Hi
8/1/96 - I can't see my feet. It's very dark in here. Light is coming from the hall and from the window but not much is getting under the desk. My feet are under the desk. I can see my feet after all, just not well. Let's see, where have my feet been recently? I can remember putting them under the desk yesterday. I can remember tucking them deep into my bed. I can remember pounding them on the roadside. I pushed car pedals with them. I used them to balance me as I surveyed a Chinese lunch buffet (I don't have a clue what color carpet they moved over, but I do remember dodging a duck sauce puddle on the tile floor immediately around the buffet table). I didn't wash them as well as I should have, but why bother? I just load them in socks and put them back into dirty shoes. I figure they're pretty happy with me shoe choices; They're not yelling at me like they did back in the high school before I figured out I needed straight lasted running shoes. Then there was the time I went shoeless running on thge beach. I learned my lesson there... they blistered, ruptured and filled with sand. Well, my feet and I get along pretty well (they've forgiven last week's nail incident; they know it was an accident). I guess this is just one more reason to be happy, right?
8/2/96 - Today I am myself. Well, I'm dressed as myself. Most days I'm forced to wear a collar and a tie and long pants... but today I've shorts, a T-shirt and my favorite black Chucks. I forgot my ball cap, but I'm absent minded so that, too, is in character. What I'd decided to discuss today I may save for next week, because it requires space (I hope) and more thought than I feel like giving it right now. Let's, instead, rag on Bob Costas. Michael Johnson is a stud, right? I'm completely enthralled by track and field greatness, so is Bob Costas. But Bob is stupid; I'm not. Or at least, Bob fell for on of the world's classic blunders. After Johnson blew the doors off every 200m runner ever Bob said "Hey, Michael just ran faster than anyone EVER HAS. The 100m was won in 9.84s. Double this and you get 19.68s. Johnson's 200m time was faster." What annoying Bob forgot to consider is that doubling Donovan Bailey's 100m time includes his start up acceleration twice. Runners need space to reach top speed. Besides, the 100m and the 200m are completely different events... Stop comparing apples and oranges, Bob.
8/5/96 - This story is called: How Lee Saw Free Soccer Because the Olympics Were Bombed
About 10 days ago someone set off a pipe bomb bag at the Atlanta Olympics. The police, looking for suspects in this sensless crime, found Richard Jewell. Jewell allegedly wanted to be a hero so he allegedly set up this scheme to become one. Boom. People were hurt and killed. If true, the scheme didn't just backfire it blew the heck up. A local radio station surmised the hapless Jewell had intended to defuse the bomb prior to explosion, but just wasn't able; his stupidity, the DJ said, cost 2 lives and an uncountable toll of worry. My friend Paula listened to the radio while DJ conjectured. "Wait" she said "This guy hasn't even been arrested! How can DJ say these things about a man that has yet to be official charged much less convicted?" She called DJ and asked. He said "You're absolutely correct... let me send you some free soccer tickets." Paula doesn't like soccer (Go, Jeff Gordon!!!!); She knows I do. Thus I saw the Richmond Kickers beat the Cape Cod Somethings 2-1 last saturday evening. When I think about the story within this frame work I'm much less happy about the soccer game. I'm left with a strange feeling in my belly.
8/6/96 - Once again the web machine is napping when I want to write my journal. So, here I am on a different computer creating a text file I'll move back to web world when I notice an aware web machine. I'm finding life somewhat slow these days. I need to ween myself from a TV habit. I'm so used to coming home from work, running then watching the Olympics until 11pm or so. Last night I was stuck to the screen watching pre-season football. Tonight the Braves are playing on TBS. I'll be glued to the tube again. Work is burning me out too. It's past time for a vacation. Luckily I only have to hold on for another 2.5 weeks. I guarantee the days will slow to a painful, bloody knees and palms on loose, small gravel crawl as they approach departure time. If departure time occurs at x=0 time's movement is defined as 1/x as x moves from infinity to 0. Well, something like that. I'm certain you see the flaw in this, too. Actually there are flaws in both the mathematics and the metaphor. I'm going to live with them... so will you. Actually, I think it's the metaphoric flaw that causes the mathematical flaw. Deal.
8/7/96 - People pour into the office place. I hear their keys. I hear the doors squeaking open. I even hear Billy Joel from Kevin's computer... at least I did until I put Blind Melon on mine. People get here after I do and they think I'm working... I'm writing this. Of course this takes all of 5 minutes to write and then I am working... the jokes on me after all. I work better in the morning. In the afternoon, unless I'm doing something fun (and we know how often that happens), I'm drained. I'm dragging most afternoons. My mouth is opened and I'm drooling uncontrollably... alright, it's not that bad, but I pray for lengthy afternoon meetings so I don't have to force myself to persevere by sheer solo willfullness. I'm really good at forcing myself to do things I enjoy... I run almost everyday; How many people do you know that stick to an exercise routine? I write this journal everyday I come to work. I just can't knuckle down and (don't pay too much attention if I work for you) work hard 100% of the time. I've never been able. Perhaps this is an area to improve... later.
8/8/96 - I have a new hero. Do you remember, from chemistry class, the Periodic Table of elements? This table was constructed about 140 years ago by a Russian named Mendelev. He took the breadth of knowledge noticed a pattern and formulated a rigid relationship from which he could make predictions (only 63 elements had been discovered while he worked... he could tell where holes existed and outline the missing element's properties). My favorite factiod is: He never cut his hair. I guess I can't say "never" but he was well known for his wild hair. In fact, the Czar asked him to get a trim and Mendelev said "No Way, Jose". Ok, another cool tid bit: Did you know "Czar" is derived from Caesar? I did. Well, back to Mendelev... another thing I admire about him is his personal strength; Mendelev made assertations that contradicted most chemist's opinions. I think most people believe science is absolute; I don't hold this belief. Scientific thought is as susceptible to the politics of power (powerful people's opinions have influence) and trends as any other discipline. Truely admirable scientists are able to supress their human nature (maybe not completely) and make statements that apparently fly in the face of popular reason BECAUSE they've studied the facts scientifically. I read somewhere that good science is more in ignoring the red herring than in seeing the never before seen. Mendelev, from what I've seen (which is only a little), rocks.
8/9/96 - I believe my body is revolting against me. My Dad always said this would happen... We'd be tossing the football and I'd say "Hey, Pop, go long!" He's say "You want me to run?! Son, let me explain this age difference thing to you..." and I'd be stuck in a two man huddle discussing his ruptured disc or something. Anyway I'm getting older. The scariest thing is: I can get up before noon without any lingering sleepiness; I could never do this well as a kid. I figure something has glitched in my brain; this has got to be a mental thing. And before I noticed my ability to get up early (my parents routinely rise at 5a) I noticed a slight slipping of the hair line. You know, I think I can identify with Joseph Stalin here... he exterminated his enemies. I want to find the extremist hairs leading this damned revolt and pluck them out before they Kojack me. I always thought I was a peaceful person, but I've been driven to violence by hair. I'm not all that upset about balding, actually. You know what really bothers me? I'm don't like to clean very much; My bathroom vanity alone gathers enough hair refugees each week to build a mouse, no kidding.
8/12/96 - The biggest thing going on with me right now is: My Band's CD!!!! We got them friday and I finally got a copy yesterday. You should see it! It actually looks and sounds professional. It took my bandmate (and roommate) and I 6 hours to get back from practice yesterday because we stopped at the dwellings of most close friends and family to hawk our wares. Aside from that, it's hotter than all get out in my office right now! I came in on saturday and it wasn't this bad. I'd gotten the W&L Alumni Magazine and they'd published my Home Page address!!! I had to make sure things looked ok. In fact, when I got to work this morning I found an email from my fraternity big brother. I'll write him back in a little while... He has a home page too. I really miss being in school. Billy (my big brother) is from Florida; Right before exams my freshman year (his sophomore year) it snowed. I went over to the Lodge and said "Hey Billy, It's snowing". I didn't think much of it. Next thing I know, he's hopping around in a robe and Cowboy boots "It's SNOWING! It's SNOWING!" Ahhh the good old days... will things ever again be that good?
8/13/96 - I'm trying to figure out if doing stupid things without knowledge of your stupidity is worse than doing stupid things with full awareness. Or maybe, like the existentialists say, "Who cares? You've still done stupid things." Unfortunately, I'd have to say I now agree with the existentialists. When I do stupid things it's more important for me to deal with the consequences than waste time worrying about motives or lack thereof. Unless I'm brought to trial and intent becomes an issue... Oooo, that brings up a point: Does the current judicial system deny the beliefs of existentialists? "Waldo is dead. Who cares what was going through Barney's head while killing Waldo? The results are not changed." But I believe even an existentialist would discern the difference most people perceive between accidental and intentional. Well, my knowledge of the fine differences between philosophical schools is wee. I'm not even certain I've stumbled upon a real question, much less a meritorious question. I do have work to do. I'll ponder this point later... over a martini... strangely, thought seems much more clear like that, don't you agree?
8/14/96 - What in the wide world of sports am I going to do today? I could throw out more obscure references to Blazing Saddles, ain't no side winding, horn swaggling cracker crocker gonna stop me. Ok, this is stupid and I'm above stupidity. See, here is one of the biggest problems we face in 20th century America; most of our basic needs are met or can be met with effort (it is very rare, that even with hard work, we are denied food, shelter and whatever other basic needs there are). The problem facing middle America is duldrums. We get so used to grinding away that ourselves are lost to drone we must be. I'm speaking personally as when I say many of my "experiences" were gained vicariously through movies or TV and are therefore as much someone else's as mine. What am I trying to say? What is my solution to this problem? To both questions I have no answer. I'm going to try today to be aware of my surroundings. People are acting and reacting all around me; I will learn from them. I will not take as truth all I am told but will evaluate both the statement and the source and form my own opinion. I will taste my lunch instead of merely consuming it. I will shut up before I embarrass myself.
8/15/96 - Today I suffer from sleep deprivation's dry eyes and the news that my favorite band will no longer play Wednesday night gigs at Alley Katz. Why won't Agents of Good Roots play Alley Katz any longer? I don't know. The way the news was announced made it sound like Alley Katz booted them... How could they be so silly? Alley Katz is packed every Wednesday night. Agents just received a huge write up in the paper. I'm glad I hung until the first encore last night. I wish I hadn't skipped so many chances to see them. Hopefully Agents will land a Flood Zone stint. Geez, I just read what I've written... I must really be tired; This is sucky work. Speaking of work... Hi Ho.
8/16/96 - One of my friends is in the hospital; last night I went and saw him (he's getting out today). While I was there a nurse came in and gave him some pills; one was an antibiotic. It hit me a little late: I'm a biotic... hmmmm. I like irony. I like peanut butter cookies. I don't know if the two have anything in common, but when I was about 7 I discovered if you took a purple crayon and scrawled horizontal lines on white paper and then, right on top of that, scrawled yellow vertical lines the result looked like a peanut butter cookie. To me that was ironic... grape plus lemon equals peanut butter??? I still don't understand why fork squashing is only used for peanut butter cookies. I can see why you wouldn't want to crush chocolate or butterscotch chips, but what about sugar cookies or ginger snaps where there are no fragile ingredients? I guess since the colors of most cookies exceed the crayon simplicity of peanut butter cookies the fork squash matrix is too simple a design for the cookie top.
8/19/96 -
To My Mom and Dad (who can't even read this): Happy Anniversary
Last night Help Wanted was played
on the radio. Not just a tiny college
station or anything... but a big rock station: Charlottesville's WWWV. Of
course it was 12:10a when we hit the air, but WE HIT THE AIR!!!! We are
grateful to our friend and Richmond manager Pete Buehler for setting it up and
his friend Gordon Hitmeister for actually playing us. It's amazing what
knowing the right people will get you. It's also unfortunate, but that's
neither here nor there because it's done. Well, my weekend was uneventful
(except for the radio thing). I did the band thing; I did the family thing;
I watched all 3 Star Wars movies on USA yesterday. I'd forgotten how good and
how bad they are. I was an obsessed kid; Everything I did was Star Wars
related. I've since returned to normalcy (as defined by me). Now, I've
gotten the word, the computers are back up and I must, too, return to a
working state. Hasta.
8/20/96 - At some point in time I forgot to buy coffee filters. I bought breakfast at 7-11 this morning. I cut my shoulder running by a tree. I have this huge wound on my left shoulder... I hope it scars. I wear my scars like badges. I got one for riding my bike down a hill backwards. I got one painting a wall. I got one carving a pumpkin. I got one tripping on a board in a cross country meeting at EMC. I got one for scratching a chicken pock on my nose (you can only see it when I crumple my nose smiling). I got one from doctors. I got one for picking up a piece of broken coffee mug in Andy's front yard. Well, they may be badges of idiocy, but they're still badges. And I have to go now.
8/21/96 - Many of my coworkers wear buttons saying "Ask Me About Technology". Ask Me! Ask Me! I had the most marvelous experience last night; I attribute the excellence completely to mankind's technological advance. I ate non diary frozen tofu that tasted exactly like chocolate ice cream; I kid you not. It looked, tasted and felt exactly like chocolate ice cream. What kind of world produced this masterpiece? Ours; a world holding the technology to turn beans into heaven. True, I'm not a big chocolate ice cream fan; I'd rather have vanilla, but when yogurt, sorbet and ice cream cost $2.79 and frozen bean curd only costs $1.50, I go for bean, even if chocolate is the only flavor available. I'm sold. See, I'm also lactose intolerant. Yogurt and ice cream cause my digestive track to do gymnastics... I'm ok with beans (strangely enough). Well, enough of my rambling about dessert treats. The word of the day is "parochial". The sense in which I'm defining it is: Narrow or limited in scope or focus. I'll use it in a sentence. "You southerners are so parochial; You'll go 500 miles from Alabama to Virginia for college, but you won't consider going another 100 miles to Pennsylvania" my friend Charlie said.
8/22/96 - I am well rested. I slept from 9:30p to 6:55a. I feel good. I feel like singing James Brown songs and jumping around. I feel like jumping around on a sunny unkempt hillside with no dwellings in sight. Walking around with no one and screaming at the loudest volume my being can produce. And swimming in a clear, quicky, cold river deep enough to dive and dart around the rocks on the bottom. And eat turkey, lettuce, onion on wheat sandwiches with a huge side of cottage cheese and tomato plus an icy cold bottle of orange juice. Then relaxing on a cotton blanket in the shade. And getting up to canoe on the same river. But seeing a massive rock overlooking a bend and climbing it and sitting on the top throwing rocks down into the river. Then climbing down to canoe some more before going back to the hillside and building a towering pile of fire wood on which to cook potatoes, onions, mushrooms, peppers, tomatoes and garlic and maybe some biscuits (and more orange juice, but I won't cook it). And finally going back to bed again (but not until my dinner has had a chance to digest).
8/23/96 - My, My, My! I'm so happy I'm gonna join a band! Ok, so I stole that from Led Zeppelin. Brace yourselves, I'll be out of the office until September... can you live a week without me? I haven't been able to. How shall I leave you? I wrote a poem last night... I'd publish it here, but I left it by my bed. Besides, these things always look better to me 1am when I groggily write them then they do when I read them with sunlight streaming through my window. The poem described lying in complete cold darkness mixing sensation's twilight right before sleep with the first dream images. The idea is solid; my execution may not be, but, as my friend Kevin pointed out, art benefits from a scientific approach... prehaps I'll be more successful in subsequent attempts. The sucky thing about poetry is meter. Who wants to count syllables and stresses? Not I so I don't. Thank God someone liberated poetry. This is getting pointless, as most of my stuff is. Actually it probably started that way. Hangman, Hangman, upon your face a smile. Tell me am I free to ride, ride many mile? Anyone know to what album I'm listening?