Content Warning: This contains some fairly bad language. Actually, it is chock full of cursing, swearing, verbal abuse and severely irritating grammatical errors.

"Uh oh." Cricket is staring at a dim circle of metal lying on the flight deck; it has fallen there after we put one of the stabilators up and folded the tail. We were, up until this point, getting ready to pull the bird into the barn for the evening. Now this happens and blows everything out of the water.
"I'm serious, the goddamn thing is falling the fuck apart." I am standing in the smoking area relating the events of ten minutes ago to a slightly incredulous listener named Bill. Bill is the Navy's equivalent of a telephone repairman and works on the internal communications system onboard the ship I am riding around on, as if anyone didn't know that already.
"Whaddya mean, falling apart?" Eyeing me with what might be evident suspicion, then again it could be complete and total boredom caused by being awake at two o' clock in the morning.
"I mean, shit is falling off of the airplane." Exasperation.
"What fell off?" The same bored tone as before.
"Stab bushing."
"Is it important?"
"No, it only keeps the goddamn thing from going bugga-bugga-bugga and then flying off of the back of the fucking plane." I wave my arms around for dramatic effect; it fails to impress the intended audience.
"Hard to fix?"
"Nah, need some glue though."
"Glue?" Right eyebrow jacks up higher than the other in an evident display of interest.
"Yeah. Hysol. Strong stuff."
"You're goona glue the fucking thing back together?" The left eyebrow joins the right. "Jesus fucking Christ Yurei."
"Oh yeah." I grin madly at Bill betraying my own lunacy brought on by the sum of the square of the two sides of the triangle. On one side we have time left to the end of cruise, on the other we have the distance to the western coast of the United States of America. The hypotenuse is ridiculously long when viewing it from the ground. "Do it all the time."
"Remind me not to fly in that fucker."

"Yurei, it's not your fault." Next morning Scott and I are sitting on the fantail chain smoking cigarettes in equatorial sun. This is a form of behavior that I normally abhor however today is an exception. Not only that but the fact that it is ungodly hot coupled to the continuous loop of Bill Paxton's leering smile and patronizing voice spitting out 'yeah man, but it's a dry heat' helps nothing. "Seriously."
"Uh Scott, in the event you aren't aware of this already, THERE IS A FUCKING HOLE IN THE FUCKING BOTTOM OF THE FUCKING AIRPLANE." Screaming produces a few odd looks and then the inevitable settling back into conversation. Most everyone around here is well aware of my occasionally off-kilter behavior, so screaming about holes in the plane did not disturb the others around me in the slightest.
"Calm down Yurei, calm down." Scott attempts to be rational when there is a hole in the bottom of the airplane that you can see daylight through.
The hole has been caused by corrosion and I am not exactly happy about this at all. I found the hole this morning while getting ready to pull the radar antenna cowling off. This is a large circular affair about eight feet in diameter and a foot deep, commonly called the 'swimming pool' due to the obvious resemblance. I crawled under the left main mount, just forward of the tire (where I always start,) and glanced up toward the underside of the belly. There in the middle of an inch wide blotch of interrupted gray paint was a distended blob of olive drab metal. For starters, metal is not supposed to be olive drab unless it corrodes. Aluminum corrosion usually looks like a gray blemish on polished metal usually accompanied by a slight pitting inside the corroded areas. When this corrosion gets bad enough it will turn from something called surface pitting into something much nastier called exfoliation which occurs when the metal actually starts peeling apart like an onion. This causes the distended bulge on the bottom of the airplane that I am staring at in disbelief. Rather gingerly, as if defusing a large bomb with a hammer, I remove a six inch Gerber folding knife from the belt running around the waist of my coveralls, open it and then poke at the center of the olive patch. The point of the knife goes through the metal and disappears a quarter of an inch into the airframe. The aluminum skin of the aircraft is a sixteenth of an inch thick.

I remember being a kid and doing something stupid. Several of my friends and I were standing in an unkempt field near the tract development we all lived in on what was then the outskirts of Livermore, California. It was at the time, now from what I hear it is the center of what are the outskirts of San Francisco. Anyway, Neal, Dan, Neal's younger brother Kevin, my younger brother Seraph and I are sort of milling around in this field looking for something. When you're eight years old anything will do, you just need to find something moderately amusing to keep you busy for three hours until the street lights come on and then you are inevitably forced away from your newfound entertainment. (At the risk of dating myself one way or the other, my family had just gotten cable television at the time and it was considered a big deal in the neighborhood.) We found precisely what we were looking for in the form of a large patch of tomatoes growing wild near one edge of the almost square field. At this time I would like to mention that the edge of the field was actually a road. I would now like to offer the collected audience something of a rather simple equation.

We have:
A= automobile
R= road
T= tomatoes
P= projectile
M= =maturity
BI= blatant irresponsibility
EC= errant children
ET= excessive time
Where:
T=P
and
(T+(EC*ET))-M=BI
Therefore we can safely assume:
(A+R(T+(EC*ET))-M)=SOTFBIAROFECBPU
Given that:
SOTFBIAROCBPU= Screeching of Tires Followed By Immediate Ass Reaming of Formerly Errant Children By Parental Units.
Splat. Screech. "HEY YOU LITTLE FUCKERS." Angry man chase the Yurei and his friends whom having found their feet again, are running about as fast as they can towards their house. This unfortunately is an enormous tactical blunder on their part since the individual in the automobile began to follow them back to their houses. This marked not only this first time that I had ever felt a cold sense of fear due to something that I had just watched happen but also the first time I had ever been officially addressed as 'fucker.' Surprisingly enough this has occurred frequently since that occasion which makes me wonder if I had dodged some sort statistics prior to then.

Cold fear washes through me despite the heat and the humidity baking the flight deck as we near the equator for the second time this cruise. (The first of the two times was marked by something called Wog Day that is actually now an officially monitored Flailex and not anything close to what it once was.) I stare at the point of the knife receding from the skin of the helicopter and wonder what the weather is like this time of the year at Fort Leavenworth as this is probably where I am headed right now. One of our airframers looks at the hole, laughs, and then goes to find some tools. Eight hours later the fluorescent drop light we were using to work under the plane is unplugged and we begin the six hour wait required for the potting to dry under the new layers of metal. I still hate feeling cold in the middle of the day.
We're all tired. The birds are tired after having had nearly 1300 hours put on them over the last year. I sat down yesterday to roughly calculate the number of days I have been deployed since January of last year and came to the round figure of 300 out of 390. One month of hurried vacation trying to see as many people as possible, find a new apartment and get back into the mentality of being at work at home once again. Three weeks after settling into a nice comfy spot I was standing in front of the Bahrain International Airport wondering why it was that there was no one to pick me up and I was again being left up to my own devices with respect to getting to the boat. There was supposed to have been someone there, I am still bitter about that.
Since 1981, Sikorsky and United Technologies were of the opinion that the maximum life span of the SH-60B airframe would be 10,000 flight hours before they would need to be sent to the desert and broken in half. In 1998 then there was a 2,000-hour extension added to that figure to allow the airframes to fly to a total of twelve thousand hours before retirement. With the 60R program coming online the aircraft that we have now on this detachment will have their tails cut off, major wiring in the cabin/cockpit replaced and then sent back to the fleet with few other changes. The paint will be stripped off and a new layer will be gunned on in careful applications to be ruined by the first fleet wash job the plane receives. The patch beneath the radar cowling will still be there, the metal carefully bonded and riveted in place just as the manual says. They'll give the airframe another few thousand hours after the upgrade.

Imagine six months. Periods of half a year at where you work, live, eat and sleep in an area 500 feet by 75 feet. 350 other people live with you, 90 of you at a time in coffin racks three high and eight deep. The space from your chest to the metal of the rack above you is about a foot, enough that you can read a magazine through some interesting gymnastics. That is if your rack light works and you aren't so dead tired after a twelve hour shift that all you want to do is sleep for the period remaining until you're rousted for work again. This goes on for seven days a week with the occasional interruption for a port visit and the inevitable escape from work, assuming that it isn't a working port in which case your hours do not change at all. Typically you will spend between twenty-five to forty days at sea before you have a three to five day port visit and then after that it all starts all over again. After the first three weeks you settle into a mode where you work, eat, work, eat, work and then sleep. Everything runs into a blur, you forget to care what day of the week it is and profess amazement at the fact that another week has passed. People stop wearing watches all together due to the mechanics of the way the ship works, when you are less than a minute walk from work it becomes very hard to get stuck in traffic and be late. After three months you do not remember what it was like before you got there and actually fear going home in a small way because it will mean a break in the regimen. It all tastes the same, looks the same and you cannot help but wonder what happened yesterday. Last week becomes something of a myth so don't even bother trying to figure out what you were doing a month ago. Imagine six months.

Everything Snapshot

Time: Sat, 3 Feb 2001 00:19:29 GMT
Everything server: Apache/1.3.9 (Unix) Debian/GNU mod_ssl/2.4.10 OpenSSL/0.9.4 mod_perl/1.21_03-dev

Number of nodes: 814625 (732 new since February 2, 2001 [739.1 wa7])
Number of users: 25034 (86 new since February 2, 2001 [84.7 wa7])
Number of links: 3451702 (28470 new since February 2, 2001 [14305.8 wa7])
Number of writeups: 451125 (314 new since February 2, 2001 [355.6 wa7])
Number of cools: 59766 (206 new since February 2, 2001 [176.3 wa7])
Number of votes: 1920944 (7640 new since February 2, 2001 [7327.7 wa7])
Number of hits: 32359707 (157105 new since February 2, 2001 [146221.2 wa7])

Node to user ratio: 32.541 nodes per user
Link to node ratio: 4.237 links per node
Link to user ratio: 137.881 links per user
Link to writeup ratio: 7.651 links per writeup
Votes to cools ratio: 32.141 votes per cool
Cools to user ratio: 2.387 cools per user
Hits to user ratio: 1292.630 hits per user

New Nodes: [date rape on the beach] [solea] [infected] [the innocent greediness of the very young] [trying to pretend you're not on AOL] [Ack! I forgot my root password!] [MMOG] [Vomit Bag] [stars] [String Theory] [PC Weasel 2000] [Common Acids] [Pasteurella pestis] [Jan Brady] [give]

Users Online (57): [dmd] [Rancid_Pickle] [Evil Catullus] [hramyaegr] [novalis] [hackthemainframe] [Demeter] [shmOOnkie pOOnks] [vectormane] [Jinmyo] [m_turner] [icicle] [AndieX] [Gorgonzola] [holliman] [xunker] [Roninspoon] [wh00t] [Infinite Burn] [narzos] [Sand Jack] [TheNastyCanasty] [WonkoDSane] [Gritchka] [r4v5] [Inyo] [Aresds] [chrisjh] [Psk] [Flip] [generosity] [tres equis] [deeahblita] [Pantsless Bob] [barbie] [Phssthpok] [blukens] [mikemoto] [GangstaFeelsGood] [sgs] [the gilded frame] [Andukar] [Ælien] [Sirius] [mofaha] [aozilla] [lambda68] [Nymph- o] [Emperor Roscoe] [JarickCWAL] [senbei] [Xydexx Squeakypony] [seanni] [tomwhore] [village_idiot] [Danalien] [yaqub0r]

JeffMagnus node count: 4095 (1 new since February 2, 2001)
JeffMagnus experience: 11864 (-6 more since February 2, 2001)
JeffMagnus experience to node ratio: 2.897 XP per node
JeffMagnus nodeshare: 0.503% (Via alternate method: 0.908%)*
JeffMagnus node of the day: Windows Error Lookup Guide

Note: The Everything Snapshot daylog will return as soon as I work out one that is more pleasant for members of the Everything Whino sect.

I ended today with a hole in my elbow, a pain in my pectoral muscle, and an uneasiness in my head concerning a certain someone I’ve recently befriended.

The day started out innocently enough. I woke up on time, was relatively conscious during the morning routine, and made it out the door by 7:30. I went to go lift the garage door, since it was still broken, and felt an awful, tearing pain in my right pectoral region. It felt like my ribs were attacking my clavicle while my lungs suffered undue pressure. I hadn’t even gotten the door to lift an inch from the ground. I squeaked, ran back inside, and made my brother open the garage for me.

Got to school just fine. The roads were a little questionable, and several drivers were being either reckless, careless, or over-cautious. Why can’t everyone drive as well as me?

In humanities, we were required to read the essays we had written since the last class period. We split into groups of three and started sharing. When it was my turn, I refused. I had to do the same thing yesterday when a teacher of mine asked me to read some of my poetry to the class. My writings are private, and although I’ll never see any of these kids after May, I don’t want to live in fear of their pity and rejection. Anyway, for class today we had been required to write a philosophical contemplation piece. Mine concerned mental instability and how my mind once worked – the class would have been freaked out. Needless to say, I spared the awkward situation by avoiding the possibility.

Went to give blood this morning at nine o’clock. Went through the standard paperwork. I thankfully passed the iron test because of all the vitamins and supplements I’ve been taking since December in preparation for this day. My blood pressure was through the roof for some reason – 108/68. I’m usually 90/60. Guess I must have been nervous or something. Drank a tiny cup of juice, swore I weighed more than 110 pounds, and before I knew it I had a needle the size of a pencil jutting from my elbow. Since I had not eaten breakfast (who does?), the nurse made me lay down during the donation. I was done in five minutes flat, and well on my way to polishing off two dozen sugar cookies and a gallon of orange juice.

Had the group picture for NAHS right afterwards. I sat in the front, being an officer, and proudly displayed my betadined arm with the huge gauze pads and medical tape for the camera.

As I was walking back to class, I saw the girl I mentioned earlier walking along in the hall. I asked her if she had time to talk, and she said sure. The other people she was with drifted away, so it was just us two. We started an aimless wandering, during witch a very serious and personal conversation took place. I asked her about the scars on her arms, then showed her mine. I told her about being in the hospital and not being able to stop myself from cutting. She said her parents are making her see a counselor starting next month, that the only thing keeping her alive right now is her fear of death. I said I was glad she’s afraid of dying if it’s kept her here so far. I gave her my number and said to call if she ever needed to talk. She thanked me, and then the conversation moved on to matters of less gravity.

As we were walking, we somehow ended up in the back of the school by the auditorium. The infamous band director walked by and stopped. He started pointedly at my elbow, so I brandished my injury before his eyes and told a horrible story of pain. He simply kept staring at me, so I said I was fine, since I was. He said he was glad. The girl I was with said she wanted to give blood, but she didn’t weigh enough. That was blatantly obvious – her clothes hung from her bony frame, and knobby wrists showed beneath layers of rave bracelets. She gave the usual story about the medication, said she was a picky eater and whatnot. She almost had me convinced. Her sunken eyes surrounded by streaks of black makeup almost looked sincere.

Overall, not a bad day.

My First Node of The New Fangled Millenium

Wouldn't ya know it? I woke up a couple hours early this morning and thought to myself,
Wouldn't it be a good idea to clean out the car? And while I'm at it I better look for that AAA sticker that I got for Christmas but still haven't put on my car."

Later that morning I smiled for a moment, finally I caught a glimpse of my future. I had made a budget, accounted for every single penny of my money, and if by some miracle I could stay with this budget, I would finally catch up with my bills on March 16th!! Of THIS year!

As if the thought of looking for my AAA card alone shouldn't have been enough warning....my car broke down tonight. Not exactly broke but the half shafts are in such poor condition that my car shook not quite violently but as close to violently as a car can shake without actually being violent. I was approximately 5 miles from my home when I tried to make a left turn and I kid you not, I really felt like my car was going to fall apart right then and there.

Wouldn't ya know it? I never did find that AAA card. And March 16th - yeah! As if!
It was one of those days. I was only at work because of a deadline, but that was not the problem.

The problem was that I checked my e-mail before I went to work, and found out that a co-worker has been answering customer questions about my project. Then at work I overhear this co-worker on the phone with the customer, once again discussing my project.

As anyone knows who has worked in an office with short cubicle walls, it is virtually impossible not to overhear phone calls. However, this was my time to avoid making this a crappy day, and I blew it. I was thinking to myself:

Okay, you're upset. You're getting emotional. First the e-mail and now this. Leave the office now, go eat lunch, forget about it, get over it.

Sigh. Instead, I confronted him, he felt bad, I felt bad, and it was all so stupid. I mean, who is going to care a year from now?

All’s Well That Ends Well, or was did it really end well? We went to lunch and had a beer together, but is he secretly pissed off? Who knows. Time for bed.

It has been a strange night. I went to my home home for some reason of which I am not quite sure. My friend Charlie was having a tupperware party at her house and a party party afterwards, so I went with my mom to buy tupperware and mom went home and I stayed. I got a collander. I really needed one of those things. :) So by 8 PM, I'd already had a productive night.

So Charlie's boyfriend, Geoff, who is of age went to the liquor store for me and I got a nice big bottle o' wine and we were just partying. They were smoking up, I (once again!) do not imbibe, I want to watch porn for some reason, 10 seconds into the viewing I changed my mind. I keep forgetting how disgusting hardcore pornography is. But Charlie insists that I have to see Edward Penis-hands because of how funny it is. It was extremely funny, this dude had penises on the ends of his arms instead of hands (thus the title) and like all these chicks were getting fucked by his penis hands. The funniest part was imagining all the applications of this scenario... "Dude, he could have three orgasms at once"..."He could be having intercourse, anal, and oral sex with the same woman at the same time!" I have never seen more hilarious porn in my life.

But we're all sick of porn and so we watch Three Kings, which I wasn't watching because I was talking and drinking my wine. After one (very large) glass I start to feel sick and decide to stop so that I don't throw up and so that I can drive home later, and give the glass that I had already poured to Charlie's friend Mike who was sitting next to me...

Later on, after the movie was over, I was in the kitchen playing with the sensual magnetic poetry on the refrigerator and Mike comes in and plays with it too. Then he kisses me. I didn't kiss him back, which I guess he mistook for assent. So I'm backed up into the corner of the kitchen and decide to focus on the magnetic poetry all the while thinking, "Why does it have to be sexual, goddammit!" when the only sentence I can form is something about making love from behind and so of course his hands have to go (just about everywhere)... He kisses my neck and tries to kiss me some more. When I pull away he says, "What's wrong?" and since the only response I can ever come up with in a sexual situation is that of passivity, "Nothing," try to go back to the magnets, repeat, repeat, repeat. I was very sexually attracted to him, and not like I wasn't enjoying things, but I just couldn't let myself for some reason. After a while, he turns away from me to refill his water glass and I slip around him while I can. A few minutes later his ride comes and he has to leave, both sparing me and leaving me unfufilled.

Now, why the hell did I react that way, when upon first meeting this guy I was attracted to him?

So I hung out with friends for another hour or so, and then the wine that I had had began to wear off and I started freaking out, feeling all shaky again and was afraid I was going to have a nervous breakdown in my high school friend's apartment. Geoff (who was the only one in the living room as this was going on) was really nice about the whole thing, kept asking me if I was okay, if I needed anything, he was really nice. I drank some water, talked to people some more, and decided it was probably best that I leave before things get any worse. I'm still feeling shaky and thinking that I was probably in better shape to drive while I was still a little buzzy, but I made it home safely.

(Whimper) XP of -4?? That does NOT encourage me at all...

11:40

Oh dear... ::yawn to the sixth power::

This should become an interesting day.

Last night, in MGS, I fought Sniper Wolf and won, then Vulcan Raven... Now I'm in an epic Key Hunt Scene.

I wonder if the "photograph development" also works somehow in PC version of MGS??? I tried photographing the scenes indicated, but nothing seems to happen.

18:42

(Downvoters: Hello! McFly! See below. It says "To be continued". Just because it's short it doesn't mean it won't get longer... =)

Didn't do much. Watched movies.

23:50

Spent couple of hours trying to learn how to use Guile within C++ programs, and drew some silly UML class diagrams... Why? Well, I got an idea to make a game engine that would allow creation of Metal Gear-like games (none of this modern rubbish, I mean, sort of like the GameBoy version of MGS).

OK, this should be a perfect spot for wild mad noding spree...

(...it seems to turn into offline noding spree. =)

01:01

I had a strange idea for making a really obfuscated "hello world" program...

This day was a pretty... busy day. I promise to node more tomorrow, OK?

02:10

<evil-scientist> Hahahahaaa! I found it! I found the secret of making really obfuscated Hello Worlds! Am I pervert or something?</evil-scientist>

I'll keep you suspense by noding it tomorrow...


Other day logs o' mine...

Updated: Sniper Wolf

The coffee at work is gross.

We have a Mr. Coffeetm machine that probably hasn't been cleaned in a 1000 pots. It's made with five heaping scoops of Folgerstm coffee, when it should have been made with perhaps 2 or 3. It forms an oil slick on top and the coffee ends up with the viscosity of Guinnesstm, not that Guinnesstm is bad itself, but coffee is for drinking, not eating. It's definitly coffin varnish but without the charm. People look at me funny when I bring in my Pete's, but I'm telling ya, when you drink break room coffee, your taking your life in your hands.

wuukiee and mcc flew in to Logan last night. The previous week had been filled with giddy anticipation. wuukiee means so much to me I can't even begin to explain to you how much, or how startled I am at how quickly she went from random person to family. So, she came, and he came, and I sat waiting in the airport at 8:40 for a wuukiee bearing plane that was supposed to arrive at 8:10. I was stressing because the mcc bearing plane was to arrive at 8:23 and I had heard no word from him on my cell phone.

Pacing, pacing, not worried, not stressing at the lateness, but worried about mcc. Eventually I went through the metal detector to look in at the gate. As I move down the concourse and come to her gate my phone rings. It is her. "I'm here. I'm at gate B5."

"B5? I'm at B5... where are.... heyyyy!!!!"

Awkard first meeting hug.... then rushing off to find the boy. Where are you boy?

15 minutes later we are staring at a monitor telling us that mcc was one hour and twenty minutes late.

That evening found us curled on the couch all three somehow in a ball of snuggles.

I'm so glad they came.

The ceiling is the beginning and the end of this world. My mind is the layer of covers above me in my bed, pulling with a strange kind of comfort. You can stay in here forever, and I will grow thicker and thicker, warmer to your heart. Protection. You will be protected. But once protected...?

I am trying to make something. I am trying to etch out this life on a canvas or a page. I don’t see anything, though. The walls have gone grey around me and I don’t dare get up. There’s nothing to get up to.

I miss you.

You were not a lover, you were not a dream, and I knew exactly who you were. Without my confidant, what do I do? I barely know how to think without you to think to. And so I breathe. I don’t think. I let the ceiling grow closer – the beginning and the end of this world.

I remember depression in ninth grade. What it meant then. It meant that sharp brand of punctuated misery that is all a thirteen-year-old’s hormones can sustain for long. Hot fluctuations and violence in the brain. Self-hurt and a religion of suicidal tendencies. This is slow. This is dark, but it never hits black. Black would be too much of something. This is more and more of nothing.

I can’t move.



You know what I love about E2? No matter how shitty I’m feeling, I write it up, and the moment I’m satisfied with it enough to post it, the cloud just lifts those couple of inches I needed to crawl out and see what’s going on out there and feel human. I will never cease to be amazed.
he helped me pick out a vanilla scented candle once. i didn't even really want a candle, i wasn't even going to buy it but just the way he picked it up and made it sound like the greatest thing he'd ever smelled.. and he'd always be there, every time we went to the grocery store, i can only remember a handful of times he wasn't there.

we wouldn't believe, last night. pretended it wasn't true to save ourselves the evening, i guess. i still don't want to believe it.. it doesn't make sense and it makes too much sense and why is it like that, that you can be talking and feeling and breathing one day and then nothing. just gone. i'm sure it isn't supposed to be like that because i don't want it to be.

it's not that i knew him that well.. just that i knew him well enough to love the way he moved through life. and they just had a baby and he has two other little kids and can we talk to someone somewhere because i don't think they took the right person this time.. do they ever take the right person..

is it ever the right person?

i'll miss you. give 'em hell up there, rick.

two children were killed five or ten minutes from here, yesterday, too. i can feel them in the air around this place. too much death, too close..
What a way to start the day. Some times I wonder why I even get up in the mornings. I spend 80+ hours a week at work, and I just don't need more pressure. But it's hard to work with your girlfriend, and even harder to be her boss. Most of the time we're fine - but days like today really push the limits. All I need, all I want, is some freedom, peace and acceptance that I have to do what I have to do.

She wants so much to be included in everything I do. And I try to accomodate her as much as possible - but sometimes (like today) I shouldn't. She wanted to go to work with me. I had to make a choice

  • Wait for her. Miss bus. Be late to work.
  • Go without her. Be on time. Deal with angry girlfriend all day because I couldn't "wait a few minutes."
I chose (unsurprisingly) to wait. Perhaps I should have decided that work is more important, but somehow, I can't. If I do, I might as well hang out the "Vacancy" sign, because I won't have a girlfriend anymore.

I sat and thought while we waited for the bus. Thought about a lot of things. Seems like I can't make anything sound like I want it to when I speak out loud - but somehow I think telling her everything by email wouldn't quite send the right message.

She just started on E2 yesterday. Noded the lyrics to Johnny Jump Up. She had originally done it in bard and it got cooled immediately. I'm jealous. I feel like I'm not as talented when someone's first attempt gets more recognition than any of my best work. Aside from that, I also wonder if this means I can't be as free with my thoughts here. I keep a lot of things secret to preserve the sanity of our relationship - because everytime I bring up some of these things, it turns into an argument followed by crying jags. Not that the making up is bad, but I'd rather not have the arguments to begin with.

Oh well, she's probably going to read this, anyway - but I just have to get some of this off of my chest. It's that or go mad.

Someone please tell me that my trained chimps are on the way? 7 people not showing up for work did not make my boss happy. I've called everyone I have numbers for. At least two people came in. That means only 10 minute hold times instead of 18. Times like this make me glad I'm not the boss. But does it really matter? After all, shit rolls downhill, and I'm right in the path of destruction.

The reports of my crackheadedness are highly exarggerated. Aside from drugs, my roomates are xtasy slinging hard core right wing republicans with a penchant for buggering nymphomaniaicle coke-head gymnists. Well only one likes to bang athletic prepubescent college enrolled midgets. The other is rather sweet, and non-communicative, except he has a terrible tendancy to vote for buchanan. I am definetly writing too much in my life. I need to expend less pychic energy and absorb more. New york suffers from blockbuster syndrome: paralyzation due to overstimulation, and cheep drugs and expensive alchohol. It also is very disjointed like my writing at this current state. I think i'm becoming an insomniac. I daydream about sleeping. Rats deprived of REM sleep for two weeks die, human begin to hallucinate after three days, I wonder what happens to us after two weeks? i'd like to think i'm hardier than a rat, but you know seeing some of the rats around here i doubt it. I attempted to intravenusly imbibe Cream, but vinyl doesn't realy liquify enough in a blender. Cream is explosivly good. I mean that in such a short period of time they created some of the most incredible music. I must go now morpheus beckons, as does meg, but i don't think i'll listen to her.

Just like every other human being out there, I can't satisfy everybody at the same time.
  1. I'm going to see Chicago: The Musical tonight, starring Bebe Neuwirth and Belle Calaway as the leading ladies Velma Kelly and Roxie Hart respectively.
  2. I'm going to hang out with Deeahblita tonight because she insists that I do so from two nights ago.
  3. My family wants me to go out and make friends, but I have to come back home early. My mother calls me every minute, making me rack up time with my phone.
I woke up intentionally late in the morning (around 9:00 AM), and dressed up for the whole day - I took the subway straight to Times Square to get to the Shubert Theatre. The box office were already selling tickets for the show, and I was lucky to have one of the last seats for tonight's show.

I went to the Café Edison for breakfast as always. My usual breakfast in the Edison is two eggs, and a bowl of corn flakes. However, I'll add a steak to the breakfast because I'm not expected to eat a lot (if anything) for the afternoon.

I'm back here at work, The Library Café in Brooklyn College, waiting for the next half-hour so I will start working. I work from 2:00 PM to the closing time of 6:00 PM.

After leaving work at 6:00 PM, I took the subway back to Manhattan to do some window shopping - I went Data Vision and looked around for MacOS-related equipment for the campus newspaper office.

I saw Chicago for the first time of this year. Bebe Neuwirth is a given on the side of being a great trooper of an actress, and the cast is just right. In admiring the dancers of the show, I find it too.. difficult for me to say that I liked Mary Ann Hermansen (the dancer with the push-up bra) because it would make me too much of a regular guy who stares at her breasts all day. Mary Ann has skills alright, but I can't help to say "Oh look, breasts" when I see her onstage. After the show, I talked to Bebe about ideas for traveling to Europe, and she wholeheartedly recommends going to Paris for the museums.

I went to the TES party right after talking to Bebe. The place where the party is held, L'Oeil Cache ("The Hidden Eye") is a place I feel better going to than Paddles from My First S&M Party because it has a more intimate atmosphere for people at play, to watch, or at hang out in the green room. Granted it's an apartment and it's easily crowded, but at least I don't feel pressured to join in on the playing.

Deeahblita worked behind the desk in the L'Oeil Cache, taking care of the entrance fees and counting attendees. She was cool hanging out and stuff, and we listened to a guy singing "Killing me Softly with his Schlong" (a parody of "Killing me Softly with his Song." ) I was talking to the higher-ups of the party about finding the right domme, the various forms of play, and the lack of vibrator use on submissive men. I mean, using a vibrator is always associated with girls, and I want to identify with the submissive women in that party more than the men. Well, when it comes to any aspect of sex, I want to identify with women more than being a guy doing the "suck, fuck, and roll over" routine.

For the sake of saving time lest pissing off my folks (and 2:00 AM is clean-up time for the party), I took a cab back to the ol' home office. It was a half-hour trip compared to the hour-long ride in an empty subway going to Brooklyn.

Today was my first day at work. I had to get up a 6, so I could be at work by 7. That sucked, but my job is pretty tolerable. I work at a bakery and sell people donuts and stuff. Now, I smell like donuts. Not a highly pleasant smell. Psydereal would be very proud of me I didn't eat a bite of anything the whole time I was there. When you work you can eat whatever you want for free. It can be rather tempting

Last night I was scared to sleep in my own bed. Not because Psydereal was gone and I was afraid of the dark. I had this horrible dream the other afternoon while I was napping. It was one of those dreams where you're half awake and half asleep and you can't move. So there I was I thought I was awake. I could see my room. Then I felt a big strong arm across my shoulder. I was hoping it was a handsome young man, but I couldn't talk to ask them who they were. Then another arm went across my waist, and both arms started pulling me off the bed. Whatever was touching me started to make this horrible moaning noise. At the same time there felt like there was something trying to suck me in. Finally I was able to talk and I screamed "Who are you?" No answer, but I managed to fully wake up and realize there was noone there. It had all been a dream. It was creepy.

Last night sucked so incredibly much. There was this coffeehouse at my school. It was odd. Basically, about 25 of my friends were all in differant bands, and I went with two of my other friends. Because they go to another school, they didn't know anybody there, so I hung out with them--I didn't wanna ditch my friends. Well, none of my other friends even said hi to me until we were leaving. And the music sucked. And seeing as I'm semi-grounded 'cause my parents are stupid and so is Religion class at a Catholic high school, I can only go out once per weekend, making this weekend a waste. Except for a report I have to do that'll count for 2 test grades. Wow, my life's sucking again.

Oh, and the girl who said that I was "her second favorite person in the world" was apparently lying. She basically blew me off and hung out with my ex-girlfriend. Gah...at least E2 is here to console me (I think?). Maybe next weekend will be better....Probably not...
Normally I wouldn't post a trivial day log. Nor bring quite so much RL into my online persona. But hey, trauma makes good copy.

OUCH!

My god that hurt.

I was lifting floorboards. As you may know, this means punching through the existing nails so the board is freed. Everything was going well, but I was starting to feel hungry and tired. I only had one more board to go, though, so I decided to finish the job then have lunch.

Those of a nervous disposition might like to stop reading now...

I don't know what happened - other than I missed the punch with the hammer.

shudder

Hammer and punch were dropped (I don't remember this) as instinct dragged me to the sink. Cold tap (we only have cold water). Thumb. Numb. (No, it's hurting. It's still hurting...)

I looked.

I could see it was only a minor abrasion... Why did it hurt so much?!!!!!!??!!!

Keep the water running...

It wasn't bleeding much (some, not much - just a flesh wound). My hands were filthy, though. And my thumb was numb at last. Instinct cut out.

Muddled logic cut in.

Okay, warm water to clean up and plaster to keep the germs out. We don't have warm water. Oh yes we do - electric shower!

Muddled logic dragged me upstairs. I wrapped my dripping thumb in kitchen towel and grabbed a box of plasters on the way. (I was feeling quite odd, now I recall events.) I managed to turn the shower on before a wave of nausea hit. I staggered to the stairs and sat, head down, trying to relax. I started shivvering (I'd been hot, it was cold - rapid drop in body temperature plus shock - lovely).

I was cross with myself. Why had I been so stupid... I get clumsy when I'm hungry and tired. I only injure myself when I'm hungry and tired.

After a while (and my wife coming back from shopping - relief), I dragged myself to bed, to lie down and get warm.

She tempted me downstairs (some time later) with a chocolate doughnut and a caramel egg. :-)

It was still agony but I could tell the wound was healing. It was sore. It gave me stabs of pain if I tensed. The cut was oozing clear fluid.

After it had stopped oozing (sorry, my sense of passing time hadn't returned), my wife put a plaster on incredibly carefully. Amazing. She's a hero and my favourite person ever.

Now I'm stuck typing with only nine digits (yes, I really usually use all ten). And it doesn't hurt. And I want to take the plaster off.

I've spoken to the hammer and punch and they're okay about it. But I don't think I'm up to punching any more nails for a little while...


Uh, why hasn't anyone created a Document Object Model node? Could this explain why DHTML is failing to gain mindshare? Now, I thought W3C had an official DOM that people could implement. Am I wrong?

It's stopped hurting

I felt good today for some reason. Maybe I'm getting over my depression. Maybe going to the gym last night helped. Maybe I'm getting over Sara. I don't know why, but I had a good day. I slept quite a bit and I didn't really do anything but it was still good.

I spent most of the day downloading music and chatting on IRC. I did manage to catch most of one of the XFL games. I went out to get some groceries and stuff. That's about it.

Tomorrow is my birthday. My parents are going to visit Hopefully they won't arrive until the afternoon as I'm writing this at 3am and will probably be sleeping until at least noon.

Someone on IRC helped me feel good today as well. She basically helped me to understand that the low points in life are there just to make the high points so much better. Somehow that made me feel better, even though it didn't make logical sense.

There is someone else out there waiting for me, it's just a matter of time before we meet. And the sooner I get over this and move on, the sooner it can happen. I think I'm almost there again.

Today is my birthday. It is also the birthday of dem bones, so wish him a happy one.

I would have to say that I have had the best birthday today out o the past seven years or so. Not everybody remembered, in fact, only a few people did. But they were the people that I really cared about. Two people that I had hoped would stop by and at least say hello, didn't. But one of them at least called, and that was nice. I refuse to let it bring down my day.

The scars from the surgery that I had Wednesday are doing better, and I'm down to only one pain killer every four hours. And I can move around without any help, for the most part. So that's getting better too.

All in all, not a bad day.

In today's episode, we find Mir becoming the recipiant of a random act of kindness

My folks decided to travel to the mall today so my father could spend his large pile of gift certificates. So as can be expected, moments after entering we split off and going our seperate ways: My parents to Wherehouse Music and Radio Shack and such, sister to Hot Topic (little punk-wannabe whiner. Grr.) and I to Waldenbooks.

I found this interesting little book there: What Would Buddha Do?...after flipping through it, I decided to take it home with me. So up to the register, open wallet...

That'll be $16.24...

I look down. $13.25 left, not enough to buy it. I ask her to place the thing on hold, figuring I could try and track down my folks and ask to borrow three bucks. Suddenly a woman next to me turns and asks "How much are you missing?"

I stand there confused. "Umm...$3.00"

She tells me she'll chip in the money, handing me three crisp one dollar bills. I stand there amazed at this, before finnaly accepting the gift and thanking her for her kindness. The casher smiles and says "Talk about what would Buddha do?"

That was...I don't know. I come from Philadelphia, if the same situation had happened at Cherry Hill Mall I doubt someone would have done that. She had never seen me before, didn't know anything about me...and here she is offering to cover the remaining cost of my book. That takes heart...and where ever she is right now, I would like to thank you, once more, for doing that.

Small random acts of kindness. Better than candy.

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