August 2002

Nothing like preparing for a long solo road trip than kickin’ back and watching Joyride first. Borrowed it and The Man Who Wasn’t There, Fast and the Furious, and Domestic Disturbance from Lauren, who borrowed them from my dad; whole lotta borrowing going on. I know the proverb — neither that nor lending do — but I guess do don’t learn too quickly. I’ve already lost my Memento DVD and possibly Requiem for a Dream because I’m too quick to lend things out. I’m going to have to keep a ledger or something to keep this from happening again.

Anyhow, Joyride is pretty scary, and I heard good things about the special features, which I won’t be able to watch until I get back from the mountains. Looks like it’ll take a little longer than I had hoped to get to Boston tonight since I want to watch the end now. Leaving here at what is looking to be around 11:00 a.m. since I’ve got everything packed already. Just have to clean out the car a bit and throw my pack and duffle in — and the laptop. Thought I might try my keyboard-on-the-dashboard routine, at least I would if anybody could read the betabrite during the day, so maybe on the way home.

So adios muchachos, and when I get back I’ll have tails of camping in addition to those of moving Ross and accidentally getting into someone else’s van at the Superfresh on Wednesday.

List is going slower than I had hoped. Dia’s going to pick up my boxers from Mary in the city today (I hope), but I spent two and a half hours driving around Princeton to get a goddamn water filter. I hate New Jersey, bunch of no-left-turning sons of bitches. And where are the house numbers on Route 1 I ask you?!

Heading over to Ross’ place now to help him move into his new townhouse. He’s moving on up… well, over actually. An end townhouse about 3 minutes away from his current old folks ‘n’ rednecks home.

“Problems are always better when you talk about them, even when its vaginal itch.” Vagisil commercials are getting more direct, and I can’t say in this case I like it. But there you have it, your interesting tidbit for the day.

Now for the uninteresting stuff, my list of chores. All this shit has to get done before I head up to Boston on Friday. Saturday morning, the G3 head up north for a few days of camping. I hope its in Maine this year but we never know until the night before we leave. At any rate, here it is:

call voicestream
pay rent
pack for camping
install Mac OS 10.2
prep iPod for road trip
apply to fifteen jobs: (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( )
get check from Dia
put on new license plate
get panties from Al
do laundry
get traffic light back from Triangle HQ
buy camping food
pick up water filter at EMS
watch copious amounts of television

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I should be doing things rather than making a list about it. Shove it.

I hate job sites. Boeing has this “partnership” with Monster.com, and apparently it’s more incestuous than I ever imagined. I applied for a job about half a year ago, foolishly believing the e-mail that told me there were several jobs matching a person with my qualifications. I was still getting annoying update e-mails months after my interest had passed, not matter what I tried to do to get off of the mailing list. I tried the usual unsubscribe methods via their website and finally I even e-mailed the webmaster I was so desperate. Finally I changed every single piece of contact information, thinking that if I couldn’t stop the “we’ve found a match” e-mails I’d at least make it damn near impossible for anything to match to me.

Today, I happened to view my Monster resume, and this is what I found at the top:

Luckily, I’ve been writing individual cover letters and attaching my resume in Word format, but having 21 employers view my resume certainly didn’t do a damn thing to help since all the contact info was fake. I had no way of knowing that this stupid relationship between Boeing and Monster.com would end up changing the contact info for something important. God I feel like shit now.

It would seem as if I’m an authority on the following subjects:

“new tower”, roxborough
George Carlin’s right arm
funny pictures of john stossel
chris-duffy gay
“chris duffy” + porn
free free free sex pics without giving info or joining
women nude asleep while camping pics
luisa+czech porn
frat drunk sex diary
Pirellis calendars

And that’s about it for today. I have a headache.

It’s simply not as good as Vanilla Sky. First of all, it may be because of the subtitles but it’s way more obvious than the remake about the cryogenic freezing bit. The production values are surprisingly high for a foreign film, but despite the glossy finish and virtue of being the original, it doesn’t have a lot going for it.

The dialogue was definitely improved the second time around, and Jason Lee and Cameron Diaz make a much better supporting cast. I still haven’t gotten to the ending yet but I’ll be disappointed if I don’t lose it at the end. Without the top of the skyscraper and all those stirring memory clips I doubt I will. It’s also a lot less clever because now it’s almost spelling out the twist ending, and it is starting to look like there aren’t any subtle hints toward what really happened, only the blatant imagery. The jury’s still out, but I’m not holding my breath.

It looks like I won’t know until later either, since I have to leave soon for the 12:15 showing of Serving Sara at the Oxford Valley mall. Before you get started, don’t blame me I’m a poor, simple, unemployed wreck. I need the simple joys of a mindless comedy, no matter how unfunny.

Wait! This just in…. That annoying bitch Penelope Cruz just got topless, bringing this movie neck in neck with its successor. I’m not a fan of her acting — actually I can’t stand it, thanks to a little-known train wreck titled Woman on Top — but she can get topless any time. Actually, I prefer it to her horrible accent. There is nothing more annoying than a Spanish accent.

Progresssive either has the worst insurance rates ever or the worst Web site ever. Either way the whole operation is shit. They gave me a quote of $1,126 for six months, that’s for Dia and me, but with the highest premiums and the lowest maximum coverage; not only that, but the price went up $200 when I went back and listed Dia as having a foreign driver’s license.

Even with my speeding tickets it seemed a little high, so I called my local State Farm agent — the same one who handles our renter’s insurance (not that she knows me from Joe Client) — and I got a kickass quote of $426 or $503 depending on whether we want limited or full tort insurance. I love you State Farm.

Paul “Hot Stuff” Zakrzewski was on IM recently bugging me to mention him. He’s called Hot Stuff because when he worked for The Triangle — and even after he didn’t I guess — he had this white button shirt with flames all around the bottom edge. That, and Paul’s a luscious piece of man-meat. Unfortunately ladies, the guy is unemployed and that makes him a major boob; trust me, us unemployed types know our own.

Ross just informed me that he got trashed after I left the party, but more importantly, when he woke up the power was out. Sounds like all hell broke loose right after Dia and I left. I do feel bad about forgetting to bring in the Mike’s lemonade we bought for the party.

Last thing before I get to bed, which is brought to you by the letters Z, Z, Z, and Z, XXX absolutely sucked (it wasn’t so much the lack of action as the horrible dialogue) and Simone was tolerable enough.

Tomorrow I’ve got my hands full with calling insurance companies, mailing out resumes, and hopefully finding a suitable game night. Oh, and lots of naked vacuuming.

First, the evidence: A box containing four Polaroids of a pair of girls aged 12-14, a magazine picture of Brittney Spears, a McDonald’s happy meal toy, and a post-marked stamp cut out of an envelope (this last item according to Dia, I didn’t see it). Andy found it under the bush next to his house while he was mowing the lawn. His house is on a cul de sac with only about seven houses or so, and he rents is with his friends Don, Dave, and Craig, who together threw a really great bash. They had games set up all over, speakers blasting a pretty cool playlist save for an Eminem song played five times, and way too much food.

Next, the theories. The box is either a hiding place for the prized possessions of the neighbors’ boy, or the place said boy is using to hide his sister’s prized possessions. Either way, the boy is involved. I thought that we should have put something in the box, something a young boy would have been thrilled to find unexpectedly. Tom said it should be a GameBoy Advance, which wasn’t exactly what I was thinking and was definitely harder to get and less likely too, but it was better than filling it with soap which is what someone else suggested. Either way, if we had put something in the box it would be something this kid remembered for the rest of his life.

I sure do hope the shoebox made it back outside. Whatever happens, at least it wasn’t ruined by rain.

Before Dia and I head out to Neshaminy to see XXX and Simone for the price of a single matinee ticket each, I figured I’d spit out something about last night’s shindig at Andy’s place in West Chester.

The day started at 11:00 a.m. at Al’s place, where we loaded up the furniture he couldn’t fit into his car into the RVAN2, and headed out to Lancaster to store all the stuff in his parent’s basement. While we were waiting for his grandmother to cook us some homemade pizzas, Al took us to the outlet stores where Dia couldn’t find even one pair of shoes and we picked up a case of Mike’s hard lemonade for the party later that night.

The party was kickin’, even though there was only one game of volleyball gotten in before the downpour brought out the slip ‘n’ slide. The evening was full of drinking and grilling and talking and rooting through the shoebox that Andy found under the bush next door. More about that box later, as we’re late for the movie.

The betabrite was back in action tonight, and despite Mary’s minor protests and the threat of a tough guy in a Bronco we managed to have the last laugh.

It all started with my big mouth, as usual. We already had the betabrite up and running and insulting cabbies everywhere. I hooked it back up (I took it down when there was a chance I might mount it the my parents’ van for the trip to N.C.) between dinner at Samosa on Walnut Street and The Good Girl at the Ritz East. Anyhow, we were on our way to drop Al and Mary off at (t)he(i)r place when a taxi stopped at a green light in the left lane of Chestnut Street to pick up a fare on the right sidewalk. My window was down as was his, so I honked my horn and screamed ahead. A black Bronco pulled up to the light in the right lane and shouted over to me, “the light’s red anyway.” Well, of course it was red now, the cab had been sitting there for a good half a minute. I shouted ahead again, this time to the loser in the truck, before I realized it would be much easier to dictate a memo to my secretary on the betabrite. Al was more than happy to oblige.

It only took a second to pull ahead of the guy to give him our message of “the light was green, [jerk] in the Bronco.” Eventually he pulled up beside us and asked us through the rolled down windows what our problem was, “fat boy.” True as that may be, I wasn’t going let him have the last word. I rolled up all the windows for that tiny bit of added sense of protection, and set Al to work. I think he typed something about going back to New Jersey or some other minor insult, but it was enough to get his girlfriend laughing — at him or us, it didn’t matter. It’s bad enough to suffer from road rage, but having your girlfriend laughing at you at the same time has to be pretty rough. The line that set him in hot pursuit was the bit about how “we can see your boyfriend laughing at you.” His woman wasn’t much to look at.

He definitely looked angry after that bit and so we attempted to make our exit. This guy was pretty dogged, however, and made our next few turns and tried his best to pull beside us though he consistently failed. I’m a pretty good driver, so I used just the right mix of slow and not-so-slow to time the lights and lane changes to keep him behind me. Worry warts should note that I used my signal almost every time and not once sped up to ditch our pursuers, that would have been dangerous and I love myself very much.

Eventually the guy did catch up with us, but when he did I slammed on the brakes and he went right by. It only took a few lights until I was able to let him go one way so I could go the other. All in all, it was a great end to a great evening, and my only fear is that Mary won’t let Al play with me again. I was a little scared, but I’m pretty confident with my skillz in all things related to driving. Reminded me of the times in high school when the G4 would follow cars all over Annapolis and beyond (good times) and only confirmed my desire to be a taxi cab driver myself.

My dad got yet another letter from the state of Maryland giving me 15 days to pay a speeding ticket or lose my license. I say “a ticket” rather than “my ticket” because there have been too damn many to count. First, the recap:

1. Parking ticket from Havertown township at Dave and Tara’s engagement party. Stupid little town, I’m never paying this ticket.
2. Parking ticket from Philadelphia. Now on it’s way past the second tier fine of $37. I should probably pay this first thing after I get a job.
3. Maryland speeding ticket on the way up from a Drexel basketball game in Virgina. I think my dad may have paid this one for me. Thanks dad!
4. Maryland speeding ticket on the way down to a flight to Las Vegas. Not paid, hence the notice.

5. The big one. On the way down to Duck a little over a week ago, I got nailed going 86 in a 55 which didn’t earn me a ticket but an instant court summons. So I have to call this out of state hotline to request a fine instead. If they say now, then it’s back to Virginia I go to throw myself at the mercy of the court. What gets me is that the charge is reckless driving — anything over 20 mph past the speed limit gets that charge automatically, which is totally bogus. I don’t deny that I was going way too fast, but I know that I was paying more attention to the road than some boob on his cell phone doing 70. When you’re the only vehicle on the road for five miles on a two-lane divided higway on a gorgeous day, the only thing you’re doing is concentrating on driving. Maybe I should bring my grandmother with me, she got my grandfather out of a ticket once when she made the traffic judge and all the cops in the court room laugh out loud. I can’t do the story justice here, but it’s a hoot to hear her tell it.

While we’re on the subject of driving, there are very few opportunities to witness a traffic jam in the making, but today I got that chance. Some stupid bitch in her Geo Metro was doing 40 mph on I-95 south today. Granted, we were in a construction zone and there was a police van in the slow lane, but she should have gotten the hell over anyway. I finally maneuvered my way to the slot behind her so I could honk my horn; only then did she finally signal right, and even then it took her two more miles to get over. When I was finallly free I took my time getting past the cop — all of 20 seconds — but the cops didn’t give a damn. What was disheartening was the line of more than 15 cars lined up behind this one wench who wasn’t paying attention. I’m glad I could do my part to get her over and tap into the empty lane ahead, I was just fuming at the time because it took so long. At least it got my adrenaline going before we tackled Maggie’s apartment.

Watch me get down, watch me get down.

I think my new blog home will work out just right. More of a chance to screw things up, but using the terminal makes me feel a whole lot smarter, and in this recent stretch of low self-esteem, I can use all the help I can get.

Speaking of which, it made me feel like a real person to be able to turn down Mrs. Caracappa’s offer to pay me for helping Maggie move. Us unemployed types have to stick together, I said. It felt even better to get out of the house and lending a hand. Even swung by Maggie’s friend’s house to drop off a shelf on the way home. I’m superman I tell ya! Well, supergirl at least, as I’ve got to attend to my pot roast now.

Well, I finally got around to moving my blog to a respectable server. I was waiting until I found a job, but that seems like it’s going to take longer than I thought. Instrumental in this move was sitting down with Hager, who started me down the long, winding road of php learning. Today was mostly copying everything from the Blogger server, so the real php comes later when I set up a template system. I haven’t really moved around any modules, so I shouldn’t be too hard to implement something similar to Blogger.

Good night now, since I have to be in Center City at 10:30 to help Maggie move. Doesn’t sound like she’s packed yet, so I’ll need all the energy I can get. Plus, this post isn’t really coherent.

Well, there goes my whole plan; tomorrow I’ll try to be even more depressed so I can follow through with at least one goal this week.

Things first went astray when I had to call my mom for her pot roast recipe. Dia started cooking ours last night from memory — but she could only remember two of the ingredients. This was pretty foolish considering my mom had rattled off at least a dozen other instructions, yet Dia chose only to hear Worchester sauce, and poured about a third of the bottle into the pot and just started to cook it. I love Dia to death, and Dia loves to cook, but she doesn’t know a goddamn thing about it. Not recipies, not preparation, nothing. She enjoys it so much, however, that when she sets her mind to cooking she rushes in all willy nilly, without a care in the world about the natural flavor of ingredients or careful timing. She usually slams everything in the pot, throws in a shitload of random (and often contradictory) spices and sauces, and hopes for the best. Her defense is usually, “if you don’t like it, don’t eat it.” My response is simple, just because I don’t have discriminating tastes doesn’t mean her cooking is any less bad. I would much rather she take her time and follow some inkling of a recipe. I know that it’s easier to be a critic than a creator, but I have no interest in cooking, only eating. So I mourn the Worchester sauce-soaked pot roast that stares at me from the trash can every time I go into the kitchen for a snack.

I also broke today’s no-phone rule to check messages, where there were two more for Barbara Bacorn and one from Ross with some very wishful thinking about my state of pantedness. Since he claims he’ll be in the area for lunch, I guess I’d better be ready. As for the Bacorn bitch, I’ve amended our voicemail greeting.

Maybe I can catch some sleep from 2-4 p.m. since I’ve already watched Newsradio and Magnum, p.i. for the day. It was the last episode of Newsradio starring Phil Hartman before his wife shot him and the first episode without him. Pretty depressing.

So my life as a worthless human being continues. Today is different though, I’m not answering the phone at all today, nor do I plan to make any calls. I’m not even going to get out of bed.

Yesterday I got my cell phone, but it’s so complicated I’m afraid to use it because I don’t want to get charged for any services I don’t subscribe to yet. I had planned on calling Voicestream because they were pretty heplful yesterday, but you already know my stance on phone calls for the rest of today.

I also won’t be calling the cable company, who left a message on my voicemail saying they had a question about our bill. Let’s see how they like being ignored when they have a problem.

I was hoping to get a warehouse job just to hold me over until I could find something better. I thought it would be preferable to withering away, and the UPS website claimed there were locations that were hiring immediately for weird after-hours shifts. Well, it has been a week since I filled out the application and still no calls. I should have known it wouldn’t work out especially after all the negative support I got from my family. They’d rather I live out this meaningless summer a little longer, which isn’t as easy as it sounds considering my dad can’t even bribe me into one of his jobs. I had reached a point where I would have gladly taken one too, but after they jerked me around so much I don’t give a damn anymore; I cashed my $2,000 check from API yesterday so I’m good to go for at least another month.

Then there’s Dia, who won’t get her license until after she gets a new car for some reason, which will most likely be a new Ford Focus because she doesn’t know any better. I keep telling her that she shouldn’t wait that long, since she can’t do anything without her host mom, Sandy, walking her through step by step and that could take the rest of the year. I’m so sick of making these long trips everywhere and not being able to switch drivers, and Dia’s empty promises when we’re on said trips make me want to puke. She won’t even sign up for drivers ed, which would solve her problem of not having insurance and a decent car to take the test with, because she doesn’t want to “sit in a classroom when she gets home from work.” Nice try, but last I checked this was the person looking for graduate schools less than a month after getting getting out of Drexel. When I also pointed out that there were weekend courses as well, she gives me the “okay, sure” treatment that I usually get from Blumberg.

I’m having good days and bad days of unemployment, and you can probably tell which kind I’m having now. To everyone else I’ve ceased being valid. Anytime I try to make any kind of opinion, everyone spits out the “well look what Mr. Unemployment has to say about it” argument. I know I’m not good at finding a job, as if anyone else out there is either, but this is ridiculous. This is the second entire summer that I’ve sent out dozens of resumes and cover letters and samples and follow up letters and I can’t even get a grunt job that doesn’t even require this process. So I’m giving up. Dia said she wants to move back into the city, and why not? We only moved out here for some imaginary job that I foolishly believed I was getting at the Wall Street Journal or a fall-back job at Vertis doing a job I was way less than enthusiastic about. Now Dia just resents her long commute and is constantly harassing me about the job search, which is doing even less for my self-esteem than I could possibly do.

Don’t be surprised to find me dead within a week. It won’t be anything as obvious as slitting my wrists, but if you hear about an accident where I was run off the road, just remember how good at getting into harmless road rage incidents and think about why this one went sour.

You know, if I’m not answering the phone today, it will be awfully hard for Dia to let me know she’ll be running late at work again. Well, honey, if you are planning on avoiding me for a few extra hours again today, just let the phone ring once for each hour you’ll be late then hang up. I’ll meet you at the train station then.

Today is the day where people find out if they like being ignored.

I’ll post about my speeding ticket and other stuff tomorrow, but for now here’s something I rarely do: a link to something totally worthy of one. It’s for Rob, who has an equally sexual crush on Pikachu.

The archives are fixed so I’m off to bed as soon as Paige reveals the rooms to their respective owners.

One other thing, Brian Poile did get my e-mail a few weeks back according to his sister, Lauren, who was in Davidsonville for Kevin Knupp’s wedding. My sister wasn’t directly invited since she wasn’t really that close to Kevin, but she’s attending as LP’s date. The wedding can’t possibly compare to Steve’s, so I don’t envy her. Best of luck to Kev and his Aussie bride though.

Damn it, we need a VCR. More preferable would be one of those new DVD-Rs or even a TiVo, but anything would do right now when I desperately want to fall asleep but can’t miss a midnight episode of Trading Spaces. This one’s set in Hollywood and features aspiring actors, one of which I swear had his own talk show for a short time. I don’t know his name, but he bears a close resemblance to Urbano’s friend, Goatboy. Yeah, this jerk was definitely the host of that lame talk show, which had one or two funny sketches. Well, time to watch and then crash.

I’ve got to figure out why my archives aren’t working. Geof alerted me to some problems he was having, and it turns out that I may have caused the same thing to happen here by fixing some spelling mistakes in earlier months’ posts. Thank goodness google has it all archived; when I finally get a copy of Flash for os X and am able to redo rudderow.com I’ll post all of this good shit up there.

Anyway, it feels good to be home, but I miss last week already. I’m once again doing all the same things I was doing down in the Outer Banks, like watching the Emmy-nominated Trading Spaces, but this time it’s without six potential Settlers players on standby.

Tomorrow I’ll finish unpacking, let Dia take me to see Blue Crush, cash my cool $2,000 security deposit check, pick up the other half of last week’s mail from Ross, and set up a game night for this Wednesday. Seafarers!!!!

Okay, I’m lying. Jellyfish! We were out on waverunners (jetskis you sit on; each sit three adults, but we each pretty much had our own) when we came upon some shallow water with just enough grass to clog everyone’s intake valves. To make matters worse, we couldn’t even jump out to unglog them because we were surrounded by jellyfish. I eventually got out to do my manly duty when Dia said she was scared. She must have eventually got over it because she got out the next three times we got stuck. Unfortunately, she got stung pretty bad. I had gotten out to give her a hand the last time we needed a shove when she screamed that she got stung on her thigh and calf simultaneously. Well, let me tell you, I didn’t need to be told twice. I was out of the water and onto that waverunner in two seconds flat. If you’ve never seen a 250 lb. person jump out of water before, it’s not a pretty sight. This time was different though — my feet made it from 4 feet of water to the floor of the craft before Dia could blink. She said it wasn’t very manly of me to move with such catlike relfexes as a result of fear like that, but I wasn’t the one with a big welt on my leg, was I?

The Pope should resign as CEO of the Catholic Church. What’s with this holy day of obligation crap? You’re telling me that after all these centuries of reworking calendars the higher ups in this pyramid scheme couldn’t move a few of these so-called important days onto Sundays — especially when every other month they’re pulling some “fourth Sunday in ordinary time” junk. Let’s get with the program people! Maybe if you spent less time deciding just how many more collection baskets to pass around each Mass and more time on the things that mattered, you might not lose any more of your flock. The church has enough problems in its all-girl Catholic schools and priest basements without causing more problems for itself. The solution is simple: celebrate the holy days in the boring, uneventful, ordinary time and call it a day. The sin of excess can be found everywhere, even when holy days are concerned.

Bit of trouble posting today’s (now yesterday’s) entry. Didn’t know my dad’s password, so I tried his usual one. I couldn’t sign on my machine so I kept prodding Lauren for it, as if she’d know it for some reason. Anyhow, to prove it wasn’t his usual choice, I typed it into his password field and showed her that it wouldn’t log on; the real problem was when I saved the incorrect one over the default saved setting and locked us all out until he remembered it. Before that we had our first shouting match of the week, though a disagreement over Settlers came damn close. Everything’s okay now.

Dia and I just finished a 550 piece puzzle and now she’s eating a piece of corn on the cob and reading the hot, new issue of Taste of Home. All the old folks are pretty much down for the count, and Dana, Jamie, and their boyfriends are downstairs playing pool.

Dana and Jason had a pretty big fight last night; Jamie and Mark have been doing fine but they don’t seem too intense a couple, probably because they’re only 16. Mark seems cool enough, pretty quiet most of the time and not too shabby at Settlers.

Only real disappointment so far has been that we sold two books for about $70 each but we can’t ship them in time since we’re not at home. Hopefully they’ll find some more bidders down the road.

The annual Rudderow/Webster (of “Princeton Tim” fame) family vacation in Duck, N.C. is going smoothly as ususal. Though we’re technically in Kill Devil Hills this year, we’re still doing the same stuff we always do. We’ve already completed three puzzles totalling 2,500 pieces, eaten our weight in food, put in a fair amount of time in the ocean, pool, and hot tub, and played games of Settlers well into the double digits. We’ve even broken out the Seafarers expansion pack and everyone agrees it’s a lot better than the original game. Look out Al, your settling world will never be the same. Never!

Anyway, the house’s name is Dolphin Song, but I haven’t seen any damn dolphins yet. Despit that fact, it’s okay enough down here. It’s not a private beach this time, so there are more people and pesky lifeguards on the beach. They haven’t done anything yet, but I hate going into the ocean feeling the glare of The Man on the back of my neck. Not that I’ve gone in that often, but it’s still there.

We all take turns cooking dinner during the week, and Dia and I are up tomorrow. She’s all worried that no one will like what we make, but I don’t know why she cares.

I haven’t been reading because of all the Settlers action, and writing has been pretty much impossible with Lauren’s ass sprouting roots on the stool in front of her computer. Speaking of which, she’s not there yet, so I’m going to try to copy my Dad’s internet settings to post this.

I’ve got boxers on, and you know what that means: I’m one piece of clothing closer to leaving the house. I’ve got the rest of my travellin’ outfit sitting on the couch. Making the two-hour trip to Maryland in about an hour and a half, though with traffic it will probably take us upward of three hours instead. I was going to drive Dia to the train station an hour earlier, but I was too damn tired to do it and asked her if we could make the regular run instead. Not surprisingly, it was fine by her.

I’ve got my books, puzzle, settlers, mancala board, and a T-shirt full of dirty laundry ready to go. The only thing left is to pack my laptop and iPod, and all the perishable food, and I’m audi 5000. Ross agreed to check our mail.

I’m also determined to relax. Even if my dad hadn’t assigned rooms to everyone, I wouldn’t have cared which room I got, because this is the new and improved, laidback Bob. Now just to see how long I can keep this facade up. Has anyone ever died from pent up rage? If I’m able to access my blog, we may not have to find out.

Will this one really be relaxing? I was really looking forward to spending a week in Duck, N.C. for a week with my family, and not only because Dia is coming along this time. The first few years we’ve had a really fun time, despite the fact that my family is there and playing a central part. But recently, it started shaping up to be a real headache.

First of all, I get the feeling that this is going to be one of those things that gets hung over my head. “Look, son. Didn’t I give you — and your girlfriend — a great vacation? So do me a favor and call Vertis a few more times. And do it immediately, I’ll be calling back.”

Yesterday I got a phone call from my dad, then today an e-mail from Lauren, and then an IM from Lauren, all three saying the same thing: A change in plans for the seating arrangement. Dia and I were driving down with Lauren and her dog before, now Jamie and her boyfriend Marc will be the other two passengers. I was sort of looking forward to driving down with the first crew, except for the frequent pit stops for the damn dog, and hearing that I was a source of worry is disheartening. (Especially considering that everyone knows Lauren was the bitchy one and the source of tension for everyone when we lived at 250 N. 32nd St.)

So I’m driving the blue van stocked with goods for the vacation. However, it won’t be packed until late Saturday morning, and the other cars will be getting down there first. Like last year, I’ll be the last to arrive; the problem is that this year even Tim won’t get there early enough to claim a good room for us. I don’t want to get stuck on bunk beds with Tim but I’ve been practically forbidden to leave as early as Lauren and Dana. Every year I get dicked over for a different reason, but it still feels the same.

He has, however, chosen to subscribe to notions that Flight 93 was shot down by F-16s. At first I was incredulous that he’d fallen in with the rest of the nuts out there. But reading some of the stuff on the site, it’s not too, too far-fetched. I still don’t believe it, but there is enough evidence out there that I wonder why more wasn’t written about it. I’m still on the heroes theory, since it would have been a lot easier to explain why two planes were shot down to defend Washington than to coordinate a huge cover-up among the FBI, CIA, NTSB, relatives who were on cell phones, independent sources and newspapers, and eyewitnesses. Instead, all there seems to be is a few broken links on the Web site of this wack job. Wait a minute! Broken links?! There’s only one agency who can pull that off….

Why does everyone love Roger Ebert so much? Nothing he says is “eloquent” as Geof so incorrectly puts it. This is the guy that loved Cop and a Half, or so I’ve heard. Not that I needed to hear that to make up my mind. His reviews are usually so garbled and incorrect that I can’t get all the way through most of them. He so frequently blends critique with plot summary that his articles rarely make for an interesting read. No wonder he’s known for the thumbs-up/thumbs-down system; most people can hardly tolerate anything more from him. I hope that fat windbag dies.

Which one of you fools signed me up for the Junior Halo Petition online? I’m #73, Mr. Osama bin Laden. Apparently I’m 9 years old, but at least I’m still from Pennsylvania. Also, “i hate americans especially bill gates. ps: a goat bit off my penis and my boyfriend is gay. didn’t you know all muslims are all gay?” Just lovely. My hats off to you; you’ve won this round….

Drove out to Ross’ place Saturday night. I had been there once before, but there were definitely more rednecks this time. I had a lot of fun relaxing and shooting the shit with people I usually have a good time with. Relaxing with friends — even among a few mulleted individuals — apart from a movie, restaurant, or other usual scenarios is a great way to spend an evening. Matt successfully lured two girls into the cornfield to meet them for the first time; Geof showed up and promptly left, I don’t know what he was expecting but there was music and drinking and that makes a party in my book; I never really expected Chris and Lisa since they’re not really the outgoing type anymore, if they ever were; and so I spent most of the evening talking with Dia, Sean, Patrick T., and Ross’ extended friends.

Holy smokes, I’ve got Internet! The light on the cable modem is off, but I’m on the internet somehow. No thanks to mommy dearest who never called me back with our dial-up account information. I rigged my last three entries on Friday so that they appear posted on the right day since it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t get online. The cable router is apparently up and running, and I was credited for the down time as well. I have to call and cancel the appointment for repair service that customer service rep #3 made for me. The moron didn’t realize that there was an outage, no matter how many times I made the suggestion. Time to read the blogs I’ve been missing out on and apply to some jobs.

Goodnight all.

Hitting the sack now since I can’t really post these entries and I have to be up at 6:30 a.m. to e-mail Alex directions or at least call the bastard.

Well, I wrote these final posts at the proper times, but God is going to screw me over since I have to post them tomorrow. Shit. Anyway, saw Full Frontal with Maggie and Dia, and it was really good. Catherine Keener and David Hyde Pierce were absolutely perfect. I had a really great time. After we drove around for 20 minutes looking for parking — and settled for the Bourse parking garage after all — and before the movie started, we had a few drinks at Cosi. The waitress even gave us our s’mores on the house. No doubt trying to boost her tip at the restaurant’s expense, but who am I to complain? I tell you, waitresses and bartenders love me.

Our first power outage really screwed me over. The lights are on now, but were off until 2 hours and 49 minutes ago. I was supposed to e-mail directions from Boston to Levittown so Alex could find his way first thing tomorrow morning, but Comcast service is down. At least that’s what the little light on the front of the modem and the customer service rep say. I can’t even tell if Alex is going to be up that early tomorrow because I can’t check my e-mail and it’s too late to call. Nothing on my voicemail to indicate one way or the other. I also can’t post my final blog entry for the night. God damn this!

We’re off to see the movies … oh happy day. At least I have a vote of confidence in this blogging monstrosity from Matt.

I leave in half an hour for the city. Until then I’ll be getting some pants on and watching Friends with Dia. I hope Maggie doesn’t feel like a third wheel at the movie. If so, I couldn’t have planned that Dia would give Monika the wrong movie title, Tomas, Patty and Sean already had plans to see Signs, Greg had a trip to Rochester planned for three weeks, Ross was going to see Musikfest with Andy, Al would be getting his new car today, Ryan is dining at TGIF with Jenn, Dave would be having dinner with Tara and her mom, Alex would decided to come tomorrow night, and Chris (with Lisa) was moving stuff out from his house in Harrisburg. That’s not even including Geof who never expressed an interest, Hager who is probably commuting back to Maryland tonight, and Rob and everyone else who I haven’t seen online all day. I should look on the bright side: At least I never got a fifth call from my father.

Hot damn I’m excited. The Onion gave good reviews to both Full Frontal and Signs even though each has its flaws apparently. Should be head and shoulders about most of the tripe I’ve seen lately. I think my first line needs an extra exclamation point. Hot damn I’m excited!

Dia read over the blog, commenting only that she wanted to see Christina’s security deposit e-mail. She read it while we ate veggieburgers that I cooked on the metal microwave tray. Now she’s taking a shower and I’m watching Bon Jovi sing on SNL.

It might be a small crowd for the movie tonight. Me, Dia and Maggie. Al got his new car tonight, so he and Mary are doubtful. Though there’s not much else to do, even with a car, after 9:50 p.m. Monika was going to come until Dia told her we were seeing Signs for some reason. She seemed a little snooty in her e-mail, saying that she doesn’t really like “that Shamalayan guy.” Just because he doesn’t make art films doesn’t mean he’s any worse than Steven Soderbergh, especially considering his movies have been getting better reviews all around.

Had to leave an IM conversation with Tim Miller, for it’s time to pick Dia up from her train. I’m bringing her paycheck with me just in case she needs to cash it before the bank closes, which might be as early 6 p.m.

Almost forgot to mention, Greg suggested a game night for next Wednesday, and I can’t agree with him more. It’s been almost two weeks since the last one, and Ross has some new game he can’t wait to debut. Greg said he’d sent out the planning e-mail since I’m no longer doing such things (see the Polly Esther’s post) and even said he’d drive peeps from Philly to the affair. Rock.

Greg can’t come tonight, but Maggie can. Al’s the only other potential come-along that I’ve seen on IM recently. Matt’s there, but I have a feeling he’s sick of me by now; if not, you know where it’s at be-otch. Give a holler. Besides putting the final touches on tonight’s outing, I’m sort of at a loss since I don’t usually have planned television from 5-5:30 p.m. I guess I’ll just keep reading to a backdrop of Home Again with Bob Vila’s sexy replacement.

Good episode of Trading Spaces, just as I expected. Besides being super cute, Paige Davis always seems excited to be hosting a fix-it show and is energetic about helping out and interacting with everyone. Both of the lady homeowners cried tears of joy, which is always cool. I like seeing people happy. Unless it’s a Levittown postal worker or that lady on Family Feud today.

Just finished lunch which consisted of the remainder of a bag of beef jerky started yesterday, two slices of whole wheat bread lightly covered with Cheese Whiz, a glass of orange juice, and a nectarine. This “meal” started about two hours ago and would probably be described as snacking by less intelligent people. I’m going to just drink water until Dia gets home, at which point we’ll probably make veggieburgers for dinner. Ross just IMed me to say that he’s making a third attempt at buying a townhouse. I wish him the best of luck.

Oh thank God. Paige Davis is hosting this episode. I like her so much more than the first season’s Alex McLeod. And with Vern as one of the designers, I’m virtually guaranteed a good episode — unlike yesterday, where one of the designers got into an argument with a homeowner who was being a total bitch. She was complaining that removing wallpaper was not a job for women and that he should have stuck around to help instead of giving it to them for homework. The aforementioned bitch, an 18-year-old whose room was being designed, even went out that night to a party. Yeah, that’s the first thing on my mind when I’m selected to be on a television show. Then again, she was just a dirty ho from New York.

Yes ma’am, yes sir, go Broncos? That is what just came out while talking to Dia, and I have no idea where it came from. I was stretching, so that would explain the first two parts, but where on Earth did the Broncos thing come from? No matter. Dia called to say she’ll be late, arriving on the 5:53 train instead of the 5:10. I think I can handle it, though it’s harder to remember to leave on time when I’m not programmed to leave right after Trading Spaces is over. Which is on right now … gotta run!

The e-mail dong brought me back to the computer for a minute. Apparently, Christina Vuong is dissatisfied with the amount of time it has taken me to send her the remainder of her security deposit (remainder = less June utilities). I can understand her pain, since I’m still waiting for my $2,000 from API. I don’t see why it takes a whole goddamn month to send me my check. Just send it, dammit! It’s extra frustrating because the shitty post office will probably just return it to sender anyway. In any case, I e-mailed Christina and told her as much; I was a little curt with her but I was just returning the favor. Also checked in on Chris’s blog to see what was up. The Olsen twins post was hilarioius as was the Builder Square story; though I don’t like the idea of Chris being anyone’s Pan but mine. Mount my Olympus baby! Also, I checked everyone’s extreme trackers, which only served as a painful reminder that I’ve been tapped for “Prague souveneirs.” The only problem is that souvenirs is spelled wrong and I can’t even correct it in my archives. Oh, to be associated with poor spellers everywhere. The horror!

While on the phone with dad call #4, Verizon called to say that the phone bill was returned to them. I knew it said Thomas Rudderow on the account (obviously derived from the street address) but I don’t see why the bill wouldn’t get here because of an incorrect name. The mail around here is really screwy. There are plenty of letters I haven’t gotten since living here. The final gas and water bills from the old place, my Capital One credit card bill, my bank statement, and now the phone bill have all been lost along the way. At least my happy meal toys made it OK, but that doesn’t excuse the crappy Levittown postal service. If I didn’t get a hunch to check my credit card balance online this morning I would have been charged a $30 late fee. God I hate the mail.

Turned off the television. I’ll read until Trading Spaces comes on at 4 p.m.

The fall back job has officially fallen through. The second in command over at Princeton Vertis said “things weren’t looking so good right now” as they’re making reductions across the board. Time to start hitting the pavement again Monday, since the waiting game I’ve been playing was Solitaire.

Third father call just came in. I have a few more calls to make apparently. Also learned that Dana might not be so hot to trot with her boyfriend. I would like to say “I told you so” about the flavors of the year and having them come along on our family vacations, but it was just a guess that things would fall through. After all, I’m no psychic, right Lauren?

The Vanilla Sky special features weren’t all that special, so I watched the final scene to see if it has the same effect on its own. It does, and I had a really good cry. Already saw Newsradio this morning and even though it’s just as funny the second time, I’d rather work on finishing off The Foundation Trilogy. The third book isn’t as interesting as the first one since this Mule character became the focus instead of the Seldon crises. It’s also popsicle time.

Alex will get here tomorrow at noon, it has been decided. I’m watching the press tour feature on the Vanilla Sky DVD titled “Hitting it Hard.” So far they’re just goofing on reporters and interviewers. Penelope Cruz is as ugly as ever. Some French guy asked Tom Cruise, “Are you actually afraid of the deletion of memories; in other words, are you still real?” What an idiot.

You heard it here first folks, Dave Curran of Vertis is not in. A message has been left, and I’m done all job-related activities for the day. Technically, it’s not the only thing I’ve done today, since at just after midnight last night I responded to a job listing for a Quark layout whiz. Nobody beats this whiz!

Got the phone number, but not from any searching. My dad called to check up on me and I got it from him. I get yet another check-up call in 15 minutes, and no doubt I’ll be in trouble if I haven’t called by then. I told him he could count on me to make the call but of course that wasn’t good enough for him. Time is ticking….

Having trouble locating the phone number for Dave Curran at Vertis. I’ll keep looking when Law & Order is over since I already shot my Newsradio load. Although I still have Ross’ Vanilla Sky DVD and I’ve been meaning to watch the special features, so I guess I’d better look now.

Al’s getting his new (to him) car today, so if it’s the 7:30 p.m. show he can’t make it. Tomas is asking about tonight’s plan. I wish I knew that myself. The tentative plan is to pick up the Powelton Village-ites at around 8:00 p.m., swing down to park and get tickets at the Bourse, and bum around South Street until 9:50 p.m. showing. Now it’s down to who will join us.

The mail cometh. Dia’s paycheck is in there, along with junk mail for the previous tenants and The Trend Midweek, a stupid feel-good newspaper/circular that boasts a front page with a half-page ad. Only thing of interest about The Trend is that Phyllis Iorio, three-week photo editor for The Triangle, took the front page photo of the fire department getting a new bell in its tower a few weeks ago. Now eating a few pieces of beef jerky and chips and salsa. At 1 p.m., Law & Order is on. Can you feel the excitement?

The “‘star-studded’ Match Game” is on now. I don’t know if I punctuated that correctly to express my distaste for the term star-studded, but that’s what I was going for. Geof called to let me know that Citizen Kane is playing at the Roxy theater this week. He said he wasn’t interested in coming to the movies with us, but he did solve my problem of finding out how to get to New York using the regional rails. I’m heading over to the fridge to get a slice of cheese and salami on two slices of bread. Juice too.

Alex won’t be here until late tonight so he’s out of the movie-planning equation, but we’ve made headway on plans for tomorrow. Looks like we’ll try to visit New York before leaving for Ross’s Fort Drinks-a-Lot bash at 7:30 p.m. Family Feud is on now, I’ve sent an e-mail to Al about tonight, and Chris told me on the telephone that he’s going to Harrisburg tonight so he’s for tonight’s events. Oh Jesus, there are some real rubes on Family Feud right now. The family from Idaho brought an Idaho Spud candy bar, and the dumb coot from Tennessee thought that it was an actual potato, then a potato-flavored candy bar. I don’t know if I can watch this all the way through, especially with the horrible accents going on. This just in: The same stupid lady didn’t know what was meant by “a liberated woman” in the last round’s survey.” Go back to the mudlands you backwater hick!

I’ve got to get to my dadly duties — calling Vertis about that job I wasn’t offered yet — so the movie thing may have to be put on the back burner. It’s between the 7:30 and 9:50 p.m. screenings, each of which has its advantages. Urbano had to go to class, but Alex is back for the calling. Doing so now…. Wait! He’s calling me. Time to pick up.

Called Alex to discuss his possible trip down here. Can’t pick a movie time until that’s settled, and he asked me to call back in 10 minutes. I can still rassle up some peeps at least. That’s not sequence-dependent. Still watching TPIR and talking to Urbano.

Off the phone with Dia. She’s staying in the city until everyone convenes around 7:30 p.m. at the Ritz. Still no official time yet. That’s next on my list. Some girl who got down to “contestants’ row” on The Price is Right is in tears of joy, and my IM window to Leonardo Urbano is fading in and out meaning he replied to my “why do you bother posting all those arguments to the triangle forum readers?” inquiry.

Talking to Dia on the phone now. She says she told Monika we would see Full Frontal, so that’s officially the movie; no switching to see Signs.

Wow, now it’s really getting busy around here. Dia just called to say that her friend Monika is coming to the movies tonight, so now it’s decision time. We could have just chosen to stay at home, but now it’s officially an outing. I have to pick a movie time, call Maggie about what time to meet us in Center City, contact other people who might also be interested, find out if Alex is really coming down from Boston this weekend and if it’s for just Ross’s party tomorrow or for the movie as well, and let Dia know whether she should wait for the rest of us in the city or come home on the train. This is a lot of work.

Posted the political quiz to my sidebar. I’m not talking to anyone anymore unless they have taken it. My mom sent me a scan of the paper version which ran in the Washington Post recently. I recall getting an e-mail about it from the Advocates for Self Government claiming it was a major victory. Since most people I know who have taken the test were surprised at how much they agreed with Libertarian ideals, I’d call it a victory too.

Came to the realization that Geof is posting to the forums as “anotherdoomsdaycult.” He is always telling me that I’ve “fallen in” or “been brainwashed” by the Objectivist cult. Go to hell, Geof! All this over-analyzation isn’t getting anyone anywhere in the debate over Libertarianism. Leonardo Urbano is a rarity; not many people like to debate the roots of the party’s beliefs. It comes down to one thing, or four things actually: There are four political parties. The Libertarian party essentially follows the monetary policy of the Republicans and shares a point of view with most Democrats when it comes to personal freedoms. Of course, non-objectivists will whine that this is oversimplifying the problem, but they always make that claim.

Realized I went off on a tangent instead of merely stating what I was doing. Back to the forums posts I go while watching Win Ben Stein’s Money.

Reading opinions on objectivism on the Triangle political forums. Lisa pointed out, with a smiley face at least, that I was a communist for so many years. That was for two reasons: I liked the atheist aspect of the party, and I hadn’t yet realized that people should be held accountable for their actions, including making it on their own. Now listen up detractors! I realize that I don’t have a job yet; not a good argument since I’ll have to have one at some point, at which time your argument will be moot. Also, making it “on your own”, as I choose to define it, is with the help of your immediate community such as family and friends. Sure, no man is an island, but that doesn’t mean that the government should force its citizens to support members of loosely-defined “community.”

Just did the blog circuit while watching The Daily Show. Chris has only three posts up, so it must be a slow day. I liked it better when he wrote about original stuff that he did rather than post links. I usually follow them but today they didn’t seem particularly interesting. Matt has a funny post about our crab experience last night. His posts usually make me laugh out loud, and this one was no different. There was an IM from him this morning saying my post yesterday about Dia’s death was funny; I’m glad that tapping into my morbid side accomplished something other than making me genuinely scared that my girlfriend was dead. I still check Lisa’s blog even though she doesn’t post to it anymore and her links to me, Al, and Geof are wrong, and that the one to Rob that I usually follow doesn’t amount to anything since he’s done posting too. Geof posted some article he hadn’t read as of last night, Al has some post from last month claiming he’s “back” blogging again, and Chris Duffy was on time for work on Wednesday. Al’s probably weary from his first full week in the real world, and I know the other two are working hard to put out my favorite publication. Keep up the good work everyone!

Sent an e-mail to Howard Hoffman at the WSJ. It sounded kind of whiny, but I don’t know how else to put it since it has been two months since my interview. I was really annoyed when I found out that he never called the people I gave him as references at his request.

Received an e-mail from Sony Ericsson technical support. I e-mailed them about service center locations so when my phone comes in I can have it upgrated from the t68 to the t68i, the latter being important because it supports POP3 and IMAP4 e-mail. Unfortunately, they “do not have an exact walk in service center where you could go to have the phone repaired,” but I was given a phone number to call. Much easier than navigating their bells-and-whistles Web site that answers few of my questions. More helpful was Esato.com, which sealed my decision to get the phone.

I’m watching Magnum P. I. right now. I ate the other half of a tub of pudding that I started yesterday. I’d be doing the daily Yahoo! Games crossword puzzle right now if I hadn’t done it already while waiting for Newsradio to come on. I also called my dad; better beat him to the punch to buy me some time before daily call #2. Not that I don’t appreciate them — OK, I don’t appreciate them. I know he cares, but the check-ups are second only to job hunting in the “annoying” category.

I woke up at 7 a.m., drove Dia to her train, and watched the news and Newsradio until 9 a.m. Meanwhile, I paid off the final balance on my Capital One card, tried unsuccessfully to read The Onion’s A.V. club review of Signs and then access the subscription page to update my address, and called API to find out when the hell they’re sending out my $2,000 security deposit refund. (The check is allegedly “being signed right now” with the others and sent out today.)

beginning of a day in the life…

Dia is not dead. She called from the station; her train was just late.

I just saw on the six o’clock news that Dia is indeed missing, but they got her name wrong; they’re calling her Melissa Chamberlain for some reason.

Wait, it’s not Dia. Whew! While it was a Bucks County woman with brown hair, this girl has been missing for a month. She did end up in Maryland, which is where we were headed in mid-August, but I repeat: The missing girl is dead, as I suspected, but it’s not Dia. There may be hope yet.

This morning while driving home after dropping Dia off at the train station I almost hit a bird in two different places. One flew and landed in the wrong damn spot and the other was limping across my path. Both times I was able to stop in time.

Dia wasn’t at the train station today. I was a little late, but I figured she’d probably wait around for me. I waited until the next train then left. I’d rather wait here from a call from her than play the guessing game in a car in 95 degree weather. On the way home from the station a few minutes ago there was a dead opossum in the same spot where I almost hit the bird this morning.

These omens can only mean one thing: Dia’s dead. She was hit by a car.

I’m going to really miss her, but at least I’ll have tonight’s all you can eat crab dinner at Red Lobster. All the northerners I know have been invited but should still be fun even if no-one other than Ross, Dave, Tara, and me are there. After all, the focus is eating — eating crab legs.

Man, it just sank in. I’m really going to miss Dia. I can pay the rent next month, but who will pay for the new cell phone I found on amazon.com? Who will keep me company on the ride down to Davidsonville on August 10 when the family leaves for Duck, N.C.? Who can I tell about my new shorn scrotum? So many questions that can only be answered with, “not dead Dia, that’s for sure.”

I can’t even give her a proper burial. There’s no news of her death on the five o’clock news, so that means she’s lying in a ditch somewhere. It’ll be filed as a missing person until they find her body six weeks from now, but by then her face will have been ripped apart by rats.

Dia, my love, I shall remember you always.