April 2003

$100
Friday night I took out the chunk of change not knowing that I’d come home without any of it. I even still owe Konstantin a shot. There are only bullet points I can remember about the evening:

I called Chris about six drinks into the evening for some reason. I remember asking him if he was made of cotton candy because he and Lisa rescheduled their apartment move due to rain. I also raved about a book I’m reading.

I danced — a lot. I’m sure none of it was good, but I remember The Five Spot being crowded enough to cover it up. I apparently took a water glass as a souvenir even though they were nice enough to let me in with sneakers just that once. It was nice to pay only $5 for a happening night club instead of twice that to socialize with nasty old chicks at Polly Esther’s.

I asked some girl on the dance floor to kiss Sean before he left and she did. Glad I can help the little people every now and again.

As the evening approached its end, I shouted “Pizza’s on me!”. It turned out difficult to buy pizza for around nine people with $3.

Dia took us over the Ben Franklin Bridge on our way home after the revelry was over. Some might think, “That’s not on the way home for you guys.” They’d be right.

Red-headed sluts are the best shots ever, and Dia loves them too.

For the first time in at least four years I vomited as a result of drinking. Though I maintain that it was car sickness that pushed me over the edge. I’m just happy I didn’t get any on Dia’s car and that it wasn’t a terribly messy affair. Still haven’t had my first hangover yet.

And lastly, Andy told me the next day that he grabbed some girl’s butt and pointed at me when she turned around, visibly upset. She left the dance floor immediately.

There’s not much else to say, other than how Dia wants to make it a weekly thing now and is even planning a Vegas trip to celebrate Ross’s, Tim’s, and her June birthdays. I think I’ve awakened a monster.

$100
I spent Saturday moving my grandparents back into their house. We didn’t get the U-Haul until 3:45 p.m. despite getting there almost an hour earlier. We rushed like mad to get everything moved in time to take a box spring to my apartment and another bed to Dana’s, and in our haste I forgot to give my dad the rental contract so he could return the truck in Willow Grove.

It’s a good thing there was Game Night on Saturday at Dave’s house. My dad showed up for his rematches in KKK and gave us the low-down on the U-Haul drop-off plans, and Tim offered to swing by on his way home. He had no idea that the cops were going to accost him for using the night-drop; honestly though, when the cops are behind you with flood lights and a megaphone, you should know better than to get out of your car…. Anyhow, no-one gassed up the rental before returning it, so I’m accepting the fact that there will be fines on top of the $100 one-way rental.

Back to game night, though. There was a good game of Settlers with a surprise win by Andy (dammit, I thought I had it in the bag), pizza and a little Family Guy after that, and KKK until 2:00 a.m.

$100
Sunday, Dia and I went to her friend Ellen’s wedding — my first Jewish ceremony and easily the greatest wedding I have attended outside of Poland. There were seven courses not counting the appetizers that remained on the table all night, each table had three different wines and a bottle of Vodka (which was almost finished by three of us at the table), and an array of heavenly desserts.

We gave the bride and groom a check for the obvious amount, but we easily consumed that much during the celebration so we felt kind of bad. Even though Dia vaguely knew three of the people at our table from work, we had a blast. Surprisingly, Dia pulled me onto the dance floor where we dodged 15-year-old pseudo-lesbians locked in embrace and rhythmically-challenged old Russians who were pretty sauced for 6 p.m. The shindig lasted from 5-10 p.m. (for us at least), at which point we said our congratulations and left, me bookending the weekend with another buzz.

As an aside, Dia mentioned that she hasn’t had a whole lot of time to spend with Ellen lately. They used to go out for lunch and took the GMAT prep course together, but now it’s starting to regress to acquaintance level. Since they live in Newtown, however, the obvious solution is to invite them to game nights in the future since we always need new blood and new friends are hard to come by these days.

I woke up early this morning to a blank alarm clock — the power was out. That means little chance of hot water when I’m set to get ready for work, so I use it as an excuse to go to the gym on a Monday morning. At this point I’m a little annoyed, but mostly happy I didn’t oversleep. I get my stuff together and head to the van.

No gas. Dana drove my car last and didn’t communicate to me just how little fuel I had left. I knew it was low when I got to my grandparents’ place on Saturday, but I didn’t drive it to move their stuff nor home later. So there I sat with no car at my immediate disposal, but plenty of time to figure something out.

Fortunately I’m a quick thinker and in three minutes, already having put on gym clothes since that was the original plan, I’m jogging to the train station to pick up Dia’s car. It was a pretty nice run as I manage to seek out a somewhat direct route through the winding neighborhood streets instead of along busy roads. I took about 40 minutes to jog/walk there and about five minutes to drive back. (I had no idea just how hard running is compared to being coddled by the elliptical trainers and stairmasters; now I do — and I will definitely be running more in the future.) I grabbed a quick, not-terribly-cold shower and hopped in my newly acquired vehicle at my usual leaving time.

All would have turned out perfectly had Dia’s car not been low on gas as well. So to cap off my hectic morning I got lost while looking for a gas station on Rte. 206 as the car started to smell while running on fumes, placing me at work 20 minutes late anyway.

So I was in a rush last week and needed something that would serve as a napkin. I eat breakfast in the car and doughnuts tend to be sloppy.

We’ve been out of napkins proper for at least a month, and paper towels — even the kind that allow me to tear half sheets — are a bit excessive. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I didn’t just tear off a few sheets, but the point is moot now. Instead, I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and it worked fine.

This monday, I found a chocolate on the dashboard; I had bought it for Dia for Easter and apparently she forgot it. It was well on its way to becoming chocolate soup, so I slurped it out of the wrapper as quickly and neatly as I could — which turned out to be neither.

Well, I cleaned up as well as one might expect using the first thing available: the toilet paper. When I was finished there were more than a few balls of brown-streaked TP littering the floor of the van. This is just to warn anyone who may be riding with me in the future that I do NOT wipe my ass while driving. I can only imagine what someone would think if they took a close look while passing by.

I shipped Matt’s first television show to him this morning. No telling on if it will get there, but for now the only thing I sent was an episode of Shipmates. It’s not one of the shows he requested before he left, but something tells me he’ll become as addicted as I am.

As it turns out, either the script Hager wrote or the encoding program itself isn’t working properly, and the shows are all being compressed with the aspect ration reversed — the shows are coming out vertical and knocking the audio out of sync too. Until I (read: Hager) gets this fixed, I can only send him half hour shows. I could split them up onto two discs, but it shouldn’t be that long, and as I said before I can just send Shipmates and South Park for now instead.

I also started a running list of shows that I’ve mailed in case a package gets lost in the mail, and I included a letter as well. Matt has only limited access to e-mail, so this is his best way of getting it through his thick skull that someone other than his family is thinking about him. (They’ve been writing him a lot, but according to his mom he hasn’t responded to them yet. Must have something to do with how none of them would help pay for college thus forcing him to join the Army Reserves.)

For now I’m going to send Matt about three CDs a week with various shows and images, so be sure to e-mail me stuff to include. It is $1.06 each time I send something, so donations would be greatly appreciated. Anyone can Paypal them to me with whatever text they would like me to burn to the next CD to ship. Donations aren’t required of course, it would just help to defray the costs a little over time. Once I get the TV show burning system pretty automated — and I get word from Matt that he has the right codecs and can indeed watch what I’m sending him — I’m looking to ship out a disc a day.

I was dragging my feet for a while but not anymore. Not to beat a dead horse, but it was yesterday’s episode of Shipmates that made me realize I had to get on the ball about writing to Matt. It made me realize how much I need Matt sitting on the couch next to me, both of us laughing our asses off. I miss having him around to oversimplify the role of women in society, to rant and rave about how his family is a bunch of no-good degenerates, and to lounge around all day playing X-Box waiting for me to come home from work so we can get drunk with a quickness and bribe the Jillian’s bowling alley attendant. That’s it for now about Matt.

Come home soon buddy so I can expound on the negative aspects of being your friend. As long as you’re overseas I have to keep it positive, asshole.

My eye doctor gave me all sorts of options for my new eyewear (expected to arrive any day now), including anti-glare coating. I almost took him up on his offer since more is usually better in my book. Before I agreed to the nominal fee, I asked just what the coating did — it’s not like glare is ruining my life or anything.

Well it’s a good thing I asked, because if I hadn’t inquired I might have lost my superpower. The special coating would have made it impossible to spy on the people behind me. It hasn’t come in too handy lately, but it’s nice to know it is there when I need it.

I enjoyed the best Easter vacation in a long while this past weekend.

We kicked things off right with game night on Thursday. Mostly everyone got there by 8:30 p.m. and we got right to it. When my dad arrived at 10:30 I figured we’d squeeze in a game or two before everyone took off, but that’s when the serious throwdowns began. Ross, Andy, my dad and I played KKK until 3:30 a.m. Ross later claimed to Chris and Lisa (according to them) that he continuously tried to usher people out, but there’s no way that happened. I tried to end it on more that one occasion, but every time my dad asked if anyone else wanted to keep playing, Ross and Andy dodged the opportunity and kept the night going. I hear Ross called out sick the next day he was so tired. I was pretty tired myself but I had the day off anyway. Even though there were only four of us, it’ll be a long time before game night gets that serious again.

Friday, I went with my dad, Lauren and her new roommate Karen (who is also a long-time friend of the family through our dads) to Atlantic City. I lost about $20, which is good considering how far in the hole I was, but Lauren won $300 right out of the gate at the Roulette table. After about two hours of gambling and a bite to eat, we headed back each to our own plans. Dia and I spent the remainder of the evening with Chris and Lisa, first watching A Mighty Wind at the Ritz then eating dinner at the Outback Steakhouse.

Saturday felt like Sunday, and I don’t really remember doing much of anything. There was yardsaling in the morning, then lunch with my dad at a diner on Route 13, and finally an entire day of watching television in my boxers while Dia did homework.

Sunday was spent at Gillespie Street waiting for the carpet guys to lay down the carpet so we could get on with cleaning and restocking the house. We got about two hours of our own work done after mainly helping scrape up the pad from two carpets ago off the floor. We opted out of Easter dinner and instead had a Boston Market lunch on the front steps. Sadly, the furniture was blocking the kitchen so we all had to share two paper cups, but if that was the worst part of the weekend we were truly blessed.

The weekend left me feeling mentally relaxed yet physicaly exhausted. Luckily, I got ten hours of sleep before work on Monday so working overtime Monday wasn’t too much of a problem; I even made it to the gym before it closed for four-miles on the stairmaster.

And now, I’m off to Casper’s. Chances are I’ll be alone for the first two hours just like last week, but as long as I have my book again that’s fine by me.

eBay, you strung me along, leading me to believe I could count on you for untold riches. You started out easy enough, allowing me to unload my extra baggage off on you and paying me silly amounts of cash to take it. It was a very loving first week.

Week two was less lucrative on the face of things. It was to be expected, since I lowered my standards and treated you worse. I looked in the cracks of my couches and the backs of my closets, I stretched my imagination to see what we could convince people to purchase. I had no idea that our second week would bring not only less money but more hardship as well. People aren’t responding to invoices or repeated requests for information. Most of our auctions are in various states of flux, dependent on this piece of information or that zip code before they can be completed. Oh, how you tease me.

It got a little better this morning. Another menage a trois looked like to be right around the corner when the gentleman from Italy finally responded to my four e-mails about our DivX player. But now it seems like I have to wait until late Thursday night for a paypal transfer before I can even start to think about being satisfied again.

On top of the problems surrouding our most lucrative transaction, you slap me in the face by removing one of my auctions without telling me. I know it wasn’t the most honorable thing to do, listing that shitty Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo that some con artist foisted upon me in the same manner, but to disappear an auction like that without any warning? Shame on you! The least you could do is send me a short e-mail explaining your actions or allow the auction to remain in the “Items That Didn’t Sell” category of MyEbay. Instead, you thrust me into the harsh hands of Ebay Help instead. My new dominatrix toyed with my head and heart until finally releasing his answer [all over my face]: eBay auctions vanish into thin air only when the item violates the rules somehow. I understand your reasoning, but where were you when I got the lighter in the first place, huh? Where were you back then?!

Go to hell, eBay. I realize you may have me by the balls, but as long as we remain civil I think we can still work with eachother. I just want you to know that I don’t love you anymore.

There are mounds of junk strewn about the apartment yet Dia hasn’t complained yet. She probably realizes that I’m just as annoyed at the mess as she is, and that I simply haven’t had time to tackle it. Much of the stuff is going to make its way onto eBay eventually, but until it does it sits around waiting to be boxed. It’ll have to wait at least one more day, too, since tonight is Casper’s night.

Last night was going to be a Night of Cleaning, but when I finally got home from my eye doctor appointment and the eyedrops started to wear off so I could concentrate, it was 10:30 p.m. The bill for my glasses and sunglasses came to over $300, so it’s a damn good thing I’m making some extra cash from selling old junk. That total is not counting my frames (which were included) and only a $30 co-pay, so it’s pretty much the sunglasses I splurged on. I’ve never worn them before, mainly since my vision is so bad, so I decided to treat myself now that I have a plan that replaces them for free if I break them. Boo-yah!

Back to this eBay stuff, though. Rob’s been a long-time online merchant, but it took Ross’s recent successes to convince me that my junk was worth stuff too. Stuff I had been meaning to throw out but decided to try posting has sold the best. Shocking to everyone was the beer mug fountain/lamp that sold for $38 plus shipping; that thing was the last thing in the world I figured would get a bid. (It was a great novelty for about a month, but after that it was just a pain in the ass to maintain for very little reward.) The best part is watching the prices climb — most of the stuff that goes for a penny almost the entire duration of the auction end up selling just as much as items that climb steadily.

I still feel bad parting with some memories, but so far it’s only been stuff that I’d never use again in a million years and has stuck with me, dusty, through two moves. Plus, for every beer mug fountain or abacus that I’m selling, there are Pepsi can airplanes and wooden puzzle toys that I’ll keep around for at least another move. I like having knick knacks, and so far I’m only selling the stuff that I’m done with or never used in the first place.

One thing is for sure: when the time comes to move again I’ll have fewer crates filled with “stuff I’m not sure about.” For a measly $0.55 listing fee, it would be crazy not to list this stuff before I take it to the trash compactor.

Al admitted that he was a little worried that he offed my cat, but Mary allegedly didn’t even bat an eye. Shortly after confirming the prank with Chris, he came up with this little gem. What a guy.

Alright, this typing-things-out-as-therapy — or -as-debate in this case — has its limitations, mainly that it could quite possibly never end. Or even worse, end badly. So I called Rob, aplogized again and explained that I went into yesterday’s conversation as if it were no big deal, not knowing that it was such a hassle for him and that he felt so strongly. I think that’s what set things off, polarizing me towards frustration and Rob towards anger. I think he accepted my apology, though we didn’t exchange the usual “bygones” that usually brings a tear to my eye. And while he said I could have the last word because he wasn’t writing anymore on the subject, I only post what lies below because it was what led me to call Rob in the first place.

The only two things about this “*ob war” that bother me are the ad hominem attacks and the fact that this is just an IM conversation.

First of all, much is lost in IM conversations, and I had misread from the beginning just how upset Rob was. I had thought our discussion about the classified ad was nearing the end by the time I wrote, “but is it worth opening up a war for a crime comitted years ago?” At that, I realized my comment could be applied to the Iraq situation as well, and thought I’d point it out since the war seems to be one of Rob’s favorite topics. It wasn’t a non sequitur or a sneaky segue, but a joke. More importantly, a joke in a conversation that I didn’t know had such serious undertones.

As for the other comments I made, neither those about the mp3 player or Trent Reznor were personal insults, merely comments in line with the conversation I wasn’t taking as seriously as I apparently should have.

The father comment, which isn’t entirely accurate since my dad really doesn’t play a part in the decisions I make any more than Rob does, hit closer to home because it was a personal attack. It wasn’t because there was any truth to it — my dad is hardly a “primary soure of answers” for me. To expound upon how he isn’t: my dad merely got me an interview in June, and I wasn’t even hired until October when they looked through the resumes they had on file; I’ve been paying my own rent for years; and I’m currently paying off my student loans incurred from my extra schooling. He’s my dad and I love him, but we don’t see eye-to-eye on a goddamn thing, let alone exchange advice. He has given me a lot over the years, but no more than anyone else’s parents have given them.

To claim that the comment, “well next time call your dad and ask him what the solution is, he has them for every other facet of your life,” was in any way logically related to “you should have suggested [that I call Geof]” is ludicrous. Even if there was a loose association, lumping a personal attack wasn’t necessary at this point, especially one as mean as what Rob intended.

Back to first point, though, I find it interesting that this has all been going on without an actual word exchanged. In the same way you don’t break-up over the phone, you don’t have serious discussions over Instant Messenger — or at least I try not to. Had I known at the beginning that Rob felt so strongly about a joke I didn’t even remember I pulled, I would have approached the whole conversation differently.

As for the war, very few people feel as strongly as Rob does. He doubts that I have an open mind because I used the terms “1,000 Iraqi civilian deaths” and “global police”, but it is open: I readily admit there is evidence both for and against the war and that I haven’t reached an overall conclusion. Everyone who is on the fence or opposed to war is merely chanting soundbytes in Rob’s eyes. He has no idea what I’ve read, but merely makes assumptions because I don’t fall in line with what he’s preaching.

That’s when I called Rob. I would love for all of us to get together and debate the war in person because it’s simply too hard online. Though I don’t think a debate over Iraq is what anyone would deem “a good time”. Instead, there is gaming at Al’s house this Friday night and I extended the invitation so we can have it out over the coffee table. As my luck would have it, Rob already has plans. Ah well, sometime soon I hope.

My cat loses one of her nine lives and finds her way home somehow, only to be put in harm’s way again. She’s been catnapped.

I don’t know what to do. On the one hand, I don’t want to waste another one of her lives; The Good Lord (this Jeebus fellow Matt used to tell me about, before Jeebus sent him off to war) knows that with all the dangers in our apartment Csoki will need all the lives she has. There’s the lava lamp with its power cord dangling off the edge of the filing cabinet. There are the bead necklaces waiting to be plucked off the desk. The power outlets, the halogen lamp, the countless other choking hazards.

On the other hand, is the cat really worth $80?

Seriously though, I had no idea what a hoopla this cat entry would cause. The idea came about when I found a label on the floor, chewed beyond legibility. It got me thinking about how Al could very well have killed my kitten. When I set out to write a paragraph or two, I thought about the time Dia missed her train and I imagined what life would be like without her. It made me so sad that I tried to laugh it off by making obvious jokes, and when it was all done Matt said it was one of the funniest things he had read. I was trying to do the same thing with Csoki Tej, but as I finished up it startled me how real it sounded. Since I didn’t want to erase what I wrote, I decided to post it for a little while; only I forgot that I wouldn’t be able to post a clarification until tonight.

To my surprise, I got very nice e-mails from Rob and Geof about how sorry they were at my cat’s passing. Both think I’m a sick bastard now; Geof admitted it was a pretty good prank, Rob took it to mean that I have more deeply-seeded issues than he does. Jamie simply called me an asshole.

Some people won’t change at all, no matter what is said over the course of a conversation. These people are so sure of themselves that no amount of evidence, arguments, or pleading will change their minds, whether it’s the war with Iraq, social issues, or even a small practical joke gone out of hand.

These people won’t readily admit they don’t have all the facts. They make up their mind based on the beliefs they hold in their hearts, and search for evidence to support the mind that they’ve already made up. No amount of dialogue will ever change this fact, and these people frustrate me.

Rob is some person. Take, for starters, a little practical joke that was pulled three years ago. The end of the conversation could not have been avoided no matter what: personal insults were going to be slung and then the conversation would be abruptly ended. It started with a small classified ad that I placed in The Rectangle. In an issue entirely of jokes, an apartment that was too good to be true would be out of place, and as a double joke I listed Rob’s phone number. I underestimated the response to the ad, and Rob got an exorbitant amount of phone calls — five. He referred them all to my number, and I had a jolly good time making them feel stupid for not recognizing it as a joke. Rob was still bitter, however, and was angry for a little while. The joke got out of hand, as the ad was reprinted with the rest of the classifieds for the next few joke issues, including this year’s.

Rob is what I like to call a hothead. Quick to anger, easy to evoke an insult from, and lacking a sense of humor when it is he who is the butt of a joke. He’s also King of the Non Sequitur Insult; a typical argument might go something like this:

Me: “My iPod may be more expensive, but it’s got more features.”

Rob: “I’ve done the research, and they’re exactly the same.”

Me: “Whatever, I still like mine better. Apple’s products are higher quality.”

Rob: “Like hell they are, you just overpaid.”

Me: “Look, I’m not a technology geek like you are.”

Rob: “Yeah, you’re just fat.”

That conversation never took place, but that last part is the kind of thing Rob would say. It doesn’t particularly bother me since I can see it for what it is, but I just like to point out how discussing anything with him can be frustrating.

Back on point, I apologized for the ad; since it ran for years after the initial placement, I can see how that could be annoying. I replied to his “You’re not sorry” with a smile and explained that the first time was funny and that it was not my intention for it to happen this many times. His indignation persisted and it became clear that making light of it, talking it over, changing the subject, or apologizing was going to make it go away. Or change his response, which this time was a threat: to “write [me] off the way [I] wrote off Sean.” I’m sure he didn’t mean it, first of all since I didn’t write Sean off (the blogosphere is hardly the place to get the majority of one’s information — this can only be accomplished with actual human interaction; Tim and I have spoken at length about this, and it is another subject entirely) and I can’t even imagine someone doing it for a lesser reason. Secondly, and I know as a quoter of The Big Lebowski he will appreciate this, Rob is a real reactionary; he lashes out very quickly but is still pretty good natured in the long run. Still, he’s likely to blow this out of proportion (I’ve been mocked for saying this about Rob before, but most people will attest that it’s all too true). Instead, I would like to see him prove me wrong and just drop the issue without theatrics or comeuppance.

My introduction anecdote got way out of hand, so I will merely touch on what was initially my point in my essay on Rob. I dislike being labeled a sheep because I’m indecisive about the war. I’d rather be pensive and look a fool for not taking action than be able to say “Wow, look how decisive I am” and make an error of judgement. I also dislike it when Rob’s type of people claim they’re open minded and want to discuss things, but also state — in direct contradiction of open-mindedness — how they won’t be changing their minds. Rob will use a lot of points to justify the war on Iraq, but I don’t think he is capable of changing his mind even in a hypothetical situation where it’s proven that Saddam doesn’t fund terrorism. I also have a hard time believing that Rob cares one way or another about Saddam’s atrocities since he hasn’t been known to be culturally sensitive in the past; nevermind arguments about the approximately 1,000 Iraqi civillian deaths or whether it was our place to play global police.

There is not much more to say other than I’m sure there’s some sort of “revenge” that will come from this. I was able to warn him over IM right back, so he probably isn’t winning yet in the little competition in his head, though I’ll admit that putting me on his “blocked list” was a pretty fierce tactic. Hopefully this can remain in the digital realm, like Lisa’s smackdown when I poked fun at her friend Ron and unlike my overreaction last year when she did the same thing.

As for the unintentionally extended April Fool’s joke on Rob, HA HA HA HA HA HA!

I guess now is good a time as any to put up a picture of my cat even though she passed away. We took her to the vet early this morning even though we knew in our hearts it was too late — she wasn’t breathing right.

As it turned out, she choked on a label that Al printed out and stuck on one of our remote controls. We all knew the glue wasn’t sticking right but I thought we had collected them all before Al and Mary left Saturday night. We even made a second check before we went to bed, though now it’s obvious we missed some.

I don’t blame Al since he couldn’t have known it was so dangerous, but it’ll be a while before we can think about getting another cat again. It’s pretty traumatic to have never had a pet before, only to have your first die within one month of ownership. Well, live and learn. Here’s your little place on the Internet, Csoki. I love and miss you.

I made $75 (paid in cash) today by participating in a focus group in the city. The name of the company was FocusPointe, and they’re the same fine people who paid me and Pat Boyle to wax creative about cars in a BMW chat five years ago. We got $500 for that one, but it took up a day and a half where as this one took only two hours.

I have my first physical in seven years tomorrow. I’m finally going to get that lump in my arm checked out, and I’m hoping my new doctor will tell me I’m in surprisingly good condition for someone who weighs as much as I do. It’s true, I no longer belong in this body, and I’ll be much happier when it catches up to my new, more active lifestyle.

The best part about my doctor’s appointment is that it’s the first time I’ll be using my personal time. Having just looked recently at how much time off I’ve accrued, I was pleasantly surprised: I have 8 hours of sick time, 16 hours of personal time, and over 35 hours of vacation time stored up. It’s going to come in handy with all the different doctor and dentist appointments I have coming up, but I intend to save my vacation time until 2004.