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04/01/97 - Today begins my tenure as a University of Richmond employee. I've worked here for exactly 2 years and 3 months. Now I actually... strangely enough, I can't put this into words. Allergy season began in earnest yesterday. I was clobbered pretty hard yesterday morning so I bought some Tavist-D at lunch. I'm still feeling slightly looped from that stuff... 20 hours later. My sneezing and tearing is returning so it's about time to go find some new drugs to curb the symptoms without whomping me on the head with the medicated malaise. The one thing I like about allergies is, weirdly so, the suffering. There's something peaceful in suffering. It's almost as if you know things will likely improve. When you're not suffering improvement is less certain. I guess some suffering is worse than others. Allergies, admittedly, look worse than they are and really don't cause much permanent damage. I can function at 90% while my allergies are at their worst. This, as usual, is getting pretty stupid. Perhaps I'll go get some coffee and start working.
04/02/97 - I got here this morning and the ROTC folks were running on the track. It's so obvious when someone who doesn't enjoy running runs. Their arms are scrunched up; their head is down and they might as well not have knees. Poor non runners don't know what they're missing. Last friday I watched a few minutes of a track meeting. I stood there at the fence watching this event and that event and asked myself "Why didn't I go watch track meets when I was in school?" Then it hit me: "Lee... YOU IDIOT!!! YOU WERE ON THE TRACK TEAM!!!" Of course I laughed at myself... I do that quite often... hopefully not audibly. Last night I went to see The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged); I loved it. It was the best theater experience I've ever had (Sorry, Kevin). My only disapointment was the show was too short. I also wish I'd heckled or something; I believe the actors would have had good responses. I guess what I'm thinking is: the show was the closest I've seen theater approach stand up comedy... Hmmm, maybe that's a thought. I could produce a show... stop. I have no (zilch, none, not one bit of) theater experience and I want to design a show. Oh, well. You know, what are limits anyway? Hmmm...
04/03/97 - I might be the only underachieving, 20 something, morning person. I get more done in the morning than in the evening. I've never let myself enjoy going to bed early and getting up early, but I might just have to give it a try. Who cares if all my friends judge a person's worth by how late they can stay awake? Mornings rock. I noticed this morning that, when daylight savings time kicks into effect, 6:30a will still be light... that's good. Ok, a co-worker in my age group just came in here to say "Good Morning"; She, too, is a morning person so that blows my theory BUT she's probably not an underachiever so, perhaps, I can hold my uniqueness a bit longer. A bunch of friend's have birthdays in the next couple months. All us young people are reaching our parent's milestone ages "Your mother and I were married and had you when we were 27." Egads. See, several of my friends and I are bothered by these facts (even if parents don't say them, we figure parents are thinking them). This year I'm not going to let it bother me. Not one iota (whatever that means).
04/04/97 - I got home last night and found one of my roommates had moved out. He took the microwave, the TV, all his bedroom furniture, his pictures from the walls and 75% of the sofa cushions. Egads. He hadn't told us or anything. How peculiar. I went running. Andy called Chuck's parents (Chuck did the moving). Chuck said he had some time so he moved now (instead of in 2 months, when our lease ends); Chuck's reasons made sense, but, still, I would have liked a warning. I'm not bitter... just flabbergasted. I moved my TV into the main room and have decided not to replace the sofas until Andy and I find a new place... maybe this kind of motivation will help us along. What else is new? My friend Kevin (I can see his office from here) ages up today... at least that's what he told me. Happy Birthday. When I was in the 5th grade I got a cheesy little pocket calendar and spent recess period asking everyone when their birthdays were. I wonder whatever happened to those people? I know very few of them now... including Rick Doll, one of my best friends at the time... Hmmm.
04/07/97 - Ok, it's monday. I worked for 21 hours this weekend. My eyes burn but I think it's just allergies. It was hard to get up this morning because it wasn't as bright at 6:30 as it's been in the recent past. Luckily I have the Beatles to groove me awake this morning. No one give Paul the credit he's due for bass playing, but that's just my opinion. I wonder how long this journal would be if I removed all the idiomatic cliches like "but that's just my opinion". Ok, I went out friday night and bought hair clippers then I went out on my porch and cut my own hair. Andy was a Q.A. tech. Then yesterday morning I shaved my beard; with allergies season in full bloom it doesn't make sense to have a gak trap right below my nose. Right now I have little hair and a, more or less, clean shaven face. Have you ever noticed that good song writers aren't necessarily good singers? Bob Dylan, Tom Waits and now Leonard Cohen top my list of fine examples. Cohen wrote "Hallelujah", a beautiful song when sung by Jeff Buckley that just fails to shine when performed by the writer.
04/08/97 - I'm certain I had the mother of all journal entry ideas, but I, as usual, didn't scribble it down and have thus forgotten it. I feel slightly frustrated, but you have to read this crap when you could be reading beautifully worded prose expounding some truth leading, perhaps, to a grand epiphany and inner peace. I'll do my best to write flowery and brighten your day much like spring brings new life to a landscape where winter's brown grass and skeletal trees have allowed death to rule. How am I doing? Do you feel cheery? I'm angering Porter with my constant sniffling... maybe not. He thinks he's been unjustly locked out of his email account. That would bring anger down upon me like a carpenter's hammer upon a nail head. Boy, was that a dumd simile. I don't quite feel like I've done enough writing here. So, in the name of volume, I shall continue to type the randomness spewing forth from my decaffeinated, antihistamined brain. And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. I don't think Paul had a good grasp on mathematics.
04/09/97 - Uh... um... crimonee. Here I sit listen to a good band, playing with my fingernails and wishing I were on a beach somewhere warm or climbing a mountain trail somewhere sunny. But then I realize that life is a collection of "now"s that can pass without notice if you... uh... um... crimonee. See, part of my life as a Richmonder is a severe reaction to Richmond's metamorphosis from pleasant cold weather place to pleasant hot weather place. I've found I can either submit to God's will and not function or breath for a few weeks or I can support the legal drug industry and dry my body into a bleary laziness with decongestants and antihistamines. Uh... um... crimonee. Oh, yeah, I just heard what sounded like a herd of bicycles rolling down the main hall of my building. I think instead of finding out what the sound was I'll just write about it for a while. Actually, I bet I know... it was the Help Desk's cart; The bearings in cart wheels click in a louder yet similar way the the coasting gears in a multigear bike. I may have created the name "coasting gear"; what I meant is the thing that allows one to coast on a bike while the pedals are stationary relative to the bike. And I quit writing for the day.
04/10/97 - And how do I find a topic upon which to expound day after day after day? Actually, the answer is quite simple... I learned to write about nothing. Yes, one might call me a literary alchemist. From base substances such as... well, nothing, I can create beautiful images of... well, maybe not beautiful... ok, images are stretching the truth as well... you see, I can write without a topic for quite sometime. Let me tell you about the exquisite new terminal software I got yesterday. I upgrade .0.9 of a version. I went from version 4.0.2 to 4.1.1... WOW! AMAZING! The only differences I've seen are changed icons and menu items; everything else works the same. Last night was music night. I only had the energy for a single set. I drove home and was asleep by 10:30p. I dreamt I had to shower in a disgusting trough (more gross than my actual shower) and then (maybe this is a separate dream) I was walking around with this girl whose name constantly changed. We'd walk up to someone I know and suddenly I couldn't remember the girl's name. I'd say "Hi, Mom, this is... actually I can't remember her name..." The girl would say "That's alright. Hi Mrs Parker, my name is Jessica." Then we go see someone else and the scene would repeat except the girl's name would change to "Bibby". Perhaps the girl was mocking me for constantly forgetting her real name. Darned if I can recall anything else.
04/11/97 - Porter is not coming into work today, because Porter no longer works here full time... but he will call in the word of the day. Ok, without Porter around I'll probably work better, but it won't be as fun. At least I can listen to the Grateful Dead... I have 4 hours of live Dead with me (I love saying that). Bruised reality... I just made that up and I kinda like it. A phrase describing the weirdness of the real. I've done more work than play this morning and it's not even 8:15a. Holy Cow! A giant Bronco just pulled into the spot by my window. It's driven by and Arkansan... I know him. I wonder who'll end up in my office now that Porter's gone? I hope it's someone who likes music. Work would suck without music and we can't have a sucky work environment, can we? When work is fun more work gets done... simple economics, right? I do more so my time is worth more. Egads! I'm a commodity... depressing... crappy... scary. Ok, more work is piling up as I type.
04/14/97 - Look at the date and guess who still has to finish their 1996 taxes... I DO! Yes, I am the king of procrastination; it's a very unsatisfying crown. I guess I need someone to prod me along... I always have. Mom did it for a while but I'm too old for that now. She still tries her best, but she's become ineffective because because I've perfected the "ok... ok... I'll do it." Mostly I get stuff done or, the stuff I don't do doesn't kill me. Ok, what else is new? I'm going through a personal dilemma. It seems I don't enjoy many things most people enjoy. I don't think it's a big deal, but I can't seem to convince some friends that I'm not seriously flawed. There is, to my knowledge, no absolute scale of fun. The reason I'm calling this a personal dilemma is because I feel defensive having to justify my decision to skip some universally accepted fun events with the excuse "I'm sorry, but it just doesn't sound fun." I've set up my own little warning system; I question any feelings of defensiveness as potentail problems... I'm feeling defensive so it's time for self analysis. Perhaps I'll apprise you of the results.
04/15/97 - Tax Day. I have, 24 inches to my left, my completed, sealed tax return. Now, I have to walk next door and mail the bastard thing. Almost done I am. The Richmond City Council is wadded about Marilyn Manson, that satan rock guy and his band. I don't know what to think. I, personally, think the music is trashy crap that gets press because someone involved is a marketing genius. "Let's attach a message no one will miss and see what happens." I'd hate to be the father of a 13 year old kid in this area. "Gee," thinks the kid, "I wonder why all these grownups are wadded about this Manson freak... I think I wanna be just like he is." Great, now I live amongst schools full of satan fans that really just want to be noticed." I'm almost certain the publicity generated by the Council's stirrings will draw more kids into records stores than would have gone to the concert if the uproar had never occured. Now, it's time for me to formulate my opinion. Do I believe trash music should be banned or do I think any one with any message can invite people to pay and listen (pretty much of their own free will)? I understand group psychology but I'm gonna have to say, even though I know the trouble it could cause and the blight it could place upon my soul, let Manson come. I hope no one takes him more seriously than people take other performing, makeup-wearing clowns... like Bozo. That's pretty much all he is; it's just his message is more severe.
04/16/97 - Good news... taxes are mailed. Since nothing else really happened to me yesterday, let me tell you about a strange dream I think I had twice. I met U2. The more I think about it, I believe it was in my fraternity's library. Larry was just there; he said nothing and did nothing. Adam was an older, fat woman... he/she said nothing but did sit at the table. Bono kept talking in jibberish phrases and Edge was drinking heavily. He had a shooter glass in his right hand and a margarita glass in his left hand. He was pouring some brown liquor from a brown and white ceramic pitcher. He raise his glasses, toast "to Agents" and down the liquor... repeat. That was about the size of my dream... if I did dream it twice I was awoken by my alarm clock before the second occurrence ended. Hmm. It was really difficult getting out of bed this morning; I can't wait until allergy season ends. I also shaved this morning; I'd forgotten how badly I sometimes perform this task.
04/17/97 - Oh boy have I let myself down. I haven't run in 5 days although I've intended to run and have sort of had the time. Last night I had a few margaritas instead. I feel like a bloated, lazy bag of a person. The evening's highlight was the 30 second visit from the highschool girl who'd had her cigarette throw onto my balcony by her friend's little brother. Why do people smoke? I bet that question's answer is similar to that of "why do I drank margaritas instead of running?" I found a secret ingredient last night... salt. Add a bit to the drink itself. I also found I don't need a listener to talk... perhaps a tree does make a sound when it falls, alone, in a forest. I would ask random questions and see if, when I changed the TV channel, the question was answered by an actor or narrator. This is actually kind of funny when accompanied by salty margaritas. Then I found a VH1 special on the Grateful Dead. Then... oh, who cares? I'm going to get some coffee and try to feel better about myself.
04/18/97 - I saw STOMP! last night. In case you don't know, this is a Broadway show in which 8 people beat on themselves, others and things for 100 minutes of rhythm. Imagine 100 minutes that seem like 10. Remember the feeling you get when your expectations are overwhelmed? It's like going home and finding Mom has made spaghetti and cheesecake but your were expecting a bologna sandwich. That's what seeing the show did to me. I smiled and snapped and beat on my knees and skipped down the street wishing I were talented enough to be on the stage. Maybe my band can do something like that. I also thought I'd give you a report on the unsupervised high schoolers in the apartment above mine. They were awake and noisy all night. I awoke at 4:30a and heard them running around. They were herding at 11:00p when I went to bed and they were listening to music and laughing at 6:30a when I got out of bed. I wish I were 17 again. That's that.
04/21/97 - I've been thinking about Richmond's Marilyn Manson problem and have reached an opinion. He shouldn't be banned from playing. Initially, I fought with, what some might consider, fundamentalist views... This guy is morally damaging and some issues are bigger than 1st Amendment Rights. This fundamentalist opinion is not without precedence; you can't yell "fire!" in a public place because it endangers the public. A case could be made against Manson but... I remembered something Galileo said "I do not feel obliged to believe the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason and intellect intended us to forgo their use." Morality, in my mind, boils down to respect of all things at all times. For me, this stance means 2 pertinent things: 1) M Manson, while strange, dangerous, and in violation of my own moral code, has my approval to play because I have to respect both his mind and that of those paying to hear and see him even though I believe few involved respect my opinion; 2) My faith has shifted. Now I need to resolve one more issue... how is my responsibility toward others bounded? If I consent to releasing a madman do I owe anything to those upon whom he inflicts damage or do I just sit here and respect everyone's ability to make decisions for themselves? Were the damage physical the answer would be simple.
04/22/97 - Yesterday was traumatic for many reasons... but it's passed (and past) therefore I clean myself of the crappiness and move forward (as if I have a choice). As a transition piece, let me give you my opinion on big vehicles. While I'd like a big vehicle, don't they make it difficult to see? I can't see around them. Today is an interesting day; my boss's boss's boss starts working here today. Should be good. And we get cookies. Wow, I really am at a loss for words. It's raining. You know, I'll cut myself a break; Sorry this is so short but I'm going to start working now.
04/23/97 - Today is Professional Secretaries Day. I've sent electronic flowers to my friends out front and we're going to lunch in the D-Hall. I decided, in honor of the day (and, of course, for the people without whom I wouldn't get cookies, coffee, jelly beans, cake, donuts... fat, but fat is a good thing in this case) I'd do some research into the history of secretaries. The Secretaries first settled this continent in the 1300s, a full 150 before Columbus, to escape the bad food and poor music scence in Europe. They flourish on Cape Cod until those darned pilgrims came over and kinda screwed everything up. It turns out the Secretaries actually organized the first Thanksgiving but the White Male American (Hey, That's me!) stole all the glory. Eventually the Secretaries blended into society. The word "Secretary" supposedly came from Latin meaning "One who keeps secrets" but I think it's all part of a government plot to cover up the truth... or something like that.
04/24/97 - I sit amongst piles of paper. Come to think of it, I sleep amongst piles of paper. I don't mean to be messy, it just happens. I left bunches of socks piled on my bed this morning. I folded about 2 pair then quit. Perhaps, through some quirk of nature, I expect then to spontaneously fold themselves. My theory goes something like this... the raging herd of kids upstairs bounces around all day. The vibrations shake the entire building and are transferred through my floor to my bed causing the socks to move, imperceptably at first, by day's end into nice, neat stacks... Improbably, but possible; not unlike Monkeys typing Hamlet. Today I'm running a medical experiment on myself: I have refused to take the allergy drugs in hopes that the season is over. I'm not stupid so I have drugs in my pocket and a box of tissues to my left (upon which sits... strangely, nothing; perhaps I'm not as messy as I could be). Oh well, all said and done it's thursday and I'm at work... dig in.
04/25/97 - I had an amazingly stupid idea last night. I was driving home. I big minivan around which I couldn't see crept down the road 10 miles under the speed limit. But the license plate intrigued me... "F IWANIW". I still have no idea what it could mean... I've said it forwards, backwards, phonetically and a gabillion other ways but still I don't get it. So I thought "Hey, I could ram into this guy and ask him what his plate means". But I decided I'd conjured the mother of all stupid ideas so I dropped it. And I got home and I haven't stopped thinking about this plate since... any clues? It's been 48 hours since I last took allergy medicine. I ran last night; I'm out of shape but I'm not weak as I'd been on drugs... legal, over the counter, allergy drugs but they still crapped out my body... I wasn't sneezing, though. It's almost 8am... my sister is supposed to call soon... I'm going to see my friend James get married tomorrow and am staying at my sister's place. Actually, that sentence really leaves much to assumption... oh, well.
04/28/97 - I played guitar at a friend's wedding (technically that should be "friends'", but then I mess up the article so I don't know what to do). James decided to surprise his wife by singing her a song during the wedding. If I hadn't been so focused on playing the song I think I might have cried... in fact I know I would have. I about cried rehearsing it. Most people thought another guy was going to sing the song, but James worked it out so he left the altar and came over to sing where Andy and I played guitars. I don't recall much from the time except James smiling and looking towards his wife as he sang. What better gift could you give to a new wife than a piece of your talent? I admire James's strength and creativity. I also admire his taste for Super Big Gulps but that really doesn't fit here, does it? James would like it so it stays.
04/29/97 - At first I had no thoughts for today. Then I thought I'd write something about how nice closes were a trap... when you wore jeans you could walk in the rain but with business clothes you couldn't. Then I was going to write about sunshine's therapeutic values and how somethings, like pictures of friends, could bring back good memories which worked like sunshine on the soul. And then I was going to write about the therapeutic effects of random mental violence, the kind that never leaves your head but, strangely, always seems to be lurking there like... my Mom at Ukrops. That was a weird simile. I've always assumed mental violence was ubiquitous and what keeps people from becoming criminals is realizing the brutal ideas should never manifest themselves in reality... I'd hate to think I'm a uniquely creative degenerate. Right now I'm thinking how great it would feel to smash the heck out of everything in my office. I don't think I actually reach catharsis until I realize by not smashing the heck out of everything I've overcome the baseness of it all AND I can repeat the process tomorrow (or the next time I'm in a rotten mood). My phones flashing at me again... I can fix THAT...
04/30/97 - I've already shared this with some folks but I'll now share it with the world. Here is Lee's Revolutionary Work Week Reformation Idea: Ok, look at the weather forecast. What are the best two days? Those two days you don't have to work. Pretty simple, eh? Some weeks you may mess up and pick rainy days because the forecast sucks. Not all people will work the same schedule... what if Duckboy likes the rain? Duckboy can splash around all he'd like on his two rainy days. People are going to adapt to the new schedule; Businesses will arrange to hire people who like rain and those that like sunshine. I'm getting stupid. Maybe I already was. Does it matter? No, of course not! I may scare a few people away by speaking stupidly about stupid things, but I already have friends that accept my stupidity and may even like it (hopefully not because it makes them feel smarter). Look how many lines I've written! Amazing, isn't it? I might have taken my weekend yesterday and today.