There is something in nature that hates a sink.

So, there is going to be a unit-by-unit inspection of the apartment complex I live in. Some history, for those who don't know -- a year ago, Noteponymous and I were the on-site caretakers, but we quit, for a variety of reasons I won't go into right now. Suffice it to say, the property manager and I do not like each other much.

So, in the pre-inspection cleaning, we discover that the sink has been leaking. A lot. Everything is soaked in stagnant water, and there is black slime mold growing on everything. (I know, I know, how could I let it get that way? All I can say is we're busy people, and, frankly, under the sink is not the kind of place I think about on a daily basis.) Not wanting my old boss in my apartment any more than neccessary, we got the OK to do the repair ourselves. Er, myself -- Notepo stated pretty clearly that hir role in this whole under-the-sink drama was fulfilled by the actual cleaning of the guk, and making the phone call.

P.O. in hand it's off to the hardware store. (I really don't look like I belong in a hardware store. I'm wearing my new winter coat, a Swedish Army surplus rifleman's parka with beaded fringe chicken guts on the shoulder, a modified yin-yang covering the back, a cloud chamber diagram on one side and beadwork and brass on the other. the diagram is a pion colliding with an antiproton and creating two electon-positron pairs. I kind of stand out in the flannel-and-beergut world of the upper Midwest.) In and out in three minutes -- a bunch of PVC pipes, a new faucet, a couple of water lines.

You ever tried to repair a sink with a four year old helping you? (That's Mini-Epo, not NotEpo, if yer wondering.)

Apartment complexes are not like normal houses. Down the wall that divides the kitchen and the bathroom are two large drainpipes, one for graywater, one for sewage. Each set of pipes serves all three floors, and I'm on the first. Now, when you have the sink pipes all apart, and the upstairs neighbor turns hir dishwasher on, there is a moment of incredible fear. The certainty that your upside down form is about to be splooged with boiling hot, filthy water.

Heart stops.

Pipes rattle.

But it passes. Sigh of relief.

And then, the metal nut that holds the pipe to the sink, the last thing to be tightened, snaps in two in my hands.

An hour and a half later, one more trip to the hardware store, and one recruitment of a neighbor later, Epo's got a working sink again.

oi. So last night it turned out I had an 'informal writing assignment' for English that was assigned during the class I missed, and I stayed up until 2:00 writing it because one of my favorite girls here came into my room to visit with a prospective student and we talked about the protest of the World Economic Forum and about protesting as a christianand about non violence and US foreign policy and stuff like that for a good hour after which my parents called and chatted me up and then this boy called from the middle of a sports riot and I told him to go away and call me on Wed, and before any of that happened another friend called from Washington state and it was so great to hear from him. I don't resent being connected it's just...

Now my back log of work is significantly increased. I just had time to do my writing assignment but I couldn't read for any of my other classe before passing out.

I have no time for everything!

I was planing to shower yesterday. And do laundry. How could this be any different from having a baby? My work never stops screaming in my ear-- in the shower, in the bathroom, while getting drunk with friends, on the bus/van, in the dining hall, in bed, in my sleep, it never goes away. Literary analysis. Synthesis. Music and politics.

I'm feeling a bit tweaked today due to lack of sleep. I came into German lit in my rabbit-chewed "Psycho" t-shirt drawing connections between the protagist of Biederman und die Brandstifter (see Max Frisch) and the members of the WEF, simultaneously appologising for not reading the text before I even sat down.

On Thursday I got into a car accident and I wrote what I thought was a very cohearant email about the whole thing which caused the recipient to absolutely panic and call me from work. I made some comment about being able to think, and there was silence on the line, like, 'you're in shock and you're not making any sense at all...' So why is it that after a minor car accident a person can be a total wreck but when you show up to class totally sleep-deprived and unwashed, clearly labeled, and chattering away about (among other things) Peril-Sensitive Sunglasses in German during the second week of classes and no one seems to mind?

I have nine potential cavities.

As I was sitting in the dentist's chair and having my mouth torn apart, I realized that going to the dentist is exactly the opposite of giving a blow job.

In the first situation, you want to keep your tongue and lips as far from poking objects as possible. I always get the feeling I'm trying to push my teeth away from myself, to get my entire body as far away as possible from the action.

However, with a (nice) blowjob, one tries to get lips and tongue as close to the probing object as possible, making it more enjoyable for both (see How to give a blow job). I personally also try to involve the rest of my body, rather than forcing it away.

Talking about discrimination with japanese 6th graders

I went to an elementary school in kochi today to hear what they had to say about discrimination and teach them english. I said that in America there are many people from different places, but since you grow up with them it's not a problem much if you're young.

Having them run around the gym yelling numbers in english

I yelled out a pair of numbers from 1 to 12, then they ran down to the other end of the gym, wrote the number on the board, and then came back and told me their group name. First one back wins. I gave the two winning groups some stickers from america.

Eating lunch in a japanese elementary school

They wanted me to stay after the lesson, so I went back to class with the 6th graders. Some kids put on little white hats and aprons and served us all. We had to wait until everyone had been served, then we said itadakimasu and ate. we had fruit juice, bread, macaroni salmon carrot soup, and potato salad. After eating, the boys were telling me that their teacher was some kind of monster. Then they started talking about penis balls. I think they were confused. Usually what they say is golden ball because that's the literal translation of "balls" from japanese.

Finding a mikan grove

After school I went on a bike ride because it was so warm. I found a cell phone tower on the side of a mountain, and noticed a little path by the side of it. Following it, I found a little grove with lots of mikans. I think they are tangerines in english. Someone had been there picking them all and throwing the bad ones on the ground. The ground was covered with rotting ones, but there were some good ones still on the tree, so i filled my pockets with them and came home.
Right now.

Right now I'm listening to Something I Can Never Have by Nine Inch Nails.

Right now I'm cold, alone, and my lungs hurt.

I just walked across town, in the rain, chainsmoking a pack of cloves. "Those things'll kill you!"
I know.

A few months ago, I met a girl.

She worked with me on the school newspaper. "Kinna quirky" I thought. She turned out to be alright.

A few weeks ago we started seeing each other as friends.

Two weeks ago I fell in love with her.

She was dating some guy. A complete ass. They were dating for a little less than a week. Story of my life.

A week ago, I kissed her.

She had broken up with the asshole boyfriend. It was 2AM. She called me, asking to get coffee. We later ended up at her place, watching some movies. We were curled up on the couch together. I leaned in and kissed her. She pulled away. "Rebounder" she called me. I felt horrible. I called her a couple days afterwards to apologize.

Today I'm sitting in my room, alone, lungs aching.

Things became better after I called. A few hours ago, we were watching movies again. I was sitting fetal at the end of the couch, afraid to lay a finger on her. She asked how old I was (it had never come up before). I told her. "Eighteen", I said. She's 23. "Well that makes me feel pathetic about last time you were here.". Ouch. Normally, when she wants to spread out on the couch she just does it. Today she asked me to get off. She fell asleep, and I started writing. I explained to her that I wasn't driven by lust, a quest for an 'easy lay'. I explained to her that I liked her a lot. I challenged her age discrimination. I left the letter in front of her TV, grabbed my stuff (sans cellphone. Fuck, I forgot it there), lit a clove, and began walking home in the rain.
i don't know what's worse: the fact that i've been in bed the past 2 days suffering with the worst case of the flu i've had in years, or the fact that it means i'm now suffering from massive withdrawl from THC and Nicotine, seeing as my decreased lung capacity has prevented me from smoking more than 3 cigarettes in the past few days, and weed is out of the question with all the syrupy substitutes i've been downing in an attempt to nurse myself back to consciousness. as my physical health starts to pick up, my emotional state is worsening. ah, sobriety.

seeing as the thoughts that have brought tears to my eyes today all had to do with love (whereas yesterday it was because I could not breathe), i'm inclined to guess that the reason i've been smoking my brains out these past few months (we're talking pot here, kids -- several times a day: wake and bake, at work, after work with friends, after work again with a friend who just got out of work after everyone else, when i get home, as a night cap, repeat.) is because i am miserable and lonely, at least in my heart.

i have friends, i have a social life, i have admirers, i have lovers, i have people who are important to me and to whom i am important. i love some. some love me. some i will love, i'm certain. but, i'm empty right now. in theory, everyone and every fucking thing can go, can disappear, and i'll get along just fine. i'll start anew. i don't need shit, i don't need false people.

and i realize how i got here in the first place.
i realize i trusted far too much.
i gave so much of my heart last year, that while establishing this outside independent-seeming shell of a dee, i've neglecting developing the inside. the weed has been replacing the need for that, really. it keeps my heart filled up with smoke, so it doesn't need to be filled up with love of any real sort. fuck all that, i don't need it, right?

where did it get me last year?

The love of my life to date taught me about a possessive love I know I don't want, but the ideals of which i still cling to in my heart. is it out of fear, or out of the fact that possessive love (not neccessarily monogamy, mind you) is inevitable that i'm always going to be a jealous fuck no matter how "polyamorous" i try to be? I will, however, to be fair, state that his love was true, and still shines.

Then last year, polyamory theory i'd stocked up on was put into action. I was actually okay with everything, my partners tolerated each other and spoke and the three of us snuggled together and life was good. I go offline because I was HOMELESS for a few months. I realize that one of them was really 5 years old emotionally. The other one I still held in my heart, still called her my FUCKING girlfriend to everyone IRL. still thought about her all the time even though it was hard to keep in contact because i was working insane amounts of hours, mostly at night, asleep by day. i finally get around to calling her more, her calls suddenly wane. She's got someone else....i didn't think it would be an issue because we were poly. I didn't think I'd be given the boot, but alas, I was. She had abandoned poly theory because a nice piece of monogamapie came and sat on her windowsill and filled that void. I've barely spoken to her since..I can't, it hurts too much. It really fucking hurts. Poly failed me. Trust failed me. This is not how her and I were supposed to end. The energy between us was just far too strong...

Then there was Poet. I dated a fucking suave, hot, street kid who fed me nothing but lies and the best sex. I wasn't oblivious, but I gave him a chance, and he ended up FUCKING someone behind my back after I had given him and this girl smooching rights (after finding out from everyong else that they were smooching), but said to let me know if he wanted more. Hell, I even smooched her. And he goes and fucks her. twice, second time without a condom. LOVELY. Oh, god, I'm a fool. I loved him.

Then there was X. I recently had a chat with his girlfriend only to find out that she found out about us from someone else, never from him directly, as he had reassured me. I thought she knew, I thought she fucking knew. He lied to me, and this surprises me? I had been warned about him. Even my roommates, who had known him prior, thought perhaps he had actually changed. And me, I always think I'm different. I always think that just because I tell people they can trust me, just because I try to be the one person that people don't have to lie to, that this will be the truth. That I can trust them. AM I A FUCKING IDIOT? At any rate, I haven't fucked him since before he told me he had a one night stand, unprotected, with a chick who was cheating on her boyfriend to get revenge for him cheating on her. Yay! I still love him.

There's more to this story, more drama, more misplaced trust. There's always more, but the only truly happy thought I can garner from it all i that miraculously, all of my STD tests came back negative. I haven't had sex in more than 2 months, though, because the stupid idiot i am went ahead and was unprotected with my last partner and ended up dealing with bacterial vaginosis, which isn't an STD, but it can come about as a reaction to being unprotected with a new partner. LOVELY. WHEN WILL I LEARN?

i'm afraid to love, i'm afraid to fuck. (the two are horribly intertwined for me)....i'm more inclined to stay celibate, smoke weed 20 times a day, not wear makeup, look all unappealing in my oversized clothing. There's very little clothing I actually look cute or sexy in right now since i lost a good 40-50 pounds in the past year, which is why you're likely to see me wearing the same 3 or 4 outfits anytime i do want to look self-esteem boosting is that? Not really at all. (I know you don't care, though, but it's my self-esteem we're talking about here, and I like to look good for me.) :/

So i've rationalized that I've smoked weed constantly out of boredom, to get through the winter. And now sobriety and sickness and tears make me realize otherwise. The worst thing about it is that I'm going to have to console myself, because it needs to be that way. (Well, the person I'd chose to console me is going away for the weekend, otherwise I'd probably wimp out on that self-strength stuff and have him come here so I could cry in his arms, which I've yet to do). It'll be a miracle if I survive this weekend without toking. As soon as I can breathe again I need a fucking newport, though.

Love, love, love.
I don't want to love.
but it's always been a part of my being.

I used to not be afraid of getting hurt, because I know hurt heals.
I still say those words, but obviously I'm choosing not to believe them, even though it's a concept i've found to be true i the past.
obviously, i'm scared.

i'd cry more, but i'm sick and can barely breathe.


am i ever going to stop being so scared?

(ps, josh):
i loved someone that was good for me once. i don't know if it's going to happen again anytime soon -- i'm more fucked up than we both thought i was, apparently. (heh, we were both stoned). i think the adventures will still be fun, so long as you can deal with me being cold hearted with warm snuggles? I know that your answer to this is that it's probably for the better and we'll be just fine and all. Thanks for keeping us rational. I can't help but wonder what goes through your head, though. i miss you, sigh.

PPS: how do i turn off these tears? it's been months since I've really cried and my lungs hurt and i can't breathe as is. Oh wait, Nyquil. Mwuhaha.

PPPS: I guess all this whining means I'm back, E2. ph34r!

Places Among the Stars

Candle was adorable. She had burned her hand by weaving too quickly. My elders were concerned. One flew over immediately, ramming aside the blankets of darkness. I was ashamed I was too far away to help. Her voice reminded me of someone else from my past, a jewel.


The sun was turned on for a new day. A turn of the knob. Who wanted to determine the weather today? The most popular subjective illusion. I was exhausted by another Gathering yesterday. It was not fun. I kept myself alive by writing poetry and drawing cymbals. Too polite to simply resign from the game. Another of my alter-egos suggested I go home to rest. I was thankful, but my home was not truly visible in my apartment.


The lunchtime game was played by the elven idealist (green as usual), Godmade (blue as usual), the elven savior (white as usual), the ring-bearer (black by choice), and I (red by default).
                     Godmade  ---  Savior
            Ring-bearer  -------------  Idealist
We ordered Italian food, warmed by tomato sauce, and ran terrified away from the smell of kimchee. We were alone in the dark forest. The ring-bearer and the elven idealist took the lead and weaved reality around us. High above, the stars twinkled from the elven savior's domain as Godmade claimed all the negative space. The rest came into my world, by default. Three names were still unknown. We were building a mystery, a story of miracles and magical realism.

Both Candle and I were in the game that page, while Eden outnumbered Teardrop 3 to 1, Candle to Eden, brandy to crow. History forgotten and remade, to turn the present into a gift, a cliche. The air was crisp, cold. The light of the moon dark and creepy. But we felt secure, thinking of the negative space all around. Yellow among white. It was a game within a game, within another. We peeled away the layers and found our own consciounessnesses. The world was left to punctuation marks. Mystery? Discovery! Hope,

The government is evil. I cannot believe that in this day and age that we allow it to continually oppress its people. So check this out: Last night I was getting together with my capoeira group, and we usually practice in the gym that is in the armory(read:ROTC building) on campus. Well some powertripping nazi major over there posts this stupid sign that says that as of this date no one but ROTC personnel may use the facility. Then he sends his little lackeys to kick us out.Didn't even have the balls to come and do it himself. What a wuss.

Don't tell me that this was some security issue, and I wonder why he is pulling all of this now, when we have been practicing there for a semester now with no problems whatsoever.I think that the guy just didn't want us there, so he is using his trumped up power to kick us out. That is unfair, it's discrimination! He is effctively dispossessing us from our place to practice, and seeing as places on our campus are quite limited,his is effectively silencing our freedom of expression, and our right to peaceably assemble. Is this even legal? I think its cultural oppression. He thinks we are freaks with out martial art and our music. How dare he pass judgement on what we practice? The government is now in the process of cultural purification. Is this what we want?

I heard the funniest thing today on the Howard Stern Show. It was so rediculous I had to write about it. For a little while now, I can't say exactly how long I've only been listening to the Stern show for about a week now, Howard has been promoting the fact that him and his show are going to Vegas, in usual Howard Stern fashion. By this, I mean he's doing something completely off the wall that makes no sense to anyone. Sometimes I wonder if Howard himself knows what he's doing. But anywho, Howard had the brilliant idea to hold a contest, and the winner would get to ..... marry a pornstar! Yup, good old Howard. The winner of this contest would marry Holly Landers.

The marriage actually happened yesterday but it was aired today, hence it's under today's daylog. This marriage was not normal by far. The ring bearer was none other than Joey Buttafucco, and the person who walked down the aisle and gave away the pornstar? None other than Ron Jeremy, proclaimed by me to be the King of Porn. Howard and his cast of cronies heckled almost every part of this wedding (Don't have him kiss the bride, have em do anal instead, etc.). However the coolest part of this wedding was Karl (or Carl it's hard to tell over the radio). The bridesmaids were provided by The Bunny Ranch, which, as far as I can tell, is a Gentleman's Club, you know, a place with poles and titties. Carl is the luckiest man ever. He's officially married to a pornstar, and for his honeymoon, him and his wife, and his bridesmaids all went to the same honeymoon suite for an orgy. They even invited the minister! Man, I love Howard Stern.

First daylog I have written. What's on my mind?

I have a very lopsided schedule for a 1st semester freshman. The odd days (M,W,F) I have all my classes, but the even days (T,Th) I only have a lab. Granted, it is kinda nice to have somewhat of a day off, but there is always that next day of class. So I have to motivate myself away from that game of Diablo II to get my homework done.

Not to mention across the hall in the dorm, there is the "Fight Club", namely Capcom vs. SNK 2 being played practically 24/7 with no less than 5 people in the room at the same time cheering each other on. This will usually last till about 1am every day, so last night it took awhilke to get to sleep. Every once in awhile I have visitors who want to play X-men vs. Street Fighter or Marvel vs. Street fighter--mostly being a novelty to have stand-up arcade games playable on my computer via MAME--which is ok sometimes except when stuff NEEDS to get done. I have relegated this poor use of time to the weekends and after my homework is done.

Met a girl last week, quite by accident, who is from my home town. A random group was sitting in front of the big screen TV in the Student Center watching FOX News. There was a mention by the news caster that some guy misheard as 'Mukilteo'. "You're from Mukilteo?" I asked, "I'm from Gig Harbor" (roughly 50 miles away).

The girl sitting behind me and to my right exclaimed "I'm from Gig Harbor too!". It turns out that she went to a different High School than I, and although I hadn't met her before, I was already well aqcuanted with her older sister. It was nice to know that in this university of 10,000 people there was someone else from my home town.

She is an incredibly attractive brunette with blue eyes, which is why I would love to get to know her better. I have the rest of the year for that to happen too, so I know this is going to be a great February.

This is my first ever Daylog entry. Thusly, I'm not sure what to write, or what to expect in way of reaction. I'm asking myself, isn't this what LiveJournal is for? Yeah, it probably is. But I'm new here. I wear a cloak of anonymity, level one, Initiate, newbie. No-one knows me. I can speak with utmost honesty, without fear of what my friends will think. So let's get down to it.

She waved at me today. This girl I like. So far, so clichéd, so what? It's the truth, damn it. I am crippled every time I see her, I become mute.

So? Big deal. Get some confidence, kid. It's not that simple. This girl happens to be attached to the nicest person I know. This does not make things easy, although it does give me justification for my inaction. So, were I to say anything, I not only look like a fool, but I also ruin relationships with one of my best friends. Excellent. Isn't it nice when everything goes your way?

I was returning from an eventful evening in Netanya. Standing on the roadside of Poleg interchange heading south, I felt good. A fresh new Pixies experience was running through my head, and it was a good change from the 70's rock/blues I was running through during the last two years.

I raised my finger in the best tradition of the Science of Hitchhiking, and a car stopped. It was about 11 pm, all dark but still noisy. Lots of traffic on the Israeli coastal highway. I ran a dozen leaps to the car and opened the door.

Inside sat a male about 40 years old, of Russian origin. I can tell it by the eyes - they're always more cruel and have a touch of insanity than of those who were born here, in the Promised Land. He was sweating and the smell in his car was unmistakeable - vodka. I asked where, first in Hebrew, and then in Russian. He turned down the volume and said "Tel Aviv". I wasn't thinking much, having a sudden apocalyptic mood for a nightly adventure. I said "Okay, Tel Aviv be it" and got in.

The seats were leather. The car was an old but well-kept Audi. The tape was loudly playing Deep Purple. I made a mental note about the fella's good taste and there we went. There are about 30 kilometers (20 miles) between Poleg interchange and Glilot, which signifies the beginning of Northern Tel Aviv. Only when we picked speed I noticed how drunk he was. We were going at an average of 180 kph (about 120 mph) and zigzaging like madmen through the three lanes of the highway. The surprising thing was that he was an exceptionally good driver. The best I met so far, and I've been hitchhiking for more than 3 years. What gave away his intoxication were his delayed reactions. I have some knowledge about the dosages of vodka nescessary for this kind of condition given his nationality. I realized my hopeless condition and sudden affection for the man, and began singing along. He looked at me with a surprised expression, turned down the volume a bit and yelled something about me being the first young brat he meets who knows shit about music. I thanked him, and he went on yelling how it is his Birthday today and how his life was never better to him.

I began playing around with the idea to tackle him and began my pseudo-shrink mindfucking I so much excell at, but gave it up due to the volume, speed, danger and the fact he was too drunk to understand anything. The music changed as we went. First, the Beatles, then the dreaded Eagles and some Led Zep as we were approaching Glilot. Note that this is considered quite a high taste for both Israelis and Russians.

As we approached Glilot he was fond enough of me to offer me some of his time and a beer in a pub. I agreed, and since we already turned left, eastward, we had to re-enter Tel Aviv through Ramat Gan. We got on the horribly long Zhabotinsky street and began drawing attention. Trying to keep up the same speed as out of the city was a hard thing even for him. By then he managed to yell something about him being a combat driver and a veteran of the Soviet adventure in Afghanistan, the recently discovered U.S army tourist attraction.

I began hearing sirens as we went through two red traffic lights. He realized he was being pursued and right turned into a small street. We raced through tiny overparked streets with the headlights off as I was more and more amazed by his driving. The fiasco lasted for roughly 15 minutes of playing cat & mice throughout the town while waking up the neighbours and spotting assembling blockades, as I was finding myself more and more in a catatonic condition clinging to the Lyrics of "Help!", yelling them out loud.

We hit a dead end. The patrol behind us parked across the street. and about four of them ran towards us. My hands were in the air in no time, considering the current condition in Israel and the possibility of being taken for a terrorist. I was so shitlessly scared they let me go after five minutes of asking silly questions and writing down my I.D number. He began yelling something typically Russian. I think we Russians have a genetic encoding of "Arrest HOWTO" in our genes...

The cops were fairly happy understanding this is not a suicide bomber and I began relaxing. I got my I.D back and started walking slowly towards the next Hitchikers spot on Ayalon highway with a big smile on my face. Two more uneventful rides and I was home.

His name was Vitaly and he warmly shook my hand as I expressed my regret of not accompanying him to the station.

I keep recieving those invitation letters to the Rehovot police station, to my old parents address.
Through elimination of options, I figured out it was about this incident. They want me to testify.

The hell I will!

Well my mind is working today. I know that sounds dumb but it's true. Somedays I am unable to think straight at all. Others I'm creative and smart.

Today is a day I have been able to accomplish things despite the fact that I'm using a computer at the public library and there are lots of distractions and my headphones are trying to die.

I've gotten a bit of school work done, noded, and thunk (so what if that's not a real word, I like it hehe) pretty darn clearly. As for my mood, thanks to some /msgs from a close friend, and a couple emails from another good friend I'm in a pretty happy mood, with a bit of anxiety from being in a public place and a bit of worry about my class, but overall not bad at all, but tired. I have not been sleeping very well lately, and I'm lonely.

Oh and I think my step father finally sent the envelop in. What envelop? Well that'd be the envelop with the proof of the poem of mine that is being published!!!! Yep, something I wrote is being published in a book. In a future daylog I'll type the poem in it and the ISBN for the book I can't afford to buy.

Well my time is almost up on this computer so I better log off. I'm supposed to be allowed to use my own computer again on Friday, but only on a very limited basis. (My step-dad is a jerk most of the time.)

The alto who I spent the noon hours of Friday and Monday exchanging timid, uncertain glances with solved our mutual communication problem by waiting for me to make my first move, and immediately shooting me the nicest smile I've ever seen. I tried to respond in kind, but as I never smile at the mirror, I don't know what it looked like. Once again, she skipped out at the end of class before I even had a chance to put my music folder away. Here's to Friday.

For the first time in a while, I was the first person to hand in a test. Suspect it's the positive thinking that did it: I sat in the front of the room, in anticipation of exiting while everyone else was still working, and it happened. Nothing quite like juxtaposing yourself with 100+ classmates who are frantically scribbling away anything they think will score them a few more points in the last two minutes for a quick shot of sadistic self-esteem.

Bonding experience with my roommate, as we stood around drinking Steel Reserves in the back of the coin wash, waiting for our clothes to dry and burning sections of the Dandy Dime. I'd never fully realized the truth behind that whole "alcohol makes people more sociable" idea. Moderation in everything: in my case, as I've now come to accept, this means one 24 oz can of high gravity beer and a single-digit number of personal acquaintances, rather than a house full of drunken strangers and all the alcohol a spoiled Phoenician asshole's money can buy.

As I last left my legal situation, I had an upcoming court date in which it would be decided whether I could be charged with Blocking Rail Transit, and in the meantime, my retrial was put off into the indefinite future. In the meantime, the group that was supposed to start trial on January 15 had been postponed to January 30, and then to March 11.

That court date was today. My retrial has been set for March 25, 2002. If the other group is in fact tried starting on the 11th, there is almost no way their trial will be done in time for mine to start on the 25th. I don't know if they've been moved, or if there's something funny going on with my court date, or theirs, or if the city of Long Beach simply can't count (wouldn't surprise me), but there is something a little peculiar about this set of dates. I do not want to go back to California for this, but there is good news to accompany it: I am being tried only for failure to disperse.

After I was acquitted of conspiracy to riot, apparently my prosecutor realized he didn't have a case against me for the charges related to conspiracy, and dropped riot, rout, and unlawful assembly. He dropped his motion to charge me with blocking rail transit, perhaps because, in the sarcastic words of my attorney, he heard that double jeopardy was illegal.

The plan is now that at the end of next month, I will pack up my nylons and my dry cleaning and get on a plane to Long Beach, where a crazy man with a degenerative spinal disease will try to explain to a group of strangers that I failed to disperse, and that this makes me a danger to America equivalent to the September 11 attacks, if not worse.

Failure to disperse is a very petty misdeameanor, kind of like a parking ticket, or maybe littering. My trial is estimated to take 2-3 days, although the last one was estimated to take 5 days and I was there for 3 weeks. My dad is again certain that they won't bother trying something so lame. There has been talk about getting me a new judge, but I don't know if we've done that. A new judge might dismiss it, either as a matter of principle - no one tries misdemeanors, let alone twice - or because trying it would be a waste of money.

Even stranger than all of this were the letters I received in the mail today. There were three of them, in two envelopes. One was my acceptance into grad school.

The second was a letter from my attorney, saying that one of the people who was arrested at the same time I was had recently been raided by the FBI. Apparently he'd been running a website that the FBI found ojectionable, and they'd come and taken away all of his computer stuff.

The third was a letter from one of my jurors, juror 11. She had given it to my attorney for me at the end of the trial, after I had gone home. Frustrated with the process, and furious with some of the other jurors, she wrote to me to tell me that she believed me, that she thought the whole thing was ridiculous, that she thought it was obvious I hadn't had anything to do with all that crap. She said I hadn't been acquitted because some of the other jurors weren't following the law. She sent me a pin, with an image of a skull on crossed writing implements that says "write hard, die free". She included her contact information, and I've started writing to her a little. The interaction is strange and awkward - what's the protocol for talking to someone who was paid twelve dollars a day to decide your fate? - but she seems nice, and I'm glad of the opportunity.

To see how this started, please see my daylog for May 3, 2001.
For difficulties in dealing with court dates, please see my daylog for May 7, 2001.
The charges against me are listed on May 10, 2001.
For an account of my first arraignment hearing, please see my daylog for May 24, 2001.
For an account of my bad dealings with my codefendants, please see my daylog for May 30, 2001.
For an account of my second arraignment hearing, please see my daylog for June 22, 2001.
For an account of my decision to go to trial, please see my daylog for October 31, 2001.
For an account of pretrial matters and my journey to LA, please see my daylog for November 17, 2001.
For an account of jury selection, please see my daylog for November 19, 2001.
For an account of my codefendant's plea bargaining, please see my daylog for November 24, 2001.
For an account of my testimony, please see my daylog for December 5, 2001.
For my verdict, please see my daylog for December 13, 2001.
For an account of my January court date, please see my daylog for January 9, 2001.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.