The Runcible Blog

Earlier I heard the faint sound of banging -- literally, not pejoratively. Since I was home alone, I don't know what that could've been.

For supper I had another staple of my diet: a can of creamed corn, minus the cream. So, just mashed corn. I figure if I tag along to Kansas (who knows? it could happen...), I'll be prepared for months of simple, and cheap, living.

It's looking like a Japan trip next month with the broham is out for me. I mean, I don't have a passport and probably wouldn't be able to get one in time. If I did, there's still the lack-of-time-to-plan problem and the fact that spending almost 2 weeks in Japan probably isn't cheap. As much as I'd like to go, I don't want to blow $1000 going to Tokyo to peruse their various Internet cafes.

There is, however, a slightly better chance that I could go to Ireland in November with my smelly friend (no, wait...I'm the smelly one). I guess we'd have to buy tickets in July. It might be risky, but I figure if we make it to May, July is no problem, and if we make it to July, November is a breeze. Of course it goes without saying that if we make it to November and a trip to Ireland, the next decade is all set. Kansas, Japan, Antarctica...you name it.

While helping my aforementioned non-smelly friend move into a new, cozy apartment, I was thinking about what it would take for me to move someplace. any place. I wouldn't need to bring much with me and don't really have any furniture. Technically, I could move anywhere, whenever I want. There's nothing keeping me at home except my own reluctance (and the feeling that if I move, somehow I'd be stuck in my current job). So, why don't I?

With Spring well on its way, what a lovely time it is for falling into capital L.

umph. my chest hurts. should've laid off those chips.

i'm going for a walk.

if i have a heart attack and turn into a vegetable, please remove my feeding tube. unless they're feeding me pizza.

thanks

You've designed the famous Space Pen that can write upside-down, in zero gravity, on the surface of the sun, yet you include a slide-on clip?! I had the pen in my pocket, and the clip slid off. I wasted 15 minutes this morning trying to find it all over my room, to no avail. Now, the pen has no clip and just floats around in my pocket, waiting to get lost. All of a sudden, your wonderful pen has lost much of its utility for me. It was difficult enough to justify spending $15 for a pen; now I have to worry about it rolling out of my pocket into the great unknown.

Sure, I could order a new clip for $2, but why couldn't you design the pen with an attached clip? Does anyone use it sans-clip?

I'm very disappointed, Mr.Fisher, and I hope you get your R&D team working on this problem right away.

yesterday:

sitting in a darkened medford apartment alone, I hear the world's greatest whistler happily stroll by the window not once, but twice. he whistles a tune, possibly improvised, so bright and clear with perfect intonation and tone. the sound is powerful enough that I can't determine its direction. the merry whistling reverberates through the room, and I wonder, is this real?

Not to make light of a tragic situation, but I was thinking: it would be a whole lot easier on everyone if an asteroid dropped on Terri Schiavo.

At least then we wouldn't have to go through another week or two of constant death-watch news coverage. If an asteroid blew her to bits, the wacky fundamentalists who think that there's still a chance she'll recover (if only she lets JC into her heart) will be forced to return home, dejected.

Don't worry, though. Maybe when she dies the Bush brothers will encase her in carbonite like Han Solo and keep her propped up in the Oval Office as a monument to the Christian right. I'm sure Jeb will want to take the statue on the road during his 2008 presidential campaign.

Yesterday while I was pumping gas down the street the attendant asked me if I wanted to get my inspection done now. I had been holding off because I need to get a new sideview mirror (a victim of the Red Sox world series celebration). Here's the ensuing conversation:

attendant: Do you want to get your state inspection today?
me: No, I need to get a new mirror first.
attendant: *looks* Oh, ok...
[he walks inside and talks to his boss. a moment later, his boss comes running out...]
boss: You know, you don't need a sideview mirror to get an inspection!
me: really?
boss: No, it's fine. All you need is a rearview mirror. If you don't have sideview mirrors, that's ok as long as there aren't any sharp points.
me: oh, I didn't know that...
boss: Don't let anyone fool you! You don't need it to get an inspection!
me: Yeah, I can get an inspection, but will it pass? [thinking he's trying to trick me into a rejected inspection]
boss: NO! What did I just tell you?! It'll pass! You don't need the mirror!
me: ok
boss: So, do you want an inspection now? He can do it!
me: Yeah, sure.
boss: Ok. good!

So, my car passed (I don't know if the guy actually inspected anything), and I can postpone the search for an expensive mirror. Yay! Thank you, desperate foreign gas station workers!

i'm tired and irritated. lately i feel like driftwood. where am i going?

I didn't eat lunch today because the parking lot at Subway was full.

Am I normal?

Here's the story of our Troops Out Now protest experience:

Long ago, I used to watch WHDH every morning before going to school. Then I realized that morning news shows on the networks are mindless filler targeted towards soccer moms and sports fans. Recently I've turned on CNN thinking that their morning show might have more content. I don't know where I got that idea -- CNN's morning news is only slightly better than "Entertainment Tonight".

Just a minute ago, they were talking about the skyrocketting gas prices. Rather than explain why the prices are rising and what should be done about the situation, Soledad spent five minutes interviewing some car guy about how we can conserve fuel (keep it under 50MPH, don't accelerate, inflate your tires, take the ski rack off the roof, etc.). It strikes me as a little condescending that they would implicitly say, "well, our viewers obviously don't care about why gas prices are rising. All they want to know is how to save a few pennies by slowing down their SUV."

There was one redeeming moment, though. Jack Cafferty, normally the non-partisan curmudgeon, almost lost it during his "question of the day" segment asking viewers whether Congress should be dealing with the Terry Schiavo case and steroids hearings when we have record deficits and an ongoing war in Iraq. He was fuming, while his two sparkling cohosts awkwardly tried to calm him down. His overly-handsome sports-reporter-turned-cnn-anchor buddy tried to make the Schiavo case seem important by noting that "10,000 people are vegetables in this country"; to which Jack replied, "300 million people are affected by Social Security and the war!" Right on, brother! I doubt that his corporate masters will appreciate his on-air trashing of their editorial decisions, but somebody had to say it. Of course, it didn't stop Soledad (or was it Bill?) from skippity-skipping to the next segment focusing on the Schiavo case in detail, with a "debate" between the usual two left/right talking heads. And by the way, stay tuned for hour 3 of the important coverage of this critical, national issue.

This is CNN?

I came across the Hipster PDA yesterday and decided to try it out for myself. I've never had a "real" PDA and probably never will. I have neither the discipline nor the need for so much organization. I figure if I can't keep my "todo list" in my head, it can't be too important. (maybe that's one reason why I did poorly in college and dropped out. oops!) And I'm definitely not someone who needs to have everything neatly and centrally organized. I'm more of a pack-rat.

But I can see the value of always having a pen and paper, at the very least. I don't often need to write something down, but when I do, I never seem to have a place to write it or a pen to use. So, even though I'm not going to join the Getting Things Done cult, I can still run with this Hipster PDA idea. Here's my first effort (the "cover" is made of 2 cards stapled together):

I have access to about infinity of those small cards from the crawlspace at work. The low-tech novelty is neat, but I'm thinking that I might be better off with a real notebook instead. When I have my Domke camera bag with me (which is often), I have at least one reporter's notebook handy. But when I'm naked (i.e. anytime my camera is not around), the reporter's notebook is a little too big to carry in my pocket. That's why I'm going to look for one of these trendy moleskine notebooks. Other than ordering online, I might have to go to Boston to find one since the stores around here don't seem to carry such a precious tool. [never mind. found em at Borders]

Until then, I'll make do with my non-smiley-faced book of cards.

I just scored a real gem: Prince -- "One Night Alone... Live!" for $4.00! Let me tell you, this double-album is HOTTTT! You won't find any cheesey-corn goofy songs on these CDs; It's mostly hard-driving FUNK. Maceo Parker and Candy Dulfer appear to offer some official funk cred to The New Power Generation. The jams are tight and the tunes sound fresh. Prince effortlessly shreds his guitar while Rhonda Smith (bass) and John Blackwell (drums) keep it together right to the edge of falling off the funk. But they never do. These guys are right on!

Prince says "Good night!" after track 4 (a free-wheeling "Everlasting Now") on the second disc, only to play 13 more songs (granted, they're mostly solo piano ballads, but still)! That's some encore.

It's too bad Prince is now a creepy Jehovah's Witness, but with funk this good, I'd go to a show even if he were Mormon.

I've been having trouble sleeping. I think it's a combination of lots of stuff on my mind and the dry heat in my room.

Come on, Spring! Everyone's waiting for you.

Here's the deal: I've met someone whom I really dig, warts and all (not literally). We seem to think alike -- she could be my doppelganger (which, from reading the definition, is probably not the right word to use, ever, but it hasn't stopped me yet). And although it's early, I feel that it'd be difficult to grow tired of this person.

My "only" problem is that I don't know how to proceed. If it were up to me, I'd want to see where "this" goes and would immerse myself (with the potential for drowning) in the experience. On the other hand, it seems like I'm used to unrequited [whatever]. I think I'd crap my pants and dance an Irish jig if the feeling was mutual.

I don't know. Sometimes I become anxious when things aren't spelled out for me in large, crayola letters.

What I know for certain is that she makes me happy. And that's not a bad start, eh?

The plan for Saturday is to wake up super early, board a bus in Roxbury at 5:00am, and head to the (hopefully large) protests in New York. It could be exciting. I just hope I don't lose my buddy somewhere. (At the RNC, it wasn't a big deal if I got lost or arrested because I was alone.)

Coincidentally, I just got a message from my friendly lawyer in New York telling me that I have a hearing scheduled for next week related to my "notice of claim". That's a little surprising because I had no idea I would have to return for such a thing. Although I'll talk to him tomorrow, presumably the hearing has to do with whether or not I'm going to pursue a civil suit against the city. It just so happens that I've been thinking about it recently. I received two letters from Legal Aid asking if I wanted to be included in a contempt of court settlement/case/whatever, but I didn't respond because something told me it would've been a bum deal and would've precluded me from a wider class-action suit. Unfortunately, I haven't kept up to date with the developments in those cases, and the legal system is slow and complicated. I'll find out tomorrow what the deal is, but I doubt I'll be able to make it to New York on a weekday with less than a week's notice.

The frustrating thing is that even though I have a year from last August to decide whether to go forward with a suit, the longer this thing drags on, the more I see it as a nuisance not worth dealing with. That angers me because when I was released, I (and most everybody who was held for two days without any justifiable reason) was determined to have my voice heard in court -- to add to the choir that would condemn the city for what they did. I still think that not being part of a civil suit, at least, is tantamount to letting the city off the hook. At the same time, however, I'm not looking forward to returning to court in New York every once in a while for the next couple years, or more.

 You say the hill's too steep to climb, climbing
 You say you'd like to see me try, climbing
 You pick the place and I'll choose the time 
 And I'll climb the hill in my own way
 Just wait a while for the right day
 And as I rise above the tree-lines and the clouds 
 I look down, hearing the sound 
 of the things you've said today

 Fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd, smiling
 Merciless the magistrate turns 'round, frowning
 And who's the fool who wears the crown
 No doubt in your own way 
 And every day is the right day 
 And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow 
 You look down, hearing the sound of the faces in the crowd

Pink Floyd: Fearless

Hmm. strike that last bit. for now.

What just happened?

I've just been emotionally punched in the kidneys, again. Why do I feel like I've been double-teamed?

This situation is weirder than weird.

Needless to say, I don't write about everything that happens in my life. In fact, I probably just scratch the surface here at times. Anybody who reads this shlock might think they know me well, but they probably don't. That's the problem with blogs -- they can be confessional and honest, but you never know how much the author is choosing to reveal. Although the whole story might be more fascinating, a life time of "what would the neighbors think?" reactions makes even me a little reticent.

While there are some things that I don't mention because I don't want to remember them, there are also plenty of experiences that I do want to remember but self-censor for unknown reasons.

Tonight, for instance, I had a smashing time with lee lee: getting burritos, browsing old books, and watching Kinsey (so so). And yet I'm reluctant to mention anything because I've received melodramatic email "warning" me of impending doom should I seek the friendship of such a troubled soul. I don't need to hear that. Let me figure that out for myself. Let me feel pain, if it comes to that.

There are many, many things I wouldn't have done if I were afraid of a little suffering, physical or otherwise. If life is suffering (and I believe it is [not in the "woe is me" sense, but the zen sense]), then it's foolish to try to shelter another from a potential suffering that they willingly accept. Overly-protective (at least they believe they're being protective) people find it difficult to let others make their own decisions. It's a character flaw, not a nurturing trait.

I'm going to plunge head-first into situations, informed from past experience though unfettered by needless external restraints. And if I fail, so what. At least I'm trying, which is more than a lot of people can say.

And besides, it's better to burn out than to fade away.

Projection: The attribution of one's own attitudes, feelings, or desires to someone or something as a naive or unconscious defense against anxiety or guilt.

   Days like this
   I don't know what
   To do with myself
   All day and all night
   I wander the halls
   Along the walls and
   Under my breath
   I say to myself
   I need fuel
   To take flight

--Fiona Apple (Yeah, that's right -- Fiona Apple. But I'm not a sullen girl....)

I'm going to test a hypothesis tonight: eating fruit before bed causes nightmares. I just ate a bowl of grapes. Now it's time to battle various monsters and nuns in my dreams.

I'll report my results tomorrow.

results

no nightmares, unfortunately. just unmemorable, mundane dreams about who knows what. next time: more grapes.

Move over, junk! There's a new purchase in town!

quality picture, eh?

I knew I was destined to own a Mac mini when I first learned of their creation. By harnessing the power of Thor's hammer, St.Damien's beard, and an IRS refund check, I took the Apple Store by surprise, penetrated their feeble reality distortion field and purchased the cheapest Mac mini available.

I enjoy shopping at Apple Stores -- the salespeople make me feel like an innocent child again. Never mind that I can program circles around the rosy-cheeked sales-drones or intellectually kickbox the so-called "geniuses" dressed in black; as long as I'm a customer, I'm just a babe in the woods to them. For instance, when I expressed concern that the mini's laptop hard-drive might not be reliable enough to keep running 24/7, the kind man informed me that hard-drives are mechanical devices that may fail sometimes. Thanks! I had no idea. And even though I mentioned that I have my own server at home, he still tried to sell me a .Mac account so that I could transfer all my important files (by the way, you can imagine that a "file" is like a piece of paper [and by paper I mean a flat substance {and by substance, I mean "thing"} made of ground up tree pulp] that you store in a great big box: i.e. a computer) across the country for safe keeping.

I didn't buy any extra garbage, but I'll buy more RAM tomorrow from some place cheap and attempt installation on my own (if I fail, I'll be sure to return to the "genius bar" to have my diaper changed). Then I can connect the brand new drive that I bought a while ago and start cleaning out all the extra cruft that I've accumulated on my old computer.

That's my story. Now I have a sleek-looking, designed-in-stylish-California toaster oven, and you don't! Get with the Joneses, yo.

last chance to dance trance with TWC?

The Skybar gig went well, I think. Since my amp was flush against the wall, it was booming and hard to tell what I was playing. I hope it sounded better in the crowd.

I don't know if it's the last show i'll play. I did meet a really good singer/songwriter with whom I might collaborate someday. I'm just playing it by ear, lately.

I also met two, too interesting sisters. (oh, I'm so witty.) I hope to be employed as part-time volunteer paparazzo for lee lee's adventures:

Aside from a few confusing or awkward moments, I had a great night.

Oh, and The Motorcycle Diaries is the longest movie ever made...something like 8 hours, or so it seemed. And I still don't know what it's about.

Well, I applied for either of the photographer openings at work. I don't mind whether it's part time of full time. If I had any opportunity at all, I'd be grateful. I wasn't satisfied with the "portfolio" I threw together or my meager resumé, but what's done is done. With luck, if Marc hasn't already picked someone and grants me an interview, I will try to convey my obsession in person. A piece of paper with bullet points doesn't say much.

I was thinking that if I got the job, it'd be very challenging for me...much more so than my current job. I don't currently have to think creatively and quickly on my feet. If I can't finish something today, I can do it tomorrow. With photography, it's a different story. And I wonder if I can hack it.

Of course, I must be able to do it. I have no choice. There's no turning back. I will get the job...if not this time, then next time, and maybe someplace else.

Yeah, way to go, Dave! motivate, motivate! and so on and so forth...

Boy, if I got a PJ job (even at the same company), it'd be the happiest day of my life. hmm, I shouldn't think about it.

A Lawrence DPW plow driver was arrested earlier this evening on Congress St. for possession of marijuana. While driving up the one-way road, he hit a car driving down the street. When asked if he had any marijuana or alcohol in the truck, the driver said, "I hope not!" An officer told me the worker had been with the city for 27 years. It's good to know that the snow removal budget is being wisely spent.