02:18
30 hours ago, the spring was at its best and seemed to finally have taken over after the worst winter ever. Even I had gotten used to the idea of summer being just around the corner. And now it's back to winter again. It has been snowing for over 24 hours in a row, and it will continue at least for tonight. Figures. Not that I would have anything against snow - quite the opposite, actually - but it will all melt in a day or two anyway. Ergo, puddle and mud galore. But at least you won't hear me complaining about boring weather. :)
Ok, enough from the meteorology department already.
The 4-day easter weekend has been nice, but it has got me thinking... During easter 2000 I spent time with a friend in his tiny apartment in Helsinki. 365 days later, the said friend has performed 360 degree turn, acquired a family and pretty much severed all contact with yours truly. I'm not too naive to not understand this is perfectly natural to happen at some point, but it still pains me to see former good friends grow so distant so quickly. Does having a girlfriend really require so much time one can't be in any contact with his pals anymore? Or is the change so huge they start finding it overly hard to relate to us single guys? Then again.. It might just be me, subconsciously putting a distance between them and myself? Maybe I do it because of jealosy, for being unable to achieve what they have? No.. I don't honestly think that is the case, since I have at least tried my best to maintain the relationships. Of course, there is just a certain amount of crap I can take before giving up. Once the certain point has passed, there's no much use to keep fighting. At least this shows one who their real friends are. I have a few very good friends, who find time and interest to keep up the friendship despite having fruitful relationships with their significant others. I just hope I can be worthy of their attention.
All this isn't probably making any sense. I'm writing this half asleep, and will probably regret it in the morning after viewing the downvotes. It's just something I wanted to get off my chest.
For those who didn't feel like reading through the entire babbling, I present the Reader's Digest version: I am a selfish dumbass.
Plus something I've wanted to say for a long time.. I miss Booyaa's crazy day logs. So there.
The thing is, she's just so cool. She's an artist and a writer, she's smart, and she can spout political theory on request. She's strong and athletic, and she's so gosh darn cute. She's a really good kisser... and she likes geeky musicians.
I just hope I don't mess anything up. I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to get hurt. I guess that goes without saying... I've warned her that I'm way too busy to be a very good boyfriend, but she assured me that she understands. I think I'll just try to chill, and continue to enjoy our time together. This is so fun! I haven't started a relationship in more than four years!
I had one of those weekends that just leaves you tired. Tired in the soul and tired in the heart and completely exhausted in the parts of the mind that are straining to get all this out.
We arrived at my grandparents' house Friday afternoon, and no one was home. My parents settled right in and started watching TV. Grandma and Grandpa came home two hours later with news that my grandfather had colon cancer, and a tumor the size of his fist. From there it was arguments and spats about doctors and hospitals and where this and that was and how bad the traffic would be the morning he was scheduled for his surgery and whether or not he'd need to wear a pouch and howstupidareyounothingmeansnothing-he-eats-nothing-the-day-before.
My grandfather said nothing, except for the one joke when Grandma told him to get out of her way. Maybe I get out of your way soon. Go away forever. Ha ha ha.
I don't know my grandfather. He's the quiet old man who got quieter and skinnier every year until his head looked like a skull loosely shrouded in skin. He used to pick me up by the waist and twirl me in circles and tell the dogs I was here and what day I'd be leaving when I was five. He stopped at some point. He hasn't said a thing to me in years. I feel like I should be devastated that he's dying. But I'm not.
What will never cease to amaze me is the negativity and the pain in this side of my family. My father hates his older brother and his casual cruelty and stupidity. He's constantly angered with his younger brother and his ignorance and the stuttering he can't possibly control. Nobody does anything right. Frugality has evolved into simple, mean miserliness without joy or care for anyone else in the world. I don't think there's any sort of happiness here outside of inflicting pain. My uncles and grandmother make so many assumptions about my life that I can't begin to explain or refute, so I nod and I fume and I seethe and grow more and more tired still. This is not how I want to live.
We drove right by an old friend's neighborhood on our way to dinner Saturday night. Right by the bald lesbian's coffee stand and the lot where I park my car. I could have made a break for it. I could have run out of the car screaming and crying and dashed off down Delancey toward the Donut Plant and what I hope would be open arms and a more beautiful view of the city, where things are still amazing and everything is meant to be tasted.
But I knew my old friend probably wouldn't be home anyway.
And I've given up on the man I'm in love with. This has nothing to do with anything, not with my family or my friend or anything but too much time. I know I don't know him. I know it's beyond the point of worthless. I only wish that I believed it. I only wish I'd forget what color his truck is or stop trying to think up more things I can tell him next time we're in the classroom and I get those precious awful five minutes that I know I should just give up.
But that has nothing to do with anything except me.
All breakfast long my father and grandmother screamed at each other in a foreign language I don't understand, and I think that might be a good thing for my sake. It's easier to tune out the hate when you can't make the words make sense.
It was a long long long drive home with the Yankees and the Red Sox on the radio and me bored to distraction, my mother slowly growing less than amused with me and my stuffed hippopotamus and our songs and snippy comments and my tendency to have it murmur `hippo' to try to keep myself happy. My seventeen-year-old brother with his brand new learner's permit drove half the way with my father nearly shitting his pants every time he touched the gas, Dad screaming at him when he could figure out the buttons for the cruise control going 60 miles an hour for the first time in his life and making him practice changing lanes until I felt seasick for the rocking.
Tired.
When they wish me Happy Easter they must either assume I celebrate it or don't realize it's a religious holiday and that there are people who don't buy into it. You can't really wish a happy Easter in a non-religious way; it's like wishing someone a Good Yom Tov or a happy Ramadan. I know I'm probably reading too much into it; they were having a happy Easter (or looking forward to one), and just want to wish me the same, without really thinking about it. But still it gets a little under my skin, thinking they're wishing me a happy day-that-another-religion's-savior-rose-from-the-dead. That's really pretty weird.
So maybe I will take this count of people who wished me a happy Easter, and when Beltane rolls around, I will wish the same number of people a happy Beltane. "Happy what?" "Oh, ya know, Happy Beltane. May your fertility rites go well, and may your skirts not burst into flames while leaping the balefire." Uh. Maybe then they'd see how weird it is to me that they're celebrating the rise of a dead guy 2000 years ago and want me to have a particularly happy day because of it.
But in reality, all it will earn me is strange looks.
And after all, they're just trying to be nice. Yeah.
Stuck in the passenger seat, I am appointed the job of navigator, despite being half dead from lack of sleep, and half drunk from beer and vodka. Wilson, The sober one, is driving, after two and a half hours of close calls with friendly deer and birds and police officers we reach the beach.
We spend the day soaking up the rays, and watching the waves. All in all a great day trip, except for one thing, my friend's girlfriend, whom i fell for a year ago and havent been able to let loose from my heart, was always trying things on and asking me how she looked. "How does this bathing suit look?" or "is this too short?" and "do I look sexy in this?" And I'm all like yeah, you look great.. cuz she does, but im all hurt inside..
Lots of people are leaving: interlopers like me, but less entwined in the social group; also the couple that left themselves. New people are joining, too: the aforementioned new roommate, all of his friends, and random shady people who the couple hadn't allowed to hang around before. I get the privilege of seeing all of these great social dynamics happen in real time, meeting all of the new people, and trying to keep down with the friends I have left in the group.
At any rate, without any form of control, I've been watching everybody -- including people I thought I knew well -- act and do things that seem weirder and weirder to me, but must have just been hidden parts of their personality before. Some examples:
Smoking Crack: The night after the couple left, I went over to their house to see what was up. They hadn't told me (or anyone) when they were leaving, though, so I expected them to be there. They weren't, and instead the new roommate and the other guy who lived there, along with a few others, were collected in one bedroom doing coke. This was pretty surprising to me, as cocaine was one of the couples' pet peeves, so nobody did it before. Eventually, one of the members of the group tried to smoke the powder from a genuine crack pipe. He failed miserably, of course (powdered cocaine isn't a freebase), but it's close enough to willfully smoking crack to disturb me.
Suicide Attempt: Thirty OTC sleeping pills later, his woman finds him lying in bed covered with vomit, and calls 911. He's okay, except that his throat is all fucked -- gangrene of the epiglottis, I kid you not. He's the friend that everybody says I am just like, too, though we both disagree. He won't talk about it, not to me, or his girlfriend, or anyone, so nobody knows anything.
Playing with Guns: Jesus this was scary. One friend I've known for a while, and a couple of others I don't know. Also, the new roommate who owns not one, but two pistols, as I found out. They were all tripping on acid, too. The tripping was not unusual for the house -- the couple that moved were ravers, after all -- but doing extremely dangerous shit was always off limits before. My girlfriend and I got the hell out the moment we saw the guy's nickel plated .38, and none too soon; this kind of thing makes me want to break off contact with the group all together.
It's hard to know where to fit in all of this perceived weirdness. I don't know if I want to be part of the group any more -- I know I definitely don't want to smoke crack, commit suicide, or play with guns whilst tripping, though. I also know that if I leave I'll be abjectly lonely, save my girlfriend. It's hard, and confusing, and I wish I could just hurry up and figure out the answers so I could continue with reality...
Ever get that feeling that today is a day upon which the Universe, out of nothing but boredom, has decided to fuck you around?
Note to self and others: Bank Holidays Considered Harmful. I waited half an hour for a bus this morning, only to overhear another conversation and find out that the busses are running a Saturday Timetable, and the bus I'm waiting for, (a 45, fact fans) will not arrive today. So I improvise another route into Uni, which involves a 25. Once on Princes St, I get on a 25A, which I have always found to be more or less the same as a 25, but takes me to within a mile of the University, and stops.
Saturday Timetable. On Saturdays, the 25A distinguishes itself from a bona fide 25 by going all the way out to Sighthill, but not making the extra iota of effort to go out to the Heriot-Watt Campus. So I get off and wait for a 25. Thankfully, they are running today, and every ten minutes at that, so I don't have long to wait.
I arrive at the campus to an eerie absence of people. There are a few folk around, but no-one immediately identifiable as a student. I put this down to the fact that it is Monday morning, and the first day back after a generous Easter break. People will surface. The place will bustle. In time.
I walk down through the main building, towards the door leading to the Physics department, through which I will walk onwards to, and through, Chemistry on my way to Computing and Electrical Engineering, where I will check my grades from last term, check my email, speak to Rick and generally settle in to a hard days pretending-to-work.
The door to the Physics department is locked.
The door to the Physics department is never locked. That door is the only 'indoors' route from the main building to the science and engineering departments, all of which are clumped together on the north side of the campus, and one of which I need to access today in order to do stuff.
I go outside and walk round to the Comp/Elec.Eng building. Locked. W. T. F. ?. Oh wait, of course.....
Bank Holidays Considered Harmful.
I was informed that term starts today, Monday the 16th of April. Someone was misinformed. Or someone (or something) is fucking me around. I have the distinct impression that today, like all Bank Holidays, is not a day upon which to try and do anything important requiring the co-operation of The Infrastructure.
Home. I go home. I stop, as I am required to do in order to change bus, in town and pop into Starbucks to drink a Grande coffee and read some more of Second Foundation.
And as I get home it occurs to me that today, of all days, I am taking the evening to travel to Glasgow to attend The Fear Factory concert being held there, and I don't even know how to get to the venue. My travelling companion assures me that he knows how to get there from the bus station, but I was planning to go by train. Anyone here who knows Glasgow and could give me a rough how-to on getting to The Garage nightclub from Queen St Station will be in reciept of at least three days' worth of systematic upvoting!
</desperation>
Update: We got to the venue with no hassle at all, it was actually pretty straightforward. Oh, and it was an incredible show! I'll try and put together a writeup on it in the next couple of days.
Why?
Why would someone attack my random collection of nodes with negative votes? I had been away from E2 for a couple of days and I decided to use the E2 Node Tracker to see what's happened recently. And then it comes up on my screen that my total rep has dropped 18 points and my XP has dipped 7 in one attack. There were 20 separate attacks on my nodes (and surprisingly, a positive boost on one node), ranging from wrestling to baseball to television to computers to Elizabeth Taylor. Someone decided to give me a swift kick in the nuts.
I assume it was just one person since if there were a group of people I could have expected to see a multiple of attacks on each node. I just don't know why this person decided to downvote everything I've done. I've been very quiet in the catbox, I've sent only friendly messages to people, and my only debate was on the English/French status in Quebec (and I gave up because his argument was better than mine).
Sigh. I was kind of enjoying not having ANY nodes in the negative zone. Now I have 8 of them. Oh well. What can you do?
Devotion
I went to Future bakery for a few hours and did some studying, interspersed with staring at the homeless woman outside and copying phrases off of bathroom stall doors. I like this neighborhood. I really like it. You can smell the bread and the spices and the people who forgot to wear black, and get away from the dead-faced staleness wafting over from Bay and Bloor. You can look at the homeless people without feeling lost, without wanting to shiver uncontrollably with them like the woman on Yonge. And people look at you on the street. I like that.
Tonight I think I will sit around and have tea with boys who look like owls. And then I'll worry about how I'm going to pay for school next year and pants this year. And then I'll decide that this worrying will only destroy my security, and I'll go back to wasting money on alcohol and poetry, the way it should be. And then I'll go to sleep and wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of sirens and my roommate talking gibberish. It's beautiful, really, the combination of these things. I'm going to miss this next year.
today was not as good. pile of stuff on my desk was so heavy, my inbox *broke*. haven't had breakfast yet, and i've been up since 10:00. (is now 16:53) however, on the brighter side, my public speaking preofessor told me i don't have to come to class if i don't feel like it, provided i tell her when i want to do my final presentation! this gives me three more hours a week to look after my brother and/or clean the apartment!
Didn't notice it right away. First it was just weird. From the announcement in the chatterbox "HOLY SHIT! JOEY RAMONE IS DEAD!" to the frantic checking of every news site I could think of for confirmation, I didn't know how I felt or how I was supposed to. This morning on the way to work in my black "presidential seal" Ramones shirt, playing the We're Outta Here album, it sunk in. He's gone, Joey's dead. Johnny's guitar may have made the band's sound but it's Joey that you think of when you think "Ramones," bad haircut, bad teeth, accent and all. He was the voice, he was the personality.
But should I get emotional about it? The Ramones were a cartoon punk band (reality and art meeting in their appearence on the Simpsons— Marky: "Hey, I think they liked us." Mr. Burns: "Have the Rolling Stones killed."), but they knew that and so did we. That was (is) part of the fun, what makes them great. Whether making mice explode in a movie or appearing on an episode of Sha Na Na (!), they were as in on the joke as we were.
Not only did we learn not to take ourselves too seriously, they made rock fun again and showed us that we could make music, too. Those simple chords you learn when you first start attempting to play guitar? You can write and play your own songs.
And there are few punk bands who weren't somehow influenced by them or by other bands that were. When Joe Queer lyrically brags about playing faster than Johnny Ramone, it's just as much a compliment as when he sings "I think I'd rather be at home, listening to the Ramones" or "I wish Joey was president." And when the Queers, Screeching Weasel, the Vindictives, Boris the Sprinkler, the Mr. T Experience, and Jon Cougar Concentration Camp each cover a different Ramones album, you know it's not for money or a mere nod to an influence, it's because they love the band. Heck, Lemmy from Motörhead wrote a song about them.
But how can Joey be gone? The Ramones were just always there, even after they broke up. Reliable as a three chord change. A D E "Hey Ho, Let's Go!" Or the bass player shouting "1-2-3-4!" And 49? Can a Ramone be that old? Wasn't he the same young guy geting forcefed wheat germ and riboflavin while the others got pizza in Rock 'n' Roll High School? Singing about slugs and snails being after me, meeting girls at the Burger King, and wanting to be sedated (made NPR's Most Important American Musical Works of the 20th Century)?
To some, rock is summed up by John, Paul, George, and Ringo or Mick and Keith. To me, it'll always be Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Tommy (and Marky and Ritchie and CJ).
The movie's still there, all the albums and memories. I can still drive around on that first warm weekend day of spring listening to "Rockaway Beach" cranked on the stereo.
But it won't be the same anymore. Joey's gone.
And a little part of me, as well.
I woke up exhausted this morning. It had been some weekend. The band got together and we were really rocking.
How do you move in a world of fog that's always changing things Makes the wish that I could be a dog
The ride to work is unexciting. I get a little too comfortable on the first train and am mildly annoyed when i have to get off.
When I see the price that you pay I don't wanna grow up I don't ever wanna be that way And I don't wanna grow up
The second train has some lady prosletyzing loudly about how Jesus can save you in a monologue of non sequiteurs.
Seems that folks turn into things that they never want The only thing to live for is today...
The rest of the ride to Canal Street is uneventful, after the preacher gets off the train. At Canal i disembark and head north.
I'm gonna put a hole in my T.V. set I don't wanna grow up Open up the medicine chest I don't wanna grow up
I watch a failed encounter between a person on the street and another hanging out the window. The person on the street tries to throw a bag up to the window, misses, and the bag drops onto the scaffolding.
I don't wanna have to shout it out I don't want my hair to fall out I don't wanna be filled with doubt I don't wanna be a good boy scout I don't wanna have to learn to count I don't want the biggest amount No I don't wanna grow up
I get to work and start on the report i have to do from all the research i've been doing over the past week. joy.
Well when I see my parents fight I don't wanna grow up They all go out and drinkin' all night And I don't wanna grow up
I take a break to check my mail and news and find out Joey Ramone is dead.
I'd rather stay here in my room Nothin' out there but sad and gloom I don't wanna live in a big old tomb on grand street
This throws me. I've been a Ramones fan more or less all of my life. I talk to a friend of mine whose cousin knew the Ramones back when they were still male prostitutes. She told him that he was sick when she saw him three months ago, but it didn't seem that bad.
When I see the 5 o'clock news I don't wanna grow up Comb their hair and shine their shoes I don't wanna grow up
I load up the mp3 player and put on every Ramones song i have. i get to their cover of Tom Waits' I Don't Want To Grow Up and put it on repeat.
Stay around in my old hometown I don't wanna put no money down I don't wanna get me a big old loan Work them fingers to the bone I don't wanna float on a broom Fall in love, get married then boom How the hell did I get here so soon No I don't want to grow up.
R
