 March 31, 2002
Question: Can infinity be seen?
Or, perhaps, perceived? I've heard that the only way this is true, perception of infinity by the human eye, is through a fractal pattern. How true is that?
Because yesterday, as I'm walking around the building, I looked up, and the sky was perfectly infinite. At least it seemed so. The view made me wonder about infinity.
I think that it can be argued that, no, the sky on a perfect day can't be infinite, because as your eye scans from the horizon, where the sky is a pale blue, to the corona, or looking straight up, where it is deep blue, you never percieve blackness. The thought being: as the depth is increased, the colors become more rich and dark, meaning that the infinite portion of the sky would be black. Right?
Or maybe not, because as you see the horizon, the depth of the sky is no less than that at the corona, right? (And, I know corona isn't quite the right term, but I did get an A in AST101, alright?)
But the same can be asked of when you are in a completely dark room. Your brain, theoretically, I think, perceieves infinity.
Perhaps this is why some people are afraid of the dark?
link : 2:28 PM ::
It's Eponymous Garbage Day.
Since the whole Easter thing, ya know, I'm celebrating Eponymous Garbage Day. The first Garbage CD will play on repeat, all day long.
A big reason behind this? I seem to have been summarily uninvited from my family's Easter dinner. I don't know why. I'm bewildered, shocked, saddended, and a bit mad about it.
Hrmph. Go figure.
So, like she did back in 1999 for Easter, Shirley's going to keep me company.
She stepped out on stage and screamed:
"YOU ARE ALL MY EASTER BUNNIES!"
Perfect.
Edited to say: I look so cracked out in that picture. I swear, no more pipe for Tim.
link : 1:59 PM ::
Princess.
Yes, Princess, damnit!
That's what I say.
link : 1:54 PM ::
March 30, 2002
Oh dear.
Okay, a little help, please. Dreamhost is making no sense. See, I was all ready to jump ship, and then, ten days before I'm supposed to end my account, they go wacky and add all these nifty features.
One of which, is a subdomain. Or, five subdomains. Or, actually, since it's so confusing, either one domain OR five subdomains. Which, that makes no sense, because you'd have to own the domain to have subdomains, right?
Do you have to separately register subdomains with a domain registering service? My previous thought was no, but then I go into their "KnowledgeBase," (ha, hahaha! this is not a time for SARCASM, fuckers!) and they say you have to register the subdomain.
This is making my head hurt...
link : 6:45 PM ::
So, Panic Room?
Thumbs up. The pacing of the film is a stroke of brilliance. Jodie Foster is a shoe-in for the lead. As I watched, I kept trying to imagine Nicole Kidman, and it just wasn't happening. Foster has the emotional heft and physical ability to pull it off, whereas Nicole, in most of the same scenes... let's just say I can't see her lugging around a sledgehammer with any kind of authority.
Fincher is, I think, one of the great directors of his generation. He has a gift for seeing a film in his head and recreating it for the screen as vividly as his own mental picture. Clever little nuances like the close-up of the cement dust, or his religious use of the camera as spectre-like ghost.
I think that's why his directing abilities work so well in this film. It's Foster and daughter vs. the criminals, and the camera works as a third-party. Drifting inbetween walls, crawlspaces, even drainage pipes, as if it's from a video game. It drifts between the adversaries, keeping us invested in both parties.
The one shot that lingers is from the beginning, when Forrest Whitaker is in the house, and Foster's asleep in her bed. The camera views her limp arm from the ground, framed by the mostly-empty wine glass. It's something that caught my attention and made me smile.
I think that's the biggest payoff of the film, too. If you're a fan of Fincher, you simply have to see it, just because of the numerous tracking shots. I want to see it again just to watch the film.
Totally recommended.
link : 5:45 PM ::
This untitled Larry Gelbert show that's supposed to pilot on ABC is compared, in the piece, to a cross between Citizen Kane and Pasadena.
Problem is, it's exactly like Pasadena. Um, publishing magnate about to die (retire). Who's going to take control? Crazy wives, flaky children, even Balthazar Getty. It's got a few big names attached.... like Martin Landau and wait, who's that? Philip Baker Hall, who was also in Pasadena.
No, there doesn't seem to be the "family secret" angle that Pasadena had, but it still seems a lightly-skinned rehash of the same series.
Here's one for creativity.
link : 3:25 PM ::
Crap.
So Queen Elizabeth has died. We all saw it coming, didn't we? Luckily, it seems as if she died peacefully and without any serious degradation of her abilities.
The thing is, a few days ago, when Milton Berle and Dudley Moore died, I posted something on Jessie's site about QE dying. Now I feel bad. It was in bad taste, I admit.
So Charles becomes king, right?
Edited to say: thanks, Marc. The Queen Mother died, not the Queen herself. Duh.
link : 3:20 PM ::
March 29, 2002
Really, I've been doing the hardcore journaling lately. Don't know why, and I'm so single-minded that it's not going anywhere. I'm kinda caught in a clutch, that being I can't decide who's to blame.
I mean, it's too easy to lay all/most of the blame, of any particular problem, on one person, right? I think so. It's mostly a combination of bad decision-making by all parties involved. So I go around in this loop, where I blame someone for everything and get mad. Then, I sit back and read, and realize the err of my ways, and blame it all on my own decisions.
This leads to me feeling some pity for myself, because I'm rather aware of how other people twist and misinterpret my intentions. So I feel pitiful, and then angry, and go back to blame. The thing is, it's subconscious, then conscious, then subconscious yet. The question becomes: how do I break out of the cycle, and realize some outer truth that's hidden to me?
Because I'm simultaneously tired of feeling angry and yet taking blame. Could be the consequence of aggrivation, right? So I'm still left with that question: how to break out?
Generally, and I say that because I'm using the past as example, I tend to think that some grand life-change is needed. Something catastrophic that lays it all on the table and rearranges things and puts it all back together. The Legos that change from a space shuttle to a house. And yet I realize, or have come to realize that the pattern I go through is destructive only, and never tends to work out. My friends are isolated and communication breaks down and it's done... like that.
Problem is: that can't be the case this time.
So I resign myself to try to view the situation from the vantage point of a disinterested bystander. Judicially, I say. It's just too hard sometimes to exit your own head.
Worldviews and reality constructs suck that way.
link : 8:16 PM ::
So, I'm sitting at a baseball game.
This is significant for a few reasons.
First, a year ago, I would have told you that I despise baseball. Really, it is the most boring sport on Earth. I guess I'm a bit jaded, as I'd never been to an actual game, and had only caught the occasional game at home, as my mother screamed her head off whenever one of the Braves hit a ball.
But, when you watch it on television, it really does look horrendously boring and slow, doesn't it? What's with all the warming up they have to do? The pitcher has to warm up his arm and shoulder. The batter has to warm up his arms and forearms. The catcher has to pat his mitt a few times. The umpire has to belch or let gas. After every pitch!
It was also significant because this was the first real meet-and-greet, and it went surprisingly well. Other than the catcher comment, which warranted the fist to the thigh. Not when Grandma's three feet away, thanks.
And I just ate two beef burritos.
Sharing... too much.
link : 7:58 PM ::
Honestly, even before, I wanted to see The Sweetest Thing, the movie that stars Cameron Diaz and Christina Applegate. But now that I know that Parker Posey (!!!!!) will be in it, the deal is done.
link : 6:15 PM ::
March 28, 2002
I totally just remembered something:
The Cardigans at Coco's in Cucamonga!
Carry on.
link : 2:31 PM ::
Whoot!
It's Thursday. Thursday is my day to lounge and not do anything, save for the requisite Thursday Night stuff. That usually includes visiting the 'rents, watching Survivor and Will and Grace, and having a blondie at Applebees.
However, this is not the case. Today, that is.
Instead, I'm at work. (crowd boos) Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to make up hours that I missed on Monday. Tis worth it, I think. So I'm at work until four, when I'll leave, change, then pick up BigD and J and head out to a baseball game.
BigD and J is semantically similar to PB and J.
Then, apparently, we're going to see E.T., even though I don't want to. But my bitch says that's the only way he'll go see Panic Room tomorrow, so I guess I'll have to sacrifice.
I had something important to post, but it slips my mind.
Apparently, I was stalking Matteo and didn't even know it. If you look closely at this picture, I think you can see his house. In fact, I think, if you look closely... yes, that one! That's his house!
Hey, someone's in the window. Is that Matt? Yes!
And he's naked! And the sun's glaring off his pasty ass!
Ow! My eyes! My eyes!
Tee hee...
link : 1:13 PM ::
March 27, 2002
I'm so alpha male.
But when it disintegrates into babble, I just smile.
link : 10:46 PM ::
Galleries!
Galleries!
Yes, I'm putting pictures up. Geez, it's been a long time since I did that, too.
Anyway, two galleries. One from my apartment, one from my day trip. Enjoy.
link : 7:58 PM ::
Sunkissed in SoCal
What a stunningly perfect daytrip. It began Sunday night as we went to pick up the rental car. I had reserved a Stratus,
but due to the high volume of visitors this weekend, the only thing that was available was a Jeep. A softtop 4x4 Jeep.
So, we graciously accepted and I drove it home. Woke up the next morning and picked J up at 6:45. We hit the road
and was in Barstow in an hour and a half. Had some Denny's, then got back onto I-15. Traffic was light and fast.
Arrived at Venice Beach around 11. We walked the great majority of it, pausing at the northern end to walk onto the actual
beach and down to the ocean. Remember: "sea bugs" and the way that Manta Rays eat off your palm. It was so friggin nice, I
really didn't want to leave.
But, alas, our time was sorta limited. We left there and headed toward Melrose, through Beverly Hills and Hollywood. By
this time, we'd pulled the top off of the Jeep and were rollin like 5 percenters. Drove to Pink's, and experienced beef for the
first time in three years.
Pink's was interesting, just for the tourists who had come. Once our order was taken and delivered, the phallic references
wouldn't stop. "The last two inches." "You gonna swallow all that?" I got the New York dog with mustard and bacon. It was an
experience. The skin of the dog was very tough, and the consistency was making me a bit queasy. I felt ok for awhile, at
least.
Left there and headed back down Melrose to Urban Outiftters. I had seen an area rug on their website and was going to
pick it up. Thank goodness I looked at it first. I think their color correcting is wrong on the site, because the rug I saw and the
rug on the website are really different in tone and hue.
So, with everything else out of the way, it was time for IKEA. Downstairs, with the shopping cart. "Snap! Snap!" Fingers
pointed down. "I'll be right there, honey!" It was sick. The penis-shaped lamp. The artwork, "for your bathroom." The belt.
Hilarious.
But above all, it was a case study. We spent the day playing off our shirts. He just bought the Versatile shirt from Kleptomaniac. He then delivered me a shirt he picked out, which I, in turn, wore.. Hard Top. No one noticed until Venice. We were also quite a hit at
IKEA.
Driving home, we stopped at Coco's in Rancho Cucamonga. Cucaaamonga! Where every server is a girl named Nicole.
Where there's an Elm Street. Don't forget, West Covina, Ontario, Rancho Cucamonga. Seven, three, eleven.
A case study. Why can't there be a roadmap? Signs? No, not signs, but definitive directions? That'd be too easy,
right?
So, I'm home, and I'm ready to go to sleep. I have the Jeep till tomorrow night. Joy!
link : 5:33 PM ::
March 24, 2002
Duh.
link : 1:18 PM ::
Histrionic freakshow. Still resonating.
Kinda because all last night was the aforementioned. We don't belong here. Seriously, though. The Fruit Loop is like Oz, full of strange colors and characters. Free Zone first, just for kicks. No pool tables were open, so over to Icon we went. That was refreshingly clean and well-lit, by the way. Still weirded out, though. Over to Gipsy, to the back bar, and his first drink.
An oatmeal cookie... jaegermeister, kahlua, goldschlager and skyy. Yum!
Then back to Free Zone. Still no pool tables open. Over to the Buffalo. Scary, scary, leather-clad bears. The one guy in the cop uniform who kept gawking was freaky enough to make us leave and wander back over to Gipsy. Running into his classmate was hilarious. I called you. 87 hits. Wait, make that 85 now. And those two boys, the one in the striped shirt that I was all gooey over, and the Monster in Red. Sitting on a couch next to two boys who are sleeping together. Literally. A Midori Sour and Mellonballs.
Wait, why are there construction workers everywhere?
And finally, back over to Free Zone, where the Blonde Ambition Madonna, for some inexplicable reason despises you and full-up tosses her wig in your face. She then walks by again, rolling her eyes and sticks her tounge out at you. Hilarious. That made my night.
Or the hug. Whichever you prefer.
link : 1:00 PM ::
March 23, 2002
If you read one thing today, make it this Min Jung entry.
Histrionic freakshow? I love that, and I can relate.
link : 4:29 PM ::
Steven the Prostitute?
Apparently, my least favorite RealWorlder has been arrested for stealing a car and not appearing in court for a prostitution charge. This makes me wickedly happy. Insanely happy. I am leaping in the air like Snoopy, wiggling my feet I'm so giddy.
link : 4:27 PM ::
I guess that's what I get for not keeping track of my domain name stuff, huh?
I was off-the-air Thursday and Friday. Actually, I didn't even realize it until I had written that entry, published, then launched the site and came up with the "Register Psionic.nu!" page. Whoops.
My email was also down for the same time period. If you sent me anything, I probably didn't get it unless you sent it to my hotmail account. Evil, evil hotmail.
Today is rather special. Someone's 21st birthday. Our plans? To go to a drag show and play pool. I think.
I've had a quite strange last couple of days. Nothing I want to get into here, but just general weirdness. Complicated, I guess. Peeking underneath the surface and poking at the gooey emotions, trying to classify and accept or reject each one, even though they're all rather interconnected. That smell.
And the suckiest thing about not having my page up? I had no links to read off of. That whole list to the right? I just sat that the computer, lost, unable to do anything. Argh.
link : 3:04 PM ::
March 22, 2002
Springtime.
So lovely. So delightful. Springtime is for love, for smoochies and giggles and all things mushy and lovesick.
I don't know what came over me last night. It was insane. Just that friggin pillow was driving me nuts.
Pillow biter!
I went through some of my archives last night. It's been a year and nothing's changed. I say this not out of some misguided thought that my life is somehow worse or not as exciting as, say, two years ago. I just think that relatively few things have changed, internally, from the same time last year.
Usually, I'd be prone to saying that the lack of change is bad, a negative result of some sort of hermit syndrome that I'm likely to go through. But not this time. I'm happy and secure in where I am right now. That's a good thing.
link : 3:07 PM ::
March 20, 2002
As part of the new one-hour show to air in front of a live studio audience, CNN adds renowned political strategists James Carville and Paul Begala, who bring their experience in partisan politics to Crossfire's table as the new co-hosts "on the left."
Which might just be a reason to get cable again. I adore James Carville, he's my political idol, a real dynamo. He's sly and slick and charmingly personable.
In theory, the show looks like a hybrid between the current format and Politically Incorrect, another of my TV faves. I think it'll be fun to watch.
link : 11:19 PM ::
Oh golly, that was bad.
Resident Evil, that is. I've never played the game, so being a RE virgin, I didn't know what to expect.
Actually, not true. I expected, from the commercials, for a vaguely sci-fi pic about a Buffy-esque chick who's trying to escape killer dogs who have no flesh.
Buffy-esque was being played by Milla Jovovich, who I thought didn't do such a bad job in The Fifth Element... even though she's a European actress, and they have that funky European way of emoting way too much. Yeah, she doesn't talk much in this one, either, and that's a good thing.
So, here's the basic recap: Evil Corporation makes bioweaponry, including, but not limited to, virii. One such virus revives dead people into thoughtless flesh eaters. Yes, people, zombies... but not just zombies, cliche, flesh-eating zombies at that.
Buffy-esque wakes up with amnesia, gets taken hostage by paramilitary outfit, and is taken to this massive underground lab, the Hive. Everyone who once worked in the Hive is now dead. Wait, scratch that, they're all now Cliched Flesh-Eating Zombies. Oh, did I mention that the Hive is controlled by a homicidal Artificial Intelligence called the Red Queen? Don't forget that trite sci-fi convention. They infiltrate the Hive and use an EMP device to deactivate her.
Or, not really, cause later, after zillions of Cliched Flesh-Eating Zombies have ravaged their "team," they turn her back on to find a way out of the Hive. Did I mention that Resident Evil also features Bad Girl Michelle Rodriguez? Yeah, she's in it, too.
At one point in the movie, they seem to be stuck, and Buffy-esque goes into some sort of, I dunno, delusional state and sees living doctors and lab experiments and exclaims "There's an antidote! There's an antidote!" To which, I wish the other characters would decide she was clinically insane and end her misery, because the bitch is just standing there, non-responsive to outside stimulus, and then jumps around, screaming about an antidote. It's unreal how stupid this movie had become.
So, most of them die, either eaten by the zombies or destroyed by the Red Queen. Even B.G.M.R. succumbs to her zombie virus and tries to eat them all. The ending is so horrfyingly bad, it defies explanation... just know that there will be a second installment, and I'll be sure to skip it.
link : 6:49 PM ::
March 19, 2002
Starving.
Starving and slaving on a Saturday.
Yes, to most of you, lucky enough to work a Monday through Friday schedule, today is Tuesday. I am not so lucky, being given a Friday though Monday plus Wednesday schedule. So I have Tuesday and Thursday off. So, technically for me, today is Saturday.
And yet, I'm at work. Bummer. I'm hoping to pick up a few days here and there so that my upcoming trip can be financed more easily. It just means that I miss some sleep, that's all.
And listening to the first two Stone Temple Pilots albums. These two are so good, what happened to Scott, Dean and the gang?
I had pepperoni last night. I feel awful. Then they have a former caddle-farmer who is anti-meat on PI last night. Then he explained what's in salami. Then he said something really disturbing about cats and dogs in Los Angeles.
I think that was the cosmos trying to make me feel guilty.
I think it's working.
link : 2:28 PM ::
March 18, 2002
Some interesting ideas about Charlotte Beers' appointment to strategically "rebrand" America, her image, and her politics.
Funny, because it strikes me the same way that BuddyJesus did in Dogma. Sure, he may look friendlier, but hellfire and damnation remains his modus operandi. The most ridiculous part of the article cites when she was sent, by the administraton, to Egypt, to "improve the image of the U.S."
"She seemed more interested in talking about vague American values than about specific U.S. policies." She's probably not all that aware of what are policies actually are. She's not Ari Fleisher, she's a PR rep. And, just as any good PR rep would do, once you try to seriously question a motivation or intention, you'll encounter enough spin to make you nauseous.
And it's even harder to distill the numerous policies and values that our country holds up to the international spotlight into some sort of mission statement of ideals. It's just not realistic. The U.S. should be more interested in figuring out how to deal with the implications of it's foreign policy than how to properly spin our enemies into loving the red, white, and blue.
link : 8:12 PM ::
City by the Bay
I'm coming back to ya, baby. Due to unforseen financial crises, my sorta-planned trip to New York this summer has been transformed into a return to my favorite ubermetropolis, San Francisco.
The past few times I've gone, it's been sorta rushed. Not this time. I don't want to spend much time in Union Square, or the Castro. I want to see the smaller neighborhoods. I want to see the Transamerica building. I want to see Napa.
With those goals in sight, I think we're going to drive there. That's what I did back in 2000, and it worked well. I think I have a good sense of direction, and a good approximation of where everything is. I'm not sure yet, as we may be getting free airfare... one of the perks of being on a first name basis with a CEO of an airline company.
I'm boasting. It's shameless.
And even if we do get free airfare, we still might rent a car and drive it back here. Drive the PCH, something I've always wanted to do.
Other than that, I'm open to suggestions on some other, intellectually stimlating, hormone-inducing things that can be done there...
link : 4:31 PM ::
So, I'm hoping that this debacle is over.
My intent in posting the link was to make a few people chuckle. I read the article, and naievely believed every word of it. I thought that Joe was creepy, perverted, and rather sad. I held Tod up to be some sort of god, lavishing praise, even though he was summarily calling me, a blogger, a freak.
What came from this? Joel read a (now) nationally available article based loosely on his social life, which consequently made him feel ashamed and ridiculed. Tod was found out as taking way too much artistic license with Joel's words, to the point of libel, I think. Several people ridiculed both author and subject... chastising Joel for his questionable comments, and Tod for his less-than-ethical useage of Joel's "words."
But I was relieved to read today that Tod had emailed Joel, apologising for the article. Realistically, Tod should've used a much better pseudonym for Joel.
But the greatest lesson learned from all of this? Google should be feared. Google is all-powerful and can be used for anarchy just as often as it's used for altruism.
link : 3:27 PM ::
March 17, 2002
That's it!
Next Monday, corner of La Brea and Sunset, 3 pm.
We're gonna rumble!
link : 3:18 PM ::
So, that article below, I got a kick out of, so I posted it to MeFi.
It was my first time posting an actual link.
And it got quite a response. Turns out other people started researching and found this guy's blog. Then, someone emailed him telling him about the article and the discussion. Then he posts on his blog.
I feel sorta bad, but imagine if someone in another state wrote a newspaper article about me and I never knew... to be the target of ridicule and never know. Blissfull ignorance? Not really.
And, by the way, 9 am is entirely too early for work on Sunday.
link : 9:56 AM ::
March 16, 2002
Apparently, there is a new and more dangerous assault to casual obsessive stalking, dating and innocent sexual misadventure: the weblog
A small piece from a local "inde-yet-not-really-cause-we're-owned-by-Greenspun-pendant" newspaper.
link : 8:47 PM ::
March 15, 2002
High and Lowlights from Geneva?
Audi RS 6 - A 450 hp AWD wagon? Orgasmic.
Ferrari 575M Maranello - The most impressively designed car on the market. Everything about the design screams speed. It's elegant, athletic, regal, and gorgeous.
Fioravanti Yak - Yak. Yuk.
Koenigsegg CC 8S - A mouthful, but a 655 hp supercharged V8? 241 mph top speed? Geezus.
Maybach - Mercedes revives an ancient marque with limited success. When competing with Rolls and Bentley, you need a contemporary, yet historied, design. This looks like a SuperSClass.
Mazda 6 - I'm hyped about this car. Mazda returns to the family-car market with a competent competitor for the new Altima. Both are agressive, stylized, and powerful. The Mazda design, though, is more easily digestable than that horrid rear end on the Nissan.
Mitsubishi Pajero - I'd like to see this come to production. The description is spot-on, it's a rally car. With the Impreza and Lancer EVO VIII, there's the argument that there is a market for this car. Too bad Mitsu can't build it... for fear of competing with the Lancer.
Nissan Yanya - For whatever reason, this design aesthetic appeals to me... these small box-y minivans. Honda debuted one a year ago, and I loved it. Nissan had one, as well.
Opel Concept M & Vectra - Is this the new philosophy behind GM? This meaning those headlights. That basic teardropbox shape. It was on the Bel Air convertible, and now these two models. In fact, I'd argue that the Bel Air and Vectra headlights are identical.
Porsche Cayenne - Porsche SUV. Porsche SUV? Porsche SUV! BLASHPEMY. Phetooey. You are dead to me.
Volkswagen Phaeton - First off, incredible name. Secondly, you're going to have to market the hell out of this car to make it a true competitor for Audi/BMW/Mercedes. Kudos for throwing out a competitor to your own A8. The thing is, I know that the next A8 is going to be built off of this platform. And then, slowly, those two letters, V & W will begin to merge together, somewhat resembling... wait... what's that? A bow tie? Product differentation didn't work for GM, nor will it work for VW/Audi.
link : 8:08 PM ::
True insanity is desperately wanting to jump on top of your desk and shout Flock of Seagulls lyrics so loudly that the 90 year-old women down the hall in Bingo have to turn down their hearing aids.
link : 4:59 PM ::
Seriously ponder, or pander?
That was rough, so much so that I'm not sure what today will bring. Just this general feeling of malaise when I think about it. Ow. But there's little blame to be assigned, it was just general frustration. A few months' worth of frustration, all at once.
Get your foot out of my crotch.
Last night, I was so bitter and agitated, I did 1050 calories on the treadmill. I think that might have made up for the pizza, but not for the white chocolate-covered kiwi. Then the turkey franks and cheddar.
Dr. Phil would be so disappointed. Emotional Eater, that's you.
Another dream, but nonsexual. Eating pancakes at Denny's with my sister. Very normal. Thank god for normal.
Rosie grabbed my heartstrings last night. It always amazes me, widespread ignorance. Declaring a group of the population unfit. Generalizations can never be true, guys. And I admire her for stepping up and using her identity for something as altruistic as adoption. Can't wait for Monday's show.
link : 2:48 PM ::
March 13, 2002
And now, I wait.
When faced with a difficult situation, that should be a universal rule. If you have the guts to ask a question, the answer should be immediate and true. I mean, I've already put in some time guilting myself, chiding and feeling completely terrified of whatever answer I may get as a reply.
So, the ball is in his court, and he can choose to sit on it. Urgh.
Yeah, this MP3-CD player is pretty sweet. Currently listening to all of the following albums:
Ivy - Long Distance
Res - How I Do
Jamiroquai - Funk Odyssey
Garbage - Version 2.0
Garbage - beautifulgarbage
Aaliyah - Aaliyah
Then I have my workout CD... chock full of 130 songs of various artists... to get me through. This makes Tim a happy boy.
link : 10:53 PM ::
Ryan took some pictures of downtown Vegas. The most striking element, to me, was the rampant useage of the obey giant signs.
I had already seen my fair share at the Venetian, and along Sunset, and I'm rather curious to find where the second picture was taken.
Maybe I'll go exploring tomorrow.
link : 9:30 PM ::
Danger: when carrying a new MP3/CD player to the gym, and playing Prince, "Gett Off," in your trendy wraparound headphones, you may experience a disturbing trend in your general demeanor. Symptoms include sauntering, gazing at mirrored surfaces, and cruising. Way too much cruising.
I swear, the Marine and I were gonna go at it last night. He's at the dip machine, convieniently stationed next to my bicep curl machine. We'd start our reps at the same time, heavy breathing, grunting, and the occasional glance, look, or even hardcore stare going on. Intense.
We've been flirting back and forth for a few weeks now. He really loves his Marines shirt, has a closely-shaved head, and what I call a "lazy mouth." That is, it's always slightly open.
But he won't even say hi. We'll be upstairs, next to each other, then I'll go downstairs to treadmill again for a bit, and he'll come down and get on the treadmill next to me, when there are ten or so other, open treadmills he can always use.
Then there's the Applebee's server. That's a story in-and-of itself.
My hormones are raging. This is insane.
link : 7:46 PM ::
March 12, 2002
Oh, new header graphic.
No more boy-on-boy action.
Sorry, fellas.
Speaking of boy-boy action, I finally realized why I had that dream two nights ago. That night we had been arguing what defines a person's virginity. Masturbation, oral, vaginal, anal, etc. I voted for all of the above... once they've partaken in a gratifying sexual encounter to orgasm with another person, I couldn't seriously call them a virgin. It's a touchy subject, though, because I know many people don't agree with me.
But sitting down and discussing the finer points of masturbation, oral sex, and technique for two hours might have something to do with that dream I had.
Perhaps.
It doesn't explain the one I had last week with a certain special guest star. Oh boy.
link : 6:50 PM ::
I have a new title.
GreaseMonkey.
My poor lil car was overheating, so I pulled it over to my parent's house and slowly, but surely, diagnosed the problem. At first, I thought it was the upper radiator hose; something that's too easy to fix. Pull off, push on, voila! Then I opened the radiator and found the real culprit, there was no water.
Like, duh.
So I refill it, and turn the car on and let it warm up. Imagine my surprise when the thermostat opens, water surges through the engine, and suddenly comes squirting out of a 5/8 inch hose which runs behind the block. Son of a... so I pulled the intake off and started inspecting the six hoses which all run out of the same place. I decided, with a little instruction from my mother, that one particular hose was the problem, and sliced off the end, thus rendering the leak a non-issue.
Re-clamped the hose, put the intake back on, started the car, and it was fixed.
Color me the mechanic, y'all.
link : 6:45 PM ::
March 11, 2002
Jeez, the nerves.
I've got this sudden case of paralyzing nervousness. I called the office today, just to get the email address. I was forwarded to "his office," which I wasn't sure was his actual office, or his secretary.
Turned out to be his secretary. I have the address, now I just need to sit down and write it out. Honestly, I'm shaking. I have been for the past hour. It's unimaginable that if I hadn't sat down with that stupid paper that none of this would've happened... that I wouldn't be reliving high school every few minutes.
Then, I was stupid and broached the subject of that dream last night with Tink. Whoops. That's the problem about having sex dreams about your friends.
Speaking of which, I think that a side-effect of the andro might be this rather sizable increase in libido. Not that you needed to know, but before I started taking it, I could count the number of sex dreams on one hand. Seriously. Now, suddenly, I've had three in the past two weeks.
I mean, what a thing to complain about, right? Tink called me a "dream slut." I don't know what it all means. I'm weirded out by it, though.
Creepy.
link : 5:40 PM ::
March 10, 2002
May 28 @ the Joint!
79 days!
So there. I'm so there.
link : 12:56 PM ::
March 9, 2002
I work in an office.
No, wait. I work in an office, in a casino.
That's not right either. I work in an office, in a casino, that runs alongside a banquet meeting room.
Why do you care? Well, I'm trying to turn this into a funny anecdote, fucker. Pay attention.
So, occasionally, there will be functions in the meeting room next door. Mostly, there are corporate clans which gather to endlessly subjugate their underlings to hideous seminars on marketing the Next Big Thing. Be that a soft drink, candy bar, or teen pop idol.
So I play a game. I try to figure out who they are by their music selection. The chicken dance. Is it a wedding party? Celine Dion... a classy fundraiser?
But when the Quad City DJ's are screaming for me to ride that friggin train... so loud I think, not only will my head burst, but my blood would make some sort of delightful artnouveau pattern on my cubicle from the sheer strength of the sonic waves now invading my every orifice. I have Quad City DJs coming out my ass.
My monitor is shaking. I can barely make out the poor sans-serif letters slowly appearing on my screen. "Whoo-whoo!"
So I walk outside and check the docket, and what's on for tonight? It's Colin's Bar Mitzfah.
Poor, poor Colin. I feel for ya, bud.
Cause I know, I just know that your 85 year-old grandma, the one with the dentures caked with decay and the bad back, I know she was out on the floor, ridin' that train. And you were embarrased. Embarassed for her and for yourself. This is your first foray into manhood, son... and your grandma's out there shakin' her groove thang like a twenty dollar hooker drooling over her John's new Rolex.
It's almost enough to push me over the edge. To push me to grab that fire alarm switch and pull, with all my might, so that the horror will stop. There's a neat design feature of our casino... when the fire alarms are pulled, the lights turn off in all of our meeting rooms. There's no backup lights, either. I call it the Brazillian Soccer feature, because I envision masses of people heaped at the door, trampling each other, trying to escape the fire that never happened.
Just another happy thought to get me through the day.
I love Saturdays.
link : 9:13 PM ::
At Applebees last night, being served by the most adorable flaming black man.
"Will there be anything else for you guys?"
I'd like a blondie.
"Sorry, hun, I'm a brunette. (giggle)"
And when he delivered it, he savored the opportunity to fling the viscous white sauce all over the place.
"I don't want to get any on you, it might stain. (giggle)
Loved him.
link : 8:47 PM ::
Might be Tao of Now by Saul Williams, too.
link : 6:34 PM ::
Ok, y'all, I'm banking on the collective intellect of the internet, here.
There's a song out, it's house/trance-y, with vocals which sound suspiciously like Esthero... I mean, to the point which I'm convinced it's her.
I think the song I'm thinking of is Balmes by Ian Cooley, but I have no sound, so I can't tell. How frustrating.
Anyone have any idea?
link : 6:31 PM ::
March 8, 2002
The horror, the horror.
So, I've sworn off spoilers, for the rest of the TV season. Even though I have good leads on the Big Scooby Death, the fate of Connor, and the identity of "The Man," I'm ready to be thrilled by TV again. I'll have to wait and bite my fingernails.
Speaking of horror, the shock on his face last night. Ow. I know I shouldn't have said it, and I even held back for a second or two, the way I always do. Quickly deliberate before spouting off, I didn't even hear what he was saying. But there are parallels, and it was the only way to illustrate my point.
The damage is minimal, though. Overall, his advice was kosher. With the dramatics at their utmost, it's safer and more sane to work my way into it slowly. Right? Right.
Keep trying to convince yourself that you've got it all under control. Have a few faux epiphanies to clarify it all. This is torture.
Sorry to be so vague.
Or, actually, I'm not sorry. Or at least I shouldn't be.
link : 8:32 PM ::
March 7, 2002
I had this vision last night.
Actually, I stayed up till sometime after six. I was too wired to sit still. I read half of Time before realizing I had already read it all before. I hate that.
I hate when I gloss over things. I hate the simplicity of the whole situation, those two simple words which altered my worldview. See, I have to forgive him now. It's not even a question: forgiveness is granted. I'm already resigned to it and making silly plans to get together for lunch and bring him his silly stuffed animal that I've kept for the past six years.
What is that, anyway? What does six years contribute towards a situation? Clarity? Does it obscure your view, lessen the pain? Closure? Is that what I'm seeking? These silly little thoughts certainly aren't headed in that direction.
Because I'm on the phone and answering questions too quickly and too honestly. Not thinking, just shooting from the gut, shooting from that part of me that's tired of overanalyzing. I'm paranoid, wondering what I should wear and how I should act. Playing faux conversations in my head, over and over. Trying to get the dialogue down, learning my lines and editing. Editing, for god's sake.
Anyway, this vision: this moment when I meet my future mother and father-in-law, and I already love them both, because they were surrogate parents to me. Because my sister-in-law was a part of my clique of six... isn't it absurd? It's absurd.
link : 8:39 PM ::
Yes, Thursday at work. Color me the busybee.
So, I'd advise you all out there not to squish the fingernail of your ring finger inbetween a large slab of marble and a swing-hinged door. When you do, not only does your finger go curiously numb for awhile, but blood also squishes out between your nailbed and your nail. This results in a large blood-colored stain under your fingernail, which looks as if you've half-painted the thing.
Normally, this might not even be a bad thing, having a painted fingernail. However, when your doppelganger also has a fetish for the single painted fingernail, it just causes mass confusion and, yes, hysteria.
And it hurts to type with it, too... by the way. The pain I endure, just to entertain you.
Throwing my madwebskillz into a project. (Sarcasm, indeed-y) We'll see how it turns out.
link : 7:41 PM ::
Do you want to know what hysterical is? Hysterical is reading this. Why, you ask? Why is that hysterical? Well, I'll tell you.
It just so happens that the man they hired as "Campaign Manger" happens to be my high school archnemesis. Like the guy. Himself. Him. Imagine my surprise as I'm reading this article, and this name just popped up. And running a campaign that's pro gay marriage? How many times did he call me a fag in high school?
I mean, granted, I did my own fair share of name calling and innuendos about his personal life. But still...
So now the question is, do I set aside all of that history? I was so into the article at the beginning... somewhat inspired by a little DJ and his own political machinations... then when I got to his name, it all sparked. Can I work alongside him?
And the cutest thing occurred to me... I can return Totoro to him. Ahhh... what to do?!?
link : 2:17 AM ::
March 6, 2002
And when things get completely out-of-control crazy, I just throw on the Kylie and sing my troubles away.
Yeah, so I won't go back on my previous statements and say that her Tonight Show performance didn't suck. It did. Badly. Horribly.
But the CD is just do disco-mad... and most of it written in some semblance by Cathy Dennis? Yes, "Touch me all night long" Cathy Dennis. Wasn't that the best back in '90? True.
Speaking of odd collaborations... I was stunned when I learned that my beloved Linda Perry produced most of Pink's album... and then, stunned even further when I learned she was also producing some of the new Christina Aguilera album. Ack!
And then the news bit of the Pink/Christina kiss... and the fact that Perry's a madlesbian... hmmm. Some sapphic influence, perhaps? Hee.
link : 11:28 PM ::
Really, Mary J. said it all. No more drama.
Quote of the day comes from my beloved James, who writes in his away AIM message:
I'm showering. Just you imagine me rubbing soap suds all over my wet naked body. RAWR!
Rawr, indeed-y. Hee.
link : 10:53 PM ::
A new feature here at psionic.nu? Reader feedback.
Today's note comes from anonymous and he says:
oh i dont like that side of you, this site used to be good when it wasn't a method of communication between you and your cohorts. they should get email.
To this loyal reader, I say: Bite me. My site, my rules. Don't like it? Go away.
link : 5:31 PM ::
And with that out of the way...
Raise your hand if you cried like a little girl at the end of Buffy tonight. (raises hand) Poor Anya... that's all I could say. Poor Anya. Here's to hoping she reverts back to Vengence Demon for an ep or two and takes out a lil' anger on that butt monkey of a boyfriend she has.
As If was massively disappointing. What was with the voice dubbing? Over every scene? Out of sync with the action onscreen? Granted, you have a soundtrack with Basement Jaxx, Massive Attack, and a few other choice artists, but a clever soundtrack does not a good TV show make.
Too much Alanis.
link : 1:14 AM ::
Please excuse me, y'all, while I conduct a little personal business via my website, will ya?
See, Brian, that was, by far, the stupidest thing you could've done. And I'm not talking about anything in particular, but all of your dumbass actions today. Let me lay down some info for ya.
First, I've known that you were pawnshophoodlum for quite awhile. In fact, I think last April, when I was up there with Ali one Friday night, I pointed you out and told her you were a stalker. When I learned that they were hiring you, it caused me to panic for a moment. But all was well, and you didn't rock the boat.
But now, you have. You've rocked the boat, and people don't take kindly to that. Especially me. Especially John, and especially Dusty. What you said to Dusty was classy. Oh yes, so classy. Dusty isn't a guy I'd ever want to piss off, by the way. So, we'll set the record straight. You were fired for your own incompetence. That's right, your sheer stupidity got you fired. You made your own decisions, and now you should deal with the consequences.
The funny thing was, I was wondering why you were holding my site as some sort of trump card. Why weren't you telling people about it? I couldn't figure it out. My only guess is, the whole reason you began working there was to try to insinuate yourself into John's life. Somehow gain his trust, and become friends with all of us. That would explain your sudden desire to be his friend this afternoon.
The thing is, which you do not know, is that John's aware of the site. He knows that I write and he's been told, before, what I write. He doesn't care. I could give a shit less if he reads this... it would be like him reading about his own life. Dawn already had told him most of everything, so your trump card is now wilted and useless.
So, with that out of the way, I'm left to wonder why you felt it necessary to try to ruin our friendship in the first place. Jealous, much? Tired of being in the closet? Probably a bit of both. So, I'm going to say this: Drop it, or you'll reap some pretty heavy consequences. I know phone numbers, addresses, everything. Don't fuck with me.
John and I have a saying, "Never fuck with gay men. They're catty and vicious and evil." So drop it and move on, son.
link : 1:03 AM ::
March 4, 2002
Psychic wonder twin, I think I love you.
But seriously, that had been bugging me for the longest time. I even did a full-scale google search on him and came back with nothing. I know this guy from somewhere!
David, you are my hero.
link : 9:32 PM ::
I swear, sometimes you suck!
The Cardigans! You bitch!
And, I mean it.
link : 6:50 PM ::
I was laughing so hard on the phone last night. When you get them together, Tink and his sister, BigK... it just deteriorates into mass hysteria.
She keeps telling me how much she likes me, and I know she's pushing him. He's my brother-in-law! It's fun to sit back and hear it all. She's intuitive and clever. What fun.
And color me the butch automobile maintenance man. We go to the gym Saturday night, work out, drop next door to Denny's and have dinner, and then go our separate ways. I'm at home, relaxing, and he calls me. His truck won't start. I get up, drive halfway across town, and proceed to jumpstart his truck. This was at 4:30 in the morning. He was so impressed.
And he made me an Easter basket. Can I admit that this is the first time anyone besides my own mother has made me anything for Easter?
There is a time for strict definitions, and a time to just sit back and experience the ebb and flow of everything. To not classify or dissect everything.
I've got my feet on the furniture, baby.
link : 3:49 PM ::
March 3, 2002
It's seriously not a moral dilemma, but a question I've been pondering lately.
This June marks three years since I've eaten any red meat or pork. I'm still down with munchin' on the feathered fowl, but eating poor Bessie and the Proletariat is out of the question. Or is it?
Cause I'm watching Rosie the other day, cause Martha was on. If you know anything about me, you know I wouldn't miss a Rosie-Martha pairing for my own funeral. Rosie just comes off as such trash next to perfectly poised Martha, it's dichotomy at it's finest.
Ok, so Martha brings out this tray of two hot dogs. Two luscious, pink, plump hot dogs. And they get into this discussion about some hot dog stand in L.A. called Pink's. Now, both Rosie and Martha are fawning over this place, and I was going nuts over the thought... should I get one?
I mean, why'd I quit the red meat and pork in the first place? Well, two reasons. First, I read about slaughterhouses. Mmmm... nothing will kill your appetite more quickly than experiencing that. Plus, as an added bonus, not being able to eat red meat kinda culls my occasional binge eating. I mean, no more are the days where I can pop-in at Taco Bell for four beef burritos and two quesadillas, ya know what I mean?
So I'm dilemmaed. The stomach says "Go, Tim, Go!" The mind screams, "Ew, Tim, Eww!" And I'm stuck in the middle.
link : 7:05 PM ::
Yeah, so I'm not so on the up-and-up when it comes to the Grammys. I just watched them last night -- while liberally using the fast forward button on my remote control.
And I may not have seen all of them, but I saw Alicia Keys win for Song of the Year, which I believe was the last award. I kept wondering, "Where's all the other awards?" The formula for the show left much to be desired. Performance, award, performance, award. Where was best alternative rock album? Oh, Coldplay. What about best rap album? Oh, Outkast. Hey, two awards that I agree with, but why award them if you're not going to give them a few seconds to publicly thank the people behind them?
And the performances, largely, sucked. U2 were their casually mediocre selves, the Marmalade girls all looked like hoes... and what was with Aretha's screeching? Train? Derailed. Tony Bennett and Billy Joel? Tedious. Even Alicia Keys left much to be desired for. (You are so friggin talented with the piano... just let it be you and the piano, for once, please!)
The show peaked, though, with Ms. "Getchodramaoutmyface" Mary J. Blige. Wow. I mean, fuckin wow. It was like she was channeling James Brown via her gold lame suit. Her shit was intense. (Where'd that come from?) But kudos to one of my favorites. Aaron had told me that she brought the house down, but I had to see it for myself. Hot damn!
And, since it was another award show, it's yet another time we get to ask the question: "Christina Aguilera, what the fuck were you thinking?" The girl has some talent. She can sing her 85 lb ass off. Granted, it's rarely anything I want to hear, but I'll give her credit where credit is due. So why, at every award show she's ever been to, does she spaz out when choosing her outfit/look for the event? I've never seen her look nice. Just nice.
And sure, the comparison to Britney's easy. And look at her. She was tasteful in a full red dress and pretty curly hair. Compare that to Christina's Like A Virgin mock Catholicism crucifix and her horrible, whoreable hair... there's just no question who the reigning pop princess is. The pretty one with little talent.
Get thee to a stylist, quick!
link : 2:48 PM ::
March 2, 2002
Picked up the latest issue of Flaunt magazine. Sure, it's slick and hip, but the art direction is, to say the least, inspirational.
An article in the magazine on Meshell Ndegeocello mentions the artists view on several things - notably rap culture and her extremely liberal political views. The most simple statement she made was, to me, the most powerful. When referencing the death penalty, she said:
"An eye for an eye leaves us all blind"
I'd never heard this before, and it seems to be a pacifist mantra, but it struck me and made me smile.
link : 6:49 PM ::
Biggest lesson learned from the Grammys?
Shirley really is a trendsetter. Long before Gwen Stefani or Pink, Shirl displayed the "platinum mohawk" look sometime in late October of last year.
So ahead of the trends... another reason to love her.
link : 5:23 PM ::
March 1, 2002
A simple declarative sentence from him was enough to justify nine months at the gym.
These are my sacrifices, I guess.
I swear, though, no more gym-talk for at least two weeks.
So, as if work could not get any worse, the cosmos throws us yet another curving fastball... the assistant manager was suspended yesterday, pending an investigation. This sucks for me, because if he's fired, I move into his position. I really don't want to see him fired, either. And, while he's definitely guilty of what he's been accused of, the infraction doesn't merit termination, anyway.
*sigh*
Currently spinning the new Alanis. So far, the best song by far? Precious Illusions. Overall, the disc isn't what I had expected. Take that as you will.
Also grabbed the disc by that Australian pixie girl. Why? I've been trying to answer that question ever since I plucked down the plastic to buy it.
Maybe it's the funky "Daft Punk meets Stacey Q" vibe.
Oh, and Lance updated. Sheesh.
link : 4:22 PM ::
I'm at home right now. Now, before you point out that I can't be posting from home, because I don't have an internet connection at home, let me reassure you that this will be transferred to disk and promptly uploaded tomorrow when I arrive at work.
I'm sure you were all concerned.
Anywho. It's somewhat fitting that this entry will exist, and yet not exist. I like the symmetry. Why, you ask? Because my blog is two years old, as of (kind-of) yesterday.
Hey, what's with the semantics, anyway? Why? Cause I was so novel as to post my first post on February 29, 2000.
That's right, leap day.
So, basically my blog is like one of those poor despondent children who only get to celebrate their real birthday every four years. It's a bastard. Really, I didn't plan this. In fact, I never really thought that my blog would catch on. To me. Not to others. Readers schmeaders.
(No, really, I love you all)
(Well, except you and you)
(That was my attempt at humor, you're all great.)
(No, that wasn't sarcasm)
(Okay, whatever)
And, of course, I planned no celebration. In fact, I thought about maybe paying Jerwin to design a great spectacular-spectacular scheme for the website, something he's so good at anyway. That fell through. Then I thought about bringing back my archives... but the lovely description of "soap opera come to life" haunts me to this day. Really, I laugh about it.
Really.
And, since Lance, who promised to write more after the new year, and succeeded for a month or so, then broke his promise, has declared archives to be passe, you won't be getting those, either.
So, you might be asking yourself, what do I get? Me, the loyal reader, occasional guest, or even blimey asshole who emails me quaint text chuckles everytime I fall on my face... what do I get out of the occasion? Well, first you get to read me use "blimey" in a post. Whaddya think about that, huh? Good stuff.
And, maybe a small thank you. Whether you council me about my silly (lack-of) love life, give me excellent suggestions for movies, music, books, and boys, shower me with link-y love, or just simply drop by from time to time when Google refers you for all of your Christina Aguilera Vagina Time-Travel needs... thank you.
No celebration hoopla. No fancy redesign. Just a thanks.
And since the sun is coming up, cause it's 6 am, it's time to sleep-sleep.
link : 3:46 PM ::
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