YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHA! I just completely beat the hell out of a Linear Algebra exam. This has to be the easiest math test I've taken in a long time. I need to do something to celebrate. I don't know what. I may just put on a hawaiian shirt and dance around to Bob Seager or something.
PARTY TIME!
It occurs to me that this is getting downvoted because it is short and not because the content blows, because anyone who's ever taken Lin Al would be happy for me. As a result, I will now fill this with random shit to see if I get upvotes as a test for "longer node = higher vote tally".
lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu lasijdg;lsljhalijb;rarwu iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu scb9u o4 f9c7; a-8-3 6 0fg a4ug0 kg4909v809upj fjaspfdj#(^I$ OIHHas08774ks iausligh oyw0rbzs isucbjlrw oaif;bu scb9u o4 f9c7; a-8-3 6 0fg a4ug0 kg4909v809upj fjaspfdj#(^I$ OIHHas08774ks safbpioj rw c98sip4ekjd gsa098e7t;ail34 09wuydilfj,meidq0 po3lj fiqduf 0a 9powik ;po9u. ... aslid7 v94 wsd20544wa4edf09uijeag ;powlkjdgnads8diuflkejg bgh0d7y43h2l2.r rasbrv;olajh.
Thank you, that is all.
Do you see this? This is my card, it says reality technician. That's my job. I like to tinker. There's some changes to be made, and my toolbox is ready.
There're a couple different sides to this line of work. It really can go any way. Sometimes there's the dark ones, and then there are the light ones, and then there are the ones who just know, and in knowing pursue the path. We have all kinds here.
I'm not keeping my other clothes under these overalls for nothing. I know my time here is limited, and I'm going to have to redress my self Immediately, so that He will see me. So that my skin glistens, projecting a million rainbows and delivering the radiance that I know will come to me.
There's certain things even I can't change, but I'm not looking to. Well, maybe I am. I'm stuttered.
Happy Halloween. may darkness penetrate all of your lives as much as light, and let you take it all in and reconcile your doubt, forming a coherent vision of the universe that will guide your lives into true bliss forever.
Listen to some Oingo Boingo today. Listen to some godspeed you! black emperor today. Hell, listen to mee. And then turn on the television, or read the newspaper, and then get really scared.
The shits going down, and we're all sitting in it. Some of us are throwing it around, dirtying so many faces. Soiling. End metaphor,(you should have know better).
Tonight I purchased a dream. It glittered of platinum and shiny things. A lifetime of hopes,
wishes,
Tonight I pushed aside the past. I creased the knot, threw my leg out the window, and looked down.
And double-checking my harness,
I smiled.
and jumped
Surreality log, October 30, 2002, 11:20 p.m.
A few days ago I re-dyed my hair, which required bleaching it out since it had grown a quarter inch or so. I use the highest power bleach available (not for sale to minors!) because I am impatient, and it tends to leave my scalp blotched here and there with surface chemical burns. Hurts like a motherfucker too, I tell you what. Anyway, when the burns are healing, they itch, so I scratch at my scalp. And since I have a bunch of fresh blue dye there, my hands and fingernails get stained mightily.
What do we do when our hands are dirty, kids? We wash 'em! Because I'm at work guarding computer labs and herding nerds tonight, this requires walking to one of the big tile bathrooms of the vintage 1950's bomb-proof building.
When I get there, even outside the room there is a scent of ammonia -- the janitors, I figure, have recently cleaned here. Opening the door presents me with a burst of the odor powerful enough to bring tears, made extra-special bad by the Wet Naps type baby powder perfume that must have been included with whatever cleaning product is making the stench. Ok, I think, I'll wash up fast while taking no more than two breaths, and get the hell out. So I go past the doorway and into the room, and over by the sinks, standing still and gazing into the mirror stands ...
... wait for it ...
... a very, very naked man. Like, seriously for real full frontal naked. Fifty years old and bald and naked. On Wednesday night in the engineering building, naked.
I exit before the door even shuts, and more importantly before the dude registers that somebody has entered the room, and go on to the other bathroom. As of the past thirty minutes, I haven't seen the guy at all, walking past my window, or flashing people, etc. Best case, he was some professor pulling a second all-nighter who decided to clean off with Windex or something. Worst case, I don't really want to think about. Hooray for all the random shit that always seems to happen on my shift ...
... Guy in suit #1: I agree with what Gore Vidal says, that it's pointless to think of people in terms of homosexual or heterosexual or that there's such thing as a "homosexual act".
#2: Hmm. Yeah, okay, but what the fuck would he know?
#1: Gore Vidal?!
#2: Well, it seems a bit deep for someone like him, doesn't it?
#1: What?!
Pause.
#2: I'm thinking of Vidal Sassoon, aren't I? ...
Well, I found it hilarious. I cracked up, they realised I was listening in and moved away.
Am I a nutbar for listening in on other people's conversations like this? Forgive me, it was that or Kurt Vonnegut's Bagombo Snuff Box, a collection of his old short stories which I am most disappointed with. In fact, I'm not convinced he could ever have written such drivel. At least he admits in the foreword that this collection would not have been published if it weren't for his subsequent works of genius.
Yesterday after work, my student employee and I headed out to brave the the deluge. He is an Italian (and I mean this literally -- he's from a village near Naples), and he's very confused by the weather. "I do not understand how it can be so cold and still be raining," he said (you'll have to imagine his accent). "I thought that when it was cold, it snowed."
I tried to explain to him that even though it's cold, the air temperature is still above freezing. I think he understood what I was saying, but his grasp of English is limited.
He recently came into my office and inexplicably asked me how to spell "busting my balls." When I told him, he was delighted: "Ah -- 'busting' is spelled just like 'dusting' but with a 'b'!" Sometimes I have a hard time remembering that he's eight years older than me, and an attorney by profession. I feel strange explaining the English language to an attorney.
There was a "Drag Race" scheduled last night a block away from our house. This is an annual Halloween event in Dupont Circle, when the city's greatest drag queens race down 17th Street as if to defy the fact that winter is just around the corner. Pantaliamon and I made plans to go this year because we slept through last year's installment, so we were disappointed that it was probably rained out. Apparently, a little cold rain never stopped the city's greatest queens -- we learned afterwards that they indeed held it in the downpour. I can just imagine five hundred-odd soaking wet queens racing down the street in stiletto heals and sequined dresses -- I hope they don't get the flu. I guess the "Drag Race" is like the United States Postal Service, unhindered by snow or rain or gloom of night.
Halloween is my favorite holiday, yet this year it's just too wet to properly experience it. I ate some candy corn, but it just didn't get me into the spirit of things. I think the drag race might have helped. Perhaps I'll dress up the dog and take him trick or treating. He'd probably like that.
The Tale of The Mouse Part the Fourth
TheMouse goes 1 and 1!!
The scintillating BaByliss Rapide 2000 is posted and survives! It's reputation soars to a massive 6!! Bells are rung! Claxons are sounded! (It must have sneaked through whilst the editors were asleep!)
Any abusive messages in the inbox?? Nope. Anything at all? Nope. Well, better luck next time I suppose.
Of course I am entirely unsure as to whether anyone quite got the point. Probably not. But then I'm currently of the opinion that the audience at E2 is composed almost entirely of American teenage adolescents, and whilst I'm many things I'm not one of those, so I suspect it's just a question of speaking an entirely different language.
Coming soon the dishwasher metanode, Dyson v Hoover: the playoffs, electrical light fittings I have known and loved!
Now i'm off to look up what postmodern means.
In Kindergarten I was a simple ghost; the classic bedsheet over my head, a few holes cut for eyes, and a little white face makeup so my pasty-yet-not--totally-white skin wouldn't ruin the effect.
In 1st grade, I was a mummy. I was wrapped head to toe in toilet paper, and I looked scary, damnit.
Come 2nd grade, I'd gotten a bit more into Halloween, since my ever-strengthening brain demanded more from a costume. That year, I would be a vampire. Fake teeth, white face makeup, eye makeup, eyebrows penciled in, plus a nice, black cape and a button-up white shirt and clip-on bowtie. It was great.
By 3rd grade, I'd become a full-fledged Halloween nut. It helped that my birthday was on October 18th, and since I'd begun asking for money for my birthday instead of gifts, I had some spare cash to spend on necessary Halloween related items. This year, a typical costume would not do, no no. It had to be awesome. I had to be the one and only Link. My grandmother on my Dad's side sewed me green shorts, a green shirt, a green elfish hat with yellow band, a quiver, and I found a nice brown belt. My Grandpa on my Mom's side, who I've always referred to as Ol Ba, helped me make a shield with the Triforce symbol on it. I went shopping in Halloween stores, looking for the perfect sword, and finally finding one that had a bronze-colored blade and a blue hilt. My costume was complete, and I could go to school and trick-or-treat contented.
There's a slight gap in my memory, though, and I can't recall what I was in 4th grade. I don't recall it being a particularily traumatic time or anything; I can still remember who my teacher was and a few details about the year. But I can't recall what I was that year. I had to have a costume; it was mandatory for me. Regardless, I forgot.
Moving along to 5th grade, I decided to put together a Knight costume. Using large amounts of cardboard and black duct tape, Ol Ba and I fashioned a suit of armor, replete with gauntlets, leggings, shin-guards, and helmet. The helmet was a work of art. If you've ever read the X-men comic book, you've no doubt seen Magneto's red helmet. It was one of those. Despite being made out of cardboard, we were able to dome the top perfectly. My grandpa sure knew how to bend cardboard to his will, I'll tell ya. We also took a yardstick, cut it down, and made a sword out of it, using silver automotive tape to cover the blade, and, of course, black duct tape for the handle. My Grandmother also made me a black, velvety cape, which attached to my cardboard chestplate via some snap buttons. I was a certifiable badass that Halloween, no two ways about it.
The next year ended up being sort of a let down. I wasn't on my game when Halloween came around, and had to cobble together a costume in mere hours. I ended up being an army grunt, although the quality of the costume wasn't up to snuff. In fact, it was awful. I wish I would've forgotten about that year instead of 4th grade, because I doubt 4th grade could've possibly been a worse costume.
In 7th grade, I had to redeem myself. I had to be at my finest. Spare no expense, if you catch my drift. So first I had to determine what I was going to dress as. The decision was easy, as I was knee-deep in my X-men obsession at the time: I would be Gambit. I found a white bathrobe, and dyed it dark brown. It was easy enough finding some black spandex pants, and sewing some red echelons on them. Same went for the red shirt. The last step was the doozy - The headpiece. I took a ski mask, chopped it up properly, and then used it as a template to sew together a single-piece black headpiece like he wore. The costume ended up looking spot-on, and I'd even managed to get quite good at throwing playing cards. Channeling their kinetic energy towards explosive ends proved difficult though.
I couldn't rest on my laurels the next year though. I needed to show I could consistently make up kick-ass costumes. I don't know who I had to show it to, but I did, damnit. This year, Doom II was all the rage, so I was the Doom guy. The space marine that had been through hell, killed John Romero, and came back for more. It was actually a piece of cake, I just needed a short-sleeved semi-tight T-shirt, the black tights from the previous year, some boots, and a lot of makeup. I made myself look like I'd, well, been through hell; blood and scars and bruises everywhere. The coup de grâce was my double-barreled shotgun - More cardboard, more black duct tape, and more silver automotive tape. Now, picture this - A videogame playing nutjob running around a school with a gun. In retrospect, I appreciate the twisted irony.
My last year of Junior High, 9th Grade, saw the final year of my Halloween creativity. I went as a vampire again, a little more elaborate than 2nd grade, but nonetheless, not a very original costume. The major differences were ornamental; aside from a much nicer cape, I sewed some red velvet gauntlets to set off the whole outfit. Regardless, it was the beginning of the end.
That year marked the last time that I trick or treated. On October 31st, 1996, I sat in the computer room of our house, intently playing Ultima Online. Halloween was passing by my very eyes, and I didn't even give a shit.
I really do miss the fun of this holiday. I miss having a reason to spend weeks preparing elaborate costumes. Every year around this time, I think to myself, "Man, I could make some really wicked costumes." But there's no point in getting all dressed up when you have no place to go.
I also miss the candy.
Halloween was interesting for me. At work, we had a costume contest, which I did not participate in last year. I wanted to this time around, but procrastinated as always and had nothing to wear. I wanted to be a ninja, perhaps, with an authentic gi. Or a Buddhist or Yogi monk, complete with a truly shaved head and robes. Or even a total "nerd," clad in clashing red pants and a multicolored T-shirt with paisley tie and taped glasses. But none of that happened.
When I woke up, I knew I had to do something. So I put on some black slacks, which I could've sworn were dirty and already in the hamper (yet weren't), and a black long-sleeved mock turtleneck. I put on a black belt and black shoes. What could I be in this attire? Of course! A beatnik style, spoiled-brat coffee-shop poet. Rock on! And on my bus ride to work, the poem came to mind on its own, which was cool because I've felt rather creatively devoid lately. Here's what eventually arose, with little effort whatsoever:
The sorrow of being spoiled, recited with cappucino in hand Woe, unto me! Woe, unto me! My mind is a prison! My soul has set sea! My heart, consumed with bitter irony! Why must I drive a Jetta when I deserve an AUDI? And pay nine bucks, just to see a movie? It just isn't right, the world isn't fair! Life stabs me to death, like the spikes in my hair! This cursed concoction's made me jittery! And not only that, I've really got to pee!
Of course writing the poem wasn't the hard part. I actually had to bring myself to recite it, and I am deathly afraid of speaking in front of crowds. So I practiced my breathing and speaking and hand gestures and when it came to crunch time, I was shaking like a live fish on a frying pan...but fortunately, that could be written off as part of the act, since I was "jittery" from caffeine. I had a cigarette, an empty cappucino cup, and an all black outfit. Many people had gone completely "all out" and expected to win simply by virtue of spending a ton of money on a costume. I've been reading a lot lately about how the best way to solve difficult problems within a system is to think beyond the system, or to "think outside of the box" as the gruesomely obnoxious cliché goes, and fortunately that's exactly what happened. It seemed to happen on its own, really.
I ended up winning "best overall" and got $50, the grand prize. This is, I believe, the first contest I've ever won. I have since submitted the poem to www.poetry.com and hope to make some more bucks. It never occurred to me how easy it is to transform words into cash...but we'll see where this takes me. I'm rather excited.
printable version chaos
Everything2 Help
