| 7 jun 2001 (Here ya go, Carol) This is for Cleo, whose real name is Carol. Yeah, she gave me permission to use her real name. She mentioned how I always write my e-mails and stuff in all lower-case, so I'm going to write this one normally. For informal occasions (which is most of them), I prefer not capitalizing because it gives a certain understated feel to the text, which I like. But of course, for work, and letters to "elders," people I perceive to deserve respect (not that I don't respect you or my friends), I'll go ahead and capitalize properly. My dad once game me shit for writing an all lower-case blitz to him. He ranted about how "proper English" uses capital letters and stuff. So there you go. No more informal e-mails for you, Dad... ha! Anyways, last night, I had this pseudo-fun pseudo-anxious dream about moving. And there was something weird about doing a life-size crossword puzzle with real objects. I can't explain it. But I woke up all frazzled and yet with this feeling that I kind of enjoyed my dream. I guess moving is on my mind, huh? I can't wait for this weekend to be over with. Too bad the Lakers lost. I was too nervous to watch; I guess I'm accustomed to watching them blow by all of their opponents during this playoffs season. The fact that they were trailing the Sixers by much of the game just threw me into confusion. So instead of watching every single play, I watched the _Sex and the City_ tape I borrowed from my coworker Phuong. Yup. They are the first two episodes of the new fourth season on HBO. Glad to know that the show is still just as good as it ever was. After the episodes were over, I peeked over on NBC and checked the score. I forced myself to watch the final two minutes of regulation, as well as the last minutes of overtime. The Lakers blew it. They were up in OT, but just fizzled out or something. Kobe really sucked it up. Anyways, enough about basketball. I'm now predicting Lakers in 6. As long as they don't let last night's loss get to their heads. Basketball is a violent sport. I was reminded of that today when I went back to my old company and played. During our final game, Will jumped up and landed very awkwardly on his ankle. He yelled out in pain and just sat there, clutching his ankle, shaking with agony. I was afraid that we would have to take him to the hospital or something. Bad things happen when you jump and leave the ground. You never know what will happen on the way down. I've had my legs taken from under me when I've jumped, and I just turned sideways in the air and landed on my back and elbows. It was scary shit, man. That's why I don't play full-court with those guys any more. They're all much bigger than me, so I get knocked around like a pinball. It's no fun being intimidated by other people's size, especially when you're supposed to bang around with them in there. It's like involuntary moshing. So. I've shaken my early afternoon coma phase. I'm as awake as I can be. Not perky, mind you, but at least lucid. What do I want to talk about? Speaking of moshing, I went a few times in college. My first moshing experience came at the San Francisco Warfield (an awesome name for a concert venue). It was Ned's Atomic Dustbin, which is a cool band because have TWO bassists. A lot of punch to their music. I vaguely recall fainting or something, and I also remember it being so crowded that I was able to remain upright and not have my feet touch the ground. That concert featured four bands, and one of them was the Goo Goo Dolls, pre-fame. They kept on telling to tell them they sucked, which I found to be really self-deprecating and utterly stupid. So I've never liked them ever since. A band should respect itself. The key to moshing is to keep your elbows high. That will protect you from people flying into your face. The best moshing experience was during the Nine Inch Nails concert my junior year. My favorite song was "Ruiner" from _The Downward Spiral_ album. My favorite line during Trent Reznor's ranting is: "...now the only pure thing left in my fucking world is wearing your disease" Beautiful. Anyways, I had checked out previous concert playlists, and that song was nowhere to be seen, but then, in the middle of the set, I heard the familiar bassline.. and my friend Mike and I just looked at each other, gave one another high-fives, and proceed to tear through the moshpit. I've crowd-surfed and stage-dived a couple of times, too. It's too unpredictable and dangerous for me to want to do it again. This was during the Inspiral Carpets concert at The Edge in Palo Alto. Some drunk high schooler jock signaled to me that he wanted to give me a boost, so I obliged. The next thing I knew, I was floating on top of a sea of people and hurled onstage. Of course, there was bouncers there to throw the people back off the stage, so I was soon flying back toward the audience. I don't remember how I got down. But the second time I jumped off stage, no one caught me. Yeah. It fucking hurt. That was the end of my stage diving career. Ah. Those young crazy days of yore. I swear that as I was driving to work today, I had something I wanted to say today. But for the life of me, I can't remember it. I rarely ever plan out a journal entry, and except for the one about getting cut from San Jose Taiko, I never really know what I'm going to talk about. It's as much of a surprise for me as it is for you. Somehow, I think that this capitalization stuff is limiting my random thoughts. How strange! This is evidence that image and presentation TOTALLY affect content! Neat-o. I just don't feel that I can be as chatty and spontaneous when I have to worry about hitting the "shift" button at the correct time. I can't just go off and ramble on and on. Hm. I think this will be the last time I tackle a journal entry written in this style. C'est tout! |