Prince Philip
I'm a little conflicted. Yes, what he said was incredibly insensitive, and is indicative of a mind spiraling into the very depth of senility, and gives us yet another reason to hate old, rich, white guys. But at least he speaks his mind.

Two ideas that popped into my head, which are actually pretty significant:

1) We all think that the way we live our lives is intrinsically the best way, and that sort of self-righteousness isolates us from those who are different.

2) It's always better to choose what's essential over what's important. It sounds easy, but it can get tricky sometimes.

A free plug for a buddy: [ matterbox ]

Wonderful Thailand
I guess we all have a little elephant in all of us.

I was thinking about some of the little things that make me weird. Like, they don’t make me a bad person, but these are the areas where I have to beg charity from those who deal with me:
I don’t like being the first to get somewhere, especially somewhere new. This leads me to be late all the frigging time. If I go somewhere, then I try and make sure that someone I know will be there.

I don’t like being manipulated into a certain reaction. This happens when someone is begging for attention, just for the sake of having attention, and they get all cooey and nice just to get that out of me. I hate that. I turn my back on that stuff. I’m an affectionate person, so it’s not that I’m unwilling. I don’t like being manipulated to that end. I am more than willing to give it quite naturally on my own, so why are you trying to force me to it? This works the other way as well, in that I don’t manipulate others to get a certain reaction. Not outside of just making me laugh, at least. I sometimes provoke people for their reaction, but not a forced one. I just want to see how they react to certain things, sometimes. This is why I prod quiet people to talk.

It’s very difficult for me to take compliments. I don’t know why this is. I think what it comes down to is that I can only feel ungrateful for the myriad of things that have happened in my life, and I don’t even deserve it. I have a great family and set of friends who love and respect me tremendously; they are so supportive and loving and kind. Even people who hardly know me are really nice, because my parents or my friends have vouched for me, in their rosy colored way. So I feel unworthy of the compliments I reap, in that I feel like all the credit is not due to me, but to God, or my mom, or somebody else. I also feel like I haven’t really accomplished things in my life, nothing I would really count as significant, anyway. I feel like somebody else in my place could have done the same thing or done just as well. Maybe it’s not right, but it’s how I feel about it.

Doh! Simpsons Creator Says Series End Is Nigh
Who uses "cowabunga" anymore? Kick in the head to the middle-aged staff writer who did.

I put together an exercise bike today. There is still something satisfying about building something, even if it's mostly plastic and the main tool you use is an Allen wrench.

Still nothing on the job front. I admit I'm getting a little more worried about it. But if I was expecting to be a writer and not face the what-the-hell-am-I-doing demons, then who was I kidding.

Oh, and what were these people thinking? I am hearing off-color remarks in my head telling me to get in that line of work.

I temporarily took off the comments feature. I'm looking for a better alternative.


You know what is aggravating? Say you're at some place where there's a large number of seats oriented in the same direction, usually forward, like a church or a movie theater. There's always some person who repeatedly turns around completely in his/her seat to look toward the back of the room, for whatever reason. It really bothers me, and I spent the whole time at church today trying to figure out why. I hate the fact that you so conspicuously have to avoid the eye contact with the offending party. I want to say "look, whoever it is you're looking for, I'm sure they'll find you, ok?"


But the day was not completely lost, because I found an old book of Dylan Thomas' poetry at a rummage sale.