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02/03/97 - I saw a disturbing yet good movie this weekend... Fargo. I'd highly recommend this flix to those who can take harsh violence and gratuitous sex sans nudity. The story is complex yet the film makers wrap most of the details to an acceptable conclusion. The story is entertaining and the characters in this drama are quirky enough to be funny. I'd give it an 85 out of 100. I was uncomfortable through a few scenes but highly entertained by the whole flick; I never checked my watch. I might have to modify my crying at movies = gullible theory to include adverse reactions to any movie stimulus... but not right now. Does anyone know what happened to that rodent in PA yesterday? How much winter do we have coming? I'm hoping the little fur ball turned tail and ran back into his burrow like lightning. We've had almost no snow this year; I'm bumming. But now I'll concentrate on other things.
02/04/97 - Since I'm stupid I'm going to try a tiny defense of last week's bitter comments regarding the monumental unimportance of life's fine details. There was a Zen Master who said "If the doors of perception were clear all things would be revealed in their true state... infinite." That is the essence of my meaning, too. Here's how. When something is infinite there is, literally, too much gook involved to judge one detail thus the details are rendered insignificant. Or something like that only better. Ok, I wrote a scene for a romantic comedy last night. This guys is driving down a nice street and passes a woman running in the opposite direction. His eyes follow her and he fails to notice the car in front of him stop at a light thus an accident ensues. The driver of the rearended car is very angry but the guy ignores this tantrum for a moment while he chases down the cute runner. "Hi" he says to her "I just wrecked my car while paying more attention to you than the road. I was hoping you'd allow me to buy you coffee and salvage something from this bad situation." She says yes and the rest of the movie follows.
02/05/97 - I got into my car and turned the engine over. As I rolled out of the parking lot I carelessly rearended the cop sitting on Lauderdale drive watching for speeders. He didn't seem to care... "strange" I thought. Officer Friendly (yes, that was his name) said "Kid, let's go get a few beers. I know this great Lebanese bar and dance joint up on Broad." What was I to say? So we hopped in his cruiser and... cruised up to Broad. The place was kinda dusty and empty, but I had no idea tabuli pitas and Lebanese whiskey made such a good breakfast. Officer Friendly tried to get me to drink beer but I told him I was allergic to the crap and found warm whiskey much more pleasing. After our meal we picked up two stray Mediterranean women milling about and waltzed to lute music all morning. Around noon the TV, tuned to CNN, caught our attention. "OJ Simpson has been found guilty of the 8 charges against him..." I closed my eyes. How could OJ have done it? I opened my eyes to find I had just typed this.
02/06/97 - Since this has been dubbed by some "car crash week" I feel inclined to mention I'm doing ok today so far. The day started in my car. I left downtown around 11:50pm and was on I-64 heading west when today began. I took a break from writing this thinking "Maybe something cool will happen if I stop thinking about writing this journal". And then, as if in answer to my plea, I shrunk down to an inch tall. I wriggled free of my now massively oversized clothing and quickly dove into the pocket of my khakis inside of which was, as I'd guessed there'd be, enough pocket lint to fashion a sturdy set of clothes. I slid down an oversized pant leg and onto the floor. I had no idea gum was affixed to my desktop's underside! I walked out into the hallway down the hall and under the door of my boss's office. He was in a secret meeting with a delegation from Mars discussing the fate of the entire planet. It turns out my boss is the US expert on Mars relations and President Clinton called upon his expertise in this extreme case. But a Martian saw me and ate me. When it burped I was returned to my normal size and my normal clothing and all memory of the previous events had left me and, strangely enough, I was missing some pocket lint.
02/07/97 - Somethings are just too weird to discuss. Yesterday evening I was walking down the street and I saw... crap, nothing out of the ordinary. I did see, on the door of a convenience store, a No Smoking sign right next to an ad for Marlboros. I saw, in the store, a soda that's supposed to burn calories; I just run... but not yesterday. It's raining where I am... but outside, not inside. The bottoms of my shoes are dry; I checked. Having substituted sleep for breakfast I'm hungry. I did have a glass of OJ as I read my Zen calendar; Pablo Picasso was belittling computers... "What good are computers? They only give answers." I suppose the quote's Zenness comes from the implicit idea that questions are necessary and computers, as none thinkers, can't question and are thus without value. And computers rarely wreck cars (remember, it is Car Wreck Week here in my journal). That's my original input to... well, nothing. Time to get cracking on something important. That sentence really makes little sense.
02/11/97 - Whiny sickboy returns to work... with a stomach ache, but yesterday on the couch with bad movies made work sound fun. I'm not a very good sicky; I complain and moan and generally make it known I feel ill. This behavior is annoying in others, but I'm sure it's fine in me. I haven't eaten in the past 48 hours. That's not exactly true... I had a bowl of plain pasta, 2 bowls of grits and a biscuit... plus 2 liters of Coke. I can no longer tell if I'm still ill or if I'm just hungry as hell. My best sick story comes from my freshman year of college. I was at Catholic U in DC to run a track meet. I picked up a monster stomach virus. I pigged out at Shoney's breakfast buffet the morning of the meet. I bought a box of Cracklin' Bran Cereal to eat at the meet. My race wasn't until about 3pm. By noon I started to feel ill. I left the bus for some air and headed toward the gym. Things progressed rapidly; I made it into the restroom but not to a stall before my stomach unleased it's first, furious round... all over the floor. I spent the remaining 3 hours prior to my race laying on the gym floor taking frequent trips to the bile depository. My coach still made me run. I had the good fortune of supportive teammates to hold the garbage bags for me on the 3 hour trip back to school. Most of them got sick in the next week... how kind of me.
02/12/97 - Having not eaten in 3 days my pants fit somewhat loosely today... I still see no reason to wear a blood choking belt. I was told donuts have been placed in the break room... Perhaps a sugar buzz would be a good thing this morning. I'm back having scarffed 4 chocolate donut holes. My stomach has started bouncing already. I need more Coke. Caffeine on top of any disorder makes things more intense and thus better... perhaps my logic is flawed... Texas syndrom (Bigger is Better... more is bigger so More is Better). I napped to Peter Gabriel last night and now I'm listening to the very same disc as I power through this journal entry. I say "power" as if I'm laying down heavy philosophical musings rather than simply trying to fill screen space with text. One powers through difficulty; one does not power through this dullness. Back to Peter Gabriel... do you know what I like most about PG? His use of technology. Who else uses synthetic sounds as humanly as he? No One! And his voice is high on the plus list too. He sounds powerful (proper use) and he sounds gentle. PG is, with MAYBE the exception of Sting, the best musician alive. Plus PG is a darned good song writer.
02/13/97 - I've nothing to say. I believe I'd thought of something yesterday, but I didn't write the idea down... so it fled. I'm listening to Led Zeppelin right now. I was a huge fan at 13, now I admire the ground over which they were the first to travel. I dig John Bonham's use of the kick drum, but only because it was pointed out to me. Bonham does entire fills on the kick alone... quite impressive. I even attempted (once and failed) to tap just the kick drum on a song. My day's first cup of Coke is gone... I'm still afraid to try coffee. I'm much better with food these last few days, though. Last night some friends took my to Freedom House to help serve a meal. We took fried chicken, mashed potatoes (is there an "E" in that word?), beans, biscuits, cookies, apples, soda and bunches of random stuff. I was nervous at first but everyone at Freedom House was so nice. I talked to a man who had studied physics; he didn't like beans because he'd eaten too many as a kid. I talked to a man who loved beans and couldn't get enough; he also had an amazing apetite for chicken wings. Most people just said "Hi" and laughed at the things I said. If you tend to be serious this could be a horrible way to be treated but I'm rarely serious.
02/14/97 - Welcome to another Hallmark Holiday... geez. I went last night and test drove a car. It's everything I want and more and that's the bad part. What do I need with all that extra stuff? It's more hassle. I'm a utilitarian car kind of guy and turbo, leather seats and alloy wheels are just too much. The kickin' stereo and sun roof were nice as were the heated seats. But, like I said, too much... right? What about insurance? Theft? Spilling coffee on leather? I need a car with whom I can communicate as equals, not one of which I'm scared. Do you know what my favorite thing about being an adult is (today, at least)? I had cookies and Coke for breakfast and no one is angry. My mom would've killed me had I done this at 15, but at 26 she can't say a thing. In fact, she gave me the cookies. I felt like taunting the kids at the bus stop "Na Na Na Naaaaa Na! I had cookies and Coke for breakfast and you Total cornflakes and a banana! Pttttttt. Plus, I'm driving to work and you're riding a school bus." Of course they could have evened the score with a quick "Yeah, but we get off at 2 and you have to stay until 5." The rotten little bastards.
02/17/97 - Once again I'm fuel by sugar cookies and Coke. I ran 9 miles yesterday so this kind of breakfast probably won't kill me... yet. I cleaned my bathroom yesterday. I'm trying to invent a self cleaning shower stall. I'm thinking something in a stainless steel with heating elements to burn gak from the surface. A giant exhaust fan should probably be installed at the top to suck the wretched scent of burning gak directly into the apartment above. Those people are so loud anyway, they deserve the fumes. Ok, so I'm kidding but they are loud. My roommate Chuck calls them "Ta Tonka" which, I believe, is America Indian for "sells movie tickets". My second idea is a frosted galss shower stall and some kind of acid solution cleaner that really will destroy mildew and soap scum on contact without scrubbing. I think the FDA or whoever regulates the cleaner companies should ease up and let strong acids be sold for bathroom cleanup. Scrubbing sucks. My last idea is a shower stall that acts more like a washing machine. How often do you have to scrub the inside of a washing machine? How cool would it be to throw a bar of dial into a contraption, jump in and emerge clean 30 minutes later knowing you'd never have to scrub gak from grout again?
02/18/97 - Call me monkeyboy. I was walking from my car, parked on Rowland in the Fan, to my friend's apartment and decided I wanted to swing from the trees. I took a running start and lept, right hand first, into the nearest tree. I caught a low branch and swung. Suddenely I noticed my body is quite heavy for just one arm to hold aloft. I didn't want to let go for fear of falling, back first, onto the side walk so I swung, tearing the flesh off my poor right hand as it grated across the less than smooth tree bark and stressing every muscle in my right arm and back. I was with friends so I had to act like it didn't hurt. Luckily, my body helped with that; my hand went numb. Taking advantage of this fortuitous numbness I scrubbed the plant matter from my damaged dexter ("dexter" is Latin for "right hand" and is pronounced decks-tear)... Of course I went inside my friends apartment before attempting surgery. Well, enough of my grody hand story. I decided I'm going to learn CPR. I learned once in high school, but that's been so long ago I don't think I'd know what to do now. I figure this is an important skill for everyone to know; since I can't force everyone to learn I'll, hopefully, lead by example.
02/19/97 - Last night I lived through the most unpleasant experience of digging out a clogg ed shower drain with a coat hanger. I think that sentence alone paints a vivid enough picture without me having to add anything about wet, vommitous wookies. Well, that said it's off to the sweet smelling wonderland of Lee. What have I smelled this morning? I smelled toothpaste; I remember that. I smelled deodorant. Deodorant is a cool word. It was 3 parts and each part adds to the meaning. De Odor Ant. De means "not"; Odor means "wretched smelling"; Ant means "Thing that does". Rearrange the order slightly and you have "Thing that does not smell wretched"... pretty cool, eh? I cross referenced my definition with that of Mr Webster; I believe I did a better job than he. He didn't break it down; he didn't even give me an etymology. I want to know about the origin of "...ant"; I can look up "..ant" all I'll find is "tiny, burrowing insect eaten by Boy Scouts during survival training merit badge preparation and to disgust mothers everywhere". Trust me, there isn't much more gross than digging out a clogged shower drain with a coat hanger. Please pass the ants.
02/20/97 - Today is my Dad's 54th birthday (The Geezer!!!) so I'll tell Dad stories today. I guess the first story is not really a story. I just wanted to say, while Dad and I look alot alike (but he's never had a beard), he's much wiser and full of common sense than I. We're both geniuses, though. Ok, a Dad story. I recently didn't buy a really flashy, cool car because of something Dad told me in a 7-11 when I was about 12. We were heading somewhere in the car and I wanted a soda and, as it turned out, Dad did, too. We went in and I checked out the soda selection. I reached for the biggest cup and filled it with Coke or something. Dad got the smallest cup and probably filled it with Coke, too. "Dad, why don't you get the Supreme Gulp? It only cost $.10 more but you get 10 times the soda." "Well, Lee, I only wanted this much soda. Sometimes things may look like a good deal but then turn out to be a hidden hassle. We're going to be in the car for *some amount of time* and if I get a Mega Gulp we'll have to stop for restroom breaks more frequently." I'd never before looked at the hidden costs of a good deal. Well, that's enough sap for today. I called home this morning and found Dad had left for DC on business... his *favorite* place. What a dedicated Dad I have.
02/21/97 - Today I'm going to talk about my friends. I hang out in a small group that includes several people with whom I was raised and few others cool enough to pass our grueling entrance requirements. We were in a bar Wednesday night when two swinging guys... Trey and Cliff (Hey! I'm Cliff and this is my buddy Trey. I think we should all play the naaaaame game.") Cliff made us identify ourselves then he went around repeating our names. Luckily we were smart enough to use pseudonyms. I was Rob. Then there was Georgie, Mel, Carrie, Lucy and Susan... not one name was real. Cliff went around and messed them all up. I don't think I've ever encountered anyone quite as wacky as Cliff. It's as if he learned his social skills from a Rodney Dangerfield movie. Rodney's funny on the big screen, but it's fiction. In the flesh it's quite frightening. So my friends and I were able to keep straight faces once we'd learned each others new names... where was I going with this narrative? Oh well. I'm going with my friends to see The Empire Strikes Back (my favorite of the Star Wars trilogy... it's a bleak film on many levels) tonight and tomorrow we're band hopping.
02/24/97 - Ok, a metaphor for second-hand smoke. Second-hand smoke gets all in my cloths. It befouls the air I breathe. I hate it yet I'm powerless to keep it away from me. I'm at dinner with friends; we sit at a big table. I order a big, messy slice of pizza. My friends get beer or soda or drinks of some sort (I get a cider). The food comes. More drinks are ordered and delivered. I set into my pizza with just a fork. I'm bearing down with most of my weight, trying to use the fork's dull edge to sever a mouthful of pizza but instead I end of spilling everyone's drinks. "Gosh Lee" says the smoker "Is it fair that your meal method makes my meal less enjoyable?" Hmmm. Second-hand shake... a non smokers revenge. Not that I'm a vengeful person, I just found the metaphor striking. The beauty is a smoker congealed the thought. I'm careful in my antismokingness to point ou that smoking is bad, not smokers. Well, that's my story... too bad I wasn't wearing my "Smoking Sucks" t-shirt (yes, I have one).
02/25/97 - First, a piece of news... everyone rush out to Plan 9 records and buy your copy of my favorite Richmond band's new album. Yes, Agents of Good Roots is releasing their live album today. Ok, now a story. Yesterday my jerky friends played a cruel trick on me. It seems that Will doesn't really care what kind of filth touches his hands. I walked down to gather the crew for lunch. "Lee," said Jim, "tell me if you can figure out whose handwriting that is" pointing to a pile of paper on his desk. I walked over and picked up the top sheet. "I don't know... who wrote this?" "Look at the next one." " EGADS!!! THAT'S A DEAD BIRD!!!" Right there on top of the desk was a disgustingly dead heap of bird. Of course I didn't really get a good look at it until I dislodged my head from the ceiling panels and had quit bouncing in shock and trauma. I, after my breathing returned to normal, went directly to the restroom and washed my hands. Will, it seems, had played the trick on Jim; Jim, not wanting to be the only sap, played the trick on me. But the thing that gets me is that Will brought the bird from the spot of it's demise to Jim's desk. Yuk.
02/26/97 - Here I am, having worked for over an hour so far, and I'm just getting to my journal. I count 12 ice wedges in my Coke. I almost said "cubes" but the ice is definitely wedgy. Actually, it's more crescenty. The shape is very geometric, but it doesn't have a nice geometry name like cone or sphere or cube. All automatic ice machines make ice in this shape. I've made this shape while cutting apples with a knife. I pretty much have to identify everything. Strange complusions I have. Instincts, maybe. I'm not satisfied until I can name and explain. Perhaps I should chill more often... I walk around in a constant state of confusion. Maybe it's just the caffeine and sugar talking this morning. You know, I didn't know how to spell "caffeine" before I stuck that word on a computer as its name? Yes, I named a computer "caffeine". I wanted to name the computer "it" but my friend Steve said "think of something else". Caffeine's counterpart is Coffee so Caffeine was a logical choice. We went to a 3rd party who chose Caffeine over It. So I wasn't completely responisble for the name, but my input was there.
02/27/97 - Traffic was annoyingly heavy this morning. And the humidity, what's up with that? I don't care I'm in the south IT'S STILL WINTER! I dripped condensation all over myself... I'm dry now. Temperatures are supposed to soar near 80 today. I can't wait to go run around afterwork. Hopefully we'll play frisbee. I just finished my Coke. I have 3 mangy ice pieces and a giant empty plastic tumbler to show for my effort... and I forgot to mention the ocean sized puddle that rolled from the sides of the tumbler as the tumbler sat, full of icy Coke, in the southern humidity. Had this been summer the AC would be on and, I hope, most of the humidity would have been barred from coming indoors. I think I mixed verb tenses in that last sentence. That's probably a problem, but I doubt anyone will complain. I went out last nigt and watched my favorite band. The show started at 7:30 so I was in bed at 10:45... being this refreshed after an evening of music is weird. Luckily the shows tonight are late and I'll get to drag my butt tomorrow.
02/28/97 - First off... I'll be out on business most of next week and will not be updating this page for a few days. Hello? Is anyone listening to me? Oh well. Well, I get to be a business traveller again. I have to take a hanging bag instead of packing everything in a big gym bag (my usual method). I get to learn all kinds of good and interesting stuff about running a college with computers. It sounds big, doesn't it? There'll be thousands of people like me milling around sponging up useful tidbits of information... not! Anyway, I've decided I feel more like talking about music than work. I saw the most fun band last night; they're called Jump Little Children. Basically, they're as fun to watch as hear. There's a double bass player with more energy than your standard nuclear power plant. A guitarist wwho appears to be the oldest (at about 22) a miscellaneous guy who looks just like Bush's lead singer, a cello player and a 14 year old drummer (well, he looks that old). Everyone but the drummer sings and everyone sings well. Their music is easy to enjoy but their stage presence is amazing. Well, it's noon and I'm busier than some very busy things; talk to you later.