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30 hours ago, the spring was at its best and seemed to finally have taken over after the worst winter ever. Even I had gotten used to the idea of summer being just around the corner.
And now it's back to winter again. It has been snowing for over 24 hours in a row, and it will continue at least for tonight. Figures. Not that I would have anything against snow - quite the opposite, actually - but it will all melt in a day or two anyway. Ergo, puddle and mud galore. But at least you won't hear me complaining about boring weather. :)

Ok, enough from the meteorology department already.

The 4-day easter weekend has been nice, but it has got me thinking...
During easter 2000 I spent time with a friend in his tiny apartment in Helsinki. 365 days later, the said friend has performed 360 degree turn, acquired a family and pretty much severed all contact with yours truly. I'm not too naive to not understand this is perfectly natural to happen at some point, but it still pains me to see former good friends grow so distant so quickly. Does having a girlfriend really require so much time one can't be in any contact with his pals anymore? Or is the change so huge they start finding it overly hard to relate to us single guys?
Then again.. It might just be me, subconsciously putting a distance between them and myself? Maybe I do it because of jealosy, for being unable to achieve what they have? No.. I don't honestly think that is the case, since I have at least tried my best to maintain the relationships. Of course, there is just a certain amount of crap I can take before giving up. Once the certain point has passed, there's no much use to keep fighting.
At least this shows one who their real friends are. I have a few very good friends, who find time and interest to keep up the friendship despite having fruitful relationships with their significant others. I just hope I can be worthy of their attention.

All this isn't probably making any sense. I'm writing this half asleep, and will probably regret it in the morning after viewing the downvotes. It's just something I wanted to get off my chest.

For those who didn't feel like reading through the entire babbling, I present the Reader's Digest version:
I am a selfish dumbass.

Plus something I've wanted to say for a long time..
I miss Booyaa's crazy day logs.
So there.

Somehow I've found myself dating someone. I certainly wasn't looking for a relationship, but one seems to have found me. That's the way good people and opportunities tend to approach me: they always completely blindside me.

The thing is, she's just so cool. She's an artist and a writer, she's smart, and she can spout political theory on request. She's strong and athletic, and she's so gosh darn cute. She's a really good kisser... and she likes geeky musicians.

I just hope I don't mess anything up. I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to get hurt. I guess that goes without saying... I've warned her that I'm way too busy to be a very good boyfriend, but she assured me that she understands. I think I'll just try to chill, and continue to enjoy our time together. This is so fun! I haven't started a relationship in more than four years!

I had one of those weekends that just leaves you tired. Tired in the soul and tired in the heart and completely exhausted in the parts of the mind that are straining to get all this out.

We arrived at my grandparents’ house Friday afternoon, and no one was home. My parents settled right in and started watching TV. Grandma and Grandpa came home two hours later with news that my grandfather had colon cancer, and a tumor the size of his fist. From there it was arguments and spats about doctors and hospitals and where this and that was and how bad the traffic would be the morning he was scheduled for his surgery and whether or not he’d need to wear a pouch and howstupidareyounothingmeansnothing-he-eats-nothing-the-day-before.

My grandfather said nothing, except for the one joke when Grandma told him to get out of her way. Maybe I get out of your way soon. Go away forever. Ha ha ha.

I don’t know my grandfather. He’s the quiet old man who got quieter and skinnier every year until his head looked like a skull loosely shrouded in skin. He used to pick me up by the waist and twirl me in circles and tell the dogs I was here and what day I’d be leaving when I was five. He stopped at some point. He hasn’t said a thing to me in years. I feel like I should be devastated that he’s dying. But I’m not.

What will never cease to amaze me is the negativity and the pain in this side of my family. My father hates his older brother and his casual cruelty and stupidity. He’s constantly angered with his younger brother and his ignorance and the stuttering he can’t possibly control. Nobody does anything right. Frugality has evolved into simple, mean miserliness without joy or care for anyone else in the world. I don’t think there’s any sort of happiness here outside of inflicting pain. My uncles and grandmother make so many assumptions about my life that I can’t begin to explain or refute, so I nod and I fume and I seethe and grow more and more tired still. This is not how I want to live.

We drove right by an old friend’s neighborhood on our way to dinner Saturday night. Right by the bald lesbian’s coffee stand and the lot where I park my car. I could have made a break for it. I could have run out of the car screaming and crying and dashed off down Delancey toward the Donut Plant and what I hope would be open arms and a more beautiful view of the city, where things are still amazing and everything is meant to be tasted.

But I knew my old friend probably wouldn’t be home anyway.

And I’ve given up on the man I’m in love with. This has nothing to do with anything, not with my family or my friend or anything but too much time. I know I don’t know him. I know it’s beyond the point of worthless. I only wish that I believed it. I only wish I'd forget what color his truck is or stop trying to think up more things I can tell him next time we're in the classroom and I get those precious awful five minutes that I know I should just give up.

But that has nothing to do with anything except me.

All breakfast long my father and grandmother screamed at each other in a foreign language I don’t understand, and I think that might be a good thing for my sake. It’s easier to tune out the hate when you can’t make the words make sense.

It was a long long long drive home with the Yankees and the Red Sox on the radio and me bored to distraction, my mother slowly growing less than amused with me and my stuffed hippopotamus and our songs and snippy comments and my tendency to have it murmur ‘hippo’ to try to keep myself happy. My seventeen-year-old brother with his brand new learner’s permit drove half the way with my father nearly shitting his pants every time he touched the gas, Dad screaming at him when he could figure out the buttons for the cruise control going 60 miles an hour for the first time in his life and making him practice changing lanes until I felt seasick for the rocking.


I've been counting the number of people who wish me Happy Easter. If anyone reading this doesn't know, I'm Pagan, and by my standards, most of y'all are REALLY late dyeing those eggs; the equinox was almost a month ago now. Anyway, at work goofy people have been wishing me a happy Easter, which honestly isn't offensive because I know they only mean well. It's when I really start thinking about it that it starts to bug me.

When they wish me Happy Easter they must either assume I celebrate it or don't realize it's a religious holiday and that there are people who don't buy into it. You can't really wish a happy Easter in a non-religious way; it's like wishing someone a Good Yom Tov or a happy Ramadan. I know I'm probably reading too much into it; they were having a happy Easter (or looking forward to one), and just want to wish me the same, without really thinking about it. But still it gets a little under my skin, thinking they're wishing me a happy day-that-another-religion's-savior-rose-from-the-dead. That's really pretty weird.

So maybe I will take this count of people who wished me a happy Easter, and when Beltane rolls around, I will wish the same number of people a happy Beltane. "Happy what?" "Oh, ya know, Happy Beltane. May your fertility rites go well, and may your skirts not burst into flames while leaping the balefire." Uh. Maybe then they'd see how weird it is to me that they're celebrating the rise of a dead guy 2000 years ago and want me to have a particularly happy day because of it.

But in reality, all it will earn me is strange looks.

And after all, they're just trying to be nice. Yeah.

00:57 EDT

Today, is my youngest sister's birthday. WOOHOO! I'm happy cuz i got all my shopping for her done on saturday while at Ocean City.

And thats what i really need to lay down here, an account of my trip to Ocean City. The trip truly began, on [april 13, 2001|friday| when I decided to go down to College Park and party with some friends that I hadn't seen since my birthday. Eventually the partying died down, and there were like four people left. At about 3 or 4 someone brought up the beach. Of the four, only one was sober. and none had any sleep. They pack, and we head off at around 5.

Stuck in the passenger seat, I am appointed the job of navigator, despite being half dead from lack of sleep, and half drunk from beer and vodka. Wilson, The sober one, is driving, after two and a half hours of close calls with friendly deer and birds and police officers we reach the beach.

We spend the day soaking up the rays, and watching the waves. All in all a great day trip, except for one thing, my friend's girlfriend, whom i fell for a year ago and havent been able to let loose from my heart, was always trying things on and asking me how she looked. "How does this bathing suit look?" or "is this too short?" and "do I look sexy in this?" And I'm all like yeah, you look great.. cuz she does, but im all hurt inside..

My group of friends has become -- how shall we say -- unstable. When two of my good friends left town about a week ago, they didn't really tell people when they were leaving until they were gone, making the state of everything a bit strange. They had all of their affairs in order, with someone to move into the empty bedroom of their apartment, signed over utilities, etc. They didn't have anyone signed up to take over the "leadership" of the group, however. Nobody who lives in their house now is the kind of person who'll say "You can't act that way in here, get the fuck out" or "Jesus dude, that stuff is bad for you." I'm don't fit the role either, because they all grew up together, and I'm sort of an interloper who only came to the group through the people who moved away.

Lots of people are leaving: interlopers like me, but less entwined in the social group; also the couple that left themselves. New people are joining, too: the aforementioned new roommate, all of his friends, and random shady people who the couple hadn't allowed to hang around before. I get the privilege of seeing all of these great social dynamics happen in real time, meeting all of the new people, and trying to keep down with the friends I have left in the group.

At any rate, without any form of control, I've been watching everybody -- including people I thought I knew well -- act and do things that seem weirder and weirder to me, but must have just been hidden parts of their personality before. Some examples:

Smoking Crack: The night after the couple left, I went over to their house to see what was up. They hadn't told me (or anyone) when they were leaving, though, so I expected them to be there. They weren't, and instead the new roommate and the other guy who lived there, along with a few others, were collected in one bedroom doing coke. This was pretty surprising to me, as cocaine was one of the couples' pet peeves, so nobody did it before. Eventually, one of the members of the group tried to smoke the powder from a genuine crack pipe. He failed miserably, of course (powdered cocaine isn't a freebase), but it's close enough to willfully smoking crack to disturb me.

Suicide Attempt: Thirty OTC sleeping pills later, his woman finds him lying in bed covered with vomit, and calls 911. He's okay, except that his throat is all fucked -- gangrene of the epiglottis, I kid you not. He's the friend that everybody says I am just like, too, though we both disagree. He won't talk about it, not to me, or his girlfriend, or anyone, so nobody knows anything.

Playing with Guns: Jesus this was scary. One friend I've known for a while, and a couple of others I don't know. Also, the new roommate who owns not one, but two pistols, as I found out. They were all tripping on acid, too. The tripping was not unusual for the house -- the couple that moved were ravers, after all -- but doing extremely dangerous shit was always off limits before. My girlfriend and I got the hell out the moment we saw the guy's nickel plated .38, and none too soon; this kind of thing makes me want to break off contact with the group all together.

It's hard to know where to fit in all of this perceived weirdness. I don't know if I want to be part of the group any more -- I know I definitely don't want to smoke crack, commit suicide, or play with guns whilst tripping, though. I also know that if I leave I'll be abjectly lonely, save my girlfriend. It's hard, and confusing, and I wish I could just hurry up and figure out the answers so I could continue with reality...

I was planning not to sleep at all today. Insomnia hasn't gripped me, but I guess its the potential eagerness of what I wished to happen. Its okay I guess. Disappointment shows through, though I didn't want this weakness to peer through the eyeglass. Once again, once I have found something joyous, it is taken away. But again, its okay. There's nothing I can do.

Saturday was a disappointment on its own right, with work at Ikea being one of the highlights. The night was definitely a more pleasant experience, but once again, control was wavering in the eyes of beautiful sweet temptation. I shiver at the thought of living on instinct and pure feeling, as I am a being of logic. Yet I could not contain myself. Whether that is my true nature or simply is a condition that is caused by my mental instability, it is undetermined but that doesn't matter. What matters is what happens if I do lose control. Will I feel remorse? Will I feel guilt? I speak no more tonight, no more words. They are empty, no meaning, as my mind has depraved all meaning from their mouthed sounds from my throat. I place my blanket around me, during this warm summer night, reminding me of the happier winter days that passed behind.

Knowing that I won't have much time to do anything, I try to plan everything at the cost of sleep. What else do I have to lose? But what leaves you and doesn't come back to you wasn't yours in the first place. I breathe slowly, feeling my heart beating, and feel the callous on the palm of my left hand. I feel its hardness and how its a testament to hard work and endurance. Its the little things that make life's meaning more clear every single day.

Last night wasn't a great night for sleep, as I didn't sleep until 7 AM. People won't take no for an answer but I didn't get asked whether I wanted to sleep or not. Simple giggles and simple changes in tone seem to make phone conversation more interesting. Every word was a blessing, every change in volume detected by my overeager ears. Finally, I try to close my eyes, and with the help of Bailey's and Ativan finally sleep. I did drift off slowly, with images of the night before flowing through my mind, and images of people left behind screaming curses at me. I clench my fist closely, and bite down on my lip until it bleeds. I taste the iron in my mouth, and swallow. Just take the pain. Nothing else exists when you sleep. Only sweet dreams...

Janet Jackson's Twenty Foreplay plays in my mind while sleep. "Sleep my love, don't you worry you just sleep my love..." I wake up groggy, with the sound of my dream in my head. The tune doesn't leave my mind, but that's okay. I head over to work, with the mixture of prescription medicine and alcohol still lingering in my body. I work 7.5 hours tired and slowly, with consciousness threatening to slip from my brain every moment that I lose concentration. I get through, and get out before all of my co-workers think I'm a pothead or a stoner. Weird smirks, and weirder names for me (Fluffy! I don't look bloody fluffy!) can't even get me to crack a smile. But at least I'm being hooked up at work by a customer. Gag. Even my customers are seeing my lack of happiness.

I come home, only to go out with the promise of seeing beautiful women in scantily clad outfits. Viva club was the first stop, only to find it near deserted. Easter Sunday for you. Then off to Wett Bar. The line up is crazy so we head over to Sonar. Damn it. No line up but it was gay and lesbian night. While the idea was fine with me, my friend didn't feel comfortable with the idea. Head over to Shine but then he preferred Wett Bar. I don't really see a difference and get annoyed but say nothing. Silence is truly golden sometimes.

Wett Bar is packed and the line up was as bad as it was before. We stand there for almost 50 minutes in the cold, only to get in and just drink a couple of Mike's Hard Lemonade and stare at the girls. One of our friends get sick and we bring him home but not before making a pit stop at Denny's. Now I'm home, alone.

I sit here, blinking rapidly as my eyes are dry. My throat is just as dry. I don't know what I feel about anything anymore. Disappointment abounds me everywhere, but its not anyone else's fault. I'm just too sensitive I guess. I just wish I got what I wanted though. I just want to be a child again. I want my innocence back.

Close your eyes and imagine me there. Blink slowly, and believe that I'm there, like how you imagine me there. Close your eyes once more and imagine me holding you. Blink slowly and feel that I am there. Close your eyes and imagine the darkness engulfing me. Blink slowly. I'm no longer there.

As with (all) my daylog(s), References to Edinburgh geography are included for my personal amusement, as well as for those of you who know the place. You do not need to know the city to read this, but it might help a bit.

Ever get that feeling that today is a day upon which the Universe, out of nothing but boredom, has decided to fuck you around?

Note to self and others: Bank Holidays Considered Harmful. I waited half an hour for a bus this morning, only to overhear another conversation and find out that the busses are running a Saturday Timetable, and the bus I'm waiting for, (a 45, fact fans) will not arrive today. So I improvise another route into Uni, which involves a 25. Once on Princes St, I get on a 25A, which I have always found to be more or less the same as a 25, but takes me to within a mile of the University, and stops.

Saturday Timetable. On Saturdays, the 25A distinguishes itself from a bona fide 25 by going all the way out to Sighthill, but not making the extra iota of effort to go out to the Heriot-Watt Campus. So I get off and wait for a 25. Thankfully, they are running today, and every ten minutes at that, so I don't have long to wait.

I arrive at the campus to an eerie absence of people. There are a few folk around, but no-one immediately identifiable as a student. I put this down to the fact that it is Monday morning, and the first day back after a generous Easter break. People will surface. The place will bustle. In time.

I walk down through the main building, towards the door leading to the Physics department, through which I will walk onwards to, and through, Chemistry on my way to Computing and Electrical Engineering, where I will check my grades from last term, check my email, speak to Rick and generally settle in to a hard days pretending-to-work.

The door to the Physics department is locked.

The door to the Physics department is never locked. That door is the only 'indoors' route from the main building to the science and engineering departments, all of which are clumped together on the north side of the campus, and one of which I need to access today in order to do stuff.

I go outside and walk round to the Comp/Elec.Eng building. Locked. W. T. F. ?. Oh wait, of course.....

Bank Holidays Considered Harmful.

I was informed that term starts today, Monday the 16th of April. Someone was misinformed. Or someone (or something) is fucking me around. I have the distinct impression that today, like all Bank Holidays, is not a day upon which to try and do anything important requiring the co-operation of The Infrastructure.

Home. I go home. I stop, as I am required to do in order to change bus, in town and pop into Starbucks to drink a Grande coffee and read some more of Second Foundation.

And as I get home it occurs to me that today, of all days, I am taking the evening to travel to Glasgow to attend The Fear Factory concert being held there, and I don't even know how to get to the venue. My travelling companion assures me that he knows how to get there from the bus station, but I was planning to go by train. Anyone here who knows Glasgow and could give me a rough how-to on getting to The Garage nightclub from Queen St Station will be in reciept of at least three days' worth of systematic upvoting!


Update: We got to the venue with no hassle at all, it was actually pretty straightforward. Oh, and it was an incredible show! I'll try and put together a writeup on it in the next couple of days.


Why would someone attack my random collection of nodes with negative votes? I had been away from E2 for a couple of days and I decided to use the E2 Node Tracker to see what's happened recently. And then it comes up on my screen that my total rep has dropped 18 points and my XP has dipped 7 in one attack. There were 20 separate attacks on my nodes (and surprisingly, a positive boost on one node), ranging from wrestling to baseball to television to computers to Elizabeth Taylor. Someone decided to give me a swift kick in the nuts.

I assume it was just one person since if there were a group of people I could have expected to see a multiple of attacks on each node. I just don't know why this person decided to downvote everything I've done. I've been very quiet in the catbox, I've sent only friendly messages to people, and my only debate was on the English/French status in Quebec (and I gave up because his argument was better than mine).

Sigh. I was kind of enjoying not having ANY nodes in the negative zone. Now I have 8 of them. Oh well. What can you do?

Much to my great concern Howard has been absent from gym class for quite some time, almost two months. I asked around but not many were forthcoming as to his whereabouts. Deep down inside I had a dreadful feeling. That place were the thing called a woman's instinct dwells and try as mightily as I can to resist, I often have trouble refusing to act upon it. I left a message at the desk with my phone number for him. Last Friday I walked into the building and could hear his distinctive laugh floating sharply across the whirring and clanking of treadmills, weights, and whatnots. Relieved I went onto classes.

The instructors seem to think after two years of conditioning and rebuilding muscles I'm ready for aerobics though I can tell you from the exhaustion I felt on my recent trip to California that I wonder if I'll ever regain the stamina I once had. It was frustrating to say the least to keep having to leave my family at Disneyland to get some rest at the hotel and return to join them later in the day. More recent news from tests have been discouraging. Evidence that my memory has deteriorated much more than was thought, a recommendation that I take medications for attention deficit disorder was most dis heartening because I was under the impression that my memory skills were getting better.

Howard found me sitting on the steps between floors in the gym and thanked me for my concern. He had recently had a bad case of bronchitis and was slowly recovering from that. Hugging his frail body happy he was on the mend he touched my shoulder and whispered all too loudly that he had a secret and he was only going to tell me! (and of course everyone within earshot) Exciting news about publishers HarperCollins buying copyrights to excerpt his book and they were putting it on their list of top ten religious books published in the year 2000. I've thought about asking him if I could post the Teddy Bear Story here though I haven't found my courage yet. It's a very moving story he heard from his father-in-law, many people from all places have called Howard to tell him how it touched them.

Stacy, a friend from a lifetime ago called and we talked for two hours. She says I'm a 'different person' how so remains a mystery to me and only for others to judge I've decided. With promises once again to come for a visit we said goodbye.
I am your passing guest, an alien, like all my forebears.
~Psalm 39:12 (NRSV


Grrr.... Borged again!

This makes time number 2 that I've been Borged. The first time, EDB ate me 'cause I almost litterally asked for it. EDB ate someone I was asking a question of, so I jumped on it and shook it, yelling, "Spit Juuichiketajin out, damn you, I just asked a question and it wasn't answered yet!" I was quite summarily Borged. I would have been disappointed otherwise.

So, today. I'm on E2 for the first time in well over a month and what happens? I'm sitting, quietly for the most part, and here I go, correcting a minor misquote by yossarian and next thing I know, I'm swallowed. I don't really mind that much as I had been quiet, mostly due to the fact that I'm supposed to be working, so that's not really an issue.

No, the real issue is the borg-slime. I don't know about the rest of the swallowed, but borg-slime is really nasty. It's just about the same viscosity as the stuff you see hanging out of the gaping maws of the creatures in the Alien movies. You know, that stuff that's comprised mostly of the same stuff they use in milk shakes to make them creamy. Doesn't it just make your mouth water?

And it smells. But, as I've just had lunch, I'm not going to get into the smell. I'll just shudder reflexively and move on.

The worst part, for me, about borg-slime is that I have long hair. It's not incredibly thick, but it does hang all the way past my waist, so borg-slime is a bitch and a half to get out! I mean, really. If it had some positive property, like as a holding agent, then it might not be so bad. But when all it does is stink and make you look like you just crawled up from the nearest sewer, it's just not a happy event.

Ok, there is one good thing about me being swallowed. It makes it so that I can't chat, so I let out my pent up self in verbal form as a writeup. Of course, it would likely have been more productive had I done something other than a silly daylog. I suspect this is yet another example of my poor impulse control.
I think I'm starting to become addicted to being alone in busy places. I like the feeling of possibility, and even the feeling that someone might be staring at me.

I went to Future bakery for a few hours and did some studying, interspersed with staring at the homeless woman outside and copying phrases off of bathroom stall doors. I like this neighborhood. I really like it. You can smell the bread and the spices and the people who forgot to wear black, and get away from the dead-faced staleness wafting over from Bay and Bloor. You can look at the homeless people without feeling lost, without wanting to shiver uncontrollably with them like the woman on Yonge. And people look at you on the street. I like that.

Tonight I think I will sit around and have tea with boys who look like owls. And then I'll worry about how I'm going to pay for school next year and pants this year. And then I'll decide that this worrying will only destroy my security, and I'll go back to wasting money on alcohol and poetry, the way it should be. And then I'll go to sleep and wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of sirens and my roommate talking gibberish. It's beautiful, really, the combination of these things. I'm going to miss this next year.

so yesterday was easter. brunch with parents (not mine) and little brother (mine). frater shinma looked healthier yesterday than i've seen him look in weeks, and thusly narrowly escaped spending easter in the hospital. so we got to go see Riverdance last night. (!!yay!!) then, oddly enough for a day about resurrection, we sat up and talked about death and entropy while playing video games. all in all a good day.

today was not as good. pile of stuff on my desk was so heavy, my inbox *broke*. haven't had breakfast yet, and i've been up since 10:00. (is now 16:53) however, on the brighter side, my public speaking preofessor told me i don't have to come to class if i don't feel like it, provided i tell her when i want to do my final presentation! this gives me three more hours a week to look after my brother and/or clean the apartment!

Joey Ramone died yesterday. I think a little part of me did, too.

Didn't notice it right away. First it was just weird. From the announcement in the chatterbox "HOLY SHIT! JOEY RAMONE IS DEAD!" to the frantic checking of every news site I could think of for confirmation, I didn't know how I felt or how I was supposed to. This morning on the way to work in my black "presidential seal" Ramones shirt, playing the We're Outta Here album, it sunk in. He's gone, Joey's dead. Johnny's guitar may have made the band's sound but it's Joey that you think of when you think "Ramones," bad haircut, bad teeth, accent and all. He was the voice, he was the personality.

But should I get emotional about it? The Ramones were a cartoon punk band (reality and art meeting in their appearence on the Simpsons— Marky: "Hey, I think they liked us." Mr. Burns: "Have the Rolling Stones killed."), but they knew that and so did we. That was (is) part of the fun, what makes them great. Whether making mice explode in a movie or appearing on an episode of Sha Na Na (!), they were as in on the joke as we were.

Not only did we learn not to take ourselves too seriously, they made rock fun again and showed us that we could make music, too. Those simple chords you learn when you first start attempting to play guitar? You can write and play your own songs.

And there are few punk bands who weren't somehow influenced by them or by other bands that were. When Joe Queer lyrically brags about playing faster than Johnny Ramone, it's just as much a compliment as when he sings "I think I'd rather be at home, listening to the Ramones" or "I wish Joey was president." And when the Queers, Screeching Weasel, the Vindictives, Boris the Sprinkler, the Mr. T Experience, and Jon Cougar Concentration Camp each cover a different Ramones album, you know it's not for money or a mere nod to an influence, it's because they love the band. Heck, Lemmy from Motörhead wrote a song about them.

But how can Joey be gone? The Ramones were just always there, even after they broke up. Reliable as a three chord change. A D E "Hey Ho, Let's Go!" Or the bass player shouting "1-2-3-4!" And 49? Can a Ramone be that old? Wasn't he the same young guy geting forcefed wheat germ and riboflavin while the others got pizza in Rock 'n' Roll High School? Singing about slugs and snails being after me, meeting girls at the Burger King, and wanting to be sedated (made NPR's Most Important American Musical Works of the 20th Century)?

To some, rock is summed up by John, Paul, George, and Ringo or Mick and Keith. To me, it'll always be Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Tommy (and Marky and Ritchie and CJ).

The movie's still there, all the albums and memories. I can still drive around on that first warm weekend day of spring listening to "Rockaway Beach" cranked on the stereo.

But it won't be the same anymore. Joey's gone.

And a little part of me, as well.

When I'm lyin' in my bed at night
I don't wanna grow up
Nothing ever seems to turn out right
And I don't wanna grow up

I woke up exhausted this morning. It had been some weekend. The band got together and we were really rocking.

How do you move in a world of fog that's always changing things
Makes the wish that I could be a dog

The ride to work is unexciting. I get a little too comfortable on the first train and am mildly annoyed when i have to get off.

When I see the price that you pay
I don't wanna grow up
I don't ever wanna be that way
And I don't wanna grow up

The second train has some lady prosletyzing loudly about how Jesus can save you in a monologue of non sequiteurs.

Seems that folks turn into things that they never want
The only thing to live for is today...

The rest of the ride to Canal Street is uneventful, after the preacher gets off the train. At Canal i disembark and head north.

I'm gonna put a hole in my T.V. set
I don't wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest
I don't wanna grow up

I watch a failed encounter between a person on the street and another hanging out the window. The person on the street tries to throw a bag up to the window, misses, and the bag drops onto the scaffolding.

I don't wanna have to shout it out
I don't want my hair to fall out
I don't wanna be filled with doubt
I don't wanna be a good boy scout
I don't wanna have to learn to count
I don't want the biggest amount
No I don't wanna grow up

I get to work and start on the report i have to do from all the research i've been doing over the past week. joy.

Well when I see my parents fight
I don't wanna grow up
They all go out and drinkin' all night
And I don't wanna grow up

I take a break to check my mail and news and find out Joey Ramone is dead.

I'd rather stay here in my room
Nothin' out there but sad and gloom
I don't wanna live in a big old tomb on grand street

This throws me. I've been a Ramones fan more or less all of my life. I talk to a friend of mine whose cousin knew the Ramones back when they were still male prostitutes. She told him that he was sick when she saw him three months ago, but it didn't seem that bad.

When I see the 5 o'clock news
I don't wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don't wanna grow up

I load up the mp3 player and put on every Ramones song i have. i get to their cover of Tom Waits' I Don't Want To Grow Up and put it on repeat.

Stay around in my old hometown
I don't wanna put no money down
I don't wanna get me a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don't wanna float on a broom
Fall in love, get married then boom
How the hell did I get here so soon
No I don't want to grow up.

Rest in peace, Joey.

I went to Smush Factor Last night, it was great as usual.
Nearly got pulled over afterwards for running a red light, that scared me real bad.

Tomorrow is the first camping trip of the season. Me, Cela, Nick and Bethany will venture to Graveyard Feilds on the Blue Ridge Parkway to brave the cold and (judging by the forecasts) wet.
No matter, I'm sure it will be great.

The only thing that makes me wonder is about Bethany.
I've been friends with Bethany for about two years now, but just recently I've grown rather fond of her (and yes, I see that as a problem). Basically, I know that there isn't any chance for anything more than a platonic friendship between us, but that doesn't stop me from being attracted to her. I hate this feeling of guilt just for liking someone more that I feel is "practical". It's a pain in the ass, because I like to hang out with her, and recently when we are hanging out I just want to hug her or tell her how I feel.
Fuck, I sound like a child.
I want to write, but it is so hard to even type right now. This is because I am so unbelievably sad right now and drunk, mostly in hopes to numb the pain.

The boy I've loved for so long doesn't want me in his life anymore. At all, in any form. I would have done anything for him, he was my world, my hope for a good relationship. That last bit of hope I was desperately holding on to was destroyed tonight. He called me tonight, like he always does. He wanted to see how I was doing, and he wanted what he always does. I said that I would come over and talk to him, and maybe we would see about what he wanted. I tried to talk to him but then I cried. He tried to talk some sense into me but I couldn't hear it. I could only think about how unfair it all is, and how there was nothing I could do.

He said that he only wanted me physically, there was that between us like always but I wanted more. It was the same conversation, we've had it a million times before. I ran out of there, my heart broken. He said he would never call me again and I was never to call him again. I've loved him for so long and now I have to forget him. He is making me because he doesn't want me, and I don't understand why. I don't understand why I care for him so much and he doesn't care for me at all.

I miss him already and it is ripping me apart, destroyed are my emotions and my heart.

Today my father saw something he had never expected to see, and I think, perhaps, that the whole experience has irrevocably changed him.

My website: www.wordismind.net, has been temporarily setup to META REFRESH to www.buttse.cx as part of a prank I'm playing on some friends and coworkers. (Yes, I know...you don't have to tell me I'm immature. Anyway it's gone now.)

So my dad, wondering what if anything was happening on my site, arrived at an unassuming picture of CowboyNeal playing Karate Kid, only to be sent to Buttse.cx three seconds later.

So, suddenly I get an email from him...

SUBJECT HEADING: www.buttse.cx

Ben: Your wordismind has been hijacked by buttse. Or don't tell me you are in on it...that is the worst damn thing I have seen in a long time, not since the swollen putana.

My dad's an interesting character. A few months ago he sent me a picture of a 700 pound naked woman, thinking it was the most disgusting but hilarious item on the Web--that's what "swollen putana" refers to. Many fathers would probably get angry, upon learning that their son or daughter was viewing a site like Buttse.cx, but not mine (as you can see.)

He seems to be very open and willing with things like this. Whenever I come home for Thanksgiving or Christmas he never forgets to publicly (in front of family members usually after a few glasses of Merlot) remind me to "turn off cookies" when I'm web surfing on his computer at night, so "I don't get all that porn spam in my Inbox". And he laughs and laughs.

So that's him...at this momentum, I'm sure he'll happen upon www.goatse.cx soon enough. Wait, is that a good thing?

In-class notepage rant: Artificial Intelligence, 11 AM. Original formatting preserved, save conversion from uppercase to lowercase. Aligned with bottom-left corner, text block is 10" x 1 3/4". I took no actual notes on today's notepage, though I did jot some down on the lecture slides handout.

<< | <- | ->

wow only 10 min late
today yawn day grey
spring where have you
gone teased us with
warmth short sleeves
shorts and sandals
sunny blue sky chased
away by evil greyness
drab depressing dol-
drums defeat the spirits
lifted by yesterday sun
oh i believe in yesterday
why spring had to go i
dont know now i long
for yesterday not that
i spent much time out-
side, somehow i never
really take advantage
saturday i was going   {shift}
to bike down to visit
a friend who'd put
out his knee
and a
bunch of other frie-
nds were visiting but
hadnt called or stopped
before leaving
for kc. cyrus the one
with the knee is
pretty hard up his
senior design partner
broke his own leg
so both of them are
immobile — such
smart people actually
theyll both be at   {push} {shift}
microsoft this summer
with me if i accept
their offer i prolly
will but havent
decided for which
group fusion or
mobile services maybe
theyll hook me up
with a free cellphone
that would roq! the
ui for cellphone services
is so important — making
a service easy to use
with a tiny screen and
awkward input method
is a real challenge,
but fusion, which is
a hardcore os group
at msft would probably
be more hardcore prog-
hardcore hardcore vibes   {reduce}
repetition repetition ahh

On this day, I was riding my bike
to hand in my CS homework.

- Amnesia -

I regained memory lieing on a hospital bed, bleeding from the head, bruises on several places over my body.
The doctor there said I had a mild concussion, but should be alright.
I could have had consciousness inbetween, but early memory would have faded away due to the condition I was in.

While I cleaned my wounds he went looking for the rest of my clothes. After I was patched up with ointments and bandages, the doctor called a taxi for me with his cell phone.
I sat in a wheelchair near the exit, dizzy, waiting for what seemed like hours.

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