Uh-oh...
• Gloat and The Bourne Identity come in little spice jars. I sprinkle them upon you and massage deeply, recounting a time when I had preview tickets. Such a wonderful movie to pay to see, and much more wonderfuller to see free...
We will both of us burn for this.
You tell them, foggy memory.
• Quite the day to get nothing done. Nothing future-oriented, anyway. Ok, laundry.
• Instead, Charlette and Carina were kind enough to pull me into the goings-on at Solano and Vallejo Sr., about six years after the fact. I remember that there was a lot of drama, and I wanted nothing to do with it. It wasn't a convenient time to be me, so accordingly, I've forgotten much of it. Over corned beef and eggs, they glossed over past boyfriends, friendship dynamics, controversies, and offered up keen advice. Unfortunately, such intimate details of the feminine mindset are rendered functionally useless upon me at the moment. The gist of it seems to be: Girls have issues. In a way, it's comforting to know that everyone sucks, not just me.
I had only read about the female relationship model; it was rather refreshing to have live examples, with all the backstabbing, miscommunication, and hypocrisies that high-schoolers can muster. I used to feel down about not being a factor in the system. Now I think it's a good thing that I waited until now to complicate things. How much more of this portion of my life will remain when the 10-year reunion rolls by?
• In my years in the Band, things really have changed. Slowly, all the things that made my first few years fun have disappeared. I'd like to examine the phenomenon for a moment...
Obviously, the trend originates with a difference of priorities between Then and Now. Traditions that used to characterize the band experience haven't been taken up by the Nowies. The massive parties of the Thenners are only hinted at in the few remaining parties of the Now. Assuming that members of both eras pursue(d) a similar level of fun, why the change? Regarding traditions, what has replaced them? I'm not saying that Now is sucking in comparison to Then. There are patently fun things happening Now. Is there an eagerness to displace Then, or an ignorance of? Along with this absence of opportunity, a lack of enthusiasm, at least to find entertainment of the legendary kind, has been observed. Now is cautious. Why was this safeguard missing in Then? Within the Now, is there a cadre of "leaders" that haven't taken up the helm as efficiently as Then? Probably...
Now an important question: Can I help to bring, if not a faithful recreation of the Then experience, something of comparable magnitude?
I believe so.
The last time we had a party here, I noted a few problems. One, Chuck was passed out on the couch an hour into the festivities. This one seems to have taken care of itself. Since hooking up with his girlfriend, he hasn't gotten crazy drunk. I figure his reasons were mostly emotional, and that Alice has helped refocus much of that energy.
Second, the place seems small. I believe this is a perceptual problem, as well as one of resources. The rooms available for party use, though similar in size to others I've seen, aren't many. We haven't had easy access to the backyard. I've been working to make it less scary, because a lot of space is available back there, and in the side lot. There's the main patio with the grills, the bare minimum we've maintained throughout last year. I can fix up some real estate around the hot tub by adding in benches, spruce up the fruit trees, and maybe even make something of the toolshed. Some people like a secluded area to do...things.
Obstacles here not within my solitary sphere of influence include Carina, whose room is the primary pathway to the backyard. Also, the neighbors, though probably kind people, haven't been tested for endurance of backyard activity. Even with warning, where will they draw the line? Also, the hot tub will probably remain a teaser for some time, since repairing it is outside of anyone's financial means right now.
Freeing up garage space would also help, and possibly contribute to the return of live musical performances by our fellow musicians. Somehow, my stuff takes up the least volume, but I could use a better place to stock the yard supplies. Would the others object to having this "extended closet" open to relative strangers?
Third, electronic forms of entertainment were brought up in the discussion at Andrew's birthday dinner tonight. Though watching movies and playing video games have been proven to enhance the dynamic, does relegating the task of entertainment to such devices remove something from the personal experience? It's not something I'm looking to stop. Some people are intimidated by the dangers of a social atmosphere. To a small extent, I still am. Entertainment helps to bring together people who don't charge their voices with the task of connecting. Doers, not talkers.
Making fun of the people who chose these outlets for connection won't help them loosen up. In place of powered media, a good party game would help things, but finding the magic one that everyone would be interested in and have fun with is a challenge. Maybe there isn't one. We won't know until we try.
Fourth, many people see drinking as a necessary element of the Great Band Party. I think so. I'm not among the ones who seek to bomb their livers, unless I have a safe way back home. If I were to host a party, there are too many liabilities to allow a selfish desire to get drunk to threaten them. Some people have converse ideas about alcohol, and some will avoid such places. It's possible to cater to those who do and those who don't, not necessarily by keeping them separate, but by making sure they don't clash or stress each other. Convincing people of this is a skill fewer have.
• Being alone in this social world of ours is a trip, especially for those who want. The more imaginative among us attempt to figure out what's missing from our lives, what's hidden to us. Often, doing so results in the creation of a fantasy realm where only possibility seems real. Doing so isn't so bad. Knowing that people care about us and our path is important, because such knowledge empowers us. It sustains.
When the suppositions interfere with reality, conflict happens. Shit begins. And many times, we're powerless to fight it. Whose responsibility is it to ensure we're in touch? To look after ourselves is a forward thing to do, but there's the risk that introversion will again be mistaken for action. Also, our minds work in such a way as to prevent ourselves from being in full control of our mental faculties at all times. An occasionally fatal flaw for such advanced beings, but we do this.
For various reasons, we are kept from asking others to help. Odds are good that if we're worrying about someone, we're going to involve as few other people as possible. Is everyone willing to share their knowledge, regardless of the consequences, to help others feel good about themselves? How far are we willing to go to pursue the answers? Who takes the initiative?
• The more outrageous, threatening and/or horrifying a statement is, the greater the percentage of people who will accept it immediately as fact, whether or not there is any evidence of its truth, and the greater the likelihood that any contrary data will be either totally ignored or vociferously denied.
How observant. Who's Ney?
Only the winners know, internal monologue. That's why I'm not one.
• Happy Day, all. To celebrate our independence, I'm going to depend on my sister's family for a ride to Vallejo, where I will depend on family for barbequed meats and picnic foods. In order to chit-chat, we will depend on each other to listen to what we are saying (otherwise we're just talking to ourselves). I will depend on my bodily mechanics to maintain a waking state in order to experience all of this.
In other words, I'm glad that I can live a free life and still have friends and family to fall back on when freedom feels oppressive.
(I'll make sense one day... :. )
• I wonder about my intentions sometimes. I meant to get certain things done today, and ended up doing completely different things. Where do I find motivation? What is it in me now that refuses to accomplish what I wanted to do a day ago? I'd pass it off as just procrastination, but there's something more to this, I think. Simply thinking to myself that I want to upload pictures, redesign the site, and update Supermarket! isn't enough to motivate me. Instead, I worked on an arrangement that I doubt will get playtime, but sounds great regardless, fixed up a soup that now isn't, because I insisted on adding rice to it, and taunted myself with a few sessions of Solitaire. It's like I can't look past my immediate satisfaction in order to get long-term projects finished, and complaining about it is much more pleasing to do than fixing it.
Can you tell I'm pissed off at myself yet? I am fighting me, and we're both losing. So yeah, we're sucking ass right now, so again, I'm putting off until Sunday what I wanted to do today. Such a pointless experience this has been. *grr*
• I'm browsing through Seanbaby.com. I'm choking on Dreyer's Vanilla (without Bailey's for once). Coincidence?
• Pacific Procession—Let's recap:
• Anyone trying out those 30-day contact lenses? I'm very interested in them. But I still need to wear out my four other pairs of disposables (a half-year supply I got about a year and a half ago).
• Listen: Celluloid Dreams on KSJS. Do it.
• Queal37658@yaho... asks: "Is Your web Site Making Money! 8:40:57 PM" Um, I think it's a question... But no, I'm not banking off the site at all. Should I be? I could put up a PayPal like some sites I visit, but right now it would be like asking for alms at a Sunday service.
[update] What the hell? I wrote this, and I don't know what I mean! I think it was supposed to imply that it was like begging when I didn't need to (because the site is here for free).
I'm getting about two thousand visits a year from about 25 distinct, unique persons, I'm guessing. Sometime between now and when the site's getting 2000 a day, I might consider it. I figure that's going to be the troubling time when the site's marginally popular, but not self-sufficient. It likely won't pull in much, but some prefer to show gratitude in fiscal ways.
• Something's up with my cell service. My brothers, Mom, and I can't call each other. I know Mom wanted to cut back on costs by taking out things like "mobile-to-mobile" and "family minutes", but this probably isn't what she had in mind. Damn Cingular...
• Went and saw Men In Black II with Zoe and Dennis. Good, clean fun. I must be coming into season; a reasonably cute girl sat next to me with her friends, wondering if she should buy some snacks. Instead of offering her some popcorn and sharing a giggle or two, I just sat there in relative ignorance. I would've introduced myself, I guess. Probably would've been cool if I did, but there are a lot of things I don't do. Eh, social highlight for the day.
• MIIB, as all the abbreviate types call it, still plays in the brand-name game. Yeah, MIB HQ needs a telecommunications provider and a foodservice giant, but those things tend to get in the way in movies. Perhaps that's why I'll insist on making up my own brands in my productions.
• Those bastards from the upcoming Owen Wilson movie stole my contact lens imaging system idea. That was supposed to be a major plot point in Triple Cross. I'm still going to use it, but the innovation factor has been lost.
Bastards, again.
[update] I'm reminded of the patent some guy had on something like what I envisioned. It's in my Links. I think the patent's expired, but I have no idea if anyone's capitalized on the idea. I figure something similar could be used to construct a 3D imaging device.
• My sinuses and I am all for the public urination ban.
• A great game. A great game I should never play, lest I get caught up in family micromanagement. You should have seen me in my Starcraft days. Trying to play each mission without losing a single Marine. Mostly impossible, but I still believe it can be done, no matter what my record says. Anyhow, The Sims offers a fairly systematic view of life and living, bringing a few of my own deficiencies to attention. I should post my own personality graph sometime.
In fact, there are a lot of games I'm thinking about not-buying for fear they'll destroy the measly "life" I'm trying to make. Neverwinter Nights, Warcraft 3, Unreal Tournament 2002
That one ain't out yet, dude.
Bear with me, voice of reason... Medal Of Honor: Frontline (PC/PS2). Soul Calibur 2 is supposed to be out in arcades sometime this month. The Student Union likely won't see it until Fall semester starts. Can't wait to not-play!!
• It's the kind of thing you sort of expect eventually, but you never see coming. Most intriguing... How much Piazolla and Solitaire does it take to decide on a response?
• This Flash game comes heavily recommended.
• It's the subjectivity of the human experience. I've become more attuned to it over the past few years. College does that. In one way or another, we learn that different people have different perspectives. What is bare-laid and defined to one can be muddled and obscured to another. One's fundamental truth, another's malicious lie, still another's possibility. With all the different perspectives we can come up with, it's hard to remember that we're looking at the same thing. This is the marvel of the social dilemma: our individual opinions segregate us. The mark of the hero, single-minded devotion, is also that of the stubborn, the infatuated. Interest in another's perspective can be mistaken for caring, intrusion, judgment, even love.
Why should we be interested in another's view when we have a perfectly fine one of our own? Because they vary. We'll find that our opinions match those of others. But more often our views will clash with differing severity. This is the heart of conflict, of drama. Some pursue it more readily than others, but I feel that to silence yourself to the variety is suicidal. We make ourselves lonely. I never want to be lonely again.
So if my questions ever become difficult, watch me stick to them. I ask because I don't know for certain. I ask because I wonder, because I care. I expect the same from all of you.
Do you care? Would you allow anyone to care?
• Curious Spartans may have seen the practice field fenced off (to soccer players). According to Scott, this measure is part of a plan to "increase" attendance at games. By pairing up a major event with a football game, visitors to the former are technically also spectators. Tricky, maybe. But it's probably more cost effective than improving the team.
• The Smallville people chose a great day to rerun "Nicodemus"; my reasons are many. Anyone else watch it?
• There is a page in my notepad with a single word on it: "Beer". I don't remember when I wrote it (it's pretty recent, I think), and I don't know why I needed to remind myself of it. The other stuff I can explain: cost estimates to replace the baseboard moulding and possibly the screen doors/windows, some idiosyncrasies to distinguish my characters, a polite note questioning my SF3 talent, interesting song lyrics, a Financial Aid checklist, fun stuff for my Lost Cause spellcasters, and a goth girl in dress.
• Lennie dropped in with her teenage sister or cousin or someone. While Lennie's outside talking with Janice, the girl's sitting on the staircase, sucking a lollipop. Carina is leafing through A&F Quarterly, Chart is freaking out over a random call by her ex, Chuck and James are discussing butt rape and naked Sims, and there's orthoscopic knee surgery on TV. Am I the only one concerned with the kid's sanity?
• Chuck's getting hooked on Sims now. He's had a few shots, so he's a little indecisive. Right now, he and Alice are sharing a home; pretty cute. They're doing well, though she's not comfortable enough to let him rub her back. Oh, the reality...
• Good thing I keep a notepad regularly now. Otherwise, I'd have wiped most of my day's memories clean:
Dormie: "Yeah, I guess. They still billed me for messing up the room, even though they're tearing them down."
Nahum: "That's fucked up, man. Sorry."
• It's another day of 100°+ heat, and I'm alone here at the house. Why is our water line turned off? I'd probably pass this off if this wasn't the second occurence. Someone's not telling me something important about our living situation.
• At times, I possess the ability to completely disappear from someone's sight just by standing in front of them. It's advantageous when I want to avoid someone or dodge solicitors. But when I want a plate of food, or I want off the bus at a particular stop, this indetectability is more baneful than beneficial.
• The water bill's paid, and everything regarding is fine. Just a little flakiness. That's the problem with homeowning. Once your mail is countable in cubic feet, the bills get hard to find. My three or four bills a month are enviable to one who receives ten times that amount.
• Let this melted package of Lindt Lindor truffles be your proof: Chocolate is love. It goes straight to your heart. At the risk of foil-on-filling contact, I will lick this package sterile.
• The bus driver wants to get on his way and maintain his schedule. The screaming passenger wants on board, even though he doesn't have the proper fare, according to the driver. The policeman wants to chat with the civilians during his lunch break. I want to save the day.
• I'm pretty annoyed at the way I behave most of the time. There is a lot I could get done if I would just follow a rational path instead of an impulsive one. I find that I'm more easily pleased and accomplished when I'm not chained to my mood. I don't listen to myself much, though. It seems like a curse. I know what's right and how I can make things better, but I never seem to be in the right mood to make use of it. I've been putting aside site updates and improvements just so I can do stupid shit like play Solitaire for hours or distract myself with the goings-on of other people. I must be looking for some sort of short-term satisfaction, which I rarely find when doing stuff like this. I can imagine many times in my youth when my responsibilities were actually reactions to other people telling me to do things. Did I ever learn this skill? And if not, do I still have time to do so, or am I now forced to seek out others to put me in line?
I feel like I've been gypped. Even now, the desire arises to waste my time with damned games, drowning out the softened voice urging me to do something more constructive. I know that whatever I do on impulse will never please me, but the possibility of something otherwise is dangerously tempting. I want to update some pages, but I'm becoming frustrated at my hesitation. And once that frustration is total, I'm going to follow my impulse.
How do I change this?
• I remember the time I borrowed Dinah's car to drive up to Dave Richards' one New Year's Eve. I don't remember much of it, but the night was fun. It was around 3am when I started the drive back down. I figure the last person to leave had done so fifteen minutes ago. There was no one else on Mt. Hamilton Road. To myself, I had a clear night, two winding mountain lanes, and a Neon Expresso. I had a temporary Londoner in mind, yes, but only briefly. With precise maneuvering, I commanded the road to straighten before me. Each corner, approached wide before cutting in two-thirds of the way through. Minimize the energy put into turning, that it may be diverted into forward motion. I am a downhill racer, carving the path of least resistance through a lonely mountain road.
It was lonely, until I reached the final thousand yards, and took my place behind the party-goers who had left before me. I'll never know how fast I came down that road. (The police wouldn't, either.) I had touched the fragile line between life and death. It was five miles long and decorated with white and yellow lines. But I was alive. My heart rarely beats as fast as it did cruising down Alum Rock Road. Moments before, it was beating for speed.
680 was just as empty. Just as open...
• This is the kind of excitement you can experience from the safety of your DVD player with Initial D, my new favorite anime. You will cheer Takumi on as he schools Japan's finest and fastest with his inconceivable '86 Corolla. (His girlfriend's a dirty slut whore, heehee!)
• Sadly, that's why there's no update tonight. >:( That, and turkey tacos with chicken gravy. Sorry...
• Crispy Frenchman paints naked Japanese girls, in watercolors! Don't ask!
• I'm not even in middle age yet, but I know I hate today's young teens. They're punks, all of them. Self-serving, inconsiderate, unmannered, and stupid. And while, yes, I base my opinion on but three glaring examples, I still fear for the future.
• I'm out an easy thousand, but willingly. The price of education these days... And the credit card paysite people had the nerve to charge $30 for their convenience. Any grade-school dropout could do that. Now how about letting me charge my classes for free?
• Beware! You will feel your tender heart fold in upon itself and convert into quantized packets of digital information. From there, your eyes will emit your soul as a timed laser pulse back into your computer screen, where it will travel across the Internet, unscan and undevelop, and become a prisoner of the cuddly-wuddly delights you are about to click to. It's not my fault y'all can't listen.
Uh-oh...
• I went through a pallet and a half of books today, but I can't remember a single page. HAHA@!!! I crack me up. Yeah, it's so funny, I get to do it again tomorrow!
That's why I'm tired. What's your excuse?
• But before I fall gracefully into bed, tomorrow is trash day. Wednesday has been our day since the beginning of July, according to our new trash company and the mailer they sent us just today. Y'see, if the garbage bill was in Charlette or Chuck's name, we would've had the sucker back in May (before they even considered changing companies on us, because they're "A" names). I suppose it could be worse...I could be rooming with Zacher.
• I signed up for another credit card today, in hopes of saving on finance charges. There's that tricky thing the card companies do when they offer you credit, though. The mailing mentions things like "0% APR for 12 months" and then they double back and say things like "the terms of your account are subject to change." We'll see just how big a mistake this was...
• There is an Imperial Storm Trooper Pez dispenser on my desk. The candy's okay, but there's something about the dispenser that hasn't caught my fascination yet. I suppose I'm supposed to be raving about the thing like it performs miracles or loves unconditionally, but I don't. I just pop the head back and gnaw away at it's candy neck. Orange flavor. Is there something I'm missing here? Should I have gotten Yoda instead?
• This would be one of those awkward remote updates. I'm here at my sister's, and I'm the only one awake, as is usual around this hour.
Noah's fast approaching the point where he'll be able to communicate vocally with us. He has his words for common things like food, water, and sleep, but he also kinda understands simple questions. We'll break him out of that habit. >:)
• I'm in total smoothie binge mode. Safeway isn't helping; anything I could put into a smoothie is 2 for 1 or otherwise at ideal prices. 50¢ mangoes. $1.99 berry packs. Madness.
• In supermarket-related news, there's talk about doing away with half-gallon ice cream packs. Something like that, according to my inside source. Just what does this imply? Will we then have to buy 5 quart buckets instead? *sarcastic boo* Are we converting to metric? POS computers around the country will howl.
• The Queen special on PBS. You do not understand how phenomenal the band was. Not much of an American impact (before Wayne's World) I gather, from all the British footage, but their songs are just mastery. Freddie Mercury was a master showman, save for the British tooth job, natch. I need to find their anthologies, and I'm sure Jare wouldn't mind one of their DVDs or video collections (Mercury was infamous for his cross-dressing ways).
• Even AOL won't let me get anywhere. I should just look on the bright side, I guess. I got a smoothie and some sushi today. A worthy accomplishment.
• Oh, and someone's #2000. Rock on.
• Charlene points out something interesting: If I had told people that I wanted to come along on their fun thing and made sure that people were actually being told ([Reply] vs [Reply All]), I would've been dusting the Dodger fan too.
• Otherwise, chatting with Charlene is kind of an adventure, like Rich. Both of them also point you to things like this. At this here quiz, you get to remind yourself of your faults, say for instance, avoidance and dependency, or schizotypal and obsessive-compulsive personality disorders. I've been aware of the latter two, but the avoidant and dependent disorders scored higher in my test. This is the kind of thing you can't fear about yourself. Everyone's messed up in some way, to some degree.
The results of quizzes like this are not answers—they're questions. The thing I have to do now is ask myself: "How does this affect me?" Am I too critical of myself, and has this shown in my relationships? Quite possibly. What will I do about it? We'll see...
• Dammit, I'm playing The Sims now.
Fun: 5 Comfort: 2 Free Time: -7
Yeah, aside from that, I've got work tomorrow. There's a party here for Mike in the evening, and I might hop out on some spur-of-the-moment family activity on Sunday. When will I update the site?
• Hmm...with all the servings of fruit I've been consuming, it would really suck if I got sick right now. Or it wouldn't. (Whichever thought keeps me healthy... >:p)
• heh... That didn't work. I've got the classic head cold: nasal discharge, irritated throat, hacking cough, and bodily pain. Getting through this is going to be tricky, now that I have roommates to worry about. Also, Mike has some overnight guests from his SoCal hometown. All I wanted today was a flame-broiled burger, perhaps a little chat with the guys, and then some time for the site. I'll probably sleep through all three. Or I could take some of this allergy medicine—it helped at work yesterday.
• Things are going mostly smoothly here. However, I'm worried that all of the section files (which are now all renamed to "index.html" to close any gaps) will be hard to make out from each other. Imagine having 5 or 6 different files open, all named "index.html"...
• The whole Con-Agra ground beef recall has me...on notice. Yes, I purchased ground beef product from one of the thousands of retailers affected. No, I don't know if my purchase was considered among the recall. Yes, I promptly made hamburgers out of the beef I purchased. I'm eating two of them right now—that will make a whole pound consumed in two days. And yes, my immune system is still compromised because I had a cold over the weekend. An E. Coli infection would be a bitch to fight off in my current state, according to health officials.
Why am I not worried? Because I trust my fire. I know my burgers are supposed to be cooked well through, because all the cut surfaces of beef are subject to contamination. (That's why Mike can eat his steak in peace, the faces of which came into contact with non-stick hot metal.) I know that I will not fall dead from any "underestimation". When it comes to meat, and when it comes to burning, I am the personification of mastery.
*chomp*
• heh... This day... >})
...another reminder of my inability to connect with people in meaningful ways. Every misunderstanding, no matter how small, frustrates just the same. It's a struggle that, by it's very essence, is inexplainable. Or is it so only because I think of myself as unexplainable? And just to complicate things, which is the proper negating prefix for "explain"?
• IceTears00 mails me: LOVE@AOL: You have an admirer!
I can fix that...
"Hi, I'm Nahum."
• Some Networking teacher gifted me with some Cisco CNA books. Of course, they're a month out of date (the exam went up another edition). They're still full of useful information, about 2 cubic feet of it. This sparks an interesting question: Why can an important book, like the English Dictionary or the Bible, be condensed intact into pocket editions while a seemingly simple subject as computer networking takes up the space of a small child? Yeah, I suppose if the font was condensed and thinner bond was used, half the space could easily be spared. But I also suppose that about 95% of the CNA literature is original and portent, compared to 80% of the Bible (Mark, Matt, and Luke wrote about the same thing; and all the "begatting"), and 65% of a dictionary (adjective/adverb forms, and other redundance).
This is probably why those CNAs are paid, since they have to link up a myriad different protocols and systems. Perhaps that's where we should have began when we were crafting our technology. Each piece of programming serves a function, but a lot of different versions of the same essential product are available because they all have small but significant options, and/or they link up to different systems.
Whatever...like I could read through the damn thing in a spare summer.
• Wow. Starbucks found a way to infiltrate the neighborhood. Development around here was pretty much complete. The only open space around here was donated by a former mayor for farming purposes. So how did they do it? Mini-stations at Albertson's and Safeway. They are still a good mile from the house either way, which should save me a few hundred dollars I would have spent on coffee. I don't go out of my way for mocha.
• I know now what must be done... I've found the star that will light the way.
His name is Hoshi-chan...
• Site-wise, I got nothing done. But that doesn't matter; I am so stoked. We went to Home Depot and bought a lot of stuff. For some, it's the exact same excitement that you get when you add to your wardrobe, or outfit your computer. Carina got some stuff for the house at another store earlier, but we needed more stuff to finish her job. While there, we also got stuff to fix our baseboards, which haven't been there since last year. The house had hot pink walls with rose wallpaper and rust carpet before that, so we weren't too eager to rush out and replace the baseboards after the carpet was in and walls repainted. But now the walls are going to be finished, and they'll have new (sturdy) curtains and lamps to go with them. The dining room will also get a paint job to match the lone green wall beside the staircase. I get to do some carpentry fitting the baseboards together, which will make a nice distraction from the redesign I'm planning.
I am so stoked.
• I have everything I need to ask for those Stafford loans. Sure, they won't pay me until just about when school opens, but that's how paper works. I imagine that this would have overwhelmed me years ago, but I find that having information (and services especially) on the web really helps. I guess I just interact with the computer better than I do with people. It's easier to focus on what's important, and it's much easier to tell when the computer understands what I want. It doesn't care if I suck or if I have issues. I wish I could say the same of people sometimes.
• In a bit of a funk, so I'm not getting much of anything done. Right now, most everything in my To Do list seems much too challenging. At first glance, it all is: the redesign would involve creating a lot of new content and shifting around existing stuff. I don't know what exactly to put into the next SM! strip. There's lots of straightening out to do in the backyard. Shit always happens whenever I talk to people online. Classes are still one long month away.
It would be so easy just to give up and do something else. However, I feel too decent to browse the porn sites. I couldn't handle the consequences of roughing up random people on the street. And, I'm still too damn smart to talk myself into suicide. Everything short of getting something to eat makes me think of doing one of the four things above.
Damn me.
It's better to tackle a bunch of small problems instead of one large one. But a lack of concentration keeps me from seeing the simpler tasks that compose each large one. Rambling to myself about this isn't helping so far; it's just aggravating me. At some point, it's all going to topple me again, and I'll just hop into bed and wait for tomorrow, like I did last evening. Something about that rattled me, so tonight, I'm browsing unrelated material on the web to get my mind off all this... (As with every website out there, I urge you to turn off your Javascript and perhaps even refuse to accept cookies by any of these sites. There's just a lot of things that can go wrong with even mere interest in something. Browse safely!)
• One day, I was thinking about how to disprove the existence of God, as known to Christians and other religious types. Pure logic dictates that to disprove the existence of something, you have to demonstrate it's non-existence in every situation imaginable. You also have to form the proper argument and ensure the validity of your steps.
This wasn't an attempt to disprove the existence of God, but rather an attempt to show the near impossibility of doing so. I'm just having trouble deciding what logical statement best contains the essence of "There is a God". From there, it's a simple matter of finding the negation of the statement and staggering in the sheer awe of the task implied by such a negation. Or perhaps it isn't so simple...
• Never fails—one moment, I'm dark, pessimistic, and fatal. Another moment, I'm a giggling wreck. I need to remember why this happens...
• Yeah, that and Hef brings up another argument form (regarding non-existence of deities), the kind where you start your reasoning from the supposition that the inverse of the statement is true, prove it's fallacity, and voilà! It had a name...
• Before I forget again: Blood Work with Harrison Ford—Tuesday August 6th, 7:30, Mercado. Contact me if you're interested.
Before I raise any more hell, I take this time to state that "The Church of Scientology", and certain other references thereof, are trademarks...of...well, something or other. They know who they are.
And the trademarks are theirs.
Yeah. Go trademarks!
• Hoshi™, fugly concocter <<->> Church of Scientology™
• Random Pertinent Quote Found On Another Website: "Absence of proof is not proof of absence."
• hehehe... fallacial ... *giggle*
Cunning lingua, yes?
• So it gets slow during the day, and I open up a finance study guide. My brain puckered. It is not geared towards acquiring knowledge in any business field. I do not get it. Now epirimization and benzene rings, I get, but mutual dividends and future values compounding on n-terms? I don't understand what I just typed, but I bet one of you jerkass MBA-wannabes is rolling on the floor right now, or standing agape at the brilliance I somehow bs'ed. Either way, it is you who are fucked, and I'm the one calling it.
• Our childhood subconsciously affects how our adulthood shapes out, according to one of them "psychologists". It makes sense in a way, the foundation determines the outcome of the entire structure.
Mom gave me caffeine as a kid. This I inferred from the half a glass or so Noah had around lunchtime. As I left my sister's an hour or so ago, he was still running around, spinning in place, and babbling at anything with colors. Did caffeinated soft drink products adversely affect my current state?
• And why is Structure now called Express for Men? What kind of pussy-whipped, feminated, girly-guy is going to buy his man-clothes from a store that feared it's own powerful name? I suppose now hundreds will flock over to A&F and become naked teen studs on studs or something.
• No, I don't know why I wrote any of tonight's rambles. That's why I bought hand sanitizer sample and gel pomade.
Weeeeeeeeela@!!!
• Meanwhile, at Roberts: There are cheerleaders across the street. Hundreds of them. Hormone secretions...unavoidable. Must keep...lewd comments...to...self!
It's not that bad, really. Makes for an interesting diversion from the usual workday lull.
[update] A thought: why is it so criminal for me to say stuff like this, while it would be "witty" or "cute" for other guys to say so? Or am I the only one who thinks this?
My point is, the average guy can get away with some pretty demented stuff, and be looked upon only with adoration. Meanwhile, I am villainized and avoided for doing the same. Our intentions are the same. The only valid difference is that I'm delivering the material. Just because I don't adhere to the mainstream doesn't mean I'm to be abhorred. I'm not some fucking abomination...I'm your friend, Nahum. Get over it.
• The embrace of dark night and the elucidation of daybreak were reminders that my thoughts would be my only company on the long walk home. Above all the other worthy thoughts, I couldn't help thinking that it's some unfortunate miracle that I be allowed to see every tomorrow. I guess I can find comfort in the fact that no matter what I do, I am my own punishment.
Good night...
• It's a lot like looking at a crystal. Yes, you could spend a lifetime doing so, finding each and every flaw with your microscope. One facet doesn't quite match the others. A crack shows through, undermining it's purity. But as a whole, the crystal is a small piece of brilliance, bending glorious light in such ways as to flash and glint at you. At times, a spot of white will capture your attention, quickly falling into black while you are overcome by another. Prismatic hues highlight everything around you, shining here and there. In your hands, the crystal infuses your world with brightness.
But you can't be a part of it. You can't see from within just how it works it's magic, or why it should do so. The mystery of its power evades you forever, locked away in its own structure. And then you wonder why you were given the crystal in the first place.
• Don't get me wrong... I had a fun time last night talking to people I haven't seen in a while, or in Kiki(?)'s case, in ever. It's the thought that I haven't done enough, or that there's something greater happening that I'm no part of. Whether it's reality, or some psychotic distortion of it, it still gets me down.
• Do me a favor and read this comic. If it can brighten my night, it'll surely give you a chuckle or two.
What? I'm just easily amused, s'all.
Sorry...
Shouldn't you just sign off?
• I suppose, in a way, it's my fault. I wanted the day to go smoothly. I wanted to watch the "Blood Work" preview. I wanted to watch "Fellowship of the Ring" on DVD. I wanted a warm dinner and a cool drink to go with it.
It's my fault for forgetting that I don't get what I want.
What I want now is to live an eternity, to live it emaciated, forlorn, insane, alone. It's my fault.
• My typical, overreactionary way of saying that no one else wanted to see a free movie, that the evil DVD player didn't want me to instead see LOTR, and that something died in the fridge. Yay!
• Those free sample packs are back again for another Fall semester. According to the roomies, the For Her packs aren't quite as packed as last time. The immediate response? "There's no condoms!" It was fun to explain to visiting James what purpose a cock ring serves. (It's actually a carabiner keychain, but still...)
I have yet to check the For Him packs—I don't like lugging lots of stuff around.
• Jackie Chan and Jennifer Love Hewitt grace the faces of the kits, promoting their upcoming movie The Tuxedo. To again illustrate the atmosphere here, Janice insists she has large breasts, while James and I contend that, like another famous name, Miss Love Hewitt employs various means to "maximize her potential", which is basically a euphemism for push-up bras. She jiggles a lot, too, which is, in itself, a euphemism.
The whole point here? I like commas. But yeah, I'd like to hear your opinion on the matter. I'm not sure that it deserves its own quiz, but it's worthy discussion, I believe.
• Boy, I wish I had something real to talk about today.
• Ebony confection wades in the lucent waters. -OR- Oppressed, creamy victim of callous crisps seeks death in opaque misery.
Whichever one you choose does not matter, for both are equally delicious.
• So Fellowship of the Rings is a great movie, one I should have watched in a theater. My urge to read the series of books is dispelled by the knowledge of their girth. From word of mouth, I hear they are literary beasts that eat the hands of any but the most devoted of readers.
I like my hands. I mean, it took me a few months to read Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone on-and-off. Speaking of which, I'm looking for the next one. I don't think Roberts will carry it, beside the aforementioned required for some Lit class, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azbakan, and Harry Potter y el Calìz del Fuego. Interesting as the prospect sounds, I don't think I would enjoy Camarà de Secretos much.
• One of the local bums highlighted an unfortunate vulnerability at my counter: If you can get me to walk away in disgust (due to body odor, extraordinary stupidity, etc.), you could theoretically steal anything from the front of the store. This guy, I had the most horrible time trying to explain to him the witty thing about the Crazy Card that read:
Education is great. If we couldn't sign our names, we'd have to pay cash!
Excellent grasp of English for a street habitant, but I could feel his Stupid when he walked in the door. And he has long, crusty nails. He pocketed something shortly after—it could have been the card he was writing 800 numbers from the back of Men's Fitness on, or one of the Page Up™ Babies that everyone mistakes for candy.
• I've met a lot of celebrity relatives recently. Benjamin Bratt supposedly lives in the area, as evidenced by his cousin, who pointed her daughters at the mag with Bratt and Talisa Soto on the cover (VF?) and referred to him simply as "Benjamin". "Uncle Benjamin" would have been too cute to be real.
Yeah. And Abercrombie & Fitch? They're real people, according to Abercrombie's niece. She seemed unusually fully-clothed for someone associated with the A&F brand.
• Hey, remember Legolas, the badass elf from LOTR? He's rather sexy in real life with his black mohawk. So sexy that Janice cried when he was shown out of costume for all the behind-the-scenes stuff. "I'll put on some pointy ears and he can be my elf!"
• McDonald's Triple Thick Milkshake = *drool*
• The miter box is a wonder, in a good way. The thing was built for baseboard fitting, which I've been occupying myself with lately. This particular model comes with quick clamps to hold my work down. And if we had a worktable here, I could affix it to that as well. I just wish the miter box wasn't plastic. Cutting the 45°s for the square corners reduces your hearing capacity in the 1 kHz range, due to the high-pitched vibrating action of stainless steel against molded plastic. And for me, it's a subtle reminder of what a dozen years of percussion does in the long term—I'm slightly deaf in my right ear. I'll be slightly more so when I'm done replacing the baseboards taken out last summer.
• There's a small part of me (and slightly larger parts of my roommates) that wonders why I'm willing to do the landscaping and home improvements with no tangible compensation. I've probably expended more than my fair share of resources paying for things I won't have anything to do with in a few years, and time that could be spent in other ways. Then there's that part of me that only sees a lush, blooming, green invitation into a solid, complete home.
It helps to look at the bright side, because I'm not always able to see it.
• The only piece of news worth watching tonight: the Perseid Shower, which lasts through the week and is centered around the northeast at the ideal time of 2am to daybreak.
• They say two wrongs don't make a right. But will two layers of paint with 95% coverage (it was a little speckled after the first coat) make a complete coverage? I ran out of paint for the dining room cutout, so if I see even the slightest bit of banding or transparency...
• Dropped by the real Band Lobby after work and damn, are those couches ever orange. I would like to complain, but they're free. Also, it seems a certain Five Dollar Fan had been through there. My appreciation has been returned upon the chalkboard.
hehe...cunning lingua...
• One's living space is a reflection of one's emotional state.
My room is a mess. Tonight, however, it is a different kind of mess. Whereas before, it was an ordered mess—items out of place, but kept away in a neat fashion—it is now an ordered mess, since everything that belongs together is together in neat piles on the floor and bed. From there, the room may approach a state of saddle-point equilibrium, ready to fall back into disorder or, preferably, into maintained order.
My hard drive is slowly becoming a different matter. I've still managed to keep things under the 5 gig mark, but I fear that I'll soon need to expand. That matter is complicated by my unwillingness to cash out for a larger HD or a disk drive/burner. I'd prefer the HD, but I only have one bay, and question the cost efficiency of externals. It's probably something I'll end up researching later in the year.
• Parking permits for the coming semester have been raised—I am laughing at all of you. I can sit pretty knowing that I'm not paying $100+ to waste time in freeway traffic for overbooked parking spots. I will not play tenuous roadmate to disposessed blue collars, lamenting lost fortunes and maladies gained. No, that will be not my life!
i want a car...
• I had imagined myself being free from debt by the end of the year. That must explain the Master Promissory Note in my possession, awaiting action. Why get back in black when you can Double Your Debt™?
• Lately, my roomies have become a stabilizing presence. This, partly from a decreased risk of turning insane from loneliness, but also from their viewpoints, stable, differing, and external. And no matter how much I've whined about them lately (if even at all), I've been blessed by their company.
I decree henceworth that every single young adult is entitled to no less than two cool roommates of the opposite sex, preferably experienced in ways.
• Thursdays off mean that I'm going to get things done here! Weee!!
• I'm waiting for the university people to send me my transit sticker, since I'm in the R's or something. I'm also clearing the way for them to pay out my loan, so I don't have a $1000 burden on my card. Entrance counseling was pretty straightforward, even if the speaker was self-promoting and unknowing of things besides the Stafford Loan process in general, and her trust brokerage. Given the Federal interest rate slashing of 2001, I've picked the ideal time to incur my first bigass debt. If I wasn't so stunned about the prospect of being out thousands of dollars while I'm looking for an employer, I would be proud of this. And it also seems rather timely that I wandered out of CS before the dotcom industry went down on the bear.
• New in the arcades this month are Soul Calibur 2, sequel to the popular weapons-based fighter, and Guilty Gear XX, which compares to Darkstalkers most closely, but is much more technical, visually stunning, and well...dirty. The character I played with, I-no, is a death metal witch with "strong words" for one of the main characters, and prefers to go braless. Needless to say, I'm sticking with her because...she plays guitar. Why else?
And if it matters, I've been practicing with Hong Yunsung in SC2, the flashy Korean sailor with the mean Chinese sword. If only Seung Mina had made the character roster...
• Since these games came into the Student Union, tournament level players have been dropping by, sampling the competition. The last guy who came in on Friday garnered at least 26 SC2 wins against the regulars in the arcade, myself included. I never said I was a skilled player...
The arrival of these games brought to light a relatively new social structure to me, where otherwise disinterested people plunk down change in the pursuit of fun, and discuss strategies, tactics, and combos with each other. If you browse the forums of the game sites, you discover an almost escapist level of fascination with the games. The hardcore gamers ponder the existence of secrets/cheats in the game, storyline related topics such as which characters make a cute couple, or where a certain character originated from in plot and production terms. I myself have taken a liking to the movie/anime discussions, since the possibilities are within my career's future. One of my dreams is to make a videogame-based movie that doesn't suck.
CafeGlobe.com will translate (though somewhat clumsily) Japanese pages for you, so you can read things, like the Guilty Gear XX site linked above. There are other page-level and phrase-level translators to be found if need be.
• This seems like a Chuck-style rant to me: A study says that tall men find partners sooner and have more kids than men of average height. Women just find tall men sexier, 'sall. For my (now-shrinking) female readership, you know you want some 'nuh with a towering stud. Admit it. Yeah, then you find out that tall men are also jerks and that not everything is...proportional. Just a thought.
• Ignoring the study's other finding that short women get more play, I wonder if a trend towards increasing height among the human population might be possible. It's something that would take centuries to observe. But know also that pre-human ancestors stood shorter than we did.
• *grr*... Fall semester starts up soon, doesn't it? I was looking forward to it earlier in the summer, but now I'm kinda hoping it would stay back for a while. *thinks to self* Everything's going to be fine... Everything's going to be fine...
• So I'm sending out invites for a party here a few Sundays from now. I must have blundered upon an old address, because a daemon returned:
Hi. This is the qmail-send program at lax1evtmx2.citysearch.com. I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following addresses. This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out. <xxxxxxxx@xxxxxxxx.xxxx>: 204.###.###.### does not like recipient
Yeah, I know this was a program, but it kinda freaks me out when they're coded to respond like people would.
"I didn't send the email to Jack because I hate his guts! Scum like him should be wiped from the earth!"
The day these things grow moody and insult Mom, I'm heading to the mountains to denounce modern society.
"I'm going to eat your soul!"
Come get some...
• Monday was an ass day, a Tylenol day. It was one of those days where no redemption could be found, even in screaming or crying. I'm still recovering.
Just to hint, imagine that instead of the fast food meal you got to raise your spirits/blood sugar level, your mouth decides to feast on your cheeks. The first incident is pure and utter pain. Each incident afterwards up to the fifth is equally painful. Around the ninth incident, biting into what have become canker sores is a demoralizing experience. By the fifteenth bite, your spirit is broken. Medical complications set in around the twenty-third. And I believe oral cancers or full penetration set in near forty bites.
Once you've bitten your cheek once, it becomes easier and easier to repeat the mishap. Reproducibility, with an almost scientific obsession. The affected area swells with blood to clot up around the exposed cells. But all the swelling makes the area a larger target for the next bite. And if you've got one of those suckers next to the tip of a tooth, even breathing becomes difficult. It's senseless.
• Common sense tends to evade me whenever the lottery jackpot exceeds $52,000,000. After taxes and such, you're likely to pull in about a million a year for 26 years, or however the program works. Instead of the infinitesimal odds of matching all 5+1 numbers, thoughts turn to how that million would be spent. Even if you retained your job(s) just to keep busy, you could arrive in style, pour in funding just to make things interesting, or go crazy one year and buy out the place(s). There are some fine non-profit organizations to donate to (PBS, Red Cross, SJSU Spartan Marching Band, etc.)
After getting some wheels, applying for insurance, renovating the wardrobe, and some random quick fixes, I would get Kevlar surgically implanted into my cheeks. And I'd probably Teflonize my teeth. Yeah, Teflon bonding occurs at patent-protected high temperatures, but for a million dollars a year for 26 years, I could live with that pain. Or, I could have all the pain nerves surgically removed. The options are many.
I hope Teflon comes in colors other than black...
• It's past 2 again, and I'm just starting to think about sleep. It won't come for at least another half-hour. Even when I managed to catch an early slumber last night, I found myself awake at this time. It's like some unconscious desire to be awake, or away from sleep. The fact that I'll be awake at 2am is often a more dependable one than the hope I'll be so at 7am. Each morning I wake up in pain, wishing I had gotten to sleep earlier the night before. And each night around this hour, I wish the night would last longer, daybreak kept from this part of the world. And various times in between, I'm jolted out of sleep by a slight wind, or a numbed limb, or a lingering thought—dreamless all the same.
I think I'm just getting really anxious. It must be real bad this time, because the insomnia doesn't usually set in until a night or two before a big thing is to happen. Just another irony, I guess—Sleep, being the one thing absolutely necessary prior to any large undertaking, becomes harder to find when it is needed.
• Just realized that a few of you (the new visitors) have no idea what Five Dollar looked like before this interim state. Well, the pages mostly had this style. Some long rants and raves I had written in the early history of the site had their own section. There were also a few hundred photos to browse as well as some artwork pieces I wish I could produce faster. Throughout the site, brief flashes of brilliance were to be found, as well as various allusions to a former infamous crush of mine.
• Yep. Working on this site, I've learned that in many cases, I've been my own obstacle to glory. Whether by impatience, paranoia, deviousness, or sheer love of the moment, great things have been unmade before my eyes. I could spend years regretting all the things I've done, but everything I learned from these experiences have to be learned as soon as possible. Unfortunately, they're often things you can only learn in hindsight, having blundered through what everyone can only warn you about. The lessons don't make sense until you've lived through them. The only person who can teach you these things is yourself. Others can relate similar experiences to you, but they have to be passed through your filter before they can be of any use to you.
• Something recently revealed to me is that it is of no use to criticize yourself if you don't intend to improve your faults. What do I plan on improving?
...
...damn, I'm getting sleepy...
...
Wednesday was a major improvement over the rest of the week, even if it ran on just three hours of sleep.
• Erin, who we had working the stacks in the book department, got moved today to the front of the store. So I've got a (relatively) new person to train before the Fall rush begins. My first one, I believe. It seems eerily familiar in a comic way... She has the obvious newbie questions, like how to verify checks, how I came upon my Incubus shirt, where such-and-such item is, and how to get out of tricky situations with the register. Unfortunately for me, she picks up stuff pretty fast, so I end up doing little more than relaying useful information. There isn't much room to indoctrinate the girl on my methodologies and compulsions, which make me an awesome cashiering presence. I could show her how to halve the time it takes to run Checkrite (I found a way to cut out fifteen seconds off my check transactions), but right now, it's more important for her to get things right, as with any novice. She'll do well in my capable hands.
It's too bad she works with me, 'cause she's one of those hotties. Not only a co-worker, but I think she has some familial relation with the owners. Or not. It's one of those things I wouldn't ask about. Aside from this, though, we really click as equals. We've already identified alt as one piece of common ground, though she's more of a Sublime fan. And, glory be damned, working is actually fun with Erin around. It's a different kind of joy, smoking a line of customers with her, from that of practicing swordplay with straightedges or achieving perfect placement with a series of price stickers. What I think I like about her most is that she seems to be free of "that effect I have on people".
• Moving on... I hadn't seen Jackie in a while. Nor Mike, Virginia, Nancy, Ryan, and the dancers I recognize from last year. I like seeing people again. A simple, understated happiness. And if you thought Amanda was an overwhelming presence on her own, you need to see her sister. She has a name. I have this feeling they do more than dress the same way. There were a few issues of "effect" happening, one involving washboards. I don't get it either—the awkwardness is best ignored.
• I remember when people were still finding out I quit Togo's, even when a year had past. Is this how it's going to be with me and not-in-band? I'm guilty of a few of those myself, a memorable one with one-timer Liz Kmetz included.
• Why is there no "90's" show? It seemed like a logical progression. I feel we're far enough from last decade that we can commemorate the time in music. Let's see...there was the whole grunge thing (Foo Fighters, Stone Temple Pilots and Soundgarden make prime examples), lots of memorable movie themes (Disney reprise), boy bands (shut up—there are some playable tunes to be found), swing and ska revival, and the dawn of techno (house, club, jungle, trance, ambient). An electronica medley/original composition still sounds interesting to me.
• Noah is still my beloved nephew. And, Silvestre makes kickass gorditas.
You're cute when I'm drunk!
• I'm still feeling the shots I did earlier (sorry, Michelle). Am I so regimental that I can't readily tell my drunken state from my sober one? I'dve imagined that the SoCo and the Jäger would've done something irreversible, but I seem to be my normal self, though a little more fastidious about cleaning and shit like that. Okay, maybe the cursing is a little much. But otherwise, the untrained eye wouldn't be able to tell the smashed Nahum from the regular, dysphoric one.
So at what point would I start horking on the floor, hitting on Mandler, and making more of a fool of myself than usual? I'm not feeling it yet. Let's hope it never comes to that point. I wouldn't be able to live with myself in that kind of aftermath.
• Unexpectedly, things are going to be a little late around here. Home improvements, impromptu parties, classes... All kinds of stuff are going to be in the way.
• And if it matters to anyone, I worked my way through Chamber of Secrets in less time than it took me to get through Sorceror's/Philosopher's Stone. Now getting through the coding for the EMPHASIS tags... that was a different matter.
• I'm looking at my feet right now. They look strange to me today. Kinda like when you look at a word and wonder why it's spelled the way it is. They're usually not in question, because they're there, and they do what they do. At the moment, I wonder why they're as flat as they are. My toes angled in towards each other—it seems like such an inefficient design. If I'm just going to stick them in shoes all day, do they each need individual articulation? Other than picking pencils off the floor, or petting my cat back when I had one, I don't see much need for toes.
Some people have a fetish for toes, whether they're sucking them or having them sucked. Again, I keep my feet in shoes all day. I don't want anyone near them. They're not crusty or diseased or anything—I just subject them to inhumane conditions for the comfort of the rest of my body. They come out with a slight odor, which means something's growing down there. That's true of everyone. Why would you want that in your mouth? I'm even hesitant to touch them unless I've showered recently.
• The spammers, now taking advantage of HTML-enabled mail services, are using some new tactics in their campaigns. One of them makes use of the IFRAME (inline frame) tag, which is like Picture-in-Picture for web pages. I use them here to keep the presentation page and the content separate so I can update more easily. In spams, they're often sized down to zero width and height, leaving just a small, mysterious looking box in the body of an email. Scanning the page source often reveals nothing about the IFRAME, especially what it's linking. These could be anything from a media file to another web page, or even nasty things like infectious VBScript or entrances for hacker tools. Since only a simple IFRAME tag is enclosed in the body, virus scanners at the mail services won't pick out any malicious code.
Since the email companies don't want to hear from their customers anymore, it's impossible to ask them about these IFRAMES and what exactly they're capable of in a spammer's hands. Also, since they require you to run JavaScript when using their services, you run the risk of getting window-flooded, page-jacked, or whatever JS tricks exist now.
• Dammit, classes start tomorrow. For me personally, this is the start of two weeks worth of packed bookstore work spiced with classes about stuff completely new to me. In a sense, it's ironic that as a bookstore employee, I can't get books for some of my classes, but the RTVF/TRFT department has a history of turning in their requisitions late. As late as Friday, three of my classes still had no information about the books we are supposed to use. It's entirely possible that avid RTVF students might buy all the copies of our books before I even get to work the next day.
• I couldn't get the baseboards finished because everyone was resting up from Saturday. Chuck came home with a hangover much worse than mine, if one could call mine a "hangover". I slept in when the rum resurfaced here and there. I thought that stuff wasn't supposed to have such a strong taste. It'll be a while before I do straight shots of anything again.
But again, the baseboards I can't touch until Friday or Saturday, since my days are filled from 9-8, bus trips not included. Essentially, I'll be out more than half the day, and sleeping the other half. (Thusly, my other projects here online won't get any action until I have a free weekend.) I don't quite remember my first semester being this way. There was something fresh and exciting about my first days that has long since worn off. Watching the city as I rolled by on the 64 doesn't compare to my current trips down Monterey Hwy. And I totally miss walking to classes from a few blocks down the street, grinning as frustrated office workers and students made their way down three lanes of 11th Street. And somehow, after all the classes, work, and band, I still had time for myself, watching cable or playing games at the Union (I didn't start making friends here until just recently). Those days are long gone.
• Charlene and I would like to take this time to remind you all that [Reply All] is the Devil!
I apologize for the major lack of foresight. Should've waited till I was sober to pen that reply.
• And today, another example of foresight lacking. Thinking back to when I was planning my schedule in June, what exactly was it in me that thought it was a good idea to spend every available hour of daylight out of bed, working? I got home early today. I'm supposed to be just getting out of Intro to Production class. I'm going to die!
Well, maybe I wouldn't think that way if we actually got to do something. My next class is conveniently in the middle of next month. *ugh* And to the best of my knowledge, Wednesdays will be much like Mondays, which I have deemed to be "ass" until I get my producing on. Right now, I'm already tired of school.
• I'm starting to think I should dress up more for classes, since I'm actually taking them again and all. I can dazzle them all with the hidden secrets in my wardrobe! Plus, I can distract them from the fact that nothing that will come out of my mouth will ever be intelligible. I had people stumped at the words "Hi! I'm Nahum." Some even before that. It catches me off guard, since this hasn't happened to me in a good while. If I can't figure out how to work around it, it's only going to cause more problems than I have now with people.
That's it. Tomorrow, I'm suiting up. They'll never know why, and I won't be able to explain it to them! Weeeeeela!
• Herb-Roasted Chicken at the Student Union. I liked mine, though I've tasted juicier breasts. If they can keep from completely demoisturizing the chicken, they'll have the best dish on campus ever. Previous attempts at chicken entrées that weren't chopped into burritos or steeped in broth, all failed. Most of you are too young to remember The Roost, which took up roughly the spot that Sbarro's pizza racks now occupy. Next door to the infamous Pub of old, fried chicken of fantastically hideous quality (that I still ate on occasion). What now is the Sunset Chicken and Quesadilla Corner was once the somewhat mighty University Grill, which served some pretty decent burgers in its time.
• I think that's enough recollection. Just know that tomorrow will be one of them days for me!
• More foresight lacking—what the hell was I thinking when I accepted night shifts with day shifts following?
"My, my...look at all the money I'll make at work?"
Um...yeah. But what was I not thinking then that I'm complaining about now?
You'll be going to work, then going to sleep, and then going directly back to work?
Damn right! It also doesn't help that thousands of college students didn't have foresight as well, waiting until the first week of classes to buy what they could have bought a month earlier. Well, most of them anyway. I had to use my syllabus to confirm a book requisition at work. I was doing the major department's job. Where's my salary? I want benefits, too.
• If you wish someone a happy birthday, but they don't care about you, does it make a difference?
Compelling. But aren't you just ill-mannered from your torturous schedule?
Equally compelling. I'll sleep on it.
• g'Hah! Who am I kidding? I won't feel sleepy until 2 or so.
I'm trying desperately to finish my first Intro to Acting assignment. It has nothing to do with reading, preparing lines, practicing expressions, or anything. All I'm supposed to do is subscribe to the Yahoo! mailgroup for the class. This is accomplished by sending an email to the subscribing account.
Then Yahoo! will bitch at you for not having an account with them. So you apply for an account, wait half an hour for a reply, verify your email address because you blocked spammers with Yahoo! addresses over a year ago, configure your virus scanner to stop blocking a portion of the Yahoo! network from transmitting to your computer (because it also sends out ads and pop-ups), clear your email account's "bounce status" by waiting another half hour for your request to process, gripe while AOL decides that it doesn't want to deal with the Internet for a moment, and finally subscribe to the group through a web page (which was not mentioned in the syllabus) and scare away all the group members from last semester who haven't unsubscribed yet.
Afterwards, you wait for the second through fifth rejection notices from when you first tried to subscribe to the account. The sixth notice and onward should arrive the next day, along with the "clear status" requests and flame mail from last semester's Intro to Acting students. Such a simple task...
• I'm using my clipboard! Yay!
Acting homework is again surprising me with its feigned simplicity:
Write a paragraph discussing your acting history. Remember that we are constantly "ACTING." We ACT a certain way around our boss that is different from how we ACT when we are with our friends or our parents or a teacher. When we tell a lie we are acting. In the paragraph be sure to mention your "greatest acting moment." Think of all the different times you have had to "act" in your life.
©2002 Marc Pinate
Since I have no formal acting experience, this has become a philosophical exercise for me. I am a different person towards my friends, towards my family, towards my co-workers, and towards others. I am the most free, and probably most myself when dealing with complete strangers. Everyone else gets a filtered, or sometimes adjusted, version of me. Looking at myself, the more influence you have in my life, the less like myself I become. I feel uncomfortable and restrained around people I am supposed to trust and love. I try desperately to control my appearance around people I know—this doesn't mean I'm more civil. No, the opposite tends to be true. Though I do release wit and humor, I grip my opinions and words hard. I suppose my jesterly ways are a shield for my honest self.
To myself I believe I have been the most expressive. When no one else is around, I seem to laugh the hardest, cry the loudest, and move myself in ways I could never move anyone else. This must be what the class wants me to understand. Knowing this, I should then be able to utilize this introspective energy and reveal it to my audience, my friends and family, at federally approved levels.
As with all things concerning me and Change, will I be able to better myself with this knowledge?
• Intro to Film must be a popular class at every university. Why sleep through lectures when you can watch movies all semester? Yeah, since we're all paying as much as we are for classes, I think we deserve to get our money's worth in more meaningful ways. This is also one class that should probably be kept after-hours, just to keep the Sun's glare at bay. I ought to bring some popcorn and snuggle with my finer classmates next time.
• Hello, sister!
• Everything happening to me right now is quickly becoming enjoyable. But for all the fun I'm beginning to have, I'm still tired as hell every night. It's a different kind of tired, that of fatigue, as opposed to the boredom straining me until recently.
With Acting and Latin Dance calling me to action, it's a good bet that Tuesdays and Thursdays will be the highlights of my week, with Sublett's Film class a close second.
I can't remember what else I wanted to type... g'night all.
• Scott gave me my first guilt trip yesterday. That officially confirms me as an alumnus. I was starting to feel neglected. Seriously. I got my shit done as a drummer, but I also did lots of other stuff that likely detracted from the quality of the group. Nothing major though—he's only yelled at me once, when the other bass drummers were absent, leaving me wide open.
As an alumnus, I get to pass down the traditions to the rookies. Today, a new guardmember learned how to properly respect the equipment managers: spamming the office. To enlighten, the airflow in the Music Building will, under ideal conditions, direct itself into the Equipment Office. Lightweight materials, such as toilet paper, paper towels, paper airplanes, pages from porno mags, etc. are sucked into the office by vacuum action. Today, it has been discovered that small quantities of water will also obey the Band Lobby Law of Suction. Oh, the possibilities...
• I like the Internet. And with the financial aid disbursement speedily expedited (to my parents' home), the Internet has reciprocated my affinity. No waiting 'til November for my student debt to materialize, no.
• Almost forgot about the barbeque at my place on Sunday. Many of you already had plans, so it's not entirely worth mentioning. In the off chance you're interested, just contact me.
• I finally have some Me time to work with. Next to showering, the important thing I haven't done here at the house is eat. Ignoring the generous chicken offering by Charlette and Chuck's parents on Monday, I've been eating out the entire week. I'm gonna get my pasta on.
• Since I can't make it to Janice's grandmother's funeral, I'll be at the viewing tonight. It will be the first and last time I meet her.
This will be only the third funeral I've been to so far. A family friend passed away from cancer about two years ago. And over a decade ago, my own maternal grandmother, Paz, succumbed to heart failure. She was taking a walk with Eddie, who was only two at the time, when she collapsed on the street. Neighbors came to help, but too late. I had only known her for the month she was visiting. A kind, religious woman, she loved to care for us as a family. Back when we went to church on Sundays, she was able to convince Dad to come along without question. Her meals were lively, and I suppose her conversations were too—I didn't talk to people much then.
My paternal grandfather, Amando, passed away in the Phillipines a month after our visit in '93. As my last remaining grandparent, his death ended any chance of me learning my family's history. Mom and Dad don't know much themselves after their own grandparents or so.
Janice's grandmother had recently become senile, mistaking the time (7am for 7pm) and such. And from the arguments, it seemed that only Janice cared about how her grandmother was doing. I suppose this is another story I won't get to know firsthand. I'll try to manage as much as I can.
Go call your grandparents. Tell them you love them. And if you happen to not think so highly of them, change your mind.
• Yeah, she's dead. Having never met her before, the sight Janice's grandmother was more awkward than disheartening. I was sorry, not out of loss of life, but rather the loss of possibility. If people cared enough to greet me at the viewing, they surely would have welcomed me in her life, though I play no large role in any of this.
When Janice's mother passed away in her childhood, her grandmother took charge of the parenting in the household. Of all her grandchildren, I suppose Janice was most precious. To lose someone so dear to you must be shattering; it's an experience I can't quite identify with yet.
On those nights I needed a shot of comfort, I've brought myself to tears thinking about people close to me dying. Family, friends, important people I will come to meet, and myself—probably more often than anyone should. (I don't remember why I ever want to cry over things that aren't real.) The point here is that though I can imagine such a terrible thing, the possibility never compares to the reality. It is consequential, affecting, and it is permanent. No one dies the same death in my dreams; methods in general may resemble each other, but the details and reasons vary with my mood. If I didn't have my current understanding of myself, I'd say I need help badly.
• After the viewing, I helped dust off a 12-course Chinese feast. Lola Francisca would have wanted it that way.
• I don't believe in grand coffins. Until the advent of laquer and gold plating, we were all content to lie in our graves with little else but our clothing, a wrapping or two, and some treasured possessions. When I die, my spirit and mind will have parted ways with my body. Neither has a use for the others. I trust in my ability to create lasting memories, a legacy. I want nothing to do with permanence otherwise. Preservatives perhaps, so my body doesn't spawn killer diseases and such. But I'm very well content with being buried with minimal materials. I want to be biodegradable.
Plywood and shredded paper fill may be too much for people to watch. Therefore, I must insist on something more aesthetic: canvas. I will be wrapped in canvas, painted if people (including me) prefer so. Paint and brushes, markers, crayons, and other art products will be provided for decoration. Make my coffin a lively one. No jewelry—I would have willed it all away so my body will lay unadorned. Again, it's nothing special without a spirit or a mind. Hopefully, people will understand this and keep their shinies at home too.
If you all must leave me with earthly possessions, I ask for nothing more than a pencil and paper. And drumsticks. And chocolate. My visions of afterlife don't involve much in the way of sweets. The worms and maggots could use some dessert as well after they're done eating my ass.
Now, don't misunderstand—I intend to live long enough to do some pretty cool shit. Ensure that my grandchildren at least realize what an awesome person I am. Make a living doing the things and people I love, then leaving before things turn down. If I die before I'm old enough to crap my pants, I'll be happy if you will too.
• I was pretty sure I put in a remote update in between Friday and now. It was a long one, too. Damn Internet, ruining my uploads...
Anyway, I saw dead people, went to a party in a strangely appealing place, got over no one coming to mine ("must not throw parties over Labor Day weekend..."), and did stuff today.
• Specifically, my family and their neighbors were attacked by vandals on Thursday. Random cars were struck with what I think was a baseball bat. Nothing was taken, other than pictures to be sent for insurance claims and a police report. What I don't get is why people think it's acceptable to go breaking things. Other people's things, especially. Do we get some secret thrill out of mindless destruction? What drama plays out in the minds of these lamers? I could write a screenplay about this.
What I also don't get is why neither Jare or Ed could clean up the mess. When I dropped by with Dinah today, the car and van were still exposed, fallen glass mostly uncleaned. Mom and Dad also came back from Australia today, and the first thing he did was fix the vehicles. I removed the window frags from the van, which Dad covered up with plywood. We left the glass on the car so we could tape over it. Safety glass and mailing tape go well together.
I suppose it must have been a frightening experience for my brothers, home alone while Mom, Dad, Dinah, and I were away. But I also suppose that they're lazy ass bums, since the house was absolutely messy. Either way, it was miserable hot today, so we got little else done after securing the cars.
• Got lots of sweating done in class. Before we can tackle all the vocal stuff in Acting, we've been doing all kinds of trust and interaction exercises. There are some pretty inventive people in here, even more so than I. But surprisingly, it seems that I am the least inhibited of the lot. Contrary to what I believed about myself, I don't care who touches me or where they're doing so. I flinched a bit when someone grabbed some stray facial hair underneath my chin (I usually trim it off, but someone caught it). Expectedly, I tend to be the one making everyone else uncomfortable. We're all respectful of each other, though people laughed when I pointed out Leann(?)'s tattoo. It was meant to be seen.
• Latin Dance, one of the classes of social dance (aside from traditional/European and swing). Keep the social mind in aspect. Now wonder why one of the "followers" got nervous when I sought her partnership. I tend to wander blindly across the floor and lead the first stray follower I see. Apparently, she didn't see it that way, believing I got tired of dancing with the dumpies hanging in the corner and wanted the company of a tall, busty blonde. She wasn't the best partner, anyway.
• It was hot. Carmen complained about a note on her desk I didn't see because I was too busy breaking down registers, receiving magazines, restocking, and helping customers. It was mad hot, and stuffy. Supposedly, I saw Dan, Charlette's ex. Like I'd recognize people I've only met once.
• Sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like if I was tall, cute, and blonde. Especially if I had the same personality I have now. What kind of shit could I get away with that I can't now? Who would be more accepting of my presence, because I looked bone-worthy?
• No matter, because my pasta owns. Fresh marinara? Own that. Pesto on the fly? Owned. Carbonara? If I could find some prosciutto, I'd own that as well. People who appreciate my bomb pasta? Well, we can't have everything now, can we?
Tall, cute and Italian?
• Wow. My Acting classmates are actually using the mailgroup. I thought I was the only registered user (from this semester). Then again, the group wouldn't let me see who else had signed up until they posted. I suppose my first message went unheard since I was probably the first to sign up. Well, there's activity now, and you know damn well I want some of it.
I might have to revert Five Dollar Studios back to its last fully operating state for a while, if I can find the time. Y'know, just to let people know what I'm about.
• I need to get out of here. Preferably before people come taking my stuff. If you can help out in any way, from finding rooms to handing out sympathy, I will be most appreciative. That is all.
• To elaborate, the housing situation here has become dangerous. Though I don't comprehend the depth of it all, I do comprehend repo men. They are like ninja, but often surly, and firearmed. Legally, they have no business with me. But I'm a little mistrusting of strangers right now.
Over the course of a few days, I hope to have my belongings relocated with family or generous friends. Now was not a good time to deal with stuff like this. With school and work to worry about concurrently, I'm feeling a new kind of stress. It's much like getting kicked in the gut, minus the internal bleeding and/or damaged organs—all the pain without the joy of certain death. Thinking back, it probably most resembles the anguish of moving. As a Navy brat, I've done more than my fair share of relocation. It was always sudden, accomplished in days. I wasn't told in advance (or I was too involved to listen), so whatever random friendships I had ended with the final slam of the door. We left behind a lot of cats.
I like to believe I've gotten over those times. But this, this was concealed from me and my roommates. Whatever led up to this could have been easily averted. Unfortunately for us, selfish indulgence took precedence over responsibility and a secure future. This is almost unforgivable for me. I had invested a damned lot of time, money, and effort to bring up what was going to be taken away anyway. Fatalism.
Sadly, I knew this was coming. But instead of following my head, I decided to trust people to do good things. I believe in people. I wish they would believe in themselves more than they do.
I also want to believe that I can live more independently than I do now. Given my status as a starving student, independence seems a way off. Besides, when I'm finished depending on people to help me through college, I'll probably seek other people to help me in my career, and eventually depend on my future family as they will depend on me.
In this mutable world of ours, it helps to have something stable from which to work our wonders.
• I used to think that waiting for a test or similar exhibition of skill to happen was the worst thing about school. Well now in Acting, we're doing improv babble skits. The one I was ready to do with Emily(?) got delayed until next meeting. So now I'm stuck with hundreds of possible things that could happen, and hundreds more are stacking on top of them. By the time our turn is up again, I could forget what I wanted to do in the first place, or get so focused on what I want to do that I'll never be pleased with what actually happens. Story of my life.
• This coming week is going to be one fatty spirit breaker. I haven't yet figured out when everything is going to happen with regards to moving. I didn't get anything done today because I was painfully tired. Then the household went out for Japanese. Carina seems awfully chipper about everything. Apparently, she's been talking optimistically about fixing everything, but no one's trusting her. The other girls have been shadow about their plans around Carina, but they're keeping me on the level.
It would be easiest I think if we all just found an apartment together. I'll likely have to work harder to find a suitable place. The bare minimum I'll ask for is a room to myself, proximity to campus (especially with direct VTA access), and rent in the low hundreds. A quiet neighborhood and permission to have a cat would be nice, and being able to room with people I know would be bonus. I can't see too far into that future yet, and I'm also trying to deal with the roomies and my friends about this.
bull; Until things settle, I'll be shacking up with Dinah and her family. The 85 that runs near there doesn't run as often as I like, and the 23 passes by on the other side of 280. I should be able to handle it for a few weeks.
Two offers I've considered so far, both of which are posted in the Band Lobby. One seems decent, except for the "Morgan Hill" detail. I don't know where that is. So chances are it's further off than I can manage. The other involves taking up Christiana's spot at Alexa, Matt, and Michelle's. Yeah, following in her footsteps... Ignoring the emotional implications, their place has the 63 running nearby (straight to HGH), a comfortable degree of separation, and cat food. The rent there will unfortunately put off my debt clearance for more time than I'm comfortable with. With the hours my workplace will likely give me once the opening rush is over, I probably have even less to work with. I also question Christiana's reasons for leaving. Probably nothing big, but only she knows for sure. Despite this, I have my first option.
• Online banking has been very good to me, and I'll have my paper bills sent to work. (I suppose if things go really bad, I can divert them to Dinah or even the Band Lobby.) I might have to do without the computer for a while. The only thing tying me here right now is the phone line. I don't think I'm going to keep the account, despite paying for its installation. Since Carina activated one of her cards on it, I've been recently getting calls from all kinds of creditors, refinanciers, consolidators, and other people she doesn't want to talk to. I only got the line to get online. On top of that, I'm still getting calls asking for the guy who used to own it. It'll be a shame to do away with the number—it was damned sexy.
• Yeah, too bad I bought clothing instead. Leather-soled shoes (that are also clean and cheap) are becoming the rare commodity these days. The trend is leaning towards classic look with modern technology hiding underneath. A pair of rubber soles even went so far as to disguise itself as leather, down to the airbrushing. I'm sure it will show further when they smear the dance hall floors.
So that's why I have a shirt and some black slacks which, I was surprised to find, aren't already a part of my wardrobe. If I didn't leave them at home, then I must have outgrown them. Mom always bought them too big or too long. I can understand why: most clothing is geared towards the average 5′10″ American. Or everyone has some sort of oversize fetish. I don't—I like tight fitting clothes that still breathe and stretch, just in case stuff happens.
• Playing the "Rooms For Rent" game at craigslist.org. Janice, Charlette, and Sandy were kind enough to highlight some paper listings for me, but I find the descriptions here to be more friendly than all the "br+ba" crap. Internet = free listings. Though the average room rental seems to be $700, there are some interesting buys at $450. Each is near a bus line and seemingly laid-back. Some cater to students and one doesn't mind cats. Though I'll likely contact these places, I'm still looking into the possibility of rooming with familiar people.
• Remember when I was talking about being buried in painted shrouds? Forget that for a moment. LifeGem can turn cremated remains into gems. Diamonds. As carbon-based beings, we have the potential to be formed into diamonds. Using a process similar to that from which "synthetic" diamonds are made, processed remains are seeded with a starter diamond and heat-pressed into a gemstone. After standard cutting, the result is at least one blue stone up to 1¼ carat. It's a pricey process because of their preferred cremation technique and the demanding crystallization process itself. For the questions still left unanswered, these guys have my attention.
• I'm dreaming again. Last night's was another of those driving dreams, where I'm in a car going places. This time, I was a passenger. Whoever was driving obviously didn't deserve their license, as we took hard turns and crushed many an imaginary egg upon the pedals. It was like every bad bus trip I've taken. The point of the dream was that I'm feeling out of control, and I'm excessively bothered by it. Pretty blunt. Like I don't rant about that enough already...
• The weather's turning hot again. But instead of getting toasted, I wore myself down with some laps in the pool. I haven't swam in a while. The four laps I did were all it took to wind me. I was even having trouble with the easy backstroke I took to get acquainted with the waters. My front crawl endurance went down from a high near six (at the height of my swimming class years ago) to .8 this afternoon. And the dolphin stroke I hope to train myself with? Doesn't even reach halfway down the lane. The lifeguard yelled at me to stop hanging onto the lane line; I almost asked him to help me out of the pool.
The plan anyway is to add on at least another lap with each pool session. I plan on visiting at least once a week, with random gym visits in between. Why? Belly. I'm starting to grow one, but I want something of the chiseled, ripped variety instead. The dolphin stroke (where you swim underwater like a dolphin) should help my abs, and increase my lung efficiency as well. I want my stamina back.
I want some slippers too. Those changing room floors are mighty rank. Wonder how many foot diseases I caught today...
• So after the ordeal in the water, what did I refresh myself with? Half a chicken, naturally. There might be a conflict of interest there.
• Go visit the new forum. Play the Rooms for Rent! game. Win prizes, or something...
• Instead of the hundreds of memorials, TV specials, vigils and such, I wanted to do a series of comics. I don't have time for them. I don't have time for much of anything. They'll get made, but not now.
What I am doing is reading a Time article about Hillary Strauch, because it was on my AOL frontpage thing. I figure I could manage one piece of drama. It's a rather cool story about a kid not quite getting over her father's death a year ago. It puts into question when and how one should mourn a loved one's death, how others should react, and illustrates the importance of strength and release. Everyone has only the best intentions, but their actions oppose them often. Reminders show up in unexpected places. Her personal ordeal isn't something I can readily identify with, but I see echoes in other events I've been at least an observer of.
To be honest, I don't feel all that affected by what happened last year. It seemed more like an inconvenience, though I did overreact to it as I tend to do. I still think the terrorists were punks for doing what they did, but they're dead now. I still wonder what might happen in the coming years, and if anything I do might affect things—if anything I do will have any significance. It's quite possible that I might arouse emotions, but I can't worry about that now.
I can't let these things worry me. There's so much more shit happening around me, things of my own that I need to take care of before I can involve myself with the happenings of others.
• One of the major points involved her trying to recollect the times she spent with her dad. She does an okay job of it. I'm not sure how well I'm doing; it's hard to even remember things I did myself. I'm sure fun times were had, by myself, with Dad, with family and friends. But I've never worked hard to secure their memory. Does this make me less interesting as a person? Does the ability to talk at length of times past affect social standing? Perhaps. What can I do about it? Not much, without keys to unlock those memories, assuming they are even there to be unlocked.
• I'm glad I've managed to maintain some level of sanity since classes started. They're quickly becoming the best parts of my day. Sadly, I did mind when the weather flared up and I was supposed to dance Latin; my first tick in The Game.
I'm also not much for history lectures, but we followed today's Intro to Film lecture with a viewing of Charlie Chaplin's "The Gold Rush", which according to it's "public domain" status, was his favorite performance. It's easy to see why. Though the narration was helpful, it's silent film at its best. By this time, filmmakers had established the comedy as one of the major forms of film entertainment—"The Gold Rush" makes excellent use of running gags, tactically developed situations, and Chaplin's masterful pantomime.
What is good acting? Some, including yours truly, would argue that versatility and variety are necessary. Chaplin was almost always "The Little Tramp". But even within the confines of his typing, he is dynamic, versatile, skilled. I suppose good acting, then, is neither found in permanence nor variability, but in both. Something demonstrating skill, yet occasionally recognizable. Many good actors are typecast into specific roles, but have talent enough to work those roles to their boundaries.
• Spent some time with the Marching Band again, this time wandering around with a camera. I hadn't used the ol' SLR in a while, so I found myself still fumbling with the aperature and exposure controls. Since I'm not yet in the habit of resetting them after each shot, some of the photos I took are messed up. They haven't been developed yet, but I just know it.
I still have "the eye", which right now indicates that I'm not so bummed out by work and school and the "house". I was having fun enough, choosing shots and setups. People were a little shaken to see me on field once again, but everyone was fine with me doing what I was. Exceptions included a flinch by Laura, the dance instructor, who probably finds it funny when anyone documents her students and her work. Jon Reynolds is, no offense meant, a camera whore, and distracted me with a few selfish glances at the camera. And Amanda picked a strange time to drop down for push-ups. Otherwise, I got some cool shots of the trumpets, the drumline, and the dancers. I intend to do this a few more times on random Fridays and maybe a show or two.
• Since I was not distracted with learning music or drill, Andy offered up the video camera for the pre-game runthrough. Overall, I was pleased with my first experience. Hopefully, Dennis and he will allow me more opportunities to film stuff, or even try out a skit.
• After a few weeks of non-stop work and classes, I finally have a few days to myself which will be spent carting away my belongings here at the house. Carina, in her own way, let us know about her decision to sell the house. Until now she had seemed mysteriously silent and apathetic to the situation here. She must know at least that we're not at all happy with what's happening, and chose a non-confrontational way to fix a problem.
That's probably our failing as housemates, never using direct methods of resolving conflict. A lot of our dealings were informal, down to the rental agreement, which had no handwritten basis beyond the checks we wrote. We did share a willingness for things to be laid back and comfortable, which I feel is necessary to any living situation. Setting down rules and expectations gives order and professionalism, but also presents more and more opportunities to be defiant and unyielding.
There are points I would prefer in any living situation:
Temporary Insanity
You enter the door Meet my eyes And breathe a billowy breeze Across my head Beads of sweat on your brow Your hands pillow my ears Your fingers clasp my neck And bring your lips to mine You grab the collar of your Shirt on my back And kiss so deep | The muzzle on my heart Is released and allowed to beat Freely as you press Your flesh Against mine so hard You straighten the kinks in my back You bend your knees To nuzzle the creases of my breasts Push one of my happy hips to the wall Spreading me wide like valleys low You kiss the peaceful lilies to my soul. |
I have to memorize this for Acting. Though I was able to get into the feel of the poem, it sounded strange in the run-throughs on Thursday. "Spreading me wide like valleys low..." When I looked it over last night, I figured out that it was written by a woman, probably one of those Vagina Monologues. Why am I reading this? Couldn't I be assigned something more appropriate for me, as a male at least?
I'll do it anyway, because it has strong segments in it. One of my classmates actually complimented me on it, my first foray into acting. I think everyone was distracted enough by the passion in my performance that they missed my poor choice of material. Didn't have much to work with; of the pieces on my copied page, only three were long enough to do. One was patently feminine ("with those three brown fingers inside, / you inpregnate me with desire"), and the other was plain trouble ("one hand/nearly elbow deep in your pussy / one hand over your mouth").
I like Acting class.
• I am now ¼ moved out. Already had a lot of stuff in boxes, so they were ready to go. No one else seems to have gotten anything ready just yet. The only change so far is the pile of boxes which came in from Carina's Vallejo home. I'm ready to mistrust everyone else on the issue, but I think I'm just the only one with room to spare (or my sister's at least).
• Got a "failed delivery" message from one of those mailer-daemon things. The problem was, I didn't send the message it says I was trying to deliver. It's obviously some spam trick thing that sent it, but I wonder how. The account of mine in question has been getting a lot of those IFRAME spams, which don't show you the content of the frame in its zero-width box. Some wacky script or page-tracing mechanism is working it's magic, and I'm falling for it over and over.
What is the point of this particular spam attack? They aren't even trying to sell me anything. It's just gathering addresses somehow, and forwarding the same useless email to other victims. Kinda like an email virus (one that relies solely on email for transmission), but it does nothing more than annoy and waste bandwidth. Idiots, these spammers.
Confidence and control mark the start of your week.
• I demonstrated marvelous control firing a shot between her legs. Christiana—biscuit goalpost. (Don't ask.)
• As the most disciplined team member, you have a big say in strategic issues.
Disciplined? Are you sure, star folk? If you say so... That's probably what made the crosswords, oxymoron exploration, and mixing console demonstration easy.
• Cheerful necessity motivates you to do the obvious.
...which includes apologizing for any unwelcome rookie taunting, slapshots, and the general malaise of being Nahum.
• With the Fall rush of college bookstore patrons over, I now have half my available work hours filled. If I felt I could appeal for more hours, I wouldn't ask my advisor about job opportunities tomorrow. How am I supposed to survive on $500 a month, post-tax? That's my target price for open rooms near State. I need to find a new job. Or die. Whichever suits you all.
The Stars may smile elsewhere, but Capricorn isn't ready to give up.
Hell no.
• Now is a great time to search out perspective. My RTVF advisor, the fabulous Scott Sublett, was able to point out how I can theoretically graduate in less than three years. The one major thorn in my plan is that damned Humanities seminar series which in six years here, I've only managed to get ¾ of the way through. Stubbornness, minimal confidence, then a lack of funding are all factors in the matter. I have to find out if the department is even willing to let me complete the final course for the GE credits I came for in the first place. I've already academically renewed two semesters because I sucked, and I'll have to AR again for the last unpaid course which they gave me an F for anyway. If they can handle me for another semester, I'll finally be where I was supposed to be four years ago. Lovely timing, huh?
Sublett, within the span of a few minutes, also had me profiled. It took me years to figure out that I had confidence/esteem problems. The man is a marvel, or simply had the guts to tell me what everyone else passed off as "normal" for me. He's also one of the few who actually sees redeeming, workable potential, something even I occasionally fail to notice. Getting this potential to its rightful place has been the big problem, which he's doing a job with. Right now, it's the only good thing I'm being granted.
I'm also too worked up over my expectations, what others want of me, and crap like that. Eager to please, maybe. It has its good points—counters my avoidant tendencies, makes me an agreeable person in general. But it also seems like people just aren't pleased with whatever it is I do. Whether a matter of perception or performance, I'm going to resolve it.
• Mom's over at Dinah's until tomorrow, to look after Noah and bond with Silvestre's mother, who does have a lovely name. She didn't bring over the boxes that Dad said she would. She doesn't understand the housing situation I'm going through, partly because I don't understand it myself. Save for this small issue of deception, house selling, and such, everyone's carrying on as normal. Whatever. It won't bother me in a few weeks.
What is bothering me are the long-overdue dental visits, lack of insurance—lack of anything stable here other than classes, and the support that my family won't be able to provide. I imagine it's pretty common in middle-class families of our size. We learned early on that luxuries would be elusive; it would take longer to find that luxuries are only immediately redeeming at best. But in my idealism, it's still a guilty comfort to wonder how things would be different if we got more than we did. Knowing now what I do, the frequent answer is that we'd just have more stuff. Old problems get solved and replaced with new ones. Old desires get fulfilled and replaced with new ones. Our attitudes and opinions tend to remain stuck where they are.
So too does hope. The greatest of evils. And I am Dark Overlord.
• I'd say so. Wherever another, lesser evil resides, hope lurks nearby. It doesn't play well with others, preferring instead the company of virtues—an outsider. In fact, it seeks the demise of its cousins, like death, disease, envy, intolerance. And it's the only emotion that seeks its own demise. Suicide. When the evils it is summoned against fall to glory, hope has no place. It's scary how eager it is to kill itself, like some schoolhouse murderer or "holy warrior".
Quod erat demonstrandum.
E pluribus unum. In hoc signo vinces. In libris libertas. In vino veritas. Mazeltov. Molotov. Moo™.
• "In hoc signo vinces." In this sign, you will be victorious.
The first few googles link up to various Nazi sites. Naturally, they translate the phrase to, "In sight of the Swaztika, you will conquer." Repurposing antiquity.
• After recreating my Acting homework for the Band Lobby, the topic of entertainment came up. What made my recital, and everyone else's, so entertaining? Personally, I enjoyed how everyone (other than Robert and maybe Amie) ignored their better judgment and had their way with the Monologues. Jon Reynolds gave it a hesitant, but brave try. Jim and Marcos offered some surprisingly passionate readings. I also hope that people were pleased to see me toss aside my usual lurking for some honest, intelligible performance.
What if it was not the quality, but rather the material performed? What if we're all so repressed that the very mention of "warm cum" and "vagina" is enough to bring us to laughter? Is our society so caught up on political correctness, Jesus, and civility that we've created a black market for alternative entertainment? There are Jackasses out there getting paid for dicking around with people. Beloved celebrity Tom Green is known for nothing more than boundless, challenging humor.
Is it really our place to question how and why we find certain things entertaining?
For now, I'd rather be living it up with friends than getting down on how nothing's going right for me. It might be nothing more than escapism to some, but I think of it as one sorely welcome release.
If you are not laughing, you are dying.
• It's quiz season for my A/V Production and Film classes. I did extremely well. It's just a matter of convincing my instructors of that. I bubbled in all the right answers on my Film quiz. Quickly. However, there was one written-answer question for Production that might become arguable. If my choice of words turns out to be "wrong", it won't bother me much. Production is an activity, and that is where I will also prove my merit.
Latin Dance, on the other hand...
• So today in Acting, we all watched ourselves performing and analyzed our work. Of my classmates, the most memorable ones included Jim(?), or whoever went up first. Timid at first, he started complaining about some noise in his head. While we were all trying to convince him he was imagining things, he went on with the rest of his monologue, catching everyone by surprise with his fake-out. Someone else made excellent use of gestures and a psychotic voice to accent his performance.
Save for vocal projection issues (my soft parts were too soft), people seemed to like my performance. My shallow voice hinted at my avoidant personality, which also showed through in my unwillingness to look at the audience much. Referring to the verse, I'm supposed to be distracted with the action going on, but I thought I could have used more eye contact. And by my standards, I looked a little stupid doing what I was doing. I need to be more pro-active about rehearsing, especially in front of a mirror.
• Within minutes, I was crying. There was no reason for it—I was just next in line, waiting to be villainized.
I still don't know what horrors would bring a tenured professor to cuss out anyone. All I could do was stand there as he walked up to the counter, "expensive" book in hand. He asked about the return policy, under which we charge 10% for returns. We have our reasons. He must have had reasons for calling me out, in my own store, rendering me helpless against his almighty indignation. Still, he paid for the book, passive-aggressively. And left.
Needless to say, I lose my temper when my "respected" customers make an enemy of me. Instead of questioning his stance and calling attention to his immaturity, to his failure to act in the civil manner expected of one with his authority—instead of knocking the fucker to the ground and demanding the respect many others fail to render me in my time behind the counter, I went pussy.
Fortunately, whenever I do get broken, I take the time to figure out what played into the incident. Something about this altered mental state allows me to see things I hadn't before. In this case, the stress of many life changes (return to school, change of address, job hopping, dentistry) teamed up with the days criticisms (acting, Latin dance) and worries about people important to me (roommates, family, friends) created the ideal burst situation. It just happened at a bad time.
I came much closer to understanding what I have to do in the coming weeks. I also came much closer to understanding why people do as they do, and how I play into it. I would like to find these things out in places other than Monterey Highway, red from anguish shed, dazed from everything disturbing me.
How long will I be able to remember what I'm learning? It basically comes down to being more forward with who I am, and toning down my reservations. About finding a job where my talents are better represented and rewarded. About getting people to listen, and make sense of it. About doing more with what I do hear and see, instead of being an end to the medium. It's about being me—not the cautious, timid, wreck—the intelligent, persuasive risk-taker with no care for "what might happen", but what will happen by just being better about myself.
It's about time I grew up.
• It saved my night. Good stuff, that ibuprofen. 'cause when you wear yourself down with whatever emotional baggage you're carrying at the time, the sicknesses take over. I spent most of the day in a chill, wondering whether the a/c or the sunlight was better.
• Dinner with a large group is an adventure of its own merit. Even before you sit yourselves down to eat, questions of all kinds are posed: "Where do you want to go?" "What kind of food are we getting?" It becomes problematic when there is no agreement. Shouting, dissent. Fortunately, we weren't so large that we couldn't decide on our entrées. Apart from an unexpected horseradish sauce, everything at Mandarin Gourmet was delicious. I couldn't eat much, fearing that I would later vomit everything up in some sickened stupor. Sadly, that won't happen tonight. Regurgitation is often a refreshing experience for me, and I could use some refreshing.
• Mono... D'oh!
After my side-splitting performance in the Band Lobby, Michelle insisted that I try some more material from the Vagina Monologues at the party. It would not have been such a bad idea if people were more accepting of slams. I had people interested for a while, which I suppose is better than what I might have (not) accomplished years before.
• Christiana's room. Tucked away from the general clamor of the house. It's easy to see why people like to pop in from time to time. What's normally just another bedroom becomes a haven on party nights for those tired of the noise, or an intimate setting for sober discussion. I try not to feel too welcome—she's more than willing to help in that way. >:p
• Chuck's hooked on Warcraft III. Evil undead fall to Allied hands as I type. If I had that game, I wouldn't be able to pull myself away long enough to get anything done. I would like to play long, involved games such as that, Neverwinter Nights, The Sims, Unreal Tournament 2003, or maybe the upcoming Starcraft: Ghost, a smaller-scope look at the Starcraft universe through the eyes of the Terran Ghost, Nova. I don't think I could fit any one of them into my routine, at least now.
• Next on the moving list are the large pieces of furniture in my room (drafting table, computer hutch), more clothing, and my floorbound library. If I can find a path through the pile of boxes in the garage, I can get to the crock pot, rice cooker, and clean out whatever kitchen implements of mine I can find. Some of my bowls and utensils went missing throughout the year.
What I should now be left with is enough clothing for a few weeks, a bed, the filing cabinet, and the computer. Why do you need to know this? You don't. Yet you are drawn to my words all the same...
• "Is this a girl color?"
All I could think was, "It ain't dark blue with sport stripes and a necktie; neither ain't it bubblegum pink with lace, ribbons, and a citrus scent." I could understand the kindly father's confusion. Until the Eighties or so, society had a clear-cut idea of what constituted "boy" or "girl", with regards to color at least. And likely from growing up in a foreign land, his own concept of color gendering must be rather skewed.
With globalization, sexual awareness, psychological profiling, and modern-day "don't-give-a-shit", I don't know if there is any one right answer to this question. Considering my masculinity, I don't mind purple at all. I'm down with purple. I wish my purple shirt hadn't faded from overuse, sweat, and perhaps the volatility of purple dye. (My own experiences with purple indicate that it doesn't stand up well to fluorescent light.)
• I didn't stop him from buying the purple art portfolio for his son, who wanted the teal one in the larger size. They went away with purchased merchandise, my primary goal. I find it hard to believe anyone would ridicule anyone else's choice of color. Then again, kids aren't nearly as logical as we claim to be. If you can pester a kid long enough, they'll cry about anything from Pez dispensers to improper resolutions in the Ionian.
They'll cry about anything. If I wasn't ignored as much as I was, I would be very bitter about everything today. I cried in my childhood. I kicked ass in my childhood. I cried while kicking ass in my childhood. It's that issue of confidence again. To make someone lose faith in who they are is one of the most damaging things imaginable. It's one of the few true "sins" that I acknowledge in my eclecticism.
• Visit The Ism Book, which describes and cross-references most anything ending in "-ism". You will never be more confused and ashamed of the English language and our zeal for epistemology.
• Jennifer Love Hewitt is looking rather lovely on the covers of Jane and Rolling Stone.
• That's all we have left until October, huh?
One week for me to figure out where I'm going to live next, where I'm going to work next, and how I'll come across them both. Janice kindly informs me that the job market is ass (I don't remember her exact words, but this was the sentiment). I'm not eager to jump on any of the mall offerings. I used to have faith in people—then I worked retail. The two lone postings on the board at the RTVF department are for a lighting manager and some other high-up job. Liz suggested one of her former jobs, copy editor at the Merc, which Chris happens to be working now. How sane could I remain aligning comics and keeping crosswords from cropping off the page?
I need to ditch these "aspirations" of mine if I hope to find gainful employment.
• On a housing resource, I found a listing for a place just a block or so from campus. 11th and William. I used to live around there. My cousin Ben owns a complex around there, a room from which I used to reside. Wouldn't it be freaky if the place offered by this person was the same exact room I left behind over a year ago?
Otherwise, the rest of the offers were slightly more inconvenient. Some bill themselves as "commuter crashes", which I suppose to be places for the Downtown drones to sleep for a night or three out of the week. Half the offerings in my range don't provide much info; one didn't even leave a contact or location. One other interesting place involves sharing a loft with some guy over a house of six female SCU students. The social life is "flourishing". If I can somehow deal with the "sharing" part, I could manage under the assumption the girls (and guy) don't pool their collective hormones against my own. I'm still tender from the falling out here at the house and at work.
• No, it's not another Cleavage/Upskirt/Dirty Pervert quiz. It would liven up the place, though...
So long as things go to plan, The Cheesecake Factory will be opening up another restaurant in/near Valley Fair, or Westfield Shoppingtown Valley Fair, as the creepy Westfield lady on the door stickers will tell you. The point: there isn't enough in the employment sector to interest me beyond restaurants and maybe printing press/copy room, which I have experience in. A lot of the classifieds today were geared more towards professionals/journeymen anyway. I needed a minimum of two years experience in any of the other fields. Where am I supposed to find two years min. experience? No one was offering entry-level positions or apprenticeships. Are people somehow born with two years min. experience already in hand? I must have been gypped.
But yeah, so long as I can secure one of the many positions that will eventually fill Cheesecake Factory upon its October 28th opening, I'll have something to look forward to.
• Five dollars, and I can walk through your door Five dollars I have, but you're distracted and I got mad ninja skillz Score I'm on the floor and I'll keep my bills Kind man at the counter can give me more than the door with the five you was asking for
I got in for free.
Sweet toxin that sparkles in a glass Made of caramel elixir and fermented sugar grass A shot of that on rocks, add mixer (The calories go straight to your ass) The crystal goblet you will not lick, sir Two thin red straws will pass the solution, to your lips from the barroom fixture The solution to many a problem comes to pass as you suck Rum and Coke down in your thick chair
I spent my "cover charge" on alcohol instead.
To add a tick on "The Game" I had not the power. There was no self-imposed barrier to keep me from the urge to school it. With no intention sour did I not follow Buckman and Mandler to Dudley Moorehead and Hugh Gillis. To Waves Smokehouse, I went for some hours. Class had been postponed from earlier. A timely escape from the day's heat, I call this. Incandescent light, a vase of flowers tri-tip steak, and Marzen make class merrier; something I'd try in Broadcast Media if I could pull it. On the Slam Poetry stage would they tower: the scorned angel woman, the counter-racist profiler, the freaky McDonald's™ man, the daydreaming mullet... Raw emotion, through spoken word, for us to devour As audience, friend, student, adjudicator, consumer; for them to sell it.
I would carry Amanda and Christiana to class if there was a dinner and drink menu.
• I got a haircut today, but I couldn't wash my hair. I couldn't rinse my hair, neither. According to trusted sources, "washing one's hair" and "rinsing one's hair" are solely reserved for women. So too with "shampooing" as a separate activity. As men we could "take a shower", which I kind of did. But as for manly grooming activities which target only the scalp area with the sole intention of removing unwanted material from hair, there isn't much for us to call it. I could have been "following up on a haircut", "liquidating the 'do", "banishing wayward follicles", or other questionable acts.
Washing my hair? That would be a Girl Thing™.
• It took the Cheesecake Factory guys three hours of interviews, waiting, polite banter, and objective personality tests to figure out that I can't make cheesecake. Three hours to come to a decision a random guy on the street would spend nothing more than three seconds with. Not only did they waste precious time arriving to their conclusion, they came to the wrong one. Any family member or close friend could tell you that I can make cheesecake. And with ample training, I could make a cheesecake, so fine, so creamy, so rich, that the universe would collapse upon itself for feeling so unworthy of my creation. That is how skilled I am in the art of cheesecake.
So my friends at The Cheesecake Factory, you have fucked up™. No matter, for "the path to glory is littered with fuck-ups." (Marcinko) the fuck-up being yours, and the glory mine, naturally.
• The Principles of Causality dictate that there was a reason for my rejection. Historically, my would-be employers never got around to why I'm wrong for them, out of fear that I might actually bend my ways and somehow become...desirable *gasp*! No person or organization who ever had a negative opinion of me had the humanity, the guts, to tell me how I can improve myself. They fully intend for me to wander around in self-doubt and bother others with my unworthiness.
This is a call. If you have a problem with me, tell me what it is. If the circumstance allows for it, I will change or adapt myself to suit your tastes better. Or, I can tell you why you need to stop being so damn picky with what you look for in people. My good intention is my promise. My promise is who I am—I know I'm not a broken man.
The longer you cling to your antipathy, to your desire for me to be something other than what I presently am, to your desire for me to be someplace other than I presently am, the longer you suffer. The suffering will slowly destroy you. Your (in)ability to criticize me and relate your perception of me mirrors your own self-perception.
• No, no, hear me out. It's not another plea for bountiful fortune to appear to me as single-mold, V6, zero to sixty to zero in three, custom painted sports car. It's a plea for something to match my precision driving skills. I own parallel parking. I own U-turns in tight spaces. I play Pac-Man with the busy freeway, gobbling up wonder pills from my fellow drivers. I deserve a worthy vehicle for my worthy driving.
• Omigod. You guys do know that November 15th is going to be one magical day, right? Just saw the trailer today...loved it. Want more.
• ...but Jennifer Love Hewitt is really starting to grow on me. I didn't think so much of her before, as I didn't watch Party of Five, laughed about the spin-off, and passed off her movies as teenage breast-bouncing vehicles (sadly, an honest description for some). Her face looked a little funny, too.
From reading her articles in Jane and Rolling Stone, it's pretty amazing how she's able to pull it all out of the goofy dork she really is/the writers portray her as. Singing, acting—liberation. So comfortable with herself to accept, to play off of what she used to mask. She hasn't distanced herself from her family—they still play prominently in her life. And she's hot. A tease. But that's how it's played.
There's something weird about all the actors and musicians she gets tied with, though. It's almost a weekly thing with Jennifer—or perhaps a male symbol of success in the entertainment world.
• I need to get started on my first paper of the semester. Has something to do with Alan Rickman doing Richard III, and acting in general. I could ace this essay, if such a thing were possible.
• Saddam Hussein uses body doubles at many public appearances. While it is an ingenious security measure, I can only focus on the screenwriting possibilities. My, how many man-hours must have been put into finding/creating convincing doubles, and the comic/dramatic/tragic consequences of.
• It's official. I got my Homecoming invitation today. I've gone from veteran to "old guy", all because I couldn't play one season. So now I join the ranks of Dave Leon, Joey Fortino, Rob Newcomb, Eric Hewett, and other ancients of the Spartan Band world. Too bad I'm not as reputable. In their ways.
• Spending the weekend planning out what I'm going to do in the next few months. This time, however, I'll write down what I'm going to do. The calendar I carry around has been blank until now. I figured it would help to plan stuff ahead of time, instead of dealing with it day-to-day as I used to.
• Charlette and Janice also kindly inform me that they should be moving out by December. Carina won't sell the house until we leave, which would be whenever. All of my haste has therefore been waste. Another overreaction. Perhaps not a total waste; I can find a decent place to live in two months. I'll probably look for more employment first. Having a new place won't matter if I can't properly pay for it.
• The upcoming Latin Dance midterm accounts for about a quarter of the grade. I demonstrate proficiency in a selected dance with a partner of choice. So why doesn't she want to do anything? I can't arrange practice dates, decide on a routine...hell, I can't even get her number. Ditches class once the dancing's over, won't even look at me during class. Does she expect to magically ace her midterm? Does she believe in flying monkeys that can Rumba? Maybe she wants to keep her Ass of Miracles a secret from me so that I don't exploit it for my own diabolical purposes.
I should've went Credit/No Credit.
• ...and shove it deep where the sun don't shine. All you need to take my quiz is that mouse in front of you. Or touchpad. And the computer/laptop that comes with it. And a live Internet connection. An email address too. You also have to click the link to get to the quiz. Keep the computer on and the connection live while you're doing so.
• Near the end, that's all Janice would say to us. We all sat there, listening to her tell us how we weren't there, listening to her explain how we didn't know what it was like for her. Janice devotes herself entirely to her pursuits—so too would it be with her talk of suicide.
I believe the round of drinks pulled out a few bitter thoughts and burned their alcoholic strength into them. The kind of things she tends to bitch about now and then. Thoughts of worthlessness make you seethe with disgust for the world that "did you wrong". I'm not going to argue about the validity of her argument; resentfulness in any amount multiplies into self-destruction with the proper amount of chemicals.
Janice called her friends; each one struggled to hear over the hysterical shouting and name-calling. I was confused at first because all I saw of it was Charlette crying, yelling back at the phone, and pulling knives out of the drawer. I felt slightly relieved when Charlette sat back down saying, "I don't know what to do... ," shoving a knife into a cabinet. We went on hiding the cutlery to ensure no bloodshed.
I glazed quickly over a web page for pointers. Within minutes she was at the door, greeting us with a few moments of delirious rambling. From there it degraded into bouts of rage, in between sips of juice and cigarette smoke. Hours of massage, careful restraint, and listening brought her down on the couch where she currently sleeps.
I want to feel sorry for allowing her to have such a negative opinion of me, for having to shut me up when my (ill-advised) consolations became annoying. In her time of distress, she was still strong enough to break me. I wanted to stab her. I wanted to stab myself for not having the temper to put up with anyone's emotion, subtle or overpowering. When it's my turn to remove myself from life, who will hide the knives? Who will bind me in place? Who will listen? Who would listen?
I can't worry about shit like that... I'm glad Janice is sleeping.
