Less is best
05/02/97 - I was sick yesterday. I may still be sick today, but my conscience can only take so much sick time without feeling worse than I do. I think I might have had some great ideas while sick. I awaken late at night sweating like a sick person and half delirious, but I have cool thoughts that seem perfectly normal to a sweaty, sick person at 2am but which are probably about as lame as my normal ideas only in a freakier, not quite right kind of way... like a run on sentence. I read philosophy yesterday. I like to pull out the books and read about noble concepts expressed in terms of... well, yesterday I read "The Tao of Pooh" which frames Daoism in terms of Winnie the Pooh. I can't separate "Isness" from that raspy voice of TV's Winnie the Pooh. I also can't hear news about Nelson Mandela's exwife without seeing a fat mustard cooler bear. These thoughts are not 2am, sweaty, sick thoughts but sunlight accompanied thoughts... diurnal thoughts, if I may yank out a big word. Now I must think work thoughts.
05/05/97 - Was anyone, aside from myself, freaked out by the X-Files? Even with all the plot flaws (shall I hit a few? Why did the Ghosts appear just in DC for just 6 or 7 deaths? Why did ghosts visit the crazy guy multiple times and sane people only once? I've better things to discuss) I was scared to open my eyes last night... opening my eyes this morning proved difficult too, but I had 2 short nights prior to last night because my band played in Georgetown. We went international friday night playing for a bar full of Belgian tourists. It was actually quite fun. One guy organizes a festival of some sort... he bought a CD; perhaps we're on our way to global popularity. Brian says we're huge in Malaysia; Apparently we are a radio staple thanks to Brian's girlfriend's cousin's brother-in-law's great uncle who owns a bakery that gives free cheese bread to a small time radio station... or something like that.
05/06/97 - Block chords... that's what Bob calls them, but all I see are sticks and lines and dots. I recognize the collection as a representation of sounds but damn if I can hear squat. So I pick up the guitar and its comfort. The wood is not polished like most guitars and my fingers drag across its surface as if I were pulling them across the pages of an old book. The guitar locks into place but I hesitate. I focus my stare on the first... block chord. I don't see it as one so I begin adding up the pieces. G D G B... only one finger of my left hand is used; somewhat disappointing. Bob glides into action. His fingers dance like the players in a Broadway musical but the sound is not Andrew Lloyd Weber, it's Bach. And I hear myself say I'll play with that confidence one day but it doesn't feel like my voice. I let the sound fill the spaces around me and I watch the dancers gracefully dance the length of the stage. One day I will play like that.
05/07/97 - Ok, I need this pair of rare shoes for a wedding. I called the factory outlet; "I'm sorry, sir; they're no longer made." My Mom calls a couple shoe stores and finds a source. I go to the source. "Sir, we can sell you the shoes, but first you'll have to meet the strick requirements imposed on rare shoe owners... Can you touch your toes?" "Do you mean 'Will I' or 'Can I'" "I would have asked 'will you touch your toes' if that is what I'd meant; Now, sir, can you touch your toes?" "No" "Oh my, we may have a code 114104... bring out the birds." "Huh" "Sir, you see, these birds, like canaries in coal mines, are bred to detect airborn evidence of corrosive skin conditions that may, over time, irreparable damage the shoe's interior." "This is nutty. Are you people serious?" "Sir, may I remind you that these are government regulations... we do not appreciate your attitude. Please refrain from your abusive insinuations or I shall cease this transaction immediately." "I think that may be a good idea." "Sir, may I have your social security number for the reports I'm..." blah blah yadda yadda yadda as I walked out the door. Does anyone know where I can find a reasonably priced pair of white bucks without involving any regulatory comissions?
05/08/97 - My pants aren't ironed and I was thinking (mostly because of a story I received in email this morning) if my pants were metal I'd never have to iron then, but then I remembered the reason my pants are wrinkled is because I never iron them so I'm back to where I started except a chunk of time has passed. Mostly I can't figure out when to used "passed" and when to used "past" but isn't the past passed? I think, maybe under the right circumstances, No. How often do you dwell in the past? I use experience to guide decisions... isn't that what education is? And the experiences that stand out most vividly against the brightly lit past are those where I failed to see the obvious; failure sucks especially when caused by a misstep on my part. Right now I'm thinking metal pants, when viewed in the future as the past might be a failure; how do board a plane? "I'm sorry, sir; could you remove your pants and walk through again?" That's something I'd never like to hear... at least not with people around.
05/09/97 - My life as a writer is seeming more and more appealing. I've been away from work about as long as I was at work yesterday. I hope writing would be like work and fun thrown into a blender with ice and consumed in a salted glass with a wedge of lime. I can smell my new life. The musty old farm house, the humidty and the trees, the coffee, the sunshine on aged hardwood. I can hear the open, plaster walled hallway tossing my guitar's sound around. I can also hear my frustration as the computer seizes both my latest poem and the newest couple pages about my childhood in the new south. It was the chapter about 8 year old me sitting, during late morning... after swim practice, in the redwood picnic chair and weilding a green squirt gun wreaking havoc on a peaceful colony of ant's dwelling under the shell mobile hung from a tree near Mom's clothes line. It would have been nice had the damn computer not taken my beautiful labor to that special place computers take stuff when they go *CRASH* for no reason. Oh well, I'll guess I'll work here for a while longer.
05/12/97 - Plenty of writing fodder this morning. We (the band) played a couple fun shows. I sliced my right index finger wide open and am having a fun time typing... luckily I can't type for squat anyway so the rather clumsy wounded typing method is about as quick as the clumsy healthy method. I think the cut has finally closed; I consulted with a doctor friend who assures me my medical assessment is probably correct... the cut is unstitchable. I have 2 giant speakers and a 500 watt 2 channel power amp in my itty little car... my Toyota is now a single seater (unless someone wants to climb into the trunk, which isn't really sitting so my statement still stands). I need that Volvo station wagon thing. I, for the first time recently, actually showed up for a secondary holiday with a card and present. I bought Mom a wind chime and a card yesterday morning. My family expects little from me in the "timely celebration of holidays" category. Oh, I slept in a tent saturday night. See, bunches of facts to tell. Perhaps I should have picked a few and painted a nicer, detailed picture... I'll learn.
05/13/97 - Work coffee is a wretched thing. But I need the caffeine. I cover the burnt tastes with cream and sugar... the liquid is the same color as the bland khaki pants I use in my work wardrobe like a sandwich shop uses bread. Today is a cool day; Rain should fall. We're without AC in here and it was the kind of hot that makes you tired. But I opened the windows and with a rivery whir the air eddied inside and lowered the temperature to that of a springtime dip in a stream. It's funny what skills develope from necessity. I'm a whiz with bandaids now that my right index finger demands a placement that covers a wound yet allows the finger some motional freedom. I never would have suspected such skills existed or would have a need. Let's hope it sticks (*snicker*... bandaid... sticks, get it?). I watched Braves baseball last night when I should have been doing something useful like packing to move or practicing guitar. Time for more bandaid colored coffee.
05/14/97 - I smell bandaids. It's a unique smell. There's one on me now... but how many have created the scent I smell? The one little guy on my hand couldn't possibly account for all the smell molecules around me. An entire wild bandaid band must be following me. They move like birds so quickly and sycronized that the stay out of my sight. They just breathe their bandaid breath all around me so all I can smell is them. They must have crawled all over me last night; maybe that accounts for the sneezing fit at 4am. Maybe I'm allergic to the litter buggers and don't even know it. How could I have thought of it? They didn't let me see them. They probably made me do everything bad I've ever done. It's not my fault... really. It's the bandaids; Everything is their fault... Everything. The roving, wild, pestering bandaid marauders. Yeah... that's the ticket.
05/15/97 - Another bleary eyed morning follows an evening of music... this time the band was mine. I'm stressing because that's my job in the band. I whine and I stress which really makes me unbleary, but, hey. This bought of stress is trifold. There's James, the original lead singer; he left us for his wife and his life. I understand but it still bites when a friend leaves. James, Andy and I have plans to play serious acoustic music so I should get over this soon. Fold two: with James gone the band's name has less meaning to me so I'll agree with everyone else and change it... picking band names blows. Most big decisions suck in this band. I like "lmnop" (elemenopee). Fold three: the new album. I thought we'd avoid this whole stress ball, but now some people want 9 songs and others want 12 and I hate this crap. Strangely, though, I wouldn't trade this band for anything right now. As big a pain in the tucous as it is, my compatriots are great and the experiences are something to which I look forward constantly.
05/16/97 - I tire of frustration. I need a vacation. An emancipation from consternation. I have to laugh at myself for writing that. Here's what would send my soul spiraling back home... a sunny day wherein I do nothing as a requirement. Nothing smells bad and the shower is free of the gook of which showers are so infrequently devoid. Coffee... good coffee. 75 degrees. A big body of water. Big rocks. Ice cold drinking water WITHOUT taste. Orange juice. No petty people (or decent people in a petty mood). Southern accents. A nice, dirt running trail through grass and trees. My acoustic guitar and someone to sing harmonies. But the most important thing would be to know the same things will be there tomorrow and the next day and on and on and on until I get tired of this stuff.
05/19/97 - Today's topic: Light Speed and ATMs. Let's start with the physics puzzle. If, the Speed of Light is the physical speed limit then I hypothosize no wheeled vehicle can roll 1/2 the speed of light. The way wheels roll the point contacting the ground is not in moving relative to the ground. Further, the part in contact with the axle is moving the same speed as the car. Finally, and here is why a hypothosize the way I do, the part at the tire's top is moving at twice the rate as the car. Thus, to violate speed's upper bound, no wheeled vehicle can move faster that 1/2 light's speed. Next: Does it bug you when the car in front of you finishes with the ATM then takes 5 minutes situating before driving away from the machine?
05/20/97 - I step from the plane and noticed something on my shoe. The smell of gasoline was overwhelming and may have lead to a strangeness of mind that can be used to explain almost anything but my doubt, in this case, was as far from my mind as James K. Polk's middle name. I reasoned the spot could be an insect or a scrap of food; we'd eaten like pigs and particles of any color could have easily fallen from my mouth. But at that moment the wind ripped it away. I tried to chase the object of my curiosity but was rendered motionless by forces beyond my comprehension. But as quietly as the ignorance built within me new erosive elements shaped the face of my being. I could feel the first signs of enlightment but panic cracked its whip and I crumbled. As I loomed frozen like a fawn fixed in the headlights of the rapidly approaching ground I was saved by an instinct I know is not evolutionary. After that I floated and pondered the most mundane of unknowns... what was that on my shoe?
05/21/97 - My life is pretty simple and I'm not sure if I like it that way. I say that knowing when things get busy I wish for simple, but when things are simple I'm wishy washy. I guess that means simple is good. Let's see. I did nothing but work stuff yesterday. I got up, got here, worked, played (at work), worked some more then went home and straight to bed. Here I am again. I think I would be happier with more vacations, other than that I'm doing ok. Does everyone know what I do? I have a feeling only my friends read this so I'd bore them if I went into the gorey, bloody, sweat soaked details of my life as a power programming trouble maker. I do seem to get in more than my share of trouble, and I think people know my hearts in the correct place (being more smart ass than smart I almost gave the anatomical location). Whoa! Huge Flashback! Spring break, senior year in college I went running on a cinder track at a random high school in rural South Carolina. It was one of those painfully hot, sunny days where the sun feels like Brillo pad scraping across skin. I ran poorly, but I finished the workout. Whence came that? And why here, now? Oh, if you see me today... do you think my shirt goes with my pants? I'm not a jazzy dresser.
05/22/97 - Dinosaurs had carivores and herbivores and the battle to the death between the bloodlovers and the salad eaters. There were cowboys and indians. There were cops and robbers. There were Sharks and Jets. In my office it's gold pot coffee drinkers and orange pot coffee drinkers. The gold pots outnumber the orange pots 10 to 1 but the battle still rolls like a summer thunder storm through the break room. An orange pot will sneak in a remove the hot water pot from it's burner to raise their pot. Or leave only one gold pot with all but burned dregs of the beautiful liquid. Or even worse. An orange pot will create their hellspawned poison in a gold pot without labeling it properly. Oh the pity of it all. The sight of bitter faces forcing crappy caffeine free concoctions into stomachs evoltionarily designed for unbothered coffee bean's energy and youth. I foresee no end to the struggle.
05/23/97 - Yet another month nose dives toward the past... this one hasn't hit the ground yet but it's close. It's so silly to struggle. Two pretty paradoxical points of view exist in my head. Do I enjoy things or do I work. Speaking of silly. Let's talk guitar sounds (this is really important). I need a great sound. I have a red guitar I call Les. I have a black guitar I call Strat. Strat plays well but lacks sustain and grace. Les doesn't play as well and lacks coagulation. I sought. I found a sweet guitar, but it costs $1500. I sought. I found an interesting guitar, but it's slightly gimmicky. Gimmicky could be good. The guitar is configured like a super electric; it has every possible option but the bridge isn't that of a standard electric. It's that of an acoustic witha special acoustic pickup. Hmmm, but can it bite? Trying to answer that question in a guitar shop is like trying to figure out on which Sears brand stereo Metallica sounds best without disturbing anyone in the Mall. The search continues.
05/27/97 - I ate wretched things this weekend... and liked it. For lunch sunday I had a greasy breakfast followed by a Slim Jim and a doughnut... but I had a cold so I excuse myself. I'm feeling less than 100% now, but that could be because all I ate yesterday was pizza and fried chicken. This morning I've had Orange Juice and Mountain Dew. On a whim I painted my fingernails black for a show saturday evening. I can't get the color all the way off the edges. The strangest part was the attitude change brought on by fingernail color, though. This was the second time I've put stuff on them (the first was a college party and I used model paint... not easy to remove). Whoa... weirdness! There are these eyelike things on my computer screen and it looked like one winked at me. Frightening. Ghost in the machine and all that. actually, kinda cool. This could be a movie... ok, so it already has, but I could twist it differently. I'm not very heroic so this movie could be about the anti hero and his pet computer. Maybe I'll paint my fingernails black and eat Slim Jims as part of my character.
05/28/97 - I just got a phone call from my sister. I feel better now. I was in a foul, rotten mood having just slept late, sat in a line of brake lit cars, forgotten some running clothes I'd meant to bring and just realized for the billionth time that I'm older now than I'd ever imagined I'd ever be. I still think of myself as the 7 year old that needs help doing everything and here I am 20 years past that point in my life. The radio spouted crap all the way to work (except for 5 minutes of the Who whose goodness was negated by a severe lack of forward momentum) but luckily I've Led Zeppelin to soften things (listening to Led Zeppelin is not unlike going home to the house in which I was raised). And there was more good news at work (or is it bad news); My friend VA brought me an entire bag of the world's most perfect cookie... OREO. I believe Plato is sitting in his perfect chair in his perfect world eating OREOs and drinking margaritas. The mix isn't perfect but the components are. I wonder if I'll eat anything but cookies today? I guess it will be ok if I do; Cookies are better for me than Slim Jims, right?
05/29/97 - Once again I'm about to move. I've lived a year and a half in Richmond's wretched far west end. I'm sorry if I've offended anyone; my opinions are, of course, highly subjective... I'm sure it's nice out there if you don't want to be closer to the fun, loud places I enjoy. I look forward to a 5 minute commute and a basement and Taco Bell 1/2 a mile away and other fun things my current apartments just can't provide. I don't look forward to moving. I don't look forward to finishing packing. I don't look forward to getting a lawn mower but I'll survive. Let's talk about something more fun like... I hate drawing blanks. How about all the strange krinkles in my finger nails; what causes them. When I was younger my fingernails were smooth, now it's like they're extruded through a serrated mold... strange (and pointless).