Saturday, June 01, 2002

Docs Clear Lance Bass For Space Ride
Too easy. Way too easy.

Remember this weekend to stop cow molestation.

Friday, May 31, 2002

FBI gets more freedom to spy on suspects
In a country that already has a slowly growing blindspot when it comes to civil liberties, this should send the natives scurrying to their cabins in the mountains, scanning the sky for black helicopters. Heah come da apocalypse, Dubya. Get yer shotgun, Maw. You bet your bonnet and britches that this stuff will be selling like hotcakes laced with crack.

Relationships are so seductive, which makes them that much more dangerous. Emotional connection is a powerful force, and when not handled with care, it ends up hurting for a long time. It is a sign of human brokenness that there are so many dysfunctional relationships. It makes me sad, really. People end up hurting one another, half the time probably not even meaning to or even knowing that they did, and they carry those scars, that baggage, onto the next relationship, and on it goes. It’s some sort of lottery jackpot winning event that two people want to end up together at all. It’s so, so hard. Everything in the world is pulling you away, not pushing you together. I used to get very impatient with people on how they handled themselves, and wondered how all the same issues keep on cropping up all the time. I see now that I was missing the fact that it’s just really hard; it’s hard to act reasonable and sane when these really powerful things, your emotions, are at full throttle. Sometimes people mistake that initial rush of emotional connection as the real thing. You know, the “L” word. But it’s not. Emotional intimacy may bring two spheres crashing together, but the cement that keeps it sticking is more than that. I feel I’m speaking theoretically here, now, since it’s definitely not out of experience. We’re broken little beings out there just looking for somebody, anybody to love us. Not just spouses. Parents, siblings, grandparents, friends. Because lots of times, the loneliness can be just as powerful, if not worse, as then dealing with infatuation.

I read an article on philanthropy advising in the Tribune today (which probably means that everyone else was talking about it 2 weeks ago), and I'm going to do some research on it to see if I could get a job in the field. Philanthropy advising is basically helping out folks with money how to go about setting up nonprofit foundations or charities, or how to maximize their donations to such entities. It sounds interesting, and fits the idealogical profile for what I want to do career wise. Maybe they can have some charity on this writer wannabe.

Song currently stuck in my head: "The Test" by Chemical Brothers

Here's a little treat for sticking with the blog up to this point: Stinky

Thursday, May 30, 2002

The Voluntary Human Extinction Movement
The title kinda says it all. It's not nearly as funny as Poop Pals, though.

The Yankees, after spanking the Sox bullpen the previous night, finished what they started by scorching the bullpen again for 5 runs in the ninth. I think I've only felt comparable instant depression when the registrar told me I didn't have enough credits to graduate, sorry. Ugh. It was a fun time hanging out, tho, and it was a gorgeous night to be out. Too bad the Sox had to kick me in the emotional nads to spice it up.

Wednesday, May 29, 2002

Sorry I didn't blog. Blogger was broken. Perhaps they could use the help of The Lobotomist.

My friend Shevawn's birthday is coming up, but I'll never get her or anybody else something like this.

I've been busy with funeral preparations for a family friend's grandmother. It was a gorgeous day out, and we were all there to lay her to rest, finally. I kind of thought that I didn't want to go to the Sox game tonight, but I think it'll be ok. It's good to appreciate things like going to baseball games in the summer with friends.

Here's an old journal entry about my brother:
I think the first thing that bode well for our relationship was when I had to take care of him for the first time by myself. It just sort of happened, because my mom and my grandmother (who was living with us at the time) were both out of the house for some reason, and so it fell to me, an 8 year old to mind the baby until they got back. It was purely accidental.

So, as babies are wont to do, Ed started crying, for whatever reason. I didn’t know what to do, but one objective stood out clearly in my mind, which was to STOP THE CRYING NOW. He was lying face up on the bed, redfaced and leatherlunged, belting out his grievances as only infants can. I tried giving him some of his toys, no dice. I didn’t think to give him something to eat, I didn’t know where the bottle was, and I didn’t want to leave him. So, I tried communicating, with peekabo. I got right in his face, said his name (Yoon Jin in Korean), and pulled my shirt to cover over my face. Instant silence.

“Yoon-Jin! Peek-a-bo!”

Stunned baby silence, again.

I popped my head out of my shirt.


A big toothless grin. I guess he didn’t know better than to be happy to see me.

So this went on for a little while, sufficiently enough to settle him down. That little attention hog. I tickled him, and he grabbed my finger with his little baby hand, and we gurgled happily until the matrons came back. It’s pretty much been a smooth ride ever since.

Things have always been good, probably because of the difference in age. He’s 7 and half years younger. So “take care of your brother” replaced the period to end every statement my parents said to me for a long time. I took care of him, and but he grew up pretty much on his own. It’s fun now because I can take him to places and we can both enjoy things, instead of always telling him secondhand. He comes to me sometimes when he’s troubled, and that makes me feel good because I like being useful. I know he sometimes gives my parents fits because he and I are pretty different on some key points. Like, I stay quiet with my grievances. I don’t tend to air them out, but he is a little more vocal about his frustrations. He tends to want things a certain way, while I tend to let things slide more. He is more comfortable doing things by himself, while I tend toward liking the team approach. (He likes running and tennis, I like basketball and volleyball). But he’s a good kid, regardless. Once he learns how to nurture people, he’ll be even more awesome.

Tuesday, May 28, 2002

Hope everyone had a good Memorial Day weekend. This guy definitely did. Mine was full of sleeping, drinking, eating and seeing old friends. Not much more one can ask for, really.

I am feeling pretty drained, and a direct correlation can be most likely be drawn to all the bratwurst I ate. Instead of blood flowing through my veins, it was mystery meat product. No more fun, I have to now find a stinking job. But not before going to the Sox game on Wednesday. And another BBQ this weekend. And watching hockey next Tues.

My godson's grandmother died this past weekend. They had to pull the plug on her, because the pain had gotten so severe. She's definitely in a better place now, but you can still see she's missed on the faces of the family she leaves behind. I'll be going to the wake tonight. It just feels a little weird because I was thinking about how I didn't have anyone close to me pass away, and then this happens so soon afterwards.

At the Sox game I went tonight, (in which the Yankees broke their whoopin' sticks on the collective Sox heiny) my friend wondered aloud whether the players themselves got to choose the music that comes on when they make step up for their plate appearances. If that were me, I think I'd choose "Boom" by P.O.D., "Enter Sandman" by Metallica, or "Where's Your Head At" by Basement Jaxx. Maybe "Break Ya Neck" by Busta Rhymes. I used to listen to Rage Against the Machine before volleyball matches to summon the game face, and partly to wake up. The whole concept of theme music on entrance or departure is ludicrous anyway. Most of us live nowadays with a soundtrack of our lives in our heads. It makes me wonder what people did before popular music became so widespread and available everywhere. Would some jilted, lovesick fool conjure up Mozart's "Moonlight Sonata" in the throes of his melancholy? When "sport" constituted such activities as falconry and equestrian events, did the nobles ask the traveling string quartet to strike up a particular piece of music before they took off? "And now... from the duchy of Normandy, ... the DUKE OF WELLINGTON!!" And the strings would dust off some rousing little rhapsody. I guess that's what they had minstrels for.