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7/1/96 - I did nothing this weekend. Why am I lying? I didn't go anywhere. I went straight home friday, skipped running made a martini and sat on the porch. I got up at 10:30 on saturday and ran a course record on the 5.1 mile loop around my apartment. I love running record times. I know no one else runs my course exactly, but it doesn't matter because I'm not measuring myself against anyone but myself. I'm solely responsible for my feat. I poured another martini that evening a smoked a cigar to celebrate. My friend Chris gave each of his groomsmen a cedar cigar box and 3 nice cigars (Chris explained the flavor of each; Andy summed up my thoughts when he said "It tastes like smoke to me"). I smoked the 1st of 3 the evening before Chris's wedding. It made me ill. This was the 2nd... I survived sans stomach problems but I can still taste that damn thing. Why do I smoke? Ok, I don't smoke or at least I probably haven't, in my lifetime, smoked a pack's worth of cigarettes yet. What would motivate a non smoking athlete to place a lighted tobacco roll up in one's own mouth then inhale? Got me. It tastes bad. It certainly won't improve oxygen volume. It smells bad. It looks funny. It feels funny. I still don't get it and I did it. Any ideas?
7/2/96 - The web machine is down so this may appear late. I was thinking last night as I ran: "What's the big difference between science and philosophy? Weren't scientist's once called natural philosophers?" I think the line separating the two disciplines is mostly drawn in the mind. I thought the difference was: Science is math based. But in many cases math is invented afterward and used as a tool. Scientific Method is a loose philosophy in itself; It is a structured way to look at the world. Ideas are subjected to the method and are pronounced untrue or not untrue (truth is never really claimed). See? I could turn this into a book. Perhaps it is a book. I bet 100 years ago these thoughts were common, but with the rapid expansion of science people had to spend so much time mastering the newness they forgot whence it came. Or maybe I'm wrong, but it would be fun to find out.
7/3/96 -
When I was in high school my friends and I, being relatively new shavers,
sometimes came to school with bloody faces. I haven't developed the skill set
necessary to pass this phase of my life... I ripped the heck out of my chin
and neck this morning. I hate shaving. Back at Monacan, sitting around the
the upper classman dining hall's cafeteria tables, we'd sing "Shaveday Bloody
Shaveday" to the chorus of U2's similarly sounding song. The refrain is echoing
through my brain. NEW TOPIC... Counting. I was thinking as I ran yesterday
(how many times have I said those words?) about counting. When I count to 4
I implicitly start at 0 move continuously through 1, 2 and 3 then arrive at 4.
The important thing to notice is there is something before 1. Now when music
is counted out the starting point is 1; there is nothing before 1. Strange,
isn't it? I guess the difference I'm trying to point out looks something like
this:
Counting: ...1 ...2 ...3 ...4
Music: 1... 2... 3... 4...
See?
7/5/96 - Web machine is down again... wonder what time this will appear on the page? I had a fun and revealing 4th. I ran 10 miles yesterday morning with my friend Steve. He was kinda my coach in college. Then we went to Bottoms Up for Pizza. Andy and I told Steve "No matter how hungry you think you are only order one piece". He didn't listen so I bet him he couldn't finish 2 pieces. If he did I'd do a shot of Black Zambouka; If he didn't finish he'd have to do the shot. He didn't finish. This is where my day went down the tubes. Steve said he'd give me a raincheck on the shot. I grudgingly agreed. Andy called me a wuss for caving and things got bad for about an hour. I'm embarrassed how easily I become petty. This narrative is short a few details because I haven't completely worked the situation to fruition in my head. I managed to regain my composure and the day continued. Steve went back to Chapel Hill. I napped and awoke groggy around 6:30p. I went to Andy's Pop's for dinner. The group went to watch fireworks. Carter (Andy's step sister) and I climbed a massive dirt hill and watched the exploding stuff from an altitude. My shoes were full of dirt and some rednecks shot Roman Candles at us, but it was a decent array of colored blasts. Fireworks always leave me slightly disappointed. Why is that?
7/8/96 - Ok, hold on. What day is it? Monday, right? Am I documenting what I do or what I think? Hmm, better be the former. Ok, I'm tired. My band played in DC last night. Andy seems to think it was one of the best shows we've played. It was good, but... I survived driving in the District. I drove home; "Oh, it's easy" said Andy. I got lost. I had to get to 14th St, but all the roads I took seemed to end at One Way roads going in a direction that I didn't think I needed to go. I made it. Ok, here is a thought (as opposed to an action): The Washington Monument, it doesn't look real. I've seen it on TV and read about the construction, but when I actually see it it's as if the thing before my eyes can't be the thing of myth, legend or whatever. Strangely enough, I was the same way about New York city. I made Margaritas (sp?) last friday. Usually I like martini margaritas (tequila, triple sec and lime juice in equal proportions) but no one else does. Friday I made the restaurant style (cheap tequila and bottled mix); I used table salt and Old Bay on the glasses. I may have one tonight. Going now.
7/9/96 - This morning I passed a duck waiting patiently (looking both ways) to cross the road. I didn't find it strange until I started thinking. Does it mean anything that I easily accept random personification as ordinary. I think I'll suddenly change the subject. Last night I gained an explicit knowledge of flash floods. There are many things, if someone were to ask me if I knew what was going on, I could explain with no preparation; flash flood were one of those things. Yesterday afternoon it stormed up a storm here (I call that literary device "circular metaphor"). I'd bet close to an inch of rain fell in 30 minutes. The storm broke as quickly as it started (and right at quitting time). A flash flood occurs when bunches of rain falls in a short time AND this rain all drains down the same path. This drainage confluence is potent. There is a road on the backside of campus I use to get home; The road basically forms a descending valley with campus on one side and a neighborhood on the other. I couldn't guess how many square miles of land drain down this valley, but the road was a muddy river when I hit it. The flood was harmless and could only loosely be called a flood, but it certainly illustrated the point.
7/10/96 - I've 3 important things to mail today. My Virginia Power bill is due friday. I bought blank tapes to mail to a guy who said he could copy some rare yet excellent music for me. I sent a T-shirt to one friend who then told a second; second is now jealous of first thus I must equalize things. I was hoping that would lead me somewhere but it hasn't. I bought a new guitar last night. I got a starter classical guitar. I even considered taking lessons. I wonder if a self taught guitar futzer like me could learn classical guitar; I may be too entrenched in bad habits. I'm still going nowhere with today's entry. The weather here is supposed to be nice for 2 days (until the dying gasp of a hurricane throws crap in the cogs tomorrow evening). I'm going to see my favorite band (well, besides Help Wanted) Agents of Good Roots tonight. I may have scheduled a vacation. I had an interesting idea... I'll develope it and tell you the details.
7/11/96 - I dreamt Tori Amos asked for a copy of my band's CD. This is one of those days I just don't want to do anything. I don't want to write I don't want to think. I didn't even want to get up. I wasn't particularly tired I just didn't want to see anyone or do anything. It's not a depressing feeling; It's active apathy. I've my Weezer disc on the player... it's sounding remarkably good this morning. Garage rock is perhaps music's most pure form; Noise, guts, feeling without care for form. I love it. How boring would it be to play the same songs day in and day out? Can you fathom the boredom some of these dinosaur rockers with 1 good song from 20 years ago experience. Who's on that tour... Peter Frampton... Foreigner... someone equally rusty? "Ok guys, you're not suited for a productive career doing anything but refrying your decent song(s) from 2 decades ago. Get back on the bus!" Of course this probably isn't a fair assessment but "perception = reality" and I haven't heard a decent song out of these folks since I was 7. Speaking of my 7th year, I need to watch Star Wars again soon. I used to think nothing was better than Star Wars then I grew older and learned that talented actors really help a flick; who cast Mark Hamill? Was that some kind of joke? Perhaps I should stop insulting stuff; Since I nothing good to say...
7/12/96 - That nasty beastie rumor ran rampant across campus yesterday. Rumor even appeared to me in email's guise. Rumor said "Demi Moore will be running on UR's track!!!" This event was supposed to happen at exactly the same time I was to be in a meeting. I tried to convince my boss I was ill, but he didn't fall for it... He wouldn't even let me go outside to get some air. I took a different tack "But Gerry, a famous person is participating in my favorite sport not 400 feet from here; I must go!" He wouldn't let me. I'd even worked up this great fantasy (keep reading... it's clean) where I'd show up at the track to see Demi; she'd see me and I'd dart out on the track beside her. The security guys would rush over but she'd say "Hey if this guy can beat me around the track in his work clothes don't kick his butt." In my khakis, tie and bucks I'd cruise around the track leaving Demi in the dust. She is so impressed with my feat that we become friends. Bruce, Demi and I start hanging out. I call her Dem. See cool story, eh? Anyway, I had to go to my meeting. Later in the day I asked around to see if anyone had seen Dem; no one had. What happened?
7/15/96 - Ok, weekend at the beach, that's what I had. My friend Jon said "Hey, come down to the beach." Twist my arm. VA Beach is like the mall with sand, surf and sun and much less clothing. Basically unless you really like billions of people around you you'd better have some kind of coping method. I stuck to the most basic method: people watching. Day one sucked. No one really interesting showed up; it could be that 4:30pm is not the best time to look for interesting people... the waves were decent though. Day two rocked. We arrived around 1pm and were treated to 2 solid hours of Baywatch wannabees and tatooed objets d'art. The waves kinda sucked though. The drive back was excruciatingly rotten... actually, so was the drive there. Going, we sat in traffic on I-64; coming back we were subjected to blinding rain on 460. Subject change: My boss and I have completely different yet vaguely similiar voice message styles. I speak quickly and ramble forever. He speaks slowly and takes forever to reach his point. That's about all I'm writing today.
7/16/96 - I'm certain I certainly had something special to say today, but alas, work has driven me to the very precipice of dullness. And I, teetering on the steep cliff's razor edge hoovering a hair's width from a deathly fall into an abysmal life of 6:30a rise, 9:30p bed, have to fight constantly against the wind, pushing me quietly toward 50 hours of meaninglessness per week until I die or retire without the means or memories to truely enjoy my golden years. Maybe I'm mistaken, but a not so wise man once said to me and a roomfull of others "perception is reality"; In a limited way this is true. When you lack the strength to grow beyond your prejudices, what you see and feel and smell and taste and hear may be the limit of your reality. Perhaps when you have to power to say "This is the way it will be" and expect your words to be heard and abided by, you then have the luxury to equate your perception and reality. But the rest of us need to fight with and for ourselves to make a reality that is more grand that we can perceive from our trenches in which we fight the undefeatable dullness that creeps constantly containing us from all sides. I will win if I don't, even for a second, give up. What a big, giant load of crap I have written today, don't you think? This is exactly what happens when I let the words spill unchecked.
7/17/96 - I have this little game I play sometimes; I call it "How Lucky am I" I used to call it "Does God Like Me" but, being slightly religious, I decided I'd better change the game's name. Anyway, this is how it worked this morning. I start my car. "Hey, I have NO GAS; I wonder if I can get to work without more?" I made it. But the games not over yet. I still have to get to a gas station before I can go home. Plus I have to make this fuel trek in the early evening. Who can tell me what has a 50% chance of happening on any summer evening in central VA? Thunderstorms! Here's the worst case scenerio: I leave work during a raging thunderstorm. I make it up to the heavily trafficed, yet only one lane going either direction, Three Chopt Rd and run out of go-go juice. As my lifeless vehicle snarls traffic I trudge half a mile to the gas station buy a gas can and 5 gallons of gas walk back to my car (another half mile... still in the lightening thick, torrential thunderstorm) only to find my car destroyed by anger motorists who then turn on me. "Let's get him! He was just playing a game of chance! He could have filled his car with gas on the way to work this morning!" I take off running and only because of my tough training am I able to elude my chasers. But now, without a car and wearing soaking wet clothes, I am a fugitive in my own home town. I've nowhere to turn. The mob (because Richmonders are generally a smart bunch) was able to track down my address. My parent's fear that the mob knows where they live. I grow my beard back and dye it, along with my hair (which is now long and scraggly) jet black. With ripped, smelly clothing I set off to build a new life alone and with little hope.
7/18/96 - You'll have to excuse my tardiness this morning. I was occupied by work then enraptured by a discussion of honor as defined (loosely... thus the discussion) by a group of my peers. Without much detail I'll say: This discussion offers me a chance to practice critical thinking. Now on to more important topics... Anybody know anything important? Oh, remember that fuel gauge game I played yesterday? I won. Hey, why don't I make up a story? What would it be about? I could write a children's book. About a grape; nobody write's about grapes. Steinbeck (I think) made us think he was writing about grapes but his book was about people and dirt. There are California Raisins. Now that I think about it... any grapes in Steinbeck's book would probably have become raisins by the book's end... unless they were introduced toward the end and thus lacked the proper time to desicate. I'll write a children's story about grapes. Of course grapes really lack motivation... I'll have to personify. Not only will my story be entertaining, but it will introduce kiddies to one of my favorite things: literary devices. I'll sprinkle them on liberally. I could see just how many I could use. First I have to remember what they are. Is there a definitive list of literary devices? I must find one or create one. This is going to be great fun, don't you think? What about a name? My story needs a name as do my characters. Something will be called "Sluggo"; I've always liked this name (although not enough to curse a child with it). I'd better work now.
7/19/96 - Today marks this page's one year anniversary. On with the show... last night I was supposed to go see a play at an outdoor theater; The weather sucked so I stayed home and watched a Mafia documentary. I saw brains... it was pretty gross. The show covered circa 1890 through Capone's death in 1947. This is not important let's talk about my grape book. I still haven't thought of a story line. I did some research though. I listened to the Who's Quadrophenia; there's a simple story: freakboy wrecks his scooter, gets angry at his parents, runs away, discovers his hero is a "boot licking bell boy", takes drugs and strands himself on an rock island during a storm. The climax comes when he sees the storm as love and is somehow redeemed. How hard can it be to write something more exciting about a grape? I may make my main character a white grape, purple grapes get all the good parts; it's about time someone stood up for white grapes. I like white grapes better anyway. I paused to try and figure out why I liked white grapes better, but I couldn't think of a single good reason. I can't remember the last time I actually had a grape (of any color). My cousin graduated from high school back in june; I think there may have been grapes in the fruit salad from her party. Maybe I could write about a freakish Mafia grape and his cousin. That would be a hard story to sell to kids though. There's not much appealing about the Mafia... well, what parent would buy their kid a book about a hitgrape and how would a grape hold a gun? The book could have a "getting over adversity" theme. Hmmm...
7/22/96 - Every professional journalist I hear speak about the Olympic Opening ceremony is Ooooing and Ahhhing it up one side and down the other. I thought it was pretty stupid. It had it's high spots: That cool Grecian Urn thing looked cool for the first minute before becoming old; when the people on the infield drew the rings and the "100"; who would say a bad word about Ali? (certainly not me). Aside from those highlights (which consumed about 5 minutes, TOPS) there were 3 hours and 55 minutes of over hyped, cheap, pop glitz masquerading as entertainment. True, I watched it. True, I had fun. BUT I was laughing at the crap going across my screen! Did you hear the commentators? "Georgia is actually the third ranking U.S. state in peach production after California." California and...? Hello!! "Angola's Olympic highlight was their crushing defeat by the dream team in '92. 46 to 116 (I made up the numbers, but this is in the ball park); Even if you doubled their score they still couldn't win." "The Mongolians are dressed in costumes celebrating the time of Ghengis Khan... when genocide was there chief export." Who writes this junk? Do they make it up themselves? Why doesn't NBC hire someone who can think on their feet? Did you hear the play by play describing the dancing metaphor for Atlanta and the American South? Inane. I'd rather hear Beavis and Butthead try this... at least no one expects intelligent comments from them.
7/23/96 - I may have a plot for my children's book about a grape named Sluggo. Can I write a tragedy? I'll make Sluggo the tragic hero. He decides to bring about world peace through world conquest. See, I had an exchange yesterday with a friend on campus. She asked why couldn't the world live in peace. I realized the only time in history the known world has lived in peace was a 20 year period during the rule of Caesar Augustus. The Romans were conquerors (or conquistadores, before Spainish was even invented). They imposed peace, figuring peaceful folk were easier to control than P.O.ed people. Anyway, Sluggo the white grape knows his history so he figures if he can conquer the world, but do it nobly (i.e. not selfishly but for the greater good of the whole world) he may actually be able to make peace stick. He runs for president on his peace package and wins, then he enlists the aid of friendly, strong countries. All along he's convincing the people that they'll have to sacfrice a bit of their easy ways to make the plan work. He starts his conquest, but something goes wrong and he ends up a small fraction of a really nice bottle of Pinot Grigio. Oh, well.
7/24/96 - Ok, the web machine is down again. I guess I shouldn't complain... I won't. I think the reason I have so much trouble coming up with subject matter is basically I lead a dull life. How much interest can you squeeze from sleep, work, run, read, TV, sleep? Not too much. How about that ankle spraining U.S. gymnast? I can remember her name because it sounds cool when you say it backwards: Gurts; See? I am so impressed. I wish I were that cool under fire and pain... the adrenalin probably helped bunches. Out my window right now Scott De C.U.C. is unpacking a Ryder truck full of computers. He's blocking the view... completely. I just got up and asked him to move the behemoth beauty blocker. Will De C.U.C. is out there too. I guess I should mention him here (he asked). Since I'm really not saying much of worth... See You Later. Well, maybe one more thought to close. Why does fourteen have a "U" but forty doesn't? They both come from "four". I realize this is a question that can be generalized to many word pairings derived from the same root, but in all cases someone somewhere added or deleted a letter; I wonder what they were thinking.
7/25/96 - I stepped on a nail last night. Damn, that hurt. Then I had to drive my car home. I think I'll call my doctor this morning... I guess I'll probably need a shot. 2 puncture wounds for the price of one. What's new? Not much here. I saw my favorite band last night (that was good). I hung out in my favorite bar (stuck to OJ and coffee, though). And I stepped on a nail... geez, it keeps coming back to that. Do you want to hear the story? I need something about which to write so I guess you're getting the story even if you don't care (just leave the page). I was going from Alley Katz to my car. I J-walked across Main between 18th and 19th. As I jumped between a parked van and car I landed right on the damn pointy pain bringer. Right through my favorite Chuck Taylors and into the ball of my right foot. It was a small tackish nail that couldn't have gone but a quarter of an inch (max) into my callus but t'was enough. Ok, I've whined enough. I started to quote the passage from Romeo and Juliet I learned in the 11th grade (where Mercutio is dying) but I forget the end.
7/26/96 - Here I sit trying to verbalize my inability to explain the fictitious scientifically... Of course I can't. Fiction and science are mutually incompatible no matter how scientific the fiction may seem. I realize you have no clue about which I write; isn't it cool? Here I am jumping right into the thick of an arguement without giving you an idea's shadow as to the issue's meat. I love it. See?... you're reading garbage!!! Rapid subject change: My arm hurts. I received an injection yesterday morning to stave off lockjaw and some other evil sounding infections that could seriously hamper my world domination quest. The area into which went the tiny (and surprisingly painless needle) hurts like hell. The nurse said it wouldn't hurt badly if I didn't baby it... While I forwent running for drier indoor pursuits, I did my situps and pushups. My arm hurts. How badly would it hurt if I'd walked around all day babying my arm? Perhaps for the scientific merit I'll baby the limb into which further injections are placed. Time to check my email... Two messages from my friend Dave (in Atlanta), a couple work things (yuk), and a band thing (yipee). Now to read them.
7/29/96 - I usually get up at 6:30a. This morning was no exception. But at 6:05a I looked at the clock, then I dreamt the US was under seige (by whom I'm not certain). The invaders wanted a whiffle ball bat. I had the bat (it was my dream). The only way to save the bat was to get it to Canada. Canada, luckily, was over the back fence of my across the street neighbors. As soon as I realized this, I had to get the bat across the street and over the fence. My companion and I set out (I think he was a frog, but I can't be certain). We were met immediately by a big, burly, blonde invader guy trying to get the bat. The invader guy went right for the frog (frog carried the bat). The frog, when assailed, tried to toss me the bat. I don't know if it was because he was a frog, or because a bat is not a football, but the pass was rotten. Strangely enough, I was able to get the bat before the invader guy could. The three of us (frog, invader and myself) made it to my across the street neighbor's back yard. I tossed the bat toward the fence (some moose was supposedly awaiting it's arrival) but the trees were so thick (and a bat's not a football) it didn't make it. The frog went for the bat while I tried to tackle the big, burly, blonde guy. I wasn't able, but by the time my attempt had failed the frog had gotten the bat to Canada. Strangely again, the blond guy disappeared. I told the frog I'd learned a lesson: It was hard to throw a whiffle ball bat through trees. The forest was the place to hide as we tried to get to Canada ourselves (Canada suddenly became much further away). Before we could get started, I woke up.
7/30/96 - My head hurts. I hate this. I guess it's not a supremely bad headache. The sensation is split between my forehead and my jaw. I knew I was going to wake up with a headache when I noticed I had one at 2:38a this morning. They never go away that quickly for me. Luckily I got back to sleep sans problems and was unconscious for 4 headache hours. I've seen, in the last two minutes, 2 cars leave the parking lot that I didn't see enter the parking lot and that weren't in the parking lot when I arrived 10 minutes ago. Strange, but I can deduce, as improbable as this sounds, these cars must have entered the parking since I've been here AND without me seeing them... ooooo, I'm so smart. Sometimes I'm so stupid. In fact, I'd say half the fun in my life is derived by making fun of myself. Ok, this is becoming inanely stoopid. I must stop. There. Subject change. Well, this is not going well; I can think of little of interest. I'll stop for real now.
7/31/96 - July's last morning finds me sitting where I always sit at this time of day drinking what I always drink at this time of day and doing what I always do at this time of day. I debated myself on the way into work. The subject is important, but not more important than the act of debate. Occasionally I am treated to moments of epiphany... these moments stem exclusively from conscious thought. To a person that values change is stasis acceptable (and is it spelled correctly)? I hope to answer that question someday soon. The debate's focus needs to change, that's all, but that's not simple. I find myself to be the hardest person to analyze. Not because I'm more complex than anyone else, but because I've unlimited information about myself. With others I only know what's been revealed. So the question is what it's always been... Huh? But like white light includes all possible visual wave lengths the question includes everything. Guess what? It's impossible to answer completely but the more partial answers I can provide the better off I'll be... or maybe I'll just be distracted and busy... and maybe that's all that matters anyway.