If you see me on the street, say hi.
9/1/95 - Welcome to September people! I am in a great mood because I know summer is almost done. Summer is a boxer against Tyson. Summer is facing Wyatt and gang at the O.K. Corral. Summer is an ocean swimmer with Jaws around. Summer is car out of gas miles from a station. Summer is Sylvester the cat trying to get Tweety. Summer is Vanilla Ice. Summer is the can of Pepsi I'm drinking. Basically Summer is almost over and I am very happy. I like Fall, although I'm not certain if it is for the season's beauty or the end of Summer. Regardless, here it comes.
9/5/95 - Today I'm in a sad mood. The day did not start that way, but then I started thinking about a friend who was killed in March of 1989. I don't know what made me think of her, I just did. The time of year is not right; nothing has happened that would shock her memory into my mind; At least nothing bad. Perhaps something did happen. She was such a good person that almost everything pleasant can strike the chords of her memory. But I tend to dwell on the end. The morning she died I remember some of the girls from her hall waking up the guy across the hall from me; I thought they'd borrowed his car and wrecked it. I was laughing in bed as they were crying across the hall.
9/6/95 - Last night my friends and I made giant steps into the realm of science. In what I'm sure will be an event talked about for years we calculated cost per pound of a meal at our favorite mexican restaurant Casa Grande. The players were:
Name Before(lbs) After(lbs) Cost($) Andy Berry 204 207 7.25 Brian Musselwhite 152 155 6.95 Randy Miller 221 225 8.00 Lee Parker 168 170 4.25
Let me explain what happened. We got on the scale before we left the house and
recorded our starting weight. Then we drove to The Casa and stuffed. Finally,
we came home and recorded our change in weight. The cost
only includes the price of food and beverages, all tax and tip was not
included. From these figures we concluded the following:
9/7/95 - Okay, here I am without direction... again. I went to see my parents last night; They just redid the kitchen. This is the same kitchen that I ate in from the time I was 3 until I went off to college (and very frequently still). The old cabinets are gone. The old floor is gone. The old dishwasher is gone. The old oven and stove are gone. The new kitchen looks somewhat familiar; Things are mostly in the same place, but everything looks different. The colors are strange (actually, the colors were strange; now they're normal, but they look strange to me). The floor looks like a giant chess board. It's funny how an improvement to something that I was so used to left a weird feeling of loss in the stomach.
9/8/95 - Hey! Yes, I'm talking to you. I heard a nasty rumor yesterday. I was told people are actually reading what I write. Geez Oh Flip! Is this true? Do I need to develop some sort of standards? Should I watch what I say? Do they make spell checkers for the VI editor? Actually, I'm happy. I have my faults (and some of someone else's I believe) and I'm not afraid to strip down and say "Damn It! I know I'm just me but ever once in a while I can say something worth reading!" So Before I continue, I apologize for the times that constitute the "remainder of a while". Thanks for being here. Oh, and as a footnote, my friend Randy Miller is pleased that his reputation as a pig is spreading.
9/11/95 - Good Morning, Sports Fans. This weekend in the world of road racing Lee Parker made his return. Yes indeed friends and what an impressive return it was. In the regionally reknowned Charlottesville Track Club's fall 10K, strapping on his shoes and starting with a conservative 6:30 first mile Lee showed no signs of the tiger that would over take his runner's soul and propel him to the finish line in a relatively impressive 38:00. Yes, you did interpret the data correctly; he ran an average pace of 6:04 per mile for the next 5.2 miles. Surprising considering he only trains at about 25 miles a week. Let's hope the future holds more joy for this giant in his own mind.
9/12/95 - This morning my thoughts have fallen on two common phrases. What exactly does "Thank You" mean? I have a sort of intuitive feeling that it imparts gratitude toward the recipient, but why not say "I'm grateful"? The only way "Thank You" comes anywhere close to this meaning is if you attach the understood subject "I" (as in "I Thank You"); but even this does not imply that one is grateful. And what is up with "You're Welcome"? "Welcome" has three definitions in my dictionary; 2 for individual usage and 1 whole definition when it is used in the phrase "You're Welcome". It's as if the word needed to be redefined just to make sense in this context. Do you know what this new definition is? It's "under no obligation"... Why? This is stupid. Did a lawyer write this? I propose we scrap "You're Welcome" completely and just say something like "Just buy me a beer".
9/13/95 - I got to the parking lot this morning and there were a mere 4 cars in it, but one of them, a big red mini-van, was in my favorite place. I wish my place were actually MY place. I wish I had my name in paint on the big asphalt floor outside my window. I'd call the cops to ticket anyone who stole my place. But then it's only my favorite place in the morning when I can drive through the place that shares a small side with it and look as if I backed into the place perfectly. After lunch, when I get my place, there is always someone in the adjoining place, so I have to pull in regularly. And it's not a big lot, so pretty much all places are within 50 feet of the door, so if I can't look like a perfect parker in my favorite place I don't really care where I park.
9/14/95 - Hey, I got my favorite place today, even though the one by the door was open. Also, is it just me or does the bassists for Better Than Ezra have the easiest job in Rock and Roll? And why isn't there a single Christian rock band that can play worth a dime? Is this proof that rock music is the devil's work? Will I be damned for liking Alice in Chains (if any band rocks with the devil, it's bound to be this one)? My hell will probably Christian rock 24-7. I'll have Stryper for eternity; there aren't many things I'd like less.
9/15/95 - It's friday today and of that fact I am glad. But it's a sweet and sour glad. I find my self wishing for opposing things; On one hand I'm happy that the weekends come so quickly, but then I also wonder where all my time has gone. It's quite distressful. Now for some good news. My parents have been on vacation. My sister and I have decided to surprise them and have a meal waiting for them in the fridge. They would have done it for us. My family is so cool (when I can stand them).
9/18/95 - Well, I can't think of much to write about. My weekend was fun. I'm tired. I was cold when I woke up this morning. 10,000 Maniacs on the radio. 78 is the expected high today. The space shuttle should land somewhere within minutes of now. Women are gathering in Washington to protest Congress's inaction on behalf of silcon breast implant victims. Okay, I found a topic... Excuse me, but did I hear 'breast implant victims'? Actually, I'd better not touch that (pun intended). I suppose the government should spend time deciding what to do with people who can't find a way to improve themselves without someone else sticking globs of jelly in their chest. Well, I hope the day goes better than this little exhausting exposition. Hasta.
9/19/95 - Okay, yesterday I had a discussion about social responsibility verses individuality. Are people responsible to society on a day to day basis? Of course I don't mean "can people open fire in a shopping mall?"; the answer to that is "yes, they 'can' but they shouldn't". What I mean is can you act completely within what you see as your responsibilities to yourself ignoring people around you? Capitalism on more than an economic scale; does the sum of everyone acting in their own interests add to a greater good than a number of groups acting in their own interest or should/can society as a whole have an interest and act toward a singular goal? Obviously this topic is nebulously vague and in need of much more thought.
9/20/95 - Today I'm going to shamelessly promote my band. Did I mention that I am in a band? Well about 10 years ago my friend Andy and I started playing guitar (actually, we each had our own). We played in a band called S.O.S.; we sort of broke up when Kent (our friend and bandmate) joined the Air Force. Then Andy and I went to different colleges. Andy met James who could sing. Andy and James played some small parties at school. School ended. I moved to Reston, VA to work where I met Scott, Ken and Josh; we became friends. Meanwhile Andy, James and I decide to play some songs Andy and I had written. Then there was the opportunity to play these songs in front of real people in Lexington, VA. Andy, James and I ask Scott to play drums with us; We rocked! Later in the year, with more songs written, we decided Scott should also play guitar, so Ken started playing drums. I move back to Richmond. We played more shows. Josh starts playing trumpet with us. I write this. We're playing in 2 days at the Sunset Grill on Main St. here in Richmond; wanna come see us? Check us out.
9/21/95 - Sometimes I freeze up at the worst times. I hope people don't think I'm a complete freak. Last night Andy (my roommate who is also in my band) and I went out to put up flyers for friday night's show. We were walking around in Shockoe Bottom stapling paper to pretty much any wooden surface that had room when we saw Eric E. Stanley, a DJ for our favorite station (WVGO, who, in spite of being completely cool, still plays WAY TOO MUCH Talking Heads). We'd just stopped in a bar where a friend bar tends and Andy pointed out that, of the two of us, I was probably the best choice to speak to Eric E. since I'd just had a Tequilla shot (just a note: I was not driving home, Andy was). So I said "ok". I proceeded to freakishly and completely silently walk up to Eric E. and his two friends, hand him a flyer and walk off. Luckily Andy saved the day by speaking, but I still feel like a moron.
9/22/95 - I'm looking at my hands right now. Have you ever looked straight down your fingers to your hand? Aside from being difficult physically it looks pretty strange. Hands themselves are pretty strange; your arm flanges out, flattens and sprouts branches that end with funny plates on one side. I took art in high school; one of the things I gleaned from this experience is that it is a rare person who can draw a hand. Of course hand drawing is not a relatively important skill to have, but I've found it's a great time passer during meetings. Artists like drawing people because people poses are innumerable; the hand is the same way. Even as my right hand draws, the left can contort to almost any position. Talk to you again soon.
9/25/95 - I awoke this morning to what my roommates and I (and all our friends who hang out on our front porch) refer to as "the sewer smell"; the storm sewer across the street just reeks. After that refreshing event I took a shower in our unheated bathroom; this was actually nice until I turned the water off. Today I put on a long sleeved shirt for the first time in several months. I finished getting dressed and treated myself to a wonderful breakfast of Mountain Dew and chocolate cover coffee beans (I need the caffeine to stave off the awful headaches I get). It was at this point that I realized that the 10 hours of sleep I'd gotten last night weren't enough to regenerate all the energy I'd lost this weekend. To paraphrase my friend Scott, I've got to stop having so much fun before it kills me.
9/26/95 - When I wake up in the morning I start thinking "What am I going to write about today?". Today, like most mornings, I have no clue by the time I get to work. I just sit down and type. I could try and write a poem, but that takes much more energy than I feel like giving. I could try and remember the thoughts I thought as I was reading before bed last night, but that... No, wait. I do remember them. Confusion. I was reading about Kurt Godel (the "o" has an umlaut, unlike my keyboard) and his incompleteness theorem when the author leapt to some strange topic that I was completely unable to follow. I put the book down and told myself I'd start that part over again today. By the way, can anyone explain the Berry pardox to me? Does it have anything to do with ambiguity? See how confusing this can be?
9/27/95 - This morning I expound the beauties of 7-11. To, first, eliminate all doubt I will state that "the beauties of 7-11" has nothing to do with the women wearing the 7-11 smocks. Where else besides 7-11 can a man go with $3.42 and get a monsterous cup of excellent coffee, 64 ounces of Mountain Dew and a jazzy PowerBar? Probably several other places. But I accomplished my errand of breakfast in less time than it took R.E.M. to perform Man on the Moon; I sang at least a verse before I went in and more when I came out. Where else besides 7-11 would a white collar geek like me have an uninformed conversation about pro football with 2 city workers also in for their dose of caffinated kick? I can think of no place as uniquely suited for a breakfast hang out than 7-11. Plus, within walking distance of my house, there is no better place for a midnight snack. Yes, sports fans, 7-11 is truly a convenient store.
9/28/95 - Today, once more, I will dip into the pseudo-cerebral. Yesterday the question was posed to me: Is Tao a philosophy or a religion. I tried as hard as I could to remember exactly what I'd learned about Tao; all I could remember was that Winnie the Pooh rolled with the punches and therefore was a pretty good example of Tao beliefs. My answer was ignorantly thus: religion and philosophy are sometimes the same thing. Many people use religion as an excuse to not think (think of your own example of a group blindly following a religious leader). But if religious tenets are used a framework for structured decision making then there is no difference between religion and philosophy. Does that sound reasonable? I hope so, because I'm going for coffee.
9/30/95 - I was driving to work this morning (after a quick stop at 7-11) and came to a four way stop sign. I arrived slightly before and to the right of a woman driving a Mercedes. Being a nice guy I was going to yield right of way to her. She didn't even give me a chance; she didn't even look at me; she just went right out into the intersection as if it were her expensive car driving right. Okay, here I am, denied the chance to feel nice; why am I angry? The result of this sequence of events is the same as the result I had scripted in my mind. What does it say about me that a lost chance to prove that I'm nice proves that I'm petty?