4.4.2001
I'm trying out Greymatter. Until I've got all formatting issues taken care of, it looks pretty bad, but if you want to keep up, entries are being written to http://somnolent.org/gmtest/.said Jason, at 5:23:07 PM || remember
3.31.2001
So the Bizarre 2 was... curious. Curious but cool. People donning rollerblades and skating around the place; a band finishing up as I got there; a painting corner; another corner with a shooting gallery draped with cargo netting, where you could use a paintball gun to shoot stuffed animals hung up with fishing wire; pool tables, lots and lots of chairs, couches, barcaloungers, and other places to sit and congregate; and indeed, the game.The game was an Arkanoid machine (think Breakout made 16-bit), but the controls were rewired into a rubber vagina sex-toy. The idea was to teach heterosexual men how to pleasure a woman... the better you do this, the better you'd do in the video game. How'd I do? Let's just say that any woman would rightly kick me the fuck out of bed. I had my fingers in the faux-gina, wiggling around in an attempt to get any sort of cause and effect going, but I wasn't affecting anything. Good thing I know what to do with cock.
On that note, tonight I'm going to see the drag king show. Too cool.
said Jason, at 2:20:49 AM || remember
3.30.2001
Tonight, after a farewell party for a good acquaintance, I'll potentially be going to a circus. I don't need the training (not in this case, anyway), but I like video games.I am, say, 85% sure that the woman at the grocery store check-out thinks that I am absolutely fucking bonkers. I mean, besides lunch, I also bought a Simon game-keychain, a bottle of bubbles -- which, thankfully, does not have a(n) URL on the label for advertising purposes, but then again, the copyright date says 1996 -- and something proclaiming itself as a "power bubble gun" with which to blow bubbles. The keychain is for the acquaintance moving away... something to remember us all by. The bubbles and the gun are for me. The gun, though fluorescent green, has this retro-futuristic, Planet X/1930s feel to it that I find appealing, and it suggests violence (sort of), conveying to the awakening Spring the idea that I'm pissed off it took so damn long in getting here.
Okay, so the woman at the grocery store check-out could be right. No big deal.
said Jason, at 12:30:57 PM || remember
Hearth wisdom states that if you manage to sneeze three times in a row, you get a wish. One of my coworkers does this at least once a week, so she should be racking up the wishes due to her. I'm thinking we need to harness this phenomenon and turn it into a force for good, but could you imagine the meetings?
"Quick, wipe out ebola!"
"No, wipe out HIV."
"We need to assess current effects on the world culture before making a decision."
"Oh, honey, splurge a little, wish for a new condo on the lake. We can wipe out ebola next week."
"Dude! People are going to die over that week."
"They were going to die anyway, find out who really won the election."
"Better yet, fix the election."
"Hell, fix the election process altogether, while you're at it."
"Unh-uh, condo on the lake. She deserves it. We can be do-gooders next time."
"You know, this is my wish, here..."
said Jason, at 11:02:04 AM || remember
3.29.2001
I got a message the other night from someone calling himself Kale (though the caller ID said otherwise), saying, "Hi, this message is for Jason. My name is Kale, like the leafy green vegetable, and to find out why I'm calling you, please call me back at (number). Have a good evening!"My first thought was, Wow. This is the cheekiest telemarketer that's ever called me! Call him back? What product is so great that I should feel motivated to call him back? Then I started wondering, Gee, maybe this guy really does believe in this product that much. It must really be something. Then it hit me where I had heard of someone named Kale before. Sure enough, when I returned his call the next night, it was the local Radical Faeries wanting to know if I wanted to be on their mailing list. I told him to hook me up. Networking fae... I love the city.
The conversation prompted me to change my voice mail greeting, as I kept getting messages meant for other people. (In fact, if I can believe caller ID, the other night I also got a call from Abraham Lincoln. No lie! I thought he was dead.) For the last several months it had been me in my most monotone saying, "Hi. This is (number). Please leave a message more interesting than this one. Thank you." I never gave my name, as a protection against solicitors, but to prevent Abraham Lincoln from calling me, it now says, "Hi, this is Jason, and if you get this message, it means that the FBI has finally picked me up on their radar, and I've been taken into custody so my psychic potential can be tested and it can be determined how best I could serve my country. Either that, or I'm out or something. Anyway, let's hope for the best, and if you'd be so kind, please leave your name, a short message and the number where you can be reached, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can... which might be a few days, in the worst case... thanks!" Now watch... with my luck...
said Jason, at 11:45:53 AM || remember
Deconstructing Today's Horoscope
"Don't get frustrated with yourself if you have been unable to follow through with plans up to this point."
Wow. Has my horoscope been reading Somnolent.org?
"Talk transforms itself into action before you are quite ready to deal with the change."
Well, that's reassuring. You've been sitting at 0, but you're going to hit 60 before you can even fasten your seatbelt. I hope this isn't about my car.
"The Moon is in Gemini, and creativity and flirtation are your preferred media today."
........I'm trying very hard not to say "Hey, baby" at this point.....
"Impress your boss or other authority figure with a new idea for improvement around the office."
I'm not touching this one.
"Intellectual sparks will fly when you get together with a friend or coworker who is on the same wavelength as you. Be on the lookout for great things to happen -- aimless winds could give birth to a sudden tornado."
So, wait. Being our stupid, goofy selves is going to produce results tonight? About damn time.
said Jason, at 10:47:20 AM || remember
The explanation I was given: "When we replaced the valve (something, I forget, oops), the car's computer had to relearn the gears. It's relearned the lower gears, but it hasn't relearned 4th and 5th gear yet. To do that, it needs to go from 0 to 60 and back over about 50 or 60 miles. Naturally, we're not able to do that on the streets in the city." So I just go visit a friend in the suburbs and take the highway. No charge, I can pick the car up whenever. I don't know if I buy the line, but it didn't cost me anything, so if he's wrong, I can just take it back in---wait, that part sucks. But I'm in a much better mood today than yesterday, obviously.
said Jason, at 10:25:15 AM || remember
3.28.2001
Here is the embarrassingly whinging post I wrote and almost considered a serious entry:There's something that I have to admit, though I'd rather not. I have really not been in the mood to write anything for the last few weeks.Okay, yeah. Big whoop, whatever. No, this is a big deal to me. Though I don't consider myself a capital-W Writer, and I'm probably one of the people Harlan Ellison can't stand, I like to write, I like to share what I write, I like to perform new poems that I've written, and the fact that I haven't really done a whole lot of that lately, or that it at least feels like I haven't, really bothers me. This isn't like skipping a week or three of Tai Chi, or giving up something else I like to do. It's become so that if I stop writing, I get twitchy. It feels like something's missing, but lately, I just haven't had the energy or impetus to do more than bitch about Wagner here, and I haven't written any new poems. I have ideas for new poems, I have unfinished poems that I know how to finish, I have old poems that I know now what needs revising, but the drive to do so just isn't there.
I know a lot of it has to do with all the web work I'm doing, at the office (where I'm now the only webdev, so even though we're in a slump of incoming work, I still feel like there's too much to do) and for side projects. I've been more concerned with design issues, thinking about CSS, finishing up projects started months ago. I've been thinking about publishing a chapbook of my work, and gathering material for that. My energy is going elsewhere for now, and that's fine. However, by not writing, I feel like I'm doing something wrong... like I'm committing a sin. I could have sworn I left Catholicism over a decade ago.
I refuse to take a break. That would feel too much like giving up. I know better than that, but
But then I realized that writing about not feeling like writing was such a fucking cop-out, and that I should know better, that I should just write or not write and get over it. What would be more interesting would be to find out why I feel this need to pity myself when I'm doing just fine. I'd say it was because I have to deal with the car dealership again on my lunch break, but that's really weak. When the sites I've been working on (not including the impending redesign here) do get finished, I will be a happy geek. They've been great practice in design. When the chapbook gets finished (probably a few months from now, at this rate), I'll be even happier.
said Jason, at 11:47:37 AM || remember
3.26.2001
It is a diary catastrophe! Just trust me on this one, and read it.said Jason, at 6:12:38 PM || remember
"Why am I suddenly reminded of the bar that wanted so much to seem authentically English, they stuck an 'e' on the end of every word in the name, so it was 'Ye Olde Pube'?"
-Stef, last night in my car
"Okay, it wasn't that funny."
-Stef, last night in my car after Dirk and I broke out into uncontrollable fits of giggling
said Jason, at 3:53:23 PM || remember
3.25.2001
It was a decent weekend. Went to MSI on Saturday to see their exhibit on time and historical timekeeping methods. The night before was spent collaborating spent working on a new web project, churning out a design. We've got it to the point where I've started the html, but I'm not going to be able to make it wholly CSS as I would have hoped. At least, I'm guessing so... the back end script is kind of a kludge, but it's free, so... maybe after we've gotten off the ground, we can convert. Lazy, I know. This afternoon was spent gaming, something I hardly get to do much of anymore, and not something we're going to do again anytime soon, as one player is having her baby soon, another two are getting married and need to find a new place to live, etc. All this activity has prevented me from getting a full night's sleep, and I know I'm going to be oblivious come Monday.said Jason, at 8:18:11 PM || remember
3.21.2001
I flipped to PBS to see two bearish guys singing in German. One of them was on about how he carried the other one to where they are, his shoulders being broad enough. Oh yeah, sweetie, carry me. Forget the other one, he's going on about his chica.Um.
So it's Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. Great. PBS ran The Ring Cycle one weekend when I was in high school. I watched bits and pieces here and there (it's seventeen hours long, if you didn't know and you're uncultured, like me), and there was one part that went on for a whole half hour (maybe more -- I didn't stick around to find out) between this wretched sea creature guy stuck at the bottom of some sea trench, and three sea nymphs up above, looking down at him and laughing about his predicament. It was all very high school. Here's how it went:
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: Okay.
Wretched Sea Thingy: Yes!
Nymphs: Psych!
Wretched Sea Thingy: Dammit!
Nymphs: Ha ha ha! Sucker!
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
[Insert three or four minute aside where Wretched Sea Thingy talks about how he hates the trench, wishes he could sea the light up at the surface, oh cursed twist of fate, oh poor, pathetic life, and then...]
Wretched Sea Thingy: Let me out!
Nymphs: No.
[Adrift, rinse, repeat.]
Now, I understand this is opera, but this goes on for way too long. I know I'm being impatient, but just make the point and move on. There's showing, there's telling, and there's beating the idea into the ground. My man Tristan here has been going on and on about Isolde, and the light that's not out, and night moving into the house. It's been five or ten minutes since I started typing this and paused to check on dinner, and I bet he's still at it. Let me check..... Yep. Isolde, night, desire. Drama queen.
said Jason, at 11:32:17 PM || remember
Not quite what I was planning for my contribution to the voxmeme that Steve started (or was it prol?), but I've got to rerecord my original attempt and I haven't had time. Instead, you get the supplement first. Here's a poem I wrote recently and performed at the last open mic I went to. I don't think the audience knew how to react as I was going on. After performing it elsewhere, a newly-made friend of mine described the voice I adopt (no, I don't talk like this all the time) as "the white Barry White." Wow. John, this is the one I was going to leave on your answering machine before you moved, but was never able to.
If You Really -- Oh, honey. (This is one of those poems that only work once, and I swear it's one of only two rhyming poems I've ever written. Not that I have anything against rhyming poems. Just bad rhyming poems.)
said Jason, at 8:36:28 PM || remember
I've been getting spam advertising spam. Whiskey tango foxtrot?
said Jason, at 7:04:43 PM || remember
"Okay, well, check the muffler."
"I'm sorry?"
"If it's clunking when you change gears, it may be that the muffler brace has rusted through and it's bouncing around."
"It's not every time it shift gears, it's only when it shifts from 2nd to 3rd. This is a new problem."
"Oh. Well, check the muffler, and if it's not that, bring it back in."
I'm guessing he didn't check the records, or he would have seen that I had my car in two summers ago to refasten my muffler and exhaust pipe after my car had a huge disagreement with a pothole by the LSD on-ramp at the end of Fullerton. Perhaps I have the new Super Fast Acting Hyper-Rust(tm)?
said Jason, at 7:01:26 PM || remember
I have my car back.
When it shifts from 2nd to 3rd gear, it clunks and jerks.
I'm not happy.
said Jason, at 11:24:24 AM || remember
3.19.2001
(From a phone conversation with a queer-Brit friend of mine:)SD: I'm not sure what's going on this weekend.
Me: Me neither. We can get together and play Scrabble.
SD: Oh, god, I don't think I'd be very good at Scrabble.
Me: What?! You've got a great command of language.
SD: Right, but it'd have to be British-English, instead of American-English.
Me: Well, we can play bilingual Scrabble.
SD: What's that, Scrabble with girls?
Me: No, that's cunnilingual Scrabble.
I'm really kind of pissed that it's costing me so much to get my car fixed, but I'm trying to look at the bright side. I suppose that it's better to get it fixed now instead of having it get worse, provoking an accident and have to get a totalled car fixed, assuming I lived to spend the cash. It's also nice to be alive to have conversations about Scrabble. (Later suggested: Lewis Carroll Scrabble, which allows for any word to be played, as long as you can come up with a reasonable definition for it.)
A small cheer-up prize was found (or rather, trod upon) on the walk home from the El stop after work. I stepped on something that sounded like sheet metal, and underfoot was a rectangular sheet of brass (I'm guessing -- it's brass-colored, at least) with an old-style map of the world printed on it; one hemisphere per circle, conjoined somewhere between the northern and southern portions of the Atlantic Ocean (which the map labels as the North Sea and the Æthiopian Ocean, respectively). Not much of a consolation, but I love maps, and this one's a keeper.
said Jason, at 11:12:01 PM || remember
This one wins. If you are prone to meme-overdose, don't check it out.
said Jason, at 2:58:36 PM || remember
Curious as to whether or not there were any recalls on my car that I didn't know about, I checked the database. Results: not on the transmission, but they did do a recall on the seat reclining mechanism, which slips back and is prone to breaking. Which, a year ago, mine did. I should call about that.
said Jason, at 2:52:34 PM || remember
So my car decided to stop going backwards. It would roll backwards, sure, but it would not move that way under its own power. Before this, the brakes were slowly going and I was way overdue for an oil change, yet I kept on keeping on. I will give in to the looming threat of repair costs, however, when one of the two main directions in which cars are supposed to move is taken away from me. Transmissions are expensive; everyone think happy, Shakti-Gawain-pink-bubble-encapsulated thoughts my car's way.
[Update: The damage comes to two fucking grand. Switch the happy thoughts to me, stat.]
said Jason, at 12:04:06 PM || remember
3.14.2001
Good to know that I'm not the only queer Schupp out there: Fear of the Wild Lesbians! by Karin Schupp. Woo!said Jason, at 11:38:39 AM || remember
3.13.2001
Okay, so maybe you didn't miss much by not going to the Feast of Fools. There were some cool bits to it, but the rest of it seemed thrown together as an afterthought, or at least a bit unrehearsed. Fausto Fernós rocked, though, and kept things moving along. Maybe the next one will be better; I'll be coming back. I had also thought (and was told) that it was a Radical Faerie joint, but it wasn't. Performers in it may have been Faeries or still are, but... The crowd, too, wasn't what I was expecting. Lots of Trixies, no visible Faeries (save the two I was with). Weird.However, I just found out that the Faeries are "taking the MCA" tonight. The MCA's website doesn't list this. I wonder if they know.
In more self-centered news: I'm in the fucking paper again. Fat Tuesday pics, sporting what Ernie has called the demonic raccoon mask, and from two months ago, the Grinder show where I did the poetry spiel, between Kimi Hayes and Scott Free performing their bitchen music.
said Jason, at 9:54:16 AM || remember
3.10.2001
The Feast of Fools is tonight. 10pm, at the HotHouse. You want to be there, darlings, oh yes you do.said Jason, at 4:01:57 AM || remember
3.5.2001
The Bluffettes in print! What? Them.said Jason, at 11:24:25 AM || remember
3.1.2001
I thought it was a good question, but these are not the answers I was expecting.said Jason, at 4:52:02 PM || remember
Please roll this around your head:
The modern problem with media is that media has made media too aware of media.
Continue to let your mind parrot that until it becomes empty sounds echoing around your skull, devoid of meaning.
said Jason, at 3:28:01 PM || remember
