Some fucktart e-mailed a threat of bodily injury to my personal inbox from Mr. Ballard's school e-mail account at 2:46 PM (6 minutes after the last bell rang). Since Mr. Ballard would not do such a thing (I hope) and wouldn't have my e-mail address anyway it must be a student. I've informed Mr. Ballard of the situation and sent him a copy of the e-mail, though I really don't know what would be done. The identity of the student should be easy to find; Mr. ice has the authority to pull the security camera tapes in the hallway to find out who visited Mr. Ballard's room after school, and if Mr. Ballard gave someone permission to use his computer it's obvious who did it.

Now, this begs the question: how did whoever this was get my personal e-mail address, and why would anyone hate me enough to not only send me a threat, but to do it from a teacher's account?
If my existence is that troublesome to people, why shouldn't I just stop existing?

Today is very much one the many sad days in my life. Not the most saddest, oh no, that's reserved for the 13th of april, 1999. It does come close though.

Today I was forced to move in with my grandparents. This is not a problem, they are not bad people, they are very kind to me. What is a problem is that the house I was going to buy, was snatched from me by another buyer who had all the money. In cash. Bastard.

My computer still has not recovered from Warcraft 3, which has increased the kruftiness of WinME to unbearable standards. It is my belief that Warcraft 3 caused some fault in my hardware as no brand of Linux will now touch it. By some luck I will be able to finish this account of today. Blizzard say the problem is on my end. Bastards.

I am going to get an Xbox this Christmas, however I feel at this point I have started a pattern for this log, and will point out how Micro$oft has committed another crime. The Xbox, even with the DVD remote (unlike the PS2) will only play DVDs from my zone (zone 4). No ordering DVDs from the internet. BASTARDS! I will open my Xbox up, and somehow (mod chip?) remedy this situation. If this attempt fails I will take it up with Micro$haft, using my warranty if need be.

If my warranty is not enough, then I invite my fellow noders to msg me, and join me on a possible trip to washington to launch an assault on Micro$hit's HQ.

Bring beer.

Ok, this is going in the daylogs because I don't know where else to put it at the moment. Maybe it will end up constituting practical advice. At least, that's my sincere hope. If not, well, it's a daylog, so who gives a damn?

For most of my college career, I've been too chickenshit to ask the girls who caught my fancy for dates. I'm not sure why, exactly, this should be; certainly the idea that people don't date at dartmouth factored into it, as did my sincere belief that, in each case, the girl who had caught my fancy was way out of my league. I managed to ask for dates a few times, and generally got them, but nothing lasted longer than a few weeks, a month at the outside. The end result of all this was that I went from party to party on the weekends, getting my share of meaningless play, and feeling incredibly unhappy.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago, on a Friday night. I was at a party with several friends, and I was quite drunk. For reasons that remain unknown to me, I mentioned that I was fond of a certain girl, and that I intended to ask her out the following evening. The following morning, I woke up, went over my recollections of the previous night to make sure I hadn't done anything too stupid, and immediately started kicking myself for having a big mouth. A few minutes later, I stopped kicking myself, on the theory that most everyone else had had as much to drink as I, and that nobody was likely to recall my rash declaration.

Of course, had that been the case, I would not be writing this. Several of my friends remembered, and, having seen me pull the standard fraidy-cat move before, they decided to hold me to my word this time. So, they walked with me over to her dorm , told me to "Go get'er, tiger," and assured me that they'd be waiting outside, and that they'd take me out to get loaded and commiserate if she said no.

Here comes the practical advice part, boys (and girls; I hear girls bitching all the time about not getting dates): knock on her/his door and, after the normal salutations, repeat after me: "Would you like to go to dinner sometime? Maybe a movie?"

Works like a charm.

A couple dates later, and things are going very nicely; I've even shown her (briefly) around e2. Of course, I'm probably jinxing myself by writing this...

Here's the practical advice, part deux: I was talking with her a few days ago about what a hell of a time I had getting up the nerve to ask for that date, and she said, "Didn't you know that most of the time, a girl is going to be caught entirely by surprise, and just say yes?" This was a revelation. Ask for dates, and you'll usually get them out of shock, if nothing else.

Anyway, this was never coherent enough to be a node, so although it doesn't exactly describe events which took place today, it's just as well.

Happy Turkey Day, and don't eat any Turkey Napoleon.
(That's the bony part)

It's after 3 AM and my roommate's friend nearly burned down the dormitory building.

Here's how it started, the kid across from me stole a big roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. I'm talking about a extra large month-long roll that public restrooms have. He decides to have fun, throw some around and roll it down the hallway. After throwing it around a lot, he leaves and I go to my room.

I'm watching TV and suddenly I hear the fire bell sounding. It's not like a school's "Ding, ding ding!" Instead, its a continuous ring, as if a bank was being robbed. I go into hall, and I immediately smell smoke and hear some yelling. I look to my left, and there the guy is, trying to stomp on burning toilet paper. It's now blossomed into a fire that is now as big as if I lay down on the ground, and the carpet underneath is now spreading the blaze.

He yelled "Get a fire extinguisher!" but the alarm is going off, and I don't remember where one is. I sprint to the end of the hall, but this is not one of those buildings with a hose in the stairwell. There is no extinguisher to be found, and the alarm is already blaring, so I can't pull the alarm box. I hear someone yell, "It's out!" and I returned to see the ground smoking. By this time the whole floor was filled with smoke and the smell of burning paper.

"What an idiot" I said over the din of the bells. I hurried into my room, grabbed my jacket, sneakers, and laptop and headed outside. It was snowing rather heavily in Schenectady, NY, and joined the two dozen other kids outside. Thank God classes ended last week or else the building would be full. I ran over to the phone and called security to make sure they knew about this. Five minutes later, even though the building was across the street from the Campus Safety office, they come running up. I see through the windows them going through every room looking for people as they emptied the building. Surprisingly enough, a few more sleepy people stumble out into the snow after security must have found them. I'm waiting for the fire department to come, but they don't. I guess security told them nothing was left to put out.

40 minutes later, after waiting in the snow, security lets us back inside. The kid got burned trying to put out the fire, so he got taken up the block to the ER to get checked out. Meanwhile, I told the RA in charge of the floor that I knew who did it.

Why? The kid started a fire, and damaged the floor. We all have to share in the cost of damage to the building unless the school knows who did it. And lastly, it was bothering my conscience. A few minutes after that, a security guy calls me and asks me to repeat what I saw to him. This time I told him everything, including the name of the kid and the roommate helping him. By 3 AM we were left alone, with the smell of smoke.

The next morning, the kid comes into my room and curses me out for ratting on him. He had already told security what had happened, and saw me talking to the security guy, and figured I told on him. He got brought into the Dean's office and got interrogated for a while. They accused him of trying to burn another student's room, since he had singed the door and carpet of the next room over. He got in serious trouble because the school told the police about what happened, and he was suddenly a suspect for attempted arson. His disciplinary action by the school is simple: Either take the next term off (because this one ended last week), or face a disciplinary hearing where he is at risk for suspension or expulsion. He hates me, since he thinks I made it worse for him.

The roommate who I also mentioned also got dragged down to the dean. He told me that since I brought him up, he was "suspect number 2" on the police report. He started screaming at me because I broke his trust, how I'm a stupid phony, and basically threatened me. Nothing is going to happen to him, but it took him a long time to convince the Dean that it wasn't deliberate.

The long story short, he's got to pay for the damages, and I'm in my smoke-filled room. He's leaving for the break, but he's not coming back until march, "with my help," as he put it.

I have a bad feeling that when school resumes, I'm going to have an actual enemy. On the other hand, I can't believe I didn't do #18 on my list of Things to do in my lifetime...

I took a picture of the mess, see it at

Antarctic Diary: November 28, 2002

All warthogs are from hell

Location: Lake Hoare hut, Thanksgiving morning, 2002.

Happy Thanksgiving

How much do you hate Staying Alive, by the Bee Gees?

How many times can you listen to Barry Manilow sing Copacabana before you burst int a wild rage and burn everything in sight?

In Antarctica, that's the music you listen to on Thanksgiving. In fact, that's general celebratory sonic fare.

I'm up at 6:30. It's a non-work day here, but the scientists can't stand the silence. They get on the computers and e-mail their universities. They tear out maps and start planning tomorrow's hikes.

Meanwhile, a twenty-two pound turkey is in the oven. Last night, the camp manager and a couple of the senior guys made pies. Blueberry. Apple. Hut smells like everyone's home on Thanksgiving morning

Outside is a wall of dirt, ten-thousand feet high. Outside is the face of a glacier, 100 feet high. A frozen lake of blue water.

The limno team calls in from Lake Fryxell. It's Christine. She notifies us via the VHF her team is heading out over the glacier, eight miles over solid ice. They'll be here by noon. They're bringing a couple of bottles of wine, some lettuce for the salad, and a couple of extra yams.

Someone pops in a Lenny Kravitz CD. The manager makes a motion with her fingers. We think she wants us to turn it down.

No--we're stupid. She wants us to turn it up.

The divers come in from the dive hut. Through a two-foot hole in the thirty foot ice covering, one-hundred feet down in pitch black they've harvested some life forms never seen before. Some kind of moss.

The assistant camp manager makes them some Greenland coffee. A formula she learned while serving with the Air Force in Thule. Coffee, Bushmills, Gran Mariner, Kahlua, whipped cream.

Warm you up. Buzz you good. Stay awake to enjoy it--is what she says.

We're coloring place mats. Tracing our hands and drawing turkeys with the outline like we did in fourth grade.

Someone puts on the Bee Gees CD. Seventies music. Antarctic tradition.

A helo pulls up outside, buzzing the building before setting down to land. It's Scotty again. He's delivering the Antarctic Cod for our dinner--and no--he won't stay. He has a couple of missions to run before he gets the chance for a break, but he promises to stop before the end of his day.

The rotors on the two-twelve wind up and he takes off.

Antarctic Cod is a big, meaty, sort of oily fish like shark only more so. Extremely tasty when it's fresh. Forget it has antifreeze for blood.

Our camp manager marinates it in balsamic vinegar and garlic for a couple of hours, then barbeques it on the Weber outside.

The limno team shows. After their four-hour hike, they change into their party clothes and things get festive. Cameras start flashing. Video. Handing out glasses of wine. Instant, impromptu family.

Someone hands out the wigs and boas. I've got on my summery flowered shirt.

Soon, dinner is served and we line up, cafeteria style, to fill our plates. Smells, tastes like home in the U.S. Our Kiwi team members are amused at the custom, but okay with the eating.

As opposed to always, where we all start eating upon sitting, everyone waits till everyone is seated. Then we toast ourselves. To us.

Table conversation is about our families at home. What we work on. What we did when we were kids. Wine flows. More food than an army could eat.

We take pictures, tell jokes. Before anyone realizes, we hear a helo in the distance and it's time for the limno team to go home. When the helo lands we invite them in for a slice of pie. They shut down the engines and join us for a half an hour, regailing us with flying stories until their schedule gets tight.

The limno guys pick up and leave. Give a perfunctory goodbye--and leave with the pilots. Nobody likes to say goodbye in Antarctica.

With the helo turbine winding up outside a couple of the scientists go back to their e-mail.

One starts laughing. Someone has called his advisor the evil warthog from hell in print, and the laughing stops when he realizes the advisor will be out here next week.

Tonight it's Motown. Coffee. We'll be playing Scrabble. Couple of Antarctic games.

I've created a username on here. Already I've managed to write a bit on The Crow, which happens to be my favorite movie of all time. Searched for Counting Crows, and somehow I came up with a bunch of crap about counting birds. How this happened, I don't know.

I am an aspiring writer, so I thank my friend Jimmy for introducing me to this little hole on the 'net. Not exactly striving to be noticed on here, exactly, but damn it would be nice.

I have a LiveJournal, where I write most of the time. But it's always good to discover new places. Or so I'd like to think. Just other things to take up my "precious" time here on this godforsaken earth.

I don't exactly know what to write here, honestly. Don't know how personal I'm supposed to get, if at all. Don't know if I should mention my ongoing achievements in the world of morbidness. Ha. I make myself laugh.

Anyhow, I need to throw myself into a short-lived coma before I need to wake up in the "morning" to celebrate this wonderful holiday of stuffing your face with as much festive poultry as possible. Lord, do I hate Thanksgiving.. Pfft. It's a joke. Damn turkies. Damn family get-togethers. And most of all, damn having to wake up at 6am only to spend the rest of my day with people I can't stand. Joy to the world, and good night.

It's my 23rd birthday today. A lot changes in a year. This time last year I was feeling down and didn't have much going for me. The future looked a little bleak. But today I can say many things I couldn't say last year:

I have a driver's license. I have a job at a radio station. Someone I'm not related to loves me and I love them. I have things to look forward to. I look good with a beard. I drink only twice a week and only a little at that. I like having sex while sober. I have lots of friends. I like to wear armor and beat people with sticks. I'm not a bad person. I feel I am somebody: me! I like me!

A year has taught me many lessons, but I still have much to learn. A year has given me many things, but I still have more to earn. A year has brought me so much love, but I have so much more to give. A year has brought me hope, joy, pain, loss, love, friends, and more.

I can't wait for next year and the bounty it will bring.

Thanksgiving Fact #647: Turkey contains enough tryptophan to knock you on your sorry Thanksgiving ass.

Happy Thanksgiving to all the US noders out there, and happy November to the rest!

I got up extra early today. For some unknown reason I was all slept out. It turned out to be a good thing, too, because there was no time in the schedule to bake the pumpkin pies. I got them made and out of the oven by 10, and the schedule proceeded from there unaffected. All I do with pumpkin pie is follow the directions on the can, add lots of extra spice, and make sure it cooks long enough; and everyone says my pumpkin pies are the greatest thing. Go figure.

Walked down to the park with Amelia. The plan was to tire her out before her nap. The reality was that she fell asleep in my arms before we got there. So I sat on the bench while she slept for a while (half an hour? I had no way to tell) and then let her tire herself out on the play things afterward. I saw one thing there that was new to me : a swing for the wheelchair-bound. It's a roughly four foot square platform connected to something overhead. Just wheel the chair on, fold the ramp up into the fourth wall and poof - there is swinging. Amelia was enjoying the balance beam, which she could very nearly walk without assistance.

Liz and John and Julian (Julian is roughly two years old) arrived late last night, so Ruth Anne's whole family is here. That also makes a total of seven adults and four children total, so things were rather hectic.

Much cooking all day, including some new things such as "triangular spinach and cheese things wrapped up in Filo". Dinner was wonderful and the kids were calm enough to let us all enjoy it. I got second shift dish duty, meaning I washed all the dishes that were left over after the dishwasher was full.

Right now the older kids are watching Ice Age again so I'm looking for other things to do.

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