The One and Only...
12/02/96 - I'm wearing new pants this morning. And new shoes. The new pants stink. I suppose I should have washed them before wearing them, but I cut the tags off, pulled the pants over my feet and up to my waist, fastened the fasteners, belted and bolted. I'd gotten into my car and headed to a dentist appointment before the new pants stenched climbed up and into my nose. It was walking to my car to leave the complex that I noticed my new shoes rubbing in a less than loving way against my heels. Basically today is a mess of new clothing woes for me. I suppose this is a thoughtless tact; I do have the means to obtain new clothing. I should be grateful. I am. But still I'm human and, in the absence of meaningful things about which to bitch, moan and complain, I complain about thoughtless trivialities. Here we go... I'm responsible; I accept the pant's stink as a consequence of the unwashed (and, thankfully, nicely pressed) look of new pants. The shoes... well, worn looks better, but in order to get the worn look I must wear the shoes, right? I suppose I could help the economy by finding someone less employeed than I and pay them to break in my shoes, but that would be the dumbest thing I've done in a while so I'll just get over the achy heels by myself.
12/03/96 - An inventory of my desk. Old Coke Classic cup without dried Coke on the bottom (I think I drank H2O from it last). Ceramic W&L coffee mug... dust on the bottom (This jammer will hold an entire canned soda if asked to). Full, plastic 20oz coffee mug (ok, 1/2 full). Clock radio (set 5 minutes ahead, just like every clock I own). Chop sticks decorated with random bands of black and red (I've never eaten with these but I know the tone produced when they strike any other object on my desk). Webster's New World Dictionary (did you know Angina Pectoris is latin for "Squeezing of the Breast"?). Bright yellow golf ball (bounces well on the thin green carpet covering the concrete floor... doesn't do so well against the wall). Mummified orange (only took about 6 months in this building's climate). 30th Anniversary (1965-1995) Richmond Braves Pepsi can... (I like Coke better). Big cup O' pennies (doesn't the Fed want these back... something about people hoarding them). My glasses (I don't wear them while working on the computer). Two big stacks of CDs (Shawn Colvin's "A Few Small Repairs" is my current favorite). My PC's moniter, speakers, mouse and keyboard (and some of the cordage connecting these to the CPU). Pounds of scrap paper (it's easier for me to measure trash in terms of weight). Here's my boss (I'd better stop this and do some work). My boss is not on my desk (I felt the need to clarify that point).
12/04/96 -
A friend needs motivation. I said "Sure
12/05/96 -
These are the words of a bored boy 2 days prior to the 55th anniversary of
the attack at Pearl Harbor. Right now, my main concern is: did I get that
number correct? How many times did I sit through American history classes
discussing WWII? Many. I'm certain enough. With what else am I concerned?
Well, bunches of personal stuff (I'm not feeling like sharing with just anyone).
My office mate's PC sounds like a small outboard motor. He should have it
checked. Maybe my brilliant career as a writer is further into the future than
I hope. I'm having big problems here today. Let's talk coffee. In an office
machine is it normal to put 2 packs of grounds per pot of water or just one
grounds pack per pot? Not very interesting, is it. I think I'll play my
word game. The rule is this: starting with the letter "A" move through the
alphabet making up nonsense words. Abbrobundy, Bratchaphobia, Crozmacough,
Dodecatrahedron, Exlaphast, Frogaholic, Grabathon, Hocalately, Illifevero,
Jork, Klup, Lum, Movine, Narvini, Oppikyte, Plig, Quipey, Roroz, Smeclate,
Tropigeezer, Umprimate, Vizmecha, Whumpat, Xyphalte, Yacht (pronounced like
"latched"), Zeep. Did I mention Yacht and Phlegm are my 2 favorite English
words because I'd never be able to pronounce them sans aid?
12/06/96 -
Greetings from Stupidsville, VA. I went running last night. I was pouring
down rain. It was 35 degrees. It was dark. Now I have a sore throat.
Drinking coffee isn't pleasant. And orange juice... I about screamed it hurt
so badly. The grits were nice. I'm trying to find a good image for sore
throats. At first I thought it felt like the skin was removed from the back
of my throat... but that doesn't describe it. I guess the old stand by
description my Mom used fits pretty nicely. It feels like someone scratched
the back of my throat too hard. Ok, subject change. I made lasagna last night
for the first time ever. I found a recipe, shopped for the stuff (carrying a
basket, not pushing a cart), assembled and cooked it. I had one minor emergency
in the process. One cheese was bad. When I opened the package it didn't smell
right. Andy tried some and about puked. I ran out and got another package.
All turned out well. I haven't tried the beast yet. If it rocks I'll tell...
If it doesn't, you may never hear of this venture again. Hasta.
12/09/96 -
It's monday and I'm back at work after a weekend of sickness. Actually,
yesterday wasn't bad. I got out and that kept my mind off lousiness.
I didn't sleep well either friday or saturday night SO when I noticed
I was sleeping well sunday night I turned my alarm off and am thus late
for work this morning. Apparently I sound sick, but I feel fine. I
treated myself to a big cup of 7-11 coffee this morning... Hazelnut
Creme (why can't it just be spelled "Cream"?). To get to the friendly,
neighborhood 7-11 I had to take a modified route to work. I passed
right by a cemetery and was halted by a stop light... I had to stop
holding my breath before I'd passed the place. But I also got to watch
some grave diggers finishing up a hole. It was surreal. I'm certain
the big work was done by a backhoe, but here was a living man
with a shovel clearing out a pit into which a dead person will be
placed. Somewhere there are sad people. Sad people and shovels and
a hole and a man in a blue stocking cap and blue overalls all connected
by someone who no longer lives. Pretty weird. It happens almost every
day at this cememtery; I just happened to step into the picture today.
12/10/96 -
Today's entry is dedicated to debunking a mathematical problem with which my
sister came to me. She was told by an unknown (to me) source: 3 men enter a
hotel and are charged $30 for a room (cheap). Later, the clerk discovers he's
screwed up; the room should have been $25. He sends a bell boy with 5 $1 bills
to repay the men. The bellboy says "They'll never be able to split this evenly.
I'll keep $2 and give them each $1." The punch line, my sister's source says
(excellent alliteration), is a mathematical flaw; The men spent $9 each ($27
total); the bellboy has $2; originally there was $30 spent, but now it appears
that only $29 existed. Where is the missing $1? Wrong! Even I was
initially deluded. There is no missing $1. The flaw
is not in the mathematics but in the presentation. The $27 includes the
bellboy's $2 ($25 for the room PLUS $2 for the bell boy = $27 spent by the men).
The difference between $27 and $30 is the change given to the men NOT the
bellboy's $2. It seems so simple now, but when presented incorrectly the
problem is very misleading.
12/11/96 -
Terrible tragic events have ruined my nuclear head of hair. At the request of
several adultish friends I consented to a trim. I paid for it myself. But
the results make me cry. What was big and unruly is now smaller and ridiculous.
I haven't encountered a 'do this doopey since middle school. I need thick
rimmed, thick lensed glasses to perfectly compliment this kooky coif. I have an
Alfalfaish cowlick over my left ear. I have nothing to throw around like a
rock guitarist. I have nothing falling like an avalanche into my eyes. I can
feel nothing crawling on the back of my neck. This sucks. This blows. I'm
crushed. I must remember this moment with the clarity of Waterford Crystal;
The lesson I have learned is: haircuts suck... haircuts blow... never get one.
Only evil feelings like regret and fear come from the shears. I have to live
with this travesty until it grows back into the mop I love. I can't believe
the anger I'm feeling. I can't believe a society could be so cruel to ask
conformity when it breeds such sour discontent in me. I state this now and,
until I honesty no longer feel this way, I will live by my words: No more
haircuts.
12/12/96 -
The world will no longer be seen through the hair hanging in front of my eyes...
at least not for several months. I chopped it all off. When I place my hand
flat on my head hair doesn't even reach up between my fingers. Next time I'll
shave it bald... why not? It'll be interesting to see... maybe I'll even like
it. Let's see, some fun facts about short hair and Lee. 1) Stocking caps stick
to my head as if attached by velcro. 2) Baseball caps still leave me with hat
head. 3) Bed head is still a problem. 4) The prickly feeling when I run my han
d
across the top is addictive. 5) My Mom thinks it's too short. 6) In the town
where I attended college 50% of men aged 18-22 have the exact same haircut.
7) This is probably the most extreme long to short jump I've ever experienced.
8) The HR office is expecting me so I have to run... Sorry, that's not really a
hair fact, is it?
12/13/96 -
On the radio this morning a man was drinking shots to demonstrate how alcohol
messes up the body and the mind. How does one get that job? I can see myself
explaining this one to my Mom. "So anyway, all I have to do is drink a bourbon
shot every 15 minutes and let some ambulance guy read my vital signs and let a
cop administer sobriety tests then pick up my paycheck." At this point my Mom
is in tears and my Dad is going "How do I get that job?" Well, it's raining
and 50 degrees. I'm working half a day today then it's off to sit outside with
10,000 others and get soaked and sick seeing soccer. I'm actually looking
forward to the whole caper. Dad got the tickets and Dad's bringing ponchos.
We'll be the two cool dudes in green and yellow plastic wiping our glasses
every 2 minutes (between sniffles) saying stupid sports fan things and drinking
coffee. Of course that probably describes roughly 90% of the people there.
Oh well. Perhaps something fun and interesting will happen. I hope so. As
I glance out my window I see rain.
12/16/96 -
I think I'll fly my airship east until I run out of fuel. I've discovered my
picture of perfection is marred. I saw a strain in the surface and I rubbed it
and a vast emptiness was revealed where before there wasn't even nothing as if
suddenly I could place my head in my navel with room for a Universe to spare.
I've wasted years for a dream that will never come true. This isn't about how
my life is ruined and I'll have to reassemble the pieces into another usable
item; I am ruined. So I'll pack nothing. I'll say nothing. I'll do nothing
else. I'll point my nose toward the sun and leave. Or perhaps cookies and
milk a would help? Actually caffeine seems to really help depressive mood
swings... especially the delusional type. A couple cafe au laits and a danish
and I'll be the happiest man alive. Anyone want an airplane? I was going to
sink it a second ago... I won't miss it. Yee Ha! Waitress, bring me another
one of these cream cheese and blueberry doohickers and a how about a grande
hazelnut while you're at it? Call my wife, tell her I'll be late for yard day!
Actually, tell her to come join me!
12/17/96 -
Now can I help it if you don't understand me? Probably, but I'm not going to
go out of my way. Subject change. This bloody (like the British say, not
actually losing blood) runny nose sinus headache crap stinks. Use of the word
"stinks" is highly ironic. I could tail a ripe garbage truck with little
olfactory discomfort above that which I'm trying to indicate is, currently,
great. So maybe that was a rotten example. My phone is blinking. I left here
at 4:45 last night and my phone wasn't blinking (blinking, for those of you who
can only guess what that means, means I have a message... now you're not
guessing... I'd guess you'd probably figured it out... now I'm guessing... this
is too dumb) this morning it was blinking. I had 2 messages logged between
4:30 and 4:35... what gives? I think we should consult Fox Mulder. I could
hang with Scully whilst Mulder looks for alien influence in the phone's wiring
or something. Scully probably wouldn't like a snotty (funny, isn't it?) guy lik
e
me. Besides, she'd always be on the road and do I want to always be worrying
that she'll get shot in the course of duty? I guess I could still take her out
for a Vodka Limeade at Phil's.
12/20/96 -
I heard this morning a minor hero has died. Carl Sagan is no longer with us.
Dr Sagan was not a person I spent bunches of time considering, but he's always
said interesting things about interesting things, in fact I never found him
anything but interesting in an interesting way. He's so interesting as to
inspire interesting thoughts in me. I think it might be interesting to see
how many intersting opinions we share. Once again I've failed to lift myself
from the pit of stupidity. It's cold here. There's snow on the ground. The
snow on my car just looked like snow. It turned out to be a tenacious and
vicious ice monster with grip like a pit bull's mandibles. I slew the bastard
with a plastic scraper... I think it was a long, painful death because the
monster made bunches of noise. I might have suffered some damage to the wiper
blades... we'll see next time it rains. Despite my bitching, I love cold
weather. My favorite color is flannel... no one wears flannel when it's warm
outside. Well, I'm dreaming of a white Christmas... May all your Christmases
be white.
12/23/96 -
Merry Christmas! In the spirit of goodness and swellness toward others I will
try to be a good, selfless person... It'll be difficult. I've already failed
once this year. Each try must better me in some small way. Ok, less serious
stuff coming right up. There's no one here. Fine with me. I have my music.
I have a computer. I have a few things to do. I have web pages with which to
fiddle. I have phasers for when the hoodlums attack. I have a dictionary so I
can check the spelling of words like "hoodlums". I have coffee. I know the
whereabouts of a 7-11 in the event I spill my coffee or desire more. Have you
finished your Christmas shopping? I may have... frankly I haven't bothered to
lay everything out and assess. I'll be back in the office on thursday.
Hopefully someone will send email... I didn't have SQUAT this morning. Not one
crappy message from a friend, just trashy work emails. Who wants to read work
crap the day before Christmas Eve? NOT I! I trashed them. I hope Christmas
passes as more than a time of getting for everyone out there. Smile... pass it
on.
12/26/96 -
I'm back. People read my writing! I got a few email messages simply because
I said I wasn't receiving enough fun stuff. You guys are great! Thank you.
Here I am the day after Christmas. I slept an extra hour this morning. I was
at work right as the bell rang. I'm still beat. Monday night was spent in a
hotel room with 5 other friends... driving elsewhere was not an option. I got
about 6 hours of sleep... not a single one was quality. Tuesday I went to the
late night service with my parents. I went back to my old room (which in
almost NO WAY resembles the room in which I was raised) and slept in the
squishiest matressesed bed on this planet. Christmas morning was accompanied by
a glorious back ache... what a whiner I am. Anyway, I was in a sleep deficit
as I put myself to bed last night. I dreamt strangely; A college friend was
a space shuttle astronaut (I believe she actually teaches tiny kids in Roanoke).
There was another good one... equally freaky, but I've forgotten it... rats.
Well, I didn't want to get up so I didn't until the sleepiness was overcome by
the guilt I feel toward my incredible mastery of the most feckless art of
procastination. That's an interesting sentence (aside from containing too many
prepositions)... I'm done.
12/27/96 -
Nerdboy Lee is on the go today. I awoke and dressed in my finest nerd garb;
The short sleeved white oxford (unironed) really makes outfit. Everything I'm
wearing matches my coffee... everything is black, white or brown. I think thin
arms really enhances the nerd look too. And the deep set eyes (which I can't
really help). And the fuzzy hairdo. And the nervous perpetual motion of my
hands. I'm reading my 7-11 coffee cup (and I expect another email from a
friend who thinks 7-11 coffee is, along with maybe Barry Manilow, the devil's
work) and the questions raised are: What is a FOX Bot and why do I care what
they do after each NHL goal broadcast on FOX? About what do I care? Somedays
it's hard to figure out, especially when my first goal on a friday is to dress
as nerdly as possible. I'm a single guy; what kind of dilly single guy would
intentionally dress like a dope? Not even I can answer the question and I'm
both the asker and the askee (or is that "ascii"?). See? What did I tell you;
I'm a tough nut to crack. Weirdo. Maybe I should just go home, pour a martini
and sit on the couch flipping through daytime talk shows to see if I'm a guest.
It could happen. How freaked would I be if I found myself? That sentence has
a very nice double meaning... Not the Beavis and Butthead one; keep your mind
out of the gutter, ok? Geez.
12/30/96 -
I slept an extra hour this morning and still made it to work 20 minutes before
I need to be here. I haven't had coffee yet; let's see of what I'm capable
with an uncaffeinated mind. Ummm... Ummm... Ok, so this sucks. Where are the
caffeine trucks? Our tanks are empty. Bodies are strewn all over the place.
Others lay drooling, unable to make intelligible sounds. Others still sit
calmly; "The coffee will come" they repeat over and over like a mantra bringing
inner peace. I pop Advil and pray the headache subsides soon. I know I'm
strong enough to survive a few more minutes without coffee. My eyes are heavy,
but I'm fighting the urge to doze off. I'll make it. Perhaps the tanks have
been filled when I wasn't looking. Perhaps there's a hot pot of 8 o'clock
brewing just down the hall and to the right where it always is. I haven't even
checked yet. I'll drink coffee before I write tomorrow... I'm sorry you sat
through this. You'd think I'd have something better to say so close to year's
end.
12/31/96 -
I was shopping for CDs last night when this girl walked up to me. She was old
enough to be amazingly attractive but young enough for me to feel creepy
noticing. "Do you want to buy this?" she said holding up a small jar of
something purple. "No," I said, "what is it?" "It's hair dye." Ok, I'm thinkin
g
Andy has put her up to this embarrassing little skit. Since I chopped my hair
off I've been threatening to do something stupid and silly like dying it bright
orange for a show. "What color is it and how long does it last?" I asked.
"It's 'Deep Lilac' and it lasts 4 to 6 weeks." Had I been drinking I would
have performed a marvelous spit take. "Egads! I can't go to work with purple
hair!" "Some of my friends have told me you can wash the color out with
dishwasher crystals" she said. Like I'm going to trust the unknown friends of
a pierced navel 18 year old hippie chick who wants to sell me 6 ounces of
purple hair gunk because she can't find the receipt to return it. Then Andy
pipes in: "You could shave your head instead of washing the dye out." Brilliant
idea... NOT. I threaten stupidity like that in front of my mother, but I never
really believe I'd do it. Ok, curiousity was knawing me. "Why don't you use
it?" I asked her. "I want to, but I just had my hair highlighted and I think
this stuff will totally wreck the highlights." Sounded reasonable to me in a
weird late '90s sort of way. Happy New Years. Be Careful.
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