So, as in all things, there are good points and bad points.

Good point: A perfectly mixed G&T.

Bad point: Just a little too much credit card debt.

Good point: Too much credit card debt because I bought an iPhone (so cool!).

Bad point: Gonna be driving buses another three years.

Good point: Gonna be driving buses because, hopefully, going back to grad school next year.

Bad point: Um...


Well, how about that. More good than bad. Go figure. Yay life!

Seriously, Dick "I'm on crack" Cheney. Apparently, everything my eighth-grade civics teacher was full of shit, because the Vice President isn't a part of the Executive Branch of government.

Take that, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Was!

Who's letting who down now?

Dick Cheney has gone batshit round the bend, and nothing whatsoever will happen about it. Has there been another Vice President in history who's had the cast iron balls to speak such utter bullshit as that? Maybe Tricky Dick. But they convicted his ass.

I mean, holy fucking hell. There really aren't words for the kind of hubris that has infected our government. Forget the rest. The poor decisions, the warped logic, the unceasing politicalization of public policy. It's the donkey-raping, piss-drinking, shit-eating, cousin-fucking arrogance.

Jesus fuck...

I wonder to what extent a fear of death affects my enthusiasm for finding a real job. I remember once believing that all things ever done were done out of a fear of death; were done out of a sense of our own mortality. And it occurs to me that there is a possibility my reluctance to truly embrace my new situation in life by getting a real job is because to do so would be admitting that I'm growing older. That I'm getting closer to death. It's a thought. Most likely bullshit, but a thought.

Fuck, I need a real job. July 1st is coming up, you know. State'll be coming after me. Or something. It's not too clear.

Heather's asleep. I should be too. It's been a long couple of weeks (read: months) and I could use the sleep. Gotta be up early tomorrow, too for summer sign-up. But there are DVDs to copy, cartoons to watch, and gin and tonics to drink. Well, a cigarette and another small G&T (cause I'm running out of tonic).

I like having Heather here. I mean, living with me. It's nice. I don't feel as burdened as I thought I would. That being said, of course there's some adjustment to make, going from living by my lonesome to living with her. But, you know, I guess it's okay. No terrific freak-outs yet, or disturbing dreams. Although I did have one last night I can't quite remember, but I think it had something to do with me being chased by something or having to escape something.

It's a little bit upsetting, I guess, how many of my dreams involve me running from something or escaping something. I mean, seriously, I'd say about 80% of my dreams have escape or pursuit as the central theme. What does that say?

Eh, smokey smoke time. Two a day limit, still going strong. Not counting the party on Saturday. Or poker on Fridays. The gloves come off those days, know what I mean? All things in moderation, even, and perhaps especially, excess.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Longest_word_in_English

Job interview tomorrow morning. 8:00am. About an hour drive, means I gotta leave here 6:45 at the latest. Means I should wake up 'round about 6:00am. Three S'es. A small breakfast. Plenty of time. And it's about 11:30 right now. Just ironed my pants. Not gonna worry about the shirt. Wrinkle-free horseshit actually seems legit. The point is, I'm watching Adult Swim and drinking.

This is what I call planning.

Anybody else pissed they pixelated the giant green dildo on Metalocalypse? What is that shit?

I'm teaching myself Arabic, MySQL, Ruby and Rails. Apparently I'm just that bored with my life. If anybody has any recommendations for MySQL and Rails, and by suggestions I mean books where I can learn about it. Beginner level would probably be best. Seeing as how I don't know shit.

"Remember, dodgeball is a game of violence, exclusion and degredation."

I think my favorite quote of the night is, simply, "This is pretty fucked-up right here."

I hear news anchors saying things like, "Unfortunately, these are the times we live in where people can perpetrate this kind of hoax."

Me, I can't help but think that it's unfortunate that these are times in which we live wherein news agencies can incite terror far better than terrorists. Wherein bomb squad experts can't tell the difference between an 80s children's toy and an explosive. Wherein those who publicly display art (regardless of its artistic value) are branded as fear-mongers simply because a city administration wishes to divert attention from its own glaring incompetence.

The events of the last thirty-six hours would be tragic, if they weren't so funny.

That's it. All I got. If you haven't heard, go here:

http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2007/02/01/froth_fear_and_fury/

His dreams were nothing more than that. Fanciful delusions wherein everyone, himself included, played the parts to which they were assigned by an overactive mind. A subjugation of reality by turns. He did not create the dream any more than he created reality, yet both held truth. As both were lies. He could no longer say what constituted fact and fiction, what was real and what was dream. The two were indistinguishable, folded over upon each other more times than he cared to count. More times than he could count. All that was left was to accept the dream, the reality, the truth and the lie, as life. For what was life except a series of truths and lies, a combination of the two. The dream and the reality, each as valid as the other. And both as meaningless.

I'm having cottage cheese and apple slices for breakfast. Then I'm gonna take out the trash, do a load of laundry and pay rent. Then I'll go to work for ten hours.

Oh yeah, your father left this for you. It just happens to be four feet long and look like a cock.

I'm just saying it's a wookie, it's not like it's off limits to you. You're a good looking guy.

The movie touches on two essential issues. Homosexuality. And face fucking. I heard there were early scenes of Chewey just chugging cock. That just got cut right out... I'm just waiting 'til laserdisc.

This is how I know, sure as shootin', that I'm drunk. It's not slurring words, or stumbling, or any of the other old stand-bys. It's when I start saying things like, "Shit, nigga." Or, "My negro." Then I start quoting the Boondocks animated show.

"Praise white Jesus!"

It's strange, I think, how when you're upset about something non-specific and then you realize what it is, you start to feel better about it almost immediately. Often despite the fact that the thing you're upset with still exists and is as strong and prevalent as ever. In fact, in a way, putting your finger on it, so to speak, makes it even stronger. And yet, still, you don't feel as bad.

I think an analogy, perhaps, is like being kidnapped and blindfolded and taken somewhere you don't know. While you're waiting around, you experience abject terror because you don't know who kidnapped you, why, or what's waiting on the other side of that blindfold. Then the blindfold is removed, and what you see is, say, an axe-wielding maniac. Now, on the one hand, what were once vague imaginations have solidified into a axe-wielding maniac which sucks and is certainly worse than being in a room with, say, a pile of cookies which, while you still had the blindfold on, was a possibility (albeit a remote one). But, on the other hand, at least now you know what you're dealing with. Which makes the axe-wielding maniac somewhat more bearable than the possibility of untold horrors. And, also, if you happen to be, for example, a government agent who specializes in the disarming and subduing of axe-wielding maniacs, you'd probably feel pretty okay with the whole situation.

A side thought, if you were kidnapped, blindfolded and taken somewhere you don't know, and when the blindfold came off all there was was a pile of cookies, wouldn't that be, in its own way, somewhat more unsettling than an axe-wielding maniac?

My point is simply that understanding a situation is a double-edged sword. At the first, understanding a situation gives you a full appreciation for the situation, including its negatives. In the case of something abstract that was upsetting you, you're still upset and, having fully grasped the situation, you can let your upsetness (for lack of a better word) grow to proper proportions. But after that, understanding a situation takes away the element of uncertainty. And certainty is very comforting.

Good things. Fuck, I'm going to bed.

You know, I'd seen it before, and I've used it before, but somehow having it in my own apartment is just so far beyond. I'd even go so far as to say it's the dog's balls. No lie.

The handles on the drawers in my kitchen, like all those of Squire Village I'd imagine, serves, unintentionally I'd wager, as a perfect bottle opener. How cool is that shit?!

Did he speak to what we are, or make us what he spoke?

And which is the greater triumph?

Clown: Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

SIR TOBY BELCH: A love-song, a love-song.

SIR ANDREW: Ay, ay: I care not for good life.

In retrospect, Bush's withdrawal of the United States from the Kyoto Treaty was a red flag of Bush's arrogance and indifference towards the global community. I mention this because it seems he's now ready to throw out the Geneva Convention as well.

Fuck me.

Alan Moore once said in regards to Britain in 1988, "It's cold and it's mean spirited and I don't like it here anymore." He wrote it in respect to certain actions or intentions of the British government regarding AIDS, surveillance and the activities of police, and homosexuality.

Anyone else feel a certain resonance?

"~a tear shed for those lost~"

Tried to fill the quiet with work, and it didn't. Now I need to take Friday off. But it's okay. Running yourself ragged with work is, like most things, only a temporary fix. And as of tomorrow I'll have reached the end of mine. I'll probably spend all day drinking. Another temporary fix. Excellent.