Deconstructing Mork

The Sci-Fi Channel aired a Mork and Mindy marathon on Friday, and seeing as how I spent most of the day catching up on lost sleep and eating Thanksgiving leftovers, I left the television tuned to that and spent most of the day drifting in and out of a tryptophan-induced semi-coma. So, please take everything I'm about to write with a grain of salt.

I'd forgotten how much I liked the show as a kid. Since my memories are hazy, and since it aired around the time I was born, either I watched it as a babe, or viewed recently aired reruns. There was something that I probably couldn't understand back then, about how Mork was so manic, so crazy, and everyone else around him more or less took it in stride. Still, it was hilarious, and even though I probably didn't get most of the jokes, it was still worth watching.

Of course, this show could never happen today. One episode revolved around a kidnapper trying to sell Mork a baby. After seeing him go gaga over another woman's child, this kidnapper, smooth enough to cross interstate boundaries with a stolen child, proceeds to follow Mork all over the place, then try to traffic a human child for ten thousand dollars, to a man who appears to be at least mildly mentally incapacitated. The late seventies/early eighties were such an innocent time.

I think that's the key to when someone eventually remakes Mork and Mindy. You can leave Mork as almost exactly the same naive, ridiculous character, but everyone around him has to more reflect our darker, post-modern times. Thus, I've spent much of the past day pondering this.

We'd call it "Melinda", I'm thinking, to distinguish it from its forebear, yet leave enough of a connection to the original. Hire an up-and-coming improv comedian with a slight drug problem as Mork. For the female lead, I'd like to see a goth-type girl, early twenties, heroin-chic, with a haunted look in her eyes. The character, Melinda McConnell, would have already had a psychotic break or two in her life. She hates the name "Mindy", but everyone calls her that, especially the new guy in the halfway house, whom she only knows as "Mark" initially.

Mark, who prefers "Mork", has been in and out of halfway houses and mental asylums for the past few years, and now he's in the room above Melinda. At first, she's just trying to get through a day, when she notices abnormally strange behavior (even for the home) from Mark, including talking to eggs, resuscitating ants, and other behavior that doesn't track with normal human behavior. Everyone else sees a man with the mental capacity of a child, but only she sees someone with the curiosity of a child.

Over time, as she gets to know Mork, Melinda starts to question whether or not he really is of this world. At the same time, she starts to wonder if she's having another break. The bulk of the show would involve her trying not only to help Mork assimilate into society, to become accepted, but also herself trying to readjust and find her way again. Further complicating matters, everyone perceives Mork to be "off", and it wears on Melinda, having to deal with this child in a grown man's body.

(It is strange watching all those shows, especially with multiple references to Peter Pan. Keep in mind that Williams starred in "Hook", a deconstruction of the Peter Pan mythos, and "Jack", a movie about a boy with some derivative of progeria, a ten-year old in a forty-year old's body. Robin Williams either never grew up, or cocaine really is a hell of a drug.)

As a dark throwback, and this would have to be done carefully, or scrapped altogether, Mindy would be sitting in a metal chair, in an empty room, talking to the camera. Mork's voice, or that of an invisible psychiatrist, would be asking her questions about her latest memories, and she would be desperately trying to figure out whether or not it was real, or worthwhile. Hell, as long as we're dreaming, let's get Pam Dawber and Robin Williams to do these scenes, as a sort of "twenty years into the future" deal.

The first season would culminate with a visit from Mork to the sanitarium where Melinda's now kept. It would be either a finale or a segue into the next season, where the two of them start reminiscing about the good times, and where it all went wrong.

Birthday Boy

About that hiatus? I half-lied.

Congrats D.C. and M.C., and happy birthday to S.C., June 13, 2008!

Random Scribbling

Things are about to get busy at work, so I'm going on hiatus again. Well, that and I've been half-assing this for the longest time.

***

Some leftover text from my novel that didn't fit in anywhere right now. Some of it is good, some of it is not. Most of it doesn't even really apply to the story proper. Maybe it will fit somewhere later.

***

sometimes, when you’re about to pass out, you just gotta hold on to something familiar.

***

When you wake up and you haven’t opened your eyes, everything seems that dark grey, even during the brightest day.

***

The problem with answers was that he wanted the solid, unambiguous answers, like what you’d get with a mathematical equation. And though our universe is based on these mathematical equations, there’s an emergent diversity that leads to complexity. As a result, there are few, if any, simple answers. Thus, none of the answers he would get would satisfy his craving.

***

“We have to become greater than the sum of our parts.”
“Seven, then.”
“What?”
“Two arms, two legs, one head, one torso, that’s six. So, we have to become seven.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I guess you’re right. We have fingers and toes, ears and noses. Give me a second while I count.”

***

You have to hurt before you can empathize. That’s why children are so cruel. They’re the prize of their parents, and now little, if any, pain. That’s why rich kids are such pains in the ass, because the’ve never hurt. Of course, you go too far, and people just hurt too much, and don’t care about how other people feel, they’ve hurt too much themselves.

***

remember when you fought because you thought you were right? Because you thought you were doing good? Then you got older, and realized you were fighting more to prevent yourself from going crazy, by realizing there was nothing special about your life.

Mecha Approach

Let's say walking robots did ... walk ... the earth. What would I pilot? I'd need a "light" mech (if such a thing can be classified as light), under forty tons. It would need a lot of speed, and modified jump jets to act as a speed boost while running.

I'd need an advanced sensor suite and electronic countermeasures, as well as chaff and flares, so I'd have a better idea of what was coming, and be able to dodge it. The cockpit would also be kitted out with some truly advanced targeting systems and information layouts.

Weapon-wise, I'd need mostly long-range weapons. Twin light missile racks, to explode on impact, in case I needed a close range desperation attack. As for pecking, either some sort of sniper rifle/rail gun, or twinned long distance lasers if I needed to engage.

Melee Approach

In a pinch, if I ever needed it, my weapons of choice would be a short crowbar and a hammer, with a Leatherman tool as the backup. The main reason for this is because I actually own all three of these things, and they are all within arm's reach as I type this.

K.C. gave me a great idea for the approach: tear out the throat with the crowbar, then smash the head with the hammer. Or, in the alternative, I could bust out with mad carpentry skills. Who doesn't need a credenza in eight hours?

Of course, note this is all moot should mecha combat take over our society. In such an event, I become a mechanic, and carry around a pipe wrench and screwdriver. I stay in the repair bays and become the crotchety, well-respected mechanic who alternates between trash talk and subtle advice.

Picture Time

L.C. mentioned that my Gtalk icon needs to be changed, because I've never been that happy. And maybe this is true for the most part, but when that pic was taken, I was having a great time.

What does it say about me that I don't often have a big goofy grin on my face like that (which some people have interpreted as maniacal)? What does it say that I was playing football, and probably getting knocked around?

I probably am lying a bit, and need a new pic, but I also subscribe to the Amish (Pennsylvania Dutch?) belief that pictures steal your soul. There really aren't that many pics of me, though maybe I should throw up the pic of myself when I graduated from school?

Random Running

Twenty-two minutes, forty-nine seconds for three miles. I think I ran each mile at the following: seven minutes, twenty seconds; seven minutes, fifty seconds; seven minutes, forty seconds. Yay incremental progress.

I need a rabbit when I run. There's just something about being able to chase someone down from behind that does it for me. Whenever there's a lot of people, I find myself just chasing down the next, and the next, and the next.

Just got a new pair of shoes because I'd worn a hole through the canvas of my old shoes with my toes. It was getting kind of uncomfortable when I'd start running on the balls of my feet, and my toes would slam against that hole.

Book Burned

Z.M. asked me about my novel, and internally I started freaking out. Didn't realize I'd feel that way, but I did. It's still like me baring my soul, even though it's just a story. It's just a story, it's just a story.

It's not just a story. It's potentially a validation of my existence. It's a tangible reminder of all my dreams, and a bulwark against the culmination of all my fears. It's a focus for my creativity. It's right now one of the few things, living and not, I actually give a damn about.

Damn it, I think it's a great story, I really do. I'm not going to pretend to be modest, it does have it's flaws, but I think it's an engaging world, interesting premise, and "realistic" characters (yes, they need to be more consistent in their motivations and mannerisms, but I'm getting there). Still, sometimes (most of the time) I'm not sure how to react, or if I can relate how I feel about it to other people. It makes me want to get another undergrad degree in English, just so I can be around people again that understand this, how it drives you crazy, how it consumes your waking moments, how you think it's crap, but keep doing it because else-wise, you'd die.

Scattered Rambling

Lie to me, tell me it's all gonna be OK. Sing those stupid nonsense songs that came out of nowhere in your mind. Hold me till the sun rises.

***

You have to hurt before you can empathize. Otherwise, you're just going through the motions without the underlying feeling.

***

People that bike in the middle of the street, I should just run over them. No, it doesn't matter if you pull your shirt down or not, I'm staring at your ass because your spandex shorts are old and ripped because your ass is too fat, not because you're sexually enrapturing.

***

I went clothes shopping on my own because I had to. This growing up shit is weird.

***

I expect too much of people. The standards need to be lowered.

Warcraft Addiction

It feels like much of my life is going to involve the struggle against starting World of Warcraft, again. It's such a time commitment. If I could get by on four hours of sleep a night, I would devote the extra four hours to World of Warcraft. But as it stands, I just don't have that sort of time. Would that there was a way to play the game without sinking so much time and energy into it, or if I could directly translate my efforts into something tangible.

It's not like I don't want to play. I do, badly sometimes. It's fairly simple, fairly straightforward. I know the basics, and I can play it fairly well. K.C. told me that J.L. recommended that I get back in, get power-leveled to maximum level, and go nuts. I actually toyed with talent builds for a little while, dreaming of What Might Be.

Of course, Wrath of the Lich King has to come out soon, and spell inscription is going to be one of the new features. That excites me, the ability to mod your spells. Damn, that is outright enticing. But, I just can't do it. I dare not do it, do I. Argh. Rest assured, if I did do it, I would not mention it in this space.

Animal Run

Yes. One is correct. I've also rocked number fifteen enough times that if you didn't realize I do that, you've probably been on the receiving end of it.

***

I went running, and there was a dead trout in the middle of the trail today. Yes, a fish. It couldn't have dropped from a great height, because it was still intact. So, the next question, who would drop a fish on a trail? Or, even worse, are the fish coming out of the water and coming for us? Damn them.

A few days past, a ladybug attached itself to my shirt while I was running. The thing just would not come off, no matter how fast I ran, though I didn't try to flick it. A good fifteen minutes it stuck to me. Why? I don't know. Maybe it liked me?

Japanese Television

Human Tetris. There's a version of this coming to America. Brilliant.

Ninja Warrior. This is so hard, every time someone beats the entire course, they remake it even harder. You have to watch people keep failing to get how hard this is.

Start a laugh, get a paddlin'. From the Simpsons, not entirely accurate, but from a Japanese game show host: "In the West, gameshows reward knowledge. Ours punish ignorance."

K-TV Song

I sang karaoke in a non-college, public setting for the first time in my life. We went to the bar to play pool and drink, but it so happened they'd set up for karaoke night. B.F. and myself decided to give it a go. He sang this, after five minutes of arguing with me as to the lyrics and tune. He did a bang-up job, it was pretty fucking impressive, and I must say he melted all of our panties. Yes, mine included, he was that sexy.

In between our goes, there was a man who requested a song, and I thought he sounded very strange, his voice halting and stuttery. At first, I thought he was deaf, and thought that it was pretty impressive. Well, when he started singing, it turned out he was actually mentally challenged. I feel kind of bad, but we all turned to each other, trying to repress laughter, not knowing how to react. I kept trying to pretend he was deaf, while someone else was insisting (correctly) that he was mentally challenged. Another little failure.

Then was my shot. This was the song. Remember, I hate people, so I stood there, arms crossed across my chest ("the best Russian karaoke singer in history"), my back leg shaking after about thirty seconds. Let me tell you, you can't really whisper a song and be heard. I had to belt that out, and did the best I could, given that I was also trying not to wet myself. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been that nervous, no one was really paying attention, or if they were, they weren't showing it. Well, personal growth and all that jazz, right?

Baby Talk

It's strange that there was a discussion about newborns and babies at lunch, though not entirely surprising. C.E. and C.L. are parents of relative newborns, while D.R. is expecting (which, by the way, we have several pools for, contact me at my work account if you want in on that action and you work with me). As with much of my life, I listen to what is important to everyone else, and feel disconnected from it. Someday, I'll want to raise two kids (single child is too lonely, which I learned the hard way, while three outnumbers the parents). However, best case scenario, it would be at least nine months and one day from now, and seeing as how I'm currently alone in my apartment, maybe nine months and two days is more realistic.

How do I relate? I've not had a pet since I was four. When I'm drinking with others, I'm usually keeping tabs on the drunkest, belligerent, "olympic champion" drunks, so it's sort of like taking care of a baby, but you can't leave a baby near a toilet and hope everything will be OK in the morning. I do what I can to make sure everyone, if not happy, is at least not outright dissatisfied with matters. I have no frame of reference.

This is what is referred to as an Outside Context Problem, though I exaggerate, as is my tendency. What should I do, aside from nod my head and say OK? Who knows? On a somewhat unrelated note, why would M.B. suggest that J.R. and Z.M. (now roommates) have a child together (keeping in mind they're both females and not lesbians)? That was quite possibly the most insane thing I've heard all week, and I live in my own mind.

Breast Fed

I was on the metro, and a mother tried to keep her crying baby quiet. After a little while, she laid the child down on her lap. I thought to myself that this would be a weird place to put a child to sleep, but whatever. Then, I saw her take out a blanket, and I thought, OK, she's going to cover the child to keep it warm. A little unusual, but whatever. Then, she started lifting up her shirt, and I go, what the f*ck?

On the jackass note, I think it's unfair that there's no drinking on the metro, yet the kid can drink to her heart's content. On the flipside, I understand what they're going for, and it's fine to breastfeed a child on the train. At the same time, damn, can you give more warning? My head hasn't swiveled that much since I was sitting on that nude beach.

Again, the metro's another place where you have to deal with strangers, for the most part. It's hard to ignore people, but when I looked around, maybe a third to a half of the riders had some form of earphone or headphone, trying to carve out their own private world in the midst of that cramped public space. Wish I had some video glasses, so I could watch something, anything else.

Sub Twenty-four

I ran three miles in twenty-three minutes, twenty-eight seconds. This breaks down to roughly a seven minute fifty second pace. At the same time, My first half mile split time was eight minutes, twenty seconds, so I was picking it up for the rest of the run. I do believe that's an all-time new record, running wise.

It turns out that running fills the void that video games filled, namely, the need to beat some challenge that involves numbers. This is somewhat scary, because it implies that if I became a mathematician, I'd be as happy as a duck in heat, getting it on with another duck. It also doesn't jibe with the whole writing thing, seeing as how that's as divorced from numbers as you can get.

Still, I'm now two minutes, twenty-nine seconds away from breaking a seven minute pace over three miles. Every so often, I'll throw up numbers here, partly (mostly) to brag, partly to remind myself that I am making some sort of progress. It's strange, I could easily go play a massively multiplayer online role-playing game and get obsessed over the numbers. Here, I get too tired to play for hours on end, but it's also keeping me from sitting around. Strange how that works.

Story Time

All my abortive attempts at writing a novel have finally led me somewhere. Despite what Stephen King says, I've got a basic outline for the story, because I just can't keep it all in my head and keep working. I know where this is going to go, and what's at stake. I don't know the exacts of it, but there is enough of a basic framework to hang the characters upon. I basically know who they are, what they want, and all I have to do is get them to clash.

This is one of those things where I need to take a two week vacation to make some inroads on this thing, though, realistically, if I took a two week vacation, I'd sleep the entire time. Still, there's a lot that needs to be put down, but it feels like a real story, a complete story. I can write this, yes I can.

Of course, there's that fear that I may get this done, get this done great, and no one will publish it. You think you've seen me flip out? You ain't seen nothing yet.

Away Messages

I've become known at work not for the quality of my work, nor for my personality, but for my Gtalk away messages. It started, as so many traditions do, as a joke. I put a lot of people on my Gtalk list and realized they didn't know who I was, so I had to put up an away message stating I was a newhire. Then, I realized that was boring, so I got the "jeenius" idea to put up movie quotes and replace one word with the name of my company.

That was around 9 months ago.

Every single work day, unless I can't get access to the intarwebs, I post a new quote. People are kind of amazed, wonder where I get them from. It's really just whatever the first movie is that comes to mind when I hit www.imdb.com. Not that hard, and apparently it brings a lot of people fifteen seconds of joy every day. That's a lot more than I was able to give my last girlfriend, but I digress.

There are a few people that complain, but they're outnumbered by the silent majority, whom I follow. If nothing else, it's also a way to ensure tha tI haven't been fired, and my job is safe for another day. Kind of a code, or a secret message. Which is amusing, because T.F. remarked to me the other day when I made an offhand comment that he'd been wondering for the better part of a year what it meant. He just didn't want to appear stupid for asking.

Waiting Around

Elevators are fun. You're trapped for about thirty seconds with complete strangers. I've been on both sides, trying to completely ignore them, and interacting as if they were old friends. It's strange how some people are able to put you at ease immediately, while other people make you wish you'd never had to stand around them.

I wonder what's the greatest amount of time you're surrounded by strangers and doing your best to ignore them. It's probably the waiting room at the doctor's, or the emergency room. Suffering people, ailing people, you're probably ailing also. When I had the flu this winter, and I went to the doctor because I was coughing up blood, there was an overwhelming imperative in my mind: Just survive. Didn't feel like talking to anyone.

What is the greatest amount of time you could be around a stranger, and still not know them? Some argue there are marriages that operate in that fashion. How much would it suck to devote your life to a complete stranger? And I don't mean in the charitable fashion, there's something honest, noble, meet, right in that. I mean devoting yourself, your soul, to a complete stranger. That would suck.

Less Gaming

I now no longer play video games unless in the presence of others. This is a disturbing turn of events. This is maturity? Couldn't it have manifested in any other fashion? Why couldn't I have just developed a desire to donate blood, or plant a tree, or something else, and held on to my game-playing ways?

There's no desire whatsoever. Maybe if another game comes out that really entrances me, I might be enticed to stumble back into the game playing. Maybe the Star Wars game coming out for the Wii in September. Maybe not. Right now, I'm going to pretend I still play video games, so my coworker won't keep asking to borrow my Xbox. Or, I could just say that there's no reason I don't want to loan him the console, aside from the simple reason that I don't want to.

Social video games are great. I think I could play video games multiplayer in the same room or rooms all the freaking time, but it's just so sterile over the internet, or by myself. Digital masturbation at its finest.

Serious Dickism

If you have to keep saying "I'm really not an asshole" over and over again, are you trying to convince us, or yourself? I got to play poker with seven really nice people, and one complete dick. From the start, he was trying to lord both his extensive knowledge of the rules and his superior skill over us. Only problems were that some of his statements weren't necessarily true, and yours truly knocked his ass out of the game in sixth place.

One of my favorite moments was when I'd folded a hand to him, and he showed me what he had. Then, he told me I had him beat preflop, but he had me beat after the flop. The dick asked me what I had, in order to confirm his suspicion. I didn't ask to see his cards, so I certainly wasn't going to tell him what I had.

K.T.: Five kings.
The Dick (T.D.): What?
K.T.: I had five kings.
T.D.: There are only four in the deck.
K.T.: Yeah, I had five.
T.D.: You can't have five cards.
K.T.: Five on the table, I had five kings.

I'd forgotten that when I have my serious face on, people take me absolutely seriously. He then told me he felt sorry for me, and wasn't going to show me any more of his cards. Thanks, jackass.

Sweetest moment of the night, I had a king and a jack, and two jacks fell on the flop. I went all in, he called. He flipped a jack and a three. A king fell to give me a full house, but more importantly, that king shut him up. Five minutes later, when he left the table, I traded fist pounds and hand slaps with everyone. From that point on, the game got fun, because nobody was a dick. Kids, let that be a lesson.

Fantastic Football

For those of you that are following this and care about the football: damn, it was fun. For those of you following this that don't care about the football, you might wanna go elsewhere today.

We've all gotten really out of shape, as evidenced by T.F. walking down to the field with a cigarette in his mouth and a Rockstar energy drink in his hand. Yes, this clearly is the choice of champions.

Thus, it was pretty funny that T.F. served as all-time offense, since we had seven people, and he was getting run all over the field. S.F., B.F. and D.F. comprised one team, whereas T.G., E.B. (yeah, he's still alive) and myself comprised the other.

It wasn't even close. We blew them out six touchdowns to two. We would have made it seven, but T.F. had to go collapse. The basic strategy? Short pass to T.G. and massive yards after carry for a touchdown, short pass to K.T. and massive yards after carry for a touchdown. all around short passes in a no-huddle offense. Contrast this with S.F.'s elaborate schemes which more often than not ended in failure (but when they worked, ooh, baby, were the completions pretty).

My personal bragging moment for this game came when I'd caught a short pass, then proceeded to pinball back and forth across the field three times in succession to get open. The blocks that my teammates laid down were sick. Honestly, I was so freaked out and afraid of getting hurt, it was like everything was standing still, and I was ready to avoid everything. Soon as I broke the third time, I made a beeline for the end zone, having seen sunlight.

The second game shifted me onto all-time offense, and put T.F. in my place on the team. This was actually kind of fun because I could either catch the short passes, or burn the person defending me, but me catching the long bombs was hopeless. Stone hands, fleshy heart. Thankfully, this cost both teams, and this game ended on a sweet S.F. to B.F. pass when the game was tied up. One turnover on each team kept things lively.

My personal "Oh, snap" moment in this game came when I had caught a pass and juked around T.F. I'm barreling towards the left cone, and E.B. is fading in my sights. All of a sudden, T.G. is on a direct intercept course, and I see he's going to catch me. Just before the out of bounds line, I stop, and he slams into me with a forearm shiver against my back. In the span of half a second, I think the following: "Crap, [T.G.] caught me. E.B. is going to kill me. Wait, there's room between them. T.G. didn't close his arms around me." Bam, I pull off a spin move, slip between them, touchdown.

T.F. became so demoralized, later in the game, I caught a short pass, ran towards him, and he just looked at me and said "I'm not going to even try to stop you." This actually threw me off, as I was planning to jump around him when he closed. Thus, I had to rejigger my gait and barely slid in for the tee-dee.

Things got a little awkward when some middle and high schoolers wanted to play. The middle schoolers especially had filthy mouths, and the high schoolers were a lot shorter than I remembered (though they may have been freshmen). We had to shift to two-hand touch, despite their pleas to play tackle (E.B. would have destroyed them). Then, several cars honked, and they all left. Ah, memories.

Final injury count: sore neck, sore right hand, aching left knee, fat lip. Apparently, when my teeth were coated in blood, I looked quite dangerous, as there was also salivary foam around my mouth at the time.

Hummingbird Heartbeat

Today was my caffeine overload day. It happens every so often, I get on a run, and need caffeine desperately. Hence, eight o'clock, and I'm at Starbucks buying a venti caramel frappucino. Then, at work, two cokes. It was strange how I felt like the caffeine had changed my world, how the mental fuzz just dissolved. There is a strong possibility that I will not be sleeping for a while.

***

I've learned that I'm fairly good at observing details, and absolutely awful at interpreting them.

***

If you hadn't figured out, I'm doing a lot more extracurricular writing, and the blog was the first thing to lose time.

Morning Insomnia

I've been up since four this morning, because I scraped the back of my hand earlier yesterday. Rather than coat it antiseptic and bandage it, I figured a few germs are good for my immune system. Well, it also turns out that my hand moves in the night at random, and a simple move would hit that scrape. At four, I couldn't ignore it, and got up.

There's something about being up that early, and that something is called stupidity. I kept trying to go back to sleep, and finally managed for about an hour, but it was one of those sequences where I was dreaming, but still awake. Almost went to get a giant frappucino from Starbucks, but that probably would've wreaked havoc for my sleep tonight.

Aside from being cranky all day, it didn't have too many deleterious effects on me. They say you can train yourself to sleep less, within reason. I'm not sure I could get by on five hours a night, without going kind of insane.

Capes Abound

We're defined by our enemies. Look at superheroes from the four-colors. To have them apply their powers towards the everyday mundane is ridiculous. No, they need a threat worthy of their elevated skills. Otherwise, Batman is just some random jackass in tights. All of the educational superheroes came off as lame, because fighting illiteracy, while incredibly important, is just not that cool. Look at the fools Reader-Man might have had to combat. High School Dropout, you never learned how to read because the system used you for your athletic ability until you blew your knee out? Horrors!

We've all, at one time or another, wanted to be more. The problem is doing so in a fashion that highlights the depths of your neediness. You're in a costume, and you're telling people, on the Metro, to use the Metro? Shouldn't you be locked up in an asylum of some sort? It's not a matter of where the heroes went, but more why we don't recognize the people trying to make a difference. And part of the problem is using the word "hero" so freely. The definition is watered down and meaningless.

What is it these people want? A little glamour, the chance to make a difference, a little attention. But then, look at the things they're doing. You're cutting the wheel clamps off cars. That's useful, I suppose. In terms of impact, you can look at it from a quality or a quantity standpoint. Most of these people are doing neither, because this alter-ego they assume is a stand-in for their daily self, the one they felt was not strong enough to carry this message of theirs. The true heroes go unmasked, unrecognized by the masses, and woefully underappreciated. Theirs are the stories that fade away from the hearts and minds of most, and shimmer for a select few. People may think that what's going on is that becoming one of these costumed crimefighters makes them a better person, forgetting that in the comics, these people were already strong individuals.

Omitted Guilt

I saw an elderly woman crossing into a grocery store, and rather than help her, I just walked faster and pretended not to notice. It's not my duty to help her get inside, and people will stop for her. After talking to A.A. about the legalities of proffering help as a licensed physician at an accident, he and I came to the conclusion that he was better off not saying anything, due to the possibility of getting sued. The long and short? It's safer and easier to omit an action, to do nothing.

Legally, you can't get in trouble for doing nothing in many cases. Tort law, at it's cold, dark heart, is based on negligence, which relies heavily on causation. If you weren't the cause, you can't be at fault. Morally, you can get in trouble, but morality only ever cost people their souls. The law costs people money, and you can't make more of that. It's a finite quantity.

Think about how much better the world would be if we didn't have to do things for each other, if we could all live in our own little bubbles. This is sort of what happens in New York City, anyway, or on the internet. Our society is gearing up towards severe isolation. Soon as reproduction without contact between the parents becomes a reality, we're all screwed.

Iron Man

Iron Man is the greatest movie in the history of ever. Well, no, it isn't. It is a very good movie, on par with Batman Begins and the original Spider-Man, in terms of superhero goodness. Sets a good tone for the rest of the summer movies.

The great thing about the movie, Tony Stark is a flawed man, and we can identify with him. Hell, we might even become him, if given enough money and intelligence and time (so, not even really becoming him). Same thing with Batman, the need for vengeance drove an ordinary human to become extraordinary. That's what makes Superman hard to make into a movie. We can't identify. It's Clark Kent that we identify with.

Of course, the other thing we must remember is that Iron Man = kaboom, and that's what we're all about: big explosions.

Magnetic Fields

I have two meetings a week for my project. These meetings, as with all meetings, sometimes get tedious. One of my interim solutions is to bring some of my office toys into the meeting. (I suppose that I should mention that my tendency to keep stuff in my office has resulted in me filling my office with so many knick knacks and "flair" that I've had to start moving some of it out to the lobby because it was getting to the point where people would come into my office and just play. All day long.)

Perhaps the most fun everyone had was with Magnetix, a series of ball bearings and magnetic tubes which can be settled into different shapes. I brought them into today's meeting, and P.G., almost upon sitting down, immediately snatched some up and started playing. The things he made were so abstract. I've never seen one man giggle so much at watching magnets hang over the side of a desk.

The best moment? We were on a conference call, and A.M. asked a question. P.G. rolled a few magnets past the phone, and M.M. was forced to respond "I'm sorry [A.M.], I can't hear you when [P.G.] and [K.T.] are rolling magnets past the phone." Yes, these magnets were strong enough to kill the speaker from six inches away. Or, to put it in an old-school fashion, I HAVE THE POWER!

Bland Boredom

I have a feeling that I'm just going through the motions for this blog, yet again. There are five things I could have written about, but just didn't feel like writing about. Not necessarily were they private or embarrassing, I just don't feel like writing about those things. It's like I'm living a less-monotonous version of Groundhog Day. Same Shit, Different Day (SSDD). I joke about it, but that's actually what it's become.

Right now, it's virtual autopilot. I need something drastic to break me out of the groove. Positive or negative, don't really care. Drop a car on me. Let me win the lottery. I don't know, and it doesn't matter. Just let something happen.

Grander Theft

Grand Theft Auto 4 has been getting such ridiculous reviews, I feel compelled to buy the game and play it. However, I've never been wholly enamored by the series. The first and second were never that much fun to me. It just seemed like a top-down game solely on the radar because of all the violence. The third and onward were OK, but what really frustrated me was that the controls were never as tight as I would have hoped. The style of game just never appealed to me.

Still, it's been touted as a wonderful sandbox game (go anywhere, do anything), as well as a compelling single player game. Plus, everyone's calling it the greatest game in history. I have to try it on that basis alone. Still, there's not enough time to try it. Given the breadth and depth of the game, and how I only really play video games about five hours a week, it'll be something of a waste. On top of that, I still have Super Mario Galaxy, Metroid Prime 3 and Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess to get through.

There would be enough time (there used to be enough time) if I would give up a lot of the things, such as sleep. I don't know where all the time went. Even worse, I don't really mind not being able to play video games every day, all the time. This can only mean one thing; tertiary syphilis causing insanity. Damnation.

Car Trouble

I saw a Lexus today. However, it was not one tone, it was not two tone, it was three toned. The top and roof was black, the bottom was green, and the rear bumper was yellow. Yes, I have to assume the mockery of a car was a Lexus, due to the insignia centered on the back of the trunk, the encircled L.

Now, I'm no car buff. If cars were giant mecha, I'd be all about them (and would probably have become a mechanical engineer to fix them). But wheeled conveyances just don't do it for me. This means there are one of two main possibilities. First, this was a Lexus, and he (had to be a he, no woman is this stupid) actually went ahead and modified it with all sorts of colors and mistakes. If you're going to mod a car, you better be doing some sort of performance mod. I respect performance mods, you're trying to make a better machine. I can accept if you're adding performance plus aesthetic mods. But this is a Lexus, and there's not much reason for modding it. You want to do that? Buy a cheaper car and use the money you saved for additions. No, these aesthetic mods were ridiculous.

But in a way, it's almost understandable. No, I take that back. I cannot defend this, except in light of situation two. If the man purchased a Lexus insignia and slapped it on the back of a different make of car, I must castrate him, for he is far too stupid to procreate. It's one thing to badge non-R-type cars with the red R. It's another thing to horrendously mod a car and make people think it is a Lexus. Who are you trying to fool, and why couldn't you have figured out a better way to do this? Freaking idiot.

Minor Tweaks

I minorly tweaked my ankle while running. Oddly, it happened when I slowed down to walk it off. The pain appears to have gone away for a while, but it's a strange twinge that keeps reoccurring. Add this to all the minor scrapes and bruises on my body, and it's like I'm taking the first tentative steps towards body modification/mutilation.

And whenever I think about piercings and body mods, I think back to the waiter at the pho restaurant who'd pierced his fingernail. Not the pink, the white. He'd drilled or carved a hole through the tip of his nail, probably three-fourths of an inch long (the nail, not the hole). Through this hole, he threaded a simple gold ring, very thin, probably light. But, he'd pierced his fingernail.

People mod their cars, their computers, their personal belongings. It's all an extension of the body mods humans have been performing since forever. External mods are just an outgrowth of internal mods, making yourself "harder, better, faster, stronger" (Thank you, Daft Punk). Sort of want to figure out a way to mod my ankle to be stronger. Maybe some subdermal rods, or a titanium cage. At what point can I apply to become a cyborg?

Excess Love

I keep thinking about going to Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park and giving a speech. It's been one of my life's goals. There's just something about me, absolutely hating public speaking, going to the most famed forum for public speaking and giving a speech to the completely random assemblage. Of course, I'd record it, at least on tape.

One of the biggest problems will be traveling so that I end up there during the local daytime, so I don't get shanked at midnight giving a ridiculous speech. That's just a matter of timing and planning, so that's not so big. Another is the price, but again, timing and planning. It's definitely something that will require a fair bit of advance planning.

The biggest problem is the speech to give. I can't go without a topic, at the least, and maybe I should go with a speech prepared. And therein lies the rub. It would have been easy to write on the trip over, but I think I'll have to sleep on that plane ride. No, I have to write it first, then travel over there, give my two minute speech, and roll out. What's the topic? I've labored over this for a while, and my best thought: There is too much love in this world. Something in the vein of Swift's "A Modest Proposal." We'll see how I handle that so as not to come off like a jackass. Ah, dreams.

Oh, by the way, three hundredth post, and it only took three years. Woo, I guess.

Argumentative Bastard

I'd held the impression that my postgraduate education had instilled in me my analytical thinking when it came to rhetoric or questioning. That was what led to me automatically arguing with people. I also thought that it was a horrifying offshoot of that education. J.E. and J.S. suggested that this was not the case, that I might have always been argumentative.

I don't actually know the answer to this one. Part of the way my mind works (has it always worked this way?) is that I don't really recall the past, except as disjointed flashes. The only thing I can truly remember about my childhood was that I was happy more often than not. The only thing I really remember about my recent adult life is that I was happy less often than not.

The obvious thing would be to ask people that knew me before my postgraduate education. Then again, the answer may frighten me. Is it right to delve into the person I was? Should I just step away and forget the throwaway thought? Am I going to go write something else right now?

Damnable Rocks

I guess in line with my declining video gaming skillz, I have to contend with my never-quite there rock climbing skills. It's fun (except for the looking down and dropping), but for me it's fairly frustrating. I can see in my mind how to do it, but my body just won't quite do the things my mind deems necessary. Right now, I can barely type correctly; it's a struggle to get my fingers into the right places.

Right now, I'm too stubborn to give up. I'm going to learn how to do this to some greater-than-current level of proficiency. I'm never going to get over the fear of heights, but it's not debilitating. At the same time, I need to build up more strength/lose some weight so I can support myself on these crags. If nothing else, it's something drastically different from everything else I'm doing in my life.

There could be a third paragraph, but I want to rest my forearms.

Eroding Skillz

More and more, I'm finding myself having to accept my gradual, but noticeable, decline with regards to video games. It'll be good preparation for when the rest of me falls apart (or continues its slow decline). I can still play a game somewhat competitively, but no longer can I go buckwild at a moment's notice.

Part of this is a function of no longer having the time or the patience to play games as much as I used to. Less practice means less ability to play a game at a high level. The other part, my reflexes are just slowing down. K.C. spilled a glass of water on the table towards me, and rather than react, I just watched the water splash down and dribble onto the seat, thinking to myself "Boy, I should move."

This hasn't stopped me from playing games, it's merely made me have to adjust to compensate. No longer do I play on Hard by default, but Normal, or in the case of games like Devil May Cry and Ninja Gaiden, Easy. I play much more defensively/"cheap" in order to get any advantage that I can, because I'm certainly not going to outreflex everyone. I've even thought about getting subdermal implants, once available, to enhance the waning skills.

Lost Voice

I had the weirdest dreams while reading American Psycho. Many of them tracked what Pat Bateman was doing in the novel. I do not think I'll be re-reading it any time soon.

***

So it didn't hit me how badly I'd lost my voice until I tried to make a phone call and it sounded like I was going through puberty again. The voice was just so scratchy and whiny, cracking at every moment.

I've tried on several occasions living as a mute, or just not talking to people. It was fun, but today, when it was frustrating to even speak, I learned just how much agony it would actually entail. The level of comprehension would be much the same, but at least when I speak, I can make my thoughts known, and make an attempt to convey ideas and messages.

It did, however, make for several interesting moments when at the restaurant, when I would say thank you to females refilling my water, and my voice would crack. When I would try to rant about something, and it came out mostly as a few disconnected squirts and whines. When people kept making me say stuff just to make me say stuff. Whee.

Hate People

If you have a weak stomach, check back in on Monday when I regale you with the normal random crap I do. Otherwise, get ready for ranty K.T.

***

"The morning after"... Thank blue heaven the article below was a hoax, at least, according to this article. Still, it's ranty enough that I'm gonna keep the below.

***

I just read this article. I may need to reread it.

For the record, I'm pro abortions, and I'm pro life. Hypocritical? Perhaps, but I think it's almost crueler to force a woman to birth a child, then abandon it to the streets or the broken foster care system. A life lived without love, when you need it the most? In "a perfect world" we would be able to forego abortions. People wouldn't make mistakes, people wouldn't commit sexual violence against one another, etc. But we don't, and there's no catch-all solution. I wish people weren't dumbasses, but they are, and something tells me I have to love them, flaws and all. And that means letting them wipe out their mistake the easy way.

That said, you get an abortion because it was a mistake, because it was the product of sexual violence, because it's threatening the mother's health, because you can't raise a child. Something has gone wrong, and you are taking steps to make it right, as best you can. Ms. Shvartz, she mocks us all. She had these abortions for the purpose of art. There was nothing wrong, and she's gone and made it wrong, then rectified that situation, just for "art."

From the article: "But Shvarts said the goal of the project is to encourage debate and discussion about the connection between art and the human body." Fine, where does art come into the argument? People throughout history use complex, vaguely defined, overbroad words to justify their actions. Religion is another popular example, but here we're dealing with "art." This is just shock value.

This is one of those situations where I can't really say exactly what's wrong. From a legal standpoint, the article is correct. She's done nothing wrong, legally. And so many people have used a fine twist on the law in order to reinterpret what it was intended to do, and slip yet something else past. Meanwhile innocent men and women suffer due to the law (and I digress).But just because you do something legal doesn't mean that what you've done is right. I can't break down why it's wrong in any normal terms. All I can tell you is that this is one of those things where my gut tells me that she's wrong, and I have to trust it.

(A few years back, in a fantasy football league, people were trading players on bye weeks for top-tier players, only to trade back when the bye had passed. There was nothing in the rules that said that was wrong, but I knew deep-down that it was wrong, that it was unfair. I was in the minority, and those trades persisted. Now I know what was wrong, even though I couldn't craft a legal argument: simple unsportsmanlike conduct. Screw game theory here, I should've stuck by my principles, rather than let it get to the point where I hate playing in that league.)

What burns me is her primary aim, this "art" of hers. On one level, it's more noble than aborting the unintended product of a one night stand, because it's so much more noble and true. On another level, the couple was just trying to have sex, have a little fun, whereas she is trying to make this right by justifying via art. The couple knows they fucked up, and maybe they're not taking responsibility, but they're doing something to make it better. She just says she wants to open a discourse. It's the real-world equivalent of unsportsmanlike conduct.

If I ever met her, I'd probably start screaming. She'd probably take a long drag on her cigarette and calmly tell me that it wasn't worth having a discourse with me if I wasn't calm and collected, and unless I was going to bring a logical argument why it was wrong, I should go away. I would then proceed to slap the ever-loving shit out of her. She would make some remark about me being a troglodyte, having to resort to physical violence because my mind wasn't formed enough to understand the import of what she'd done.

You know what? I know exactly what she's done, I know full well the import, and that's why I wouldn't stop slapping her.

***

Five minutes later ... Yeah, I'm probably being irrational, and illogical, and from a cold, neutral, inhuman standpoint, you are correct. I would make a lousy debater, lawyer, anything that requires cold, unfeeling logic. I'm a poor excuse for a robot.

Guess what? I'm still human.

Climb What?

I think J.L. put it best. I had just detached from the wall after getting three-fourths of the way up, and my forearms weren't willing to keep going. He said I did a triple take when staring down. I do remember crying out "Holy crap!" Yeah, the fear of falling is a wonderful thing. I even had trouble letting go when I was four feet off the ground in training. I could barely let go of my right arm, swung with my left hand and feet still on the wall, grudgingly let go, and whimpered a bit while I was lowered. Four friggin feet. What a mighty feat.

There were more than a few "Oh crap" moments for me, but I did manage to reach the top of the wall on some shorter fifteen foot structures. I also attempted several leaps of faith to reach a handhold, after watching J.L. rather effortlessly reach them. Needless to say, it was like a dog pawing at the top of the fridge.

My forearms ache, and I'm wired. I could go for a run if I had to, but can barely lift a bottle of water using only my elbow. I guess all this is an attempt at saying that I'm going again. Why do people climb a mountain? Because it's there. I understand this a little more now. Just have to make sure not to look down.

Whiny, Sick

Woo, I'm sick, and I'm going rock climbing tomorrow. This is going to end poorly.

So Cold

The past few days I've been freezing, because of the refusal to wear appropriate clothing. It is April, I should be able to wear shorts and a t-shirt without freezing. So, the stubborn streak forces me to do so, even though I'm tremendously uncomfortable.

Why can't I just accept that there are things in this world beyond my control, like the weather? Because technology has given us the capacity to change, no, to master, so many things about our lives. It's no longer us versus environment.

It also makes those things which we can't change that much more difficult to accept. So, what happens when we finally get to the point when weather is perfect, and we can control it? Hell, China is attempting to seed clouds with silver in order to get them to rain early, so the Olympic opening ceremonies aren't dripped on. When does technology go too far? Has it already gone too far?

Mario Party

Wii games are usually only fun when played multiplayer. Take, for example, Mario Party 8, which I have played single and multi. It is the multi which caused me to play for way too long today, keeping me from getting stuff done. Hence, obligatory short post.

***

I came in just under thirty-one minutes. Not exactly the time I was hoping for, but K.Q. was hungover, and R.L. wanted more just to finish, so we ran as a pack. Ah, well, next race. At least I finished.

***

"I guess we found out his weakness - bullets!" -LL Cool J, Mindhunters. I must now A) abuse this quote for GTalk, and B) watch this movie, just for this quote.

Right Brain

I've been taking a few tests to determine whether I'm right brained or left brained, after this article. There are other tests I've taken, one said I was left brained, most say I'm right brained, though I'm fairly in balance, at least according to how close these tests are. Here's a table that lists some of the characteristics of both sides. You can google for a lot of tests.

It seems like in my life, I tend towards many more left brained individuals than right brained. This may go part way towards explaining why, well, I can't explain myself to others. Then again, it just might be a personal failing. It does help to explain why I'm so random at times.

Here's a relatively fruity article that makes me think that, to some extent, the author is trying to make himself feel better about something, but it's worth a read. This is a fun test describing the Stroop effect. Yeah, this is just me helping people waste time, but at least it teaches you a little about yourself. After all, according to Lyall Watson, "If the brain were so simple we could understand it, we would be so simple we couldn't."

All-season Greeting

As I'm running down the street, about three hundred feet downhill, a woman is getting out of her car, and she's looking back at me. Even though I've my contacts in, my eyes have gotten worse since I got the scrip, so the vision, she ain't crystal clear. I'm right now guessing she was wearing a red top and a black skirt, but I barely remember stumbling back from my run. She stares at me for about five seconds, as I measure two steps to be a second in my oxygen-deprived mind. I'm in a t-shirt and black shorts, just running. The most threatening thing about me might be that I'm hispanic to white people, and the hair is unkempt and shaggy. Beyond that, I'm not a threat.

The weird thing is that as she's climbing the stairs to her house, as I draw closer, she turns back and stares at me as I'm running past. I'm trying not to stare up at her, but this is kind of freaking me out. As a runner, I've grown accustomed to being a ghost, running past as people turn their heads away and pretend I don't exist. When I breach someone's personal space and line of sight, then they acknowledge me, but only then. No one sees me from a distance, and no one turns to stare at me.

The key? I need more automatic scripts. You know what I'm talking about. "Hi." "How are you?" "Good, you?" "Good." I just need to make a comprehensive list of what might happen to me in any given day, and then create an auto-script to deal with the initial exchange. Then, it gets impossible to predict. Some football coaches and chess players script their initial exchange; it must have some merit. Then again, they may have generic scripts, so I may actually need a catch-all script that covers around seventy to eighty-five percent of all situations.

Here's the problem: the only auto-script that could possibly cover all that is:

"Hi." *nod head and smile*

I already do that. Am I reduced to this genericism for the rest of my life? There's got to be a better script...

"Fuck off." *nod head and smile* - Too antagonistic.
"I love you." *nod head and smile* - Too protagonistic.
*punch other person/s in face* - May fight back.
*punch self in face until blood pours out of nose* - Takes too long.
"Sing opening refrain of "It's a Small World"* - Song stuck in head.
"Can you identify this rash?" - Too much potential to be registered as sex offender and/or too cool for this world.
*Execute the running man* - Too 80s.
*turn head away and keep walking* - Too damned effective.
*leaping hip check, like in NBA* - Too much potential to hip check short people in the head.
*Pound chest* - Too hurty.
*Waggle eyebrows* - Too ambiguous.
*Flash gang signs* - Don't know any.
"Goodbye." *nod head and smile* - Too perfect to pull off without looking like a jackass.
"Can you dig it?" - Too obscure a reference to The Warriors.
"Do you have the time?" - Too ridiculous if I am wearing a watch.
"Caw, caw, caw!" - Too plagiaristic of ravens, raptors and D.C.
*smooth eyebrows using index and pinky fingers simultaneously* - Requires far too much coordination and spittle.
*Pull out Nintendo DS, activate Pictochat, text "hello"* - Requires other person to have a DS.

I'll find a better auto-script, somehow. Damn it.

Smash Tactics

I was checking out the internet for some advice on how to improve my Super Smash Brothers: Brawl skills. What I've found horrifies me. The competitive scene plays about twenty layers above my skill level. It's like we didn't even buy the same game. The basic tenets are the same. I base my game around the same basic principles I play almost every single fighting game.

Faster, weaker characters that can capitalize on mistakes
Play a more patient, defense-oriented game
Block often, then counter
Attack when they can't fight back

There are exceptions, but it mostly boils down to block their attack, hit back.

In contrast, here's a sample tactical sentence based on what I learned: "Zelda's Usmash can be comboed twice on the ground when at low percentages, but the opponent can DI out of it." Here's another, describing how to do a move that is legal within the physics system of the game, jumping while facing backwards: "To execute a RAR, dash, tap backwards, then forwards and jump. This way, you can lead with the Bair, which for most characters is their best approach."

My favorite example of how crazy fighting games can get? This is from a national championship for Street Fighter III, 3rd Strike. The repeated timing needed to execute the repeated parries is within fractions of a second, and it's almost robotic the way he executes. That, plus the way the crowd goes apeshit, makes me realize... I need a new hobby.

Hair Cut

I made a vow that I wouldn't cut my hair until after this freaking race, and I've got less than a week to go. It's starting to get really long, though not as long as during my school days. Still, it's getting there. I could slick it all back given enough gel, but that seems a bit too ridiculous. The temptation to dress up goes hand in hand. Then I'd just look some wannabe 80s corporate raider fresh out of B-school, or whatever cute abbreviation they give business school.

Way I see it, I can shave my head bald, get a crew cut, or just get it cut a little shorter and continue to part it. Or, of course, slick it all back. Why is this so difficult? I don't know. For someone that tries not to give a damn about what other people think, this is certainly causing me a lot more grief than I'd anticipated.

At this rate, there's not going to be any resolution. I may well just stop a stranger and ask them before going into the barber's. Then again, I also have to find a barber. Stupid freaking barbers. I hate the barbers. I hate hair cuts. Shazbot.

Complaining Incessantly

With one exception, I really enjoy my coworkers. They're all incredibly capable people, easy to be around and work with, always helpful when I need assistance (and I need a lot). I'd also like to think they find me easy to get along with, not necessarily helpful, but also not a hindrance to their own work.

There's just one that frustrates me to no end. Sometimes, I need to marshal up the strength to interact with that coworker, before actually having to deal with the coworker. I've not had to do that in a very long time. It's not that this coworker is a bad person, I just can't reconcile the implicit arrogance and the air of superiority that make me feel like a second- or third-class citizen. (No, it's neither D.C. nor C.E.)

I think what hit home on this one was a meeting behind held in the lobby. This coworker was sitting on the two person couch, and rather than sit down next to them, I plopped down on the floor directly next to the couch. What made this worse was that a fellow coworker had also foregone the couchable seating. I made up some bullshit story about needing to sit on the floor after spending all day in a chair.

There have been times where he'll walk into my office, and almost immediately upon entry, I'll get so mad that I'll start to reverse his comments and throw everything right back at him that he says. Or when he's trying to make a joke, I'll either ignore him or say "Fuck you." I've even had to rant to officemates about him. Lord help me if we get posted to the same project.

This is probably a life lesson here. There are going to be people that rub you the wrong way. You just have to try not to flip out on them. I haven't been entirely successful, but I think I can do better, at least on the not flipping out. We'll see.

Foolish Children

I was researching MA, MFA, and PhD programs in (surprise, surprise) English the other day and night. What few I found made me realize I'd have to get the MA first, or at least enroll in a combo MA/PhD program. It hurts sometimes to look at these things, because it makes me realize how different my life could be. J.L. did make a good point that, even though I'd dreamt up some idealized version of what I'd be, there would still be that nagging pressure that something was missing in my life. And this is true, but at the same time, that choice would have been one I made.

My alter ego, J.C. (he of the thousands of credit card applications in college) is now teaching English at a third-rate college. He's had a book published to moderate success, both critical and commercial. He's now expecting his first child, and freaking out about what to read to it, what to sing to it, will he be a good father, etc. J.C. gave up video games a long time ago, because he couldn't find the time to play them anymore. He's also become a bit of a chain smoker, something that he's vowing to give up after the child's born.

Really, though, how different would it be if I'd gone to the Peace Corps for 2 years, then returned to pursue my Ph.D.? Well, I'd still now be in school, for one thing. I wouldn't be able to pay the bills, any of them. My hair would be thinning from the stress of thesis defense. I'd be having strange, unidentifiable stomach pains which happened to be the start of an ulcer. I'd probably be in a relationship with a fellow Ph.D. candidate, which would probably just make me want to strangle her and/or myself.

The big question is, how do I reconcile all of this, and move on? The simple answer is, I do not. It's nice to dream, and I may end up being the oldest person in my family to enter a Ph.D. program (72? Will I have enough left in my head to pull it off?), but at least it's something I can look forward to. And, for now, I guess I go to the bank and the grocery store and run some errands.

Eight Minute

I know for sure that yesterday, I averaged an eight minute mile over two and a half miles. This I know because I passed each half mile marker in four minutes. Of course, because of that, plus the day before, my legs are done. I had to take a break today. Still, a break is good. Plus, I'm doing a lot better than I'd hoped.

It's all a matter of relativity. Originally, I picked an eight minute mile as my goal because I just wanted to get into average shape. Around ten years ago, I'd read the average human could run a mile in eight minutes. Now, it turns out, due to America's sloth, I'm doing much, much better than the mass of humanity.

Next goal? Six minute mile, with a seven minute mile as an interim goal. After that, We'll start shaving down in fifteen second increments. Pie-in-the-sky goal? Sub-four minute mile. I think I can sprint at a four minute mile pace right now, but only for short distances, so at least I can hit the speed (maybe?). Realistically, it's not going to happen, but I need some goal that's not quite so isolationist. Although, to be fair, even when I'm running outside, I'm still running by myself, so...

Brawl Fantasia

It turns out that you shouldn't play Super Smash Brothers: Brawl right before bedtime, as this will wire you to no end. Even as you close your eyes, the theme song races through your mind, you see Peach flying through the air (Ha-Cha! Who, me?), there are radishes tossed left and right. And, it was against good old G.B., my college nemesis in Super Smash Brothers: Melee. Now we have to get C.T. in one of these matches and make him lose his mind.

Superpositive Idiocy

You know Bubble Tape? There's now several photos of me with an entire roll jammed in my mouth attempting to blow a bubble. I apparently sounded like I was born with developmental issues. The things you do to cheer people up. I guess I should be glad it wasn't a mouthful of caltrops.

Boy, I hope I can trust everyone involved to not start sending those around.

Run Lost

I went running after work. Dropped my stuff off, went outside, walked through the parking lot, and started running. In unfamiliar environs, one of my primary rules from now on has to be to only follow streets, and to not deviate onto trails unless I am sure I can find my way back. Yeah, K.T. got his ass lost.

This, despite purchasing a GPS yesterday. Problem is that it was designed for cars, not for running. I'm awful glad that I didn't carry it with me. It doesn't cradle well in the hand, and I have no pockets in my shorts. All I can take, realistically, is the keys. From now on, I must also find a way to take water.

After a few minutes of running down main streets, I find a trail, and decide to give that a go. One thing leads to another, and I see a sign for a four mile run. A bit more than I'd planned, but it's probably a loop, right? This I follow, all the bikes passing me in both directions. Finally, I come out of the woods and onto a main street, one I've never seen before.

Now, this would be the perfect time to turn back, but this is not the K.T. option. I pick "left" and go. And go, and go, and go. At one point, I have to stop in 7-11, and find a clerk that has no grasp of English or directions. She tells me what I finally discover is the proper way to run, but pointed me in the exact opposite direction. I run perhaps half a mile down the street, then find several police officers waiting outside a motel.

I ask two for directions, and one tells me I won't be running to my destination. The other tells me the information I need. I'd like to use this opportunity to have proven the first officer wrong. He said I wouldn't be running two miles. Not only did I run two miles, I probably ran more because I got lost several more times.

Did I mention I started running near sunset?

Somehow I found my way to an armed forces recruitment center, and the lights were all on. Now, I'm what you would call a wartime pacifist, in that I believe in violence until it's my ass on the line. Still, Directions are directions. In I go asking for directions, and they're amazed at just how far/how lost I am. One man, with a particularly deep voice, asks if I'm trying to get any smaller. Another asks me what school I go to, and I realize he thinks I must be around 20. I tell him I've graduated for a while.

Later, after giving some convoluted directions, he asks what school I graduated from, and I loathingly admit UMDLaw. He sits back a little and asks if I'm a lawyer. I give him the auto-spiel, that I'm barred to practice law in Maryland, but am not currently doing so. This impresses him enough to try to recruit me, this kid who is a lawyer and has run three miles or so and gotten lost. Me, I'm not one to spit in the face of someone that's just given me directions, so I listen to a bit of his spiel, then give the phone number for a call back tomorrow. Hey, options are good, and I just got recruited for the army.

On my way back, I had to stop someone to confirm I was going in the right direction. She spoke in an accent I can't place, some British, maybe Australian accent? She also had some of the most jagged teeth I've ever seen in a person, but not shaved down. More organic, like stalactites (ceiling) and stalagmites (ground). Apparently, I scare people when running, because she wouldn't really look me in the eyes, or even look at me. Well, either that or she was shy about talking to strangers, which is entirely possible, as she said she'd just moved there.

Another twenty minutes, bringing my total up to an hour, and I find my way home, stumbling the rest of the way. There's a car parked in front of the door, so I walk around and go to another door, constantly checking reflective surfaces to see if that guy's following.

No doubt, I need to get lost more and see what else happens.

Silicon Suffering

And now, I have joined the ranks of the technologically addicted. Despite my distrust of technology, and the fear that it pervades our lives, I've purchased a Global Positioning System. This is in reaction to the piles of printed Google maps in my car, somewhere around eighty or so. There's also a good chance that this will help me from getting physically lost. No, this is an incredibly inaccurate statement. When I get lost, this will help me get found.

Ultimately, this will serve to make me a weaker human being, though more on time. Look at cell phones. I used to be able to remember phone numbers after a couple of repetitions. Now, I just guess blindly, and would be absolutely lost without my cell phone. It also lets me communicate with anyone at any time, at all times. Convenient? Yes. A crutch? Yes.

There is a certain part of me that has been struggling with directionality (physically, not morally). I was getting better, mildly, with knowing where things were, only because I was forced to drive everywhere, and maps can only take you so far. There was some sort of map overlaying itself upon my neurons, an almost instinctual sense of locale (re-)emerging recently.

Now, if I need go anywhere, or if I need find any location, out comes the device, in goes the address, and directions emerge, like some sort of tiny god. Six months, and I will be completely lost without it. It even has a walking mode, which I could probably use to determine how far I've run in a given day. Increased reliance makes me weaker.

Technology had, has, so much potential to improve our lives, but does it really serve to improve us? No doubt that all the tech in my life is nothing short of miraculous, but it also makes me unable to function without it. There is probably no time during the day spent without electronic technology. Hell, look at me typing on this laptop.

This is the root of my technophobia. The inventors, the innovators, they're applying their skills and talents, and thus improving themselves. These advancements get duplicated, and the rest of us leech off these benefits. My job is worthless in terms of human development. My education is worthless in terms of human development. My drive to create, as I find it hard to admit, is fairly worthless in terms of human development.

That is perhaps the only good thing about technology, that it was supposed to give us the time, the energy, the freedom to develop within, rather than struggle just to survive. Well, the struggle is gone, and many of us waste our inherited freedom. It's depressing to have to accept, and hard to follow. But, hey, at least I'll know exactly where I'm going.

Assorted Thoughts

I think (I know) I have a soft spot in my heart (my head) for people that are different, because that's been the basis for my entire life. However, this doesn't extend to people that piss me off. If you're overtly disdainful towards me, or you take advantage of my good nature, yet you're still different, this creates a slight internal conflict, in that I hate you. Oh, wait, that's not a conflict at all, I just end up hating you.

***

I went to La Madeleine to get some food, and ordered a tart (which, at first, I thought said tort. Those of you that are familiar with my hatred of torts will understand). While sitting in front of the fireplace, I looked up at the ancient books on the shelves, all in French. Most were bolted somehow to the shelving, but I happened to pick up one. Though in French, it didn't take too long to figure out that it was a legal dictionary. Fuck you, universe, fuck you.

***

People themselves are willing to do a lot of things, provided they don't have to plan. This has borne itself out through repeated anecdotes. The half-baked corollary is that, if you want something done, do it yourself. Planning is a bitch, because it's extra work, and it's just easier to let "the other guy" do it. Unfortunately, you can't keep expecting "the other guy" to do anything. Look at Kitty Genovese. An entire apartment complex refrained from contacting the police, either assuming someone else would do it, or not wanting to get involved. Take a stand, damn it.

***

Singulair has been linked to an increase in suicide. I took Singulair for about a year. When the inevitable class action lawsuit drops, I'm gonna get paid. Granted, I'm only gonna get paid about $10, but still. Best part? The Singulair didn't really even work on my asthma.

***

People drop hints all the time. You notice little details, the out of the ordinary or what have you. It's all just a matter of pattern recognition, one of the basic human skills. The key is higher level critical/analytical thinking, putting together all those disconnected details into something more concrete, drawing conclusions, making educated assumptions. Continually, over the past few weeks, I've been picking up on information, but then filing it away and doing nothing with it. Then, someone mentions something, and everything falls into place. However, I could have easily figured it out myself had I just made that leap and interweaved everything.

Oh, also, people pick the strangest times to reveal dark secrets. I'm trying to eat, damn it.

Moving On

It's strange, attempting to leave as few traces of myself in this apartment as I possibly can. I will inevitably fail, and not just because there's a smell I can't identify. No, it's more that, much as with every person I have ever met, I change them in some fashion. Many, it happens in an imperceptible fashion, some, more deeply. Here, I have lived for a year. If nothing more than skin flakes, or my scent, or the holes in the wall where I nailed a white board, part of me remains (and no, I don't feel like spackling).

I know this is the rule for nature, that you leave it as you found it. Problem is, you can't always remove yourself. You're part of the environment. We all come from the earth, just as we all return to the earth. To attempt to disappear is just impossible. We are tangible, we are real, we are more than what just ghosts. Impossible to be forgotten. Even the homeless people we pass on the street, when they disappear, someone knows about them, they leave a mark. Even just a stain, it's still a mark.

Yet, here I am, scrubbing away, burning candles, trying to evanesce, because I must. Household ninja. Know that I would not do this, if I did not have to. But in four days, it will be complete, and I will have disappeared from here, moved on to a different place. A better place? Blue heaven only knows.

***

So, I didn't quite work things out, and will be living out of the office for a bit. I've rented out a storage space, crammed as many of my boxes and bags in there as I can, locked it up, and now I've just kept some essentials, which I've now ensconced in my office.

It'll be interesting. How long can I possibly live out of a place of work before someone notices, and tells me to leave? I don't know, but if I have to, I'll just go to a Motel 6.

Here's the tentative plan for the next four to six weeks. Shower in the gym across the way lets me keep myself somehwat clean. There are only so many clothes one person can wear, which I've hidden in my desk, and a few cardboard boxes around my office. I'll just keep small supplies of food in my office and the fridge. Probably also leave for a few hours after work, then return later at night, once most everyone has left. Then, since I normally get to work pretty early, no one will notice when I roll out of the office in yesterday's clothes.

I think the worst part of all this is that I'm forgetting something very important, but don't know what that is. As usual in my life, when I do remember, it'll be too late to make a difference. Wish me luck. I'm now an itinerant worker.

Puzzle Ball

I have a puzzle ball on my desk. It's composed of six of whatever the shape is if you take the cover off a baseball. It cost me two quarters from a vending machine. Here it sat on my desk for weeks, until I shook it, and heard something rattle inside.

Well, I had to have that, whatever it was.

There is probably an elegant solution to disassemble the thing, some sleight of hand, perhaps a twist of fate. Maybe a bed of nails is involved. Would it make me wait? I don't know, and I still don't know. After five minutes of trying to slide every piece every which way, I found out by squeezing in on a panel, several other panels would almost peel back from the main structure. At this point, I could wedge my finger under, and eventually brute forced it open. The entire structure collapsed on cue, leaving me with six almost identical pieces, and the directions. Yes, the directions. For assembling it.

There are a few things I have to say here. One, at least it wasn't the instructions to disassemble it. Two, you sick bastards are going to tell me how to put it back together? Three, that was my prize?

At least I didn't resort to the hammer on my desk, as was the original plan. Alexander the Great, meet Gordian knot. But what does it say about us, about how we approach this, how we approach anything? Have I really become (was I always) a person that brute forces a solution, rather than finesse it? Is this going to be a detriment to my way of life?

The damned thing is no longer as strong as it was when I first got it. After a few seconds of pressing on it, it bent inward and collapsed.

The other question this raises, why do I see everything as a puzzle that can be solved? I know that there are lots of things that can't be solved, and some things that shouldn't. Well, I know this in my head. In my heart, I see things that are broken, and try to fix them. Note this is akin to shaving the corners off a sphere. What part of me is so insistent on order? Probably the same part of me that is obsessed with Tetris. But Tetris is so simple, so intricate. I brute forced the hell out of that sphere.

Don't know why this concerns me so. I'm too damned close to it. Someone needs to stare at me for a few days and "Tell me what the fuck is wrong with meeeeeeee...."

Under Advisement

People don't want legal advice, they want peace of mind.

One of the images from The Time Traveler's Wife is that of Henry always running, literally and figuratively.

[Spoilers ahead]



When he loses his feet to frostbite, that's the beginning of the end. Still he travels, though it is but a matter of time before it's all over. His physical inability to run mirrors his inability to escape his destiny.



[Spoilers behind]

After my heavyweight bout with the flu, where it went Mike Tyson, bit my throat, then collapsed in the fifth round, I've resumed the running. However, I can't run from the law. Today I got a completely random phone call from someone asking for legal advice. It was probably a good thing, because the call demonstrated that I still understand Mandarin Chinese, and I still remember enough of the law to fake an answer.

I've had to answer enough of these random calls/emails/questions/prayers to know that, ultimately, what people want is not the legal advice. They want peace of mind. They want a shield. They want for the law to not stave in their heads with obscure mumbo-jumbo.

I'm a little torn about the entire process. There are those people that will find me when they suspect I've value to them, then forget me until the next time I've value to them. Of course, I think I can save the world, even though I no longer have the inner drive/desire to do so. So, I'll keep helping. But, really, what's the point? More and more, I'm just offering security. Especially talking to someone, I'll tell them a) to calm (the fuck) down and b) that everything will be OK.

It still bothers me that our legal system no longer protects the innocent, just the person with the best stand-in. Our trial by jury may as well have remained a trial by ordeal. Everyone in that courtroom suffers. Was there a point where it all went wrong? Money? Fame? Power? I recall an episode of Justice League (yes, the cartoon) where they mentioned that the lawyers shared the punishment given to their client. This helped solve the problems of their legal system. If you follow the rules as a lawyer, you're never in trouble. The client shoulders the burden. Big business could give a crap, but what about the normal person?

Percussive Heartbeat

Log out. Sign off. Turn off. Tune in. Escape all the technology, the electrical trappings that ensnare us within an open prison. We've become so reliant on it that any strong EMP blast would utterly destroy us, not because we couldn't survive, but because we wouldn't know how to survive.

But, I digress. Flick off everything that tethers you to modern society. Close your eyes, take a breath, and cover your ears with your hands. Hear that? That womb-like onrush that's somehow strangely soothing, even though you might not be able to place why? That's your heartbeat. That's the drumbeat to the theme song of your life.

Ever had one of those moments where you wished that you had a song, your song, that would play whenever you entered a room? Mine is BLUE from the Cowboy Bebop anime series. Well, that's what I always wished it was. Turns out, my true theme song is just my simple heartbeat. And yours is, too.

It almost never stops, save ever-brief moments of suspense-ridden torment/peace. It's amorphous, everchanging to reflect whatever's occurring around you. It's versatile enough to fit any main song that you want, though you might have to fiddle (hah hah) with it to get it to fit just right. But most of all, it's unique, and it's your own beat, and though someone, or something, will eventually take it from you, they'll never possess it. It's as unique and essential to you as anything there is in this world.

The Doctors, and I capitalize it for they are the closest things atheists have to gods these days, the Doctors would have us refer to these heart beats as "lub-dubs". Valve open, valve close. Valve open, valve close. This basic mechanism for sustaining life, and I can ascribe to it so much more, if only because I have learned to see everything as a product of everything else (this also explains why it is so easy for me to explain strange and/or difficult concepts, yet so hard for me to fully grasp something).

What does it mean? We all search for meaning in our lives, whether we realize it or not. As part of that, just as we see faces in anything vaguely reminiscent of two eyes, a nose and mouth, we tend to look towards something, anything, in order to find, discover, realize, understand. Have I answers? Nay. All I ask is that, maybe, just maybe, the answers might be closer than you hope. Listen, listen deep within yourself, and maybe you won't hear anything. Maybe there aren't answers.

And maybe there are.

Emo Post

So the way writing works in my life is in cycles. I get depressed, and keep sinking until I start writing. It lifts me up until I stop being depressed, at which point I stop writing. Once I stop writing, I slip back into depression. Had I more insight and more perspective, I would just write every single day and avoid the mass of depression. Granted, people get depressed on a regular basis, and you can't dodge it. Still, the writing might stave off so much of it.

I will say, more often than not, Writ isn't enough. A lot of the time, it's just a half-assed diary that I put up because I feel compelled to. Except, lately, I haven't felt compelled. Right now, there's nothing new I can add here that's of any worth. Will that stop me from posting? No, but it severely curtails the frequency of posts.

I think I want to tell a story. That's all I ever really wanted to do. Realistically, it's not something I'll ever be able to make a living off of. Probabilistically, what'll end up happening is that someday (somehow, someway, somehope), I'll get married, and have kids, and they'll be the ones I tell my stories. And they won't laugh. Well, they will, but they won't laugh at me.

Compulsory Post

Q.L. gave me the influenza, complete was a one-oh-two point seven fever at one point. That temperature was a new record in my lifetime, and I will say I am not that ashamed that I couldn't immediately convert thirty-nine point four Celsius into Fahrenheit, mostly because at the moment, I was sweating and freezing. If you have never had the chills and sweated simultaneously, I would recommend you do so.

This was easily the sickest I have been in over ten years. I felt the following at various points over the past several days:

-sweating and chilly
-mild shaking
-body-wide pain, like I had pestles grinding me from the inside
-inability to concentrate, not even on video games (yeah, that's how bad it got)
-exhaustion
-sharp muscle pain
-sore throat
-bloody phlegm (what ultimately sent me to the doctor, a little delirious in the process)
-runny nose
-stuffy nose
-sharp hatred for all sick children (Q.L. caught the influenza from her kids)
-coughing

Often times I've wanted to take sick leave in the past, but just because I didn't feel like getting up. This has been the only time in recent memory I was entirely worthless.

It's also amazing how being sick for about a week can set you back for the month. Expect even fewer posts (right...) while I play catch-up for the next six to fourteen weeks.

Anonymous Confession

Group Hug allows people to make anonymous online confessions. Post Secret lets you mail in anonymous postcard confessions. Kleenex's new ad campaign allows you to post anonymously your confessions. I know that the internet is just a tool, neither good nor bad, and its up to us to determine what we do with it. Still, why are these here, and why are these necessary?

I'm not going to pretend to be above it. Part of the reason I go by my initials is so I don't get anyone in trouble, but part of it is so I can confess, and to most of the world, it's anonymous. Some of you know me, and thankfully, none of you have ever really confronted me on the more serious confessions.

What does it say about the state of our society that (ostensibly) these confessions are made online, as opposed to people you trust? I think it sticks with me, mostly because I'd like to think that people aren't truly that isolated, that there are people there for them, and that fairies really do exist, and we need to clap to give them their wings.

***

On a related note, my stress tic returned for about a week. I have a few theories: people, places, things. More to the point, I think it returned because I had to go deal with a lot of strangers, and wasn't reacting well to it in the leadup. It went fine, in the end, not nearly as bad as I'd feared. However, it's kind of funny that such a simple thing as strangers make me twitch, isn't it?

Race Update

Wednesday, February 20, 2008. 2213 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Cold, cloudy, can't find the lunar eclipse.

Training for the five kilometer race continues. If I have not mentioned it here, I have been training for a five kilometer race. This week, I've started the interval training, a hellish concept of sprinting as fast as I can for short bursts. I don't remember the theory, but this continued sprinting actually makes you faster overall, thereby allowing you to run further in the same amount of time, or something. Its asinine.

What is my goal for this race? I don't know. In high school, when I ran cross country, my best ever time for a race was around twenty-nine minutes. It was roughly an average nine minute mile. For this race, under twenty-five minutes would be amazing, seeing as how that would be a (roughly) eight minute average mile. If training continues at this rate, twenty-five minutes is entirely possible. I just need the internal fortitude to keep up.

Too Early

Sunday, February 17, 2008. 0514 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Dark, cold.

I can either go to sleep and automatically wake up in a couple of hours or stay up. Haven't decided yet, but boy do I hate my circadian rhythms.

***

An ice storm travailed through Virginia, coating everything in a cold-shiny rind. This happened to also shut down the Mixing Bowl for seven hours (the intersection between Interstates 95, 395 and 495). It made my personal travels hell. At a slight dip in the road, two cars had spun out at least 180 degrees, as both were facing me. Another car spun out towards the median and ended up backwards. A fourth car tripped right into the grassy median, speckled with snow and ice. I slowed down to about five miles per hour and made it through straight. The sports utility vehicle behind me also spun out onto the median. Behind that, the sedan dropped to five miles an hour. Since I was just half a mile from my apartment, I went five miles per hour for the rest of the trip. Not a single car attempted to pass me.

***

"Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" Heaven only knows. Dick's famous story served as the basis for Blade Runner, a movie I have yet to see. It's not bad, but not great, this story. His prose is fairly utilitarian, doesn't detract, but doesn't really add to the story either. The dialogue is clunky at times, with a lot of repetition being more annoying than emphatic. His ideas are unique, especially for the time, and the theme of artifice versus realism really strikes at you from several angles, especially with the empathy boxes and dialing up emotions that, though the humans feel, are nothing more than a fake. Meanwhile, the androids that cannot use these empathy boxes actually show some emotion (and some sociopathic behavior). Raises a lot of questions about what really is human. There were a couple of plot points that, at first, seemed to raise the question about whether Deckard, the android bounty hunter, was himself an android. Upon second thought, they were just absurd plot points, and even within the context of the story, unbelievable. Would probably not read again.

***

If this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pw4Bhmm22xo is correct… Go watch it. It's plausible and compelling, though the sample size is admittedly tiny. We're inundated with the current state of matters, but if we had more samples from ten years ago, and all were of similar quality as that displayed in the video, well.

***

One of the side effects of being in Law School was that it shot my professional self-confidence all to hell. I stopped caring, and my work suffered. I probably could've cared, and it wouldn't have made a difference, I don't think. It was never the right fit.

I got a couple of compliments on my work at work, and didn't know how to take it. It's been a long time since I felt competent in a work setting. I did feel that way occasionally at L.M., but how hard is it to take notes, something I've been doing for ever and ever?

***

I have to read this article http://www.cracked.com/article_15231_7-reasons-21st-century-making-you-miserable.html once every few weeks to keep myself grounded and remind myself that some misery is good.

Random Note

I dream of flying.

Mercurial Mood

Monday, February 11, 2008. 2022 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Dark, cold enough to raise goosepimples on my legs as I walked inside in shorts and a t-shirt.

I've been tetchy all day long. I cursed every single driver on the road to and from work for being on the road. I've been coughing all day due to my allergies hitting hard. Q.L. stole my whoopie cushion at work (though I deserved it because I left it inflated on her chair). I ate too much for lunch and felt really sick for most of the afternoon. The drive home took almost an hour because of a car accident. I came back to a five-day warning/eviction notice, even though I paid my rent five days before the due date, and have the bank statement online showing the check cancelled by my apartment complex.

At the same time, I had a great morning. Nice bowl of cereal and yogurt for breakfast. Calm morning, calm day really. Met the deadline and submitted something for the client at work. Started organizing an impending Popeye's fried chicken eating contest. I ran four miles for the first time in a very long time. Made it home safe, and was able to prove that I paid the rent bill. And now, I get to watch the train wreck embarrassment that is American Gladiators. There's even a preliminary plan for me to start a work-only blog, which would let me separate Writ in twain.

How much of our perception of the events around us is colored by our moods? Probably significantly. This day had its up and downs, just like any other day. I made it home safe, and I'm healthy for another day, and I want to see tomorrow.

Wow, it's been a long time since I could say that, honestly. I want to see tomorrow.

Weird. Is my life where I thought it would be ten years ago? No. Is it where I'd love it to be right now? No. Am I good to go for at least one more day? Yes. Well, this has been a hell of a day. Ah, to be bi-polar.

Book Nook

Sunday, February 10, 2008. 1659 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Sunny, chilly but bearable.

Inspired by my semi-annual living space cleaning, a book check:

Currently reading: A Feast for Crows by George R.R. Martin

Books on the shelf not yet read (by myself, at least)*:

Code Complete by Steve McConnell
Next by Michael Crichton
Unconventional Success by David F. Swensen
Philip K. Dick: Four Novels of the 1960s (The Man in the High Castle, The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Ubik)
The Bridge by Iain Banks
Beyond Tells by James A. McKenna
Escape from China by Zhang Boli
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John LeCarre
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Atonement by Ian McEwen
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
Century Rain by Alastair Reynolds
Redemption Ark by Alastair Reynolds
Absolution Gap by Alastair Reynolds
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig
Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

*This list is probably not complete. There are likely books hiding somewhere in the piles that I have yet to unearth.

I'll be done with A Feast for Crows in a few days, week tops. Then, the problem is which book do I want to read the most. These all are interesting me, now that I look at the list, and have them on my shelf lined up in a row according to height, more or less.

Heavens, I'm such a geek. I'd go join a monastery and cloister myself away from humanity, but for the fact that I couldn't own books. Everything else, I would be OK with giving up.

***

Good heaven, was last week busy. At the company meeting, I actually broke out my laptop, not to dick around, but to continue working. There's something wrong with that, but I'm not sure what.

I've already left my mark on T.S., if the meeting was any indicator. As the "[T.S.] Awards for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence" were handed out, we saw a parade of the usual suspects in the Info-tech discipline. Best project management, best developer, best business analyst, best salesperson, general excellence. And then, the ultimate award, entitled "Work Hard Eat Harder." Yes, gentle folk, the founders of T.S. created an award lauding the gustatory efforts of A.C. He even received the actual plaque, crystal slab supported in wooden frame. Yes, it said "2007 Work Hard Eat Harder."

This has two ramifications for me. One, I have to get off my ass and start planning more eating contests. But two, perhaps more important, despite my unintentional efforts to murder my coworkers with elevated cholesterol counts, I have actually had a tangible effect on team morale. Now, if only I could make such an effect with my work, but I guess we'll have to give that more time.

***

I broke my only cereal bowl a while back (OK, months back). It didn't stop me from eating cereal, but I was eating it out of a lot of Tupperware. That was kind of sad, so today, while procuring cleaning supplies, I went to the food storage section. Almost picked up a Tupperware bowl (again), when I looked over to the pyrex section, and picked up a pyrex bowl.

Form follows function. F*ck traditional dinnerware. I'm going to now assemble a plate/bowl set of nothing but pyrex. Doubles as food storage, hard to break (already dropped it once), but still an understated effect. This stuff will match pretty much anything I ever get, because it's clear. As you all know, I've got zero style, so need as much help as possible, or the opportunity to minimize style choices.

A quick search on the internets reveals it will be harder than I thought to purchase. Damn you, porcelain. Damn you.

***

Finally had time to decompress. Much needed; I slept so, so much. It makes me want to organize another tackle football game, or go back to sleep.