Breaking the monotony, finally away and somewhere with more than 10 people that will understand me if I speak full speed.

Fuck that, I'm just running. And the beat pulses and thumps and I watch her hips as she gyrates, watch her breasts as she sways. The drum and bass gets louder and her red hair is green now yellow now black. Discordant from the memory and what is that the 8th rum and coke shit get me another one.

Naw, I don't smoke anymore, haven't had one for like 5 weeks now. Well maybe just one, I mean, I am drinking after all right? Ok I'll buy you a pack, I've smoked too many of yours anyway right? Goddamn look at that ass, shit they're goin' at it, hell yeah! Yeah sure, I'd play some pool, you wanna bust it? Cool.

Fuck its cold out here, you sure this jackass knows where were going? This place is open 24 a day right? Jesus Christ its raining, we should just go back and dance some more, I need a beer.

the strobes are blue on the floor and the music still pumps but we are almost the last left...and fuck whaddya mean you don't wanna fuck tonight? You don't want any attachments? What ever made you think I did?...Come on, one last time...naw naw, its cool, I understand...

Yeah sweetie, last night was a lot of fun...shut the fuck up I don't want to talk to you...yeah, I met some cool guys, we had a couple beers...stop fucking whining, I can't fucking take it, I didn't spend very much, Joe bought a couple rounds... lets see now, whaddid I drop last night? $200?, yeah, I'm really sorry you had such a bad is shit, fucking deal with it, you don't have to tell me every single one of your goddamn problems...yeah, I love you too sweetie...don't call me, its over, I don't love you anymore...

Wait, I said that out loud? Yes I am a bad person in case you hadn't guessed. Thanks so much for pointing that out to me. I never meant to hurt you. I AM sorry, so sorry for who I am. The longer you are with me the more I will hurt you in the end. Find someone who deserves you. I am not that someone.



Thank you, here are some recommendations we think you'll like based on your rating.

Don't mess with the system...

Being a good little Amazonian, I like to keep my recommendations up-to-date, but today I was foolish enough to tell a little lie. I told Amazon I already owned Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (not released until next June), and gave it a 1/5 star rating (just for luck). I think they're messing with me. Thankfully, I didn't try the same trick with the Adult Version.


This is my war cry each and every day. It is my theory that life is not really balanced and our perceptions our not really refined if we our not at least the tiniest bit insane. I came to this theory through one of my best friends. We will call this best friend, Brian. Because that is his name.

Brian to some people might seem odd (he's a complete chick magnet, by the way), but in actual truth, there are about one-hundred thousand people odder than Brian roaming the earth. Brian doesn't think like everybody else. You may look at something and see something totally useless and mind-blowingly boring, but Brian sees something interesting and he will tell you all the reasons it's interesting. I have been his friend for almost ten years and just recently I am starting to see things the way he does. For example: I could look at a small wooden statue of an elephant in a Cajun restaurant and start laughing hysterically because to me it's funny. I don't know exactly why it's funny, but to me it is. This is a side-effect of being slightly off-kilter.

If one wants to know how to be insane, even completely insane, the best place to look is the internet. The internet is a breeding ground for some of the ultimate wackos. Conspiracy theorists, nudists, people with sick humor, etc. find that the internet is the best place to dump there ideas and if one looks good enough, one can find a truly insane idea and hug it and caress it and make it one's pet. Perfect example: This is one place you can find totally weird and wacky stuff to satisfy your thirst for completely odd paraphenilia.

Now, back to the main point. Insanity is something we should all strive for, but not complete insanity. Then the world would just become one big, happy asylum. No, we should all strive to see things differently. If we start taking the world seriously, it won't be any fun. Insanity is the only way to stay sane.

Reality Show Idea III

My new reality show idea is called Which of You Nobel Prize Winners wants to Marry a Young Supermodel?

So the gimmick is we get 40 single men who have won Nobel prizes in Chemistry or Physics and offer them a chance at marrying a young, beautiful supermodel. They're told she's not only a young and well-traveled supermodel, but she has an IQ of 185 and she was a medical student until she was discovered on a beach in the French Rivera.

But it turns out our supermodel is in fact not a supermodel at all. She's a vet's assistant who makes $19,000 a year and she has an IQ of 103. She loves bunnies, however. So as the dates progress, the Nobel prize winners begin to discover she's not all that bright, she can't do block transfer computations, but none of the Nobel prize winners seem to complain or even notice. They spend a lot of time in the hot tub with her and talk about bunny rabbits. Eventually the last Nobel prize winner standing gets to marry her. He's then let in on the truth. She's not a supermodel at all! She's just a young, incredibly beautiful woman who likes animals. The Nobel prize winner doesn't seem to be too put off by this and marries her anyway.

From Door to Door

I meander out my front door, closing it after me.
I jog through rain, past the glowing 7-11 to the bus stop on the main drag.
My local bus stop offers no protection, not even a nearby doorway.
I love living in Seattle.

I wait.
My glasses collect droplets.
The sky begins to shift from black to dark gray.
I need a wide-brimmed hat, but no hat maker I know of makes them big enough for my head.

A bus careens into view and finally stops in front of me.
I get on, showing my pass.
I ride past the zoo and the retirement home to the transfer point.
I stumble off the bus and over to the covered waiting area.

I wait.
I can see patches of dark blue between the light gray clouds.
A bicycle hisses by at almost the speed of traffic.
I wonder what sort of suspension system a Woodpecker's has to handle all that agitation.

A bus crests the hill and comes to a halt in front of a woman wearing too much make up.
I climb on, showing my pass again.
People take out their textbooks and articles.
At the next stop, an ex-girlfriend sits down next to me.
I remember why we stopped talking six years ago.

We make small talk anyway.
"I bus for about an hour and a half to get to work," I say.
"That's a long way. I'd hate that."
I smile, imagining what she would say if she were a Californian: "Don't you have a car?"

I soon remember why I didn't stay in touch with her.
Most of the bus, including her, gets off at the UW.
I ride a little farther, to the Mountlake freeway station.
I saunter down the stairs from the bus stop on the overpass to the shelter at freeway-level.

I wait.
The cars edge by at an inconsistent five miles-per-hour, one person per vehicle.
I like not driving to work.
I think I see one truck with two people in it.
No, never mind - he has a dog navigation system.

A bus finally breaks free of traffic to pull into the station, and we all pile on.
People with seats take out notebook PCs and books.
I turn into an reeses monkey.
The water looks a little choppy as the bus crosses the floating bridge.

An older man offers me the seat next to him.
I decline politely, indicating my girth as the issue.
At his insistence, I put my backpack down on the seat.
A little later, I realize my hands and fingers form a base 6 system on which I can count to 35.

As the bus approaches my stop, I pick up my backpack.
I give the older man a smile, which he gives back while remaining seated.
I get off the bus with the crowd this time, showing my pass once more,
and walk across the street, through the rain, to the door of my work.

This write-up was brought to you by the letter 'B', and by the number '6'. This write-up was made possible by a generous donation from the "Active Voice Foundation" ("We change the world, one sentence at a time") and by "Readers Like You".

O, Indecision.

I've possibly found a way out of New Orleans, but it involves something I wanted to avoid at all costs: I'd have to stay with my parents for a few months. In rural Tennessee. I'm going to ask my boss if I can work remotely (I'm remotely workin'! har har har), which shouldn't be a problem. While I'm staying with my parents I'd work at night and try to find a local tech job during the day.

If I do end up doing this, I'll be doing it before the middle of February.

Even though staying with my parents would for a few months would save me a lot of money, I really don't like Tennessee much and I can't really see myself happier there than I am here (read: not happy at all).

But, it would be closer to people I enjoy seeing (and I'd be able to make it to HOT DAMN 3!), and I would be able to avoid Mardi Gras entirely for ever and ever, amen, and the only money I'd need to spend would be on my car payments and insurance. Even so, I am hesitant.

I will do it if I can get the boss' approval to work remotely. If nothing else, I can finally get the hell out of New Orleans, which can only be a good thing.

Last night, I attended the “first ever” protest of a President’s State of the Union address. Held on the west side of the U.S. Capitol Building, I expected it to be a tremendous event, mobbed with angry people who couldn’t wait to spoil Bush’s speech. Alas, this wasn’t to be. Despite declarations that there were “over 2,000 people” present, I’d place the final count at 500. The event was more like vaudeville, or -- and I think this is a much better analogy -- the Gong Show than a political rally. All it needed was the Unknown Comic to show up and everything would have been perfect. It left me feeling very sad for the state of the American left.

This isn’t to say that I didn’t have a good time -- really, it was quite fun. Despite the cold, I had a great time heckling the President’s speech with like-minded people. But the speaker line-up was terrible. A Minneapolis city official gave the Green Party’s "official response" before the State of the Union even ended. This left the crowd ignoring her in favor Bush’s speech, which was still running on the screen beside her, Bush’s blah-blah-blah’s popping up as closed captioning. Whenever the President said anything outrageous, the crowd booed -- unfortunately, I think the Green spokesman thought they were booing her.

After the Green lady got off stage, Reverend Billy of the Church of No-Shopping showed up to offer inane arguments against the war (the logical ones just don’t cut it for Billy, I suppose) all in the style of an evangelical preacher. There was lots of rambling on about how murder and bombing is bad (who’d have thunk it?), but nothing about the lack of any connection between Al Qaeda and Iraq, or zero evidence of Saddam’s having weapons of mass destruction -- none of the legal justifcations for blocking the war. At one point, the good Reverend mentioned that he lives in downtown NYC, suggesting to me that he makes a killing off of the radical evangelical preacher schtick. I know I couldn’t afford to live in Manhattan on my salary -- I’d like to see what Billy’s tax returns look like. After Billy got off the stage, my friend Brian remarked that any mainstream onlookers who watched Reverend Billy’s performance probably thought the whole protest was a joke. Sadly, I had to agree.

Another memorable moment occurred when Adam Eidinger, failed candidate for D.C. Shadow Senator and Green Party activist (he had great campaign posters, but I still didn’t vote for him), half-heartedly implored us to join an “unpermitted, almost legal -- sorta illegal -- march on the National Press Building.” Only a handful joined the sorta illegal march -- not exactly the wake-up call they were hoping to send to the National Press Club.

Through all the bad bands that played and the ravings of the speakers, I realized just how much I want the old Democratic Party back. Where are the moderate liberal voices -- the John F. Kennedy’s, Franklin Roosevelt’s and Harry Truman’s? Why is our only alternative to the impotent, hand-wringing, useless likes of Tom Daschle, Joe Lieberman and the rest, the decidedly un-mainstream Green Party? I trust them and their “let’s get rid of the military altogether and redistribute all your worldly goods to the poor” theoretical policies (theoretical, because it’s not as if they hold significant office anywhere), as much as the Republican tax cuts and bomb the hell out of the Third World approach. Where is the middle ground? Where are the Democrats?

Too busy watching the polls and covering their own asses, I guess.

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