Okay. Time for some truth.

I'd be the last person to say I'm unhappy with the direction the site has taken. This is a better place than it was two years ago. Sorry. It is. There's less crap and more excellence. Now that we're back open to Google, we're more of a resource and less of a vacuum. The admins can expect increased quality, they can even demand it, but they can't obtain it without the vast majority of users rising to the challenge. That's a form of direct democracy.

If what you want is to be silly, or snarky, you can still do that here. I swear. You just have to commit - show that you're serious about fucking around. Yeah, usually, that means a certain length. Generally, though, it just means offering something that every other message forum out there doesn't. Try harder. Care more.

I came here to create things I could be proud of. All of my experiments have met with overwhelming success; my efforts acknowledged by like-minded individuals. If you came here for some other reason, there's lj and soon there'll be c2. You can likely fit in there. I'm not knocking those places. They help people.

I simply don't node very often. There's a variety of reasons:
  1. I won't do it unless I really care about the subject.
  2. I spend all my spare time talking to the fascinating people I meet here.
  3. I'm lazy.
None of this means that I don't love noding, or that I don't have the highest respect for those who have hundreds of (decent) nodes, or that I don't think that the fact that I have far fewer writeups than anyone at my height on the Other Users list is pretty shameful. I'm not one of those folks who had a bunch of junk from the old days and righteously removed it all. I just never got around to (what I see as) doing my part.

Though I used to, at the beginning, these days I genuinely do not want to be an editor. Again, not because I don't appreciate the work done. It is a huge responsiblity, and it deserves those who are deeply invested. This is not some Wisdom-of-Solomon reverse psychology deal where I'm secretly trying to nominate myself. It's just not for me.

Outside of all this: What I never could have imagined is how amazingly giving you people are in reality, and how much you would change me for the better. I now know how to forge a lifelong bond in half an hour. I have a place to crash in every major city in the US. And I even fell in love once or twice, and I don't make as many stupid decisions anymore. This site changed my life. I couldn't ever forget that.

This isn't about that.

I cannot shake the urge that it is time for me to take the lessons I've learned here and apply them to something much greater, something I've always known I was capable of. I've still never finished a feature-length screenplay, which is what I went to college for. I owe my friends songs, and I owe my hands piano lessons. This place, to me, feels shaped like a nest. The best nest I could have hoped for, but nonetheless, a launchpad. What's up there? Money or fame? No. Self-satisfaction. The same reason I stick around here.

There just isn't time to waste, anywhere.

I am not leaving. I am still here everyday, unless I'm spending the weekend in the woods somewhere. I still answer all my messages, I still use all my votes and my C!. I still look stuff up here before Google. I really doubt I could stop checking in if I tried.

I don't expect anyone to be broken up about me spending less time around here. I'm just putting it down for myself, to make it real. Lots of other people here disengage without the need to rationalize it verbally.

But if you do feel you miss me, you are probably someone I love, and that means I will be wherever you need me.

I'm in Toronto now, and a daylog seems like a strangely beautiful idea. I've been wanting to write daylogs for a while now. I've been wanting to write I am not a daylogger at the top of every one and link them all together at the bottom, so you can all hang on my life's every drama. It would be perfect. My problem is I always think of noding a day after it is past and I've never liked the idea of writing a daylog after the day is over. I think it's kind of cheating.

I'm in Toronto now. Now. Trawno. I'm not from here, as this environmental science geek on the subway thought, but it's ok, he's from Alberta. I'm from Boston. I'm going to Boston. It's been some trip, it's been 3 months in rural China, 3 months on an island off of Shanghai, teaching english. It's been not knowing how to communicate, but smiling and trying. It's been eating dog (it tastes kind of like mutton, I think). It's been seeing the sunset twice in one day (Korea & New York) as I flew back. It's been reading poetry in front of smoky strangers in somewhere New York. It's been falling in love with a Swedish girl in my one week home before it became my vacation to Cuba.

Yes, it too has been my trip to Cuba. I got my head straight razor'd into a mohawk in Havana. The barber was crazy, and I believe drunk. Afterward he told me he loves me (I love him too, I think). I took a picture of myself grinning mad holding a piece of paper I had minutes before painted "I'm Illegal" on to, in front of the U.S. Interests building in Cuba. It's been illegal. I want to write a metaphor I do not understand, but it will make sense to me somehow. Wordlessness. My life feels like facial hair on a young male, it feels nice and soft but you just deep down want to shave it all off. Haha. I want to shave my life.

And it's become Toronto. I've been wandering around downtown finding the bus station, finding a cafe, finding a doughnut (donut). I have no money. Very little money. Today, I had one ham sandwich my airline provided. Tomorrow I will have nothing until I can get home, 16 hours on a bus with my notebook to protect me (god help my suburban soul).

It's been laughing, waking up screaming, falling asleep smiling, loneliness, discovering beauty in solitude. It's been something that none of these are, something I will never be able to write down, it's been wordless.

I just got an email saying I have been hired to go to work in Alaska on a salmon fishery. 16 hours a day, 7 days a week. Hard work, but I will make lots of money. Soon who knows what it will be. Wonderful. Madness. Love. Squalor.

I know that you don’t tell me everything – that’s why we’re not together anymore, right? You keep the little things to yourself, and I can’t deal with that – I’d rather we were completely open.

Trust is important.

But now I want to back down. I’m not sure what to do anymore. I’d rather throw that whole ultimate trust thing out the window and start again.

I don’t know what you think anymore – you still don’t tell me. There are things you said before... I don’t know... There are things you said that made me think I should risk the pain – to trust you, unrequitedly. To have a faith in you.

Now I know what you meant. Because I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. I don’t know if you still care, or if you’d be hurt if I moved on. I don’t think I could tell you if I did, but that’s because I’m scared you wouldn’t mind.

I wish I could do what you do – the way you can be so breezy, letting us drift. But I can’t – I started that drift. I can’t help thinking you hope for me to save us, to tell you that I have thought about you every day for six months, to take that risk.

I feel like I’m playing chicken. But whether it’s with you, or by myself, I have no idea.

Merit Whore for the Ages®

proudly presents...

The Everything Noder Pageant™ 2003

After another long commercial break, the contestants have returned wearing the Ballgown of their choice. The judges will be looking at their usual style and grace, but also taking a subjective outlook on the contestants' interpretation of the word "glamourous".

Yet more backstage intrigue has unfolded this round. The organiser has unceremoniously withdrawn Miss Portugal and Miss Federated States of Micronesia. There are reports of laziness and not pulling their weight, but these have been unconfirmed by Pageant™ officials.

A few of the contestants have been slow in getting ready this round, and it is with sadness that we note the deferment of Miss Democratic Republic of the Congo, Miss Suriname and Miss Norway's walkouts. We hope they will be ready before the judging finishes, or they may sadly find themselves omitted from the Judge's Interview stage.

Put your hands together ladies and gentlemen, as we welcome our glamourous girlies!

Miss Spain

Miss Spain has risen to the "glamourous" occasion by wearing a rather Dazzling gown.

Miss Democratic Republic of the Congo

Miss DRC looked absolutely gorgeous in the Swimsuit round and we hope to see her soon.

Miss Suriname

Miss Suriname also scored highly in the Swimsuit round and hopefully will not let her little country down at the last hurdle.

Miss Federated States of Micronesia

Miss FSM is probably still caught up in the Yap Day festivities. Farewell, Island Girl, we'll miss you.

Miss Serbia

Miss Serbia continues to do her country proud, and this time turns out in a fine gown previously worn by Queen Marie of Romania.

Miss Ethiopia

Miss Ethiopia struts in in the finest garb The Bronx has to offer.

Miss Portugal

Miss Portugal was rumoured to be wearing a gown once owned by her namesake, but sadly it is late in being delivered.

Miss Norway

Miss Norway has not been heard from since saying the odd disparaging thing about Caesar. We hope he didn't catch her and show her that is isn't such a bad General after all.

Miss Canada

Miss Canada struts out in a suit inspired by a former head of state in her homeland.

Miss Australia

Miss Australia continues to elevate the status of her noble land, previously considered a home to sheep shaggers and sporting brutes. Miss Australia, You're on in five minutes...

Miss Thailand

Miss Thailand struts her stuff at the head of the field, this time bringing us a creative gown imported from Canada

Miss Iraq

Miss Iraq has finally stopped moaning about the wretched fate of her countryfolk, and this time turns her attention to an African woman who has fallen spectacularly from grace. A bit like you, eh, Miss Iraq.

Our Beauties have exceeded themselves yet again. Please give them another round of applause!

The standings, after three rounds:


| Contestant |  R1  |  R2  |  R3  |  R4  | Total  | Rank |

| Spain      | 43.2 | 14.4 |  0.0 |      |  57.6  |  12  |

| D.R.Congo  | 38.4 | 43.8 | 41.1 |      | 123.3  |  6   |

| Suriname   | 39.0 | 42.1 | 44.8 |      | 125.9  |  5   |

| Micronesia | 38.5 | 38.5 |      |      |  77.0  |  11  |

| Serbia     | 44.8 | 31.8 | 40.8 |      | 117.4  |  7   |

| Ethiopia   | 42.7 | 45.1 | 42.8 |      | 130.6  |  2   |

| Portugal   | 44.1 | 42.6 |      |      |  86.7  |  9   |

| Norway     | 39.9 | 42.4 | 46.2 |      | 128.5  |  3   |

| Canada     | 36.7 | 31.4 | 41.4 |      | 109.5  |  8   |

| Turkmenist | *withdrawn *                       |  13  |

| Australia  | 42.1 | 41.5 | 43.6 |      | 127.2  |  4   |

| Thailand   | 43.5 | 48.0 | 46.7 |      | 138.2  |  1   |

| Iraq       | 25.1 | 25.2 | 27.2 |      |  77.5  |  10  |

See also: April 27, 2003 * April 3, 2003 * March 26, 2003 * March 21, 2003 * March 13, 2003 * March 3, 2003 * February 24, 2003

A Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis daylog:

Rather unexpectedly, just before the final practice for our Honour Guard parade, the end of my CCF career Alex produced an unexpectedly slim volume, which was of course Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis. The book was in pretty good condition considering how far it's travelled, and has some interesting marginalia, and I'm sure these are bound to multiply.

I had to leave the book in a quiet corner while I went and waved around my rifle for some brigadier from the Adujant-General's corps, and was massively relieved to find it still present when I got back. I know the chances of it walking during that hour were pretty slim, but I'd hate to be the person that lets down an entire community, especially Lometa and all the wonderful noders that have had the book so far.

I got the books safely back to my boarding house, and had a brief perusal and examination of it. I saw the bookcrossing label in the front, and therefore went there to register its progress. If you want to track it, it's book number 561-467689. I put up a brief note, and a picture of me, dressed up in fatigues holding the book. I'm going to go back and rate the book when I'm actually done reading it. I also noticed that the corners of the covers are getting a little dog eared, so I reinforced them with a little transparent tape.

So far I'm certainly enjoying myself. The notes made by other users are certainly thought provoking, although the sticker of a carrot on page 17 left me slightly confused. I plan to give the book a good read over the next few days, and then send it off on it's next voyage. But for now; here's one of the poems, and my response to it.

I used to think all poets were Byronic -
Mad, bad and dangerous to know.
And then I met a few. Yes it's ironic -
I used to think all poets were Byronic.
They're mostly wicked as a ginless tonic
And wild as pension plans. Not long ago
I used to think all poets were Byronic -
Mad, bad and dangerous to know.

Does Wendy Cope speak the truth? I certainly had always though of poets as rather "Mad, bad and dangerous to know." On the few occasions I've seen Wendy Cope wandering around Winchester, even before I knew who she was, she seemed to have a certain aura of formidable intellect, and to obviously be something other than a normal wage-slave. But her recent signing in this book:

Dear Readers,
Hope you enjoy the book,
Wendy Cope
Winchester, 23 May, 2003
seems to be the product of a perfectly normal mind. I'm not a student of English, but when I was the teachers always seemed to approach the text with some kind of reverence, in a way more profound than even priests treat the bible. I just have this feeling that there's something that some people have, in part a product of intellect, but far less rigid that just enables them to click with poetry. I know I don't have this, and it seems that however much enjoyment I can get from a book like Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis I'll always be missing something.

- And that saddens me

*Just in case you didn't fancy leaving my writeup in the middle, a triolet is "A poem or stanza of eight lines with a rhyme scheme abaaabab, in which the fourth and seventh lines are the same as the first, and the eighth line is the same as the second." - Webster 1913. Therefore to title the poem triolet is just like naming a sonnet "sonnet".

Well said, Walter. I can't top that, but I wrote this on paper, before I read your wu. Strange coincidence.

This is it. Last daylog. Last write up. last of the Mohicans. And here's that "awesome node" you asked of me, factgirl (I would message you, but I had myself intentionally borged, because I didn't know how to say "goodbye"). I hope you like it, thanks for the encouragement.

I've enjoyed my stay here at everything, I've learned alot. But my motives were selfish. I came here first to learn, then I wanted to write, to be heard, to be told I was cool by the people who were the coolest I had ever (not?) met. I got what I wanted. The gypsy's curse. This whole episode was like one insane acid trip. But it must end. I have to return to real life. This is text.

I called myself boywithlegs because it is how I would like to be seen, nothing more or less, and I thought it was kinda funny. But it was a lie. I am a man.

Since I logged on, I've learned a lot from life, the universe, and everything, including: many people are insensitive assholes , there is no spiritual path cut by someone else that will lead me to the truth, I'm hot, I'm good at sex, I'm bad at relationships, I'm too cavalier, I need more respect for God and people, I love my family, life is beautiful, and a bunch of other shit.

I am a fraction Creek Indian, kin to Red Eagle, AKA William Weatherford and directly descended from the princesses of the Wind Clan, Sehoy, Sehoy II, and Sehoy III, mother of both Red Eagle and David Tate; the later is my Great Great Great Great Great Great Grand Father, and I AM ABSOLUTELY SERIOUS Feel free to write me as a real person, if you want, at tomblueeagle@hotmail.com but I probably won't discuss E2. The past has passed. I might put my writing at my own shitty website http://www.auburn.edu/~hayestp/tom.html

I've called CrAzE, and I pretty much love the guy, and I know jes5199. We went to ASMS together. He was really nice, but I was convinced the dude was a closet heroin addict. When we both attended the University of Alabama, his girlfriend, who I'm pretty sure was sexndeath, pretty much left him for me, and I hated him for the way he had treated her. Now, I hate ME for the way I treated her. Had it not been for jes5199, I would have never come here. But that's all troubled water under the bridge now.

I am an initiate, both here and on my real spiritual path. Only, I know I can never be a real god, and I don't want to be one here. (What's the deal with that shit anyway? Did you want us to respect you or fear you? work our way up the E2 pseudo-religious hierarchy and become virtually immortal?? oh, wait, i guess that does makes sense...) I'll leave that to people who aren't in it for themselves, and are way cooler than I could ever be.

The truest shit I ever wrote came to me a few minutes ago (that is, last night), and I wrote it down with a pen and paper (I'll explain that later). Only here, it's worthless because it would probably be considered cut and paste, unnoriginal, and killed because those who know the real truth have predestined this to be so. But anyway, here goes (it has been formatted to fit this medium, and thus been changed entirely):

Watch your mouth.
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
Respect is everything
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words
It's built on, built on words]
built on words, built on words

In other news, I'm moving away from Montgomery today. I've enjoyed my stay here, but y'know, I was born a Ramblin' Man, can't stay in no one place too long. This time last year I was also living in Montgomer. Only then I hated life, I slept till 2 pm, then smoked cigarettes and pot all day, into the night, until my sweet sweet sleep returned. Every morning the birds and sun would piss me off so bad. Those fucking birds never stop singing. But now, they are my alarm clock. I sleep about 5-6 hours a night, wake up, run, get some tea or coffee, eat, play guitar, read, write, call a friend, have a beer or 3, practice meditation, masturbate, check the internet, fuckin' make a beat, go to wack show, sometimes it's still fun, we criticize fools for bitin' on Big Pun (those last to are a line from the white rapper, Grouch, (there should be a node...)). And lots of other stuff. Y'know, same shit, different smell.

Big shot to Rancid Pickle, word up!

[God be with you|Goodbye!


Sorry guys, but as you might I've guessed, I'm back. And this time, well, no, I guess I am still annoying...

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