Boatloads of nothing

The sun slides...Monday, January 12, 2004

Well shit. The times they are a-changing, loyal reader(s).

and so without further ado, I present to you the new herald of all things me:


http://www.livejournal.com/users/mister_a/

Observe, Bookmark, Tolerate.

the sands fall...02:41 p.m.

The sun slides...Friday, January 9, 2004

Wow...an entire month of suck.

So..I've been thinking about the whole "winter" phenomenon...and how the northern hemisphere has winter in the, well, winter, and the souther hemishpere has it in the summer (please pardon the use of loco-regional-centric terminology, I have no better means of describing the situation), and it totally bugs me. I mean, the tilt of Earth's axis is the culprit, an axis that remains in parallel to its past and future positions at all times...but that doesn't seem like it should have so strong an effect, to me. I mean, CHRIST! its freezing man! What's the angle? It has to be less than 45 degrees off of vertical or else we'd have mad perpetual daylight during the summers, right? And that's certainly not the case, so let's call it in at around 23.45degrees off vertical. So in winter the far-tilted half of Earth spends at most 50% of its time at moderate distance and the remaining time at the farthest distance it will ever get. This'd be night, I suppose. Which means effectively that the diameter of the Earth (about 13,000km) is the maximum amount of distance between summer and winter, and not even really all that much. That 13,000km is like a billiointh of an AU (Earth-to-sun distance, 149,598,000km average). And whats more is that January is the month of perihelion, the closest the Earth gets to the sun EVER. Right now we're sitting 5,000,000km closer to the sun than we'll be at the aphelion in fucking JULY! Distance is not the problem. The real issue at hand is the amount of sunshine a side of the planet gets hit with during its spin. In the winter its slantshine at most, and in the summer its full on for about half of the time (i.e. the sun rises higher and stays up longer). So that being, the real result is that limited sunlight decreases the temperature. And that lack of light is ultimately what's fucking up my walk to class.

Piece of shit, light-altering, season-causing, bitch of a tilted axis.

And whats worse is that some scientists speculate that if the Earth weren't all tilty (i.e. there were no seasons) the water cycle would fail due to excessive evaporation, the crust would bake, the interior would harden, and the Earth would die, incapable of supporting the fragile life which currently populates it. WHICH REALLY MEANS : The Tilt causes not only winter, but also television commercials, politicians, mildew, traffic jams, and idiot fuckwads who can seem to understand the concept of "Shut the hell up."

Fucking Tilt.

the sands fall...01:45 p.m.

The sun slides...Tuesday, January 6, 2004

In an effort to expand the level of service available here on Zer0Percent, I offer this self-help tidbit:

Stop being such a ridiculous wretch.

the sands fall...04:11 p.m.

The sun slides...Thursday, December 18, 2003

Here's me going off and babbling about things I've been thinking about. It's mostly whining, peppered with some reflection, and a bit of regret...many comments are probably inane or contradictory. If you prefer not to experience this type of post, don't read it. Or contact your local representatives, if you know who they are. Maybe they can delete it or something.
1. Everything is a hassle. There are like eight billion things we are supposed to remember to day everyday, according to our individual situations, and all of them sap a seemingly infinitesimal amount of energy. Seemingly, I say, because ultimately they all add up and before you realize it, your entire consciousness is occupied with the monumentous task of obeying all the proper protocols designated necessary for "being."

I am exhausted.

2. There is no reason for me to complain. I have the world of the internet to explore, and dozens of books and CDs and videogames, and even television should the situaton become dire enough. I should be well amused by the massive quantities of culture readily available to me. I am not. I am restless and bored. And frankly, a little irritated that there isn't more to entertain me.

3. I stike myself as spoiled, arrogant, condesending, and pretentious. I hate that. I can't do a lot about it. I've tried. I'm tired.

4. I miss getting lost in video games. I don't know if its because I am so woefully behind the times, or if I just haven't tried, but I've not been able to suspend my disbelief enough to be lost in a game since spring. I remember Fridays when i used to sit down in front of the genesis, plug in some ridiculous sidescroller, start playing, and then realize it was already Sunday. What ever happened to that. Why can I still do it with books?

5. I'm back on the coffee.

6. There are cultures where your hair is a symbol of your standing in the community. The more respect you've earned, the longer you are permitted to grow your hair.

I like the idea.

7. The Holiday season makes me think of Dream Theater's Awake, and the Ben Folds Five's Whatever and Ever, Amen. I am not precisely sure why, except that I recieved those albums for christmas presents. Still I have recieved tons of albums as holiday gifts and none of them are associated with this time of year quite as pointedly. Possibly they are more directly applicable. Someone toss one of them in the CD tray.

8. Screw Turtlenecks.

9. Melanie Rawn will never write the book I want her to. I don;t know why, but that makes me angrier than Bill O'Reilly and Al Franken combined. Or maybe its because Bill O'Reilly and Al Franken continue to write books left and right. Who's looking out for me? A bunch of liars, I guess. Politics never fails to fail utterly, if such a statement can be made.

10. Laundry, laundry, laundry, always laundry.

the sands fall...11:39 a.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, December 17, 2003

Christmas shopping = done.
Tickets for LotR = done.
Cleaning the house = done.
Recent work tasks = done.

All of the above, true, and yet still I feel this nagging need to DO something, be active, exert effort. My cough lingers, and no amount of medication seems capable of ridding my lungs of the grating hack, but I think I ought to be up and about. My natural inclination to relax with a comic and a bowl of ramen refuses to stand up and assert dominance. By all rights I ought to be sitting around happily doing nothing at all, but I want to do SOMETHING!

What the hell is wrong with me?

I think part of the problem is that school is over, and I've yet to straighten out my daily routine in the absence of the three hour chunk which until recently had comfortably lodged in the center of my work day. I miss the activity. I also miss anime. Having been left with sub-par winter programming and horrific holiday specials, my willing acceptance of modern television is wearing a bit thin. And LuLu's! Man, could I go for some twice-cooked hoisin goodness.

sigh.

Maybe I'm just getting ready for the holidays. I'm anticipating this terrible unspecified disater and I want to be able to do somehting about it, but I can't. I'm worried that Christmas will be a gigantic conflict, or New Years will be a monumentous flop, or just all of the inbetween moments will be miserable...I don't know...something.

Does it not seem tat everytime you sit down and really get on top of all that is going on, something previously unseen launches out of the shadows and assails you with onslaughts of entirely inescapable chaos? Does that not happen to anyone but me? Does no one else become insanely worried and restless when everything is just fine? FUCK!

Anyway...that's all for this Wednesday update.

the sands fall...03:31 p.m.

The sun slides...Friday, December 12, 2003

Whores, bastards, and sonsofbitches.

How much money does it take to get a 4 year-old computer up to speed? Too goddamn much. RAM? Windows XP? USB2.0? Aw christ.

They should just brand us all for suckers and leave it at that.

the sands fall...03:46 p.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, December 10, 2003

Have we fallen so far that we need only update once a week?

It's true. It's true that little of note has been going on. Or rather, very much of note has occured and none of it in this particular weblog's scope of interest. One could almost be disappointed.

So, here I sit, high on Robitussin, again (I don't wanna eat in the mornings, is the problem there), and drifting in and out of caring about the small stack of work sitting in front of me (nothing pressing, mind you), thirsty like all hell, and for whatever reason (perhaps the end of class) slightly empty. I don't know why I bother aclimatizing myself to my situation. As soon as things reach some sort of healthy stasis, the world decides to continues changing. Almost it is enough to allow sympathy for those sad old conservatives who see everything they've relied on throughout the years stripped away and replaced with new and different technology, culture, and ideas. The world is colder than we like to admit.

Anyway, the dextromethorphan prevents me from dwelling too much on these doleful melancholies. God Bless Brain Alteration. Instead let us address the happy points:
.1. Christmas shopping, nearly done.
.2. Grocery shopping, complete.
.3. Jordan, nearly over (goodkind, tamewitz, whos next?)
.4. Diet, under control
.5. Jamie, in town, one week from asatte.

Happy points indeed. Especially if you note the significance of the season, and the fact that my raise will hit retroactively on the 1st of the new year, which seems to be rapidly approaching.

Maybe this is why I try to get up to speed on my situation. This feeling of security. Of knowing that things are going to be okay, even if I fuck up really bad and all of the plans I've made fall to shit. Even without my careful guidance and sly plotting the world will be alright, and I will adjust, and that will be fine.

Hmmm.

Probably, I'm full of shit. Sometimes I wish Kevin were here to kick my ass. Seems like it would just do me good to quit philosophizing about every little thing and have some actually physical reminder that people exist in a concrete world that is not controllable, let alone controlled.

or something.

Whatever, I'm off to get more water.

the sands fall...09:24 a.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, December 3, 2003

As Macbeth didst sayeth, so sayeth I.

"The deed is done."

And I'm dying. And I'm falling behind on this ordering stuff. And I'm poor, and I'm cranky, and I need to pee, and a thousand other things that I very well could do something about but am obviously not.

As per usual.

Do you know whats happening? I'll tell you what's happening. I am suffering from seasonal affective disorder. Or not, its probably a crock of shit cooked up by whiney half-hearts who need something to pin their inadequacies upon. Well screw that. I take full responsibility for my own misery. It's all my fault. And if such blame-taking is dilusional in nature then fine, I'm dilusional, but thats my fault, too. I am the captain of my destiny.
rocks ahead, sir.
I have full control over my reaction to the event s affecting me and am fully prepared to and capable of modifying them to suit my desires.
large rocks, sir.
Why, there is no challenge so great that I cannot find a way to overcome it, no obstacle so great that it can stop me from living my life.
uh....sir?
I am unstoppable! Invincible! Supremely Omnipotent in this, the primary sphere of my influence! I shall never fail!
errr...(jumps overboard)
I AM....(THUNK.....GLUGLUGLUGLUGLUGLUG...)

the sands fall...03:40 p.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, November 26, 2003

タンクスギビングですよ！

Holy shit.

the sands fall...01:15 p.m.

The sun slides...Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Compliant Dissent

There are places that sell oxygen for kicks or medical purposes, but for the most part, all people have ready, free access to air. The reason for this is not because air is not in demand, nor that air is a necessity. The reason for the lack of Air-Merchants is that there is no practical way to market something which the earth replenishes for itself. People have free air because there is (for our respiratory purposes) infinite air. That natural renewal process makes the supply for air unending. An infinite supply = no market. Satisfied demand. We don't fight wars about air.

If land, or shelter, or gold, or food were the same way, we'd have the same situation. No market, satisfied demand. Only there can't be infinite food, and there isn't infinite Jerusalem, and I've yet to find the realtor offering infinite incidences of the exact same property. It just can't be done.

BUT! With some things it can. There can be an infinite supply of anything which does not hinge upon a single physical event (object, location, condition, position). There are infinite Gs, for example. Now, if you narrow it to a single physical copy of one particular incidence of the letter G, no. But the symbol can be used by all people everywhere all at once at no cost to anyone, with no decrease of supply. We can all use the letter G. And for that matter, we can all use the chord G, as well, without taking it away from anyone else. You will notice that we also fight wars over neither use the alphabet, nor the g-major scale.

You must note that demand is still there. People still demand air...they still require the letter G (for certain languages, in any event). It痴 just that since there can be no noticeable decrease ("noticeable" here, for air, which does decrease, but at present, then renews) in supply, it is always sufficient to more than satisfy demand.

Intellectual property rights are a way for people to create a market when there need not be one. It is a way of creating an artificial limited supply so that the demand does not divide out into infinity, as is does with Air, or the letter G. So that the demand is not easily satisfied. That is all. So we fight wars (lawsuits) over the property (characters in sequence). We invest/spend/waste time/effort/currency on the songs/books/photos.

Imagine!

You're a baker. You make bread and sell it to people for money. That's how you live. Now, you can only buy so much grain, and you only have so much oven space, and so you can only make so much profit, but the living is good, and generally you can pay the taxcollector when he comes around. This is the way the world works.

Now, you sell a loaf to this Jewish kid from down the street, the hippie looking slacker, and he goes out and starts giving it away to people. FREE!! Suddenly your business is gone on account of this bread distributing tot and a dozen of his friends.

Well screw that. Someone tack this kid to a pole. He's fucking with industry.

Cough.

Now, before anyone wises up to me taking the savior down a notch for his brazen disregard of culinary property law, lets make the analogy perfect...assume for a moment that Jesus takes the bread home, works out the formula recipe, and then starts making mad bread and giving it away. He's spending his own money (probably his Dad's) and feeding the world. For free. Intellectual property law says "No good."

Intellectual property law says that if Bayer figure out the cure for AIDS, and I have AIDS but can't afford Bayer's authorized copy, I better start caulking up my plastic bubble house; that Bayer's right to create an artificially limited supply is greater than a victim's right to avoid dying from the cat flu; that if you take apart one of Bayer's pills and start curing the kids in your neighborhood with the formula, you're worse than a mugger (seriously, compare the recent file sharing fines to the fines for the misdemeanor "Battery").

Now, I abide by the law...I'm not walking around distributing anything to anyone, unless you count my lending of CDs or spreading of news regarding the bands I love, I just think it happens to be a ridiculous system designed for use in a world without the technology we possess today...

the sands fall...02:37 p.m.

The sun slides...Sunday, November 23, 2003

Boy, I feel like I been shot at and missed and shit at and hit.

Credit for the above quote given where it is due, to Bluegrass of SilverHawks fame...a cartoon reference which is no doubt lost on a goodly percentage of my limited readership. Sigh...the trials of associating with the lower extremes of the generation.

Regardless of communicative worth, the sentiment of the quote remins true. Two nights of explorative drinking in a row and very little physical activity to offer balance have left me soaking in malaise. On the plus side, I have found no small comfort here in the vast sea of anonymity we call the internet, god bless you Mr. Quayle.

So I'm doing the Christmas shopping/listing thing, and its drving me insane. Not only do not have the funds required to do my own shopping, but I've no idea what is appropriate to request from those who have asked for input. They ae unappeased by "oh whatever makes you think of me." Instead they want hard limitations, rules of conduct, specific items to purchase, as if the holiday season were a scientific formula the success of which rides solely upon particular components and quantities. I don't know what to do! And perhaps worst of all is that somehow this ability to acquire material wealth has become a source of complaint. I am the ultimate product of an idiocy factory: the fool who whine that there is not enough, and then whines again when all the world sits at his fingertips.

I loathe myself.

And moreso, I loathe my own dramatic nature. My need to perform, to draw attention, to make each infintessimal event of my life a crux for the universe. I am the reason (or rather my type of personality is the reason) that this world is what it is. There should be no mercy when the revolution comes.

BAH! (at least I can embrace the vocabulary of the season, neh?)

well world...what do you think? Ignore and focus on my questions: ipod, or camera?

the sands fall...02:54 p.m.

The sun slides...Thursday, November 20, 2003

need...noodles...rice...

the sands fall...05:48 p.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, November 19, 2003

How would you tell if someone from another country was hitting on you? How would you distinguish between an inviting eye, and a wonderstruck stare? What's the difference between reasonable exchange, and scandalous innuendo? Where is that line?

I mean, is it possible that you are reading way too much into the situation? Possible that she simply abides by a different set of cultural and social norms than you? Possible that her culture might maintain a different definition of appropriate conduct than the one which has rattled in your own head since before the early episodes of sesame street started to make sense to your infant mind? Possible that perhaps what you construe as "significant" is not even worthy of "noticeable" in the eyes of one whose mind has not been saturated by the essentially puritanical American standards of justifiable contact?

How can you tell? How can you know that she isn't just in awe of the great white barbarian who so clearly embodies all that is grotesque in this freakshow we call life? How can you distinguish between "romantic interest in another human being" and "scientific curiosity at the uncultured mutant dweeb-beast?" Is it your debonair smile and rugged five o'clock shadow, or is it the mustard stain you acquired while forcing that second American-as-apple-pie all beef (with pork and chicken parts) hot dog down your grease-lined gullet that has caught the eye of this outside observer?

How can you tell, how can you tell? Mesmerization or horror? Adoration or disgust? Approval or condemnation? Does the world prepare you to make these kinds of judgments? Can you tell?


I say, "No."

You can't. And that's why no one will judge you when you flub it all up. No one will assign any blame when you return from the bar, sad and alone, having been demoralized by yet another overseas conquest gone wrong. No one will look at you and say "You should have known better, you should have seen it!"

You shouldn't have. You don't have the capacity to recognize that sort of thing, pal-o-mine. No, the universe's mote factory has cranked you out and left you to fend for yourself on a planet where only a fraction of the beddable population shares even a remotely similar worldview, and frankly you have no idea what to do.

It's not your fault. There's really nothing you could have done. There's nothing you could have said. There's nothing you could have avoided. Love or hate; interest or boredom; attraction or revulsion; they blend together, a fantastic grey sludge in the abyss of your mind, swallowing any potential clues to the reality of your situaition, and not even the most skilled achaeologist could extract a recognizable fossil from that tarpit, my friend.

How can you tell, you ask? You can't, I say. You can't.

And anyway, she likes me.

the sands fall...03:36 p.m.

The sun slides...Tuesday, November 18, 2003

I hate to use this sonofabitch as an information disseminator, but I figure this is as good a place as any to vent about the things that are recently plaguing me, and probably better than most, so what the hell. If this is your first time reading about any of the stuff here, I apologize. I've been remiss in letting you know about events in my life and deserve to be castigated accordingly. Whatever.

Much like the first Death Star, my skeletal JET Program Application is nearly complete, and fully operational. All that remains is for me to finalize the text elements, collect my requested letters of recommendation, and obliterate Alderon. I'm as certain as can be that they will be complete in time for me to deliver the three copies to the Embassy when I am home for the Thanksgiving Break. Of course, I am not positive that the Embassy will be open, but I have well supported hopes that it will be, since Japanese citizens stateside might need appropriate consular support at any time, holidays included. If not, I can always arrange for Hope or Bob, or FedEx to drop it off for me. Oh jesus, that makes me nervous.

SO yeah...other than that mess ("mess" here indicating the painstakingly crafted and sought elements of the application which has occupied every scrap of my being for the past two weeks or so), the only thing really nagging at me is the natural fear that I will be unable to save enough money (at least three thousand USD, I should think), or will find myself lost with no friends in a world without remorse, or whatever...you know, the everyday kind fear one associates with being as much as with any particular set of situational stressors. Sigh. I'm so utterly fucked no matter what happens here. I mean, if I get in, my brain will not permit me to enjoy the victory for all the cold hard concerns regarding execution of the plan. Even while there I might be plagued with constant doubts and fears, preventing even minor elation. If I don't get in, I'll be crushed by the debilitating shame of this irrefutable evidence of my inadequacy and probably end up drinking heavily and smoking again. God(s)(ess)(esses) I could use a cigarette...I think smoking is worse somehow when it occurs specifically as a coping mechanism. Like, somehow my smoking was okay when it was a recreational activity designed to increase overall pleasure, but not that it has become merely a socio-emotional crutch used to decrease misery/discomfort it's a wrethched, disgusting thing. "Fuck, I'm a total failure, puff puff puff" = pathetic. Sigh.

Oh, speaking of Failure, they are definitely the band of the moment. Ken Andrews is a genius, and anyone who has not had the blessed privilege to experience "Frogs," which is perhaps the best song ever written in the history of man, has not lived well. Mark this, if nothing else.

And this I hesitate to write, for fear that audiences will misconstrue my intent, yet write it I do. I am thinking about which Location I ought to request for placement. There is of course no guarantee that I will end up where I decide I want to end up (certainly no guarantee that I will end up anywhere at all), but I wonder whether or not I should choose my natural inclination (city, near friends), or else opt for a more "educational" approach (middle of nowhere, near to no one). And though that seems like a silly concern, it is as essential as any major move or employment opportunity. How alien should this experience be to me? Is the fact that it is a foreign country with but limited English-access enough, or should I seek the most immersive environment possible? Or less practically, would I piss off Joe if I moved to Tokyo, or Mark if I moved to Osaka? Would placement in Nagoya be merely an attempt to revive the glories of the past? What, if any, is the "right" decision here?

My teachers recommend Hokkaido, of all places.

As you can see, the chickens have been counted far before hatching, and after having been stored in but a single basket. If this falls through, I have no official back up plan. I have no alternates to call in from the bench, I got nothin'.

I am nearly done with the Jordan Books, which is nice. Thanks, Kevin.

the sands fall...02:20 p.m.

The sun slides...Thursday, November 13, 2003

Gonna have money for Christmas! Woo!

Gonna be home for Christmas! Weoweoeweow...(sound of Pacman getting eaten by voracious right-wing Ghosties.

Apparently, I complain to much. Whatever.

the sands fall...04:26 p.m.

The sun slides...Tuesday, November 11, 2003

The beast besets the yielding gull
And there remains, to shake the walls
Of red, inflammed tubes bronchial,
With calloused hands and jagged claws.

The monster waits for pauses, dear,
In breathing, speaking, all to oft,
To then explode the inner ear
with each debilitating cough

And lo, I rest with eyelids drawn
against the walls, flourescent lit,
and stifle swallow, hiccup, yawn
to stay another pain-wrought fit.

I simply cannot seem to slough
This respiritory misery
This dreadful croak, this wheezing laugh,
This cold will be the death of me...

the sands fall...06:17 p.m.

The sun slides...Friday, November 7, 2003

...Coffee is the best smell ever, and the best drink ever, and the most traded commodity on the planet and the most sought after thing every morning in every city in every country around the globe and I hate it that I have not had a cup in a week because I am trying to "cut down" because the "amount of coffee I consume daily" has reached "dangerous levels" and threatens to "deteriorate my stomach lining" or some such medical nonsense and so every time I walk into our lunch room I have the strong desire to beat to death the fellows who are sitting around the FilterFresh machine sipping their various steaming mugs of black pleasure because even though that mechanical beveagewhore makes a piss poor cup of java, the bastard is still spitting out coffee in some form or another and I CAN'T HAVE ANY OF IT!!!!!!

For this reason alone do I sympathize with the starving children around the globe and pray that death comes swiftly to "Mr. Big Dumb Executive" because he is permitted by fate and qualified by reality to possess at his desk his very own coffee maker and I wish for him to fail as an organism.

You can tell him i said so.

I'll tell you what I am qualified for, I am qualified for hoping against my better observations of the world as a system that the economy turns around in time for me to get out of this deadend administrative position and take a job doing ANYTHING ANYWHERE ELSE BUT HERE!!!! That is the action for which I happen to be qualified. That and the occasional erratic expression of displaced anger due to the physical and psychological withdrawal symptoms of my current coffee-less state. Goddamn this caffeine-free lifestyle. I beg each instant that the reaper will come and bring me back into the fold of the dead where at least the pain must be replaced by something more tangible than this horrible sense of lacking.

Argh.

SO, I have an "area". Most all the big names get offices, and the admin groups and techs all have cubes/open workspaces in the assigned zones and floors for such things. I am no rarity in that I have an open (two walls, no partitions) area sitting behind a structural support column in the entryway from the common area. I have two desklike tables around me arranged so that I can spread the meaningless strata of admin (ha!) as thin as I like before pretending to do something important and then forming it all into new piles and sending it to other office drones...I yearn for plague.

I have no bookshelves.

I have no files.

I have no coffee.

the sands fall...03:20 p.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, November 5, 2003

I can't write. I can't come up with anything to say. I wrote two gigantic emails yesterday and the computer erased them both (sorry Alexis, sorry Jamie) like a proper son of a bitch so now I can;t write anything. I'm tapped out. And I wanted to have a personal statement done. Fuck.

Any other day of the year, give me a keyboard and a chance to go off and babble about myself for a few pages. Go ahead, you'll get flowing prose, imagery, metaphor, whatever you want. You'll get Orwellian paranoia, Marxist propaganda, Shakespearean eloquence. You'll get paragraph upon paragraph of Chance-oriented text all perfectly well describing me and my place in the world and all that ridiculous mess.

But ask me today, and you get a headache, in verbal form, thrashing about on the screen like a goldfish on the kitchen floor. Today, I am the Lord God Almighty's spittoon.

And what's worse is, there's no fucking coffee and I was an hour and a half late for work, and I'm outta Halloween candy, and fuck all.

the sands fall...10:24 a.m.

The sun slides...Monday, November 3, 2003

Oh dread! The unravelling of my carefully woven tapestry has begun. Soon all the world will see into the fortress of soul and recognize that this castle is but empty...er...in common speech that would be me admitting that I have always sucked at keep journals, and always will suck at keeping journals and soonmy every entry on this electronic diary will be reduced to a few sparse paragraph asking the readers to forgive my lengthy absences, or apologizing for the irregularity of entries, or some other penitent nonsense.

Well screw that! I don't apologize and I don't owe you bastards a goddamned thing. Unless you are Jeremy; Jeremy I owe you a CD. And Alethea, I owe you a few books. And I suppose I owe Nicole (hahaha!) a comic, having committed mysefl to that endeavor. SO unless you are one of those kids, you get nothing.

Oh...and Kevin and Trent, and Todd, and Russell...you guys get the old school, "i'm indebted to you forever on account of our long standing associations," seriously-I-mean-it-just-ask-kinda promise. SO yeah, I owe you somethin', I'm sure. Seriously.

And Maaku Aajison, I got this chopstick the other half of which I am sure you lost long ago in your various Island trotting, but to you there is definite and persistant owe-age, the likes of which might never have been seen on Earth. So yeah.

Oh...you too Matt Durfee, and Marc Luppino, for helping me through what were arguably two of the most diffcult times I have had in life: College and Work.

And Tarra-Siren, Wendy-Mondy, Jere-Marvin, Whatever...yeah...you guys get all kinds of high fives, handshakes, hugs (If I cared for that sort of thing) and I.O.Us to be exchanged at anyone of your local area retailers for just all sortsa benefits and discounts on Chance products.

But for the rest of you lecherous, sycophantic, demanding sons of bitches...for you, Nothing! NOTHING! SO why don;t you just get on out of here!

I mean it.

Both of you.



Okay, so that was a little rude. I'm sorry...here, the rest of this post is dedicated to you two:

Um...Hey, Halloween. Boy howdy that was somethin else I'll tell you what!

Er...Baja Fresh opened in Oakland. Thats prett hot, right?

Ah...JET program application going well, should be working on my statement right now...

And...eh...aw fuckit. thats enought of that. Why don't you guys get off yer asses and write something. Like a live journal. You dicks.

the sands fall...03:36 p.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, October 29, 2003

so I finally got my noodle on, only to be immediately beset with a desire for ice cream. If it were possible, I'd be peeing on a little white plastic stick and looking for the blue PLUS sign. I'm all kindsa fucked.

On the positive side of things, I am way ahead on all of my work (excepting one little thing that really doesn't matter all that much), and I am staring at the application for the JET program and wondering what will happen. If that can be said to be positive.

the sands fall...10:03 a.m.

The sun slides...Monday, October 27, 2003

urf. I want a bowl of noodles.

the sands fall...05:24 p.m.

The sun slides...Friday, October 24, 2003

I have been modified to fit your screen.
I have been edited for content.
I have been approved for general consumption.
I have been tested by the FDA on recommendation of the Surgeon General.

And in addition, I have nothing to say of any significant importance today. Even this line, directed at addressing my intentional redundant use of "significant" to modify "importance," is primarliy unimportant, and not of any specific value in the absence of this post, which in itself serves very little purpose.

The Bored are my shepards; I shall not rant. They maketh me to write down my lame messages; they leadeth me to doubt my still fingers. They restoreth my coffee; they leadeth me to the paths of absurdity for no reason what-so-fucking-ever. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of reason, I will fear no words, for You are with me.

I'm surprised I know that well enough to spoof it. And surprised that I have been struck down by fire and brimstone, as well. Burn burn burn. It was just a matter of time, really.

the sands fall...03:03 p.m.

The sun slides...Thursday, October 23, 2003

There seems to be a Alice epidemic today, four people having referenced directly, and no less than two casually usings lines of converstions startlingly similar to those contained within the text, and so with apologies, I officially retract my previous post, having taken it directly from Lewis Carrol's classic tale.

If you've been bored, I do apologize.

I am irritated by the utter lack of productivity that I feel today. It's not that there isn't anything to do, nor is it that I am idle. Certainly this post and few emails are the only "free" time that I've yet experienced. Indeed, my orignal Alice posting was rooted in my have been running late since before I woke up today, and that condition mirroring a certain white rabbit. Yet still I feel that I have produced nothing, affected little, enhanced only but a limited number of experiences. I am as ineffectual today, regardless of my accomplishments, as any slackadaisical (sic) drifter.

I am supressing the urge to joylessly finish the Jordan books for no other reason than to get them out of my house. I could proably do it, if I set my mind to it, evidence being my ability to read my Japanese textbook and take nothing away from it but rote exercises and language patterns. The supression comes becasue I want to enjoy the books. I wnat to sit back and relax and go along at a leisurely pace as I might have, say, 5 years ago. Whatever happened to spending all day with the book and neither seeing a soul nor turning on the TV, nor answering the phone...I recall Hope being upset about my lack of initiative past reading, but now I wonder how she could have been upset. Perhaps she didn't want me to get to attached to the activity.

Do you remember Country Time Lemonade? It's incorporated now, and distributed in hundred of locations in many different forms and packages, i am sure, but right now I could really go for some of the powdered lemon-flavored drink mix and a giant steel cup to mix it in. It's cold outside, and I am sure lemonade is not the beverage of choice for this weather, but it would be something pleasant.

Countrytime, or maybe a few hours of Dragon Warrior 3.

the sands fall...03:55 p.m.

The sun slides...Thursday, October 23, 2003

Reprinted Without Permission:


The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

`Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'

`I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'

`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

`I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

`It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'

`Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.'

`You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are you?'

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, `I think, you out to tell me who you are, first.'

`Why?' said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

the sands fall...03:20 p.m.

The sun slides...Wednesday, October 22, 2003

well its 41.9 degress outside, and 4:19 PM right now, and I've got a pile of 419 Cheerios sitting on my desk (I can't stop, I don't learn, I won't remember), and if everything shifted upward one unit we'd (pronounced?) have a crazy little party goin on. Instead, we are stuck in the doldrums of "419" and no one really appreciates that. Sit down, have a coke...relax, its Angel night.

I'm not really ashamed of my Whedon-addiction. At least, no more than I am ashamed of my extensive Star Wars knowledge, or my collection of Spawn action figures (some of us we in on the ground floor of that one), or my versed familiarity with several collectible card games...none of them make me cry at night or regret the choices that I've made with my life. But all of them make me think. I wonder what makes one kid gravitate towards Final Fantasy VII and one kid stick with Madden 03. I wonder why Fast and the Furious scored so very well with a demographic, but Ghost World did not. I wonder how come magic and robots and ninjas make me happy but boxers and business suits do it for others. Its not enough to say my upbringing was different, or distinct educational backgrounds produce distinct results, or even that choices are reactions to culture according to the physical limitations fo the brain...I mean, those are direct reasons, but why? Why should upbrining and education and physiology result in the events that you and I know as "personality" and "preference?" How does that work? Whats the mechanism? I want answers.

I also want a boat. And a french fry machine. And a P.O. Box near the marina. In Japan...

I wrote Mark today, to let him know about Elliot Smith (in pace requiescat), and also to invite him to read this horrible jumble of thoughts and experiments, and I don;t know if he will find the time to ever get here and scroll around for a bit, but the writing of the email was more important than its actual results, I think (unless you are reading this M...in that event, well christ, you know what I mean). I started thinking about Nagoya, and Toyota, and Nanzan, and fuck if I didn't run to my catalogue and pull out BlueBlood, Silent Jealousy, and Dahlia to smooth my furrowed brow...

I don't think I am going to be really happy until I am in Japan again.

I don't see how I can write that, and believe it, and not do anything about it. If something is responsible for this aspect of my personality, i want to know what it is, and I want to know how it works in others, so that I can be sure that I never make someone feel like I do. What is wrong with a person when he can see something, know it for truth, and ignore it, or worse still, act in direct opposition to it's requirements?




What's the matter with me?

I'm an melodramatic, angstfully whiney, postadolescent throwing a horribly unentertaining pity party, is whats wrong with me. What I need is 1.) a nice warm thunderstorm, 2.) a owari-ful cup of coffee (miruku to kuriimu, nashi), 3.) Typing of the Dead, 4.) a cigarette, and 5.) enough time to get done all that I want today. Well, I've definitely got .81/5 of those...that leaves, what?

4.19