My Namesake

I've been corresponding a lot these past weeks with strangers I've met online as I've been searching for housing. For the sake of Internet privacy, I've been signing my letters "Thomas" instead of "T.J.", and then introducing myself as Thomas when I go to places to actually take a look (as if the name makes a difference...I think I'm more worried about someone I know finding me...).

I've been signing off "Thomas" so much in e-mails, I've caught myself doing it in personal e-mails (to friends). I don't like that. "T.J." is unique and I always want it to be "T.J." I used to worry that as an adult I'd be forced to go by "Thomas" instead of "T.J."; it's more "grown-up" sounding. So I'm a little sensitive right now that I could acidentally be doing this, like it's an unavoidable fate that I slip into adulthood - that I cannot run from my destiny as a "Thomas".

Never!!!!

If I never write a will, I want this to be said now: make sure it says "T.J." on my tombstone. At a high school friend's college graduation party, after saying "Hello, T.J." her mom asked me, "Is it still T.J.?" That freaked me out, as if using intials as a name was just some childish foolishness that a stint at university would cure me of.

It's almost wasn't T.J....my mother's first choice was "Peter", but my father objected because I guess especially at the time "Peter" was a slang term for penis (e.g., "peter puller"). I'd be like naming a kid "Dick" today. You'd ruin him for life.

Also, as fate would have it, I was born on the day that the pope was shot, and my aunts were pushing hard for me to be named "John Paul" in commemoration. So, I was almost J.P....

But in the end my father won out; I was named "Thomas" after him and "James" after...I don't know, actually. It could be coincidence but his only brother's name is "Jim", probably from James. In my babybook, under the entry for the origion of my name, my mother wrote, "because daddy got his way."

I'm not sure if this story is true but my dad told me he lied to his father (my grandfather) on his deathbed by telling him that he would have be named "Edward" (my grandfather's name). So maybe I was almost Edward. Again, I'm not sure if that story was true, or if my dad was just screwing with my head. Probably both.

I been everywhere, man...

I've seen five housing options in a 24-hour period beginning yesterday afternoon. Yeah, I know, that's not that many, but the point is I walked. At least 10.79 miles, according to Google Maps, but probably closer to 12 when you factor in what I didn't calculate. After the 7 miles I did yesterday, I physically hurt when I got up this morning. And they say it (the pain) is even worse the second day. I am giddy at the thought that I will sleep late tomorrow and not leave the room.

Starting yesterday:

#1 (1:30pm) - Duplex in Midtown. With three Georgia Tech PhD students. Good in being located in a familiar and liked location. Place is nice, although filled with windows with high ceilings. Potential roommates estimate summer electricity bill of $100 per person (I think about other utilities besides water). Potentials generally surprise me throughout my visit with a vast array of mathematical calculations. Money-wise, I realize they are just as greedy as me. Potentials would want a person to move in by August 1st to cover rent of vacant room; I want to stay in present room until 20th to avoid paying rent in vacant room.

#2 (8:30pm) - Apartment in Decatur. At a base rent of $285, and right near the Clairmont/North Decatur Publix great location, was perfect on paper...too perfect. Room is a vacancy in one room of a 3br. The place not so great, but expectations were low given rent. Guy takes me in the kitchen (again not much), and while talking about how he doesn't often cook, opens the cabinets to more crawling roaches than I can count. He lets out a scream like a schoolgirl, then closed the cabinets and told me he'd show me the room, maybe thinking I didn't see them or hear him. Upstairs met the friendliest, softest cat in the world, I reconsider the roaches in fleeting thought. Guy takes me downstairs to get to know me. Talks about himself, he was a theater major in college but now is a server at Einstein Bagels. I think of the lesson in that. Later says: "I have an alter ego" with a smile that lets me know he was about to drop some freaky shit on me. Tells me said alter ego is Fufu Gabore, (not really but something similar), that he is a drag queen performing in shows in Midtown and Buckhead. I become concerned alter ego may emerge, but leave respecting guy for putting all his cards on the table. Guy also asks me about friends, girlfriends, and as I try to speak cuts me off saying he would never bring a "person" home at night, believes it inappropriate to other roommates - quarters too close. I think that good Catholic boys do not have loud midnight sex in roach infested apartments. He seems concerned for my welfare on going home. Tells me he will put all my info into my file (each "applicant" for the vacancy gets a file) and will share with his roommate. I am amazed at thought of his pile of files; I think that he is an organized little SOB.

#3 (9:40pm) - House in Decatur. Am worried it's too late, walked two miles to get there by 7:30 to avoid late showing (post-8:30 appointment). Contact had assured she'd be there by 7:00, I find out she wasn't there yet after all. At 9:40pm, is too dark to read house numbers. I'm concerned neighbors will see me apparently "casing the joint" and call police. Finally call house, woman not home, deep-voiced man picks up, says lady not home, but gives directions to house and lets me in. Husband is man of few words. Shows me to room, which is disappointingly furnished. Husband leaves me alone in room. Middle School-aged girl walks by, gives look of unease at having stranger in house. I meet and share her look, think that situation would essentially means I join the family, integration so complete. Am not ready for spot at dinner table. Husband returns, tells me room is son's room, who is away at college. I have flash of son coming home to a room given away to a stranger, per A Clockwork Orange. Awkwardness sets in already. As I leave, am unsure if I am just weak from the walking but husband gives a shake that crushes my hand.

#4 (10:05am) - House in...Doraville? On walk from train station think that I will arrive at school each day with a sweat soaked shirt from the walk. Find house. House is being remodeled; guy says will be done for renters by next week, I would still be dubious if he said two years from now. House smells like wet dog. No carpeting anywhere; floor does not look level. Owner is 26 year-old male, has baseball trophies everywhere and a beer tap on the kitchen counter. Convinced he is type that peaks in high school.

#5 (12:05pm) - House in Decatur. With two Emory MA girls that will graduate in 2008. I love the kitchen. Girl says that they'll need to get washer/dryer, but generally seems clueless about furnishing a house. Potential's expression changes from smiling face to look of discuss at regular intervals as I talk to her; I become concerned I am saying the wrong thing or she is insane. Potential wants someone to move in my August 1st. House generally nice and walking distance to downtown, but at $575, is most expensive housing option I saw. Concerned that utilities will be a lot with only three-way split.

I have one more to see on Monday, a duplex that requires a bus to get to. Besides that, I think it has some promise (in terms of price - $525 for everything). On Monday there will be only four weeks until my lease expires (in practical terms, until I am forced to vacate). There are still vacancies at 710 Peachtree, but I'd like to avoid those crappy kitchens. Ironically, this is the place I visited June 30th, and I may end up there after so many other visits. I have an application saying the price is $550, but I recently called to confirm there were still vacancies and I heard the price went to $575.

Plus utilities. Sigh...

Reading...or Reading Harry Potter?

Tonight is the end of an era; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (the final in the series) is being released at midnight tonight. It's the afternoon of Friday, July 20th and and right now nothing is hotter than Potter...

I saw a report that although Israeli law requires businesses to be closed on a Saturday in observance of the Sabbath, booksellers over there are saying to hell with the law. There's a Barnes and Noble pretty close to me; I've never been to a midnight Harry Potter release party and I should try and get over there because it'll be my last chance...

People give J.K. Rowling credit for getting children to read again. I think she deserves lots of praise for creating engaging and imaginative stories which are incredibly smart. It's formulaic that there be a plot twist at the end of each one, and knowing this each time as I go through a part of the series, thinking all the while I am a pretty smart guy reading a book I took from the children's literature section, I've never, ever been able to correctly figure out what the ending would be, and certainly have fallen for all the red herrings brilliantly woven in.

Anyway, I'm not sure it's totally accurate to claim J.K. Rowling has gotten children to read generally; rather, she's gotten them to read Harry Potter. How much of it has spilt over to inducing consumption of other literature? Now that the series is over, will children continue to read?

In 4th grade, I brought out the original 400-page version of of Bram Stoker's Dracula when at least some of my classmates were probably struggling with Red Fish Blue Fish. Observing this, my teacher wanted me to start reading only high school books, to encourage what she saw as an advanced reading ability (I'm trying to be modest). Clearly she didn't get it: I didn't want to read high school level books, I just wanted to read Dracula. Ms. Rowling certainly has created an explosion of reading, but is the situation similar? Is it that these young muggles have been introduced to literature and adopted a general joy of reading, or is it that they just want to read Harry Potter?

A Silent Scream

When I got my braces on in October, my orthodontist told me I would really be "feeling it" on top given the thickness of the upper wire. I ended up feeling nothing what-so-ever, and was actually worried that maybe the brackets had come unattached or something. Well, maybe the top was dulled by what I was feeling on my bottom jaw; a pain like I've never experienced before. I remember sitting with a dull throbbing in night class, somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear the professor was speaking, but it was sort of a hushed whisper under the beating of each heartbeat I felt in my jaw.

So I sat there in silence with my eyes closed. Who would know that I was feeling what I was feeling? Although we often see a football injury and cringe, on MTV's Scarred helmet-less boys make a potentially brain-damage inducing crash without noise. Much more invisible is emotional pain; who out there is (silently) suffering from depression, unknown to us?

Don't we ever want just want to scream? An Edvard Munch's The Scream type of scream. Like when David in Six Feet Under's pilot learns his father died, but still must stand composed for another family's funeral, and imagines screaming loudly in the middle of it? I think I've forgotten the number of times I must have mentally screamed. I think I can scream louder in my head; I'm not sure my vocal cords could take what I'd want to let out sometimes.

Really Random

I read yesterday that when asked to select a random number (of ten), people say "7" with the most frequency; it seems to conform to what people believe is a "random" number. The point is, then, our choice is not really random. People will probably say "7".

In a quick experiment, I typed 100 numbers (0-9) in Excel. If I did it randomly like I tried, it should be about 10 each:

0 - 14
1 - 8
2 - 6
3 - 6
4 - 8
5 - 15
6 - 13
7 - 8
8 - 8
9 - 11

So "5" wins for me (maybe because it's in the middle of the keypad?). As n, the numbers generated increases by a random generator, it probably will converge to 10% each. What about for a human? Probably it would diverge to way way off 10% for some numbers as n increases. I could test it at n=1000 but I don't have that much time on my hands.

Us human beings are not random, I'm learning, so much of our choices are shaped by past experiences, in that our choice of a random number is likely colored by what we think a random color "should" be. We often say "7", as does everyone else. What does this say for free will vs. determinism?

This posting, I now think, was really random, though in a different sense of the word.

Vote Obama

I probably should do my one political post before the summer's end, because voting will probably already have occurred before I start up doing posts again. I'm fairly concerned with early opinion polling regarding Democratic Party candidates (I am a registered Democrat) in that Hillary Clinton is ahead in receiving support. I want to urge a plea: Please, please, do not vote for Hillary Clinton.

My argument is simple. Since 1988, we've had a Bush or Clinton as president - the better part of my life - and if you count Bush Sr.'s stint as Vice President, there's been a Bush or Clinton in the White House my entire life...

...and I'm twenty-six. What if Hillary wins? What if she wins re-election? I'll be thirty-five before a non-Bush or non-Clinton got a chance to get in. Unless Jeb or Chelsea runs (and what if they win? What if they win re-election?).

Maybe this isn't fair to Hillary, but it's how I feel. And I feel strongly about it. This two-family dominance is unacceptable to me in a nation of 300 million. Are we that unimaginative? Are we really unable to come up with anyone else?

Because I'm so disenchanted with the process, with all the reciprocity of favors of the elites amongst themselves, I've determined that in this election it be crucial that we elect an outsider. Especially someone that hasn't been in Washington for the last fifteen (or more) years, or whose last name is Clinton (or Bush, or Adams, or Roosevelt). For this reason, I'm endorsing Barack Obama for the Democratic Party nomination.

To be fair, hopefully by the end of the summer I will e-mail my concerns to the Clinton campaign to hear if they have any response that would satisfy me. In the "PS", I will specifically write that claiming having your husband as president give you "experience" will be an unsatisfactory answer. I can't think of what else they would say, and because it's probably a touchy issue I'm not expecting a response, but I'll post whatever they send back. It should be rich.

Please vote Obama in 2008. Thank you.

You never know who's watching

I'm off to an unusually crappy Monday. I signed into to my e-mail to accept an offer to to live in a really great housing situation, but there was an e-mail waiting for me entitled "Last Minute Update"...basically it was a "nevermind", that the roommate moving out decided to stay and so there is no vacancy, but nice to meet you, yada yada yada. Did you hear a loud scream of anguish outside today? That was me.

I think I know someone who's having an equally bad Monday. Yesterday towards the end of the soccer game I watched, there was a good five-second shot into the crowd prominently displaying a woman picking her nose. This was the finals of the Copa America, most likely everyone in South America saw her. Well, on the other hand, we were watching the Spanish station, and she was a Brazil fan, so her dirty little secret is probably still unknown to her Brazilian friends, family, and coworkers.

My only similar experience was in college, where I played with the Pep Band, hating it all the while my first year (that year I only did it for the scholarship). I probably have told this story before but here goes again: We were often told we were paid to be "cheery", so I usually had to put up this act of wanting to be there. Supposedly, during the televised BB&T tournament at the MCI center, there was a close-up of me "looking bored" on the big-screen monitor as my friends told me when I got back to the dorm. I was so afraid to go back to practice, thinking I'd be reamed out for having disgraced the name of the school, my money taken away - surely people had passed notes to the director. But no one said anything. Again, as with my nose-picking counterpart, I believe lack of viewership saved me, in conjunction with the general malaise of that point in GW Basketball history.

Goooooal!

On my second quarter-century, today will I will watch my second soccer game (ever!). I have some Brazilian classmates and one of them invited me to watch the Brazil vs. Argentina match today. I've learned it's the finals of the South American cup. Very big deal. As just an American, I'll probably choose to remain the neutral party. I was considering innocently wearing Argentina's colors and then feigning ignorance (which would probably be believed) just to see what happened with regards to reaction on behalf of my hosts.

My first match ever that I watched was last year's FIFA cup of France vs. Italy. Becca's thankless brother's whined that we pull over from our road trip to Atlanta to find a sports bar to watch it. So we did, munching on appetizers for four hours. I actually enjoyed the game; all my international classmates had been talking about the tournament throughout summer session and finally I got to see what the fuss was about. It moreover turned out to be a quite scandalous occasion: French player Zinedine Zidane headbutted an Italian player; dropping him.

Those guys I see are wizards with the ball; Harlem Globetrotters with their feet, each one of them. I wish I could do the twirly-whirly.

Maybe soccer will slowly catch on in the states. Not to the point where we call it "football"; that name has already been taken. There's a a mass generating: David Beckham just this week just this week has showed up and been getting a lot of press, but more likely because Posh has come in tow. The guy's getting a little old, anyway. Maybe his legacy could be to provide the critical mass so that soccer would really take off in America.

Lazy Afternoon

Didn't really do much of anything productive today. Read a bad book (The Perks of Being a Wallflower -avoid it), went shopping, and uh...that's it. The bad thing is, it was supposed to be a fun day.

There was going to be a pool party at another student's condo starting at noon. At 11:15, I stuck my head out and it was cold, gray, and drizzling. So I sent my regrets via e-mail. When I went to Publix at 12:30, I saw blue sky. Now that I really thought I'd make a late appearance, I looked at the radar and it really *is* going to rain within the half hour. Just as I'd be showing up. Good grief.

I imagine the four hours of fun I could have had. :'(

I wish I got out or things worked out better. I don't mind spending time by myself, but I didn't really do anything today. I have this need to be productive, or I feel like I'm wasting my life. As if leisure doesn't have it's own value. My problem is I can't relax. But the cure, to "just relax", is one thing you can't do: making an effort (to relax) is by definition not relaxing.

Local Lore

My 7th grade year I played for the Raiders in the Norwalk Pop Warner Leauge. As it was, our coaching staff was comprised entirely of policemen (both state and City of Norwalk). Their other common trait was that they all worked the night shift so our afternoon practices were effectively their morning routines. How our practice was to be that day depended on how rough their prior night was...I remember one of the more brutal practices was when an assistant coach (and Norwalk police officer) showed up to start practice with a busted hand and a mean scowl: "Some motherfucker thought he could take my head off last night...but I put him on his back...now fuckin' start running!!!!!!"

One evening, that same coach pointed pointed to an older man who sometimes came to the field to walk his dog. "That's One-Nut Willy. He's a child-molester that I've arrested eight times". Forever after that, if we saw the man after practice while waiting for our rides home, we circled in a defensive position like Wildebeest calling our to those that strayed from the herd, lest they fall prey to the voracious predator circling about.

It was of course probably entirely a crock or at the least an exaggeration. However, us being twelve-year-olds, we invented an entire backstory for the guy. My own personal telling was that he indeed only did have one "nut", but that he was something like the Headless Horseman, haunting the night to seek out young boys with whose genitalia he might replace his missing testicle.

Once a while on Peachtree here in Atlanta I see what I thought was a a flamboyantly gay/crazy homeless guy, who walks - nay, struts - around in hot shorts and a top hat, twirling a baton. Recently, a girl I met (and an Atlantan of eleven years) told me his name was Baton Bob and he too had a local lore. Supposedly, he was a successful Fortune 500 executive here in Atlanta. Then September 11th happened and he just wanted people to be happy so he walks around like that to cheer them up.

Holy shit. I was double-checking if I spelled "baton" correctly and Google spit out a Wikipedia article for Baton Bob. It's pretty close to the story I was told (except the executive part isn't true). He even has a website: http://www.batonbob.com/. So, it's only on Wikipedia, but supposedly even CNN interviewed him. I checked and One-Nut Willy does not have a webpage.

Certainly the stories told to me were embellished, but the embroidered versions are so much more fun. The enjoyment comes from our affinity as humans for storytelling. Stories are fun to tell, then embellish, and tell again. Local urban legends and perhaps even religions most likely get their start this way. Because the truth is probably much more banal, wouldn't we rather believe the sensationalism of the stories we invent for ourselves? Aren't they so much more interesting?

Where do (Cartoon) Babies come from?

Cartoons' family trees must be diagonal, not vertical. Everyone had nieces or nephews, never daughters or sons.

Inspector Gadget had Penny, Scooby-Doo had Scrappy Doo (da da da da daaaa...Pupppy Powwwer!!!). Huey, Dewey, Louie were Donald's nephews, who in turn was Uncle Scrooge's nephew. Et cetera.

It's too much of a pattern to be a coincidence. Was the idea to avoid the suggestion that cartoons have sex? It couldn't be to avoid to burden of having in addition to invent a mate. Donald and Daisy were eternally courting, for example, she was already available to become a wife. But maybe that change had to be avoided. Cartoons are sort of stuck in time - dating when first drawn, dating forever. Statuses can't change. Bringing a nephew out from somewhere is a convenient want to introduce a character.

Also, maybe there's something about a parent-less child that has a Dickens-like appeal. Yet, the uncle still provides a loving and comforting home life, the happy ending of every orphan story.

The movies got a late start: Snow White didn't have a parent, and Geppetto wasn't exactly Pinnochio's dad. Finally came Dumbo's mom (very touching) and then Bambi's mom (I think I'm going to cry). Curiously, these predate the nieces and nephews era, so cartoon baby-making had already been established. Perhaps America went through some sort of moral reform?

Later on, Goofy got a son, Max...geez, the one person least capable of child-rearing. Currently, there's a reversal of trends. Homer Simpson has three children, but (yikes!) no nephews...and no uncles!

Roommate Reconciliation

I roomed with the same guy in college for four years...during senior year, it went a little sour. I had just started a relationship (and so was in the lovey-dovey phase) whereas he was breaking up with his girlfriend. He acted obviously jealous, and later admitted it. Bigger problems were that at no fault of my own, he began to talk about me behind my back to my other roommates, even after I went to sit with him in the emergency room after he got hit in the crotch with a hockey puck. The betrayal really hurt me. Painfully, after four years and countless good times, it began with something so petty and at no fault of my own.

Perhaps the seeds were always there; he was sort of a narcissistic, self-absorbed guy. I recognized it at the end: before we were to move out, he came up to me in the street asking to be friends again. I suspected (and still strongly believe) that he wasn't interested in forgiveness for its own sake but rather to let his own conscious be at peace. I'm proud of myself for not letting him off the hook: I told him after graduation I didn't plan on ever seeing him again.

The question is, do people change? We wouldn't hold it against someone now if they had called us a mean name on the kindergarten playground. No adult is the same person they were as a child...but do adults change? Sometimes we don't think so. Politicians are asked all the time to defend a position taken 10...20...perhaps even 30 years prior (a span longer than my entire life). When we stop to think about it, why would we expect them to not be the same people? After literally years of learning and life experience? It makes sense they would. I'm hopeful (and Catholic) enough to believe people can change. So the question becomes, how long does it take for people to change?

This episode with my roommate was approximately four years ago. A year after graduation, he IMed me, wishing me luck at Columbia. I ignored him.

This past spring, he contacted me through my new Facebook account:

Hey TJ,

It's been a long time and I understand that things didnt end well between us in college but I hope that now that time has passed, we can put that stuff behind us. It would be good to keep in contact with you and know who things have turned out for you. Are you still with the girl you were dating in college?

Let me know how you've been if you're interested. If not, I can understand that too.

Best, ____

For the second time, he really did put himself out there. Moreover, It had been 3.5 years...maybe he's matured? Adding him as a Facebook friend was not the biggest deal. I was willing to give him that much of a chance.

Since the add, we haven't caught up to much outside of a few back-and-forth e-mails at the beginning. It worries me that he sought contrition only for his consciousness, as he planned to four years ago, and this time I let him get away with it .

Maybe not. We're all busy, and I've certainly been dissing even my closest friends lately. Today is this particular "friend's" birthday, and I think I will put myself out there in the smallest way I possibly could: a "happy birthday" message on his Facebook page. It's time I do something to reciprocate his initial move, anyway. It's not much, but that's the point. Keep my distance and feel him out. We used to be pretty good friends...much better to mend that than totally throw out...and maybe the bone just needed some time to heal before we tried walking on it?

Private Special Moments

There's a scene in the movie Stand by Me where a deer jumps out of the forest mere feet from the main character, alone from his sleeping friends who simply absorbs the moment. When a train whistle scares the deer off and wakes up his companions, his adult-voiced narration says "...it was on the tip of my tongue to tell them about the deer. But I didn't. That was the one thing I kept to myself. I've never spoken or written about it until just now."

While soaping myself in the shower some years ago, a *huge* bubble formed between my arm and my body. I wanted to run out into my dorm's common area (naked) to show the roommates. Although I didn't, and stood staring at the bubble until it burst, I immediately ran and out (clothed) and told everyone about it. I was not like in the movie.

Stand by Me was a coming of age story; so could not having a need to validate our experiences through other's reactions a sign of maturity? I think this might be. Some would call it a pulling inwards if we limit the sharing of our experiences, but I disagree that it has anything to do with anti-socialism. As I often find myself stumbling for words on these pages, I know that it is difficult to capture thoughts on paper. Perhaps some moments are diminished by the translation into words. Telling your friends a deer was right next to you will never be as impressive as actually having it right next to you. Relating to your friends about the big bubble would probably not even cause them to lift their heads, and would mean so much less to than you, who witnessed a fragile display of wonder, displayed in a magnificent spectrum of bubble-oil color most unexpectedly in the middle of the morning routine.

I've become much more content with life over these past years. I see special moments everyday, from innocent babies yawning on the subway to intricate spiderwebs highlighted in dew. Yet these are everyday occurrences, not unique as a deer crossing your path. Perhaps on some level they're all the same - beautiful moments in which us mere mortals could never definitively quantify for comparison. Maybe hushing up is just realizing that there's so much beauty around that and there's no need to tell others, because if that beauty needs to be explained to others, they'll probably not understand it, anyway.

And I pity the ones that don't see it.

Asking for Help

I am almost ready to give up on my apartment searching and sign on for a studio at 710 Peachtree, because it's the cheapest in a good area, and I might be able to get a good, 15th-story view, although bad is that it has a stale gas smell (from the stove) and the AC is worrying me, it's the same model as my Washington, DC conditioner, and each morning I was surprised to find that I had not dehydrated myself to death during the night. And Georgia heat is much suckier than Washington's.

Back to the smell. Gas stoves are better for cooking than the electric I have now, but worst off all is the kitchen...you could reach your arms out and touch all walls. It makes me want to cry.

At a classmate's suggestion, I sent an e-mail to an assistant for the department; it seems she's something of a hub for roommate-seekers. She told me to draft an e-mail and she'd forward it around to the students. Crap, it's really embarrassing having everyone see that I don't have enough friends to find housing. I tried to make my e-mail short - I tried to appear disinterested in the cool loner kind of way - I didn't want to a big deal out of it, but I crossed the line to even send it. I pushed "send" and ran away from the computer. I am not going to check my e-mail until tomorrow morning, maybe then the anxiety will have calmed down, but I hope seeing my begging pleas is not like watching a video tape of yourself when you were ten years younger making an arse of yourself (much in the way I will feel reading these entries in ten years).

Maybe someone will see my e-mail and also be looking for a roommate. We'll find a decent-quality, low rent place, and become best of friends. Life will be beautiful. Or they will see it, read about what a loser I am, and then everyone will know it.

At best I can only hope for pity: "Oh yes, did you see the e-mail? What a pity how far he's fallen..."

I do have a problem asking for help. Maybe this is a baby-step towards getting better about it. It's fairly safe; everyone that reads that e-mail will also be a similarly-broke graduate student. Also it's online, and not an instance where I had to get up, cracking-voice in tow, to open myself up to a large crowd. I get to do it online...sort of like I learned to talk to girls. Hmmm...that didn't prepare me too well...

Rain => Sleep

Empirical Observation: I tend to sleep-in (or oversleep my alarm) on mornings when it's raining; my state of sleep is also deeper.

In fact, if I oversleep my alarm, I can often successfully predict that in fact it is raining outside. This is the usual cause. "Oh, crap, I overslept...well, let's take a look outside the window...and yeah, it's raining." Case in point was this morning. Well, yes, you can't really oversleep on a Sunday, it's sorta the point not to get up early. But it was later than I wanted to get up.

This has been something I've noticed since high school; how many a rainy morning caused a tardy entrance to first period? Of course, in commutation with the rushed start, you're wet walking into school, grumpy because being late you couldn't find a good parking space. It's the start of a sucky day.

Maybe it's all in my head - just a coincidence I mentally invented. Or maybe there is something there. I'll have to poll others regarding this. But there has to be a deeper root cause than just the precipitation itself; it's not like the raindrops ferry tiny sleep pixies to my bedroom. Could it be something to do with the low pressure that accompanies storms? Rainclouds making the mornings darker? Raindrops continuing to soothe me asleep as track number 19 of the easy listening CD selling at Bed Bath and Beyond?

The (New) Seven Wonders of the World

Today is the unveiling of the new seven wonders in the world, which were picked from an Internet vote. I seem to have thought today is when voting closed, when actually it's when the results are announced (7-7-07, get it?). I don't feel too bad that I missed out, because in this much like every other election I ever participated in, I feel that my votes wouldn't matter.

I wonder if we'll see a connection between location of wonders that are chosen and population of the country? Or prevalence of hackers that game the system?

Because everything I learned about history and foreign affairs I learned from Sid Meier's Civilization, I recall that the seven wonders of the Industrial Age are:

1. Apollo Program
2. Cure for Cancer
3. Hoover Dam
4. Manhattan Project
5. SETI Program
6. United Nations
7. Woman's Suffrage

Well, I agree with the Apollo Program and the Manhattan project which were the most important breakthroughs of the 20th century. The cure for cancer never happened, the Hoover Dam is meh, the SETI program is probably a waste of money, the United Nations is a good idea, and Woman's Suffrage is not anything to brag about but actually an inherit conditional for equality that should have always existed, anyway.

Really, this contest is about picking buildings, not concepts (although concepts are scientific achievements are probably more important). What would I have picked? Oh, I dunno...I waited so long anyway because I couldn't make a choice. Um, probably you'd want one of the tallest buildings in the world on it, which will be obsolete as soon at 1,776-foot Freedom Tower is built in Manhattan. I'd want really iconic things, too, like St. Basil's in Moscow or the Taj Mahal. The list will only be up to seven; the 8th Wonder of the World is and forever shall be King Kong.

This posting dedicated to the memory of King Kong (????-1933).

Uniquely Singapore: The Merlion

I chanced upon an enchanting creature like no other...

Burnt

About 24 hours ago I began showing what became the worst sunburn I've had that I can remember. Oh yeah, the pool was a lot of fun, but now I'm seeing repercussions coming down the line. Short-term...I'm feeling fairly uncomfortable in my own skin (har har), and maybe worse, I'll be seeing Becca tonight, and I know that I'm going to get the third degree (har har...as in 3rd degree burn...har har). The reason for her scolding will be what's going to happen long term: higher possibility of skin cancer. When I'm given only six months to live, I'll wish I had just taken the time to put on that sun block.

For more vain reasons, I don't want my skin to make me look twenty years older than I am. I used to be able to get by on my looks. The Mexican lady cashier at Chipotle that had a crush on me used to let me get by with free burritos. I haven't pulled anything like that off since I've moved to Atlanta. :( My youthful beauty is gone; now I am just a sun-dried raisin - nay - a red, sun-dried tomato.

Actually, it might not be that bad. When I was at the Census, I went to the health fair and under a special scanner the guy thought my skin wasn't sun damaged, when my similarly-aged peers got some seriously-toned words. So I at least was doing better than average three years ago, and it's not like I've been hitting the tanning beds since then.

OK, it's not enough to just compare myself to everyone else, and I'd better get serious about this. For my health routine, I've only been concerned about eating right and exercising, but now I'm going to add skin protection as an important habit. OK, I really am serious. I plan on this being the last sunburn I ever get. I bet I can hold that out through this summer, but what will be the challenge is to remember this for next summer. This is why I write these things down...but will I ever read this again?

Cynical On July 4th

On today, the 231st anniversary of the founding of our country, I am filled with cynicism.

In a blatant display of cronyism, President Bush recently commuted jail time for former Vice Presidential Aide Scooter Libby, a perjurer convicted by a jury of his peers. The president's approval ratings are presently so low that he probably figured it didn't matter anymore, so just help out this friend of a friend, or more likely he didn't even care what the general public thought. By the way, when Bill Clinton gave out his pardons, I thought it was equally sleazy. If the government really wants to be serious reducing corruption, the pardon power needs to have some checks attached, because it is clear to me the pardons are not used for justice but rather to help out friends, in most unjust ways.

However, filling me with a deeper cynicism today are memories of the the original Transformers movie, on my mind because the new one opens today.

It's hard to not be cynical when your childhood hero was killed off in an effort to promote new merchandise. Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Prowl, and many more, all victims of the pursuit of profit. What does it matter if you break a 5-year old's heart? You use your two-hour commercial to introduce new characters that will become new toys. I grew up fast in 1986.

John Swansburg wrote a piece in Slate, entitled "Why the original Transformers movie is better than the new one", and alt Here in an excerpt:

To use a phrase I learned the day I saw Transformers, "Oh Shit!" No one ever died in these shows. Even in G.I. Joe, a cartoon about a special U.S. Army strike force, no Rattler was ever shot down without the pilot first safely ejecting. But in the Transformers movie, the death toll was jaw-dropping. More than a dozen marquee characters are dispatched in the film, among them one of my personal favorites, Starscream, the Decepticon malcontent always scheming to relieve Megatron of his command.

Of course, all of this bloodshed had a specific purpose—to move toys. In the commentary track on the 20th-anniversary edition of the movie, Flint Dille, one of the writers, explains he was instructed to eliminate much of the existing product line to make room for the new characters Hasbro was planning to sell me. I already owned Optimus Prime, after all.

As a 9-year-old, it hardly occurred to me that this robot bloodbath was a marketing ploy. It just blew me away. Witnessing death on that scale was shocking to a sensibility that had been nurtured on white-knuckled but always successful repair operations by the trusty Autobot mechanic-medic, Rachet.

I think of the boardroom meeting that must have went down with the idea to kill off a bunch of characters, and I want to spit. Presidential pardons really don't affect my life; at most I'll scream at the TV. But at the time of the original Transformers movie, I really loved those Autobots, and it's disgusting that the Hasbro executives did not give two shits about me or my friends. I truly believe this is one of the purest forms of corporate greed: causing millions of children tears just to make more money. The powers that be didn't care about the general public, either. They probably never saw the crying or probably never thought about it. I'll never forget that.

Finally, as I think every year, "thank you" to the people of Morocco for being the first nation to recognize the independence of the United States.

Heat of the Moment

I had written a couple times previously last week about a girl I'd met. Well, that's been dead for a week now. I blew it. Well, also, she blew it. We blew it. It got blown.

The night of "Ye olde fight that blewe It", I started drafting an e-mail...that was a week ago, and I haven't touched it since, and thought maybe I could post whatever I had written as a heart-pouring letter that would never be read, sort of like the jilted ex-lover throwing a message in a bottle out to sea. I opened the draft this morning (a virtual time-capsule of my feelings) and...holy %&#@!!!!! It's really graphic. And personal. And often comes across as pathetic. If I posted it I'd have to restrict access to this website and hit myself on the head so even I forgot the password.

Basically it was a lot of "yada yada yada...so you're used to something 'different'?...yada yada yada...call me clueless, but...yada yada yada...you don't know what the word 'explicit' means...yada yada yada...I hope it's not weird now...yada yada yada...you talk too much about ex-boyfriend...". Etc., etc., or as she spelled it ect, ect. She often liked to pat herself on the back for being so blunt, yet it was only gentlemanly restraint that kept me from writing "E-T-C...it's three fuckin' letters, it that too hard to get right?", even before the fight.

Clearly, it was weird now.

I'm not the smoothest guy, and the beauty of e-mail in talking to girls is that there's no pressure to think on your feet (not my forte). E-mail allows one to craft, compose, revise....and as apparently can be best, never hit the send button.

Francis Bacon on Philosophers

He wrote:

Philosophers make imaginary laws for imaginary commonwealths, and their
discourses are as the stars, which give little light because they are so high.

Would the same be true for economists? The "imaginary laws" phrase is what struck me particularly. I've learned it's increasingly important to keep our heads on the ground and not lose touch with reality.

Let Our Powers Combine...

Earth!...Fire!...Wind!...Water!...Heart!...

What was disheartening for me about Captain Planet and the Planeteers was that the creators oversimplified the problems by displaying exaggerations of cartoonish super-villainy: "I've created a machine the chops down the Amazon rainforest and turns the trees into toxic waste...mwuhahahahahahahaha!!!...." So it teaches kids that the planet would be safe if only a blue-skinned, green-mulleted depiction of what a committee lamely decided "cool" would look like showed up and used his Superman-breath (or whatever).

Much better (and accurately more morally complex) would be if you turned on the for 30 minutes the cartoon was just a headshot of Captain Planet's head, saying "Hey kids at home...your watching TV right now is contributing to the planet's ill-health. You're burning fossil fuels. Want to make a difference? Turn the the TV off. Go outside. Now. Turn the TV off. Turn it off. Go outside. Turn it off....."

Thin Walls

The walls in my apartment are very thin. I used to have a problem with the neighbor on the side near my bedroom. He was a 30-something that stayed still 3am playing Mortal Kombat every night. He might also have listened to Backstreet Boys loudly. He lived alone; for some reason he didn't have a girlfriend. I was so happy when I saw that he moved out. Otherwise I doubt I would been able to sufficiently prepared for my microeconomics final.

My new problem is my other neighbors on the living room side of the apartment. They are sexually active and I know all about it - their headboard shares a wall with my living room couch. I used to think after hearing the banging that someone was assembling furniture. Then I heard "other" noises that clued me in.

They do it like clockwork; every Sunday night plus a few "surprises" for me during the week...but really on the Sunday night thing - I could set my watch to it. I sort of dread that time of the week now, because I can't escape the audio...the vibrations travel through the walls even if I go to the other room. There is no escape. I hear everything. My poor virgin ears.

I think it was this Thursday that I was having a pretty heated argument with a friend on the phone. In the middle of me yelling, I suddenly hear the neighbors starting to go at it. It was very unsettling. I wanted to bang on the wall, yelling "c'mon, people...you're ruining the mood in here!!!"

Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Daughters of The Bottle

until i was twenty-two
i didn't think anyone else
had a drunk for a mother
then i met lori joannie and susan
i recognized them immediately
by their stay away smiles
they were leaders in their work
competent imposters
like me
who would say they were sorry
if somebody bumped into them
on a crowded street
i call on them
once in a while
they always come
children of alcoholics
always do

--Jane, adult child
taken from It Will Never Happen To Me (Black, Claudia; 1981).

E.T. and me

Tonight I'm going to Screen on the Green at Piedmont Park; the movie showing is E.T., made back in Spielberg's hey-day (he hasn't made a good film since Jurassic Park) with a very young Drew Barrymore. It really is a good movie; an American classic. When E.T. and Elliot fly across the moon, I'm not sure if I'll be able to control my emotion.

In my backpack: blanket to lay on (check), mosquito repellent (check), Reese's Pieces to eat at the exact same time that E.T. does (check!!!).

So was E.T. like, Jesus? Remember the sermon of the good Reverend Lovejoy:

"I remember another gentle visitor from the heavens, he came in peace and then died, only to come back to life, and his name was E.T., the extra terrestrial. I loved that little guy."

But there's something to this. He was persecuted, did sort of die, but then came back to life. Elliot's family had a single mother named "Mary". He "resurrected" that flower (one of my favorite parts!). Um, and there's that scene where E.T. gets into drag....um, I haven't read the Good Book that closely, but maybe there's something similar in there somewhere....

So, as I close, in the words of E.T.: "Be good."

A Conversation Piece

Today I wore my Semester at Sea t-shirt. It's quite the conversation piece; not only does it motivate people to ask me about the places we'd docked in listed on the back (Athens, Cadiz, Oslo, St. Petersburg, Antwerp, Casablanca, Naples, Alexandria, and Istanbul), and then let me talk about the other places in the countries that I'd gone to visit, but countless times a person has seen the big "Semester at Sea" on the street, or in line at the Smithsonian, or in line (today) at the MARTA card purchase office and also in an excited voice told me they'd also done SAS. The girl I met today had also done a summer voyage. I saw in her eyes the remembrance of a shared experience that you couldn't understand unless you had gone through it. I guess having done Semester at Sea, you are in a special fraternity for life.

I remember the first day I ever wore the shirt. I went on a field excursion to an orphanage in Alexandria, Egypt. There was a little girl there with whom I was sat down for a while with and played building blocks. I would building something, then she would knock it down and giggle. I later put headphones on her and played the soundtrack of The Little Mermaid for her. Even though she couldn't of understood the words, she put on the purest smile I've ever seen on a child; everyone was taking pictures of her and her happiness. The memory of that morning even now is bringing a smile to my face. This was in 2001; the girl is probably a teenager at this point in time. I think about her now and hope that she's happy. I think about her now and I miss her.

By the way, what was I doing with The Little Mermaid? Yah, that's what this good-looking girl asked me with a raised eyebrow. I sort of started explaining something but then let my voice trail off....and then walked away...

Canon in T

I saw a clip of this kid rocking it so hard on youtube recently, and I just had to post it:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=QjA5faZF1A8

Just in case the link ever stops working, search for "Canon Rock" (the version by funtwo). Yah, 22 million people have viewed this video, soon to be at 23 million. How did I ever not know about this? I guess I was too busy watching "The Evolution of Dance".

I love the chord progression of Johann Pachabel's Canon in D:


D A Bm F#m G D G A

I used to sit and improvise over it when I would play my keyboard at home. I love the song in general...it reminds me of summers as an altar boy doing weddings for tips.

"Johann Pachabel was the first one-hit wonder." Crap. That was an original witty idea I've been saying for the last ten years. Mozart and Beethoven are famous for numerous songs, but the name Pachabel is literally synonymous with Canon in D. Before I saw down to write this post I wanted to do some research on Pachabel, so I looked into his entry on Wikipedia (it was lazy research)....yah, literally on the second paragraph it says that some bastard named Rob Paravonian also is famously known for saying the Pachabel was the original one-hit wonder. Also there's a youtube video of his Pachabel routine. I'm not posting that one, because I don't want to promote it anymore. When I first saw this, I was worried that the guy had said it in the 60's or something, but it looks pretty modern...at least in my heart I knew I said the line first. But I don't have a youtube video; I doubt my friends will believe me.

Pissed Off

On my way to or from the MARTA (subway) station, I pass a church that frequently smells strongly of urine. The courtyard on a level just lower than the street is usually occupied by the homeless at night, and I always assumed the bedroom included a bathroom, if you know what I mean. Yet, the odor was so strong although so courtyard was somewhat set apart,

On a recent afternoon, I chanced to glimpse a homeless man peeing in the doorway which was essentially a foot off the sidewalk. The church is on North Avenue, a fairly busy street and it was broad daylight. The gentlemen was not taking pains to be discreet.

I really wanted to run over and stop him. It was really sacrilegious. But what would I have said? I'd also risk him whisking around around on me, unable or unwilling to stop, a stream of #1 soaking my legs. Anyway, it wasn't a Catholic church he was peeing on, so I didn't care too much.

OK, just kidding, that's not true.

This episode at least explained why the smell was so strong. It's odd, as I watched the man leaking processed booze onto the sidewalk, I thought of a dog marking his territory. Perhaps repressed instincts; scent-marking at its most raw and primitive. Could there be some truth in this? Maybe better to leave it at face value, as the Atlanta Tourist Loop bus patrons saw him: a homeless guy peeing on a church.

Date Night: Round II

I somehow managed to fool the girl from Thursday's date, she wants to actually see me again - tonight. So, we're going to have round two. OK, I at least haven't screwed it up yet, and so far I'm thinking this is something I might not want to screw up. It's funny; I walked away thinking I had blown it ("she's just not that into me"), but fortunately I was just reading the vibes wrong, she called me later and basically let me know I'm still in the game.

I think the plan tonight is to see a movie. Now, I hate going to the movies on dates when you're actually trying to first meet the person. Sitting alone in the dark silently looking at the screen is not conducive to learning more about somebody. Also, we're going to see "Knocked Up", which I hear is good and really funny but a but raunchy...it may be awwwwwwkward!

I'll probably blow $20 tonight, with dinner and the tickets. This is with $15 on Thursday. OK, ok...gotta get out the first few times. What I would want more than anything is to just cook us dinner and chill at home. Cheap, and big on talking. It's the ideal night...except if you invite someone you just met over to your place you sorta come across as sleazy. But I'm in that mindset, too - if a girl accepted my offer to come over, I'd sorta think she was sleazy.

Pot O' Luck

About to head out to a pot-luck. This is my third in the last year, and I've sort of settled into making desserts. I'm making the same cookies (ginger-sugar-snap) I did a year ago. One other time I made carrot cake, and that was a mistake...all the frosting melted...and I had made it so pretty! The whole point of bringing a dessert is that I can make something that isn't refrigeration dependent (but I got a little cocky last time). When I previously made these cookies, I brought two batches and I think only about five cookies got eaten (everyone filled up on dinner...save some room, people!). So, this time I am only bringing one batch, if I am able to continue to suppress every Italian instinct in me to overkill on the amount of food I bring...I need to hurry up and put the extra I made away before I pack it up for the trip...

I wonder, where does the name pot luck come from? I suppose I could research this right now but instead I'll just speculate on it....um...ok, the "pot" is easy; it's from everyone putting something into the group effort ...but the "luck"? Is it from the "luck" you hope you have that someone will bring something edible?

On a related note, I'm sort of ticked only a few people from my program are coming. We are only going to be 8+, including guests and hosts (and the '+' is because I don't know how many kids the host has). I know those nerds don't have anything better to do on a Saturday night. I know you can't make people be friends, or want to come out, but I do wish there was more camaraderie in my program. I understand that everyone has their own lives, but just every once in a while it would be really nice if everyone could get together for an enjoyable occasion totally unrelated to economics.

Sigh. On the upside, more food for me...

Sabbath Humor

Did you hear the one about the dyslexic skeptic? Doubted the existence of dog?

Not Dressed Up, With Someplace to Go

So, I have something of a blind date tonight. Well, sorta blind. Partially blind. A "poor vision" date. It's a first date, let's just say that.

Probably only on morbid curiosity on her part have I not already scared her away. Talking on the phone earlier this week to decide where to go, I suddenly got this dreading feeling I'd be underdressed and would be spending an awkward evening in a state of pitiful self-consciousness. This scenario happens quite frequently, actually.

Thus, I began an embarrassingly unsubtle push to go someplace casual to eat, because #1 I'm as always broke, #2 she made it sound as though she's been through a string of guys lasting 1-3 dates maximum and so I see little need to make a large investment in this girl (again, see #1), #3 a casual setting would make for a more comfortable environment to just talk and get to know someone, which would be the point of tonight, and #4, especially, I am really trying to force her to dress down to "in the vicinity" of the level I will be. It's summer and I consider khaki shorts part of my Sunday's Best. She asked "will you be wearing tennis shoes?" and I wanted to say "that's all I have!!!"

I'm in this catch-22 where I have no nice clothes so I don't go out...and because I don't go out, I feel I have little need to acquire nice clothes.

Well, I do have *nice* clothes, though...the problem is they're too nice...what I'm really lacking is "casual nice", something between the jacket-and-tie look and my standard mesh shorts uniform. I keep thinking I should get to the mall to go shopping for the next night on the town, but I have little motivation to do so, because after tonight, I don't have any plans for a time when I would need them...

Sesame Seeds

I'll be leaving sesame seeds out of my mother's pizza burger loaf recipe....I can't think of any use I'd have for them, and what amounts to garnish is not worth the $2.39 at a time when I am so broke.

Still, are the seeds just garnish? A "garnish", to me, is optional by definition...would you call it a hamburger bun if it didn't have the seeds on it? Or would it just be bread?

What is a sesame, anyway? A plant that just grows more sesame seeds? In the way that philosophy students can only become philosophy professors to teach more philosophy students?

Edmund/Shakespeare & Watterson on Astrology

From King Lear, Act 1, Scene II:

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,
when we are sick in fortune, - often the surfeit
of our own behaviour, - we make guilty of
our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as
if we were villains by necessity; fools by
heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and
treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards,
liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of
planetary influence; and all that we are evil in,
by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion
of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish
disposition to the charge of a star!

Yesterday I listened to a conversation from the BBC's In Our Time regarding astrology. It was never definitely resolved between the moderator and discussants to what degree astrology still commands influence today. I agree that doctors no longer consult the positions of the planets prior to making prescriptions, but I would what the economic value of horoscopes on a daily basis merely in terms of daily paper space forgone.

My all-time favorite line about such matters is from Calvin and Hobbes, where Bill Watterson sarcastically speaks through Calvin:

"I decided I believe in astrology and horoscopes...It only makes sense that every facet of our daily lives should depend upon the position of celestial bodies hundreds of millions of miles away."

Victor's European Trip

"Took a charter flight on a DC-10 to London. Landed at Heathrow. Took a cab to the city center. Don't let people lie to you: hostels are for the ugly. I'm staying in Home House, the most beautiful hotel in the world. Called a friend from school who was selling hash, but she wasn't in. Met a couple of Brits who take me to, of all places, Camden Street. I flirt a bit at the Virgin Megastore, buy some CDs, then follow some girls with pink hair. I wandered around trying to get laid, until it started to rain, then went back to Home House. Ministry of Sound is dead, so I go to Remform - but it's Gay Night. I find the one hetero girl in the place and we dry hump on the dance floor. We cab it back to Home House. I strip her clothes off, suck her toes, and we fuck. I hung out for four or five days. Met the world's biggest DJ, Paul Oakenfold. Kept missing the Changing of the Guards. Wrote my mom a postcard I never sent. Bought some speed from an Italian junkie who was trying to sell me a stolen bike. Smoked a lot of hash that had too much tobacco in it. Saw the Tate. Saw Big Ben. Ate a lot of weird English food. It rained a lot, it was expensive, and I'm jonesing."
"So, I split for Amsterdam. The Dutch all know English, so I didn't have to speak any Dutch - which was a relief. I cruise the Red Light District. Visit a sex show. Visit a sex museum. Smoke a lot of hash. I meet a Dutch TV actress and we drink absinthe at a bar called Absinthe. The museums were cool, I guess. Lots of Van Goghs and the Vermeers were intense. Wandered around. Bought a lot of pastries. Ate some intense waffles. We bought some coke and I cruised the Red Light District, until I found some blonde with big tits that reminds me of Lara. I gave her a hundred guilders. In the end, she pulls me out, and I cum between her tits, even though I'm wearing a rubber. Afterward we made small-talk about AIDS, her Moroccan pimp, and herself. I wake to the sound of a wino singing. It's 8 AM and hot as blazes. I pretend to ice-skate around Central Station, while someone plays the sax. Trade songs with a Kiwi girl."
"Then split for Paris by train. Wander the Champs-Elysees. Climb the Eiffel Tower for only seven francs, because the ticket machine was broken. Got the hang of the Metro, took it everywhere. Went to a Ford model party and hooked up with a Romanian model named Karina. She chugs my cock at the Mariott Champs-Elysees, which is good. We played billiards, went shopping. I think she gave me mono. Drove a Ferrari that belonged to a member of the Saudi royal family. Made out with a Dutch model in front of the Louvre. Saw the Arc de Triomphe and almost became road-kill crossing the street."
"'Oakie' invites me to Dublin, so I catch an Aer Lingus flight and stay at the Morrison. Dublin rocks like you can't imagine. Oakenfold lets me spin some discs with him. Irish girls are as small as leprechauns. I swap hickeys with a drunk woman. After groping my abs and calling me 'Mr. L.A.', she strips for me in the bath room of the club. Sneak into the Guinness factory and steal some stout so good my dick goes hard."
"I fly to Barcelona, which was a low-rent bust. Too many fat American students. Too many lame meat markets. I dropped acid at the Sagrada Familia, which was a trip to say the least. Cruise up the coast to the Museo Gala Dali, but had no more acid, which sucked. Some girl from Camden calls me on my cell, so I let her listen to the church bells in Cadaques. Canta Cruz is beautiful, but there are no girls here, just old hippies."
"So, I went to Switzerland where I, ironically, couldn't find anyone who had the time. Took the Glacier Express up the Schilthorn, which is beautiful in a way I can't describe.Euro Pass into Italy and ended up in Venice, where I met a hot girl who looks like Rachael Leigh Cook and speaks better English than I do. She's living for a year on only five dollars a day. We gondola around, buy some masks. She think's I'm a capitalist, because my hotel room costs more for one night than she's spending her entire trip. But she doesn't mind it so much when I pay the bills.
I ditch her and hook up with a couple who obviously want a 3-some. Too much tension there, but the doofus offers to drive me to Rome, an offer I jump at. Traffic is bad and we're stopped for hours without moving. The wife turns out to be a freak. The guy starts to wig out on me. It's like a Polanski film."
"We stop for a while in Florence, where I see some big dome. A bomb goes off and I lose the weird couple, which is probably for the best."
"Ended up in Rome, which is big and hot and dirty. It was just like L.A., but with ruins. I went to the Vatican, which was ridiculously opulent. Stood for two hours to get into the Sistine Chapel, which - now that it's been cleaned - looks fake. I meet two under-age Italian girls who I try to talk into fucking each other while I jack off onto them. Bored, I buy them some ice cream instead. My hotel has a gym, so I work out. I bump into some guy from Camden who says he knows me, but I'm sure that he's a fag, so I lose him. I try to fart and instead shit my pants. Back in my hotel room, I masturbate and have a pain in my groin. That night, I dream about a beautiful girl, half in water, stretching her lean body. She asks me if I like it and I tell her she can clean fish with it. I don't know what it means, but I wake well-rested, masturbate in the shower, and check out."
"I make my way back to London and hang out in Piccadilly Circus. Hmm. Palakon. I swap shirts with some upper-crusty Cambridge chick. Hers was an Agnes B., mine a Costume Nationale. She acts stuffy and prudish, but is really wild underneath it all. She barely looks at my abs, though she wants to. The next day, I drop some acid and get lost in the subway for a full day and can't find my way out. I meet a cute girl who lets me jack off onto her as long as no cum gets onto her Paul Smith coat. We get stoned while listening to Michael Jackson records and the next morning I wake up talking to myself. I have a big bump on my head from flailing in my sleep. I get my stuff and barely make my plane back to the United States."
"I no longer know who I am and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger..."

Hotel Rwanda

Last night I watched "Hotel Rwanda", which I had sent for through Netflix. It was about one man's efforts to save something like 1200 in a hotel during the Rwandan Genocide. I've heard it gained popularity actually directly through Netflix, where it's usually at the head of the "Top 100" list. So, with such buzz, it ended up being the third movie I received through Netflix.

Anyway, the movie itself...um...I didn't think it was that good...

And I sort of feel bad saying it. It's one of those movies, like "Schindler's List", where if you don't think it's good, it sort of makes you a bad person. I went online this morning to rate the movie and when giving it a low rating I was worried someone might somehow find out one day.

I still stand by my rating. Nick Nolte is like the worst actor and ruined the movie. There were some other low points...I think what was supposed to be moving in some places came off as dull.

I'm glad it gained such popularity though, because with so many people watching the movie, the story of the genocide will get out to a wider audience, many of whom I'm sure had no idea what happened (what did happened, by the way, is that a million people were killed simply with machetes in the fastest rate of genocide in history). Even if I didn't like the movie, if my request of the video helps it to stay high on the list so that others then view the movie and learn the history, I would be happy with that.

Afraid of Success

I think I've begun to notice a pattern where I'll work hard just to have an opportunity for something (get a job offer, meet a new person) then back down right when I've secured that thing and need only take the next step to secure that job or becomes friends. Why am I afraid of getting what I once desperately wanted? Marianne Williamson writes about fear of success:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness,that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually who are we not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

This may be more to the case of not wanting to intimidate your peers...sometimes, I won't give an answer in class or group study because I don't want to seem a "know it all". But with regards to other goals when I really could achieve them, why would I rather sit quietly in my room? I think there might be a connection. Maybe it's time to start exploring why I'm seemingly accepting a life of sub-happiness by choosing to stop before my goals. I think I may have to self-reflect on this. My one thought now is that it may be we as people get comfortable in our cycles, even if there are higher objectives that we'd like to reach. When I stop before the finish line...maybe I'm just afraid of a change in the routine?

Comp Over, Feeling Icky

That about sums it up. I *just* got out...not feeling too great about it. Of the three I took, I'm feeling the least great about this one (next comes Macro, Micro I knew I hit out of the park). I was the 3rd to finish, not because I knew everything, but because I couldn't make stuff up anymore.

Thankfully it's pass/fail...all I need is credit so I won't have to repeat this nightmare.

I did manage to make my goal of only needing six hours, but even by noon (halfway through) I was daydreaming, and my productivity quickly feel after that. I just wanted it to be over with. I hope my rushing through the end doesn't cause me to have to repeat everything.

Although walking in I thought that I could have studied more, studying more of what I was studying would not have been helpful. Yeah, they asked literature review questions. :'(

I'm hanging out at the cubicle to see if anyone else shows up and what their impression was. The real impression will be what the professors thing, that I'll be finding out maybe even in a couple weeks. To be continued...

Stale Pancakes

Today is my college roommate Joe's birthday. As I was leaving him a message this morning I began to think about fun memories we had together. Every Sunday was our ritual to go to the student center and have a pancake brunch. Then I began to think about unpleasant memories of the pancakes themselves.

A new car depreciates something like 50% of its value as it's driven off the lot. However, the quality remains unchanged: it's still effectively a new car. A pancake taken off the grill quickly loses its quality, but the value (price) remains the same.

I always hoped for fresh pancakes, and not for them to run out and begin to use the pre-made storage batch (made before the brunch-time rush) For some reason, it began that the workers at the line would make pancakes, take them off the grill, put them in storage, and then bring out the previously stored batch of pancakes to put on our plates, rather than the yummy combination of grill-to-plate. It's made for a continuous cycle of sucky pancakes.

Maybe they had their reasons...maybe the pancakes became very bad if stored even longer, so they opted for medium bad (in their view) stored pancakes. It's our own fault I've since learned; we had our own kitchen at that point, if only I had known then that pancakes are SO easy to make and SO SO SO cheap to make, we could have had fresh pancakes everyday. Maybe we liked sitting is the cozy student center, just to get out of the room. You could say we were then paying for the ambiance.

Episode III: A Final Push

It is a period of preparation. PhD candidates ready themselves for the FIELD EXAMINATION. It is the penultimate obstacle before the final effort of the DISSERTATION STAGE be undertaken in order that if completed peace and harmony may finally be restored to their lives. Tensions are high in anticipation for Friday's exam, and in the stress the cohort's cohesion begins to break down...
In their ivory tower, the PUBLIC FINANCE EXAMINATION COMMITTEE readies the examination. They need only select a question requesting a review of the literature to psychically ruin the examinees' mental states and completely destroy any remaining fragments of hope...
Meanwhile, halfway across the world, factions in PALESTINE battle for control in the Gaza Strip...

Coming out Ahead

Often at J Street's (the primary GWU student cafeteria) checkout lines a worker would incorrectly charge me such that my order would be slightly more expensive than what I actually bought. I always let it go, because (#1), a dollar or so was never worth the hassle of having the clueless register worker having to get the manager to take the incorrect order off the machine while snobby GW students gave dirty looks to the cheap bastard at the front of the line making them late for communications class....but even more than that, (#2) for every time a worker made an error where I was worse off there were at least two times when a worker screwed up in my favor. I never complained because I knew I was still coming out ahead.

It's funny that random error would favor me; I'm not that lucky of a guy. My long run win streak was likely in part due to unskilled but sympathetic workers erring on my side. Usually register workers are nice people, we give the benefit of the. I know because I spent many an hour working a register. Contrary to popular old-lady belief, we are not out to screw you: it's not like we get a commission on every nickel we "cheat" you out of. I always believed the customer and put things through at lower prices even if it didn't ring up that way (unless they were being a jerk to me)...what do I care? And Stew Leonard can afford it, anyway (that whole family are tax cheating bastards, by the way).

Currently, I am still receiving the full cable lineup although I canceled my service over a month ago. I am not paying for it. I know now I am not paying for it because I've received a bill in the interim that isn't charging me for cable. But I am still watching cable. I was watching cable on my television right before I sat down to write this. I have even called the cable company and told them, because before I got the new low bill I was worried I was still being charged for cable. The lady on the phone told me her computer was showing it was canceled a week ago, but "I'm looking at it right now!" I told her. So, we kind of gave each other a verbal "oh well" after that and hung up.

Ah, the grossly inefficient cable monopoly and its disinterested employees are finally screwing up in my favor.

Arrivederci

The final episode of The Sopranos was on last night. I don't have HBO, so I wasn't about to watch it. By the way, because the show was my primary motivation to someday get HBO, I now probably never will (what with netflix being invented and all).

I made grand plans to start getting all the DVDs and being watching with season 5 where I wasn't able to continue watching. I sort of already had some spoilers..I knew Adiana and later Christopher would be killed...in between I knew that fat gay guy would be killed...I suppose it was even spoiled for me that he was gay.

Season 4 kind of sucked...so I didn't feel too bad not watching. But I heard it got good again. But apparently the the ending was a let-down, so much so that it was headlines on the morning news: "'Sopranos' ending blows it!" (I'm paraphrasing).

I suppose that I would want to keep some series finale surprise for myself if I ever enacted this plan to spend a couple weekends purely watching TV. I gave up late this morning though and read the reviews of last night's episode in the papers this morning. Eh, it sounds like the story didn't really end..the hour just sort of ran out and the credits came off.

If the ending isn't really an ending, I don't feel bad on not watching. All I ever really wanted was the Russian guy from the "Pine Barrens" episode to come back and tear stuff up. With the writers forgetting/ignoring all that, the show jumped the shark since 2001 as far as I'm concerned.

Henry George on the Middle East

Forty years ago was the middle of the Six Day War, and there is much talk of the legacy this week. Honestly, I know nothing (relative to others); I was neither alive nor have extensively studied Middle East, so far be it from me to say anything on politics or history. At the essence, however, the issue seems to revolve around a question of ownership rights to portions of land. This, I think, I am qualified to make some very general statements about.

This past fall semester I researched and wrote a paper reviewing the literature on Land Value Taxation. The concept was popularized by Henry George, who questioned the morality of (land) property ownership. Much better, George claimed, it would be if the government taxed not the sweat of one's brow (wages), for which ownership is clearly defined and so taxation is truly confiscatory, but instead taxed a commodity that individual people don't really have a right to own, anyway (land).

When I actually thought about it, what is the rational for ownership of land? One what basis should an individual be able to draw a circle around himself in the sand and then exclude others? Now, what basis does a group of people (a country) have to draw that same circle in the sand? When you stop and think about it, there really isn't a good reason. At least, I haven't heard one yet.

Of course, I know that the implications of following this line of thought imply uprooting the basis of society as we know it. I'm not that much of a radical (I'm actually a nerd - I admit it). It's funny, I imagine a conservative pundits bashing my revolutionary student "crazy talk". We'd both be biased, I suppose...they would own land and I don't.

Although an anarchist I am not, the unresolved thought that social structure basics are founded on unjust principles remains troubling. Perhaps southern slave-holders had similar worries late at night concerning the justice of ownership rights of 'certain portions' of their property. John Locke did devise a rationale for land ownership, that farmers tilling a field mingle their labor into the soil and thus derive ownership rights to the land, as labor ownership is clear. This theory was written in the 1600s, however, when "uninhabited" land seemed infinitely available, and makes no sense whatsoever in the present day. Now, I would guess all the land on Earth is already claimed; and why do past generations who did the "claiming" have precedence over future generations? For this reason a "first-come-first-serve" principal of ownership rights is unsatisfactory to me.

I still like to refer to my "circle in the sand" logic occasionally, because there are some policy implications, both for immigration and the moral right any country has to prevent others from moving there, as well as the Israeli-Palestinian situation in the Middle East (well, more broadly all countries who think that they should own a particular parcel of land). Which people should own Israel/Palestine/the Holy Land? My opinion is that no one should. There a proposal on the table to make Jerusalem an international city, that people of all countries should own it. Why only stop at the city limits? The broader region should be an international region, also belonging to all the people of the world, and when you really think about it, the "internationally"-owned borders should then just be expanded to include the whole world. Really, the Earth belongs to all its people.

And then of course, you would phrase this properly: the Earth belongs to no one.

The Places I'll go...

On Facebook, a new add-on allows users to map countries around the world they've visited. If I were to add it, my shaded countries would be: Greece, Spain, Norway, Belgium, Russia, Morocco, Italy, Egypt, and Turkey. And America.

What I've loved about graduate school has been all the international friends I've met; I've learnt more more by talking to foreign friends than probably I could by reading a book. It's a much richer form of knowledge acquisition and makes for a more enjoyable experience, perhaps because a human element is necessarily added because the narration is most often through personal experience.

Secondly, it gives me an excuse to visit all these countries. I'll be able to not only catch up with old friends but have the best tour guide available (or even just a friend that speaks the local language, an invaluable asset). I'll have four continents to visit when all is said and done, in additional to within North America travel.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't in graduate school so that I could be making enough money to be traveling around the world. But if I hadn't gone to graduate school, I never would have met all my foreign friends. So it's worth it to postpone my world travels a few years. I'm independent enough to be comfortable traveling alone, but often a major part of the experience is being with someone to share the moments with. And graduate school, with all the friends I've met there, will have given me that.

Ah, Friday night...

Mmmmm.....soooo meaty....

I love The Soup; Friday night at 10, a bag of kettle korn, and Joel and it's the perfect beginning of a weekend...

It probably will be talked about, but Paris got out already? I saw that on the TV in the diner yesterday. WTF? Was it like two days? Maybe the jail was sick of the TV people probably reporting outside? I'm sure where ever she lives isn't really a punishment; at least she won;t be able to profit from whatever "jail diary" she was planning to write.

If only I could find a way to profit from this blog. Oh wait, I do know: step 1 is "achieve Paris-like celebrity status)

PS: [updated one minute post-posting] - CNN says a crying Paris was ordered back to prison to fullfill the rest of her term whining "it's just not right!"...heh heh heh...good times...

Transitions

We are losing another from the program. Hien will not be returning in the fall; he's actually leaving this Saturday to go back to California. A bunch of us went out for lunch today with him for his sending off. Probably won't be seeing him again.


My cohort is nearing the end of our second year of the PhD program; we've lost four now: Julia left halfway through first semester midterms, Lori didn't come back after that first fall (although I think had been through a year of the master's program), Manjola didn't show up for summer classes, and now Hien is leaving after the end of the second year.


I'm actually sad that any of them left. More people is always preferable to fewer; it makes for a more varied and interesting academic setting. But I suppose if they don't like it they should have left and not stayed for the rest of our self-interest. I think it could only have been better for those of us still here if people weren't dropping out (but of course, maybe not better for the people who did drop out).

PS - Saying goodbye today, Hien said he would come back and visit. I sincerely doubt that is true. When people are making what is commonly understood to bye long-term (or final) goodbyes they always say something like "I'll keep in touch" or "I'll come back to visit lots". Do they really mean it? My sense is everyone knows it's not true; is it a mechanism to soften the transition? I never liked this "custom", it always seemed so fake to me.

One Number Off...

Today...is 6/6....07! One number away from aesthetic uniformity. Sigh.


Or one number away from demonic significance, so maybe it's for the better...6/6/06 would sort of be a bad omen and I have major events upcoming (comps, surgeries, etc) that I don't need jinxed. I'm not the only one to notice, I think the news made something of it when June 6th happened last year.

There's something about "special" numbers....much more often than dates I'll observe particular "times" of the day, what seems like every time I check my watch: 4:11, 4:20, 5:13, 5:26, 9:11...and anything that's a straight: like 12:34 (oh look, what time did I post this?)....or I'll get nerdy and think 5:27 is special because 5+2=7.

I suppose certain numbers are "beautiful", others invoke a comfortable sense of familiarity. The reason that e-mails circulate when it's going to be 12:34 on 05/06/07 might be because as human beings with enjoy order and structure. Consonance not dissonance. In places as mundane and ordinary as our wristwatches.

Fed Up

Yesterday I basically gave up a job at the prestigious Federal Reserve Bank, Atlanta branch. I feel sick now. I couldn't sleep last night.

Well, the job wasn't quite what I thought I'd be able to take on...by the listing description "temporary" they meant "a full year commitment". Now it's looking like I'll be taking a third class in the fall and so was uncomfortable adding what would be effectively be a third job (after classes and my school job) to my workload without thinking something would be giving out.

Maybe I'm too chicken to take on another job, thinking my grades (or mental health) will suffer from an additional 20 hour per week loss of time. Maybe I'm being lazy by not being willing to work extra; I'm not that rich, I have huge student loans and upcoming surgeries to think about...am I that well off that I can't work? No, I'm not. I hear about people working three jobs to feed their kids and is that media-hype or am I just a prissy college boy?

Oh, but that $12 an hour x 20 hours a week = $800 a month would have been sooo sweet. I think this is partially the increasing frustration I'm feeling being continually poor. I really know I should fight the increasing urge to substitute school with work (for income's sake) because I don't want to end up ABD, a not uncommon tale I hear.

Probably every week that passes during July I'll be thinking it's $200 I gave up. It's not just the money, too, it's the boredom. I'll have to try and find productive means to occupy my time. Refining my term paper for publication is one means. Maybe I could volunteer or something. Ideally, I'd find a ten week (paid) internship, but the good ones are in Washington, and already started. My summer is really shot with having my comprehensive exam so late.

So, I could have lied and said "yes" to the commitment of taking the hourly job at the Fed, knowing I'd leave as soon as the first problem set was passed out fall semester. But, Jiminy Cricket jumped on my shoulder and told me not to do it, and I had to listen. I guess nice guys finish last.

Whatever, I don't have the job.

Celebrity Edition: Playing Both Sides

Paris Hilton went to jail today or yesterday or whatever. I know this because it is ubiquitously mentioned on every channel, "reputable" media included. Pundits report on the issue then hypocritically in the same sentence lament that such a story is being covered out of proportion to its actual significance. I believe they feel that adding that second parts gives them street cred.

Or are they playing both sides? Say what everyone else is saying to get it in then whine-whine-blah-blah-our-celebrity-obsessed-culture, regardless of the fact that they are contributing to the hype. "Hello, I'm reporting on Paris/Anna Nicole/Britney's hair/_____...now, I'm complaining about the coverage of _____." It's so scripted. I would often eat dinner during the 7:00 hour and hoping to flip on Headline News to get some news headlines Glenn Beck's fat head it often saying: "Hey, isn't it a shame all the coverage _____ is getting? What is happening to our country? [Well, I'm going to talk more about it]...joining me now is [so-and-so to talk more about it]..." This is one of the reasons I cancelled cable. Even CNN sucks now.

Also and anyway, Paris Hilton is not even that pretty, anyway. What's her appeal?

Where there's fire, there's smoke

...and there's been a pretty big fire in southeastern Georgia. Even though I'm nowhere near that, I've still been affected these past few weeks:

May 21st I walked out of my apartment into the hallway and smelt wood burning which could only imply that a raging fire would soon consume my apartment, bedroom, computer, and my music library built since 1999 contained therein. Not seeing smoke or hearing a fire alarm (or cries of help), I went to my patio just to be sure and it was smoky outside, too. So, I thought maybe it might be the apartment complex next to mine. I walked outside and it was smoky everywhere and really smelled strong, and I wondered if it really wasn't wood burning but maybe a car on fire (I've seen several accidents at the intersection near my place, including a biker getting hit my a car, and have accepted my death will likely occur crossing that street one day). As I get around the corner of the grocery store, but see no blazing automobile, but *all* of the downtown is in a cloudy haze, and the smell is very strong I figured whatever it was, it had to be big, such as perhaps a plane had crashed at the airport because it was incredibly smokey. You see, at this point, without evidence of a burning apartment, I was willing to accept that burning jet fuel (an an exploded car wreckage) would share the scent reminding me of childhood summers making s'mores. There was no panic on the subway, no talking about "the tragedy" between strangers. Could they not smell it? Getting off the train, it was also very smoky downtown: the tops of the skyscrapers were all clouded out. At the school, I got on the Internet and learned that winds had carried the smoke from forest fires in southeastern Georgia all the way to Atlanta.

If you imagine the state, these fires are on the exact opposite side, but one could imagine the scale of the blaze because the smoke permeated my building such that I thought it was on fire, even when the real fire was hundreds of miles away! So far away, this was even health problem for some people, that morning a lot of elderly people were wearing surgical masks. It was pretty much gone by that afternoon, but there would be more days in the future when the odor was again in the air. I'm in good health, and even I found the air heavy. How were people breathing that were closer by?

Tropical Storm Barry graced the southeastrn portion of the state with its purifying rains yesterday, and I haven't seen anything on the news but wonder if the fire was diminished. I actually thought there might be more smoke from the extinguishing of the fire, but nothing has blew this way today. It's amazing how the wind can carry scents so far away. Did rural Europe/Japan smell the devastation of WWII bombings of major cities? They say wind carried radioactive participles into cow's milk hundreds of miles away from nuclear explosions (I can't recall exactly who "they" are). With a strong enough wind, the world has been small long before what we call globalization.

I wasn't a total slacker: Dream Journal

I wasn't totally non-journalistic this past year. Right when I quit this I started a "dream journal" the very next day. I did manage to keep that up through the summer (with some off weeks when I took a road trip and it was hard to copy down what I dreamed. I was going to title the journal "Summer Nights' Dreams" but was worried someone else would see it and think that title was gay (not withstanding the concept of a dream journal itself would be gay).

For what it's worth, last night I dreamed that it was the afternoon wrestling match in high school. I went to weigh in, and was twelve pounds overweight for the class which the coach wanted me to be. I told him it was impossible to lose twelve pounds in four hours (or I'd most certainly lose the match even if I could lose the weight, given how much that would take out of me!)....with my pleas he just sort of kept starting back on me, his unblinking eyes saying "TF". I went back to my locker with plans to go into the humid pool room, or at least turn the showers on. I suddenly was in my underwear in front of my locker (at least this wasn't a dream where I was naked in public...oh I've had those...). Teammates Andrew and Pete were teasing me for wearing briefs, saying "why are you wearing 'tightie-whities'?"...I yelled back that the much more socially-acceptable boxers got bunched up under my singlet. I wouldn't really know that, it was just my excuse...I always wore briefs in high school.

I remember high school as being some of my favorite years yet there seems to be enough traumatic material subconsciously stored in my brain to provide sufficient material for anxiety-related dreams to haunt me almost a decade after I graduated...one reason I kept the journal was to confirm what I already knew: I have this reoccurring dream in some variation where I show up to a band competition (or am going to fill-in or something at finals in the present day) but as we are about to start the show, either in practice or competition, I don't know the music (fakeable/cover up-able) or where to go (not fakeable/cover up-able)...so I'm running around following everyone, always a beat behind and clueless on where the form is going next.

The biggest surprise to come out of the journal was a reoccurring setting in my dreams: it was always the night before a big snowstorm was predicted to role in. During my New England childhood, snow days were the biggest theme of the winter after Christmas, and the night before was always full of uncertainty...will it snow enough to cancel school? Will that stupid plow come and clear the streets in enough time? Should I do my homework? Apparently all these anxiety-related feelings implanted themselves upon my psyche. Friends in Florida didn't have snow days, but sometimes had "hurricane days"...I wonder if they dream about the night before a hurricane is supposed to role in?

Back for the second time

...a new beginning? Like that Friday the 13th movie...it sucked and made me afraid to go around corners for a good year of my childhood on the possibility that Jason might be there with a machete raised...

I thought I'd give the blog thing a try again, at least for the summer. In some way I know that my future self will appreciate that I time-capsule myself for reading...one year? Five years? Fifty years from now? I was home in Norwalk a couple weeks ago and going through some things found a diary I kept during the summer of 1991 (so I was ten). I only kept it for about seven days, I guess ADD set it (and I think my mother making me was the only reason I did that much). Reading it I couldn't help but thinking what an idiot I was...no sentence structure! I am sorry to my teachers and parents I much have been so boring/annoying. The cliche is children not being proud of the adults they grow up into but I am embarrassed by the child I was. OK, not really. I did like reading that and thinking the boy who wrote it was me long ago.

So, the downfalls of the last attempt at this were:
(1) I didn't think anyone was reading it. That shouldn't matter, because it's not just for other people, and I can make a crack at obtaining site statistics.

(2) I didn't have time...well, I think it's a good use of time, and I can knock-out short little random tidbits pretty easy. Time is the one commodity we're all born with equal amounts of, and how much effective time we have is just skills in time management...

So, here's a resolution to keep it up until summer's end...is that unofficially Labor Day? I didn't start with Memorial Day, but I'm pretty close. Calender summer starts today. We'll see how it goes...