Friday, May 24, 2002

Boring, Passive Work May Hasten Death: Study
All I can say to this is...DUH! I guess I'll live longer unemployed, contrary to what I've been thinking lately. Thanks for laying me off, guys!

Here's something fun for those with high-speed connections. Let me know how it is, cuz I gave up after 45 minutes of load time on the mighty modem.

Enjoy some bad poetry:

I, sitting behind the wheel, driving
Rain, ricocheting all around, driving
My desire to live meaningfully, driving
But where does it lead?

I’ve read of roads less taken, of
the siren call of Opportunity, bidding
souls to place their bets on the
seductive vapor of dreams

My path lays not above
nor below
But afloat in the twixt
Not hot nor cold, not black nor white, but
lukewarm and grey, soiled dishwater
thrown into the eddies of human strife

Yin and yang, left and right, exist
only as choices for
movement, for differentiation
Yet do not betray difference, but
likeness, as a mirror betrays likeness,
only in the negative

This bit of bad poetry was inspired by this one time I was driving somewhere, I forget where, and it was raining out. It was well into the evening, the skies dark with rainclouds and darkness, the streetlights’ glow well muted by the elements. The normally grey asphalt looked slick as an oil field with the collecting on it in puddles, reflecting the darkness of the sky above. Also reflected were the streetlights, so the road itself was this distorted reflection of the sky and traffic lights above it. It was like driving in midair, or on a mirror, or on water. It was very surreal, and the thing is I’m sure I’ve done it before, countless times, but I never noticed it until right then.

Thursday, May 23, 2002

Sister Ann Regina's official website, Praise the Lord!
It's fun finding crap like this. Like, you're kidding, right?

I was wondering what things made me cry. I mean, I could probably count them on my fingers, since it hasn’t happened much.

I cried after 9/11. It took awhile, but it happened.

I think one time I cried in school, like maybe 6th grade, because this one kid kept teasing me, and I got so frustrated that I teared up a little. But no sobbing. Man. I should have kicked that kid’s ass, now that I think about it. He irritated the hell out of everybody, not just me. But I was a pretty passive kid.

There are a number of sad times I could think of, but nothing I cried about. Stuff like almost not graduating, or learning my aunt’s husband was hitting her. That sort of thing makes me more sickly or angry more than weepy. I think now I’m beginning to think of things that stir me to strong emotional reactions, not just crying.

I’ve never had anyone very close to me die, so I don’t have that. The closest relative was my maternal grandfather, but I only got to see him a handful of times in my life. I loved him, but I think it was more of what my mom and others told me about him than my personal interaction with him. He did love me and my brother tho, and was proud to have grandsons, and to spend time with us. My paternal grandfather I never knew, because he got kidnapped during the Korean War, and all I have a picture of him and my grandmother on their wedding day. I guess my dad never knew him either, and that’s a more serious thing. I think a cousin of my mom’s died of cancer, but we never really knew that family. I've never even been to a funeral.

Even when I was really scared, I never did. I remember one time we got mugged outside of a restaurant in our car, and this was when Ed was in the hospital a lot because he was a sick little kid. So we’d just spent an exhausting amount of time in the hospital, and then we get mugged. I remember being scared, but I was too little to know anything, so I didn't cry.

I was a little scared when Jordan, Josh, Milton and I got lost in Hell’s Canyon in South Dakota, during spring break. That was really stupid, what we did. I’ve been taught better than to just run into the woods right before dark, not knowing the trail or having a map. I was a little scared, but it was ok. The worst thing was just having our feet wet all night, but it turned out ok. And it ended up being a good bonding experience for all of us, and a funny anecdote for our friends. Dang we were stupid.

I think I'm going to stop journaling for awhile. I'm getting sick of my own voice, even in writing. I'll probably keep on blogging, tho.

Wednesday, May 22, 2002

Is this what we're turning into?
A poke at the sometimes frenzied, mindless, and alarmist media coverage in this country.

I was talking to Max about how one of the roles of a writer is to be a truthteller; and he indirectly brought up a point about how pastors do the same thing. He suggested, half-seriously, that I should consider being a preaching pastor, because he admires my ability to communicate, and because it would appeal to my commitment to changing people’s lives (I told him about The Plan). His plea was impassioned enough to make me actually consider it. But I feel like I need to see how good of a writer I can be, first.

Littering is climbing the charts for things that really irritate me. Come on! Where do you think the trash goes!? I suppose it is more a byproduct of the consumer culture we immerse ourselves in more than anything else. Of course we litter; it makes perfect sense. Something breaks? Buy a new one. Don't worry about the old one, just kick it to the curb.

People have been telling me that I am too serious. I think they just might be right.

Tuesday, May 21, 2002

Origami Boulder Company -- Original Origami Gifts!
I read the description over and over.

I saw this on

Why It Makes Sense to Beat a Horse
1. Sets an example for other horses. (that might be watching)
2. Aerobic workout.
3. Horse might not be dead yet. (Better safe than sorry. You can never be too careful.)
4. Tenderizes the meat.
5. Horse is unable to fight back.
6. Makes you feel good. (Provides a welcome relief from tension or anxiety.)

Monday, May 20, 2002

Cheney: Attacks Almost a 'Certainty'
Just a little something to stir in with your morning coffee. Oh, and this too, for balance.

Gary Huckaby is one of the baseball writers I esteem most highly, and he jotted down a nice little summary of the current baseball labor situation over at Baseball Prospectus.

Sunday, May 19, 2002

Virtual hairstyles, by
Hmm. I guess I don't really have to dye my hair blue.