February 2004

I should have known better than to promise myself a photo post, but at least it motivated me to do it. I wasted an hour on the phone with a ReplayTV tech support guy only to find out I probably have a bad hard drive in the damn thing, and even if I don’t he had no idea what to do anyway; I’ve had it for over a year so the only choice is to buy another one for the short term and have some fun tearing the thing apart to put a new drive in it. I suspect Rob will come in handy for this.

My sister took a bunch of nicer photos with her fancy camera, so I’ll add them to the album when I get them from her. The shots I have are pretty representative of Atlantis though she almost definitely has higher quality images. Not only that, but she has some of me as well — right now I have about a dozen or so that contain either her or my dad and are mostly of the Dana-in-the-foreground-with-something-neat-behind-her variety. It’s not a bad formula usually, but it works better when you’re on a trip with more than two people. My favorite shots are of the fish in the sky because they could be created with a simple photo editing program but weren’t. In this case it was simply a case of walking through a tunnel in an aquarium and looking up. Seeing fish float all around me was one of the neatest things I’ve ever seen.

I’m back from the Bahamas, and feeling a whole lot better. Though I enjoyed the sun, the crystal blue water, the gambling and the marina, it was more the conversation with my dad and sister that I enjoyed. It was certainly therapeutic.

I picked up two hawaiian shirts, an extremely belated wedding gift for Steve and Gosia who were married two years ago in June, and a wooden statuette for Dia. I also picked up a slight case of sunburn, though I’m red enough to have been called Big Red Bob by a few people at work.

As for family matters, I’ve calmed down a lot. I’m still shocked and disappointed, but it isn’t my place to pass judgement over my family members. I won’t likely be supporting them in any way, so it’s none of my concern really. My feelings hurt for my dad, though, who in no way deserves a lot of the crap he’s been put through recently. I’ve given him my share of headaches but nothing like this.

So getting back to happier thoughts, the weekend went really well. I’ll post the pictures later tonight and then some more when my sister sends me the ones we took with her camera. Some of the stuff is too fantastic to put into words. The food, the aquarium, the water slides — it was all a cut above any place I’ve ever been before. I even won some money at the casino, so it was a winning weekend in every respect.

If these next two nights in the Bahamas are anything like last night, it’s not going to be a whole lot of fun. Thanks to a generally annoying movie called The Butterfly Effect, what little sleep I was able to force myself to catch was plagued with nightmares about being able to turn back time to prevent awful things from happening. There I go again with the cryptic stuff again.

I’ve also been trying to reckon recent events with my political and philosophical beliefs. First of all, where is this so-called “charmed life” of the wealthy I’ve been hearing so much about. When I hear people claim “money isn’t everything” yet “money makes some people’s lives so much easier” in the same paragraph I don’t understand. I see just as many problems for people who have money as those who don’t, only they’re at different levels of tangibility. Right now, I’d gladly trade for some easy-to-grapple-with hardship like having to work two jobs in exchange for a happier home life. People who have their head down and focused on making a better life don’t have time for extraneous shit. At the same time, who’s to say that actual rich kids have some sort of disadvantage for being brought up so privileged? Instead, their mindset is that people owe them stuff and so they don’t work as hard as everyone else.

These are, of course, only scratching the surface, but I’ve got a plane to catch [How lucky, a rich kid going away for the weekend.] with my horrible thoughts [Some rich white girl fucked up her life and the lives of her family in a way that only time, not money, can repair]. I also don’t have time to proofread my rambling.

[Surprisingly, my support for the legalization of drugs hasn’t wavered despite it’s role in the matter. I guess my case is that much stronger: A guy who’s life has been affected by drugs and has never tried them makes a better argument (in my opinion anyway) than some stoner at a Grateful Dead concert.]

There’s only so much I can get off my chest by talking to Dia. And the shit I have tearing me apart inside isn’t the type of stuff I can post in a public forum. Even talking to my friends is out of the question.

So the only thing I can do is post cryptic messages to my own blog and hope that it helps in some small way. It’s putting a lot of faith in my friends to not prod and poke to get some funny family story out of me. I’m sure some wise-ass would say Well jerkoff, why not just shut up then? Believe me when I say that I can’t. I’ve never been so upset that my hands were shaking, and I now know that I would not be able to handle a death in the family as well as I once hoped. I hate sounding like some fucking goth tool, but I need to lash out. The only other thing I’ve been able to do is find a loose lead to solving my problems. It’s (215) 237-4707. War-dialing tips anyone?

In a way, a death in the family is what has happened. I’ve always known that Lauren was a bad apple, but this is the first time she’s done something so unforgivably wrong. Even being angry at this latest moron she’s shacking up with won’t help; it was only a matter of time before she came across someone who would have no qualms about taking advantage of her depravity. There’s nothing I can do about it now since praying is out of the question for me. But I’ll hope.

We played a solid game of Quizo last night even though it didn’t feel like it. With only four or five more correct answers we could have taken third place, though that’s almost always the case and not a good excuse. Since our team name didn’t win last week (even though it was one of the best) with “long”, we changed it slightly when the announcer requested shorter names. It wasn’t even one of the top three this week and we didn’t deserve a damn thing. We can’t be expected to win based on our knowledge, so if our work ethic at being funny doesn’t put us in the winners’ circle our confidence will be shot.

I’m doing very well on my diet. I’m averaging six workouts a week, all cardiovascular exercise, and I’ve been able to curb my junk food intake. I still get a lot of input from the peanut gallery about bread-this and cheese-that, but I’ve never felt healthier. As long as I can steer clear of artificial foods and focus on the wholesome elements of the four basic food groups, I’m ahead of the game. At this point, the $150 pot up for grabs between my two coworkers and myself isn’t as attractive as the bragging rights; I may have to find another job if I lose because I’ve been doing some serious shit-talking. I’m still confident of my chances, especially since I ran three miles last night before Quizo and again for 20 minutes this morning.

Now, while I’m healthier overall, there are negative aspects to dieting. First, I’m always sore. My legs haven’t stopped aching for over two weeks and my back (muscles, not vertebrae) isn’t much better. I’m back to doing 20-25 curls with 30 lb. weights and 20-25 push-ups every morning, so there’s no soreness in my arms or chest anymore, but every other muscle in my body is taking its turn to scream in protest. I’m not even lifting for the next two months since I just want to slim down at this point, but I’m still surprised at how sore I get from simply running or using the elliptical trainer.

The other problem I have is the 10-15 trips I make every day to the water cooler — very time consuming. And since each trip represents a liter of water, that’s almost as many visits to the bathroom. My hands are also chapped from washing them so often. With so much water intake it’s not surprising that I have cravings for peanuts, pickles, or anything else containing lots of sodium. Which reminds me of the final annoyance with losing weight: hearing overweight, inactive fools who drink maybe two cups of water a day lecturing me on the awful salt content of one bowl of French onion soup. Piss off already.

Compared to 2003, 2004 is going to rock. Why? Because Matt O’Connell will be around again. Granted, he might have the woman (or another woman, or more than one) taking up some of his time, but it’ll still be better than no time at all. And to think it all starts in less than a month.

It’ll also be nice for him to not have to worry about getting his head shot off, and instead focus his energy on the everyday tasks like job hunting and finally moving out of his mom’s house. It’s gonna be great to have him back; he leaves Iraq in a week and the good time’s will roll once he sets foot on American soil.

Actually, there is a down side to Matt’s arrival in two weeks. He might not receive the Girl Scout cookies Dia and I sent him last week.

Every now and then Nathan has a stroke of genius. He’s one of the most creative people I know, but this is him expressing it from a different angle.

As someone who can abort food from vending machines, credit-carded his way into his own house when he was locked out, and figured out his ex-girlfriend’s password derivations, I’ve got a tear in my eye.

I just happened to come across Nathan’s blog while updating myself on everyone’s sites. He’s had a site as long as anyone, but the blog is news to me.

I’m a big fan of John Gruber’s Web site, which I have linked on the side. I usually don’t link to thing in the text because I like having journal entries that won’t be outdated with a bunch of broken links down the road.

This, however, is amazing. I found the site when Gruber spent one of his entries gushing about it. At the time I thought What’s the big deal?, but once I started reading it at work on a snowy day, I couldn’t stop. I’ve linked to longest of the stories, but they range in size and subject matter. The one thing they all have in common is how giddy they make me as I think about the invention of the personal computer as we know it.

A few quick words on various dirty subjects:

The other night, Tim mentioned my entry where I used the word “fucking”. He was surprised when I told him there were only a handful of times where I saw fit to use it on my site. While I’m personally unfazed when I hear it, and I’m a big proponent of its use, it’s better practice to write without swearing everywhere. The family also tend to drift in once in a while and I try not to give them additional reasons to dislike me.

Now that I’m dieting, my shits — with the exception of last weekend’s binge — look like little rabbit turds. I can’t decide if it’s because I’m eating healthier food or just less food, but it makes thinks a lot simpler in the lavatory.

I really should schedule a doctor appointment. I’ve been sneezing ever since I was sick five weeks ago, and I could be imagining things but I think I’m still congested enough that my hearing has suffered as well. You’d think with my perpetual runny nose that the mucous would have all drained out by now, but in light of the fact that last year I had to go to the hospital and follow up with an ear specialist I’m slightly worried.

Now that I mention doctor appointments, Csoki Tej needs to see the vet as well. She’s fat, for one thing; she should slim down now that the other cats are old enough to not need fatty kitten food available all day, but fatties need more care. Also, I don’t know if it’s because she’s too fat to clean herself properly or our old veterinarian botched her spay operation, but there’s some dirt or blood or something in Csoki’s nether fur that worries me a little. I hope it’s just a “too fat to reach” issue instead of some broken inner workings or my poor cat letting herself go at such an early age. Either way, the only person who can rule anything out is the vet, if I can get around to setting up an appointment.

Lastly, a white horse falls in the mud.

I can finally see, and it’s great. No, it’s fucking great. I’ll never take eyesight for granted again. I didn’t have to worry about how I was going to manage a workout without being able to see the readout on the elliptical trainer, I’m a safer night driver, and I don’t get stressed out thinking about how I’ll handle low light situations like closets and bars. It’s heavenly.

Getting right down to it, I was a little disappointed at my party planning this time around. I forgot to get non-alcoholic drinks, and I wore a torn T-shirt that was slightly sweating from moving furniture that morning.

The turnout was still substantial enough to warrant borrowing tables and chairs from work, but it wasn’t the packed house I was expecting either. Ben has been trying to contact me on instant messenger, presumbably to explain his absence, but we keep missing eachother. Greg pulled one of his patented disappearing acts. Gus promised to bring baklava but didn’t show (not that I was expecting him to take time out of his busy schedule for a party where it was questionable that he’d have a good time). Nathan always has something hoity-toity going on unless he has to get a good night’s sleep. And Geof probably still hates me for being mean to hypothetical poor people last week.

I’m not bitter about any of these things except that I enjoy spending time with everyone. I’m not trying to get all of my friend-time out of the way at once, either. In my high school years I enjoyed getting home from school or summer jobs and calling everyone right away to see what we were doing that night. It’s probably no different from what anyone else remembers except that I miss it terribly. To me, playing Quizo every week almost doesn’t even count as an outing — it takes care of Wednesdays. What about the other nights of the week? I’d gladly move my workouts to the morning to hang out every night. Parties, road trips, and game nights on the weekends are great, but during the week everyone I know (including myself) has taken to sitting at home watching television. There’s the distance thing, sure, and also homework for some people. It just doesn’t change the fact that on almost any given night I’d be up for board games, a movie, laser tag, ice skating, Mario Kart, Taco Bell, or even watching television as a group.

I’m fine with solitude and can keep myself entertained moreso now than I ever could as a teenager; I’m alone at the gym, when I commute, and when I work. I see my high school days not only as something to remember fondly, but as a comparison for how complacent I’ve become with respect to how energetic my friends and I could be.

I’m bored at work. I’m taking my sister’s place (that’s a whole other story) on a trip to the Bahamas Feb. 21-23. That’s also the week by which I have to return my other sister’s ski clothes that Dia borrowed a month ago. Speaking of which, I want to go skiing this weekend; Dia said she might come along too. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and all, but the specific day doesn’t really matter as long as we do something the night before, if that. I already got her a new cell phone and plan to take her to see 50 Dates, which will probably suck. Either way, one of our first dates was some Adam Sandler and we’ve seen every other one for better or worse — not that we’re particularly proud of that fact, we’re just waiting for the next Wedding Singer.

So back to using vacation time for this unexpected trip. I don’t usually take days off lightly, so it shouldn’t be a problem to give me the day off. Though it has been more strict around here lately, not necessarily with vacation but with coming in on time. I used to roll in between 10 and 10:30 a.m. Now that my hours are 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., my boss has been riding me to get in on time. I understand it’s one of only a few things that bothers him, but still…. So I get in 15 minutes late? It’s better than sitting in traffic an extra 30 minutes to be here on time, and I’m still getting my work done. Plus, it’s not like I’m ever allowed to leave on time. Things haven’t reached a critical point yet but it will eventually; until then I think we’re bothing going to be a little annoyed at eachother.

As usual, my diet is going well again now that it’s a week day. I went to the gym last night and ate a few small portions of leftovers for dinner. Today I had a few small meals and pigged out only on water. I’m getting extremely sick of water, actually. I’m trying to fill my stomach so I’m not hungry, but it’s a thin line between sated and bloated. Even though diet soda is bad in its own ways, I’m going to get a few cases of diet vanilla and diet lemon Pepsi. I’m constantly craving salty foods: pretzels, peanuts, snack mix, beef jerky. I almost grabbed a salt shaker the other day and poured it into my mouth. It’s not hunger, only a salt craving. Like right now, I’ve got so much water in my stomach I feel like I’m going to puke and all I can think about is a handful of pretzels. Hopefully diet soda will fill my sodium void without requiring that I guzzle it down by the bucket.

I have yet to apply for the job leads that people sent to me, so they’re all probably filled by now. There are others around, but now I have to look for them myself. I need to just sit down, add two lines to my resume, and formulate letters. I’m writing this garbage day after day, you would think it would be even easier to write a few paragraphs explaining why I am looking for work. Even a poorly written letter is better than letting a substantial job lead dry up. I look upon each day in terms of what I’ve accomplished, and on days where I go to the gym I feel like I’ve met my quota. The same goes for listing items on eBay or going to the grocery store. I’ve got to stop congratulating myself for the stuff I should be doing on a daily basis and get right down to the oh-so-difficult tasks like writing nine sentences to prospective employers.

Sweetness isn’t my weakness, it’s peer pressure. I can avoid eating anything at work — cookies, brownies, candy, donuts, cake — no problem. It’s the outings and parties that are killer. After losing 4.5 pounds last week I pretty much blew it over the weekend.

I even behaved myself at Quizo, eating only a bowl of French onion soup, a bowl of peanuts, and one glass of Miller Lite, and that only after I ate especially light throughout the day. Then my own party comes around and I pig out. I didn’t even go out and get diet soda (or any soda for that matter, more than a small oversight) like I meant to — I just guzzled down punch most of the night. I definitely ate more than my fair share as well. My excuses are always the same: “I’ll just work out tomorrow” or “Well, I didn’t eat anything else all day”, neither of which are valid if I’m trying to lose pounds. They might cut it if I’m just maintaining my weight, but if I’m going to shave this shit off I better get serious.

So, the most obvious choice is to simply stay away from temptation. I already declined dinner with Dave tonight and I’m going to try my best to stay away from Quizo. Now my greatest challenge will be keeping myself busy at home.

I was exhausted after the party Saturday, so I crashed all day yesterday. No working out, no eating, no headaches from my sunglasses. It wasn’t until 8 p.m. that Dia and I started cleaning up and moved the tables and chairs into my car. At this point everything is pretty much the way it was except for the furniture, which is still mostly in Dia’s room. I’m trying to motivate myself to list it on eBay, but after that last debacle I’m not too excited about it.

The fact that I’m posting at this late hour means I’m going to be super tired tomorrow for my own party. Everything is almost ready.

My auctions weren’t going as well as I thought, since the only thing that sold was the chest and I only got $1.25 for it. The guy expressed an interest in the rest of the furniture though so I might make a sale after all. If he doesn’t buy it then it’s going home with Hager tomorrow. Tim helped me get an entertainment hutch and a pair of smaller spearkers at Best Buy last night, which means that once we clean up my living room will look a little classier.

I would have done things differently this morning, that’s for sure.

I’ll start by saying that if I had known that there wasn’t a dent in my Element (thank you, dent-resistant Fisher Price panels), I would never have dialed 9-1-1; and had I known that the guy was going to throw a full can of beer at my car, I wouldn’t have slammed on my brakes in the first place.

Now that I’ve calmed down a little, I’d say that my morning commute was sort of funny.

Shortly after turning onto Green Lane from Mill Creek Road, on my way to the PA Turnpike, two guys in a battered, teal minivan caught up to me and started really riding my bumper. Even though I was already doing 45 mph in what I thought was a 35-mph zone, I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and speed up a little. They continued to stay close behind me, never dropping back for a second even as we made a sharp right at the light onto the turnpike on-ramp. At the yield sign right before the toll booth, I tapped on my brakes just enough so the lights would come on as I accelerated slightly; they still didn’t drop back at all.

I flashed back to my high school driving days, and in a fit of road rage I slammed on my brakes almost as hard as I could. Sure enough, the assholes behind were dangerously close when I gunned it, leaving them half on the shoulder in what would have been a failed attempt to avoid slamming into me if I were still back there. Now that there was some distance between us, I shoved my arm out the window and made a “get back” hand gesture as best I could. I know 99 percent road gestures are futile but I was hardly thinking clearly at this point. This all happened in a matter of seconds, and before I knew it they were right behind again as we bounced through an open EZ Pass lane.

After the toll, which only has two lanes, I moved over right away so as not to let them get beside me before the merge back into single file. But I underestimated just how angry they were at my little stunt, so when the roads split into eastbound and westbound, I thought we’d go our separate ways or I’d have him behind me until I dusted him on the turnpike. As the ramp towards the east started to separate and climb, that was when the passenger leaned out of his window with — to my horror — a can of Budweiser in his hand. It made a loud thunk as it hit either the side or rear panel of my car.

I wasn’t about to have this cockass get away with giving me my first dent, so I slammed on the brakes, reversed so I was perpendicular with the road, and tore down the frozen hill between the now-separate ramps. I yielded to a van before turning onto the westbound road even though it meant he’d be separating me from my quarry. It turned out to be a big mistake; he drove agonizingly slow, and in my haste I forgot just how far ahead cars going over 60 mph can get. Once on the turnpike, there was enough traffic that I wasn’t going to catch up without some serious weaving, and though the adrenaline was pumping I wasn’t that crazy. Instead, I dialed 9-1-1, then got forwarded to the Turnpike Patrol where an operator asked me if I knew the license plate. I had steadily gained on the car and almost read the license plate to the operator before realizing that it wasn’t him. I thought I was only about five cars back from the teal minivan when I began my highway pursuit, when in actuality it was probably closer to fifty. The operator asked me if I’d like to file a report anyway, so I pulled over to a call box and waited for the state trooper she offered to send.

While I waited, I got out to check the damage only to discover that I couldn’t find any, not a single scratch. The trooper rolled up three minutes later at which point I explained that there wasn’t any damage so I didn’t need to fill out any sort of report for an insurance claim. He still demanded I tell him what happened and then asked to see my driver’s license and registration. We each got in our own cars and I waited for more than half an hour for him to do whatever it was he was doing. Finally he called me over and asked what I expected him to do and where I thought it would it would get me since it was my word against the other guy. The cop finally let me go, and I finally made it to work an hour and a half late.

In retrospect, I could have just pulled over where the incident occurred and walked back to the toll office. I should have realized that there was a record of the guy going through the EZ Pass lane, and the beer can would have been lying there, too. Also, if I hadn’t reacted so rashly I would have noticed there wasn’t a dent and that I could have just let it go. Still, it was my first chase; it quite a rush tearing through the gears as I bore down on the minivan, even if it was the wrong one.

First, I quickly tired of all the sunglasses comments. I’ve heard them all a million times at work, and the jokes are as funny as they are original. It’s bad enough that my eyes hurt from straining all day in the fluorescent lights of my office then in the darkness while driving, the last thing I needed was an evening of shit from my friends. I don’t know if it was because I wasn’t sick of hearing them yet, but people made far fewer comments about my glasses at Tom’s party than they did last night.

Next, I needed a goddamn beer. I can deal with the whole diet thing, no problem — but I guess it really does help me mellow out every week. I can normally ignore with Geof’s self-fellating discussions about how he and the person with whom he’s talking sit around and agree with each other all night long about society’s ills. I don’t usually get frustrated when people talk about what a bunch of assholes these Libertarians are. Last night, however, I realized they’re talking about me when they make such blanket statements and I didn’t much care to sit there and listen to it. Sure, not a goddamn thing got accomplished by yelling, but I couldn’t help it.

Ben had and alright team name with, “We’re more offended by the boob in the White House”, but it would be wrong of me to think of such things. My time would be better spent being tirelessly concerned with helping every impoverished family in the world, or insanely jealous of every person on the planet who has exceeded Geof’s arbitrary salary cap. But what do I know, even today I’m just an asshole with a silver spoon in my mouth, somehow able to live with myself after misplacing my liberal guilt. (I was also a little frustrated with Dia for not chiming in on the matter, since she could have made my exact same arguments without attracting the “Your opinion doesn’t matter since your family has money” retort.)

We even came one question away from winning third place, except for a certain dolphin vs. porpoise issue that was judged a little too strictly if you ask me.

Plans for this weekend’s party are coming together. We’ve invited everyone we know, and it should go just as smoothly as last time.

Everyone has a clearer idea of what they’re bringing, and Dia and I know exactly how we have to arrange the apartment and where to get the necessary supplies. It’ll be mostly the same size crowd as before (with a few substitutions).

Like last time, there will be pleny of entertainment. Board games are of course a given. Al’s bringing his television for eight player Mario Kart, and with the new couch already in place and a new entertainment center to be procured any day now, it should be really comfortable.

For the dining, we’re thinking of an alternate setup if the couches don’t get picked up in time — basically two seating areas and the food around the computer. We’ll also be setting up the dining room in my bedroom again. It’ll be extra necessary this time with the cold weather keeping everyone off the porch.

I still have to track down a few people who haven’t responded to the invite, but so far it’s going be swingin’.

I received an extremely cryptic piece of mail today that appeared to have slipped through my junk mail filters. I took a few seconds to scan it before hitting delete, and I’m glad I did. Believe it or not, it’s a response to something I wrote over a year ago. Here’s the e-mail:

It is a little late, but it was brought to my attention that someone here is an American Gladiator fan! :) Not sure if the tag is sloth, or if it just was the title of the commentary, but someone mentioned my episode, and I just wanted to thank them. This Coz Worthinton, the BattleKat, and I appreciate anyone who could appreciate the heart and sweat of fighters and modern day warriors with no big mouths, just action.

Thanks alot! and take good care!!

peace….

Now I wouldn’t call myself a fan, and what I wrote wasn’t really praise, but I’m glad it made someone happy. I don’t even know who this guy is since he didn’t sign his name, only that it’s someone who thinks I mentioned “[his] episode” in particular. It’s sort of pathetic that he’s still dwelling on some television appearance from the ’90s, especially since I would hardly call anyone on that show “a warrior”.

Update: Rob pointed out something that I had initially thought before dismissing it out of confusion. This is Coz Worthington; and that’s exactly what he meant to write, too, only he forgot to include the “is”. It slipped my mind that Coz’s nickname was The Battlecat so I thought this was some third person referring to two other names. Oh well, I can’t be expected to fully investigate such life-altering matters while at work.

My auctions are going splendidly. My furniture has only been listed for only a day, and everything got at least one bid. I did get one e-mail from some moron in Virginia claiming “eBay newbie” status as a reason for retracting his offer on the couches, but I’m confident that someone else will come along. Last night I couldn’t be so sure anyone would want any of it since I’m requiring they pick up the furniture between Wednesday night and Saturday at noon. Now that I think about it, however, I’m slightly disappointed that no-one opted to take advantage of the Buy It Now feature — a great deal for anyone in the area. Since every item has gone to auction, I have something to keep my interest for the next few days.