Note: the angst expressed in this daylog is of the mock variety. While I certainly would rather have been at the gathering than not, and would rather have more money than less, it is not necessary for you to /msg me with either expressions of concern or stern admonitions to "stop feeling sorry for" myself. I appreciate that you care, but I am actually in a rather good mood. Love, Quizro.
I just got off the phone with the gang at the Oakland noder meet. I would like to believe that this somehow makes mine the first aftermath writeup for that event, but in my heart I know that that would be a shameful lie.
Now, all you Wired-reading, McLuhan-spouting college twerps can say whatever you want about the Vast Interconnected Global Electronic Village. The reality is that they are in Northern California getting smashed on Ouroboros' magic brew and eating barbecue and laughing uproariously, while I am sitting in my bedroom in San Diego with my cats, wearing bedroom slippers from Ikea, wondering if a second can of RC will keep me up too late, and looking forward to watching a tape of Battlestar Galactica I checked out from the library. DAMN ALL OF YOU TO HELL!
But of course I speak in jest, and do not truly wish that you go to Hell. It was great to speak with misuba, Templeton, and Igloowhite, and had we not been eating up all the long distance minutes on misuba's cell phone I would gladly have said heighdy to all and sundry there. And I'm dying to know what will happen next! Will panamaus ever show up? Has The Punch Thyself played yet, and how did/will it go? Will Factgirl finish eating that orange, and what will she do with the peel -- discard it in the trash, or run it down the garbage disposal so as to give Michael's sink a fresh, orange-y scent? I think she will do the latter! Factgirl is so considerate.
Hmm. I seem to have run out of steam here. Truth be told, I think that phone call was the high point of my day. What am I going to do now? Honestly, at this point in my life is Battlestar Galactica going to hold my attention for more than fifteen minutes? Two of its major characters are named "Boxey" and "Muffet the dagget" for God's sake. Agh! What the hell is wrong with me? I'm thirty-four years old and have no life! I bust my hump all week long, and what do I have to show for it? I might as well be throwing money down a well for all I get to see of each paycheck anymore. Sure! First the government takes its cut. Then the credit card companies take THEIR cut. Then the landlord takes HIS cut. Well this Joe Sixpack's had enough! I'm on a giant hamster wheel that keeps going aROUND and aROUND and aROUND. SPINNING and SPINNING and SPINNING, and I'm gettin' off! A new life is starting for me right HERE AND NOW.
Oh, wait. That would mean we'd lose the apartment and the car, and maybe go to jail. I don't think my wife would be too crazy about that! Plus, how would we feed the cats? Yeah, WHOA there Mister Let's-Have-A-Revolution, Mister Punk Rock Anarchy Man! This Palooka's heard about enough of your rabble-rousing talk for one day. Why don't you take your soapbox somewhere else? Me, I'm gonna watch Richard Hatch kick some Cylon butt! Kapow! Wheet! Zing!