicates above-average intelligence.
...
uh-huh.
• My day was going fine until I woke up this morning. Already half an hour late for work, it took another hour and a half to get Downtown, since each and every bus and train I came across left 10 seconds before I could catch it. Story of my life. I tried to call back at work to tell them I wasn't coming, but they were already busy, flooded with phone calls and who knows what else since the other cashier called in sick "legitimately". All it took was one of Chuck's punkass passive-aggressive mixed greetings to break my spirit. I broke down crying. Then I finished my sandwich and proceeded to waste the rest of the day.
I'm feeling boned right now, so I'll probably hit the Orchestra concert just to relieve the nerves, if such a thing is possible today.
• You know what? I need to shut face when I'm tainted. Like Jini says, Chuck is the "Master of Subtlety". Of course, Mike was mistaken about his attitude as well. Or was he?
Whatever.
• So after the concert, Chuck, Alice, Charlette, James, and I head over to Chili's on Blossom Hill, at Dr. Averett's suggestion, and because there really is one there. The Dr. makes for great conversation, especially after a glass of wine. As fun as discussions of Half Dome, diazepam addiction, and healthy eating can be, I want to believe that I can hold someone's attention before the corkscrew hits. Of course, she could also just enjoy talking, or possibly even attracted to me in some strange way, but that's just wandering...
Let's try some of that "shutting face" now.
• The Spartan Weight Training Warehouse: Have you seen this thing?! It's like the Event Center facilities, fifteen times over! It has a wonderfully Socialist feel to it, almost like a detention center for lanky girly men. Imagine if the Marching Band was granted access to all that tonnage. I'm about to truck over to GNC and stock up on weight gain supplements.
I remember trying some as a teenager—Allan was into weightlifting and linebacking around then. Tasty stuff, so I thought. I tended to sample it in powder form rather than mix it in according to the label directions. I never told him about it, for fear of getting armlocked into submission, or sat upon when he was in one of his flatulent moods. I mention it now because it'll cost him a good few hundred to get over here and even try anything. hehe... Anyhow, he's graduating with a degree in Biology from Rutgers, which I suppose he'll tack into an Army medical program of some sort. This has been Second-Hand News Network.
• Listening to Powerslave this morning on 90.5 KSJS, I heard a track from Bal-Sagoth's "The Power Cosmic". This is one hell of an album! It's kinda like Star Wars meets death metal, with hints of He-Man for good measure. I wonder if I can find this somewhere nearby...
• Joy. A day off to spend tending to the wilderness lawns. Now that's assuming I don't spend the entire morning in bed, and the afternoon on the computer or whatever the hell else I could think of. Some of the work's been done already, but by who, I don't know. I suspect some of the lawn care professionals scouting for accounts may be responsible, or perhaps they are the reason for the outrageous verdance. The weeds I understand, but those lavender flowers still puzzle me. No matter—they'll be clipped all the same.
• Sunday is Mother's Day. Don't you love your Mom? Mine's a little forgetful—my name hovers around fifth or sixth position when she tries to call me. (She'll even call out names of people not within our immediate family.) I suppose that's where my occasional confusion stems from, but I love her anyway. Bitch... >:p
• Six hours later, the first phase of my front lawn restoration project is complete, and then some. All the weeds have been chopped, whacked, or sprayed. Bare spots in the lawn have been loosened for the next phase, which includes patch seeding and maybe some fertilization. Also, I got started on the lavender flowers, which I'm trying to positively identify. Their stems are tubular and hollow, like most standing weeds. Many dozens of stems can extrude from the base, which seems around a bulb or tuber. As you've seen in the above picture, they've pervaded the shrubbery and a few other random spots in the lawn and driveway. The stems separate most easily from the base, but the base itself requires a pitchfork to extract at its larger sizes.
Needless to say, the grip has been mostly drained from my hands. Otherwise, I feel just warmed up. Paul, the neighbor across the street (whom I just introduced myself to this afternoon), was eager to lend some gardening tools. This I suspect came from a little frustration from seeing our hideous front lawn every day. I won't clip the hedges until I can get the first batch of lawn waste taken away. Lucky for me, today was pickup day. The weed whacker was pretty helpful, but the spare cleavers he uses for gardening made the day fun. Larger weeds, ivy, and that weird tree out front fell to my mad dual cleaver skills. I wish someone had taken pictures.
As soon as I have access to Dinah's car, I can get a few more tools and supplies. But it'll be another week until I can get anything done. Meanwhile, I could use a shower and a meal.
• It's the letter I wish I hadn't opened just now. After six years of mistakes and general meandering, my petition for reinstatement has been accepted. I want to scream right now. I probably should; I have the house to myself until I leave for home tomorrow night. But I respect my neighbors, especially the one I just met. Paul likes ping-pong. But he probably doesn't like people getting giddy excited about anything in the middle of the night. I don't think anyone else around here does, and I definatly know I don't.
Now, the problem shifts to the question of funding and scheduling. I didn't want to even think about money matters until I was sure I could return. Well, first I have to reapply and wait some more. But that should go over easily. I'd like to ask about financial aid, but I'm still scarred from my first (and only) encounter with the financial aid staff. They were bitter folk, they were. Probably 'cause they fuck up everyone's accounts and get hell for it. That spiral of escalation which makes everything that is wrong in this world what it is—they took it out on me because I followed directions on a form. But that's just taking a broad problem personally.
Even if I can find a way to reliably pay for classes, I still have to be able to fit them in with work and/or band. I did plan on marching for seven years when I started. Somehow, all three fit into the formula well my first few years here. It seems like it's going to be more troublesome this time around. Since I could easily work mornings, I got more hours at work than my coworkers did. Now I'm playing on their level. But I can't fully know how things might be until the Fall schedule comes out (late). The press people say May 17th, but as always, I doubt their timeliness.
• Why am I so insistent on mentioning Paul, my "new" neighbor? Because I won't remember his name (Paul) unless I work on it. I consider "Paul", which is the name my neighbor is...named, to be too common a name. It doesn't have anything interesting to tie it to people, like Leslie Festejo. I ran into her yesterday. She still has that same haircut, the shoulder length flippy deal. I can see the letters L, F, and J in the shape of her hair, and the ie sound I've associated with squinting eyes. Hers are quite squinty. But it's not that easy with Paul...who plays ping-pong. Paul Ping-Pong.
...
Score!
That is all. Go forth, and ponder!
• So I got impatient... Instead of heading home to V-hole, I decided to do some lawn work, while I freshly had the seed and fertilizer and rake and hoe, ho. Got some cool plants as well. They'd all better be cool, since I spent $60 on what I thought would be a $30 purchase. Then again, I always undershoot estimated prices. And from working at Roberts, I think everyone else does, too. It's just like a Greek purchase (paddle, letters); it adds up Damn™ quick.
The reseeding went amazingly well so far. I won't know until next weekend, when the seedlings start sprouting. It should be well, and dense enough to make the existing grass look like a mistake. I won't be able to overseed the rest of the lawn until it's mowed. I'll have to check out the sprinklers as well, since they were unplugged when the water filtration dude did his. I should also find instructions to work the filter, since it's beeping at me once again.
• If it matters to anyone, it only took me two sets to parallel park on 10th street today. A vast improvement on my part. Problem was, I knew I angled back in too deep, but didn't bother to stop. I still had good clearance after curbing, though. And for once, I was parked neat, fit, and flush. Mastery.
Now if you don't mind, I'll be speeding home. Supermarket! will be a little late. Tuesday at the latest. Speaking of Tuesday, that preview of About A Boy with Hugh Grant is Tuesday night. I really want to go (with someone). Unless the janitors are throwing them away, people have been picking up the tickets I left in the Band Lobby. I don't know who, but I know.
• Here in Vallejo, and some interesting memories returned to me. For instance, there was that slumber party I stuck around at for a while until the partyholder's father kicked me out.
I also remembered why I don't enjoy staying over here. There's this hickey on my neck. She's dark, has long thin legs, and has a somewhat flighty attitude. But leave yourself vulnerable for just a moment, and she'll suck the life out of you. She bit my arms and face as well. Unfortunately, I didn't do a good job of swatting that mosquito, so I'll bet she'll be around later tonight.
• I'm so glad that Jerry taped this week's Smallville. I didn't have time to take care of that when last Tuesday came about. I'll have to be more prudent about taping if I end up watching the movie preview this week.
• Dad has offered to help out with the yard work, something I totally didn't think of. He enjoys doing tasks for his neighbors and friends. He recently picked up tiling, which has made the bathrooms and kitchen much more classy than before. And as always, he's a wonder in the garden; the backyard is full of homegrown fruits, vegetables, and flowers. I attribute this to his mostly agricultural upbringing. I reckon our family owns a few acres of prime farmland. It's in the Philippines, though, so it's probably in the care of relatives. In it's prime, I suppose it was mostly rice paddies, though my late grandfather's house was surrounded by towering banana, mango, and kumquat-like trees, as well as bamboo and other various plants.
Dad insists on refusing payment if he does help out, which I'm sure the household won't mind. For what I can best guess are masculine reasons, this has been something I wanted to take care of by myself. Not so much doing it alone, but simply asking nothing of my roommates. I try not to dwell on the fact that they seem unconcerned with the appearance of the house; we have all been too busy with other things. But I think I've been eager to do this just for the satisfaction of doing something, and being able to call the work my own. It's not such a selfish undertaking, because it'll keep us out of the eyes of the regulators, and in good relations with our neighbors.
There's a certain level of responsibility needed in owning a corner house by a major vein. It's one of the houses people pass by every day, and for those stopping at the corner before the turn, it's five crucial seconds. The flowers, branches, and ivy crossing their path have bothered the people who walk past our yard. Soon, their disappointment and offense will be redeemed.
• Took a moment to increase my survival time by 3-4 days if I'm somehow trapped in my room. I already have enough tools up here to make things interesting, but now I've got a sizeable food stock for good measure. So long as this sturdy roof doesn't bind me to the bed or floor completely, I should be fine. And aside from the computer monitor, there shouldn't be much to pose a serious hazard.
It's just a friendly little, 5.2 magnitude reminder from our techtonic friend, Mr. San Andreas Fault. He's my special friend.
• Meanwhile, Charlette, Carina, and Janice were lugging home a new bass guitar. Naturally, they didn't feel a thing. Slightly, I wonder why they didn't ask me or Chuck for any suggestions, like which stores (with bandie friends of ours) to hit, or which brands to go for. No matter...they're happy with it, and they seem to have everything they need to start off. Can't wait until Carina gets an electric...I'll be on that like white on (white) rice (not wild).
• Earlier, sulking away at work, I came to the conclusion that what makes me (and possibly many others) most sad is when I am brought to doubt myself. I had a big ol' Musing to go with it, but I'm a little distracted from it right now... I'll remember as much as I can.
• Fucking AOL... I'm trying to complete a secure form, but AOL keeps losing the server address or something, which forces me to reload the page, which comes up empty because secure pages do that, which undoes hours of critical work, which really FUCKIN ANNOYS THE HELL OUT OF ME!!!!!!!111
I'm just going to relax, stop cursing and talking to myself, and NEVER USE AOL FOR MISSION-CRITICAL TASKS AGAIN@@@@@11!!!!!!
• I am very glad I borrowed the macheté from home. I'm not entirely sure where Dad got it—those Navy types get around, y'know. But, yeah, the macheté, when paired with unwanted timber, is an effective stress reliever.
I wish I wasn't so obsessive with my anger. The intense, but unnecessary feelings that arise can't possibly be good for me. But freaking out for a few minutes, walking away, and coming back refreshed has been the way I've dealt with problems. It's not a legacy I plan on continuing, but bad habits are the hardest to break.
• Note to self: Nahum, I am eating your self-esteem with some sanity sauce. It tastes delicious! Do you want some? You'll have to wrestle me for it. And I wouldn't recommend taking this outside. You remember what happened to your sense of decency. Besides, I don't think this is the kind of thing your friends should be watching anyway. They're becoming suspicious of you, aren't they?
Enough of this, Subconscious. Join me. Together, we can be inevitable. Anything we can imagine will be ours! Push me aside, and you'll only be hurting yourself as well. I know you're above using selfish suffering as a means to your ends. It's much more easier this way. Now stop devouring my dreams.
• If you've received any strange, speechless phone calls from me ("Maria Reduta"), I apologize. I'm not habitual enough with the key guard, and I've been dialing a few numbers from the hip lately. Given time, I might be able to unknowingly call people who aren't even on my speed dial or phone book. Simply hang up if you don't hear anything intelligible within the first minute or so. In fact, if you don't expect to hear anything intelligible out of me, simply ignore the call. Of course, you're still welcome to talk to my hip, but I as a whole don't quite enjoy being left out of conversations.
• Book buybacks are happening at Roberts. Your best rates are now during Finals week. But bring your I.D. with you. I fear for society when people drive up here to sell their books, but don't have their licenses with them. It really does happen.
• Lately, my creative energies have been focused on songs I would like to perform if I had a band. Preferably one that would feel at home playing alt, jazz, hip-hop, techno, samba, bluegrass, etc., and various combinations thereof. The album that's playing through my head right now is very influenced by video games; the musical styles (mis)match to each game genre very well. Though it's straightforward and serious as music goes, the combos I'm imagining are inherently funny. Tell me you can't put together death metal and Pac-Man, or 40's swing with platform jumpers (Super Mario).
• Hope—the necessary evil. The one evil we use to counteract all the others.
• For once, I caught those Daybreak flowers I bought a while ago do just that. When they're sunlit, the flowers spread to their fullest, mimicing the day. I wish to be like them sometime while I'm still young.
• There's the nagging feeling that more people (that I know) would have come if I was more timely with the invitations. There was plenty to distract me from action, especially the possibility that Chuck was taking care of the invitations himself. When I realized that people still hadn't been made aware of the party earlier in the week, I had to take care of it. And I regret not being able to invite everyone I wanted, solely because this was his party. There are people he just doesn't click with, and hopefully, they know it. I also wonder whether my personal relations with our common friends influenced the turnout somehow. I probably shouldn't; it was a short-notice party during the most hectic week of the semester If everyone's doing well, that's all I can ask for.
• Chuck's drowsing off happily, at least. Plenty of people showed up to celebrate. They came from all over: relatives, bandies, coworkers, friends of family. It all reminds me of how compartmentalized everything can become. One person can mean so many different things to different people. My band friends know how dedicated/obsessive I can become; they've seen my game face and my play face. My coworkers know how my demanding nature matches up with my eagerness to please the customers. My family knows I love them and I know vice versa—they've known this for as long as I've been alive, and they continue to see it in my interactions with Noah. But though my relatives know that I'm genial, talented, and faring well here in San Jose, they haven't seen me awe crowds with tempered rhythms. They haven't seen me turn a rude, uncaring stranger into a content, whole person. And except for that one beer at the all-you-can-eat Asian restaurant, they've never seen me drink. Similarly, my coworkers have only seen and heard hints of what I do for and with my friends. And my friends have never seen me capture someone's attention with a silly face, and further fascinate him with typical uncle antics.
For all I know, Chuck is "Chuck" to everyone that knows him, a single, constant entity communally perceived. In a way, this is something to be envied. Nothing about him seems masked or concealed from anyone that knows him. Save for his deepest aspirations, fears, and antagonisms, everyone has a good chance of knowing him fully. I often think to myself, "if you only knew...," in dealing with the people in my life. At times, it feels like I'm hiding some horrible truth, or protecting them from some harmful aspect of my being. Good or bad? I think I just consider it "being me", my distinction. Perhaps it's better that people know me the way I do, leaving certain people to offer more pertinents than inferreds.
• As band members, even the most deviant of us still seem rather tame compared to the other people in Chuck's life. Or maybe we just represent a broad cross-section of people that can be known.
• Felicia stopped by, and I'm trying to avoid wondering how she knew I lived here. She just came for Chuck's party, that's all. And I happen to live with Chuck. It's not like she's divining my personal information through means unknown. It's not like she isn't entitled to the knowledge, but I still wonder how she learned my name...
• Since Alice has been around, it's been impossible to get Chuck "Chuck drunk". He was still clothed, eloquent, mostly balanced, and only half as red as I've ever seen him before he crashed into his room with the lady. She must really mean something to him...
• And during the customary movies, I got to see Rat Race and Training Day, this time without the director's commentary. Chocolat has become one of my favorite movies as well, thanks to a few calm hours with Jessica, one of Charlette's cousins, and the last to drift off.
Everyone's off to sleep now, except me. There's a strange contentment. I'm the man of the house, and all of my "children" have slipped into the safety of the sleeping world. Even the waxing crescent seems appeased with the night's happenings, and has sought slumber as well. I might as well find my dreams—someone has to sleep through the morning cleaning. >:)
• My family's computer in Vallejo just got attacked by some .vbs virus. It's the kind that ruins all the .mp3 and .jpg files, converts them to .vbs, and foils any attempts to undo the damage. It disturbs me especially since I know that they aren't diligent about virus scanning or maintenance of any sort. They just type papers, play games, chat online, and listen to music with it. They don't know the first thing about fixing the computer. I have to tech for them whenever they have a problem, which I found out is a difficult task when you're not physically present to assess their situation. So right now, I've instructed them to not use the computer at all (there was some latent program running even during startup).
I'm not in the best position to help them get another one, but with all the speedy computers coming out now, I bet I can at least find them a cheap model that's still faster than their 466 Celeron. If any of you know where I can get a great deal on a computer, let me know. At the moment, I'm thinking of the Fry's ad in the Metro with the $600 bare-bones with Windows on it. (They lent out their Windows CD to a friend who lost it, Judy.) Also, if you have any suggestions as to how I can better handle this, let me know, since I've never had to deal with a diseased computer before.
And to keep this from happening again, make sure the files you download don't have the .vbs extension. You'll want to turn on extension viewing for these files, along with .mp3 and .jpg files (Folder Options), as well as disabling automatic execution of Visual Basic scripts.
• There's another malicious computer thing spreading around. I wouldn't quite call it a virus, but it propragates between computers, albeit with the help of unknowing, paranoid, or plain stupid people. Janice got an email from a friend of hers asking for the deletion of jdbgmgr.exe from the hard drive, alleging it's a virus set to activate in a few weeks. The clincher is that it's a Microsoft program, a Java Debug Manager, and it's present in everyone's computer, mine included. Since all my downloads are either web pages or program updates from Microsoft and McAfee (VirusScan), this could not be a virus. It's probably a program they created to address security issues, the deletion of which would allow some cracker to screw with the computer through a naughty Java applet. Just a theory, but when asked about this, Janice's friend said that though he did send it out, the email was a hoax.
[update] McAfee's AVERT labs officially classify the jdbgmgr.exe deal as a hoax as well.
So with that situation defused, I offer my personal advice on all things virus-wise:
• I just remembered why I loved The Cosby Show, and found out a lot of the things that were only subliminal to me in youth. This show was to family what Seinfeld was to people living. Everything I want to make will hopefully be at least of that calibre.
• The yardwork has been a refreshing (though distracting) change of pace. I've even got Carina interested in what's going on. We've managed to steer into a common direction regarding yardwork. For now, she'll be content with the juniper hedges and the roses, which she has issues with but I appreciate. They're hardy plants, protective of their beauty. Care for them right, and they'll bloom like nothing before. Push them too far, and they'll drain the blood from your hands. Caring for roses is a matter of diverting its energy into the right branches and a few well-placed blossoms, pruning away everything else. With their sure stems and honed growth, these have survived drought, neglect, and competition from those lavender weeds I've talked about. After the weed crowded itself out and fell to the snails, the rose held fast, smelling as sweet as ever. Other bushes grew back from seeming death after I chopped off all the green in a prior, unmeditated moment. Given time, they'll grow back even more beautiful. This is a life story.
• The mood has been exhaustive since the morning—I thought I had things figured out, but it seems I'm still bothered much too easily. It seems as if the only way to resolve things is to do the one thing I can't bring myself to do: talk. The contradictory impulse wants me to sit silent and be content with frustrated wonderings and all kinds of "what-if" games. Even a simple ride home from a friend seemed like both a surprise waiting to happen, or a conspiracy to keep me away from something. This is going to affect me for a while, much as I don't want it to. There's nothing worthy enough here to distract me for long: no one else is home, the garden's soaking in the rain, and everything else is mindless work or critical stuff that demands the concentration I don't have right now. A Mudslide is starting to sound dangerously tasty right now.
I hate sitting on my problems.
• I think I've managed to prove myself wrong: there's plenty of conversation here to be left out of, TV shows to incite bitter yearnings, and random baking. Pineapple upside-down cake and strife go hand in hand. I think I'm just wanting too much again. If you think about it (like I went back and did), now's not the best time to distract people from their more pressing matters, which is exactly what I was thinking in the morning. It's the curious hour afterwards that gets to me, where possibilities that could have been are now explored: things I could have said or done, which seem genuinely entertaining until you forget everything in the moment. But now I'm just whining again. Get back to studying...
• There's something wrong with you when the residents at the halfway house think you're crazy. So just bring your I.D. next time, fair customer.
• Now that I'm in a happy, sociable mood, there's no one to be found. Eh...
Since no one was around to preview Enigma with me, I took some time to transplant the plants. The gazanias/Daybreaks are now trying out their new homes in the strip garden next to the front walkway. There were plenty of rose plants to relocate/remove, as well as the tubers of those lavender-flowered weeds. I'm not sure how it's going to work out, since it felt necessary to saturate the transplant region (I'm under the impression that gazanias aren't too fond of moist soil).
I've also got a few pots of sansevierias/Snake Plants, which proudly sprouted from one container. It's like 3 for 1, baby! Technically, there are seven possible individual plants to be had, but I put a few of them together. I remember the last one I had, and only recently found out how I killed it. Sansevieria are succulents, like cacti, so they actually thrive in dry soil. I, not knowing this at the time, essentially overwatered the poor thing when it was withering. The unwanted water ended up rotting the roots, bringing death forth. I won't make that mistake twice.
According to lore and legend, sansevieria evokes the virtues of the Eight Gods (namely long life, prosperity, intelligence, beauty, art, poetry, health, and strength). The virtues are seen in the plant's lifespan, its efficiency of growth, its many long, thick, ornately colored leaves, and its notorious pot-bursting manner. The offshoots radiate outwards, well below the soil, and rise again a few inches away, no matter what it has to pass through. The original container that I bought the new one in is now warped from stress. In a few more months, I might have some broken ceramics to take care of.
The dracaenas/Good Luck Bamboos I repotted a while ago are doing fine in their wide bowl containers. For the past year, the two of them have been sharing a pot, being neglected in the kitchen. They seemed like welcome color at the time. But now, they have a chance to really grow out.
[update] ...which they aren't doing, in favor of withering in the day's sun. I think I shocked them with the sudden change of environs. Hopefully, they'll recover in the back yard underneath some welcome shade.
• When you think about it, Joe, it's pretty shady to charge a group of seven for three games when you know they only have time to bowl two. I'm a little peeved that I didn't notice the earlier closing time and convince everyone to pay for only two games instead. Despite that, I think John had a great time at his surprise dinner and bowling party. He bowled one of the better games tonight. For me, it was a chance to don the old "Pin Doctor" persona without going into fits about my less-than-stellar performance. I wholly expected to suck this time around, which is how I would've looked at tonight's games with last year's mentality. I'm not yet in control of my game, but I don't feel that I've lost any of my skill.
It was refreshing to see John be more of himself. He seems pretty reserved sometimes, but watch him hang around with friends, and he's another of the guys. It's no thrilling revelation, just another example of how people work. Comfort is power.
• I won't get a good look until tomorrow morning, but the dirt patches are slowly becoming grass patches. It's a marvelous thing, this "growth". Life is overcoming the lifeless. I am winning. It took another try, but getting from seed to sprout required only more moisture. I didn't water the lawn as often or as deeply as I'm doing now. The layer of mulch is also helping by retaining the moisture that would have been lost to exposure. Soon enough, the sprouts will be just like their foot-long neighbors, something I saw in the tanned forms that used to lie there in their open graves. I have a future in mind—it's another side of the present, and it happens to be greener over there.
• It seems like such a small, repetitive thing I do... When I wish people luck when they buy their test forms, am I actually helping? I'm not contributing to their knowledge in any particular way. But perhaps these small tokens are like motivational seeds, which in the right minds, grow into sturdy spirits blossoming with confidence. Sometimes, all we need is just that little bit more of confidence to take on the trials before us. It must be a human thing, to wish each other well and benefit from it.
• I have the car for the weekend. I really should use it right now. The neighbors across the street, one house over, are getting into their usual Friday night mayhem. If I had an industrial dumpster full of garbage, I could yell at traffic and loiter in the streets too! I would make it look beautiful, too. These pretenders have nothing on me.
• Unless the antivirus people say so, I've got this virus squashed. I'm going to find its profile on one of the antivirus sites just to make sure I've taken care of everything. It's a remarkable thing, actually, but not nearly as devastating as it could have been. All of the music and image files were wiped and replaced with the VBScript code for the virus, which mentions something about Columbia. Since I had a clear look at the code, I could figure out what damage had been done, which registry entries to check, and what could have happened. My family uses AOL exclusively, so their Windows Address Book is empty—thus, the virus couldn't email itself out to anyone. I found and disabled all the Startup entries, as well as the Windows Scripting Host, which allows this sort of virus to work. Setting your system to Edit instead of Open .vbs and .vbe files also keeps it from doing harm.
(To turn off Windows Scripting Host, go to the Control Panel, Add/Remove Programs, click the Windows Setup tab, expand the Accessories option, and uncheck Windows Scripting Host. To my knowledge, it's not necessary for menial tasks, but might be used on some web sites for higher-level functionality. I think it does more damage than good, though.)
Since the damage done by the virus was limited to files only, nothing in the system needed replacing. Unfortunately, this means I didn't get a new computer or Windows XP, but I got some other goodies to make the time worthwhile.
• The McAfee mail handler rejected my email support request, because it detected the Loveletter virus in my message (which I enclosed within the body text for analysis). This makes up for the hours I spent trying to find out which virus I just worked with. As soon as I install Norton AV (chosen at my brother's request), this won't be a problem anymore. Let's just hope they update the scanner and actually use it.
• So this is how I've been spending my Memorial Day weekend. Personally, I found this to be a valuable learning experience. The convenience store clerk who heckled me earlier didn't think so. In fact, he wondered why I wasn't at a party, having fun with friends. (I've been wondering the whole weekend.) Then we talked about the technological boom and overpopulation in China. I left with a bottle of Sobe, mixed feelings, and some M&M's.
• Even with their new anti-virus scanner, I wonder just how on top of things my family can stay. I've tried out a few things for them, and I'm pleased with the performance at least. The system checking tools that came with it confirm what I see on the desktop: everything's a mess. I don't have any more patience to clear out everything they don't need/can't use, so I'll just claim a few things, have a meal, and head back to San Jose. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the rest of my weekend. I really need to get out of here and do something fun, but the opportunities haven't been forthcoming. Even if I could find the motivation to do some landscaping, there isn't much to do at this point in its development.
I'll stop sulking for now and let you all get on with whatever.
• Bad Company. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Damn, people, one of these must appeal to you. I can unfree your free Wednesday or Thursday night, if you have one for the unfreeing. Did I mention these tickets are free?
• I had my first, very own Memorial Day Barbeque. Only today did I find out that it was a tradition. I must have blundered through past barbeques without realizing their significance. In the name of fallen American soldiers do we roast our ribs and chicken and weeds and burgers. I'm not familiar with any fallen American soldiers, but the two military men I am familiar with (Dad and Allan), are fine and doing well. Dad's visiting Allan on the East Coast for some post-Graduation festivities and whatnot. Mom visited as well, but she came home early to watch on my brothers. Or brother when Jare decides he wants to hang with his friends. He'd normally do that online, but the computer was broken, see? And then Dinah, Silvestre, and Noah are coming back from Baja Cali tomorrow, leaving me one more precious day with the car.
• It's really a liberating experience, enclosing yourself within the fully-optioned, molded steel shell of a vehicle that takes you where you want to go, how you like to go (within legal boundaries) amongst a nameless crowd of a few thousand others cursing the day as they tread along. For a few days, I was able to enjoin myself to that empowered society that would rather be left alone with the road. The imposed anonymity is probably unintentional, but by separating ourselves from everything else with our vehicles, we no longer see each other as people, with occasionally common motivations and personalities. The person masterfully meandering through a maze of metal becomes the selfish jerk who cut you off and almost struck the guy in front of you. The working mother checking in on her husband and/or children is now the distracted bitch who should never have received her driver's license. And the man who has connected himself to the Beat Eternal has violated your personal space with penetrating bass and treble. Mind you, there's still something terribly exciting about zooming down an empty freeway with all the horsepower you can draw from a 2.0 liter. But when we're bound to the pace set by a few thousand other motorists, think about their stories.
• I had lots of fun with flammable materials today. I bought my first can of gasoline, the kind you get in 2 gallon jugs. Of the four gas stations cornering Blossom Hill and Snell, only the Chevron carried them. Naturally it was the last station left for me to check. The Valero was closed; the Shell lady had trouble making out what I was describing; I had trouble making out what the 76 guy was replying. That's why I was relieved when the Chevron dude pointed out the containers above the soft drink refrigerators and gave me some pointers on how to use it. Unfortunately, when I filled the chainsaw up, I couldn't get the thing to start. I ended up flooding the motor by following the starting directions exactly. The knowledge wasn't lost on me—I've started up the old green mower plenty of times, even as a runty kid. Thus, the trees out front will have to wait their turn.
What I did get to burn were those damn lavender weeds. By now, they had finished flowering, and started seeding in an unexpected way. I thought they formed those mysterious, round black seeds that I saw on the sidewalk a year ago. (I tried growing those out, but had no patience to attend to them at the time.) Instead, the weeds form aerial seeds, like dandelions, but are much more strident about it. When I hacked off the man-high dandelions in the backyard, their seeds had scattered all over. So with some added foresight, I decided it was better to eliminate the seeds first, the only way I know how. The long lighter and some WD-40 make for an excellent (dangerous) weed killer. A pre-treatment of the petroleum-based spray ensures that the seed clusters will light up, subsequent sprayings of which will sterilize even the hardiest weed. I had a few close calls with the flames themselves, as they would occasionally creep up the spray towards the canister. It would probably have made the kind of explosion I would enjoy watching from a safe distance away.
• The girls here aren't too fond of barbeque when they have other things to do. This is why I was surprised to find one at the Meridian House. It's actually quite like Bunkie to have friends over, but this was forgotten over the course of a few strange days. What I do remember is his occasionally grating demeanor. He's the kind of guy who connects with people by slamming on them. For instance, he recollects his tour of duty in "Na'm", my Asian "shortcomings", and now my little Chrissy fit. So long as you can maintain an aura of ineffectability, or even jab back at him, he's a cool guy to hang with. Sometimes, it's just too easy to forget this when you're pissed off. But for now, I welcome the mockery of my similarly ineffectual relationship with the lady.
• While I'm thinking about Christiana, I find myself much less disturbed by her manner. It used to throw me whenever she was standoffish until, one day, I thought about all the times I backed away from the action, distracted by my own thoughts or needs. We're just like this, I guess. Of course, I still secretly wonder what she thinks of me, which is likely something askew from the two extremes I keep coming back to. She has a thing for defying my idealismic ways.
• Meanwhile, Kelcie(?), Christiana's friend, has seemingly accomplished the unthinkable, the blasphemous: she's a cool non-band friend of a bandie. It's like those fleeting moments of physical laws being ignored during quark-level interactions. Y'see, bandies just don't have non-bandie friends. That's not my idealism soapboxing, that's reality. I can almost feel the universe collapsing upon itself to negate the impossibility. Then again, someone might tell me that she probably did band back in grade school.
• Another bit of reality: Never send a white person to buy an Asian person's rice.
I wonder about America sometimes... We're so set on having things individually packaged, ultra-clean, and mass-marketed. But when it comes to long-grain rice, the lifeblood of my people, it only comes in two sizes: 20 lb. and 50 lb. They're only sold by companies you can't pronounce in stores that reek sweetly of seafood and spices. White America just doesn't understand the significance of "Extra Super Quality".
• Listening to the Mighty Isis on 90.5 KSJS FM. There's this really cool cover of the Stones' Dream On. Now that I think about it, there's a lot of great music to be heard here. To debunk the myth again, I'm getting a signal here down in Blossom, and I got one heading into the Sunol Grade. They broadcast a baffling variety of tunes. I also think they're the only station left around here that plays non-Smooth Jazz. And when you mix it with Death Metal, Darkwave (80's New Wave with goth influence), Rock en Español, Hip-Hop, House, and Bluegrass, you have a close approximation of what I hear in myself. All they need now is an Opera/Symphony program and they'll have "Grand Theft Radio".
She's also found Liquid Soul, which must be Erik's doing. I remember trying to find out the name of the group, months after having heard them on the way to my first camping trip with just friends. I haven't listened to LS in a while, so the reunion is refreshing.
• "M&M's"® Candies May Contain Peanuts"
Does it say this on the Peanut M&M wrapper as well? Why might every chocolate product contain traces of peanuts? I wonder if they just use peanut oil to lubricate the cocoa grinders and mills. That, or the clumsier workers have a thing for peanuts.
Five Dollar Studios may contain traces of chocolate, insanity, chicken adobo, and/or Altoids.
• With regards to the survey [I used to have here], I found that while many women are rather uncomfortable with men gazing at stray cleavage, they pass this off as something that guys do. (To be technical then, doing so is not considered perverse, since I have proven it to be socially acceptable.) Self-opinions of the sternal region are high among females, which I think is a good thing. Men, on the other hand, seem to fill the gamut. On one end are the chivalrous, who make it their duty to respect a woman's right to coverage. And on the other side of the peek line are those who make it their duty to engage in sexual banter with their providers, since flashing one's breasts is thought of as a come-on. They believe that women will do everything from continuing on in unknowing, to inviting more closer inspections. No adverse reactions were expected, however. The one thing we all seem to agree on is that if the roles were reversed, the men would play around with a situation that the women would try to respectfully downplay. (Some of these guys secretly want to be girls.)
I tend to look away if I know it's coming. However, it's hard to not stare at a girl who's flashing you with everything down to her beltline, especially if she has no clue that such a thing is possible. When it comes to feminine fine behinds, though, it's my guarantee to you that I am not looking at hers, but rather the guys checking out her ass, Thiago.
• Contact your District Representative! Write your Senators! We need Dulce de Leche M&M's here in San Jose. They're test marketing them down in San Diego, L. A., and Austin, TX. Tell M&M's to stop testing and start producing. It's the second sweetest thing I ever did taste!
Btw, I voted Purple. It makes the infamous S&M's that much more infamous. Once you get rid of brown, it's all good-natured confusion and punishment!
• Also noteworthy is Netscape's Preview Release of 7.0, which caters very well to my non-linear browsing style. Instead of having one window for each of the six or seven pages I check out, each now gets it's own tab inside one window (or more if you prefer). So when I have to check back with something in AOL or Winamp or whatever, they all fall in one minimizing click. It's also more fidelious in its native menus than 6.x was (the Preferences window would only load once, no matter how many times you chose it). Cookie awareness is closer to that of Internet Explorer's status bar interface, though Netscape came out with cookie management first.
• I got my (re)admission letter in the mail today! All I have to do now is follow the instructions on the checklist, which include getting my transcript, taking the ELM and EPT, attend an orientation, ordering a Class Schedule and Catalog, and getting my student ID card.
Sarcasm aside, I think they've completely ignored the fact that I have attended SJSU before and that I'm not transferring from anywhere. You have to love these "systems". No worries...I've got classes to register for in a month.
• And it's so convenient that one of my lower division RTVF classes is offered in only one section, coinciding with what would be Wednesday band practice if I decide to march again. Do I turn this into an excuse to ditch band early or entirely? Or do I put it off for next semester to make things simple? Watch and learn...
• After finally checking back with Dell's support site (for my desktop), I've downloaded and installed the A06 version of my BIOS, which is now at A14. Yeah, a little more work to do there, but I was pleasantly surprised to find out that I can in fact access said BIOS and trick around with things, which I couldn't figure out before. It always got in the way whenever I tried to run Windows in Safe Mode, because holding Ctrl at startup caused a "keyboard error", and caused me to miss that split-second Windows allows for input before starting up normally.
• The consensus around here is that it's cool that I get these free preview tickets all the time. But no one ever wants to go. I suppose once I'm taking film classes, this won't worry me anymore. For now, it disturbs me that no one can muster enough interest in having fun, that they're more interested in droning away in mundanity. I cite no specific examples here—no one cares. I have no impetus to force anyone's hand, create inescapable situations, or threaten redemptive action. It's just a damn free movie. Yes, I insist on coming along, but I do not infringe on anyone's right to enjoy their entertainment. I feel that we all deserve a break from reality every once in a while. It's how America deals with its own ridiculously accelerated pace of life. We go crazy trying to outdo ourselves; we need these communal experiences to unwind and remind ourselves that we're not alone in our suffering.
With this in mind, I offer you all another chance to miss out on a free preview. This time, it's The Bourne Identity with Matt Damon at the Mercado on the 11th. I don't care if you think it's going to tank or that Damon can suck your genitalia for all you care. I enjoy finding out why something sucks as much as I do a patently entertaining experience. You should have enough time to rearrange your duties to be able to include this in your night. Come join me.
• The words of one sure man overpower the confusion and dissent of a million others. Just four in my case, but I've always preferred thorough exploration over top-of-the-head opinions, being subject to offering both on occasion myself. So I'm going to trust the Student Services guy who actually looked at my record to see if I still needed to gather transfer information from my other college(s). The others were pretty helpful, if unknowing: The online registration system assumes that all non-frosh applicants are transfers, according to one. I can order transfers from the Bursar's Office, not the Academic Information people. And finally, the Bursar's Office closes at 4, even if the Academic Information person sends you there afterwards.
I think I'm done with my whining for the day.
• Tending to the front lawn has drawn favorable impressions from Paul across the street, enough of my roommates, Dinah and Silvestre, random black truck passenger, and Mike, whom I gather is helping keep things smooth with Janice. The dead areas I have turned over and restyled into turf. There's still a ways to go, but I've got more than enough motivation to keep going.
• Partway through a day of explaining return policies, pointing out the relocated buyback counter, and making what small talk I could muster, a genial woman took notice of my eloquence, and suggested I become a teacher. I've thought of this before, turning a career's worth of experience into valuable teaching fuel. I've let the possibility simmer since it opened itself. But yes, she thought I did a good job of clarifying everything she asked about; a teacherly skill. This I've doubted of myself, the patience to introduce new knowledge to someone. Refining one's knowledge seems more natural to me. However I go about showing someone something new, I imagine I can't be limited about it—approach all angles.
• Denim skirts and simple tops seem to be the fashion hit of the summer. I think it's about time I relaxed my wardrobe as well.
• I dropped into the Dairy Belle on Monterey after work this afternoon. I ordered a ¼ lb. cheeseburger, some fries, a shake, and dined in the middle of a Midwestern mining town. Credence and coal trains filled the air with their melodies. A thirsty patron would drop in as well, claiming some ice water and sampling the menu. The ¼ pounder was spread pretty thin, which is how it goes with real beef. The taste was delightfully meatsome, unhindered by the pickles they insist on pairing them with. Watching strangers pass through on their way elsewhere, I savored the many sips of chocolate milkshake offered me. The illusion was shattered when the gas set in, reminding me of my Filipino heritage. I checked the time on my cell phone, and greeted the street pimp in crossing on my way back to the bus stop.
• Back when my family was stationed in Virginia, Dad bought a shiny green '78 Monte Carlo. (This has become the de facto badass black man car lately, as seen in Training Day and Undercover Brother.) Through years of careful use, the car has managed to outlast it's own detailing, bumpers, and paint job. We still have the hood ornament, luckily. Dad had the bright idea of doing his own custom job, with spray-on green enamel. Better than having a rusty exterior, I guess.
So while on his way to S.F., Jare was pulled over twice by Highway Patrol. The first officer let him go after figuring out that the car wasn't GTA'ed. And when Jare asked if the second officer wanted to check the registration as well, the officer tried to look for other excuses. The terrycloth towels Dad used to replace the old sunshade upholstery wasn't enough to warrant a citation, so he let him go as well.
Jare also suggested that his sexual preference may have dissuaded the officers as well. There must not be that many homo Asian gay car thieves, in the Bay Area at least. He could start his own ring...
• Somewhere over the course of each work day, I let go of the frustration and misanthropy that's a part of coming late because of public transportation. Each evening, I'm set on waking up two hours before work to have time to shower, break fast, wake up, and "waste" the other hour riding the bus. I don't think this way in the morning. I typically don't get my recommended ten hours of sleep, because that leaves me with only an hour for the things I want to do. I need more time than that; I deserve more time. Besides, if my quality of work is still above that of my peers, what's the use of cutting my hours? I realized today that perhaps I don't feel appreciated for my commitment to my work, despite arriving in bodily pain that would bedlock the rest of middle-class America. I don't feel appreciated for many of the things I do. Even my Colorgenic Profile thinks so. But it recommends that I don't try so hard to seek acknowledgement for even my wondrous acts. Bullshit. I'm not going to sit back and be content with apathy. I need to know that people care about what I do. It's what keeps me going every day. It's what gives me the motivation to get out of bed early and rested, instead of sleeping in, getting dreamburn, sprinting, and suffering from transit narcolepsy. This feeling is starting to slip away, because each possibility of someone liking what I do is defeated by the reality of my own loneliness.
I'm going to tend to the lawn before I really go crazy...
• I've been listening to Astor Piazolla tangos for a few days now. In addition to the Yo-Yo Ma sessions I've had for a while, I also have a disc of some of his other work. Among these is the mesmerizing Adios Nonino, the paternal lament considered to be Piazolla's finest work. It certainly sounds like it. On a fundamental level, it simply alternates between two themes: a plaintive, wholesome recollection of fun and sad times, and a darker argument that seems to echo past disputes or dissent with his father. Between the two, all sorts of segues are devised, and everywhere, the song changes modes and pace. I imagine this would be a difficult song to dance to, but I welcome the chance to try.
Thus explains my eagerness to take a Latin Dance class (HUP 48A) this coming semester. The very idea of the tango has intrigued me, especially after an elucidation by the Unconscious Argentinian in Moulin Rouge. I seem to have been made for this art form.
...the essential emotion of the tanguero: the love that cannot be, because it does not exist—the infatuation.
• From all the biographies of Piazolla I've read so far, his contributions to the world of Tango weren't appreciated much. Though not having listened to other tangos, I don't understand this at all. His music is the most expressive I've heard ever, even when limited by the 2/4 meter constraint of the form and the expected instrumentation. It seems to flow almost intuitively, a natural journey through the rhythmic procession of steps. Desire, given a voice. I should probably stop teasing myself with such magnificence, but I feel as invigorated and free as I do frustrated and depressed.
[edit] Tango isn't part of the Latin Dance curriculum.
• Aside from the two RTVF classes I'm set on taking in Fall, my other options include: Photo 40, the beginning Photography class for my minor; HUP 2B, to maintain my aquatic skills; HUP 51A, to make up for my miserable showing in Skys-sensei's class the first time I took Aikido; RTVF 82, the film studies class with the lively Prof. Sublett (who handpicked me for advisement); and the infamous MUS 156, with "G-Scot" Pierson. Aside from the RTVF 82/Band clash, this should make for an interesting semester.
I really enjoy this time of the semester, well before I've met anyone. Planning out stuff like this comes rather naturally to me. I love mulling over possibilities, especially when I have a definite goal in mind. I just hope this time around, the actual class experience doesn't chew me up like it did years ago...
• Coming back to the arcade after the usual rush of students ended, I found that my Dudley in SF3 kicks much more ass than he did before. My parrying skills against the computer are still not acceptable, but my offense has picked up. The double-motion for the Super Combos is no longer trouble, which means that anyone caught with their chin in the wrong place has a fistful of Rocket Uppercut to answer to. My timing has also gotten better, so those Trip > Ducking Uppercut and Trip > Machine Gun Blow combos are now waiting to be extended and cancelled into the Rocket.
It doesn't bother me too much that millions of other gamers mastered such SF3 deviousness a year ago...this achievement is mine.
• Such an idealistic lot. House to house, they spread the word of one who lived thousands of years ago, and make his stories our own. Now that I think about it, I should have told them when to stop. I didn't intend for Mr. Smith to take his idea so seriously back when I proposed it to him back in the 1800's. He needed something to while away the time, so I told him about My Son, Jesus. He was pretty impressed by the stories, so over the years, he crafted an entire religion out of his interpretations. Now millions of people make it their duty to do what I did with Mr. Smith so many years ago: tell a story. Unfortunately, they've forgotten what the true lesson was about and made up their own. And now they're trying to convert me, their Creator, to their faith. I suppose it should be that way—after all I made them in My Image.
They'll be back next week, so hopefully, I can patch things up with them.
• Judging from the piles of laundry on the floor, the bed unmade, and the mess all around, I consider this day a waste. I've only been awake a total of five hours, counting the portion of time it took me to type this. I could call it "catching up on sleep", which is what my mind seemed to have in itself instead. However, I feel too damn tired and broken to think such a thing happened. The one day of the week given to me to take care of myself, and I blow it chatting with fucking Morons and cooking a bowl of spaghetti. I don't remember anything else. It was probably related to the garden and didn't amount to much anyway. Now I get to lose more of my sanity withanother week of work without any real preparation for it.There never seems to eb any time for myself anymore. I want to pop.
• I am so stoked. I bought my first box of Twinkies from the Wonder Bread outlet on Monterey. I meant to do this when I was mealing at Dairy Belle, but they closed while I was crossing the street. Discount Twinkies are the best, except maybe those Fruit Pie deals (apple of course). They have an indefinite shelf life to begin with, so timewise you're practically buying the same product that came off the production lines at the bakery. Since time folds around them according to Hostessian physics, a fresh Twinkie is of the same quality as a "year-old" one. I stay this far from describing how they can survive nuclear winter. And I probably shouldn't rave about them so much to begin with, since I bought two boxes of Zingers to get the quantity discount.
Remember when the Peanuts™ gang used to adorn boxes of Zingers? I think that's the only reason I stuck with them for so long. They were never mentioned in the comics or the TV specials, which I recently realized. They also didn't portray Snoopy or Peppermint Patty at their comedic or philosophical best.
• This time, I made sure to request the day off from work, so I can overwhelm myself with parties instead. I also made sure to secure some transportation this time, since I don't like walking anywhere further than Downtown (from Milpitas, after midnight). What remains now is to get my ass on the road this weekend and wish some happy days to Sara, René, and Janice, my roommate. As is customary, they're all having their respective parties more than 20 miles from each other. I probably won't get to marinate my internal organs in alcohol, but it's for the better, I guess...
• It's the tricky thing about movie adaptations: in the span of one book's reading, the average person can watch the movie adaptation at least five times over. A few weeks after I saw Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone, I picked up the small paperback version of the book that's used in one of the Literature classes. I'm roughly a third of the way through the book, which is about the time it takes for a major theatrical release to go to DVD. I've seen it a time and a half more. I can probably finish another two chapters if I don't get hung up laughing about things like toast-flavored beans.
• Which brings me to another point... (that's why it gets it's own bullet) What's the right way to tell Chuck that you don't want to watch a movie with him? In contrast to my absorbent experience, he questions everything that seems out of place in the movie. On some level, I wonder too if there are jizz-flavored beans, why a tenured professor of wizardry can't keep a toadless boy from breaking his wrist, or why any right-minded Wizard's Chess Knight would sit on his horse and take a blow from a life-size queen.
It's one of the problems of my prospective profession, keeping the entire audience enthralled by the presentation. I guess you can't win everyone. Then again, it's not like anyone's going to sit around and watch a movie with me anyway, so why complain?
• Sexually Frustrated Dolphin Sparks Alert
LONDON (Reuters)—Swimmers have been warned to stay away from a sexually frustrated dolphin off an English seaside resort after it tried to lure unwary humans out to sea in a bid to mate with them.
Hehe, stupid dolphin...
• Imagine for a few short moments what life would be like without electricity. This page would not be visible. All of your major and minor appliances would not be functional. In fact, most every convenience afforded today to modern society would be useless. High technology would be words on a printed page, or a wistful thought. Mass communication would be silenced—mass aphasia. While not everything in our lives would be lost, such a loss would stagger the pace of life.
So imagine now what would happen when the dozens of college students that patronize the bookstore on a typical Summer rush find their beloved business unpowered... Exactly. I get burnt out using medieval credit machinery and preparing register journals and itemized receipts by hand. Everyone who stopped in was kind and understanding, thankfully. But some don't quite understand what terrors run through the minds of bookstore clerks when they venture into the darkened aisles. We're not only concerned about theft, but also the eventuality of someone getting lost or hurt. So long as we allow people to wander mindlessly into our compromised situation, we're responsible for their misfortune. Again, luckily, we didn't have to fish out anyone or call an ambulance because people put their own desires before common sense.
• Also question how many of our fellow motorists know what to do when the traffic lights go black. This is becoming a familiar theme in my journal, people locking themselves away in selfishness. In this case, it involves people cruising through what should be four-way stops believing they are above society, or worse, not being aware of their surroundings. They're just like dead people, but one ton heavier and blundering through with fatal force. I got finely through the little Russian Roulette that is usually 10th and San Carlos, though one impatient driver charged into my wake. If I ever get struck down by a car, I intend to live out my death wish fantasy of flinging the offending car skyward, beating the shit out of some idiot driver, and collapsing happily onto my own lifeless pile.
• And if I may be permitted to continue on in morbidity, a lot of terrible crap can happen in three powerless hours. Our section of the power grid doesn't include SJSU, which encloses itself with its own generators. But it does include the federal buildings on First Street (and soon Santa Clara Street), and perhaps some of the towers Downtown. None of the few AM stations I could sample mentioned the outage at all, and I doubt I could find the right news station if the situation was critical. I'll limit here my paranoid ramblings for the day.
• Rich, it's like childhood all over again—the fun parts, at least. The mower works like a charm. The lawn didn't appreciate being chopped up much, but the green grass that is going to replace the brown grass here will appreciate your gift. I must have been a rare kid to have enjoyed mowing the lawn. It seemed more like a privilege than a chore, probably because Dad and Allan did it more often. To know that I was able to fire up the gas engine like they could was one of my few thrills. So every time I'm shirtless in the yard, trimming the green, wondering how to best navigate around sprinkler heads, that's my way of saying "Thanks."
That's also my way of increasing my risk of skin cancer, but I'd rather be happy than old... Besides, enough of you have seen me topless. You know I'm damn sexy. Admit it.
• Contrary to my initial memory, the The Bourne Identity preview is next Tuesday, not yesterday's Tuesday. Eager customers at the store are claiming the tickets you should be using. Yes, I gave away one of my four tickets so that some guy could gift one of his friends. That's exactly the kind of love I've been hyping here. Don't let yourself down...
[update] Or perhaps they're not... My lovely coworkers apparently failed to render my lucky customer his ticket, which I had left under the front door the night before. I left detailed instructions as to the purpose of the envelope, which were summarily ignored. That's so typical of people. Even the most foolproof plans are no match for a sufficiently trained fool. I'll discuss why certain elements of my workspace were rearranged on my day off at another time.
• A warm welcome to the lady who stopped by Roberts today, assuming you've read this far into the page. Giving all this some thought, I realize that there's much more around here than anyone needs to know about anyone. Before I decimate the mystique, know that even all this is but a small portion of what I've been, and an even smaller portion of what I do. Wonder on...
• Let's face it: a lot happened today. Much has been commited to memory, but I'd like to dwell on this experience for a night. I need this.
• Today's one regret? Not doing anything with the cards I bought. I could just return them to work, but they surely would rock if I would just write something on them. I've wanted to gift people with a card at least, but I can't think of anything portent to write about. It seems that buying a card and filling a card are two sides of a coin. I need to flip it next in some sort of non-Euclidean, non-Newtonian hyperbolic polar metaspace where two sides of one planar surface can be viewed concurrently.
• I doubt it's a world-changing realization, but my most satisfying conversations happen during those one-on-one situations where the chance of distraction is minimal, and enough time is available to make contributions meaningful.
Initially, I'm not an interesting person. I don't remember things as readily as I ought to, and I'm not vain enough to ramble endlessly about myself. In person. (This blog deal is a conceitful thing by nature.) I don't consider a lot of what I do to be of that much worth in conversation. Small talk just doesn't click with me. Maybe I'm just too picky about this, but there's a lot of satisfaction in going deeper.
I like to question motives and ideals. They're numerous, and as unique as retinal patterns. It's like looking into someone's future, seeing what they'll grow into, as it is our aspirations and reservations that guide us along our path. The "why" of ourselves often comes into play more than the "what". The method; the higher order; the derivative. I like to play off these in conversation. It's like unraveling a mystery.
It's funny at times how we choose to limit ourselves. Many of our desires must fall to the structure of society, by definition. But the extra few steps we take to craft our images seem unneccessary, painful even. I'm starting to enjoy even my own obsessions and routines in that they're often ridiculous and overdone. I want to break as many of these as I can, with the hope that I can better myself. And whatever won't break readily might turn out to be things I've been right about. I can't know for sure until I test them, eh?
• Horses are fun. Well-tempered ones, especially. They're a lot more like people than we make them out to be.
• Five Dollar Studios. It's been about a year, hasn't it? What to do...
• Today's Forecast:
• Why is it so damn hard to find a kickass quote about eclipses? One ought to be easier to find than the frustration from not finding it. I'm not in the mood to make one myself.
• As for a total solar eclipse, we'll have to wait until 2017 for one we can view from home, unless some of you plan on moving to Africa, Antarctica, or other out-of-the-way locales.
• It's just like them to make something cool and not translate it for us Americans. Anyhow, I stumbled across Eternal Fighter Zero, this downloadable game that looks like major fun. It's one of those strange Japanese games where cute super-deformed anime girls do battle with each other. Not something I'd go out of my way for normally, but the novelty of having an arcade-quality game on my computer was enticing. However, there's something wrong with the installer, and the instructions to fix things up are in Japanese as well. It seems like everything required is here, but not in the correct folders. I'm becoming so damned obsessive about figuring out this little mystery that I've looked for comments about the game, translated web pages for information, and even poked around the game folder. I'm still trying to get things to work, but I'm getting dizzy waiting for things to download (I'm using one of my roommates' office chairs, with the ball-bearing spin action >:p ).
• During hot days such as these, it's important to drink plenty of water, especially after moving 5000 lbs. of paper products delivered by a rather scrupulous trucker. Symptoms of dehydration include dizziness, clammy skin, and weird drawings.
• Now I've done it... The game's working—an earlier release, anyway. And yes, it puts the kawaii back in "that's quite frooty of you, Nahum." Now to find a movelist...
• I really wanted to write something about last weekend, but I seem to be missing a roll of film. Messy though my room may be, there is no place for even a small roll of film to hide. I want to believe that it's downstairs, where I removed it from the camera after finishing it. I'll see about finding it tomorrow morning.
• I think I've got Noah interested in drawing. He's got a pencil grip, and he was able to scribble in the general area of a doodle I made on a piece of paper. Even better is that he wouldn't draw anywhere else, a valuable skill occasionally lost on small kids.
He could use some education on the value of money: while playing with $5 I gave him from Mom's purse, Jerry pulled out a $10, and then another $1 which he exchanged for Noah's $5. Another year or so, and he'll figure out why we were laughing at him. And tomorrow, Mom will find out what happened to her $16, Jare.
• Slaving away at the pile of paper products on another hot June day, I've been doing all I can to keep my ass from chafing. There is no worse pedestrian pain to be found than in the sweat-agonized friction of two buttock cheeks. Rather than keeping them from rubbing against each other, I think I would be better off if they were rubbed a little more. They're mighty fine buttocks, and I'm glad they're mine. But I think they deserve more rubbing than they usually get (none outside of a washcloth or toilet paper's reach). They must think so too, for they turn to themselves for the love and attention they crave. Instead of such self-destructive behavior, I encourage you all to rub my ass, in a sociable manner of course. The ladies are fine to take it further, but know your limitations. For a behind so fine, it's pretty powerful, so carry on only if you're comfortable around such an awesome force.
• True, I haven't watched the news for a great length, but it seems like the world's becoming a more daring place for villains. Kids and women are becoming victims more and more often, and with more drastic results. Turning myself away from the news would help me relax about it again, but I still worry about those who are slowly encouraged by all the action, and have malevolent designs of their own. The wrong people are finding out that they're capable of some pretty devious shit, and are turning malicious and violent in the name of their own selfish, harmful desires. We need something else...
• Kreuk : bleu :: Reduta : dumbass for thinking her last name rhymed with *doik* and that she was a Dutch/Canadian ... hybrid instead of a Dutch/Chinese one...which brings up a...
• Why are hardline racists so obsessed about "bloodline purity"? I've found many European/Asian ... crossbreeds to be quite beautiful. Besides, there is only so much thoroughbreeding that can go on before they're poking their cousins. Yeah, and then you add some incest, cloning, bestiality, transgender procedures, and my...what a twisted tree we ... genealogize?
• If you are a smart, fit, graceful woman, late-teens to early twenties, of European stock:
I can make your children beautiful.
Think about it...
[update] There's an awful lot of them running around the neighborhood. And everytime I wander into Walgreen's to develop film I found in my headboard, there's some fine (jailbait) blondes waiting in line.
• Just a while ago, I swear I felt bummed out of any happy feeling. Instead of typing up a rant and blasting all of you for doing what you do, I managed to keep to myself long enough to let the evil dissipate. My small victory for the day, I guess...
I still feel a little disconnected from not having heard from anyone. Yeah, there are the 4th of July parties, but they seem so far off. If you have nothing more important to do, why not tell me how you've been doing? It's not too much to ask after the year of unwarranted blogging I've given away. I'll be glad to return the favor.
• Now that the week's heat has past, I've got some easy time to figure out what I'm going to do with the lawn now. What few seedlings remained to sprout probably died in the sun-driven drought and heat. Even with timely watering, I doubt they would have survived. Unless the rest of the lawn picks up with some growth, I can't count on being able to grow anything until fall starts up.
Anyhow, the rose plants and bushes are much more than they had been, their dormancy clearly over. The insects laying eggs on them know this too. That's why I'm going to kill them tomorrow. I'm not sure what bad they're capable of, but they look out of place. The green man's genocide.
• I hope Carina is happy that I had her pictures developed instead of mine. There was one more mystery roll of film lurking about the house. Meanwhile, my other one is still missing, and I'm running out of places to look.
• So before I end a day wasted by dodging Mormon groupies (I'm not feeling up to My Godlike, religioso-perverting Self today), let me ramble about Dad:
I am not my father. Neither a startling realization nor a guiltsome implication. As I grow, I realize that, along with Mom, I'm becoming just like him. I see his mannerisms in my own. His quick wit, passive idealism, intense concentration, and minimalized omnipresence continue on in me. (By minimalized omnipresence, I mean the way someone can easily be passed by without care, but who would also be missed because their contributions are integral and distinct.) Even his fatherly ways are hinted at in my relationship with my nephew. In an eternalistic sense, I'm his legacy. There will be others afterward, and there have been others prior. I wonder just how much I resemble my ancestors...
He realized my thirst for knowledge, even when he couldn't provide it firsthand, pointing in frustration at the encyclopedias or the books or Mom. He taught me how to look at myself objectively, dumping me in front of the mirror whenever I was moody. It also made me somewhat narcissistic, but I got to see how fragile and pathetic I was after a tantrum—I keep a mirror at my bedside to remind myself of me. Whenever possible, I got to help him out in his projects, thus my affinity for woodwork, fire, cooking, and helping people.
He is among that elite circle of people that I hold with high regard and fear. His criticisms, if I hadn't before, I understand now to be reflections of his own strife. And his would be among the few that I admit. Unfortunately, it is this same fear that prevents me from knowing him better. As a sailor, he must have numerous stories of his travels. His story of meeting Mom is humorously short, but now I think I'd like to hear more. I also wonder what his life would have been like if he hadn't sailed away from his homeland to promise a better life for his family. His dreams must have rivaled my own, unless of course, his dream was to bear us in America.
It's not likely something I would take upon myself, asking what his life was like. Besides, he seems to enjoy it more telling it to people he doesn't know too well (this would be the relationship maker for me, in case you were wondering). He'll be glad to have me listening in, like I'm known to do.
• I'm having a tricky time silicon-dating the website... It's been online since June, I'm sure of that. The earliest "File Creation" date is July the 25th, though. Even stranger is that the earliest "File Modification" date is June 19th. Somehow, the computer knew that I was tricking around with the files before they were made! Unless my account says otherwise, Five Dollar Studios turns one year old this Wednesday.
I don't know how to celebrate this. I suppose you could all come over during the weekend, but I have nothing planned as of yet, if ever. A guestbook signing at least would be appreciated.
• The other half of the front lawn equation is being solved this week. Today, I figured out exactly why the sprinkler system sucks: dog damage. Back when Nikko was tearing up the backyard, he chomped on one of the sprinklers, causing it to fountain whenever the system was active. The Law of Resistance dictates that with this point of low impedance, enough water pressure will be diverted through there, causing the other sprinklers to falter. Some falter to the point that they have to be replaced for being subjected to an extraordinary situation so long.
Also venting sprinkler water is a mystery pipe out front, which the dog didn't have access to. It must've been another sprinkler or mister at some point, which until now, fed the massive ivy and various trees out front and along the side. I didn't account for this one until I discovered it jettisoning water like the broken sprinkler out back. Once that gets capped, the lawn will be getting back to green much more easily than I had planned.
This is why I find hardware stores so empowering. >:3
By wishing their spirit to another place, in what sort of condition is the body corporeal left in? I'm familiar with the sullen fellow dreading their physical presence, but I've never separated these two from each other. Is one then left with a plageous, undead monstrosity? Or some similarly dispossed office-zombie type being?
• The best-case Class Schedule scenarios leave me with at least 25 hours of work before extra rush hours and Saturdays. There's good time for Broadcast Communications and Intro to Radio/TV Production, the latter being very flexible, minimal, and distanced from work. Expectedly, Marching Band would be a problem. I would have to scratch around for work availability and I would have to delay one of my core RTVF classes until Spring.
I also have to decide if I want to full-time myself, which would involve taking one or both Minor classes I'm considering: Beg. Photography and Acting. If I do take Photo with Band, it would have to be the one just after Band gets out, meaning I have to arrange travel with someone. I could also try filling up the units with Beg. Latin Dance and Intermediate Swimming.
The short story is that I likely won't be marching this season. My schedule would be less fragmented, less hectic with travel, more liberal with work, and more complete Major-wise with Intro to Film. Scott hasn't confronted me about returning, since the drum line doesn't look like a "problem" section. It's possible he's waiting for the start of the season to gauge the line, and using Chuck as leverage for his cause. I feel strangely out of place being among the few that he hasn't begged to return.
More importantly, I really need to finish what I started here. I've been given a second chance by some important people. I'm in an intellectual state I have seldom touched before.
The fog of the future is lifting, but this time, I'm ready.
• Happy Birthday to this...(?)
• Greener lawns are "Go".
• I'm tired right now. I shouldn't be. I don't know if it's from malnutrition, from satiation, from anticipation, from celebration, from what. I'm not even sure this is fatigue... It could instead be a surge waiting for expenditure. The Body believes something has happened or will happen. Spirit is in flux, and Mind ponders the path. In Nature and in Academia, I've laid the way for Rebirth. I almost can't wait for the wonders I am to behold.
• For the first time in years, I've rented some entertainment for myself. Medal of Honor: Frontline has been riveting for the two levels I played through. One of the big hypes of the game is its re-creation of the Allied landing on the coastline, resembling Saving Private Ryan. I suppose that was creator Steven Spielberg's idea. It's marvelously frustrating, even after you've figured out the controls.
• My hip is starting to scare me. It's figured out how to turn the Keyguard off on my cell phone. Amazed with it's finding, it's bothering Alexa again. It must have some stalker streak in it, because it also called the VTA hotline, to plan for a trip, I suppose. I (my brain) already know the way, but I ain't spilling nothing.
• I'm watching Dawson's Creek. Not something I'd imagined myself doing back when the show was fresh, other than for Katie Holmes, of course. But like Smallville, the story's holding me. This could become another habit.
• Hey, remember all those strange rustling noises we keep hearing, and the shadowy figures the roomies have been seeing here at the house? Well, just around the corner, where the overgrown trees and ivy are, some guy's been squatting in a concealed part of the sideyard. I found some of his belongings, still wrapped in plastic bags, while looking for leaking sprinklers. There's two main bags, some assorted smaller wrappings, and a tuft of bedding that got caught on a stump.
I get to 311 this tomorrow, because I'm chickenshit about opening the mystery stuff. It could just be money, but I tend to be pessimistic about unknown items. I'm leaning more towards triggered explosive devices, booby traps, or most evil of all, his toilet. It would be better than dumping in our backyard, I guess.
• Every time you send a chain mail, God kills a masturbator. Which is fine, if you want to save kittens...>/SPAM<
• So as of 6:something in the PM, I'm not a bandie. In spirit, certainly, but not of body. It's only June, so I've got plenty of time to renege on this decision of mine. If I could find (another) accomodating job, I could fill in some loose Tuesday and Thursday nights. I'm not too eager to saturate my waking hours with such drudgeries, but if it helps me dream, then have at.
• Listen to Carlos Mencia. Respect his words. George Carlin, too, but tonight is Mr. Mencia's night.
• While I'm busy disorienting myself with Medal of Honor (I'm currently held up at the Nijmegen Bridge), ponder my thought: Many things in life can be compared to Legos™. Yes, Legos, those little plastic deals which you stick together to make larger (cooler) plastic deals with. No matter how ambitious you are with them, you can only build with what you have. If your set is limited, there ain't much you can build. The more elaborate your dreams are, the more Legos you need.
Have you ever wondered what life would be like if we had only a small number of emotions? A finite imagination? A handful of senses?
We only have five, dipshit.
... Great. Sabotaged by my own interior monologue.
• The 4th of July is coming soon. Just brings to mind three memorable firework-watching occasions of old:
• DCI got an early start this week, thanks to Joe Kelly and his Fremont High Band. Blue Devils C, some Div. II and Senior corps played for an audience of hundreds. From what they have so far, everything's looking great for the coming season. Pacific Procession is the 6th, again at Hayward.
• After five days, I got past Nijmegen Bridge in Medal of Honor, and am currently held up in Arnhem. There just aren't enough Gewehr bullets to make me happy. That and not enough dark corners. I have to return the game tomorrow, but my little stint as a WWII soldier was quite enjoyable. I'm still looking for the PC version.
...oh, that one's real.
• Now that I'm paying attention to the backyard, I was surprised to find fruit trees doing their thing. There's a "massive lemon" tree, a green apple tree, and something I think is chayote. There's also a peach/nectarine tree in the side driveway. According to the bare seeds in the backyard, Nikko had lots of fruit in his diet. The lemons have been growing well as they are, dumping full-sized fruit on the ground. The rest of the fruits are a little runtish, and in the apples' case, overly tart. The gardening resources suggest pruning and removing excessive fruit to encourage ideal growth for the remaining fruit. Another little project to take care of.
• Peaches? Nectarines? No. They're apricots. And I just pulled a few pounds of unripe ones from the tree, thinking the remaining fruit would get a boost. According to Janice, they're not going to grow any larger than they are now. No matter. I only had enough focus to prune the lower branches. I also climbed up to remove a few branches worth of ripe fruit, another few pounds' worth.
I don't know what to do with them.
They're kinda tasty, but nothing I would eat on a regular basis. I guess they can be dried, or I could guilt someone into getting Mason jars for me so I can preserve them. Whatever. The tree needs major pruning, though, and I suppose the lemon and apple trees need them as well. That other one isn't a chayote tree, since the gardeners say that chayote only grow on vines. I'm puzzled—the fruit looks the same, has the same seed and flesh structure. I'd like to make sure I know what they are before I try cooking them.
As soon as I muster up the gumption to clean the backyard of weeds, overgrowth, and dog-based fertilizer, I'm going to see about the other trees.
• Charlette has a new iBook. It's pretty nifty, for a laptop. I'm not much a fan of them. Sometimes, I use one at work when I have to cross reference book records for our wholesale suppliers (it would be a simple task of using SQL and networking to compare the supplier disk record to the master record on the server, but I'm an RTVF major now). I must be spoiled by the classic keyboard interface, because I can't type in ISBNs with the number row. I love the number pad. A keyboard layout I thought up a few years back used a tricked up numpad in lieu of the number row, a frustrating holdover from typewriter days. The touchpad on many laptops is centered on the pad, right where the chocolate pecan pie should be. Instead of planting my right wrist on flaky goodness, it jostles the pointer, often to the detriment of my work. They couldn't just put it between where your hands would be if you were typing on the pad, a much more logical thing to do. Also, why do they insist on keeping that staggered key setup? It's like our fingers weren't made to flex and bend in a straight line. Wonder!
• Along the 66 today, I imagined what it might be like to run for President (or perhaps First Man) a decade from now. I tell you, it was a trip. You should have been there.
Oh, right... In this future, I use my experience as a famous actor/director to catapault high into the running, adopting a strangely popular "happy middle" stance, and challenging the American people to better themselves.
Yeah, so it's not as interesting as my counter-siege daydreams where I single-handedly neutralize a terrorist assault on the campus, happily sniping away with stolen weapons, bickering with police, and escorting people to safety.
• The real topic of national debate: Do we allow a difference in religion to stand between one nation and its indivisibility?
Personally, I find the version without "under God" to be acceptable. Pres. Eisenhower inserted the phrase after the fact. However, I'm still trained to say "under God", because it has a pleasing meter. What I will admit is that "under God", as well as "In God We Trust", highlight a double standard in America, where religious tolerance and church/state separation figure in as much as the Christian majority allow.
Does removing the phrase make us Godless? Does retaining the phrase propagate a belief that isn't shared by all?
Whatever happens, I'm going to stand with the Supreme Court ruling. The important thing is that we look at this as a national issue, not a religious one. So long as we keep unity in mind, we'll be fine as a nation. And in a peculiar way, this keeps us closer to God. I want to see the religious implications as far removed from the situation as possible. Ask the Taliban what happens when we try to impose religion upon the unwilling.
• #19
• I think I need a LiveJournal. Something different from this, so I can keep all the site-relevant stuff and my personal thoughts separate from each other. Keep everything here in front non-threatening and inviting, and another journal with all the juicy bits and deep rambles. Sounds like an upgrade idea...
[edit] I made the journal and the update listings separate in this latest redesign.
• I'm still keeping track of the pledge controversy. Expectedly, the man who brought up the issue has received the appropriate death threats, a mature reaction by our fellow citizens. It seems that every politician has issues as well with the controversy, standing by the "under God" version. It's about as right as it's illegal.
To add a little more of my viewpoint, I never recited the pledge at all during middle and high school. No one did at Solano or Vallejo Sr. I don't know if this continues, but I find this more disturbing than the whole "under God" ordeal. I loved reciting it, though I probably didn't understand the full impact of the statement. The pledge seems like something every American should be reciting. For all its faults and problems, the United States is still a fine place to live. We need to acknowledge that.
• I bought some corn from the farm across the street. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Since the supermarkets jack up the prices when they sell produce...
• ...farmers are more than happy to sell directly to curious customers. It's kinda like selling used books. You can get a decent price from Roberts, up to half the new price of the book. But then we get to turn around and sell it for 75%. If you can find someone interested in the book yourself, you can sell it for a bit more (around 60-65%).
