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Chalk one up to Sui the Beeman. Finally a nearly perfect bee swarm recovery.

Having received a call from a lady at 11am, saying she had bees swarming in her back yard. I told her to just leave them alone, they would settle on the branch, took her name, phone number and address. At 3pm she called me back to say the had gone. "Bummer", thought I.

At 5:30 when I got home, I headed round to check on the compost bin bees of last Thursday. They weren't really doing I wanted so I stirred them up, and hopefully they will head back into the box I left. Got a small sting on the top left shoulder.

I left compost bin bees, thinking that as the other lady was around the corner (literally) I would swing by and check it out anyway. I am glad I did. When she showed me the branch that they had been on, I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of a big clump of bees, about the size of a basketball, quietly hanging from the branch. - "TEXTBOOK!", thought I.

The branch was about a meter off the ground, so I put a cardboard box under it (the box was a 2 part fruit box, which I had had the fore thought to get on my way out, - the holes of which my lovely assistant had carefully taped up) , held the brand above the swarm, cut it carefully off, and lowered the whole lot into the box. I put the lid on, and VOILA ! Amazing, one swarm of bees.

I thanked the lady, tucked the box under my arm (STUPIDLY) and popped it into the boot of my car. I took them back to my mum's place where I had a hivebox set up, up-ended the cardboard box into the hivebox, and shut the lid. DONE! "Woah! why can't they all be this easy?", thought I.

Then I got stung again. One bee had crawled into my clothes and up my back. It stung me on the left lower shoulder blade. A very inconvenient place to be stung. I feel like a hunchback at the moment.. not that i can think of any part of my personage I would like to have stung, that is...

I must say I am enjoying creating and being first in the daylogs of late. It's kind of interesting to watch others come online and add their daily stuff throught 'my afternoon' :)

I had a job interview today. I hate the job search process; I'm really not very good at any part of it, from coming up with appropriate things to say in a cover letter to the vague, open-ended questions asked at the interview. I'm really uncomfortable sitting down face to face and talking with strangers, and I'm sure that despite all efforts to hide it, some shows through.

Today's interview was like none I've ever had before. First off, I've sort of been hiding the fact that I'm looking for another job from one of the people I work for, who has been known to get petty and vindictive when she feels people are leaving her high and dry. She's still very cold to the guy who had my position before me, even though it's been well over a year. My own direct supervisors, as well as everyone else I've talked to about it, have all been really supportive; my boss is the one who originally pointed out the job listing to me. Hiding my interview from her got twice as complicated earlier in the week when I discovered that she was going to be at an all-day training in the same building where I was scheduled to be. I managed to dodge her today, but several other people from the organization saw me there. Things will definitely be interesting when she comes back to the office Monday morning. I've never really had to hide a job search before, and people have definitely noticed I've kept to myself and been quiet and unobtrusive for the last week or so.

This is also the first time I've gone looking for a job when I didn't desperately need one, either due to unemployment or hating the current position. It was really weird to feel no real pressure to get the job. Sure, it would be nice to have the extra money, but we seem to be doing ok on our current salaries right now. I enjoy what I'm doing and the people I work with, so it'd be no real hardship to remain there.

None of my previous interviews required a portfolio of web design work before. I've been a web developer for several years now, but in every case, I applied for a more general IT job, and got the web added to my responsibilities since they found out I already knew it. I spend a crazy couple of days printing out samples of various sites I've worked on and examples of my source code, wondering just how much they'd want to see. Turned out, they wanted to go over each of the sites I listed with me, then have their more technical people review the Perl and VBScript later on.

I think things went pretty well. The lack of pressure helped be to relax a little, and I was in my element when the two technical people in the interview group posed programming-specific questions, particularly about how and why I'd designed some of the sites the way I did. Now comes two weeks of waiting for a call back, which I'll most likely spend second guessing myself. Did I really do as well as I think I did? Am I doing the right thing looking for a new job when the economy is so unstable? Did I remember to turn off the iron?

Late at night I close my eyes and think how things could have been…
… When I think about all the crazy things we used to do…
It's better to have lost at love than to never have loved at all…

I won't forget you

Even though I could…

Even though I should

"You still taste bitter"

I'm wasting time on the internet rather than doing homework or finishing the final stage of my room cleaning. Perhaps you are as well.

Next to the the huge pile of clothes spilling out of the closet is a large stack of books, designated my "leisure reading", out of which I was meant to read part of the top book every day, then rotate it to the bottom. Next to this is a paper hole puncher, and a lamp with a handkerchief over it which I occassionally use to cover up my pineal gland when I want to sleep during the day and am too lazy to pull the sheet down over the window. Next to the lamp is a Tarot spread interpreted for me by Jeeves on the last full moon. Nearby are a Rubik's Cube, a whiteboard, a microphone stand, and two of my guitars. Hanging on the wall is a cell phone.

Cornflake Girl plays from the living room.

My bed is made, as it usually is these days, and on top of it are a sketch book that this person made me buy, as well as a blue folder with a sticker I got at a Modest Mouse concert stuck to the front, and the book El Enigma Argentino on top of it. Under the bed are shoeboxes containing phone cords, power supplies, and assorted electrical widgets, remnants from the days I fancied myself a future designer of electrical circuits. Next to the bed, and on the wall above it are two more whiteboards, and the insert from The Private Press.

Icicle plays in the living room. I met an icicle once, but the conversation was probably awkward, since I was overcoming a mild cold with an over dose of Coricidin.

Also next to the bed is my nightstand, which currently contains, in additional to various white pieces of clothing, an empty clove cigarette box containing $200. Proceeding counterclockwise, a larger sketchpad is standing up next to a collapsed music stand, some 55-60 blank CDRs, and a book of church music. On the wall, from bottom to top, are a ruler, two compasses (one without lead), a prodtractor, a hanger, a 30-60-90 triangle ruler, a picture of a business man hanging like a monkey from a tree, an Irene Farrera ticket, a 3.5" by 5" sketch book, a viewfinder, some index cards taped together to be 3" by 6.5", the insert for lift yr skinny fists like antennas to heavean, the first four-panel comic I ever drew, the day after I quit my job, the 5.25" diskette which once contained a mix CD, a CDR labeled Mushroom Soup, a fake nose and glasses, a koala bear I found in a parking lot in 7th grade, an imformational packet on the U of A's study abroad program in Guadalajara, Mexico, a clock, what remains of the pages of a torched lab notebook and the screen that was once inside my window.

The next track from Under the Pink plays. I don't know the name. I copied the CD from a friend of mine. I am an evil, evil man.

Rotate 90 degrees. There's a mosquito on this wall. Excuse me for a moment. Better. A picture of the Willcox Playa. A picture of a tree outside Yuma dorm at the U of A, which I took while killing off a roll of film after the first Portland trip. A postcard from a music school in Sweden. A quote from Sigmund Freud: "When inspiration does not come to me, I got halfway to meet it." A tuning fork, 440Hz. A large Tweety Bird face, which I will draw fangs and evil eyebrows on someday. A picutre by Picasso from 1903 which I will reproduce for my weekend drawing class sometime within the next 48 hours. Song lyrics. Another comic, depicting an old man complaining about damn college kids throwing loud parties all hours of the night, but his wife says, "Oh, Gary, it's the middle of the afternoon, and you're just hearing the afterburners of the jets coming back from their practice missions." A picture of a telephone. Some tesselations. My headphones. The tablature to one of the songs from Faceball 2000. A flyer for Brazilian Bossa Nova. A paper-cut yin-yang dragon picture. A library receipt. A collection of seeds: tomato, carrot, cucumber, greens and tepary beans. A copy of an Alex Grey picture. A postcard from Powell's. The spiral binding from a torched lab notebook hanging from the light fixture, from which hangs a key from a lab I once worked in, from which hangs a key ring, from which hangs a paintbrush, upon which are two rolls of Scotch tape, which holds most of the things on my walls.

The last song is nearing its end. We'll see how brave you are.

Next to said wall is all my important shit. Computer, desk, chair, paper, paper, paper, books, school books, folders, metronome, candles, pens, pencils, lightbulb, a pile of guitar picks, some salmiakki, an EBow, my mixer, a minicassette player I stumbled upon at the University's recycling center while tripping balls on DXM, as well as the djembe bought mere days before setting off for spring break 2001. An alarm clock I never use anymore. Not even plugged in. A big pile of change. A building block, found in the street. A telephone. Juggling balls, tennis balls, a Go board in a briefcase. A backpack. A Danish school bag. Several Spanish dictionaries. Hawaiian Grade A Salvia Leaves: 3g. Syrian Rue seeds: 15g.

The song is over

On the door: "Think for yourself", written in Japanese. The insert for Go Plastic, rotated 45 degrees. Brush and bluky collection notice, from the City of Tucson, Solid Waste Management Department. Hello, my name is srkorn.

Well, looks like me and Pablo Picasso share a birthday.

Fuck Picasso. Right in his ear, wherever the fuck that is.

My mom's in the hospital, stress/panic attack. Happened yesterday Looking at her laying in the hospital bed in psych ward wearing the indecent gown they give you, she is so small. Tiny like some bird too small to fly.

Of course I blame myself. She worries too much, a bit about my unemployment and so on. She even started to cry because she hadn't gotten my birthday present yet.

It's easy to place blame at this point. She doesn't sleep because her husband snores too much. Stress from work and bills and her husband and myself and her new grandaughter.

Her only real possession, besides the pens and clothes is a smallter than wallet-size picture of my little girl. She holds onto it like it's her last connection.

I'm sure she'll be all right. That's a lie. I'm not sure and never will be. I hope.

Another day comes to its end.

Some surprising news today actually.

It turns out my mother is pregnant, whoops! I'll be nearly 20 when it's born, that seems a little weird, but I'm really quite excited about it.

This might be of some help in getting me over my whole "babies make me insanely nervous" thing I've had going on forever. Always thinking I'm going to drop it and be carted off to jail.

Honestly, I think I'd rather be hit by a bus than hold a baby.

"But daaaaaaaaniel, you just gotta hold the baaaby, its soooo cute!" (whiny voice).

My name suggestions are "Crab" and "Odin", boy or girl. Mum said she knew she shouldn't have told me.

It is grey outside just like it is grey inside. I am standing on a plateau of blandness and a good shaking is in order. I need to do so many thing its hard to lay them all out in orderly fashion and know where to begin, but I suppose the likely thing to do would be to get a goddamn job.

I have that teetering feeling cresting like I could slip. If I go too far then it's impossible to come back by myself. I am almost where I was when i found myself on "joy enhancers". It helped, It really did, but aren't I stronger than that now? What kind of evolved person am I that I can't pull myself up by my own damn bootstraps?

I been up all night and i might sleep all day. Catch a dream just right and let it slip awayyyyy.....*

I'm working on it, i really am. Maybe today will be the day. Maybe I wll shake off that overslept headache and move myself forward instead of seeping into stagnation or worse, rolling bakwards into old self depracating habits.

* "Up All Night", Counting Crows

The Tale of The Mouse
Part the Second

How strange! Life sure is complicated.

First my dear write up on How to write poetry for E2 was pulled. Then in a fit of sheer arrogance I reposted the whole thing yesterday as a daylog (Well OK, I did bracket it out with a little explication, perhaps that made a difference.)

Does Klaproth whisper gently in my ear once more? No, it is the voice of Cool Man Eddie that speaks not once, but twice. (I thank you both.) Even better TheMouse has some messages waiting;
2002.10.24 at 19:17 E***** says Do not despair. Read more than you write. Ask questions.
2002.10.24 at 20:18 B***** says re daylog. i like it. oh god, i like it so very much. i would appear more enthusiatic, but i spilled koolaid in my keyboard. i can no longer use the shift key hindering my usage of both punctuation and capitalization.
2002.10.24 at 20:34 S***** says your poetry thing rocks. I can't believe it got deleted. I bet if you weren't new it wouldnt have been. this place can be ridiculous sometimes.
2002.10.24 at 21:17 S***** says re October 24, 2002: Awesome writeup. Some of these editors really are total dicks...
2002.10.24 at 21:27 E***** says re October 24, 2002: Wished I'd seen your original node-- I would have C!ed it. Very astute observations.
2002.10.25 at 11:34 b***** says - just read your October 24, 2002 sorry Klaproth ate your original post, you didn't deserve that.
2002.10.25 at 11:35 b****** says Don't get discouraged!

(All names removed to protect the innocent and guilty alike.)

TheMouse is not discouraged and feels no despair. TheMouse was not unduly worried about having the damned thing deleted in the first place. TheMouse was just having some fun and TheMouse believes in fun.

When I left the public radio industry in early 2001, I was defeated. I thought I would never go back. In the grips of a bad boss – a man who was humiliating, incompetent and in general a bad leader – I had little choice but to leave. Today, I had a job interview at my old company – and what a strange and wonderful experience it was.

I don’t know if other people feel this way, but sometimes you work some place, and it fits. There’s this weird chemistry between you and the company – you belong there. Somehow you as an individual just click with your coworkers. That’s how public radio was for me. I didn’t feel guilty about working in public radio – even when I was in a low-level customer service job, I enjoyed it. I believe in the mission of public broadcasting – it’s the only viable alternative to the rest of the media, which is pretty terrible. It was right for me. And although my current job is okay, it’s just a job. I go in, punch the clock and do what’s expected of me. It doesn’t matter. I like where I work, but I don’t believe in it. And being the only web person in the organization, I feel very alone and isolated. Everyone thinks I’m a magician – that I work magic, that writing code is some godlike gift. I can’t have a normal conversation with anyone. They’re surprised if I’m interested in politics, or world events, or film or music – they have this picture of a “technology worker,” and they don’t take me seriously outside my discipline, because why would a technology worker care about politics? All we know is program code and silicon chips, right?

So being back in the building I worked in for three years was a cathartic experience. I got there early just so I could walk around and wax nostalgic. Surprisingly, I kept bumping into people I used to work with – and even more surprisingly they remembered me. One woman who I used to work customer service with even hugged me – I was so happy to see her. Even the woman who runs the hot dog cart out front remembered me.

It’s strange, when you’re in a really great job, sometimes you take all the good things for granted. And when I left, I bolted out the door without taking the time to properly say goodbye. Being back in the building made me realize that I’ve been depressed for nearly two years – I hadn’t wanted to go, I left because I couldn’t handle the way my boss was treating me. And I missed it so much.

The interview itself went well. The job market is terrible, and there are a lot of good candidates competing for it. But I think I impressed them – and I think I have a chance, despite the fact that there’s internal candidates. One of them glared at me from his cubicle – he had to be another applicant. He gave me a look that was so full of hate and anger – it was clear he saw me as a threat. Perhaps I am – but maybe not. In any event, I walked out knowing that I desperately wanted the job I interviewed for – that I need it. But I don’t have my hopes up, I’m not being unrealistic about it – I know I might not get it.

And if I don’t get it, I need to re-evaluate my life. I can’t keep working somewhere that makes me unhappy. If I can’t go back to my old life, then perhaps I can find a new one that makes me just as happy. If I’m going to be forced to spend eight hours of my day working somewhere, I might as well like it.

Key idea of the day:

After buying a new winter coat and many stranger things at Goodwill today, I have decided that I am going to singlehandedly bring the baby doll dress back into the fashion world.

Or at least my world.

The early 90's rocked.

Some slam poetry I wrote today. Yes, it was a journal prompt in English 4 IB. The prompt was something close to "When is it hardest to look at yourself in the mirror?"...

of what I had said or done,
or eaten (Well, not me).

Am I imperfect?
Small, defenseless--
increased potential for rape/mugging/violent crime (of some kind).
Am I a target?

Do I need a haircut?
I can't really tell.
Surely, it's shorter than it's been before.
The least of my worries.

Maybe my eyes are the wrong color.
Maybe my ears are the wrong shape.
I won't be on the cover of Rolling Stone--
maybe Time or Newsweek.
Better yet, Forbes.

Physical perfection--
attained only in Hollywood,
as seen on television,
now at a new low price.

Am I imperfect?
My mom thinks so.

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