It's 2AM here in my bedroom and I'm staring at 3 screens in a generally sequential order, one being my tv with endless reruns of the Daily Show, the other 2 being my new (old) laptops. One being recently purchased from a friend, the other being given to me by my sibling. Unfortunately, the batteries in both laptops are almost completely dead.
In other news, I travelled roughly 1000 miles last weekend to make it to my Dad's retirement party. Friends and family raised approximately $2050 in fives and silver dollars (presented appropriately in a big treasure chest) to send my parents to Hawaii. We took it home and counted it. Ya know, this sounds shallow, but counting money in large quantities is really a lot of fun.
And then we played poker. (I won)
I've determined that I should never live alone.
When left to my own devices, my house-keeping becomes atrocious. My bedtime gets pushed back to "sometime tomorrow" and I wander around in my bathrobe and a pair of super-baggy camo pants. I can't be bothered to dress like a normal human, noooo...
I just watched a rather unkempt Fred Durst give "the business" to a anonymous young hottie. in good lighting. complete with face shot. The man just pwnd himself.
"Yeah. Touch my balls and my ass!"
I seriously cannot believe I just watched that.
So Hunter S. Thompson killed himself yesterday. He put a large caliber bullet through his temple while his wife was away at the grocery store. It was some time in the morning at his remote compound in the Rocky Mountains near Aspen, Colorado.
This, for complete lack of a more succinct word, sucks.
But of course, as some of his local cronies from the Woody Creek Tavern would have you believe, Hunter's never been the kind of cat who would pass gently into that dark night. No, he would go VIOLENTLY, or not at all. And maybe in that manic, mixed-up, grain alcohol soaked mind of his, he finally surrendered to the fact that he just might not die during one of his self-destructive (not to mention hotel room destructive) adventures. In fact, his adventuring days were over, and long ago at that. He’d settled into a wealthy hermitage there in the mountains, only rarely appearing in public and never for any extended stay. He was safe at home. With his guns.I’ve a hunch that things finally crystallized in his mind regarding his largely dreary future. His failing health. Wheelchairs. IV’s. weakness and waste and slow, undignified, death. Perhaps he remembered Johnny Cash. Or maybe Bob Hope, although I’m almost sure he loathed the man. Perhaps he looked back on his long, weird, and fully-seized life and thought, “Why should I die any differently than I lived?’
And I, as much as I love the man and the work he did, cannot find much fault in that reasoning.
okay, just had an odd moment.
I was listening to winamp on shuffle. All my music, right?. "3 libras" by APC comes on, so I decided to visit Songmeanings.com to see what their interpretation of it was. Naturally, theres about a bajillion entries on it's meaning. I'm reading through these, and there's a lot so the song ends and "Street Spirit" comes on. At the same time that song is playing I read an entry about "3 libras" that says this:
by goodbyeskyharbor on 05-13-2002 @ 06:12:45 AM
amazing song....all that i can say.
and radiohead-street spirit is beautiful
and yes, I'm a big dork, I know.
Today is cold. It's that nasty, lonely kind of cold that seeps into your bones and chills you even through your overcoat. It's the kind that says it's settling in for at least four months and you best get Goddamn used to it.
I'm fresh back from a week spent in a small 7 bedroom mansion on the beach in North Carolina. When I arrived it was 68 degrees at 9pm. Balmy. When I left, it was topping out at 40 degrees at 1pm. Winter hits quick out there.
I spent most of that week drinking, laying waste in Halo 2 and Ghost Recon 2, drinking, eating, playing cribbage, drinking, eating, smoking, drinking and playing Trivial Pursuit. I swear I almost needed two seats on the plane back.
Interesting note: Beached, dead whales do not always smell as horribly rancid as one might expect. They are, however, rather difficult to sort out. What end is that? Is that a tail? Is that it's blowhole or its anus?
Also, whales have tongues roughly the size of a volkswagen.
Too much going on.
Currently attending 2 schools, while holding down the 40 hrs a week at the "office". Can't wait to quit, which should be near the end of the year. On that front, the word of the day is Trepidatious. But then, that's the case with any new job, right?
Oh! I now have family in Florida. Granted, it's my sister-in-law's half-sister, but it still counts and she invited me down. Now I just need to come up with the capital. I heart family connections.
More later. maybe.
This being the first entry in many moons to this journal, please note it's importance.
I feel betrayed.
It's not that people were simply too lazy to make their opinions known. No, in fact, in almost every state, this year, there were record numbers of people showing up to vote. As in the most. ever.
I feel betrayed by the American people. Apparently there's a lot more cranial-rectal inversion going on out there than I previously anticipated. As one pundit I read today said, the Republicans have managed their greatest victory. They've convinced the poor to vote for the causes of the wealthy. Really, can anyone tell me what George Bush has done for us lately? I mean, how has this man made our country better? The economy has been in a long slow clinical depression since he took office. The world opinion of Americans, not gleaming in 2000, has gone from "rich capitalist pig-dogs" to "Americans? You've seen some around? where's my pipebomb...". Our national debt has ballooned. We're spending billions of dollars a month in Iraq in order for our soldiers to be killed, civilians to be taken hostage, tortured and executed, and a horribly managed guerilla war to be waged. All because George couldn't keep his hands off the country. He said himself at the beginning of his term that at some point he wanted to take out Saddam. People with revenge motives DO NOT MAKE GOOD PRESIDENTS.
I simply don't understand the rational for these people. Is it fear of the unknown? Is it the fear that Kerry might somehow fuck things up more? Let me tell you. HE CAN'T. IT'S NOT POSSIBLE.
I'm just trying to keep in mind what happened to Nixon on his 2nd term.
It's hot as the Heatmisers ass crack in this house and I am powerless... POWERLESS to stop it...
I'm down to my black skivvies, sitting here, listening to Sigur Ros spout out catchy gibberish at full volume, putting off all the things I want/should/need to do, including my homework.
My friend Brandy promised me we'd watch pr0n together. Specifically Edward Penis Hands, or maybe one of the sequels after her bible study with her mom tonight, but I have no idea even where to find that piece of trash anymore.(Edward Penis Hands, not Brandy) Ever since the Video Update down the street closed, it's been hard to rent good, cheap pr0n in this town.
And another thing, why does every low rent sex shop in the fucking country have to paint itself a particularly horrible shade of pink? Are we supposed to be reminded of labia or something?
Oh, and my dog had an epileptic seizure earlier tonight.
I'm going to lie naked in the grass.
My skin looks good right now. It's been a trend for a while. Not sure what I'm doing right besides getting out the sun more often. Only further proves my hypothesis that I'll be a much happier human in southern climates.
Burning Man cometh.
School started, and I'm looking forward to reactivating my brain after years of letting it rust in the corner of my head.
Don't want to talk to the stupid people I'm bound to encounter on the phone today at werk.
It's raining. hard.
Burning Man cometh. And the stress of preparing as well.
I owe a lot of money to the government. Which I haven't gotten around to start paying.