I have found myself in a predictament. This predictament, by nature, involves two opposing choices that lead to some arbitrary destiny that has been predetermined. (Yet I'll choose anyway). I find myself in this predictament not because of outwardly forces forcing me into a corner, but because of my own nature. I should begin with a tale...

Many years ago. I was social. I had friends. I goofed off with no purpose. I was happy. Then Dexadrine (medicine for ADHD, side affects include loss of appetite, so I was uber thin), a pair of glasses, and puberty all struck seemingly overnight. I became a geek-child against my will (hindsight tells me it wasn't a bad thing). After years of putting up with abusive "friends" and general avoidance by nigh everyone, those that talked to me usually wanted me to do their homework. I always refused, so I didn't even have people pretending to be my friend.

Then I got sick of it. I ditched the glasses for contacts, got a hair cut that was "in-style" and got rid of the acne. People who ignored me for 2 years asked what my name was. High school was filled with people who I enjoyed being around, and I like to think they genuinely liked me (I still get asked to a few group events), but I knew after high-school was over, I'd probably end up ditching them for friends in college. In college, I got a girl friend, for the first time. And life was good. It ended though, 8 months.

Then, with her out of the way, my grades actually climbed. I had a 2.0 after my first semester. My second was a 2.43, and this last semester was a 2.6something. Because I had no social distractions. But I was sad. With no friends, no money, and the fact that I hadn't discovered e2 until mid-semester last semester, I was... miserable.

e2 did a great deal to get me back on my feet. A sort of crutch, if you will. I read many nodes like how to impress a woman and How to Win Friends and Influence People and I learned a great deal on how to make friends. The end result? A social me. Really truelly for the first time since the 4th grade.

So my predictament. I need to do well in school. NEED. But I have friends. No. I'm sorry. It's not as simple as that. I am at war with myself. I know very well that I cannot do well in school so as long as I have friends I hang out wiht regularly. A balance is not an option because of my ADHD. But I am happy with the way my life is going. I have become to asert myself, and have actually taken the initiative several times to ask a girl out (all miserable failures). I am confident about myself (except my shitty ass haircut). I have done something different and new every weekend so far this semester with a few future weekends already planned. But I've done a total of about 30 minutes studying in the two weeks of classes. Granted, when I'm unsociable, I only get about 3 hours a week in. I'm not very good at studying. So there I am. Stuck with my nads stradling a fence.

In something entirely unrelated, any noders out there going to Katsucon?

It's been so long, as erstwhile popsters and harmonisers Dodgy once sang (on the flipside of "Staying out for the summer", I think), although they weren't talking about this place, which wasn't even so much as a dirty thought in the heads of Mr & Mrs E1 during the heady britpop feuding bands era. I'd tell you what the song was about, but it's been so long I haven't listened to it in a while. Love, things that pass, stuff and nonsense like that, poorly expressed, I suspect.

"There's too much love" sang fey cardigan wearers Belle and Sebastian. Which goes to show how much they know.

"Where's the love?" chirrupped an on-the-money Hanson showing unusual prescience in ones so young. The answer, my friends, is I don't bloody know, go and bother someone else. Or maybe just wait till friday, when L-O-V-E will be dripping from the ceiling, pasted on the walls, shouting at you from every angle. Ignore it. Be Loveless. Just like guitar abusers My Bloody Valentine.

Quick interlude for crap but amusing joke that doesn't really work on screen - Where does Saddam Hussein keep his CDs? In Iraq.


The Cricket world cup has begun, what joy! The hosts lose the opening game to a Lara-revival led West Indies. More joy! Zimbabwe's finest ever cricketer and first black Test player protest against their government. Angst! No-one seems to want to play in Zimbabwe. No joy! Even though apparently there is absolutely no threat to anyone, especially the England touring party, according to those that know. Whatsoever. There's a simple answer to this, however. Don't play in Zimbabwe. Are four world cup points, and reaching the Super Six stage really so important?

Why does cricket, more than other sports, get so intricately woven with politics? Pakistan get to play India about once every 300 years, players repeatedly get banned for participating in 'rebel' tours, but if it was football, all would be well. We'd all smile, and forget how much we hate each other - sport conquers the great divide! - rather than kick-up an awkward international dispute. There's some socio-historical explanation in there, I'm sure, but I don't want to expose my colonial ignorance by attempting to discuss it.

Maybe Iraq should have hosted the World Cup. I don't know much about the geography of the region, but from the name 'Desert Storm', I'm assuming a typical day is a dry day. Ideal for cricket! And for day/night games, burning oil-fields would make a cheap and easy alternative to floodlights. Quick batting tip: on these wickets, you can't afford to play square of the wicket, get in line and drive through the axis of evil.

Actually, it's a terrible idea. I vaguely recall being told once that the critical mass of something or other pretty nasty and nuclear-like was roughly the size of a cricket ball. Simplistic and wrong, I know, but I for one don't want to take that chance.

I'll be looking out for the next series from Ray Mears, though. I'm fairly sure he hasn't visited Iraq yet, but I'd like to see him explain how to make fire when stranded in the desert, using only a secret stash of weapons-grade plutonium ("You can keep a decent fire going all night with the right preparation").

"Hate is all you need", sang the Delgados. They know where it's at.

I am 23 today!

Holyshitballs Batman!

Birthdays always make me think about my childhood. And it is strange to think of myself back then, because I really don't remember it too well, and so I feel like I have no connection to it, in a sense, because of that.

Like, I know that I must have been quite typical, even though, I was kind of a tomboy growing up, but that was just to shadow my hidden desire to be just like all the other pretty girls at school. But still, I can no longer put myself into that place on a mental level...and that, I think is what real growth is...at least for me.

But getting back to the memory thing, well it is so strange and this makes it tantalizing that I could have had so many experiences, and yet have no connection to them now. I can sum them up, I can generalize, but there are very few instances that I can bring myself back to.

Now, there is some stuff that I don't want to return to just as there are things that haunt me....heh... as there are for everybody... but I wonder sometimes, especially upon celebrating another year gone by, I wonder if this aspect of my reality is just another way in which the meaninglessness of my existence is confirmed. I mean, who's to say if I will look back on this day, twenty years from now, and remember, or take anything form this experience at all.

And yet, as I propose that idea, I see within it, its own meaninglessness.....

So, my birthday turend out to be quite the occasion.(Did I speel that right?) Anyway, I started the day off on this whole philosophical buzz, I mean what better day to do that than one's birthday right? But by the end of it, I was really not thinknig about anything at all, just having a few drinks with my friends, breaking glasses that just happen to slip out of my hand...

It was a night full of moments, and one to remember no doubt. At one point I found myself thinking that this was probably going to be the last time that I ever celebrated my birthday with some of the boys, that make up my little crew of friends at school. And a part of me was sad about that...but a part of me also was able to realize that it is the way of life, the pattern, the never-ending flow of the passage of time...and there is beauty within that, and it makes me cry, but with a smile on my face.

Daylogging(sp?) is weird to me sometimes. I mean, there is always so much insistance on this site about how repetetive and parallel experiences are, and so GTKY wups and stuff always make me feel dumb..like someone is going to read my shit and it won't matter because almost everything i say has been said before by someone...oh well...I suppose at the end of the day, the logs are more for me than they are for anyone else. I am amused when I look back at shit that I've written in the past. They are like pictures for me, they freeze time for me...I like them.

Sorry if this is all over the place...my brain works like that sometimes, I have a flow and then I just get impatient with it...but I've just been thinknig lately that's all, and it scares the shit out of me sometimes, the conclusions I come to.

Sorry if there are typos..just msg me with corrections.

Like a lot of people in this industry, I too paid my dues in technical support for a locally owned and operated Internet service provider. Because we were local, our customers actually knew where our offices were located and occasionally would grace us with their presence. One particular lady, who owned a bed and breakfast, knew people who received the majority of their reservations via email. So she wanted to get onboard. We registered a domain name, whipped up a nice little website and set up an email box for her. Like some, she just assumed that once the site was up and running the reservations would start poring in. However, unlike her peers in the B&B industry she had no idea how to operate a computer or the Internet.

We explained to her that there was a few simple concepts she needed to learn first and once she had a grasp on them it should be relatively easy so she came down to our shop so we could show her how to check her email for reservations and pull up her website. She lugged her computer down because she wasn't good at taking instruction over the phone. Here's a tip for you, if they’re having problems using that fandangle contraption Alexander Graham Bell came up with, it might be a good idea for them to put off learning computers until the next life.

Taking baby steps, we first had her turn the computer on, this may have been the first time. Then we showed her which little picture (because to these people an icon is a portrait of the Holy Virgin Mary) to click on to get connected to the Internet. Then we showed her which little picture to click on to get the browser open. By this point she was complaining that this whole process was just too complicated. Thinking in the back of my mind, "This is complicated, you should try setting up the zone record for your domain name," but all that came out was, "Now, you see there, where it says address? To get your website all you have to do is type your address in there."

She began to type:
1201 5th Street Wenatchee, WA 98801

A street address is NOT a website!

Ok, I was really tempted to post this here, but it sounded way too much like a daylog...so here it is.

Slipped under my door today...

an invitation...

... Lunch for two. Refer someone you care about or join me to discuss your own claim.

Slip/Fall - Malpractice - Sexual Assault

Merchant Law Group
Personal Injury Law
555-5555 - 203 - 895 55th Street, Victoria

Save this to our Ad at the front of Lawyers Section to present when booking your lunch appointment or referring a friend.


I spent the weekend at a games convention, Conception, at a holiday camp in New Milton, close to Christchurch on the south coast. I stayed over at the camp last night, with the idea of travelling in to work in London on an early train, leaving New Milton station at 6:14 am. A friend also attending the convention had kindly offered to come and knock on my chalet window at about 5:45 to wake me up, and to give me a lift to the station. Chris is used to being an early riser, and wouldn't hear of me ordering a taxi. Last night a whole group of us had a Chinese meal together, and spent a little time stargazing before turning in. Venus was high in the sky and vividly green - more so than any of us could remember seeing it.

At 5:45 this morning I woke up sharply, certain I'd heard a noise. I'd been having a nightmare, and it ended very suddenly. I couldn't see anything in the darkness outside my window, but I assumed Chris had nipped off for a smoke, and so I hurled on my clothes, closed my case and headed outside. Chris was nowhere to be seen. The sky was as dark and clear as it had been just before midnight, and Venus was still up, above the tops of the surrounding trees. It was bitterly cold, and there was a crust of frost on everything. I called out Chris's name, and had a quick scout around the chalet. Nothing. Feeling cold and a little nervous, I walked down to the chalet Chris and his girlfriend Jenny were sharing. The living room light was on, but there was no sign of anyone. Jenny would presumably be sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb her. The main room looked tidier than it had done the previous night - no doubt Chris had sorted things out when he got up this morning. Then I went down to the car park, where Chris had parked his van. He clearly hadn't been there at all - there was a coating of ice on all the windows. The birds started singing as I prowled around the deserted camp, quietly calling Chris's name. The grass was crisp with tiny ice crystals, and my breath steamed so hard it sometimes obscured my vision.

I remembered that Chris had mentioned the other night that if anyone ever needed to find him in a hurry, they should call his mobile phone. He had said that he always had his phone within a few feet of him, and switched on. I got out my mobile, fetched up his number, and dialled it. After a pause of a few seconds, the phone went dead. I tried again, and the same happened. Not even a ring tone. By now I was quite afraid, both in case something had happened to Chris, and because I felt very lonely. I re-visited all the places I'd already been to, and still didn't see anyone at all. At this point, the sky began to lighten slightly, and I noticed from my watch that it was 6:15. I'd missed the early train. I decided to take a chance, and knocked on the door of Chris and Jenny's chalet. After a moment, Chris came to the door, still in his pyjamas. He thought it was 5:15, and was very surprised to be got up. He must have turned his alarm clock off when it rang, without realising it. I was relieved to find he was OK, and he got dressed and duly gave me a lift to the station. I was left more than a little spooked by the experience, and bitterly cold. What had woken me at exactly 5:45, the time I had expected my friend to be outside the window?

On the train, I had a coffee, warmed up, and pulled myself together. Then, at Southampton, my nerves were given another slight jolt. A passenger sat down beside me who drew my attention. A turbaned Indian with a laptop computer, he seemed to be a systems professional of some sort - a hacker. He started his machine and started tinkering with his files, and after a little while I noticed something extremely curious. He wasn't touching the computer with his hands at all. It just sat on his lap, and he had his hands empty and his arms folded. Despite this, I could see from glancing at the screen that files were being opened and studied, and text was being typed and selected. I thought of possible hands-free mechanisms for operating a computer. My first idea was that he was controlling the cursor with his eyes, but I could see that he was staring straight at the machine almost without blinking, and in any case there was nowhere a camera could exist to monitor his eye movements. I considered voice control, as he seemed to be wearing a earphones like the sort that plug into mobile phones, and there was a small box on top of the laptop, next to the control pad, which might have been connected to the computer, the earphones, or both. The obvious problem with this idea was that just as he wasn't moving his eyes enough, he was also totally silent. Nevertheless, he kept on operating the machine by some unseen means. I got off the train at Waterloo, still baffled.

happy birthday to hookskies, before i move on to the whopping fuckton of nastiness that has defined my last few days.
i torqued both of my already bad knees thursday, and i've been on a cane and in a brace ever since. prolly shoulda been on crutches for the first day of that, considering the creepy noise it made. i was late for both my classes today, and told a fiend of mine to meet me at the totally wrong time, a time i would be in the middle of a class.

i caught an ugly fever this weekend, from a beautiful and equally unfortunate ferret-faced dj of my acquaintance. so unfortunate, in fact, that he, too, got all creaky and cane-leaning. and then he got fired. and speaking of fire, that makes me want to set people on fire.

i've eaten two meals in three days, and i slept the most vital two hours that i needed to be up today. (see 'late for class', above.)

now, on the bright side of things, i have 'the concept of love', by hideki naganuma off the jet set radio future soundtrack. fantasic game, great music. i am absolutely addicted to watching the above-mentioned ferret-faced dj play it; i just don't have the reflexes for anything quicker than turn-based rpg.

also cheery, if less so, i have once again decided to throw the last-minute valentine sushi for the singles party. christ, i gotta get that order in before thursday...

As an object lesson in how one's value as a human being is proportional to the amount of profit one generates, today I was officially denied unemployment insurance due to the magnitude of monetary loss I accidentally caused my former employer.

Here follows, in the New York State Department of Labor's words (awkward spelling, grammar and capital lettering intact), precisely the reason they feel no need to help support me while I struggle to find another job:


Apparently, the cutoff line between forgiveable and unforgiveable mistakes is at or below $300,000.00(per year? this year? overall?). It's nice to know the upper limit (to the cent!) of New York's assessment of my human value.

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