The Starving Writer Becomes the Stylophile

Newest Products

2008-10-08T18:04:00.006-05:00

I haven't had a whole lot of free time for lathing lately, but here's some of the new stuff:

African Blackwood with gold sculpted kit

Black acrylic comfort pen with Mexican Redheart accent

Blue acrylic swirl pen with gold kit

Burmese Rosewood rollerball pen with rhodium hardware

Burmese Rosewood rollerball, uncapped

Canarywood corkscrew/stopper, open

Canarywood corkscrew/stopper, closed

Cedarwood pen with black chrome kit (smells like cedar, too!)

Blue swirl acrylic pen with silver kit

Purpleheart pen with black chrome kit

Redwood burl with gold keychain kit

Wine-dyed box elder with silver comfort kit

That'll probably be about it till after the move -- then I'll have a real shop!

Today's Projects

2008-09-22T16:34:00.002-05:00

Finished up three more projects today:

Bloodwood pen with black chrome kit

Flag of Israel rollerball pen with platinum kit (capped)

Flag of Israel rollerball kit (uncapped)

Wood laminate wine bottle stopper

More coming soon.

More Pics

2008-09-19T12:14:00.004-05:00

The rest of the pics:

Snakewood rollerball pen with rhodium hardware

S. American Kingwood keychain with gold hardware

S. American Kingwood with satin gold kit

S. American Kingwood with silver kit

Canarywood pen-pencil set with black chrome kits

Bloodwood mechanical pencil with black chrome kit

Ziricote with gold detatchable keychain kit

Redwood burl letter opener with gold Celtic knot kit

Wine-dyed big leaf maple with chrome Euro kit

My New Hobby, or Why Geocities Sucks

2008-09-19T06:24:00.017-05:00

Well, as some of you may know, I've started up a new hobby. I bought a mini lathe, and I've started turning pens. I've even sold a few and gotten a few orders for more, so it's going pretty well.

After talking to some people I don't get to see very often, they suggested I put some pics of my pens online so they could see them. I tried putting them up on an old geocities page I hadn't touched in years, but apparently, I can only put four pictures a day on there before I'm over my limit and they take my page offline. Yes, I know, geocities sucks and that's why no one but high school students and the technologically challenged use it anymore. My mistake.

Anyway, since I have this blog and I never have anything worthwhile to add to it, I've decided to switch it over to a showcase for my pens. If you see anything you like, let me know. If you see anything you don't like, well, I really couldn't care less.

The first pictures I'm putting up are of acrylic resin pens. All of my pens so far are twist pens, not click pens. I also make mechanical pencils, keychains, letter openers, and wine bottle stoppers/corkscrew combos (no pictures of these yet). Soon to come are magnifying glasses, pen lights, keychain lights, click top pens, and anything else I care to try. Check back every now and again -- I'll try to put new pics up whenever I make more pens. Also, if you really like a pen, but it's already been sold, I can make another from the same materials, so just let me know.

Without further ado:

Black acrylic comfort pen with wood accent

Black acrylic comfort pen with wood accent

Black acrylic comfort pen with wood accent

Black and grey acrylic with Celtic knot hardware

Black and red acrylic with silver hardware

Blue swirl acrylic with plain gold hardware

Blue swirl acrylic with gunmetal hardware

Burgundy swirl acrylic with accented gold kit

Gold acrylic with black rubberized kit

Green acrylic comfort pen with silver kit

Green and bronze acrylic with copper kit

Maroon acrylic with gunmetal kit

Maroon acrylic with silver kit

Orange acrylic with silver kit

Purple acrylic with satin chrome kit

Purple acrylic with satin gold kit

Red acrylic with satin chrome kit

Red and black acrylic with black chrome kit

Teal and black acrylic with gunmetal kit

Birdseye maple with black enamel kit (sorry it's fuzzy)

Birdseye maple with silver kit

Black and gold wood laminate with gunmetal kit

Black and pink wood laminate with gunmetal kit

Bubinga wood with gold Euro kit

Mexican bocote mechanical pencil with accented gold kit

Mexican bocote with black enamel kit

Mexican bocote with satin chrome kit

Mexican bocote with silver kit

Mexican Redheart with plain gold kit (sorry the picture's not too clear)

Dyed Box Elder with copper kit

Ziricote with silver kit (the wood has a nice grain pattern that's hard to see in this pic)

Blue and white swirl acrylic cigar pen

Deep red acrylic cigar pen

Deep red acrylic Euro pen

Purple swirl acrylic cigar pen

Blue and black acrylic pen-pencil set with accented gold hardware

Green acrylic pen-pencil set with accented gold hardware

Fire red acrylic pen-pencil set with accented gold hardware

Aqua acrylic with gold detatchable keychain

Mexican bocote with gold, Birdseye maple with silver, and Mexican bocote with silver

These are all the pictures I have at the moment, but I've made quite a few more pens, keychains, and letter openers, and I'll try to get the pics for those and post them soon.

Geez...

2007-11-14T13:02:00.000-05:00

I really just want to procrastinate. I don't have anything of importance to say today (in case you haven't guessed that by my not posting here for oh, the past 11 months or so), but I don't feel like writing any papers or revising my thesis. Sigh.

It's really not that tough being in grad school. I'm teaching 2 courses, taking 2, writing my thesis, sitting office hours, and I still find time to spend with my honey and play video games. I was running myself ragged a few weeks ago preparing my thesis draft, but things seem to have calmed down a bit recently, so we'll see. I'm actually sitting office hours right now, but, as usual, no students are coming to talk with me, so it's either twiddle my thumbs (kind of boring), write some papers (too much work), or do this (guess which I picked).

I don't know why I'm writing. I haven't written in almost a year, though apparently over 1,000 people have seen my blog now. I guess that's not that much, but considering that I never really wanted to write for others (people I don't know) to see, I suppose that's something. Maybe I should get some real work done now, though...

My Roommates, Part II

2006-12-07T16:06:00.000-05:00

Anyway, moving on to my sophomore year. This was the good year, story-wise. There was a mix up with my housing situation, so I wound up living 2 doors off campus with a bunch of strangers. Aside from me, there was an Army chick named Jess, a softball player named Barb(?), and a couple from Columbia, though some other guy moved in there in the middle of the year.

My sophomore year found me living in the blue house, so called because, well, it was blue. The living room floor was supported by a thin pole not much thicker than a broom handle, wedged between a brick and a moldy wad of newspapers, but that just gave the house its character. That, and my walls were made mostly of newspapers, spackle, and paint. Anyway, on to my housemates.

Barb (at least I think that was her name) was apparently a bisexual. I’ll come back to that later. She was fairly nice at first, but after a few weeks, I started avoiding her. I’ll come back to that, too. Barb was on the softball team, as were most of the friends she had over.

Jess was a lesbian who was in the army. She was friends with pretty much the whole softball and women’s rugby teams. And they spent many a night at the blue house, sadly. Thanks to them, I couldn’t even look at the recliner in the livingroom anymore.

The Columbian couple (I never knew their names) were only supposed to live there for one semester, but they were there pretty much the whole year. The woke me up every Saturday morning around 6.30-7ish by setting off the fire alarm while making rice for breakfast.

Some other guy whose name started with a Q moved in at the end of the first semester and brought his dog Bailey with him. He thought he was cool -- he had a phonograph and a bunch of vinyls he used to scratch a few times a week. Jess also decided to buy a puppy, but she never housebroke the thing or bothered trying to train it, so whenever she didn’t have it locked up in a crate, it was peeing and pooping all over the house, and Jess took forever cleaning it up. So there were 6 people and 2 dogs in a little 4 bedroom house that was only supposed to house 4 people and 0 dogs. Not that I minded the dogs, just their owners.

It all started on a Monday. Yet another reason Mondays suck. Thursdays, on the other hand, are awesome, though that’s another story, and I sure won’t be telling it on this page, or anywhere else for that matter. So, one Monday (maybe the second Monday in the semester), I came back home around 6.30 and walked in my front door to see a party going on. “Ok, this is cool,” I thought. I’ve got nothing against a good party. The girls from the softball and rugby teams (I could tell by their sweats that said “SOFTBALL” and “RUGBY”) were crowded into my livingroom, intent on the tv screen. Then I saw what was on the tv, and I saw that a number of them had their hands quite far out of sight. Thus started a Monday night tradition for them at the blue house -- one which, no matter how often they asked, I would never join them for -- Monday Beer and Porn Night.

It should be said that I have nothing against gays or lesbians or bisexuals or trannies, or whatever else, JUST AS LONG AS THEY KEEP ME OUT OF IT. With that said, allow me to explain a few other things necessary to really understand this story. First, when I moved into the blue house, I had a deadbolt put on my bedroom door cause there was no other kind of lock, and whenever I wasn’t home, my bedroom door was locked. That, as I found out later, did not keep people from coming into my room through my window. My room faced the front of the house, and the porch roof wasn’t too pitched to sit on, so I frequently had friends over to sit out on the roof with me. There was no kind of lock on my window, and in the long run, maybe that was a good thing.

I didn’t care at first about the Beer & Porn nights. At least not until one fateful night when I came home to find the livingroom door wide open, and I could hear the moans coming from the tv half a block away. There were a few half-naked girls in my livingroom. Still not a really big deal. When I walked into the livingroom, though, to go up the stairs to my room, a few of the girls jumped up and ran over to me, started asking me to join them (pretty please!) and have a good time with them. I said no, that I had stuff to do and I wasn’t interested, and started walking up the stairs. Well, they followed me, running up the stairs after me. I hurried down the hallway and was thankfully able to unlock my door and get inside before they got to my door (thankfully some drunk girls have issues navigating the stairs). Feeling a little wary, I locked the deadbolt behind me.

They didn’t bother knocking on my door, they just tried the knob and would’ve walked right in if I hadn’t locked it behind me. The ensuing conversation, yelled through my bedroom door, went something like this:

Them: “Come downstairs and join the party! It’ll be fun!”
Me: “No, that’s ok, really.”
Them: “Awww, come on! Why not?”
Me: “I don’t feel like it.”
Them: “But we want you to come join us.”
Me: “No, really, I don’t want to. I’ve got too much work to do, and I don’t feel like hanging out with a bunch of people I don’t know.”
Them: “Isn’t there any way we could convince you? We have a videocamera downstairs! Want to be in a video with us?”
Me: “What!?”
Them: “Yeah, we’re making videos to watch next Monday. Wanna be in one or two?”
Me: “God no! Leave me alone. I’m not coming down.”
Them (trying the door again): “I bet you’d be fun. Maybe we’ll catch you next week.”
Me: “Don’t count on it.”

Their footsteps disappeared, and I proceeded to pull out my fifth of Captain Morgan and made myself a nice stiff rum n’ coke. And that was how I came to fear Monday nights at the blue house. A week later, I was glad that my window had no locks, because when I came home and saw the party was already in full swing, I tossed my bookbag up on the porch roof, shimmied up after it, and let myself in through my window so I didn’t have to deal with them again. More than once, when I was headed out to a party somewhere else, I also left via the porch roof. A word to whomever might read this: climbing onto a porch roof when you’re half-drunk is a BAD IDEA. Just don’t try it. Really.

Soon, I started inviting friends to come hang out with me so I didn’t have to be alone with those people knocking on my door and asking if I wanted to be in pornos with them. My cousin Brian lived close by, and so did another friend. I invited the two of them over frequently that semester. Once, Bri told me, “I'll never forget he and I walking up to the house and just standing on the sidewalk out front, staring at the house, looking at each other, staring at the house again, and commenting about how neither of us wanted to walk in there at all.”

I’ll let all this sink in for a while. I have to get back to writing some papers. Part 3 gets even better.

My Roommates, Part I

2006-12-05T00:26:00.000-05:00

Yeah, it's been like half a year since I published anything on here. Deal with it. It’s late, and though I have 2 major papers due next week, I know that if I keep thinking about them right now it’s gonna get real messy in here real quick. And I don’t mean the good kind of messy, either.

Anyway, as I'm sitting here near midnight in my apartment and hear the 11th shower of the day (I only live with 3 other girls, by the way), I got to thinking about all the roommates I’ve wound up with over the last 5 years or so. Enjoy.

Freshman year, there was Heather. The first roommate I ever had, and the start of a horrible pain-spiral. Not only did she scratch up all of my CDs within the first two weeks, but she tried, at one point, to kick me out of my room for a few nights. Didn’t ask, just assumed I’d find somewhere else to sleep when her boyfriend came over. Well, I wasn’t having that. The two of them started having sex on the bottom bunk while I was trying to sleep in the top bunk. Any of you who’ve ever slept in a bunk bed knows -- it’s simple physics. If the bottom shakes, the top does too. I leaned over and said, oh so kindly, that I was incredibly prone to motion-sickness, and that if they didn’t stop, I’d throw up all over them. I’m pretty sure that killed the mood. At least I didn’t hear or feel anything for the rest of the night.

Heather had this Spongebob Squarepants fetish. She had a Spongebob alarm clock that would start ringing at fucking 5:30 every morning, and she’d hit the snooze button every 10 minutes for about an hour and a half, then she’d get up to take a shower, “forgetting” to turn off the alarm. So, every morning, after she left to take her shower, when her alarm clock went off again, I unplugged it, then locked the door to the room. Since she never took her room keys with her, that meant that she had to go downstairs, into the business office part of the building, to get a spare key. After the second time, they charge you for locking yourself out. She never did catch on, though, because never once did she bring her keys.

It wasn’t long after I started locking her out of our room that I got a nice little surprise on my pillow. Heather had conspired with her only 2 friends on campus, the girls across the hall, and they wrote me a little note about my showering habits and tied it around a bar of soap. Now, because I got lucky and didn’t have any classes in the morning, I would always sleep in and shower around lunchtime -- that way, I never had to wait for a stall, and I always had plenty of hot water. But, because Heather never actually saw me take a shower, she thought I simply didn’t, nevermind my wet towel hanging over my closet door to dry every day.

I did have some fun with Heather, though. Once, while I still lived there, shortly after the soap episode, I got some powdered milk and put it under her bedsheets. What happens is when you sweat at night, your sweat soaks into the bedsheets. When that happens and there’s some powdered milk involved, your sweat actually draws some of the powdered milk up into the sheets, then into your skin. No matter how much you shower, you’ll stink like sour milk till after you’ve cleaned up the powdered milk. Heather didn’t change her sheets for about two weeks after that, and I had the immense satisfaction of making a face whenever I walked past her. Maybe it’s a good thing she didn’t have a lot of friends. On the last night of the semester, I had packed up all my stuff because I was going to move to a different room. I picked up a pint of milk that evening, and before I left for good the next morning, I poured the milk down into the radiator right next to Heather’s bed. I know those were low things for me to do, but still. It had to be done.

At the end of the semester, I switched roommates and moved down the hall to live with a girl named Ruaa. She was an international student from Iran or Iraq... Iran, I’m pretty sure. Anyway, first thing I did was meet Heather’s new roommate. She was a bitch, too. Snotty rich bitch, actually, and she was full of herself. Again, what I did to them was mean, and I guess part of me is sorry for it, but what the hell. It was fun. I got a couple little jars of baby powder and a little hand fan. Around 3 am, a friend and I sat out in front of my old room, pouring the baby powder on the floor and blowing it into Heather’s room. That shit gets in EVERYWHERE... inside drawers, closets, inside folds of clothes, EVERYWHERE. In retrospect, it was VERY stupid of me. I really would’ve felt horrible if either one of them had had asthma or something like that.

Ruaa was a good roommate, though we never talked. My only real complaint of her was that whenever she cooked, our room reeked of curry for days after, but I got used to that after a while. She also had this funny “rule” about the phone... she needed 3 hours every night to talk to her fiance, who was living over in the Middle East. I’m pretty sure it was an arranged marriage, but I can’t swear by that.

The second half of my freshman year was essentially uneventful. My sophomore year, however, is a story for a whole other night. And trust me, if you haven’t heard these stories already (and hell, maybe if you’ve heard them a few times), they’re well worth it. (Right, Bri? :) )

Those stories will have to wait for another night, though, because if I don’t get to sleep soon, I’m just gonna pass out and fall outta this chair. TTFN.

It's Lunchtime. I'm Bored.

2006-06-20T11:37:00.000-05:00

In my hour of free time this afternoon, I decided I'd take a wander around the other blogs, just stroll through randomly and see what I chance upon.

First up was this dude. I gotta ask... why's the title in English if the rest is in Spanish???

After (quite) a few more clicks, passing through blogs that just looked completely like shit, I came across the Lab Kat blog. I liked this one, cause whoever wrote it seems at least mildly intelligent, unlike so many other bloggers out there. I may have to stop back and read more. Plus, there's a really cute picture of a kitten making a face.

About another 20-25 shitty blogs later, I came across philmon, a blog that I may very well go back to read more often.

It seems like there's 1 decent blog for every 40 or 50 (quite possibly more) blogs of absolute tripe. I'm in no position to rank my own, obviously -- that's for you to decide.

Anyway, I have much better ways to waste my free time, so I'm off. I've got my copy of the Kama Sutra, so maybe I'll browse through that while I finish my lunch.

Have a good one.

Living Languages

2006-06-20T07:27:00.000-05:00

H.L. Mencken once said, "A living language is like a man suffering incessantly from small haemorrhages, and what it needs above all else is constant transactions of new blood from other tongues. The day the gate goes up, that day it begins to die." I think that's a very poignant statement, especially considering everyone's problems today with Spanish "infiltrating" the English language.

But if it weren't for Spanish originally, our English vocabulary would be slimmer, and our language wouldn't be what it is. Wake up, people! The entire history of the English language concerns itself with just this topic. English is a mix of German, Latin, French, and several other tongues to a smaller extent. Do you think the Anglo-Saxons living in Britain when William the Bastard conquered the isle appreciated the influx of the French language into their daily lives? No, probably not. But we wouldn't speak the language we speak today unless French did work its way into the common speech of the people. So deal with it. Melding with Spanish won't hurt you, won't make you less intelligent, and won't give you syphaherpaghonnacrabAIDS. It'll just make English a richer and more diverse language.

Besides, if all English has ever been is a combination of the other languages of the world, who are you to say it should stop growing and changing with this generation? Yet, you have no problems with local phrases or with new slang terms, do you? So if you have such a problem with having to learn a few Spanish words or phrases, just pretend it's the hip new slang. You'll pick it up in no time.

I think, largely, and this is just from my own observations, but I think that there are 2 main reasons for Americans rebelling against the spreading of Spanish. 1) Laziness. You're just too lazy to be bothered with learning anything about another culture or language because it means you have to think about something that doesn't revolve around you. 2) Cultural ignorance. You're proud to be an American, but what would America be if it weren't for Spain (way back, like Christopher Columbus) and more recently, Mexico (Spanish-American War, for example) where Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders won reknown. Hell, who knows? Maybe if it weren't for the Spanish-speakers back then, T. Roosevelt might never have won enough public respect to win the presidency. It's a far out there but not entirely implausible thought.

Cultural ego-centrism seems quite prominent in America, and I think it's definitely one solid reason for people railing against the thought of bi-lingual signage, etc. Deal with it. You might learn something.

Fucking Pooches and Cramming Phones

2006-06-13T12:24:00.000-05:00

Ok, people, listen up. I'm getting sick and tired of people who pass the buck on taking responsibility. What's so tough about saying, "Gee, I really screwed the pooch that time, didn't I?" Learn and move on -- don't balk and pass it off. The only bad thing about making a mistake is not learning from it. Admitting to a mistake shows maturity, not idiocy.

This leads me in to the topic I've been thinking about as of late. Rich, snobby baby-boomers. My area's packed with these snivelling, snot-nosed toddlers in big-boy pants. They play with their luxury SUVs, compare Blackberries and iPods, show off the credit cards in their wallets (see them right there next to the faded and creased pictures of the kids?), flout their supposed wealth.

Let me tell you something about these people, something I bet everyone realizes but them -- they're unhappy. They're downright miserable. They've spent their entire lives amassing wealth and trying to force their families ever upwards in the world. They move to areas like mine -- areas with some money and culture -- and realize all of a sudden that they're in fact just small fish in an ocean, part of a school of like-minded individuals (some with better SUVs even!) who all swim the same current. Instead of being the one everyone looks to as being "cool" or "classy" or "in," everyone sees them as obsequious, annoying, and pathetic. Everything they've gained is worth aught, because it's not the best. And instead of realizing that and acting like decent human beings, these pigfuckers turn around and lash out at the world because they chose the wrong values to chase after their entire lives. They'll make their way THE way so they don't have to face being wrong or being second best.

I do actually feel a little bad for those people. The tweeners. Their whole lives they've only wanted attention, wanted everything they could think to ask for, and never learned that just because you CAN have something doesn't mean you SHOULD. Yes, you CAN talk on your cell phone really loudly and obnoxiously in a fancy restaurant. The person next to you SHOULD shove your phone up your tightly wound ass, no KY, no mercy. Maybe if it's a nice person, s/he'll leave the vibrate on for ya.

Come on, folks, where're the manners? Put your cell phones on silent, esp. when you're in public. Nothing gets me more irritated than some dumb broad who's cell phone is blaring Aqua's "Barbie Girl" in the middle of the supermarket louder than a dying cat, and it won't stop cause she can't find the damn thing in her purse, all the while trying to shush her young kids at her side cause she can't split her attention that many ways and her phone's obviously more important. She doesn't realize that the people looking at her aren't envious of her, they pity her. And the fucking song gets stuck in my fucking head, which irks me recockulously.

So again, cell phone ettiquette is key to prevent those around you from wanting to shove your cell phone into your various body orifaces and stringing you up with a sign "Cell Phone Users Beware!" slapped across your chest.

Cheers, mates.

How My Day Started

2006-06-12T11:29:00.000-05:00

So I was driving to work, right? And, as ALWAYS, without fail, happens when I'm running just an RCH late, I get stuck behind some thumbdick who's moving slower than a dickwad through molasses. What gives? How can people live in a fairly high-traffic area and go below the speed limit during rush hour? I cite this as proof that there should be some kind of common sense/at-least-mildly-aware-of-one's-surroundings test people need to pass with flying colors before they're even given a learner's permit.

It's a coincidence, Karl, I swear. I wrote this up before I saw your comment! :)

On a completely different note, I was reading Moby Dick last night, and Melville wrote something in there that struck me as so obvious and true that I don't know why the thought never crossed my mind before. He essentially said that people share their most honest and intimate thoughts while lying in bed with each other.

Now, I don't know about anyone else, but I do open my mind up better while lying down with a person. It makes sense, too, that the bed would be the place for the most intimate mental and emotional (non-physical) intercourse (yeah, like ... uh... talking!) because it's already the main spot for physical intercourse as well (not just sex, but making love, playing, teasing, massaging, etc. too). The development of any mature and stable relationship can't progress along normal lines without the kind of soul-baring honesty that's best achieved in an intimate setting.

Those of you who've read Moby Dick may like to point out that the passage I'm speaking of concerns two men. That's right, it does. A shared bed need not always lead to the hippity-bippity, though it does tend to lead to closer intimacy, regardless of sexual acts (though not always, sadly).

This sort of thing has always intrigued me -- probably because I like thinking about the "human condition" and what it means to have emotions, thoughts, desires, etc. and what it is to be capable of expressing them or following through on them. What makes people tick as mature, well-developed emotional beings interests me, and is one of the perks I write for (for which I write? nah).

On that note, here's another quasi-random comment, and this goes out to everyone who's ever uttered the words, "You're an English major? I guess I have to watch what I say around you!" Spoken language and written language are TWO DIFFERENT THINGS! So please, PLEASE stop asking me if you're speaking right (correctly) near me. Spoken language doesn't follow the rules of "proper" English writing. And no one cares, least of all me.

Call me Thumper. I'm going to the break room.

Question...

2006-06-09T22:32:00.000-05:00

I've noticed a lot of fat men driving tiny, little cars -- what are they thinking??? Do they think they'll look smaller because they can fit in a smaller car? Or is it like a clowns-in-a-circus-car kind of deal? See how many lbs. they can squeeze behind the wheel? Got another question... why don't they buy black cars? Black is a slimming color, right? Maybe the associative properties or whatever of ... ya know...

Maybe they think that people would just assume that there's no way a fat man could fit so many inches of girth into such a small space, but you'd be surprised, even though there's probably no more than an RCH of space between their gut and the wheel. They're like octopusses (octopussi?) -- they could probably curl up nice and snug in a coke bottle if you gave them the chance.

Well, I'm tired, and I'm going to bed.

Starving Writer out!

A Tiny Issue....

2006-06-08T17:40:00.000-05:00

Office Incompetence. It claims the lives of 68 943 people a year. The other office workers who simply display the symptoms are immune to its effects, and the select few competent suffer. This is a serious problem afflicting our white-collar working Americans, and we need your help to solve the problem. The next time you see or hear someone being a complete fucking retard in an office environment, do the responsible thing -- do the right thing. Smack them upside their empty little head. With a fire extinguisher. You could be saving the life of a more competent person, and trust me, the rest of us will thank you.

If you can't file things in numerical order, you deserve to get smacked with a fire extinguisher.

On a happier note, this one here's going to see the wonderfully entertaining and disgustingly funny John Valby, aka Dr. Dirty, later this month. That's one happy fucker. Last time I saw him was almost a year ago. I'd post a link to one of his songs, but I don't feel like it at the moment, so I'll simply post a link to his site and let you do some browsing: www.johnvalby.com

Somehow, I find it odd that he's married with kids and produced a children's album, but all the more power to the guy. There's something uniquely energizing and entertaining about sitting in a bar, drinking, listening to the audience yell, "Sing, fucker, sing!" at a man in a white tux, bow tie, and black bowler up on the stage while he taunts, jests, and curses back at them. Well worth bending over backwards (or getting bent over backwards?) to see his show. Well worth it. The guy's comic genius and bluntly smutty humor had me laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

So do yourself a favor (unless you're really uptight about anything dirty) and go to his site, check out some of his stuff, and remember -- he started out as a trained classical pianist.

Again, lunch break seems to have flown past me (yet the rest of the day drags on...) and I must get back to work. But in my head, I'm listening to Valby. :)

What's That Noise?

2006-06-06T11:53:00.000-05:00

It's the sound of my arteries hardening. I'm hungrily devouring a cheesesteak pizza -- juicy cut beef completely SMOTHERED in American cheese singles, all on a delicious pizza crust with plenty of sauce. This is what makes coming to work worth it. Well, that and the paycheck.

This is my fairwell meal -- it's the second and last time I'm not bringing my lunch this summer. Just for a relatively meager lunch for the past two days, I spent almost $15 in food alone. Something ain't right there, even though I am still trying to gain back the weight I lost at my last job.

So, it's 6-6-06, hey? And there's apparently a site (I'm sure there're a ton...) on the internet where people can bet on whether or not today's the day of reckoning or the end of the world. My question -- why would you bet? If you're right, you won't win any money, cause... THE WORLD WON'T END!! And if you lose, well, you deserve what you get your own monkey-ass into. Besides, I don't recall the "magic" number being 6606. And does it matter that 666 isn't the number of the devil, but the number of MAN, according to theology (and not Hollywood...)? Or that today's date is based on an arbitrary dating system set up only 2006.5 years ago and can't possibly be the basis for a theological event whose roots predate our current calendar system? Just thought I'd throw that out there. Who knows? I could be wrong.

Anyway.

My feelings have yet again been reconfirmed that slow and stupid people piss me off. Like the girl who was in line in front of me at the pizza shop, ordered a BBQ chicken pizza, then, complaining that the BBQ chicken might be too spicy, changed her order to a buffalo chicken pizza. I've had the BBQ sauce there; you can't make it any milder than that! Or, how about the middle-aged chick who stopped in the middle of a MAJOR intersection cause the light was yellow... This intersection, mind you, is where two 4-lane highways cross. She was quite literally in the middle of the box... talking on her cell phone... .... ...... GAH!!!

I'd like to see one of those E! True Hollywood Stories about a regular Joe Schmoe, you know? Just some schlemiel that no one knows, see if he suddenly gets really popular after the show airs. I think it's interesting how society makes celebreties out of certain people and undervalues others.

Hey, I've gotta think about SOMETHING while I work...

Earlier this morning, for example, I was thinking about how sweet it would've been to have a laser tag game on my old college campus. Open up the dorms and the class buildings, open the auditorium and to doors to the second floor, let people into the meal hall, up on the roofs, everywhere, and just have an all out laser war. The campus was pretty much built on the side of a mountain (more or less), so the dorms are MUCH higher up than the rest of the buildings, everything's hilly and tree-covered, so there're a lot of places to hide and snipe, and there are a lot of good spots on the ground to cover up and tag people running around campus.

The bad news is my lunch break is over.
The good news is I get to leave in 3 hours.

Cheers.

The Lunchtime Blogger

2006-06-05T11:45:00.000-05:00

Doesn't sound as cool or as ominous as the Caped Crusader or the Man in the Mask, does it?

With a huge sigh, I welcome myself back to the world of the commuter -- 9-5 job, rush hour traffic, and senseless stress. But I had a decent break, a good year off from the hassle, and a few attempts at different kinds of jobs (no, not hand or blow, get your mind out of the gutter). Oddly enough, I'm sitting at the same desk I sat at this time last year, but this place has changed EEE-NORMOUSLY. Most of the people who've been here for the past few years are gone now, and the whole office seems much quieter.

I sit all the way in the back of the office, typing title insurance policies, and yes, like the numbnuts in the back of the classroom, I do just about anything I can get away with. I've got my laptop with me, and I've not much to say, sadly.

Well, back to the grind. It was nice chatting with ya.

Today's Quest

2006-05-30T08:39:00.000-05:00

1) Go here: www.woolythinking.com

2) Play the Dark Room.

3) Play the Dark Complex.

If you can't beat the Dark Room, chances are you won't have a fucking clue about how to beat the Dark Complex.

If you've got some spare time after that, try playing the Archipelego game. This guy's GOOD.

A Letter or Two on Love

2006-05-24T09:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Sweetheart, 5/17/2006

When I saw you today, my jaw dropped. I didn't know angels were so beautiful! I was sad that you didn't see me sitting by the bar there. Honey, just give me a chance, and I'll make all your dreams come true.

Love,
John

P.S. I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?
P.P.S. While you're at it, might as well give me your number, too. ;)

Dear Lover, 5/18/2006

You don't mind me calling you that, do you sweetiebear. I never got your return letter. It made me depressed. You did write back to me, right? If you'd given me your number, we could've had so much fun over the phone last night. I was in the perfect mood for a little phone sex and everything. Your loss. I'll see you later tonight, right? Same time, same place? I'll be sitting at the corner of the bar. I'll be the one who winks at you, just so you know it's me.

Till then,
John

Dear Sexy, 5/19/2006

I didn't see you at the outside bar last night. Why'd you switch to working inside? We can't talk when you're working inside and I'm sitting outside -- you never come over to me then. You've gotta change back to working the outside tables so you have to get your drinks from the outside bar and we can talk. You smell so pretty it drives me wild. I'm still waiting for your letters back to me.

Yours in Lust,
John

Dear John, 5/20/2006

I've had about enough of this. You obviously can't take subtle hints, like me giving you the evil eye or me waitressing inside the restaurant instead of by the outside bar or me not responding to you at all. And you have absolutely NO right to call me any kind of "endearing" terms. I'll say this very simply so I can be sure you understand: I am not interested in you, never have been, and would rather gnaw off my own arms and legs before ever considering anything involving you. Leave me alone.

And no, I won't tell you my name or give you my number. Aside from the fact that you're disgustingly creepy, probably more than twice my age, and are that gross, croaty old man who tries to pick up girls who could be his daughter, I never showed you ANY signs of interest to start with. I ignored you before I even knew you because I saw that filthy look in your eye. It's bad enough that there's no "thought police" to keep nasty old men like you from imagining all sorts of sexual fantasies with a young girl like me. There's no way in hell I'd ever be into that. In fact, I'm completely and totally HORRIFIED by it. So stop trying to pick me up.

With Hate,
The Waitress

Dear Slampig, 5/21/2006

I've waited and waited, been about as patient as I can be, but still no love letters from the object of my desires. I don't consider that one letter you sent me to be a love letter. It was very hurtful. I don't want us to hurt each other like that. I'll tell you what -- just let me know what time you get off work, and I'll walk you back to your car so you don't have to worry about any bastards trying to follow you home or take your money. Then you can show me your car, maybe show me the back seat up close and personal? I think you just don't trust me enough, but I can show you I can be trusted. You'll see.

Love Always,
John
P.S. See, even though you hurt me, I'm still being civil.
P.P.S. I'd even let you hate-fuck me.

Dear John, 5/22/06

I can't help the fact that you're so mentally stunted you still think you have a chance with me -- or that you EVER thought you had a chance. I truly pity you.

But maybe you just didn't understand the gist of my last letter. YOU ARE FUCKING CREEPY. I LOATHE THE THOUGHT OF EVEN SAYING HI TO YOU. LEAVE ME ALONE. What you are doing is now considered sexual harassment, and if it doesn't stop, I'll have to take extra steps. I'm prepared to get a restraining order against you, if that's what it takes. So knock this shit off and leave me the fuck ALONE!

I despise you.

~The Waitress
------------------------------------------

I dedicate the above to all the creepy old men out there. On behalf of every decent-looking girl who's ever been hit on by a man anywhere near twice her age, I say: LEAVE US ALONE! Unless we make the first move, act flirtatious with you FIRST, etc., chances are we're just too polite or too nice to tell you to FUCK OFF. But trust me, we're thinking about it the whole time -- maybe even fantasizing about you leaving us alone.

What gets me is that those old men actually think it's worthwhile to try to pick up a young chick. It's so pathetic! Esp. the ones who wear their wedding rings while they're trying to talk a girl into being interested in them. It literally sends shivers down my spine -- and not the good kind.

A Few Points...

2006-05-21T20:29:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I got to thinking... which is always a bad sign.

1) Girls don't talk too much -- even the flaky ones.
2) The American media has a preocupation with attempting to tell people it's necessary to postpone the inevitable -- death.

1) Ok, so girls of all sorts get made fun of ALL THE FREAKING TIME about talking too much, yapping, blah-blah-blahing, running on at the mouth, etc. But I am here to say that's not the case. The fact of the matter is, if the guy doesn't listen/doesn't care about what his girl says 90% of the time, then they're probably not right for each other. IF they were right for each other AND each cared about the other, THEN the guy would love to hear what his girl has to talk about. It's all very logical, you see?

I hate faux relationships, I hate people who complain all the time about who they've chosen to be with, and I absolutely HATE skeezy old men who hit on me.

I see it like this: When I really care about someone, I really do listen to what they say, and I want to listen. I also know that there are men out there who listen to their girls/women. Moreover, from personal experience, I know that when a person, regardless of gender, truly cares about a person, he/she really cares about what they have to say. If you don't care, you don't love. End of story. As my boyfriend says, "I don't see the point of being with somebody if you don't care what they have to say... how can you be interested in them at all if you're not interested in what they say to begin with?"

This topic has been bothering me for some time now, and I got to discussing with my guy, who happens to feel the same way about the subject as I do. I don't want a guy who pretends to be interested, or worse, doesn't listen at all and makes fun of me for it. I have too much self-respect for that.

[Intermission whilst Pam takes a bubble bath.]

:) That was quite refreshing!

2) Ok, let me say up front: EVERYONE HAS TO DIE OF SOMETHING. When I die, no matter what I die of, I don't want to become a commercial statistic. "A woman dies every 12 seconds of breast cancer." "Someone dies every ____ second in a car accident." I don't want to be a part of that statistic, just for the sake of decency and personal respect. I understand the need to raise awareness for certain groups (say... suicide incidents in teens under 20). I understand the human urge to avoid having to face/prolong the occurance of death (hence the media-ization of the statistics...). But what I don't understand is why people think they can solve every problem.

No matter what, you can't solve the problem of death. It's a fact of life. Everyone ABSOLUTELY HAS to die of SOMETHING. You don't have a choice in the matter. You can take preventative steps, yes. You can avoid doing things that you know will lead to cancer, or some other major disease, yes. You cannot avoid death. You will die of something. No matter what. People are not immortal, and when I die, because of the inevitability of death, I don't want to be counted in the death toll for a particular disease. Something's got to take me down in the end, anyway.

Death is a complex topic, and I totally understand the apprehension/fear/uncertainty connected with it. But in the end, it'll get you no matter what drugs or lifestyles you hide behind. It's only a matter of time. Not that I'm saying live a reckless, irresponsible life. I'm not saying don't look after your health. All I'm saying is that I think people make too big of a deal about avoiding the prospect of death.

"One out of every 10 people will die of ________. Don't let yourself become a statistic." You'll wind up failing that at some point, because you'll become a statistic of whatever causes your death. So just accept it up front: you will fail this life. You will cease to be. That's a lot for some people to deal with. And this brings us to....

Today's work: As much as I hate to say this, I think this segment of my blog has met its end. It has become a statistic of Pam's time management. On my days off, when I do have a chance to post here, I am in no mood to sit and try to recall literature for essentially no end. I highly doubt (out of the 3 loyal readers I seem to have) that anyone really reads the work of the day anyway (I'm not offended, don't sweat it :) ). I wouldn't exactly read something someone randomly told me to read, anyway.

So, with a slight pout on my face, I bid a (temporary???) farewell to the Today's work section of my blog.

R.I.P. Today's work: Jan. 2006-Apr. 2006 That was some life!

I Knew It'd Be a While...

2006-05-18T09:20:00.000-05:00

But I'm back for another post, and I hope you 3 loyal readers haven't been too disappointed with the lack of new material on my site.

I'm sitting here watching tv while I write this. Actually, I was watching tv, saw a car commercial, and decided I had something I wanted to say about car commercials in general.

Now, I KNOW there are people out there that simply do as they're told, especially the mildly rich (upper upper middle class baby boomers come to mind), as can be seen just driving around my area. There are too many of those God-awful looking burnt orange colored Hyundai (tm?) SUVs that look like disproportionate boats on wheels. Basically, any car I've seen on tv, I see driving around my area, down to the color.

One ad in question was a Lexus (tm?) commercial, and the voice over asks, "is it possible to engineer desire?" The other ad that comes to mind off the mark revolves around the question, "when does a car become more than just a car?" For the life of me, I can't remember what car was being promoted. I guess the ad didn't really do its job. I do remember my dad watching tv with me then and, after seeing that last commercial, he remarked, "when it becomes the place you sleep every night, too?"

I'm sick of seeing 3 or 4 car ads per commercial break. On the plus side, at least, it seems like there are fewer SUV commercials anymore, which I can't complain about. I hate those damn things. Especially when they're driving by chicks. And I am a chick, too, so I don't feel sexist in saying that.

When I drive around town and find someone driving like a complete idiot, 9 times out of 10, it's a soccer mom. And more often than not, she's on a cell phone. Hmmm. Wouldn't it be nice if people had to take some sort of common sense/manners test before being allowed on the road? I bet it would reduce the number of accidents.

There are a couple intersections right near me that no one can seem to navigate well. No one excet yours truly, but that's just because I rock. It makes me wonder how people can't grasp the most basic rules of the road. If a stop sign doesn't say right below it that it's a 4-way stop, that means that someone else DOESN'T have a stop, and therefore, you should NOT run it.

Sorry. I think (quite often anymore) that a lot more people have cars and licenses than really should. Just blowing off some steam there.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to dig out my old teddy bears. Now that I have my new cell phone and the camera is pretty decent, I'm going to have some fun and flesh out the next installment of the teddy bear saga. I know I said I was going to do it a while back, but I never did get around to it. C'est la vie.

Today's work: I'm going the easy route today and ending this with a cop-out cause I don't feel like thinking. Remember what your favorite book was from when you were younger? Go read that again. See if you still like it as much as you did then. There you go.

Finally! A Day Off!

2006-05-08T09:18:00.000-05:00

And I have no idea what to do with my free time today. :)

I finally got a letter of rejection from Penn State. I have to say, it was in quite bad taste. And I'm not just saying that because I got rejected -- they literally just sent everyone a huge mass email blanket rejecting over 400 people. A chain of emails started among the rejectees, and apparently not everyone who got the rejection email had even applied to Penn State in the first place. Oh well. Still though, a school as large and prestigious as Penn State should have the good manners to individually let people know they've been rejected. Just my take on it.

Thursday morning I have an interview for a possible job in the fall -- teaching at a college! I'm quite excited about that. It'd be a great step into my future career, and I feel confident enough about my skills and background.

Aside from the above, nothing's really new. I'm just earning money, waiting for grad school to start.

Things Pam's waiting for:

$1,000,000.00
This weekend!!
A chance to talk to a few people she fell out of touch with
12:00 to roll around so I can chat with a certain someone about things and stuff
my new cell phone
to hear back from TCNJ with my other rejection letter

Well, since I've got some free time to kill, I'm going to go work on the next installment of the teddy bear saga. I've got some really good ideas, and I'm excited to get started on it. So I'm going to go work on it, and hopefully I'll be updating my teddy bear site relatively soon. So keep checking back. I just hope it's as good as the first run through.

Today's work: American literature would not be where it is today without the contributions of one Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is an amazing addition to the literary history of this country and an interesting study in dialogue. Enjoy.

Sigh

2006-04-26T09:13:00.000-05:00

I'm afraid if I don't post something today, I won't get a chance to post for a LONG time. I hadn't been able to post because I was on the road and didn't have much spare time to sit down and post, then as soon as I got home (this past Monday) I just passed out and slept all day, then yesterday I started my new job.

I'm working as a waitress at a popular pub in a tourist town. It gets busy, but I bring home a LOT of money even on a dead day, so I've got no complaints. Except when people leave a $2 tip on a $50 bill. It seems like the richer the people, the skimpier the tip.

So I'll be going to Rutgers in the fall, which I'm getting pretty excited about. The area of Camden the campus is in is being gentrified by spillover from Philly, so apparently that general area's been getting nicer and nicer over the past couple years.

I also got a good opportunity to start teaching as soon as I start work on my MA. There's a program between Rutgers and Camden County College where MA in English candidates can interview for an adjunct instructor position at CCC. It's a paying position, I'd be getting experience teaching, it'd look really good on my resume, and I'd have a better chance of getting a TA position in the English Dept. next year.

That's pretty much all the new stuff that's worth mentioning. Now I need to head up to the garage to buy some break fluid for my clutch. :(

You know, I got to thinking. I wonder how many of the people who read this site personally know me. Just out of curiousity. Anyway, drop me a line sometime if you'd like, and tell me why you read my site (for shits and giggles). :)

Today's work: I'm in the middle of Plato's Republic. It's pretty cool. Lots of good discussions and whatnot, some interesting points, and a very keen sense of how life today has come so far from what it used to be. I think this book is one that everyone should read.

Pam's Bored Wanderings Around the Net

2006-04-13T09:42:00.000-05:00

No real post today. Not yet at least. I'm spending to much time watching this.

If you like bunnies, check this out!

Awww!! Look at the puppy!!

Yeah, I'm sure you guys've seen all this before. But I'm bored. And it's a beautiful day out, so I'm going to go outside and read until I have to go to work.

Shower Thoughts

2006-04-11T15:15:00.000-05:00

So I was in the shower this morning, and I got to thinking.

What would game shows in hell be like? I pictured a straight-faced Will Ferrell acting as host for a game showed called "Solve That Equation!" The contestants were your stereotypical trailer trash. The equations and the proofs were insanely difficult. Anyone who couldn't solve the equation or proof in the allotted time was dragged off by demons and imps while the host laughed uproariously.

That idea kept me intrigued for a little while, and most likely slayed a few brain cells in the process.

The other thought was just as useless. I began to think about the Pony Express (don't ask), and one thing led to another. Before I knew it, I had crafted a skit in my mind called "The Badass USPS." Instead of mailtrucks, these renegade mailcarriers drive around in Ford Mustangs (tm?) and deliver the mail to the wrong mailboxes.

I was somewhat appalled at the idiocy of this last thought. I'm so pretty when I don't talk.

Well, that was fun.

I found a new site for writers. So if you're a writer, or if you like reading short stories, go to www.forumcircle.com/critters/index.php It's a pretty cool site. It's just getting started, though, so pass the word to any writer friends you might have.

Today's work: Emily Dickinson's "Because I could not stop for Death" is one of my favorite poems. It's short (not that length is a factor for me), and it's easy to understand, but at the same time, it presents a wonderfully intriguing image.

Work... yay...

2006-04-09T08:57:00.000-05:00

I suppose the only time I'll get a chance to post anything new is while I'm at work anymore. But that's just till tax season's over.

I'm thinking about making a few changes to my blog, namely adding more linguistics links, and maybe linking my latest project to it (maybe).

And that latest project would be a Latin database project that I've recently started building. I'm teaching myself Latin, and I found it helpful to break down the words into stems and endings in a spreadsheet. Once I did that, I figured it wouldn't be that much more work to develop a database that could act as a dictionary and conjugator/decliner as well. The project itself still has a long way to go, but I work on it every day, and I'm making decent progress.

I was thinking about doing the same kind of thing for some of the other languages I've been trying to teach myself, like Irish and Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Maybe Greek, too. We'll see. I tend to get overambitious about this kind of thing.

Either way, even developing just the one database is quite an undertaking, and it's eating up a lot of my "free" time. By free time, I mean the time I spend sitting behind the front desk at my local, friendly H&R Block. Ok, that's a lie. I spend most of that time learning Latin and finding conjugation/declension patters and trying to think of the best way to work those into a user-friendly database form.

Today's work: I read a book a few months back called The Man with the Golden Arm. It was written by Nelson Algren. It was a good read, and I've been meaning to go back and reread it. So there it is. Today's work.

Conspiracy Theories and Horror Movies

2006-04-06T10:56:00.000-05:00

Well, looks like I won't be getting a teaching assistantship this year, and that sucks the big one.

I saw the movie, The Order, a short time back. I've seen it many times over the past few years, and that movie always makes me think. So does Constantine. They make me think a lot about conspiracy theories, about theology and mysticism, and about the pagan world.

How/why did humanity create deities, and what niche were they intended to serve? Is there any "power" behind them, aside from what's attributed to them by humanity?

I'd like to come up with my own conspiracy theory to build a thriller novel around, and I think I can do it. I know the good elements, and I've got a few good ideas I'm tossing around, but not enough to base a novel on. Yet.

I like thinking about these kinds of things because it's outside the realm of the knowable or of reality. I guess you could say it's like an escape. I can make up whatever reasons or rationalizations I like, and they become like a story, possibly a subplot for that novel I've been working on...

Speaking of which, I can't remember the last time I got a chance to sit down and actually work on it. I've been thinking about it more and more lately, and I have a good feeling about it, but I just can't find the time to write it. Hell, I can barely find the time to add to my blog regularly anymore what with getting ready for grad school and all.

As I'm sitting here, there's a horror movie on in the background. Horror movies irritate me. The characters never do the most logical or the most natural thing. If I hear a bump in the night, the very first thing I do is turn on a light. Or if someone's chasing me, I wouldn't stop and hide behind a tree. Especially not if they'd be after hurting me.

I have to say, though, from an artistic standpoint, fear is my favorite emotion. I think I'm the most creative when I'm afraid, especially tired and afraid. Some things freak me out more than others (ovbiously...). And so, I present to you Pam's Incomplete List of Really Incredibly Super-Uber Freaky Shite.

Pam's Incomplete List of Really Incredibly Super-Uber Freaky Shite:

Mental Institutes, esp. ones that have closed their doors -- The Byberry Mental Institution in Philly
Little girls sitting in the dark singing nursery rhymes
Spiders, especially big, shiny black ones and the ones that are hairy and jump
Cobwebs
Being in a car in the middle of a field, in the middle of the night
The first night spent alone in a new place
That quiet lull just after dusk in a big, empty house
Abandoned houses, or houses that've been boarded up for a long time
Overgrown underbrush in the woods in the middle of the night
Blind old men who know stuff
Empty hotel hallways
Fog, esp. at dawn or dusk
Whatever the hell is in a crazy person's mind
The possibility of an alternate reality

Ok, so I see the freak-factor in a lot of things that aren't really scary at all, except to an overactive imagination. But I enjoy seeing these things in other lights, you know? It's an exercise for my creative juices, I suppose.

Anyway.

Today's work: I've been in a bit of a dark mood for the past few days. So I wanted to list something dark to read, which immediately made me think of Poe. And I finally decided on "The Conqueror Worm," another of my favorites.

Ok, Not Such a Nice Day Out...

2006-04-03T08:09:00.000-05:00

I suppose the only way I'll be able to add daily to my blog anymore is if the weather's crappy. Cause otherwise, it's just too nice out for me to sit indoors, and I don't feel like taking my laptop outside most of the time. I like to keep my nature and my higher technologies separate.

I got to thinking last night about the nature of darkness. We're conceived in the dark, we gestate in the dark, and after we're born, we sleep in the dark for a number of years before we develop (not always) a fear of the dark. Why do so many little kids fear the dark when it's a fact of life?

The only logical answer to that question that I could think of involved the imagination. I didn't have the time earlier to do any research on the subject, but I wonder if the imagination begins to develop in earnest in children at the age when they first start fearing the dark.

I know sometimes when I'm overtired or really stressed, my imagination seems to take over, and I start hearing the bumps in the night that make little kids pull the blankets over their heads. I've been tempted to sleep with the lights on after a long period of sleeplessness, just in case, but then I realize that I've let my imagination get the better of me and have a good chuckle.

I can't really complain about an overactive imagination if I want to be a novelist, though, can I? And it really is more of a blessing most of the time -- like when I have nothing to do at night and there's nothing good on the tv.

It would be interesting, still, to see when the imaginative centers in the brain really begin to blossom. There are some incredibly imaginative and creative people out there, and there are some people who have no imaginative powers to draw on whatsoever. I wonder if the difference is natural or genetic, or if it's environmental or in the nuturing. And when does the brain stop trying to be imaginative? What's the point of the creativity in an evolutionary sense?

Just some things to think about. I know I'm not qualified to answer them. I'm probably not even half-way informed about the subject to start with.

Today's work: I've broken down. I'm doing it. I'm recommending a book that I've read dozens of times when I was younger. The author is L.E. Modesitt, Jr., and the book is The Magic of Recluce. I absolutely loved the story (especially when I was in my teens), even though it's not a Young Adult book per se. It's the first book of The Saga of Recluce, and it's really a great read with an interesting take on magic and society.

Gah!

2006-03-30T09:12:00.000-05:00

Gorgeous day. Like hell I'm sitting inside on the internet all day!

News of Pam du Jour

2006-03-29T10:30:00.000-05:00

Well, I've apparently been waitlisted by Penn State. It was great of them to tell me. After I'd waited a few months. And after I'd sent them an email asking why I hadn't heard from them. Oh well.

Actually, that may work out for the best, anyway, and Rutgers is still a school held in high esteem throughout the country. It's not a bad school to have a diploma from. I still have a shot at getting into PSU (though I'm in a pool of about 475 right now...). Either way, I'll be happy.

I have a job interview today up in New Hope. I should probably start getting ready for that soon, I suppose. I have to say, I'll be sad to leave the job I have now. The people I work with are awesome. I'll have to stop back there next season to harass them all again.

Lately, I've started wishing I could draw worth a damn. I get these really cool looking pictures in my head of gothic or surreal or hellish landscapes in my head, and I wish I could get them down on paper, but I can't even draw a stick figure, so who am I kidding?

The clock in hell has no hands.

Well, it's time for me to go have my morning cup o' tea so I'm awake and alive enough, personable enough, for my interview. Wish me luck!

Today's work: "The Apple Tree Tables" by Herman Melville. I liked this story. It was cute and short, with an interesting ending and not too much dramatic build-up. I found it online before, but I can't remember where. I'll try to look for it sometime today or tomorrow, but no promises.

Ravel's Bolero is another classical piece I enjoy. I'm pretty sure it's the music from Lawrence of Arabia, but I haven't looked it up yet. Either way, it's a good composition.

Hello Again, Beautiful

2006-03-28T11:19:00.000-05:00

Ok, so it hasn't been quite a week yet. I've been so incredibly busy lately.

I'm watching Quantum Leap right now. I used to watch this show all the time when I was younger, but I haven't seen it in years. This was one of my favorites.

When I was younger (we're talking like 6 or 7 here), I used to think that people could be telepathetic if they tried hard enough. What can I say. I was bored in class, and my pencil wasn't moving itself. I'd sit there and think, "Ok, pencil, let's go. Roll up and down my desk." But it didn't. Obviously.

For whatever reason, I remembered thinking that the other day when I was trying to get up for work. I kept thinking to myself, "Ok, I'm going to get up now," but my legs wouldn't move. Just like the pencil. It took a different kind of brain control to move my legs. In my half-asleep stupor, I kept thinking, "maybe that's the key; maybe that's the difference." I decided, while still half-asleep, that telepathy would be a lot like getting out of bed when you don't want to -- but it's a different area of the brain that would have to function. Then I woke up the rest of the way and had a good laugh.

I can be quite whimsical early in the morning.

I was in a beauty supply store the other day (gag me). As I was wandering around the store, waiting for my friend to get what she needed, I came across the hair products section, and could you guess what I found there?

Hot oil treatments. That seems pretty tame; what's so bad about that, you ask?

Nothing, assuming it's some kind of NORMAL oil. But no. There were three selections here. First was Jojoba oil. Perfectly harmless. I'd buy that.

Second was CHOLESTEROL oil. 1) Gross! 2) People actually put that stuff in their hair??? Most people try to get it OUT of their bodies; what would possess someone to put it on their scalp?

Third, and most horrifying, was placenta oil. PLACENTA OIL. Does anyone have a much of an issue with this as I do? What kind of animal placenta do they take this oil from? Who was the first person to say, "Gee, I think I'll squeeze some oil out of this 'ere placenta and put it on my head!" WTF??? I guess the raw egg treatment (again... who thought of that one?) wasn't "pure" enough for one's unconditioned tresses. I can't understand what possesses chicks to spend money on these kinds of products.

I think I'll leave on that note and let you stew over that for a while.

Today's work: There's a short little poem called "Ars Poetica" by Archibald MacLeish. It's quite succinct.

I've decided to expand the reading list into a "culture list," so to speak. For today's work, I've picked Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 3. Yeah, I'm getting high-fallutin' on ya. Actually, I suggest it because it's one of my favorite classical pieces and it helps me think. Plus, there's something to be said about a mind that could compose full symphony pieces that are so incredibly

It's Been a While

2006-03-22T10:55:00.000-05:00

...since I posted anything here. But that's because I was away from home for a while. But now I'm back. So you get to enjoy my wonderful presence again, lucky you!

Anyway, my brain is still too numb from this past week for me to really have anything to talk about today. I'm off to look for a job. Wish me luck.

Today's work: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I'm in the middle of reading this now, and it's weird how many similarities in thought I have with young Stephen Dedalus. Only he actually made some money off of what he wrote...

Why is Literature Important?

2006-03-14T11:29:00.000-05:00

Ok, so we've all had to take literature classes before, and we've all had to read some of the "classic" works. And chances are, we've been bored to tears over at least one of them. What makes literature so important, anyway? Is it just a way to fill up time during the school day and keep kids out of the teacher's hair?

No matter how boring or seemingly useless literature may be, there're plenty of good reasons to keep on reading, enjoying, or studying the classic works of literature. Books let the reader step out of the current reality and into a whole other world, including one that may be historically accurate. Literature also allows readers to contemplate social, political, and religious themes in context. Throughout the ages, books, poems, short stories, histories, etc. have all served as a composite of humanity socially and psychologically.

So who cares? What does all this matter in teh day to day? Honestly, it doesn't. Or, at least, it doesn't matter very much. There are a few life lessons you can pick up from reading a good piece of literature, or a few concepts that can be framed in a new light for better comprehension.

But the culture and the knowledge passed down from age to age through literature is important. The Beat Generation was an experience, an exclaimation of humanity and a celebration of the senses. The exploration of the mind and of society from that day comes to the rest of us through the literature of the day. Works from the Victorian Era describe to us a way of life, a page of history. In today's world, we can still step back in history to glimpse a day in the life of a Victorian lady by simply picking up a Woolf novel.

What's more is that a reader can find comfort and solace in literature; there's at least one character in a novel somewhere that feels the way you do. No matter your situation in life, someone somewhere wrote about a similar situation. Someone's been there before, and a written commentary on it exists, if you can find it.

Picture, if you can, all the books in the entire world gathered together in the same place, a library worthy of such a "noble" race. Thousands of social commentaries survive the turning of the years in black on white. Uncountable discussions on the human condition and what humanity all means sit in libraries around the world, a collection of the knowledge of the ages. Each book adds its two cents to the bank, and what absolutely amazes me is that no one brain could ever absorb all that knowledge, all those opinions, viewpoints, and beliefs.

I sit here and try to wrap my mind around all the additional knowledge that's already been lost, is still being lost every day. People learn things, figure things out throughout their lives, but they never pass on every shred of it.

I wonder how much was irretrievably lost when the Library of Alexandria burned. When I was a kid, I used to imagine that people were capable of much more than any of us knew, and that the knowledge of how to read someone's mind (just an example) went up in flames when that great Library blazed so long ago. So sad.

People go to college now, go to gen. ed. classes and bitch and moan about learning. Now, I wish I had paid more attention in those classes and not just given in to my incredibly amazing bullshitting abilities. Now I feel like I can never know enough about the world, about how people work and what makes them tick, about history, motive, emotion. There are so many aspects of humanity that I feel stunted by, intimidated by, because I don't fully understand them at the moment. But I want to know. I want to be the one with the answers, even if there's no one to ask the questions.

Once upon a time, we were hunter-gatherers. Now we take it all for granted. I wish I could watch the interim on video, watch how things evolved to the state we're in now. Tolstoy's novel War and Peace got me thinking about social trends and the force of the common man's sway in changing the future of a nation. See? Literature tying in to my current political feelings.

Why does the phrase "lost boys" call such greusome pictures to my mind?

Today's work: I had a bit of difficulty in picking a work for today. I finally decided to settle on one of my absolute favorite authors, Tom Robbins. It is very difficult for me to narrow down which of his novels to recommend because all of them are quite witty, intelligent, thought-provoking, and intense. I finally did settle, though, and it is with a shit-eating grin that I suggest you pick up a copy of Robbins's Jitterbug Perfume, a book that I have enjoyed intensely. Happy reading!

Form vs. Substance

2006-03-13T08:47:00.000-05:00

I always start feeling hopeful this time of year. I don't know what I'm hoping for, though. This year, a scholarship for grad school would be nice. Still haven't heard from PSU or TCNJ yet.

The other day, I finished Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. I really liked that story. It got me to thinking about structure vs. substance, the passage of time, and morality. I like works that make me think.

But what I wanted to talk about today was structure vs. substance, because it seems to come up a lot lately in my life.

Why does everyone make such a big deal about doing things the right way? Doing things the right way for the wrong reasons is still bad. Or doing things by the book because you can't comprehend the situation is still bad. That's why I hate bureaucracy. I don't mean to say that form is useless, but substance has to be taken into account as well.

Form, by itself, is meaningless, especially in politics and law. It's like a blank outline or a fresh canvas. But, even in being blank and open, it's still restrictive, simply because it is when it need not be. I don't believe in anarchy; if that had worked from day one, hupersonkind would never have felt the need to develop a system of law, and Hammurabi never would've needed to write his Code.

There are cases where form is everything, however, and education is the main such case. Take algebra, for example. The point of teaching algebra isn't so everyone knows how to solve for x. Algebra teaches certain kinds of logic, teaches the brain to reason through problems inductively or deductively to come to a solution. The logic and reasoning skills taught by algebra aren't used exclusively for algebra. They can be carried over to many other aspects of life. So in cases like that, where the form carries its own purpose, then yes, form is valuable of itself.

Substance is easily faked, as any bullshitter will tell you. Learn a few big words, put on philanthorpic airs, etc. and you have "substance." But it's phony substance, and it's about as useful as an outline filled in with gibberish. It makes no sense, has no purpose, and the only good place for such a piece of work is the garbage can.

I see form and substance as a Thanksgiving turkey. The turkey's good, and the stuffing's good, each taken by itself. But the stuffing that's been cooked inside the bird is always the best. I feel the same way about the blending of form and substance, where is by itself is respectable and worthwhile. Each lends a little of its color to the other -- the form gives meaning to the substance, and the substance justifies the form.

Or think about a tire with no air in it. That's form by itself. The air you need to fill it up is floating all around, unharnessed and doing its own thing. But put the two together, fill up the tire with the air, and it becomes beneficial. The tire's no longer a waste of space because the air is filling it up and making it usable, justifying its existence, and the air's being harnessed for the benefit of transportation.

Neither form nor substance is essentially bad; it depends on the role they're intended for and what role they actually fulfill.

All this from a story about the soul and immorality's effect on it? Yeah, I get sidetracked with thoughts when I read. Gets a little annoying sometimes, like when I'm reading a really intense passage and other random sidebar thoughts pop into my head. But these particular thoughts were simply the backdrop for more complex thoughts on social fronting, which Wilde discusses in Dorian Gray, and which I will probably comment on in the future.

Anyway.

Today's work: One of my all-time favorite books, a piece I love to read again and again because it's so deep and there's so much material in it to digest. It links in well with what I talked about today, too. I'm not even going to look for a link to the full-text online because this book should be experienced as a real book, a tangible medium for such a potent message. The book is Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner, and it has been one of the shaping influences of my thoughts over the last couple years.

2006-03-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

Screw this. It's too beautiful out to be on the computer today. I'm going to the park.

Potpourri, Take Two

2006-03-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

I had a dream last night that someone came up to me and said they really enjoyed the piece on movies that I had put up on my blog. So, in my dream, I went back to it and I read it, and though, "wow, I really did put some cool stuff in here!" Then I woke up.

I remember snippets of what I had written in the dream blog, but it doesn't make any sense stand-alone, and I can't remember the main topic of the blog. So apparently, I only write well in my dreams. And I was so going to treat all 3 of my regulars to a grand ol' discussion on movies today!

But then I decided not to, because I don't feel like thinking about movies today.

Come to think of it, I don't really have anything in particular to talk about. I've got a John Valby song playing on the good old soundtrack, and it's a funny one, so I'm not trying to chase it away quite yet.

I'm starting to feel like one of those chicks who has nothing worthwhile to say but keeps talking anyway just to fill up the silence.

Today's work: "The Lady of Shallot" by Lord Alfred Tennyson. This is a long-standing favorite of mine. The wording is brilliant, the subject and themes always draw my attention, and it's set in the Middle Ages, which I adore.

Potpourri

2006-03-08T09:20:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've had my own personal soundtrack playing in my head whenever I try to think. I don't know when it started, but it's getting really annoying. I'll wake up on an average day now with some really annoying or obnoxious song stuck in my head and I can't get it out, no matter what I do.

I used to think it was cool to have my own soundtrack, but now it just pisses me off.

Zombies. I think I'm developing a paranoia. How long would it take for me to know if zombies started killing everyone?

Fruity smells are sexy; musky smells are sensual. Strawberry screams "I'm pretty!" Vanilla whispers "You know nothing of woman" in your ear.

There's nothing more annoying than high school punks who stand outside the fast food joint near my job and ask me twenty times for a dollar when I go get food. The phrase, "get a job" doesn't seem to cover all the bases of what I'm feeling.

I love driving stickshift. Not going back to automatic if I can help it!!

Men like sneezes.
Women like yawning.
It makes a nice parallel to their respective orgasms.

"We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely." -- Oscar Wilde

I have the theme from "The Smurfs" stuck in my head right now. Quite bothersome.

A few months back, I started writing a novel. The first three chapters are AWESOME. Too bad I never feel like working on it anymore. According to Orwell's advice to beginners, I probably just don't know my own story well enough. Which makes sense. But every time I sit down to think it out better, the theme from "The Simpsons" plays in my head and I get sidetracked.

There are tons of historical figures or authors or artists, etc. who have hundreds of quotes attributed to them. When/How do they come up with all of them?

I am now a secret Bunburyist.

Told you, potpourri.

Today's work: "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde. Wilde is one of my favorite authors. Sadly, I only found out about him a couple years back. I enjoy his wit and his eccentricity. Hope you will too.

Does Gender Change Writing Styles?

2006-03-07T08:42:00.000-05:00

That cold really kicked my ass. I'm still not totally feeling 100%, even now. At least I'm over the actual cold, though, which is good because I'm leaving this Sunday for a nice 10-day repreive from life.

I have a part-time job, but I worked almost 45 hours last week. Hmm.

Still haven't heard back from PSU or TCNJ yet. Sigh.

I finished reading Eudora Welty's Delta Wedding and I'm halfway through Silas Marner by George Eliot now.

Which brings me to today's topic: the difference between male and female writers.

As you may or may not know, George Eliot was actually a woman named Mary Ann Evans Cross (1819-1880). This is all fine and dandy, but it got me to thinking. Normally when I read anything, I can tell what gender the writer was by considering the word choice, characterization, choice of subject matter, and gender of all the main characters. However, Silas Marner was the first book I read, written by a woman, where I couldn't detect the trace of her gender in her writing, most especially of Victorian era works.

My dad and I were actually discussing this same topic the other day, and while we sat and talked, neither of us could really put our finger on what exactly was different, or what pointed out the author's gender, but both of us agreed that there was something.

Off the top of my head, the female authors I'm using for the basis of my comparisons are:
Virginia Woolf
Eudora Welty
Katherine Mansfield
Zora Neale Hurston
Maya Angelou
Kate Chopin
Harriet Beecher Stowe
I'd love to list Anne Rice, Ayn Rand, or Ursula K. LeGuinn, but I haven't read them in a LONG time, and I can't really recall much detail.

And the male authors that come to mind are:
Aldous Huxley
Leo Tolstoy
William Faulkner
Franz Kafka
Brendan Behan
Tom Robbins
Kurt Vonnegut
George Orwell
Mark Twain

Ok, so I've read a lot more male authors than female. I've also tried to stick with authors who've written a decent bit of prose, because poetry provides certain restrictions or expectations that shape the reception of the work within the reader.

Considering first the female authors, I've noticed that the vast majority of their main characters are all female. Big surprise, huh? But, more than that, I've also noticed that the settings and plots are largely centered around the home and homelife. This could simply be due to the fact that the list of female authors above is essentially centered around a certain era when women were still at the homefront. I'll have to look into that.

The male writers, on the other hand, seem to tackle more philosophical and political themes, or themes that bear on the world outside of the home. Again, it could be that I'm over-thinking this, especially after lending so much thought to the female position in literature.

However, I do believe there is something within the words that points to the author's gender. I'm not saying that this is a good or a bad thing, I just think it illustrates the differences between the way men and women see the world around them. If nothing else, it provides some food for thought next time you read something.

If anyone is up for it, send me a short story, novella, or novel, but take the author's name off of it. Get rid of the title, too, if you think I'll cheat and look it up. I'll read it and see if I can tell you the gender of the author. You can send it to here.

Today's work: I want to know if anyone else thinks along the same lines as I do when they read George Eliot's Silas Marner. I say that because, unlike the women I listed above, Eliot's main characters are mostly male, and her language isn't that of the homestead. Her writing style reminded me a lot of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter in a lot of ways. The main difference was that Hawthorne's main character was a woman. There are exceptions to everything, I suppose... It's an intersting flip-flop, though.

What's the Point of It All?

2006-03-02T09:09:00.000-05:00

So I started thinking again about the meaning of life -- one of my favorite topics to ponder. Here's how I see it. Let me start off by saying I've completely set aside all of my religious convictions to dissect this. I'll hold on to my religious beliefs to (maybe) be discussed at some other point.

A) There's either a god or there isn't.
B) There's either a purpose to life or there isn't.

If there is a god and he did create the earth, then he must've done so for a reason, and there is a purpose to life. Cause and effect. If there isn't a god, and the universe spawned itself, so to speak, then there isn't necessarily a purpose to it all.

Assume there is a god, the one God of the monotheistic faiths. The purpose of life would then be what? To get into Heaven/the final paradise and to avoid Hell/limbo? So in other words, to be good or to pass the test of life in order to be granted the right to sing someone else's praises forever?

This possibility gives all members of a society a motive to better themselves, and not simply to fight, rape, steal, murder, etc. But which came first? Religious systems, or the realization that religion can cause people to strive for better things? And why do we need to strive for the best, anyway? It all seems like a vicious cycle to me.

Yeah, sorry, got sidetracked a bit there.

Ok, now assume there is no supreme deity, and that the universe can be explained scientifically. No matter how much I rationalize, I can't come to grips with there being a meaning to life if there is no all-powerful being. What would people strive for, if they knew everything is temporary and fleeting? I'd gorge myself on Chinese food, I think.

If I wasn't so convinced that the human mind is capable of much more than we realize, I would be able to say, "Ok, there is no God. Doesn't exist." I'd be able to get on with my life, and come the day I die, I'd be ok with it all ending there for me. Call it my idealism, call it vanity, or what you will, but I feel like there's got to be more out there than just this. Otherwise, what's the point of buying and selling, the point of the internet, the point of higher education? Why should I dress nice, brush my hair, and buy fruits and vegetables from the store? Why not just live off the earth?

I know it's hard work, and I know it's not comfortable, and I also know that it's not profitable. But I would think it's preferable. In my ideal world, I could work both my mind and my body. Sitting in front of a computer all day is a drain on a person physically, but doing mind-nimbing menial tasks drains a person mentally. What's the point of having a body if you're not going to use it? It's more than just transport for your grey matter.

Why exercise? Why stay fit? Ok, it may be healthier, but we're all going to die some day anyway, aren't we? And the person who works out on a regular basis is no less at risk of a fatal accident or disease than any of the rest of us. So there's got to be a point to it. Why is it desirable to be in shape? I look like I'm in shape, but I'm really not. I feel like I have to get to the gym and work out, but why do I feel like that? I know I've been told I should, that it's good for me, but why should I do what other people tell me is good for me? Sorry, I'm feeling fatalistic this morning. I get like that when it rains in the morning.

I just realized a lot of this sounds like whining, but it's not meant to be. I've been thinking a lot recently about cause and effect, and about motive. Person A motivates me to get in shape, but what was Person A's motivation to motivate me? Is it important? How can Person A have that kind of power over me?

No one wants to do work, but it has to be done. Common knowledge and common sense dictate that. What happens if you don't do work? You procrastinate. Just keep putting it off, till one day you realize, "I should've done that forever and a day ago." And you regret putting it off, whatever it was. You start learning through personal experience that it's best to do certain things right away.

What does any of this have to do with the meaning of life? Well, if there is a god, you don't want to put off being a good person, but if there isn't a god, you're not damning yourself to Hell if you don't play nice. Your end will be the same whether you're a good person or a serial rapist who hates little puppies.

But then again, isn't something about being honest one of the 10 Commandments? And if I feel in my heart, and I honestly believe, that the only way to live is by killing others (or by breaking any of the other Commandments -- the killing one just popped in my head first), then what's the right course of action? Either way, you're breaking a Commandment by being dishonest or by killing. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

The way I see it, as long as you're honest with yourself about what you really want or need, everything else will kind of fall into place. But then again, how do you know you really want what you think you want? Sorry, sidetracked again. (While I'm off topic anyway, I have to ask... why do the Channel 6 forecasters refer to temps in the 20s as a "deep freeze"? That bugs the hell out of me!! Deep freeze is more like sub-zero temps! GRRR! Ok, I'm done.)

Does God still punish people who were sentenced by a judge on earth? Isnt' that like double-dipping in the reprimand jar? But what would happen if we had no judges and no police? I bet we'd all carry guns and knives and swords... But that's a topic for another day.

Anyway, I think about this whole topic a lot because it interests me. It's one question I'll only be able to answer when the answer no longer matters. Not that it really matters now. What difference would knowing there is or isn't a god make? I'm sure I'd still pray to him when I feared my life was over, even if I knew he wasn't there.

Today's work: The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe is a great play. It doesn't exactly deal with the topic of the day, not directly anyway, but it does discuss power and religion, choices, cause and effect, consequences, and responsibility.

Yada Yada Yada

2006-02-27T09:09:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I've been sick for the past few days. Still not feeling totally better. And definitely not feeling philosophical.

On a completely random and unrelated topic, I just stopped to think about how many books/short stories I've read in the past two weeks. I finished Pynchon's V., Melville's Bartleby, Faulkner's As I Lay Dying (really freakin' good), Conrad's Heart of Darkness, La Fontaine's "The Acorn and the Pumpkin," O'Neill's Long Day's Journey Into Night, Greene's The Quiet American, Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God, and I started Welty's Delta Wedding (not too thrilled with it so far).

Work and illness apparently keep me from posting here every day like I'd like to, but oh well. I only get about 3-4 hits per day, so I'm not sweating it.

The Giving Tree always made me feel sad. That poor tree!

If I had one super power, it'd be the ability to read peoples' minds. Or to fly. Either way. Fly-by ESP. An interesting thought.

I wake up mornings craving Chinese food. Dumplings especially.

I need a second job. I have too much time on my hands.

I got nothing.

Today's work: "The Valley of Unrest" by E.A. Poe. One of my all-time favorite poems. I love the imagery, the themes, and the voice. Just great.

The Beat Movement

2006-02-24T09:37:00.000-05:00

As I said in a recent post, I've recently fallen in love with the Beat Movement all over again. This usually happens once a year, around this time. Something about knowing the weather will be getting warmer again makes me want to travel, just head off with no planning or anything and just live for the experiences.

I never go, though, because I know I'm not of the breed that can handle that. It'll always just be a wish, a dream, for me. Part of it goes back to the expectations my family has (ah! a cross-over! expectations constrain all sorts of relationships, not just romantic ones) of me, and common sense plus my own plans for the future stack up against my wandering off as well. Besides, the images and sensations I have in my mind are an idealized version, and I wouldn't want them shattered for the world.

If dreams are wish-fulfillments, as is entirely possible (depending on the dream -- I don't wish I could live out my nightmares...), then this love of the Beat Movement and my daydreams of joining that host are merely an escape from the mundane grind of everyday life. I know the Beats moved through a different time; public attitudes were different; personal freedoms were different. It can't be like that today because things change, and if things didn't change, I'd worry.

The authors of the Beat Generation were lucky. They had the chance to experiment, to learn about life and about themselves, consequences be damned. I would've loved the chance to meet Hunter S. Thompson or Kerouac or Ginsberg. Even Pynchon, I suppose, though his writings didn't have the same impact on me, and I couldn't sense the same urgency and desires in the only work of his I've read to date (V.).

There are the doers, the fakers, and the wishers when it comes to the Beat Generation today. There are those who would've fallen right in with the Beats during their salad days, mind and body; there are the angsty, coffee-drinking, cigarette smoking wannabes who wouldn't have known how to be a part of the Movement because it's not in their soul; and there are those like me, who crave the thing with all their heart, but know they'd never be able to be more than a lover from afar.

Besides, I don't think I'd have what it takes to be a Beat. Most of the time, I don't even think I have what it takes to be an author. Screw "writer." I hate that term. Everyone writes every day. "Writer" doesn't speak to the difficulty of creating a masterpiece the way author or novelist does. Sorry, off on a bit of a tangent there.

Anyway, the Beat Generation played an important role in literary and societal history. The psychology of the Movement is something that should never be lost, unless by losing it, a whole new generation can rediscover it, reinvent "the dream." Maybe someday.

There's something deeper I'm trying to get at by writing about the Beat Generation, and I thought I'd have found words for it by now, but it's still dancing around the tip of my tongue. This does tie in to my personal philosophy. Beat books like On the Road, et al had a heavy influence on the formation of my philosophy, though it's difficult for me to simplify out the different persuasions on thought.

Today's work: A Beat piece? You bet. The most obvious one? Darn tootin'. On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I couldn't find a link to it, sorry. But it's a damn good book, and if I had my druthers, everyone would read it at least once.

Beyond the Realm of Reality

2006-02-23T12:14:00.000-05:00

Dreams have always held a certain interest for me, maybe because I have such strange and engaging ones. A psychologist once asked me if I dropped acid before I went to bed after I told her about some of my dreams. I think my fascination with dreams comes more from my enjoyment of the symbolic and my desire to decode and learn.

What brought this on, you ask? I had a weird, creepy dream a few nights ago that I can't shake. Seeing as very few people stumble across this site, I think I'm free to bore cyberspace with my it and not feel bad.

The weird thing about it was it felt so real, almost like I was in the audience and the dream was a play. It slowly faded in from black, and I could see the grey, cloudy sky, could almost feel the light rain on my face and the slight breeze. I was looking at a ill-kept graveyard. The grass was brown and overgrown, the tombstones leaned and were cracked or broken. As the breeze played through the leafless limbs of the tree, it made the sound of a death rattle. There was an old priest there, with wispy, grey hair that caught on the breeze, and a young, orphaned boy. They were standing under a large, dead tree, and the priest was smoking a cigarette.

"Year after year, we keep up the ritual of planting the bodies here, tucked snug in their caskets like coccoons. Tear rain down on them time and again. Plenty of water. But they never rise up again," said the priest, flicking away his cigarette butt.

The young boy looked up at him in silence with a questioning look on his face.

"There's nothing I'd rather plant in a fallow field than all things dead, morbid, morose," the priest continued.

The boy kept quiet for a moment longer, then added his own thoughts. "The tick-tock of the clock always reminds me of naptime."

Both looked in sorrow on the freshly dug grave, and the solemn sound of bagpipes playing "Amazing Grace" floated on the breeze. After a moment, it faded to black again.

When I woke up, I wrote down as much of it as I could remember, thinking it'd fade soon, but it hasn't. I still remember every detail of it, which sometimes happens with me.

I know there are a number of theories out there about what dreams mean, if anything. I'm of the belief that dreams are normally just an expression of the imagination. However, because I also believe that the brain is vastly complex, I also think dreams can be interpreted through the use of symbolism and free association.

This one seems too easy to disect, though, so I won't waste my time here doing it. I mainly wrote it out here to help myself think of it in terms of a short story or the like. My dreams are actually the inspiration for most of what I write -- I'll dream a scene, and I'll feel in my gut that there's much more to it, so I start writing it. I have a few others written up on a similar theme, so maybe I'll compile them or something. Don't know yet.

Anyway, I wanted to touch on my philosophy of dreams a bit, too. Yeah, I think they're an imaginative exercise and aren't to be taken literally or seriously. However, I do think they can be used as a guide to understand yourself better. I have to say, I feel sorry for the people that can't remember their dreams. There's something powerful, in my mind, about understanding something ineffable through the faculties of the unrestricted mind. It goes beyond logic and reasoning, gets at something deeper, more visceral, something uniquely ME that no one else could appreciate. Kind of like a secret I share with myself, and the more of those secrets I know, the better I know myself. Seems obvious, but even so, sometimes it's worth putting the obvious into black and white.

Today's work: Dream of the Rood (links to a pdf) is another anonymous story from the Middle Ages. It's written as a dream, which means you should pay close attention to the symbols and the figures in it, because they are used to express the ineffable.

On Change

2006-02-22T09:35:00.000-05:00

Why is change so hard to accept? Even when one looks forward to change, there are still reservations about the actual act of changing, there're still nostalgic feelings (if you're of that mental persuasion) and a desire for constancy.

Not all change is bad. Sometimes it's necessary. Does being forced to change add to the anxiety and resistence to change? Or is it easier to commit to it because there are no other options?

Change has been on my mind a lot lately, largely because a major change is bearing down on me. I've been accepted to grad school, so in six months, I'm off to start earning my Master's in English Literature. It's the next step in my life plans, and I'm the first cousin on my mom's side to go for that degree.

At times, I wonder if I tell myself I want to be an English professor just so I can sound like I have goals in my life, but other times, I'm absolutely sure that that's how I want to earn my keep. I feel comfortable in the academic atmosphere, I love being in situations that require expansion of thought, and I know for a fact I couldn't work a 9-5 desk job that stifled my abilities without some form of harm coming to someone (maybe me).

Whenever I start thinking about moving away for grad school, I remember what it was like moving away to college for the first time. If I knew then what I know now, I would've played my cards much differently. I look back on what I was just 4.5 years ago and laugh, and I know in another 4.5 years, I'll look back on today's Pam and get just as good a laugh.

Lack of change leads to stagnation, which is never a good thing. It's like mind, body, and soul rot. I suppose the fear of change is really the fear of the unknown or the unknowable. I know I'll go away to grad school, but I don't know what'll happen once I get there. When I was just getting out of high school and getting ready to tackle my undergrad degree, so much change was a lot for me to take in, but I've learned a lot about myself and matured a good deal from it. Despite my worst fears and all my anxieties about leaving home, I'm a better person for it.

Just about every major change in my life has helped me in some way or another, yet I always feel a bit anxious about change in general, albeit less as I grow older. I can't find any logical or well-reasoned excuse for it, either, and that's what really bothers me about the whole thing. It's all an emotional response to an upcoming event, and it's a useless reaction.

I like to think I fear change because it's the fear of the unknown, like I said earlier, and that unknown is beyond the control of humans. I can't command the unknown to reveal itself; I have to wait for time to slowly erode the heavy curtain that obscures my view.

It's like time is a tunnel so rife with cobwebs you can't see 10 feet in front of you, but you walk through it anyway. Sometimes you stumble because you can't see your footing, other times you walk fine, but with every step you take, you disrupt some of those cobwebs so that, looking over your shoulder, you can see all the way back to the beginning fairly clearly. With every step, you also learn how to avoid the pitfalls you can't see. Then, one day, you'll finally reach the end of the tunnel and be able to look all the way back to the beginning, when you just started your journey, and it's all so obvious.

Even now, I look back through my life, and everything in my memory just seems to make sense, like it couldn't have been any other way, like everything that happened happened for a reason. I know that's an old saw, but it's true. And it's much better than having stagnated.

Today's work: The piece I chose for today isn't closely related to what I've been talking about (for once). It's a work that I love very much and is an important piece of the Beat Movement, which I've fallen back in love with recently. So, today I suggest you read "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg. Read it, love it.

And do something different today.

On Relationships

2006-02-21T09:19:00.000-05:00

I always think a lot about relationships. Especially "love" relationships. Why is it so difficult for girls (I can't speak for guys, not being one) to get out of an unhealthy relationship? What do they think they'll gain by staying in one?

I myself have been in two relationships that lasted much longer than they should have. I said the L-word in both, even though I didn't really feel it, but I felt like I was expected to say it. It was difficult for me to end them -- the first one cause of guilt, the second cause it meant saying goodbye to my college life, and I hadn't wanted to do that quite yet, but I'm glad it ended when it did.

Assuming that the relationship and the people in it are otherwise "normal," there is one main problem with relationships, as far as I can tell -- expectations.

Expectations in relationships make people act differently than they would otherwise choose. Or, if one doesn't do as expected, the partner becomes upset. Expectations also come at a relationship from the outside, from friends, parents, etc.

I hate to put it in terms like these, but in a way, it's true -- if you have no expectations, they can't be disappointed. It sounds like a pessimistic and minimalistic view of relationships, but it's not. The key isn't to have absolutely no expectations whatsoever about the person, just about the relationship. Everyone has their set of standards that dictates who they will or won't consider dating. If you have an ideal in your mind about who you want to marry, or who you want to be with, or what you want the relationship to be like, you're subconsciously going to try to force your relationship to be that ideal, and 9 times out of 10, that'll put a strain on the relationship.

Relationships need to be enjoyed for what they are, not what you think they ought to be. So, by all means, have expectations about the kind of person you want to be with, but have enough honesty with yourself to admit when he/she isn't what you thought or isn't right for you.

This swings back to the whole "trying to change him/her" aspect. I am completely, 100% against this way of thinking, and honestly, it infuriates me. If you think your partner needs to be changed, then they obviously aren't right for you, you're a control freak, or you're insecure with yourself and can't admit it. The psychology of the power play behind this way of thinking frightens me. To think that there are relationships in this world built on the desire to suppress one's partner is purely vile. Insecurity and a low self-esteem contribute to the desire to be dominant, as far as I've seen, and neither of those traits lend themselves toward stable, caring, loving relationships.

When I was younger, just starting to date, I used to hear from various people that I should find someone whose family was like my own and who was from the same kind of background as I was. I never thought that was really important until I got myself into certain situations. But, hindsight is 20/20, and now I know why people say those kinds of things. Coming from similar backgrounds leads people to look for similar things not only in their choice of partners, but also in life in general.

I think there would be fewer failed marriages if people stopped to take stock of the honest status of the relationship before tying the knot. Any reservations whatsoever that aren't voiced have the potential to snowball and lead to frustrations or regrets later on. One can't expect to "grow into love" after getting hitched -- it rarely works like that, especially when divorces are easily had.

Relationships are different for everyone, granted. But they should make the best of the people involved, not cause pain or damage to either partner, and they should encourage growth in a supporting atmosphere. It's not a pipe dream if you don't underrate yourself or settle for a sub-par partner.

Ok, enough of this for one day. I don't think I thought out half of what I just said; it kind of just came out that way. So if I contradicted myself or wasn't clear, that's why.

Today's work: There are a good many plays and stories that illustrate an aspect of what today's entry was about. I picked Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston because it shows the dynamics of different relationships and the effects they have on the woman (and me, being a chick, am sort of biased to this view). I wasn't able to find a link for this online, sorry. It's a great read, and it's very insightful, too.

Take care.

On Good Times

2006-02-19T19:21:00.000-05:00

The lack of a post yesterday is due to the fact that I got out of the house and had a life for the weekend. Girls' night in Philly!! There's a lot to be said for going out and experiencing things. Anyway, I'm going to go get some rest because it was a LONG weekend.

Oh, and by the way, I got my first letter of acceptance from a grad school today. Two more to hear back from, but hell... I'M GOING TO GRAD SCHOOL!!

Peace!

On Politics

2006-02-17T09:11:00.000-05:00

Political ventures and governments can only work properly on a small scale, where those in power personally know all of their consitituents. The way I see it, the government should be responsible for providing education, health care, a transportation framework, and citizen protection to a small degree. Citizens are then free to find themselves work in whatever field they chose, pursue their own leisure-time activities, raise their own children, etc.

Once political systems grow to such a size that those in power do not know who they are ruling over, the ruler can then make decisions that do not help the general populace. It becomes an impersonal thing, and since the leaders don't have to see the pain they cause those they're hurting, they're ok with it to an extent. It becomes a power trip, no matter how many safeguards are in place to prevent such an occurance.

We've all heard the old adage, "absolute power corrupts absolutely." Common sense dictates, then, that any degree of power comes with an amount of corruption. But when the power is split between all those concerned, meaning each member of society has equal say in decisions, there's less room for corruption to sink its nasty teeth in. There's only one problem: a society with this format must be very small indeed for this to be pragmatic.

Larger societies, however, are all the rage with human beings, partly because there's strength in numbers. There is a war-streak in each culture, a desire to expand one's boundaries, to conquer, and to lavish in luxury. Putting down other societies is apparently an ok means to that end. So societies needed to be larger, not only to conquer others, but also to defend themselves. The more people you control, the more sons you can send off to war.

War isn't the only reason for large societies, though. The more territory a society controls, the more people it controls, the greater its resource base is. This has its benefits, sure. It allows the society to continue growing. But when is enough enough? Whenever I think about growing societies, I picture this enormous tree (can't remember what kind it was) that used to be in the park near my house when I was a kid. This tree got plenty of sunlight, plenty of everything. It was home to a ton of wildlife, and us kids used to climb it all the time. But, it eventually got too big for itself. Its roots weren't strong enough to anchor it in the soil anymore, and it tipped over, fell, and died.

I can't help but think of that tree laying on its side with its wilting leaves and crushed birds' nests whenever someone talks about great nations. I think about the fall of the Roman Empire, the collapse of the once-great Greeks, Napoleon and Waterloo. So much for the sun not setting on the Union Jack. All the culture, achievements, social and scientific advancements couldn't preserve any of them for very long.

Is that how it will always work, then? Will societies always struggle to enlarge their sphere of influence, attempt growth, then stumble and fall in a continual cycle of life and death? It would make sense. Pretty much everything else that governs forces beyond the control of man is cyclic, so why shouldn't the forces that move masses of men act the same way?

Forever is too long of a time to plan for. Governments can plan for tomorrow, or next year, or ten years from now, but who knows how to get to forever from here? I sure don't. Societal salad days can only last for so long, and then the humiliation of defeat, the conquering of the conquerors, will have its day, too.

Too bad I won't live long enough to find out what happens a few hundred years in the future. I wish I could be there, say 500 years from now, and look back through their history books to see what's memorable about today's ways of life. But that's a whole other topic for another time.

It woudn't make sense for societies to strive for mediocrity. "Oh, Pamland? Yeah, it was an ok place. Very stable, but... mediocre." That's like telling a guy he's nice. It's a meaningless cop-out. Almost a put down. Either way, it's very much on the fence. Ok, I'm just rambling now.

Today's work: Something political? You bet. Politics by Aristotle. It's divided into 8 books on this site for easier reading. There's a lot of good stuff in it, and I strongly suggest you read it. Much of what he says still holds true, even after so many years. Some things just don't change.

More on Education

2006-02-16T08:18:00.000-05:00

I should have prefaced yesterday's post with a caveat about how this is the way I see things. I did practically no research for this -- just a whole lot of pondering. If you don't agree with any of it, let me know. I'm only human; I may have overlooked something. To continue, then...

Each type of knowledge (practical, historical, and humanitarian) links up to a facet of humanity -- logical, factual, and creative respectively. I picture these three branches of knowledge as a tripod or a stool. Assuming the ground is level, a three-legged stool is the most stable, assuming all three legs are the same length. However, if one leg is significantly shorter than the rest, it gets to be uncomfortable, or even difficult, to sit on. Seeing each leg of the stool as a branch of knowledge, then, the person sitting on the stool, then, would be like the person trying to go through life with different levels of knowledge.

Suppose John is sitting on a stool with a three-foot leg representing his historical knowledge, another three-foot leg for his humanitarian knowledge, and a one-foot leg for his practical knowledge. His stool would practically be laying on its side -- not very easy or comfortable to sit on, and in real life, John would notice the defecit in his knowledge of the world.

The need for practical knowledge is readily agreed upon, sure enough. Assuming no one is there to help, who can make it through life without knowing how to cook a meal for him/herself or change the oil in the car? Who hasn't had to calculate a tip or double check a credit card bill? What two household cleaners form lethal fumes when mixed? Some of these seem like common sense problems. They are. Common sense and practical knowledge go hand in hand because both come from the same logic patterns.

I like to think that practical knowledge explains why common sense makes so much, well, sense. It applies scientific, technical, or mathematic principles to the empirical evidence anyone can pick up on. Common sense tells me not to leave ice cream in my car because it will melt. Practical knowledge goes one step further and shows me how the suns rays penetrate my car window to heat up the inside of my car with radiation, causing my ice cream to melt and make a mess of my car.

Historical knowledge is a bit more tricky, in my mind. Everyone should know how their country was formed and what it has gone through in order to appreciate what they have, but learning only about one's own country and history can make people biased, can make them egocentric, country-wise. Besides, teaching people a selective portion of history is a lot like revisionist history, and that's apparently how Charlamagne made his version of the Bible -- simply by leaving out whatever he thought compromised the image of Christ he wanted people to have. Leaving out chunks of world history will have negative effects on the advancement of humanity. How can a country expect to be called a great nation when its youth know relatively nothing about the world around them?

Historical knowledge also includes current affairs, which are the "You Are Here" arrows on the map of history. Knowing the past makes people more aware of the present, and helps them understand the implications of the political/social world. It's sad that I can't name who's in charge of our good neighbor to the north, Canada. What's worse is, though I'm pretty sure it's run by a president, I'm not positive, and I could be way off in left field. And I'm a college graduate.

Humanitarian knowledge is the most touchy of the three because it isn't easy to pin down. Music, art, theater, languages, religion, fashion, slang, etc. all fall under this category, and all are an essential part of functioning as a happy and stable human being. Thinking of a world without culture brings to my mind images from Orwell's 1984, Huxley's Brave New World, or the movie Equilibrium. Everything seems gray, apathetic, depressed, dead serious. That's not what I consider a happy, healthy adulthood.

Humanitarian achievements lend a gaiety to being human, sets it aside from the world of animal or machine, allows it to be its own special entity. Life would be much duller if there were no concerts to attend (Philadelphia Philharmonic or Pearl Jam), no movies to watch, books to read, comics to laugh at, etc. The diversity of interests and aspects of humanity demand that equal attention be paid to what makes being human so special. A life centered strictly around all things factual would, for me anyway, be a chore, and not an enjoyable expression of what it means to be me.

The goal of education should be to pass on the knowledge one needs to live a happy, fulfilling, stable life, and education should have no one emphasis, but should strive to make all students everywhere well-rounded. The more knowledge in general that people can accrue, the better for them.

Today's work: For today's piece, I wanted to find something that embodies intellect, wit, and creativity, but also demonstrates the mathematical or logical side of a creative venture. I chose "Pearl," a Middle English alliterative poem written by an anonymous author known only as the "Pearl-poet" or the "Gawain-poet" (translation here). "Pearl" is an allegory in the form of a dream vision, and it is heavy with symbolism. The structure of this poem interests me -- it contains 101 stanzas of 12 lines each, and the stanzas are sectioned off in fives (except for one group with six). What's more intriguing about the layout of the poem is that it is circular (like the image of a pearl itself), because it ends by referring back to the beginning. If memory serves me, each of the stanzas ends in a similar way. "Pearl" is one of my favorite poems to study, and it's well worth the time to read.

My Personal Philosophy

2006-02-15T08:08:00.000-05:00

I deleted what I posted this morning because it was just me letting off some steam, and I don't intend to rant about things beyond my control in expressing my personal philosophy.

Ok, so. Education. Education is the act of passing on the accrued knowledge of the ages. Yay. It' important to pass on what's been learned in order to add to it. But at the same time, so much is lost from one generation to the next.

There are three kinds of knowledge that get taught: practical (math, science, how-to), historical (the obvious), and humanitarian (arts, crafts, all things cultural, etc.). Practical knowledge gets built upon -- new discoveries build off of previous knowledge. Historical simply chronicles the past and is independent of human interests (excepting revisionist historians and the like). Humanitarian knowledge, on the other hand, branches outward, spreads, rather than builds upon itself. This is not to say that previous humanitarian achievements don't influence new ones; merely that new humanitarian developments do not rely strictly on what's been done before. Creativity factors in heavily with humanitarian advancements.

Gah. Too tired to finish this right now. I worked a 10.5 hour day, and I need food and sleep in the worst way. Sorry.

Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about Today's work, which is "Colin Clout" by John Skelton. It may take some work to read because it wasn't exactly written in Modern English. The poem was written during the Renaissance, and it embodies a number of my own personal beliefs, so I suppose it's a good work to start off my personal philosophy discussions with.

Making up for Lost Time

2006-02-14T21:50:00.000-05:00

Ok, since I was gone for the weekend and I don't have much time tomorrow, I'll play catch up now.

There was a poem I couldn't remember when I wrote the post on vanity/human essence. The poem is called "Ozymandias," and it was written by Percy Bysshe Shelley. It relates a LOT better to what I discussed than Castle Rackrent does, though the latter is still an amazing work.

I'm tired, I'm going to bed. I have another 11 hour day tomorrow.

Peace.

Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T08:26:00.000-05:00

Love it? Hate it? Morally against it? I have mixed feelings about Valentine's Day. I love how romantic it can be, but I don't like the expectation, and it really is a biased day. All the emphasis is on the girl, and it should be on the relationship. I had a good V-tine's Day this year, though I had to celebrate it early. It's not the day that matters, anyway, it's how you spend it.

Anyway, since I have to work overtime today and tomorrow, I don't have much time to post this morning, and I doubt I'll have any extra time tomorrow, either.

Today's work: "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats. It's a great poem with lots of interesting imagery. Nice and short, easy to read, but very strong, compelling, and thought-provoking language.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Thoughts I Woke up With

2006-02-09T11:46:00.000-05:00

Many ancient peoples (mainly the warriors, I assume) sought immortality, and in doing so, were able to build respectable countries with incredible cultures. The Egyptians built the pyramids, the Sphinx, and the Valley of the Kings without any sort of modern day equipment because they wanted their pharoahs to continue their godheads properly. Consider the Parthenon, the pyramids in South America, Valhalla (yes, imaginary), Xi'an and the emperor's tomb with the terracotta army guarding it. All of these are incredible masterpieces that showcase human thought, ability, intellect, imagination...

What do we have? To the best of my knowledge, no monuments of the modern world were built by hand. None celebrate the ideal and unattainable, that one goal to shoot for that you can never achieve in this lifetime. Where ancient peoples built temples and great statues or complex mausoleums, we build shopping malls and parking garages. Our society has come to think of themselves in the here and now, and I'm willing to bet that most people's personal goals are achievable on earth rather than six feet below it.

What does this mean, though? So society is vain and materialistic. We'll all be dead someday anyway, and then it won't matter. But that's exactly the point. Why should we waste our time on shallow personal goals, like meeting a sales quota or buying a better cell phone when those things won't matter at all in 100 years?

I look around my room and see that it's full of useless crap that I don't want, don't need, but can't get rid of for whatever reason. There were things that I wanted and bought that now sit in a pile, untouched, on my floor. Every person I know has a similar pile -- a pile of crap they know they shouldn't have spent their hard-earned money on, but did anyway and regret it. It was the wanting that I sought -- once I had the thing, it was worthless because the desire to attain was still alive and well within me.

But why do we still do it? Why are we still driven to buy more, more, more? I've little room left for anything else, and little enough money, either, yet I see the lastest videogame, or the newest version of some software, and I feel like I need it. So I buy a videogame. I either hate it and it goes on the pile, to one day be sold, or I play it all the time until I beat it, thus ridding myself of valuable time I could have been using constructively.

This is all well and good, but how does any of this relate to the ancient ways? Quite simply. I figure vanity and materialism comes from the lack of any sort of long term motivation (like the drive for immortality ancient peoples sought). If there's nothing to push for after life ends, then there's no need to try your hardest or do your best to stand out in this one, and no need to build monuments to celebrate the fact, either. Living becomes temporary, and the mindset shifts. The desire to attain is easily assuaged by a new purchase, so people buy useless crap over and over again rather than shooting for a not-so-easily reached goal. This yo-yoing of the desire ties in with the modern day demand for immediate results. That's a chicken-and-the-ed scenario in my mind. Maybe the demand and the desire developed simultaneously.

I've asked myself many times why I should push myself if the most I can be in the afterlife is just another among throngs of angels singing someone else's praises (I was raised Roman Catholic; I stopped believing in organized religion when I was young). Should I be forced to cowtow in this world and the next? I think not. When will come the day that someone sings my praises? After I've done something worthwhile and lasting. Once I add to what the essence of humanity describes.

George Orwell will be remembered for a long, long time because of what he added to the culture of humanity. He didn't just write good books or tell good stories, but he shared his knowledge and insights. The greatest authors of all time have done the same, from Aesop to Skelton to Dryden and on down the line.

I can't build any great structures by myself. Hell, I can barely get the yardwork done. I can't command armies or conquer new territories or commune with the gods. I can only be the best I can be, and that won't happen with me parked in front of the TV or playing with the latest videogame console. The newest fashions won't help me get there, nor will a spiffy car. But knowledge, dedication, patience, craft, and imagination will.

The movie Requiem for a Dream drove this point home for me. I kept thinking that all the characters were just biding time until they died without purpose. It's a depressing thought.

Today's story: Castle Rackrent by Maria Edgeworth. This is another social satire from Ireland, pre-Revolution times. It ties in closely to what I discussed today -- vanity, materialism, and the human essence.

I don't think I'll be able to post over the weekend (taking a little trip), so I'll play catch up on Monday. Or Tuesday.

Have a good weekend!

Today's Work

2006-02-09T09:27:00.000-05:00

I don't have much to put up here today cause I have a ton of "real" work to do today. Pretty much all I have time for is naming today's piece -- "Melmoth the Wanderer" by Charles Robert Maturin. It's one of the stories in The Lock and Key Library (http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/1831).

This piece is an interesting work about fear, paranoia, and death. It reminds me a lot of the kind of writing Poe is famous for, only not quite so dark. This piece centers around a very old portrait and the man who is the portrait's subject. It's a decent size story, maybe 20 pages long or so -- not too long at all. Easily readable in a day.

Enjoy! I'm off to do some work.

Starting My Own Booklist

2006-02-08T09:47:00.000-05:00

I've decided to start suggesting a book/story/poem a day for you to read. I mean, I did major in English, and I do love literature, so I thought I'd start sharing my favorite books with you.

Today's piece is Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal. You can download it for free from the Project Gutenberg website (http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/1080). It is a short work that puts satire to good use in the context of making a political point. Swift's intelligence and wit shine through brilliantly. A few parts of Swift's suggestion get rather harsh and indelicate, but the unpleasantness of the images he conjures up add to the power of the statement he's making. I strongly suggest you read this incredible work. Maybe even try to think about Swift's situation in comparison to today. I'm sure you can find some parallels.

One of my favorite things to do is to read and interpret text. I know there are others with that same flaw out there. So if you've read any of the pieces I suggest, kindly throw your hat in the ring and add a comment to that day's post -- I want to know what you think of the literary works I suggest!

I'm not planning on making this a typical booklist. I intend to find little read or out of the way/hard to find pieces, rather than just list the books everyone else says you should read. My intent in doing this is to try to expand everyone's horizons, including my own. I'm toying around with a few ideas for how to build up this list -- I was thinking about focusing on works from a specific country for a week or two, or pieces that revolve around a similar theme or topic. We'll see how that goes.

Anyway, I've probably taken up enough of your time and mine for the day. Have a good one!

The Human Chaos Theory

2006-02-07T09:41:00.000-05:00

Throughout the history of mankind, human beings have been involved in one large, drawn out chaos play, like a Pollock painting in real life. People with all sorts of personalities and behavioral backgrounds, subscribing to all different religions, have been placed in similar situations throughout the past. Each has made his or her own choices and dealt with the results. It simply blows my mind to think about the infinite courses of action available at a given moment and how quickly those choices are narrowed down by a person's history, temperment, or belief.

I'm not just talking about the big decisions like where to go to college, what to pursue career-wise, when/who to marry, or whether or not to have kids. I mean the small choices, too -- whether I should have an orange right now (I won't, but I did make myself a cup of tea) or whether I want to read some more of V. later today.

I was daydreaming last night, thinking about what it would be like if this whole universe was just some scientist's hobby, like a computer program or a microcosm, designed to study over an extended time the seemingly chaotic possibilities of life and how choices are made. I didn't much like the daydream, and I kept asking myself if that scientist would run his experiment in elapsed time. Seems like that would make more sense. I couldn't quite wrap my head around the idea that we're all just sitting in someone's petri dish, figuratively speaking (I don't actually believe that we are, I was just in a hypothetical mood).

Maybe there is a pattern, or at least a trend, in the history of mankind's choices. I don't think I'd want to know, though. What use could I make of that information? If there's a pattern or a trend in the past, it could help to predict one's choices in the future. I prefer not to know my future, though. Especially not if I didn't learn from/am destined to repeat my past.

These are the kind of thoughts that deprive me of a full night's sleep, and they just deprived you of a few minutes you could've used to be more productive. I love when that happens! Productivity's good up to a point. But that's a discussion for another day.

Cheers, all, and have a lovely day.

I Couldn't Resist...

2006-02-06T10:29:00.000-05:00

I usually don't do these quizzes, but for some reason I couldn't resist doing this one. Aside from ranking theater at 100%, this is fairly accurate. I'm not much into acting or anything, but I'm much more comfortable in front of groups than I used to be. Oh well. Not everything's dead on 24/7, right?

You scored as English. You should be an English major!
Your passion lies in writing and expressing yourself creatively, and you hate it when you are inhibited from doing so. Pursue that interest of yours!

Theater

100%

English

100%

Linguistics

100%

Journalism

100%

Psychology

92%

Sociology

75%

Philosophy

75%

Engineering

67%

Mathematics

58%

Dance

50%

Anthropology

50%

Art

33%

Biology

33%

Chemistry

25%

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3)
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What's on My Mind?

2006-02-06T09:48:00.000-05:00

Absolutely nothing. I'm having a little trouble coming up with a topic today, so I figured I'd make that my subject matter and see where it takes me. I was going to talk about the Super Bowl today, kind of do a recap of the game and all the bad calls against Seattle, but I missed a good deal of the game, and what I did see doesn't deserve much comment.

This post's going to be a short one today, anyway. I have to go outside and get some yardwork done. When I was a kid, I absolutely hated doing yardwork, but now I find I'm actually enjoying it a bit. It gives me a chance to be alone with my thoughts, outside getting fresh air, and actually using my muscles (yeah, not very sexy for a chick, huh?) a bit, rather than sitting in front of a computer screen all morning.

Well, I've finished my tea and I can't think of any more ways to procrastinate, so I'm off to do some work outside. I hope you all have a lovely day.

Why, why, why???

2006-02-02T11:00:00.000-05:00

Do these people have nothing better to do? Do they just sit around all day trying to figure out how to mess with strangers' lives? Do they think it's cool?

I get pissed off every time I hear about a new computer virus -- this time it's the blackworm/Mywife.e one. Thankfully I haven't been infected and I'm computer saavy enough to immunize my system (to a degree). What's the point of it, anyway? Blind malice is lost on me.

On to happier topics (which means I won't mention the job hunt...oops!). I just went to cnn.com to see if anything good was happening in the world. No such luck. I found a story about a sunken ferry with 1300 missing, one about a hate crime, another about dead and decapitated pets, yada yada yada. However, it did remind me about this Sunday.

Ah, the Superbowl! XL is only II days away. I may be a chick, but I do love a good game of football, and with the Steelers going to the big game this year, we're guaranteed to see some good chin action from Cowher on the sidelines. I'm thinking about heading over to ye ol' neighborhood sports bar to watch the game on a big screen with beer and lots of... testosterone?

I'm not a Steelers fan. The closest thing I had to a pro team was the Jets, but you have to pity the season they had, sad to say. Poor guys. I like the Giants, too, and sometimes the Eagles can be fun to watch, but my real team spirit doesn't fall to a pro-ball team. I stand behind JoePa and the Nittany Lions. 11-1 this season, and if the refs hadn't given the wolverines that damn 2 extra seconds, it could've been a perfect season. They could've gone to Pasedena, to the Rose Bowl, instead of Miami and the Orange Bowl. But the Seminoles did give one hell of a game, and I don't ever remember seeing so many shanked field goal/extra point attempts in my life. And so it goes.

I mentioned yesterday that I had a grammatical beef or two to discuss. I didn't get a chance to do any research because yesterday was absolutely gorgeous, so I actually went outside and did some yardwork. Trying to counteract my computerscreen tan here. Maybe I'll take up welding?

Anyway, stop reading this and go get some fresh air. It's good for you (crap, I sound like my mother...). Take care!

So It's Groundhog Day

2006-02-02T09:46:00.000-05:00

A few years back, when I was a sophomore in college, I took a trip with a few friends out to Punxsutawney, PA to see the groundhog. We basically went to stand in the freezing cold, in the snow, in a big open field with hundreds (thousands?) of other people. We all stood there till 7AM, when the groundhog made its appearance. We were too far back to see anything. Then, on the way back to the car, I got sick (I think I had too much wine before we left on said trip...), and for the rest of my life, that is what I'll always remember about Groundhog Day. Unless, of course, something better comes up.

Now that we're through that initial obligatory paragraph, on to what I really care about. I meant to comment yesterday on this other software program a friend directed me toward. It's called FreeMind(tm?), and it's a delightful little mind mapping program. I've started piecing together a story about birth, death, and rebirth with it, just for shits and giggles. It's very easy to use, and I've found it quite helpful.

So the job hunt still goes nowhere. Alack and alas. Somehow, as long as I can afford to eat, I'm actually kind of ok with that (just as long as I don't stop sending out resumes). I'm actively doing all I can to find a job in my major and get career experience. Yesterday, for example, I started building an online portfolio to showcase my works and accomplishments. I also did more networking in my area and found a retired editor who may be able to help me get my foot in the door somewhere. Or it could all turn out to be a pipe dream and I'll really end up working with a bank or a mortgage company for the rest of my life, hate myself for failing my dreams, and turn into, well, the vast majority of middle-aged women I know today. Kind of odd that most of the older women I know who majored in English work as bank tellers or hold some kind of mortgage/title insurance job.

I'm getting more and more nervous, understandably, about hearing back from the grad schools I applied to. I shouldn't be hearing for about another month yet, but I just can't seem to keep my mind off of the whole deal, despite my strongest attempts to think about other things.

Ever notice how it's ok to break the rules once you know what they are? But you just look stupid doing it if you haven't learned the rules yet? Yeah, thought so. For example, if you're a published author, it's ok for you to disregard punctuation and claim it as a stylistic decision, but if you've got nothing to your name and you try to do the same, you get laughed at, people assume you slept through grammar classes, and your stories get rejected from editors. I personally haven't tried this, but I did notice a similar trend while researching various authors and styles and thought it worth commenting on. I'll deal with another grammatical beef or two tomorrow. Just need to double check my facts before putting them up here.

Well, I think I've been enough of a waste for one day. Cheers, all, and thanks for stopping by.

Absence from Writing?

2006-02-01T10:06:00.000-05:00

Apparently, I fell off the face of the planet recently, and I've only just now been able to take some time to sort things out.

Lately, I've been continuing with the job hunt, however unsuccessfully, and I'm coming to realize something -- you have to know someone to get a decent job. Out of hundreds of resumes and cover letters I've sent out/dropped off/emailed, I've gotten one call back, one interview, and no job. I even placed all the right follow-up calls/letters/emails, but to no avail. No one wants a writer without experience, but I can't... Oh, you know where this is going. I had to settle for a part-time job with shitty pay and shitty hours, but shitty pay is better than what I had, and at least it's something. This whole employment thing seems wrong somehow...

Anyway, I've had a bit of a freeze with my novel so far. I let a few people read it, and they all gave me some contradictory advice (though a lot of what they say is really valuable and my manuscript is better for it). I just can't seem to find the time or the energy to sit down and rework everything I have so far. The odd thing is I'm not too concerned with it.

I did start gathering research for an essay I plan to write on Poe. So many of his stories have been done to death by critics and scholars. I chose "Berenice," and from what I've seen so far, there isn't a veritible ton of essays or articles done on it, which is good (hopefully). As soon as I finish the book I'm in the middle of at the moment (V. by Thomas Pynchon) I'll get to work on the Poe essay. It's good to have goals.

I found a hilarious tv show the other night, a Britcom, and I wish they'd bring it over to America. It's called Coupling, and I can't remember laughing that hard in a while. At least not since the last time I was up in Lock Haven with a certain friend of mine. Or was that State College? Anyway, I've only seen the show once on the local PBS station. Check it out if you ever see it. It's good stuff.

Speaking of Britcoms, I also got a chance to see the original version of The Office. One thing struck me. Just about every scene had some reference to drinking or the pub. There is almost no talk about alcohol in the American version. I don't think this country ever got past the puritanical ancestors' old ways. We're too uptight about alcohol. Too uptight about everything, for that matter.

So, these are just my first-thing-in-the-morning thoughts as I sip my tea. Maybe I'll try to work more on my novel today. Or maybe I'll start laying the groundwork for another one I thought of last night. Or maybe I'll just be a waste today.

It's so easy to procrastinate.

Broken Wall

2006-01-25T12:12:00.000-05:00

The late evening light falls
on the broken, battered wall, illuminating
various cracks like scars,
crumbled cinder blocks lead up,
a staircase, dead-ended on its way to Heaven.
Were you part of a building?
Did you keep people out, like a fence?
Cute little kids play King of the Wall
in the ghetto playground,
too close to jagged metal poles
bent over backward like old birch trees,
ready to fall and take final respite
in a grave of rubbish and refuse,
purpose and existence long forgotten
by whoever built you on this city block,
but unable to lay your weary body down
for the still solid cinder blocks,
so you wait, watching the sun set
again in time immemorial.

Helpful Tips for Writers

2006-01-19T09:24:00.000-05:00

I know that writing can be difficult and thankless at times. Here are some of the things I do to keep the ink flowing:

Keep a notebook by the bed. Most of what I write comes from dreams I have, or thoughts I wake up with. The sooner I can write them down, the more likely I am to be able to flesh it out into a complete story or essay.
Buy a small filing cabinet for your past work. Because I'm just a poor kid, I haven't been able to follow through with the cabinet idea. Instead, I have a stack of folders sitting on the floor of my room, patiently awaiting the day I can afford to be more organized.
Make an inspirational portfolio. What works inspired you? Why? Keep a file folder or two in your cabinet for other people's works that have given you some form of inspiration. My own inspirational portfolio includes a broad range of short stories and poems, and it's constantly growing.
Find visually stimulating photographs/artwork. When I hit writer's block, one thing I do is surf the net looking for interesting, eye-catching photography. Pictures of nature are what I personally prefer; the bright, vivid colors of a sunrise or sunset are usually the most helpful for me.
Write everyday. Just do it. Even if you can't think of anything to write. That's why I started this blog. Chances are no one will see this but me, anyway, but it'll still be a good record for myself. Honestly, I'll be amazed if I can get through one whole month and still blog every day.
Read, read, read! Whether it's an old favorite or something you've never heard of before, read on! One thing I found with my own work is that the more I read, the more I feel like writing. I also blame my constant reading as a kid for my thorough understanding of grammar and for my extensive vocabulary. It's been my experience that avid readers make better writers.
Try something new. New experiences are always ripe for writing material. An expert in, say, education, views that field in a certain light, has dedicated his/her life to it, and knows too much about it, one might say, to discuss it with non-educators in a comprehensible manner. On the other hand, if I were to get up in front of a group of people and try to teach them something, I'm sure my experiences in doing so would speak volumes, and I'd be able to communicate the most important facets of those experiences to other non-educators very easily.
Browse the web. It's really amazing how much stuff is out there, either for inspiration or subject matter.
Learn how to take constructive criticism without being defensive. If you have a friend read a piece you wrote, hearing that they didn't totally like it could be the BEST advice you ever got. Remember, your friend's opinions could very easily match those of an editor/publisher you send your work to. Ask them what they didn't like in particular, and work on those areas. Trust me, as long as your friend has a clue what he/she's talking about, you stand to profit from bad reviews.
Find someone who can give you an honest assessment of your work. Family and friends are tricky. We all want someone to tell us our work is great, easily publishable, yada yada yada. But that might not necessarily be true. After submitting my work to a number of places and receiving rejections, I'm starting to realize that a lot of the advice I'd gotten from other writers and chosen to ignore is actually true. Joe Schmoe is a reader and a friend of mine. If he reads my work and tells me it's good, chances are I'll revise a bit and submit it. But if he tells me what exactly about it he doesn't like so much, I can focus my attention on fixing those areas before I send my baby out. I MUCH prefer a bad review than simply praise.
Find a word processor that helps you write. On the suggestion of another writer-friend, I downloaded a word processor called Rough Draft(tm?), and I haven't looked back since. It offers all the standard wp utilities, takes up less space than some of the better known programs, and converts a number of file types. What I like best about it, though, is that it has a small notepad on the side that saves automatically with your actual work. The notepad lets me jot down what I want to cover in a certain chapter, what characters I'm using, time frame references, etc., and it's all right there, just to the right of my work. Perfect!

As I said before, these are some of the things I've figured out over the years. Keep on writing!

Uncle Albert's

2006-01-19T00:32:00.000-05:00

The atmosphere in Unlce Albert’s was thick and smoky, the aroma of a cherry cigar overpowering all other smells but that of the deep frier back in the kitchen. I looked calmly around the room from my perfect seat at the bar, leaning my left elbow on the brass rail and letting my eyes trace over everyone’s face. There were few people I recognized in here anymore, which seemed strange to me, since it’d only been a few months that I was away. I polished off the last of my bourbon and coke, flipped the glass upside down, and signaled for another. While I waited, I gazed up at the large wooden bust of Uncle Albert centered over the bar for the thousandth time, taking in his bald head, long, flowing beard, and 19th century dress style.

“Two-fitty,” said the bartender, returning with my drink.

I gave him three bucks and turned back to my friend Cally, who was sitting next to me. She pointed at the dart board, so I held off on my question while we moved over to the machine and I dropped in a few quarters. Behind us, I could hear Mike and Linda discussing the “office politics” of the writing center I used to work at, and I smiled, glad I didn’t have to deal with that bullshit anymore.

“Do you think he’ll show up?” Cally asked in a low voice, like she was afraid that by mentioning it, she would jinx it, and he’d be a no-show.

“No,” I said, just as softly, throwing my first dart and totally missing the board. In my defense, it had been a while since I’d played, and I was seeing two boards in front of me. The second and third darts found point-worthy homes, though.

Cally glanced towards the door again, then down at her watch, and I took another long gulp of my bourbon and coke. Thank God for bourbon.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, and I caught occasional glimpses of lightning reflected in the dim-lit bar mirror, illuminating momentarily the varied and colorful bottles of liquid relief. I felt myself smiling and wondered when my brain had given the signal for my mouth to do that. A very heady feeling started bubbling up inside me, like a shiver running backwards up my spine, and I knew what was coming next. The wonderful, scary vertigo. Here was my plateau.

Throughout the rest of our game, Cally kept glancing towards the door, an action I was desperately trying not to mimic. I knew he wouldn’t come, and I didn’t want to waste my evening looking for something that wouldn’t, couldn’t be. It was bad enough that I had come back for a visit, hoping maybe things would still be the same as ever, but I had known, viscerally, that that could not be, either. I was gone, graduated, no stake left in this town, and very few friends left to visit. Honestly, it was the professors I missed more than anything, barring three friends. But I also missed the bar scene. Lord knows I did.

As Cally threw her last dart to win the game, I caught my eyes wandering toward the door and checked them. No sense in dreaming the impossible. I didn’t even know why I wanted John to come by, anyway. Things hadn’t changed between the two of us, not counting last night’s one night stand, and I knew they never would, either. He was my best friend; he probably knew me better than I knew myself, but there was no love between us - just absolute trust and friendship. And I liked it that way. Maybe that was why I didn’t want him to show up. Maybe I just wanted one night in the old place with all my old coworkers, and he was a bit out of the circle. Not that he wasn’t also good friends with Cally.

My head, spinning quite nicely, lead me back to the bar and found me an empty seat next to Mike, who was also quite gone. He had started before us and had done a few snakebites before we even got there. Mike was always the same, like a little solid in a lot of putty, a rock in clay. Even Cally changed, almost on a daily basis. Not that she ever really changed for the worse.

Cally found a seat on my other side, and after a few moments, she tugged on my sleeve.

“Do you think he’s over at the Saloon with the guys?” she asked, looking hopeful. The Saloon was just a block away.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you try calling him?” I turned back to my bourbon and coke and watched the tiny bubbles float towards the top, listening to the bluegrass band that was playing in the other room and trying not to think about the fact that I had graduated. It wasn’t working, so I took another long swig and challenged Mike and Linda to a game of darts. That worked better.

By the time we finished, it was close to midnight. Cally came down to the end of the bar where the dart board was set up and told me John wasn’t answering his phone. From the look on her face, I could tell that she wanted to walk over to the Saloon to see if he was over there. I didn’t really want to go, because if the boys weren’t over there, we’d have to pay the cover again to get back into Uncle Al’s, so I sat back down at the bar, trying not to feel angsty, and shook my head. If she still wanted to go a little later, that was fine.

Mike leaned over to ask me what drinks tasted good and would get him f’ed up even faster. I figured that was a distracting enough topic, so we started discussing. I kept glancing over at Cally, who was now halfway through her forth amaretto sour and deep in conversation with an obvious player. All the while, though, she kept sneaking peeks toward the door.

Mike and I were just finishing up our interesting conversation when Cally turned to me again and asked if I wanted to walk over to the Saloon. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was after midnight. I figured that if the boys were over there, we could get in a few games of pool or darts before last call, so I said sure, and we took off.

The rain had turned into a fine drizzle by then, so only my feet got wet through my sandals as we stomped carelessly through the puddles in the alleyway on the way over to the Saloon.

As soon as I opened the door to the Saloon, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and day old beer overpowered me. This place was one of the real townie bars, but it had been one of our favorite haunts when I was still in the area because it was one of the two bars that actually had a pool table. We walked past the almost empty front bar area and made our way into the very dim back room where our usual booths were. The boys weren’t there, though, so we went back out on the street. I figured they’d be over at the Fallon House, a place that I usually avoided like the plague cause it wasn’t my kind of bar and it was usually pretty expensive to get my favorite drink. I didn’t want to go over there now, anyway, because we’d have to pay a cover to get in, and maybe the boys had gone back to someone’s apartment for an after party. We decided to do the same.

The walk back to Cally’s place wasn’t very long at all, and it seemed to fly by when we were drunk. When we finally did get back to her place, though, no one was there, and neither of us felt like drinking anymore. It was like some somber pall had fallen over us at some point during the walk home. She went into her room, and I, after kicking my suitcase out of the way, flopped down on the futon I’d been sleeping on for the past week, conflicted. I wanted to go back and hang out. It was too early to quit for the night, but I had to be up early in the morning to drive home. I kicked my sandals off and rolled over to face the wall for a moment, trying to focus on something solid to stop the spinning in my head.

There were a million things I wanted to do just then - I wanted to read more of War and Peace, to go back out to Uncle Al’s and hang out with my friends some more, to set up Cally’s Nintendo and play the original Mario Brothers game. I wanted to find John, to curl up in his arms, and to tell him what last night had meant to me, but I couln’t. Not tonight. I didn’t do any of those, because none of those were the one thing I really wanted to do just then. I wanted to go back, turn back the clock, rev up my Delorean, set the Way-Back Machine. I wanted to relive college and not graduate when I did, even if that meant failing half my classes and royally screwing myself over for the future.

Instead, I got up and got a glass of water. I hate being responsible.

It's What I Do

2006-01-18T23:01:00.000-05:00

A B.A. in English? What was I thinking?? Why didn't I go for a "real" degree?

Eh, I'll leave that for the people who don't mind sitting behind a desk all day. I found my calling as a sophomore in college while I was slaving toward a computer science degree. I use to slag off instead of programming; I spent my time writing short stories and novels. Attempting to, anyway.

As a kid, I was an avid reader, and I still am today. I spend my time daydreaming, reading, and writing. One day, hopefully soon, that'll start paying off. I don't write for the money -- that's not the "payoff" I'm talking about. Name recognition and a readership base are much more important to me.

Enough of my blabbing for now. I'll have some real stuff posted soon enough.

Cheers.