May 1, 2002 (8:14pm): Sure, the Unabomber was an evil genius, but he gave the rest of us smart fellers something to ponder: If we can't use our intelligence for good, we'd make kick-ass villains.
I'd kill (coincidentally) for a strawberry milkshake right now... Mmm...
Oh, wait, I forgot. Sheeny. There. I mentioned you again. Happy, sass-mouth?
May 2, 2002 (1:53am): So I got that strawberry milkshake. Now I'm burping and it hurts 'cause it's just foamy milk stuff. Ew.
I should expect the electricity to shut off, again, because there's a really terrific storm raging outside right now. It'd be frightning if, well, I weren't so aloof.
May 2, 2002 (2:01pm): Well, I was halfway through an entry, then the FUCKING POWER SHUT OFF! And when I woke up this morning? The electricity was off! Dammit! In all my time in my apartment, the power never, ever went off. Or if it did, I never knew.
Does anyone know whether or not Bing Crosby sang the theme from Three's Company?
So, I've just been told that someone from my high school died a few days ago. She smashed through a window or something and gashed her jugular. Hrm. People who read this might be pissed, so I won't elaborate. (And thus the whole damn monitor has been compromised.)
May 3, 2002 (4:35pm): So Spider-Man opens today, and I'm not gonna see it 'cause my friends can't pick up a fucking phone and lemme know what they're gonna do. So I didn't have any reason to tell my dad not to go off and do whatever it was he hadda do. Hrm.
Anyway.
Ickiest thing to happen yet today: I picked a comic out off a bookshelf, went to open it and found to my horror that it had been COMPLETELY WEBBED CLOSED! Yes! A busy little spider, coincidentally, had webbed the right side of the comic shut. From top to bottom. So I discreetly hurled it to the floor and decided I'd just listen to some music or something.
May 4, 2002 (11:15pm): "In America, Spider-Man is someone every little boy dreams of being... Everyone wants to be a hero."
Ugh. I went to Salem to give someone the key to my apartment, and to fetch my alcohol. Finished in less than an hour. Today just sucked. Really.
May 7, 2002 (1:51am): I got my federal tax refund in the mail today. It's not much, only $200 or so, a little less.
So what to do with it, hmm? There's the big question. There are really three courses available to a fella of my ilk.
First, waste it. Blow it all on brief bits of fun. Buy a video game, or some comics, or some other hollow thing that will fade in a day or two of concentrated amusement. The usual route, but one full of, er, emptiness. Fleeting, at best, but irresistible all the same.
Second, hold on to it. Let it bleed away into a thousand useful purchases like aspirin or canned soup. Eventually I'll have no money and won't remember where a damned nickel went. All it will do is maintain a degree of daily activity that I don't particularly appreciate in the first place.
Third, buy something big. A huge burst of unrepetant buying power. A guitar, perhaps. Yes, a guitar. It'd answer a burning question: Can I play guitar, say, or how much time have I wasted dreaming of a career in music?
I hate money. It's insidious. It makes you whittle away hours in a cubicle, earning it so you'll spend it on matching amrchair and sofa to impress visitors you can't have 'cause you're out earning more.
I see now my future will be bland and distracted. Middle class and consumerist. Some say that wanting more is enough to reject the surroundings you disapprove of. But I know that'll never do.
May 9, 2002 (12:13am): I'm such a sell-out idiot. Really, I'm just the worst student ever.
I bought The Complete Idiots' Guide To Lost Civilizations today. It's sad, really. And I bought some comics, but I can't imagine that makes anything better.
May 10, 2002 (4:37pm): So I've got this big beard-like facial hair thing going on. It itches like hell, and I wanna shave it, but I irrationally hold to the thought that this will aptly illustrate the depths to which I don't really fucking care about stuff anymore, and furthermore, aren't run-on sentences just the coolest things ever in the whole wide world, and stuff?
May 11, 2002 (12:31am): Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me / How good, how good does it feel to be free? / And I answer them most mysteriously / Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?
So I'm just sitting here, eating olives and looking particularly sharp in my 99-cent powder blue/red Special Olympics t-shirt, I think.
Argh. I just sat and stared at the screen, not really thinking much, but still mumbling along to "The Night Chicago Died". Ah. Good times, good times.
Good times = God, someone shoot me.
May 11, 2002 (2:07am): This daily monitor is terrible. I mean, really. On one hand, I think it's just me reading this, so I don't particularly bother to make it interesting. On the other hand, I know perfectly well that some people actually read it, so I water everything down and keep some stuff out, 'cause, well, people hold grudges or otherwise just don't get it.
So... Let's see... If I can dredge up something... Worth reading...
Um, no. Fuck it. I can't.
May 11, 2002 (11:36pm): Holidays are so asinine. Think about it:
Okay, holidays serve to solidify a sentiment. Thankfulness, patiotism, love, and so on. Each holiday is a summation of a feeling.
But what I disagree with is the fact that most people don't give a damn about these sentiments any other day of the year. So why should I on the one day? I mean, holidays seem like a chance to make up for all the effort people don't put forth during the rest of the year. Fuck you. I'm out here workin' it all the time!
That's it! Holidays will be my day of rest. It's perfect. While everyone else is knocking themselves out making up the karma, I'll be anti-whatever. Then they'll assume I never care, and they'll leave me alone, and I won't have to try so hard the rest of the year. Keen!
May 11, 2002 (11:54pm): Okay, I'm set. Let's go. I'm ready to rock!
Er. No. Lemme rethink that. I think I ate too many Krispy Kreme donuts.
Yeah. I'd better lie down and nap this away. I'll rock later. Maybe Tuesday, noonish.
May 12, 2002 (10:16pm): My imagination's shot. I have no imagination to speak of. It's no fun, but then, I can't imagine.
Um. Hmm. I wandered off there for a while. Had to get some Coca-Cola and antacids. Whoo. Big night for Mike. Hot dog.
At any rate...
I was at the mall today. For no reason, really. But I saw this thing in the main court, Mission To Malls. It's this trippy NASA mall tour thing. There's one of those freaky spinny gyro-doodles, and some crappily constructed "moon rovers" and so on.
So I stood on the second floor, looking over the balcony at dozens of thrilled little kids, and I thought, "What the hell? When did I stop being that enthused about stuff? Since when does a crappily constructed moon rover not blow MY hair back?" I realized that my happiness now lies not in possibilities but in damage control. Like, I can't get anything on track and I can't make decent plans. But I can look around, catch on to how the wind's blowing, tweak a few things and hope I land on my feet. That's what I've got going for me.
And I like to think that I do it rather well. I'd give an example, but it's too damn hot tonight, and nothing's coming to me.
May 13, 2002 (6:08pm): It's raining cats and dogs, and some rain. And I've prob'ly said that before. Sounds familiar, but I can't remember...
Still haven't shaved, but I'm thinking I should. I look ridiculous. The hair dispersal (a term I just coined, special, for me) isn't working out right. Hmm.
May 14, 2002 (5:12pm): I... Today sucked. It was much too cold. And I didn't wake up till 1:00pm. Crazy, crazy. Now, I feel guilty waking up so late, and about not doing much. But I live in the country, for crying out loud. What the fuck am I really gonna do? Take a hike? Bullshit! I've lived in the country all my life. I maxed out my hiking quota years ago. I did the requisite about of hiking. Fuck it.
You think I should hike some more? Fuck you! You move to the country, stick around for 21 years and see how many more goddamn mountains you wanna traverse. Fuck you!
Oh, I'm a hoot, ma'am.
I'm sure I have some something to drink now. Pardon me.
May 14, 2002 (9:25pm): Damn. I know I had something to say. Something short and pointless, as usual, but something in particular. Can't think.
Forget it. You're fired.
May 16, 2002 (4:30pm): I got spoiled living in Salem. No matter what else it lacked, it did have nice air. Yes, air. I said air.
Every day I had to walk out to class or to lunch or wherever, I somehow managed to ignore the fact that I was outside. I mean, at the time it seemed like an ungodly bitch to be outside for, like, fifteen minutes at a time. In the snow, in the rain, whenever. But now I'm here in my parents' place. It's dusty. It's got that haze that comes from living with gas stoves. It's not fun at all.
I stepped out to get the mail earlier this afternoon and it hit me like a brick. The air was so clean. And sweet, somehow. Same thing happened the other day during a heavy downpour. I stepped out onto the porch and I remembered that if I were still in my apartment I'd get to walk to dinner in the rain. Like I said, it's a pain in the ass while it's happening, but once the experience is taken away, I start to miss it. I don't know. Maybe I'm just too nostalgic. But as John Cusack said in High Fidelity, "...As far as your senses are concerned, some [things] just feel like home." Hmm.
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May 19, 2002 (10:57pm): I watched Annie Hall today. Finally. I've never really been fond of Woody Allen, but... Well, it's Sunday, and what else is there to a Sunday, anyway? I thought, "What the hell. Everyone else seems to be keyed up on this film. And I should do something to make the afternoon worthwhile."
I really liked it. I mean, Woody Allen was as annoying as always, of course, just rambling and muttering on and on. But Diane Keaton was very charming as the title character. I really fell for that.
But now I have a headache, as usual. A particularly nasty one, too. So I'm going to bed much too early.
May 20, 2002 (4:15pm): I have several thousands of words to say about how I feel, but I haven't got the gumption to say a single thing.
It got very cold a few days ago, and it's been rainy and drab since. I'm freezing to death. This isn't springtime. No, no.
May 21, 2002 (12:01am): Shee...
I just sat for a few seconds and debated how many e's should go in shee. Dammit. Prioritze, man, prioritze.
Anyway... I seem to keep wandering off into some other part of the house. So I'm gonna stop and continue roaming.
May 21, 2002 (4:05pm): Someone told me that maybe if I wrote about the little things I do everyday I'd have more to talk about. I said no, but all the same, to prove a point, here:
I usually wake up between 12:30pm and 1:30pm. I get up, wash my face and brush my teeth. Then I go back to my room, sit down in my old goldish chair and turn on the stereo. This is when my "deep, deep" thinking happens, though just barely. I sit there and fiddle with the stereo remote, hitting Random over and over, just to see what song might appear. If I hit upon something I wanna hear, I give it a spin. This goes on for about twenty minutes or so, till I find a groove into which I stick all day. Thus, random songs dictate the course of my day.
Sometime later I get up the desire to pick up a book. Which book, doesn't matter. Usually some dull tome about history, all of which I promptly forget as soon as I put the book down again. But I read for an hour or so, unless there's something I wanna check out on the internet. All the time before 3:00pm is an undetermined stall, as I'm really just waiting for First Wave to come on the Sci-Fi Channel.
First Wave is a good show. And that's about it.
As it comes upon 4:00pm I have several options:
1. Watching either Mama's Family or Quantum Leap. Neither is in a season I particularly enjoy, so I usually turn it on and wander off someplace else in the house.
2. Check the email I don't have, chat on AIM with the friends who aren't there, view the message boards to which no one replies to my messages, read the news that hasn't happened or doesn't really interest me.
3. Go back to my goldish chair and try to change the course of the day.
4. Read some more. (Never, ever happens, but is still an option.)
5. Refuel whatever source of distraction I took earlier. Cold medicine, alcohol, whatever's handy.
That's about it.
If no one else is home I can sit in the living room and blandly flip through the TV channels. Usually I'm looking for either Seinfeld or some non-World War II related program on The History Channel (also never happens). I tend to settle for either The Drew Carey Show or Saturday Night Live reruns.
I honestly cannot think of what I do around 8:00pm. It's funny. I should pay more attention, or if it's not that intriguing, pay less attention. Oh, wait. I remember. Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns come on, and lately it's been shows from the sixth season, my favorite, so I watch. Weird.
From 9:00pm till 11:00pm or so I'm plopped in front of my computer, trying to figure out how to get one goddamn ripper or another to put more music on this computing machine. It never works, and I'm a technical dunce, so...well, stymie.
At 11:00pm there's another episode of TNG on, but they've recently started over with the first season, which sucks, so I stay by the computer, with the TV on just for the hell of it. After that... Pretty much just computer stuff. That's about it. I go to bed around 3:00-3:30am, thinking each time, with a pang of disappointment, that I'll just do the same thing the next day. Half because I know I'll be better off staying in bed, and half because I know better than that.
May 23, 2002 (12:10am): I just found out that some video game I've been anticipating for quite a while has been pushed back. Again. It's taking forever to get that damn thing in my hands. Argh.
Well, in perspective, yeah, it's just a game. And I don't really even like video games, so what am I really losing? Still. A person starts to look forward to something, and if it doesn't come along he gets miffed. Pissed, even.
May 24, 2002 (1:30am): I'm just sitting here trying to wedge as many songs onto my computer as possible. Why? I'm not sure. I mean, I'm gonna make back-up CDs of MP3s in the inevitable case that I lose all 80 bajillion CDs I have. I've got my work cut out for me too, 'cause I know I have well well well over 10,000 songs.
Anyway, I finally saw Spider-Man today. And it was pretty good, despite the Green Goblin's lackluster costume. Some usher guy at the theater was fuddling around before the trailers came on and said to me, "You're, like, one of those Peter Parker types, aren't you?" I didn't know quite what he meant so I said something non-committal like, "Uh, if you think so, I guess, okay."
But really, what did he mean? I didn't even know there was a Peter Parker type. What the fuck is that? Okay, it could be any of three things: The bookwormish dorky type (bingo!); the superhero type (ha!); or just similarly-cut hair. Go figure.
May 24, 2002 (4:13pm): La la la, just putting more and more and more songs onto my computer... Single-minded, dogged activity...
Ugh. I'd kill for some food right now. And no food in particular. Well, maybe something in particular. Still, I'm just really hungry, that's what I'm saying. And this Pez-flavored popcorn isn't enough.
Yeah, I said Pez-flavored popcorn. The strangest, most unlikely food product I've seen since bread in a can. Tsk tsk tsk. What's worse is that I bought it and thought I might like it. Ugh...
May 25, 2002 (3:57pm): And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, touches my foolish heart, lovely, never, never change, keep that breathless charm, won't you please arrange it 'cause I love you, just the way you look tonight.
Rarely a day goes by I don't read about a train wreck or plane crash. I woke up this morning to see that a train had derailed in Mozambique (killing 120) and a plane crashed in the South Pacific (killing 200). Crazy, crazy.
I don't think I'm trying to make a point. But if I was, it'd be something like, "Why aren't more people killed in elevator accidents, and if they are, why don't I hear about them?" Uh. Right. Having said that, I'm no doubt now fated to die the most horrible terrific elevator-related death of the last fifty years. Damn fate!
May 25, 2002 (9:38pm): Well, I've been doing this thing for over a year now. The first anniversary was May 21, which I missed 'cause I fuckin' mistyped the front page. Hrm.
Anyway, I've done some thinking and have concluded that I shall indeed die in a plane/train-related mishap. One or the other (or both) will crash/flip of its rails and fall on my elevator.
May 27, 2002 (2:56pm): Don't walk around with a taco in your back pocket. (All sorts of innuendo comes to mind.)
Anyway, having seen the two movies I've been anticipating for some time (Spider-Man and Attack Of The Clones), I've got nothing to do... Hrm. More movies? Maybe. But I should be doing more. I have books to read, and stuff to write... Aw, whatever.
May 28, 2002 (2:08pm): I've been having such unhappy dreams lately. Well, it's not the dreams that are unhappy but rather that I keep waking up. I wake up and could kick myself for losing track of what was going on.
I do not like going to sleep anymore. First, getting ready for bed is like admitting you've just about wasting as much of the day as possible, there's nothing to be done to salvage any more of it. Then, there's the time between getting bed and falling asleep, when my mind has nothing to fix to except whatever's been bothering me all day. And there's no diverting that 'cause it's not like I can get up and space out watching TV or getting the mail. Then there are the dreams. But far worse is the realization that I've got to get up and start over, with just as little promise as the day before.
But the dream last night... That nearly broke my heart.
May 28, 2002 (8:57pm): I'm so unpleasant.
I've been reading Ben Franklin's autobiography, and I must say the guy can't write. I mean, okay, I haven't read too much of his stuff, but from what I've seen... Well.
The book has no chapters and it's all effectively one run-on story that switches from tale to tale without much flow. I think. Hard to say. Thing is, he just goes on and on about who owes him money and who didn't trust him to do anything. Or something like that. Shut up. This isn't a book report.
May 29, 2002 (11:16pm): Religion is the greatest human impediment. In a close second is nationalism. But it's the false faith in religion that really does us in. Them in.
May 30, 2002 (12:57am): Ah. May is nearly over. I hardly noticed the whole month. Not unusual, but still.
I've managed to put off buying a guitar. The fact that I have practically no money at all may have been a factor. I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I haven't made much progress in some time.
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