Scenes from a Wasted Life

Warning

2008-06-12T12:38:00.000-07:00

While you're reading this, someone you love is sneaking up behind you with a knife. Don't turn your head slowly like some idiot in a horror film.

Leap out of your chair. Now.

It's your only chance.

Stuck in a Boring Teleconference....

2008-05-06T08:24:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know I said Sunday. Isn't it still Sunday?

No?

Hmm.

With work and life so many days just blur together, I'm never sure whether I'm coming or going. And I think my gas tank is starting to run a little dry.

I rarely take time to recharge myself... you know, just get into the quiet zone where you're doing your own thing and you just kind of coast for a bit?

Of course, with the corporate merger and my sudden work in software development and internet and automation coding (go history degree!), I'm just trying to stay afloat for now.

Of course, when I get free time, I always end up filling it at the behest of others. Saturday, I went out to celebrate the dual birthday of two friends. Everyone brought gifts, etc.

Every year, on this particular weekend (first weekend in May), it's a carnival of base humanity... It's like a yearly Bacchanal full of drinking and bad choices.

So, after a swell dinner of the finest sausage available at an out of the way german restaraunt (along with requisite liters of imported brews), we headed to an 80s night party at a bar just outside the main Twin Cities, complete with 80s rock cover band and 80c drink specials between 8-9.

For some reason, however, my buddies decided it would be fun to try to get me drunk. So they ordered me shots. I ordered all of them shots to match. Each time they would order one... I'd order 3 more. Of course, it being Shawn and Dave's birthday, that was ok enough I suppose. Considering that my birthday is 10 days before theirs and there's nary a mention of that.

So the evening wears on, everyone is singing along to Journey, and Ratt, and Poison cover tunes (among dozens of others), the bar is packed, etc. Kent (Dave's cousin) is getting hit on, Shawn is getting his ass grabbed by some pretty little girl and drug out on the dancefloor to bust his best move, and Dave is getting ground up against by this other girl, even when he's standing next to his wife!

Someday I think I'd like to be like everyone else. Or at least feel like I was just like everyone else.

I feel more and more isolated from the world at large, more and more out of step. And when I am singled out, it's never for a good reason.

The world seems to intrude on me when it wants something from me. And when it doesn't, it's like when I walk out to my car in the parking lot after work.

Invariably I end up walking behind others (hard not to when you leave at 4:30ish from a building with 10,000 people in it), and they get so uncomfortable in your presence they hasten their steps, they look uncomfortably behind them... like they're going to get mugged or raped.

Being tall is cool for reaching things on high shelves, no so much with the being unthreatening.

More and more I feel very alone.

And it's not because I don't see people. I just don't seem to be one of them.

Ladies and Gentlemen, We Take Pride in Presenting a Thoughtful Address By...

2008-05-01T23:07:00.000-07:00

When my brother died, I remember vividly holding on to the fact that Def Leppard was releasing a new album that summer... and all I had to do was last at least that long. I had been a fan so long, and there last album, Slang, while probably their best, was widely overlooked because it took a radical departure from their "sound". Since then, the band has been in something of a morass... the public wants something from them, their management want something else, and their record company wanted yet something else... And it showed in two albums that, while having some good music, were fairly devoid of honesty and passion.

From the title, you can see they stopped giving a toss what anyone thought of what they were doing. They all sat in a room together and worked on tunes they liked. It's about the emptiness of ambition, and how you have to be confident in yourself and do your thing and if people want on the bandwagon, great, if not... at least you're being true to yourself, and that, in itself, is it's own reward.

This is the album I've waited for from them for over a decade. I apologize because you probably won't like it (if you have sensitive hearing, give it a pass). I'm just trying to do my part as a fan to spread the word that they're back, to someone randomly searching.

Maybe as way of thanks for dropping a bright spot in my life every time I need it.

I'll make a real update on Sunday. No comments on this one because it's just for me to click on at work.

This is a truth that just
Has to be told and must
Be spread amongst us
So the world can hear it

We gotta get it right
This time if we just fight
Innocence dies tonight
If we can't heal it

We look to our leaders
But the lies they try to feed us
Like a knife they try to bleed us
And they cut us real slow

So go
Just go
Just go
You hide behind your mask of desperation
Go
Just go
Just go
I won't surrender to the next temptation

You have no dignity
I have no sympathy
You are my enemy
But I can't see you

No matter where you run
Thy kingdom will be done
A rocket to the sun
Is where I see you

When the senses get ecstatic
Overflow is automatic
Feel the need to feel erratic
Don't deny and let it all

Go
Just go
Just go
You hide behind your mask of desperation
Go
Just go
Just go
I won't surrender to this fake salvation

Still Alive

2008-04-24T08:10:00.000-07:00

I thought my mom was calling to wish me a happy birthday.

Turns out my cousin's husband committed suicide. Shot himself in the head. Alcohol and anti-depressants, the great combo platter that it is.

He had 4 kids.

I don't know whether to be shocked or pissed or sad.

Say something for me... for all the walls and hurdles, I haven't quit yet.

2008-04-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

It's funny and sad at the same time. I can't even count how many times I've begun, erased, and restarted this post.

Given so much time to wrestle with it, I think the problem is that I hate whining. I hate feeling like the only things I have to say are negative.

Of course, at the very moment I'm writing this (I'm retyping this into the editor from a handwritten legal pad), I'm sitting alone in a bar buying myself a birthday dinner. In the end, you have to go with what you got.

You know what honestly bothers me more than anything else? It shouldn't have been this way. This wasn't the path I was on, and I don't know exactly where I got derailed.

On my 30th birthday, my mom gave me a plastic box with most of my childhood in it; my first teddy bear, my school records, my art projects, and all the other collected detritus of my youth. While spring cleaning a bunch of things the other day (and finding stuff I could get rid of), I came again across all the historical evidence of me.

Within it, there is a smaller cardboard box, full of trophies, plaques and awards: Future Leaders of America, Promising New Writer, National Merit Finalist, speech medals; a slew of wood, metal, plastic, all seemingly saying "this person has talent", and might be something special. Copies of newspaper articles I wrote in college intriguing enough to be noticed and have professors dedicate class time to discuss them.

It wasn't so much about being seen or rewarded… but living up to what I thought I knew I could accomplish… fulfilling my purpose.

I think that sometimes when I say something to friends about how I'm frustrated they earn more with less education, I'm somehow suggesting that they either don't deserve it, or that I'm better than they are. Nothing could be farther from the truth… I'm jealous because I wish I was as valued as they are.

Especially now that things at work have been weird because of a merger. So we didn't get our reviews until just recently for last year. I got the top rating possible, and the biggest merit pay increase possible. Of course, the year was so good for the company that someone who has been at work less than half the year so far (and consider that carefully because it's the end of April), and had most of her responsibilities taken away because she was unable to handle them got the same raise and rating I did.

Talk about disturbing revelations.

Obviously, if you actually get promoted, it's a different can of worms. Which my direct manager told me explicitly was a function of luck and opportunity… you have to be the right person at the right time and place.

Which I suppose explains how someone who's been there less than half as long as me was able to get promoted before me… She was the right person in the right place at the right time. I don't fault her for her promotion… she deserves it and is a stellar employee and even better person. I grow frustrated that no matter how skilled or (in the words of my manager) how I'm one of the most talented people she's met… that it will never matter. Talent helps you keep the role you get the opportunity to fulfill… it doesn't give you the opportunity itself.

Which really sounds backwards considering I've been thrust into the role of a head honcho for a division of the world's largest news and information company regarding the implementation of new office software. Not to mention being one of the only people in our location who can develop solutions for it. Directors and vice-presidents sit in my cube and ask questions.

And I'm the equivalent of any other employee with a high-school diploma.

The truth is I think I have the right to be jealous.

Because it's April, look at it another way.

The 11th would have been my brother's birthday. He would have been 25 and in Iraq. He wanted to join the Army because he didn't like school all that much. And my dad was in the Air Force and a former police officer, so that probably got transmitted in the DNA.

Maybe that's why I get so wound up about soldiers and Iraq. Maybe he would have died anyway, but at least he would have done it doing something he believed in… helping someone other than himself… giving anything of himself for someone to have a better life, no matter the cost to himself. That was his specialness as a person… how much he could do for others.

People I knew tried to throw me a birthday party the night before his funeral on the 23rd. No one talked to me. They arranged the party because they felt they needed to do it for themselves to feel like they were contributing. It had nothing to do with me. It was about them feeling better about themselves. Look what we did for the sad guy!

When other people go to funerals, they get to decide how they want to grieve. My parents, the people who are supposed to care about me unconditionally made me speak when I wanted to help carry my brother. It kills me every April I didn't get to say goodbye how I wanted. How I had to speak because someone from the family had to, and I was the only one who couldn't refuse.

I miss having a brother and a best friend.

Maybe that's why I hate my birthday so badly now. It's a day for everyone to remind themselves how awesome they are for stooping to care about me. It reminds me how much they know and I don't.

I constantly have to listen to cries of friends and family that I don't call them or visit them enough. None of them will even call me for my damn birthday tomorrow, and I'm the bad guy for not following them around like a dog and calling on their schedule? Why do I have to be the one to apologize when they're calling me a shitty excuse for a human being, while they have no need to treat me with a minimal level of respect? It must be because I don't deserve respect.

It takes a real man to go to a woman's parents to say "I'd like to marry your daughter" and have them say you're not good enough for her, and let her say no, and keep caring for her and loving her anyway. Probably because they had a good reason. If I was a better person, I should have just said at that point, "No? Ok. Then I'll try to find someone who will."

Serena tried to destroy all of my friendships because I had to gall to care about her when all she wanted to do was prove she could have anyone at any time she wanted. Of course, if I had any sense of self, I'd have never thought of myself as special enough to not be treated exactly the same as everyone else she's ever done that too (and there's a history there).

Fuck, go back and read it. Kim and Serena decided what was going to happen with me when I went to grad school without ever taking the time to let me in on the secret. It didn't matter what I wanted… I'd just learn to live with it.

We all get rejected. We all suffer. I, however, harp on it.

Every year at this time, I end up reading a lot about Steve Clark. No one knows this, but one of the reasons I got into Def Leppard back in 6th grade was the mention near my birthday that it was his as well (April 23). Of course, all the fan sites I frequent mention his birthday and I go read some older interview.

By all accounts he was a gentle soul. He wasn't the world's most technically proficient player; he concentrated on the adage of one great note trumping 20 notes played in the same span… mood, tempo, orchestration.

In his genius he found loneliness, though. Their producer used the other guitarist more and more because when you're playing each note and reassembling it in a studio, you need technical mastery over tone and flow. He felt more and more like an outsider.

And because the recording process was so laborious, he found he had more and more time to himself. And he drank more and more. It seemed like his mates didn't need him, even though they tried to tell him every day how important he was. Reality wasn't matching up to what he was being told.

All he wanted was to write music, hang out, and get a pat on the back from his dad, to know someone he cared about was proud of him, and believed in the choices he made. He notoriously would flinch when asked for autographs because he felt he didn't deserve attention.

He was trying to fulfill his promise. He was trying to matter to the people he cared for by answering the call of his heart. He was trying to answer the demons in his head. When he couldn't, he drank himself to death because he had nothing else to live for, nothing left to fill his time. He felt like his guitar was his only friend.

I won't go that path… but I feel a kinship. When you see his picture, you notice two things right away… he looks so tired, and there's an unexplainable sadness.

But it made me realize… you know what the real crux of the matter is? I'm a doormat.

I had an opportunity to go back to school and maybe get a security clearance despite my diagnosis. I let people convince me it was too much of a risk… that even if it panned out, I'd end up alone on the East Coast. No one else would have risked it, so why should I? I'm not worth risking anything for.

I let other people tell me when it's ok to fight. When it's ok to feel something. When I should do this, should do that. Instead of just taking their opinion, I allow it to affect what I should be doing for myself. Because I've been taught they're worth more than me; and had it reinforced time and again. I never stand up for myself because everyone believes that when I succeed it diminishes everyone.

There are people that argue with me because they want to prove that I can't be right all the time. It doesn't matter if I'm actually right or not; people will take the side against mine just to try to "put me in my place".

I don't know why reminding me I'm not special is such a fun pastime.

I know I'm not perfect. I'm as flawed a human being as has ever been made. Be that as it may, I should have proved to someone, somewhere, sometime that I have value.

Bipolars tend to analyze. Let me rephrase that. OVERanalyze. Hell, cognitive behavioral therapy teaches us to strip down what we're feeling into its component pieces so that we can determine what's causing it (if anything other than bad body chemistry), so we can objectively see it, and deal with it.

Sitting here, I finally figured it out. I'm searching for some chemical reason to be depressed… to feel hopeless. I really am unhappy. And no matter what I do, I can't change it.

When I was running my hands through the few things that were left that made me feel good about myself, I found I missed being valued.

Which is a hard lesson while buying yourself a birthday dinner.

If I knew where I went wrong, or who I mistreated, I would go back and fix it.

Which also reminds me; I was going to do something nice for myself, but then I realized I need to save my dollars for taking out my friends for their birthday next weekend. Maybe we can hit the strip club again and I can pay someone to pretend to like me.

If you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?

I'm Updating

2008-04-17T14:01:00.000-07:00

I swear I'm working on an update...

It's just been really, really difficult this time around.

I Hate This

2008-02-19T09:12:00.000-08:00

I was going to log in and write this big long post about all my troubles and difficulties lately. It was kind of sad and melancoly, and all that jazz.

Then some ridiculous Kiwi (New Zealand) radio station leaked Def Leppard's upcoming single "Nine Lives".

It's kind of funny how something so small can make a heap of crap seem like gold.

I'm such a geek.

Media Darling

2008-01-22T13:14:00.000-08:00

(As a note, I don't expect people to hate me for my larger abscences, just that you'll get bored of waiting and move onto people who have more important and timely things to say.)

Anyway, today's issue of the moment is Diablo Cody. And no, I'm not dropping the name so that some Google search engine picks up on it, and drives traffic to the site because of her newfound fame. (Diablo Cody, Diablo Cody, Diablo Cody, Diablo Cody, ... is it working yet?)

All of the critics and media are fawning over this latest rags to riches story. Now, listen. I know people who know her in one of those Kevin Bacon-ish sort of ways, but I've never met her personally.

Even during her time in the seedy underbelly of cheap Twin Cities' strip clubs.

The problem I'm having is not that her fame and fortune and attention is not well-deserved, but that people in general are missing the point. The dialogue and voice of Juno and Diablo's blog, the Pussy Ranch, are, for better or worse, the same voice of most Twin Cities' blogs. Horrible self-deprecation and cynicism. Reserved fascination with why other people, less-reserved, do the things they do.

Don't believe me? See a Cohen Brothers film, or check the plethora of Minneapolis/St. Paul blogs.

I'm not saying her voice and outlook is not unique. Far from it. Her experiences and take on it is refreshing and lovely to see from those of us who share it.

The thing which she should most be recognized for is that larger than life personality she carries that allows her to share that view with the world. Hundreds of bloggers toil here, and the thing that sets her apart is less the way she projects her ideas, so much as what her ideas are and her ability to have them heard. A writer can write the most brilliant things in obscurity, but if they are never read, then it really defeats the point.

Every one of us strives, in some small way, to be heard. We don't all dream of the red carpet and the glamorous gowns. But we do wish that our ideas could make a difference... that for a shining moment, the things we find important connect with someone else on a visceral level.

Many of the Twin Cities blog writers, at least the attractive ones that is, congregate and share their ideas, both in online and real world activity... artists and thinkers tend to surround themselves with people who can inspire them to greater things. The unattractive of us sit at home drinking Guinness, watching Deadwood and wondering how such a violent, filthy, brilliant show is written mainly by women (not that they can't, but proliferation of the word 'cocksuker' just doesn't strike me as feminist critique of societal development).

I love her writing, but by the same token, I love the writing of the people she surrounds herself with. It's WHAT she writes, moreso than HOW she writes it, that resonates to me.

I'm rooting for Diablo because she found a way to get people to listen. The voice is less important than the message. She's a local heroine who made good, and yet really only wants what we all want... to be respected for the things that we are good at, and that we, as individuals, have to offer.

Everyone is going to hop on the bandwagon and blow hot air up her skirt, and that's cool. She definitely deserves accolades.

But I think she deserves it for a far, far different reason than this modern, consumerist, throw-away culture may ever actually give her credit for.

The Best Blog Post Written. Ever.

2008-01-09T14:02:00.001-08:00

I'll be honest. I've been having a terrible time of it lately. My mood swings are more and more terrible, and I've been spending alot more time alone lately than I probably should.

I can't control everything, and that's part of the lesson. Riding out when you can't and just keeping a level head... even if everything else isn't so level.

If, for some reason, you're still reading this, I couldn't help but log into blogger and share the following link.

It is, without a doubt, the absolute best blog post I have ever read. Not because of it's heavy emotional impact, though it's there.

Because of it's 100% rightness. I wish I could have half the clarity of Andrew Olmsted.

Rest in peace soldier.

http://www.andrewolmsted.com/

The Price

2007-12-23T23:47:00.000-08:00

I Know...

2007-12-21T12:01:00.000-08:00

That I tend to have a much different outlook on the Iraq "War" than most people that I meet and interact with. Although I'm socially very liberal (go ahead and marry a pie for all I care if that's what toots your horn), I'm fairly conservative in my foreign policy outlook.

Because I studied terrorism and political violence at a graduate level, and have seen the depraved depths a suicide bomber will go to, or for that matter, a government will perpetrate on it's citezenry, I tend to have a fairly black hat/white hat mentality when it comes to that.

What people do to themselves? Whatever. Should we help rather than harm when and where we can? You bet. Should all kids have health insurance? We're the richest country in the world... really. Should we sometimes have to resort to a big stick to get bad people to pay attention? Some people don't listen otherwise... it's why spanking does work with kids. :)

In any event, I am reminded often of why I feel the way I do.

Below, find an excerpt from a letter from an Iraqi mother to CNN (her son is the one that was brought to the US for surgery to help repair the severe burns he suffered in a suicide bombing):

I am laughing now listening to my son's cries and laughter as he plays. I gave up everything that is familiar to me for him. It's not that I miss the violence. Of course, I don't. But Iraq is still my country. No matter what, it's my country, my homeland. It's all that I know.

America is full of new things. Even the spoons are different, the toys. Everything is different, and it's something amazing. Iraq doesn't have these things.

I do often wonder: Why me, why my son? We are so lucky. I don't know why my son was chosen to have something so horrible happen to him, and I don't know why we were chosen to come here. I just thank God. The thing that surprised me the most was the people. I mean, there are American soldiers in Iraq that are being killed by Iraqis. And we look Iraqi. I would have expected people here to hate us, but we have seen nothing but kindness.

Even in the supermarket, one of the workers saw Youssif and gave him $5. He's a worker; he probably needs the money, but twice he gave Youssif $5. We have such support here. People stop us in the street, and they just want to pray for us. Once a couple on a bicycle stopped us and said, "Were you on CNN?" We said, "Yes." And they gestured that they would pray for us.

That's what our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers volunteer for... to make a difference for someone. Look, the deal is that the argument whether or not the war is something we should be involved in is over. We are involved. We can argue and throw up signs for and against all we want... the reality is that we're there, and we're involved.

We should be concerned about whether there's something good that will come out of us being there... regardless of how we feel about the war itself.

We should be talking about why pallets of water that end up with one broken bottle are being dumped in their entirety and our soldiers are going without water. We get the luxury of sitting and home and thinking war is so horrible, though whenever you ask a soldier or a citizen they feel like what they're doing matters... except we keep telling them it doesn't.

I, for one, am proud of the new life built for this little boy. He couldn't get help from the Red Crescent, from the UN, from the Iraqi government. The war didn't burn him, another of his countrymen who want us gone so they can operate however they like and terrorize everyday people. Who was there to help him?

We all were.

That boy and that mother are so grateful. I am too.

Maybe the world isn't a safer place for America. But it's a safer place for Youssif and his mother. And that matters more to me.

Trapped (not in the closet)

2007-12-10T12:54:00.001-08:00

I wanted to talk more about the feeling of being trapped.

I think we all feel this from time to time, like your the stick on the water, going whever it goes... whether that's to a peaceful cove or over chaotic waterfalls.

One of the things I feel most trapped by is other people's expectations.

I had an hour long conversation with one of my sisters some time ago... "Why don't you call very often? Don't you care?" Thinking, as I do, of the least common denominator, I immediately counter that she never calls me... so whenever I call, it's of a greater frequency than she does.

However, because I've always got to be the one to bend, I ask her what her desires and needs are so that I can meet them. The truth is that relationships have to be both ways, or it's not really a relationship... you're not relating, you're expressing a habit.

I love my family, but I keep them at arm's length because of things like this. I'm always asked why I don't interact with the great sum of aunts and uncles... for goodness sakes, one of them is on a list to not receive medications anymore because she's an addict none of them can stand to be around, but instead of saying "no" and thinking they have value, they let her walk all over them because they feel trapped by the notion of "family"... regardless of whether or not she's a very good person.

We all feel trapped by something. And, we often-times seek it out. We want that great job that requires travel; we want those unbreakable connections with a romantic interest or a loving family.

The thing that makes it work is feeling like you could walk away if you wanted to.

Know why people commit suicide? It's not feeling depressed. It's not seeking to go out in a blaze of glory. It's feeling trapped, and there is no other way out. That nothing will ever change, and nothing you do can make a tiny difference.

I don't wear my seatbelt. It's a passive-aggressive middle finger to fate.... if I'm meant to be something, I'll make it where I'm going ok. If I don't, I wasn't supposed to be anything.

It's the feeling like I don't have the choice in it that drives me nuts.

We all love at least the illusion that we have the tiniest control, even over something small.

Why do you think Bonsai caught on?

Take away our illusion that we matter in our own lives?

Recipe for disaster.

Crappy

2007-12-07T13:23:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's because I just found out today that I have no options if I want to switch away from Comcast cable and internet. The company is one of the worst in the country... and yet... I have no alternatives.

What happened to monopolies being outlawed?

It's not a monopoly because I can move to a different city to be able to use a different service? That makes sense.

But you know what really chaps my hide? (And no it's not salsa made in NYC...)

Sometimes, especially on Friday, when I'm bored at work because I finish all my work early, I log onto Craigslist and read the Missed Connections and Women looking for Men entries. Many are fun, witty, depressing, or otherwise entertaining with the drama of everyday human life.

But you know what phrase I see most in the ads for men? Guesses? Job? Nope. Own place? Nope. Own car? Nope. Tall? Good guess, but not quite.

The winner is (and quoted from an actual entry):

"Healthy body/mind a must, no seriously depressed, mentally diseased please"

Funny how you can be perfect in every way but that... and no matter how mentally healthy you are (by actively caring for your illness), but it's always a deal breaker.

And yes, I know that anyone who thinks that way doesn't know better, blah blah blah.

It's like cruising through the men's ads for women and everyone of them asking everyone to be size 2 or less. Marilyn Monroe was a size 12 for goodness' sakes.

And people wonder why they end up lonely.

Or stuck with Comcast.

Finding Peace

2007-11-27T13:35:00.000-08:00

I realize I haven't updated again in some time.

I was working on a post (that may yet see the light of day, though in pieces) and then there was this whole holiday thing. But yesterday I found myself upset at what feels like a stupid reason.

One of my silly personal indulgences (of which there are many) is that I am the only person I know who owns a complete Quiet Riot discography. The two albums released in Japan before "Metal Health", the complete collection of recent releases that came into and went out of print so fast it would make your head spin. I enjoy that they have no pretensions... and it's straight ahead their intent to entertain you... nothing more, nothing less.

Kevin DuBrow, the human growl of a lead vocalist for the band, was found dead in his home on Sunday. Alot of news stories have gotten numerous aspects of his career wrong, having copied and stolen from other online databases so far out of date they're frankly embarrassing.

Most, of course, are focusing on his contribution to rock music by pointing out the obvious trivia about their first American release being the first "metal" (however you want to define that) album to reach #1 on the pop charts. After that, because they had opened this huge door, many other acts were seen as viable business propositions... of course, being first left QR with a really crappy record contract comparatively speaking. Complete eldest child syndrome... the rules are stricter and harsher for you, but once you've made it through ok, it's looser for your younger brethren.

Kevin made a huge mistake in saying that out loud though. We hate it when people we see as lucky complain about their situation... whether they're right or wrong. Because it seems ungrateful. He aliented fans and bandmates, and was branded as a difficult asshole only concerned with himself.

In the end, he worked tirelessly for years trying to make a career doing what he loved (entertaining) because it fulfilled him.

And people hated him until he died. Now the tributes are all saying what he was responsible for, and lauding his enduring contribution to music.

How many people own A Quiet Riot CD, let alone, more than one do you suppose?

What gets to me is the platitudes. While deserved, they ring hollow. Kevin got sober and gave his life over to admitting his mistakes, and trying to correct them. He never decried his past... he revelled in what little contribution he was able to make because it was so central to him.

He busted his ass to make amends, to make things right he had done wrong. To take care of his friends, fans, and family.

He'll be remembered for singing a Slade cover song, and that's almost a shame because the better part of the man that died was someone who did the right things because they were right... not because they were easy.

When Def Leppard's original guitarist, steve Clark, died in 1991, he was trying to hide from mounting pressure from everyone else who thought him a quiet genius, always demanding his next brilliance. When his own father was never proud of even the smallest, human accomplishment.

This weekend, my sister very plainly told all of us that she had no need for friends because of the drama.

That saddened me. Without others in our lives, what are we?

Burdened with "what ifs" about your best friend who had to leave your band to join Ozzy because you weren't going anywhere? Smashing your hand on the sink before a show so you wouldn't have to go on and disappoint everyone?

I was upset because I feel that way sometimes... Do you know how often I hear "You're so smart, or so good, you should be able to do better"? I can't. Because it's not just up to me.

Listen. Quiet Riot's "Metal Health" was the first "metal" album to be #1 simply because Def Leppard's "Pyromania" had been held off the top by "Thriller" all year long until that fall, and everyone had both both records already by the time Quiet Riot hit the scene. "Pyromania" sold twice as many records, had more hits on it, and is widely regarded as one of the best albums ever made. But "Metal Health" was first.

Sometimes luck steps in... to help or hinder. Sometimes accomplishments are matters of time and place. No matter how good anybody is, if they don't get a break, no one will ever know.

It comes from wanting to see someone succeed... from wanting to cheer someone on.

Sometimes, I think we just forget the fragile human being behind the hype.

It's like being trapped. And you never can meet anyone's expectations until you're gone and they suddenly realize what they missed.

Quiet Riot, Thunderbird

(It's a common misconception that Kevin wrote this song about Randy Rhoads' death... it's about Randy leaving the band, and he was originally supposed to come back and do the guitars for it before his untimely death.)

Hello you
Yes it's me
You can't come back
You're flyin' free
You think you've found
Everything that you need

Fly away, fly away
To your new home
Across the seas
Leave your nest
Oh baby leave the best thing
That you've been
Whoa, whoa, whoa

Fly on, Thunderbird fly
Fly on, spread your wings to the sky
Fly on, Thunderbird fly

On your own
And I'm alone
In the shadow
Of what we've done
And I can't help but think
That someday
You'll be back home (whoa)

Fly away, fly away
To your new home
Across the bay
And give your best
Ooh baby leave the best thing
That you've been
Oh, oh, oh

Fly on, Thunderbird fly
Fly on, spread your wings to the sky
Fly on, Thunderbird fly (fly on)

When all is said
All is done
Still I live
And carry on
Don't look back
But think of me
We'll meet again
Fly away (oh)

Fly on, Thunderbird fly
Fly on, spread your wings to the sky
Fly on, Thunderbird fly

Fly on, Thunderbird fly
You've got to fly away
Fly on, spread your wings to the sky
On to the sky
Fly on Thunderbird...
Fly!

It's That Time of Year Again....

2007-10-31T07:33:00.001-07:00

Time for the yearly viewing... Happy Halloween everybody!

Hallow Humor

2007-10-30T07:41:00.001-07:00

Trick or Treaters

AND

Strip Club Patrons

People trying to get their hands on Candy.

Browbeaten

2007-10-26T09:57:00.000-07:00

I've been browbeaten into turning comments back on.

"You're not smart. You're not a scientist. You're not a doctor. You're not even a full time employee. Where did your life go so wrong?" -- the Computer to you in the game Portal

Can I take a lunch break today? Please?

2007-10-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like a trail of blood, to find your way back home. -- Nikki Sixx, Motley Crue

That's what it's been like. And it shows no signs of slowing down.

Just after my last post, where one of my dearest friends lost her fourth chance at being a mom (her only dream), I had another dear friend's wife rushed to the hospital. Something about the way her baby was developing was posing a risk to both her and the baby.

So, baby Marin Emma was born at 3 pounds, 14 1/2 oz, and both stayed at the hospital for quite some time, Marin in an incubator.

While I was trying to be helpful and supportive of Dave and Kyra and help them out (they hadn't even bought much for the baby because she arrived so early), one of my friends responded to me missing a spontaneous dinner.

I had previously made plans to play a game with some friends more than a week in advance. He appeared to be ticked that I didn't drop the other friends for a spontaneous dinner, with everything else going on, I didn't want to be away from home in an emergency, and I didn't want to bail on plans. So he sniped at not only me, but others in a response to an otherwise innocuous email sent.

He called me a loser, and said I cared more about the game than my friends... that I was less at life than he was.

That even after scouring garage sales for things for their new baby they couldn't find and helping him build sheds and redo rooms in his house, I wasn't doing enough to for him. The stereo he promised to help install in a car, still in a hall closet... the weekends he couldn't do anything because he was at an auction or out at the airfields running r/c planes.

The funny thing, though, is that none of that actually bothered me so much. Sure, I was taken aback, but... I guess the thing that really said something was that I knew something else was bothering him. But even after everything that went on with me and Serena and Kim, and my mental health, and how much I talked to him, he couldn't approach me and talk to me like an adult about whatever it is that was really bothering him.

I won't even go into work right now, though suffice it to say if you note the time I'm posting this (on a Saturday around noon my time), just know that I'm at work, and have been 3 of the past 4 Saturdays. I do the work of a network admin for half the pay.

My dad was almost hospitalized for his diabetes until he quit his job and reduced his stress. The place my mom works is closing, and she's driving an hour and a half each way to help the business close another location just so she can have income for a few more months. I have another friend that has basically barricaded himself in his condo and refuses to come out, no matter how many times we try and spend time with him.

Then, just a few days ago, I got a letter from one of my blogger friends email accounts. It seems Nadia tried to commit suicide, and she was a coma. My heart broke for her babies and her husband. The disease got to much for her. Thank whatever fate she's awake again, with no seeming damage, other than the possibility of hating herself so much for what she's done (and we've all been there, so don't even look at me like that).

No matter the treatment, no matter what you do, sometimes it still wins. We can be better, but never 100% better.

Pray for Nadia.

You know what they say about stress and mental illness, right?

The worst part seems to be that I can't seem to get any time to catch a breath or recharge my batteries. I take pride in being there for people, but I'm worn out. I don't get anytime where there isn't someone always around me, someone who needs me. It's like having to leaving your flashlight on... sure it's helpful, but as the batteries go out, the light gets dimmer and isn't as helpful. At least until you pull the batteries out and zap em back to full strength.

When people tell you stories, they tend to talk about themselves as either the hero or the villian.

Everything is done to them (they have no responsibility) or they are the do gooder who does no wrong. I've tried my hardest in this journal to try to be objective... to try to show my own mistakes as well as those of others, as well as those of the environment/situation.

You show what kind of person you are by how you deal with what is thrown your way... how deep your reserves are when you don't get a break.

I'm going to go help my buddy get drunk. He's had the worse luck in online dating so far. The first girl who he actually was seeing for awhile disappeared in the Peace Corps to Africa... (why would you have a personal ad up, adn date a guy for 6 months knowing you were going to ditch him for Africa and not say anything until 2 or 3 weeks before you left?).

The next one he dated for about 3 months and was starting to introduce her to family. When they walked into a bar to meet his brother and sister, she turned to him and said "Who is that gook with the cute white guy sitting over there?"

Shawn's sister was adopted from Korea.

He's down in the dumps and we're going to go out, and I'm going to drink with him, and wing man for him. And we'll be blitzed and have no idea of what's going on. And if he wants to see strippers that's what we'll do.

I better throw on that smile I keep in my jacket pocket. The world is what you make of it this moment. Shawn needs me today, so he gets the best of me today. I may miss out on something for him next week, so I have to make today the best I can for him.

You can’t quit until you try
You can’t live until you die
You can’t learn to tell the truth
Until you learn to lie

You can’t breathe until you choke
You gotta laugh when you’re the joke
There’s nothing like a funeral to make you feel alive

--- Nikki Sixx

---------------------

The Show Must Go On, Queen
(vocals in one take by a man who would die 6 weeks later)

Empty spaces - what are we living for?
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score..
On and on!
Does anybody know what we are looking for?

Another hero - another mindless crime.
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime.
Hold the line!
Does anybody want to take it anymore?
The Show must go on!
The Show must go on!
Inside my heart is breaking,
My make-up may be flaking,
But my smile, still, stays on!

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance.
Another heartache - another failed romance.
On and on!
Does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess i'm learning
I must be warmer now..
I'll soon be turning round the corner now.
Outside the dawn is breaking,
But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free!

The Show must go on!
The Show must go on! Yeah!
Ooh! Inside my heart is breaking!
My make-up may be flaking!
But my smile, still, stays on!
Yeah! oh oh oh

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies,
Fairy tales of yesterday, will grow but never die,
I can fly, my friends!

The Show must go on! Yeah!
The Show must go on!
I'll face it with a grin!
I'm never giving in!
On with the show!

I'll top the bill!
I'll overkill!
I have to find the will to carry on!
On with the,
On with the show!

The Show must go on.

Raw Deal

2007-09-11T08:04:00.000-07:00

I just got off the second worst phone call of my life.

One of my dearest friends, who was unable to have a child of her own (three died in utero), and who had just been buoyed with news that she could adopt, found out that the child died in childbirth last night.

She blames herself because every time she gets involved with a child, they never even get to be born. And I don't even know what to say. I've continually struggled through the worst things life has to offer, but nothing, NOTHING that bad.

I don't have the words to tell her it will be OK, because it won't any more.

I have another good friend who just got out of the hospital after having a child. The baby is still in intensive care, and the prognosis is sketchy at best.

The truth of this life is that some people get raw deals. Some people suffer so that others can be lucky. Some people get all the breaks, and some get broken.

If you've been lucky, thank someone who's suffered.

I Put the Fist in Pacifist

2007-09-05T08:49:00.000-07:00

I should be posting my last day in Vegas, but I just don't have the heart to do so right now.

I'm tired.

I was at work for 12 hours yesterday. After part of an afternoon on Saturday. Fixing what amounted to a server crash. Tens of thousands of employees depend on many of the tools available as web applications in order to actually accomplish their work. And because my co-web manager is out, it was up to me to fix.

It's working now, but I didn't know I was some sort of network administrator. I'm certainly not paid to be one.

See, there's two things about this that really bother me... one, I found out the other day just how far behind my friends in earnings I am... and I really felt inadequate because no matter what I do, I'll never earn what they do. And it's not that their degrees are better (or if they even have one beyond high school), it's that they've been lucky enough to land in good situations.

I'm glad for them, but it definitely leads me to believe that I'm doing something wrong.

And second, that I missed a hastily thrown together party for a friend who flys home from Japan once a year or so because I was at work.

Regardless that he was here yesterday, on a holiday; regardless that this get-together was basically unplanned until late yesterday, and regardless that I got an invitation through word of mouth at 6 pm last night...

I'm the bad guy for not showing up because it was important because it's the only time he's here.

And I feel guilty enough about it, especially given my presence at a technical job I wasn't hired to do, and am not paid to do. And the fact that Dale's mom died, leaving me alone to handle it.

But it's my fault. It's always my damn fault.

I was just bitched at because I couldn't attend a camping trip this weekend because I had other plans with other people well in advance. Called a liar because the inviters wanted to feel slighted... that I was abandoning them for something they didn't see as important.

What are people going to do when I have to take a second job to make ends meet? Because I didn't land in a good situation?

One of the ways that mental issues can be kept under control is by keeping yourself busy. When you're busy, you're concentrating on so many things, your mind doesn't have time to fly off too far up or down... it doesn't have the time.

I could tell you a million sad stories about the way my life has gone. How about the one where my natural father gave up any visitation rights to his kids for my mother's half-interest in his fucking car?

I have struggled and struggled my entire life. Everything has to be an uphill battle.

I have groups of friends tugging me in 8 directions, along with all of life's other pressures, not to mention my mental illness, and family issues, my inability to update my blog as regularly... And I can't make a single one of them happy.

Regardless of how hard I try, how much I am able to do, how I try to juggle and give a little something to everyone rather than nothing to alot of people, and a bunch to a select few... it doesn't seem to work.

I can't get anyone to respect me. Not married, shit job, disappointment to friends and parents. It's no wonder people have midlife crises.

The worst part is that I used to be a fighter. This ever burgeoning mountain used to kick my fight reflex into high gear and I'd try even harder. But I'm out of gas.

Every time I've tried to make a substantial change in my life... I've failed. I'm in the same situation I was in 10 years ago, and the same situation I'll be in 10 years from now. I'll keep failing everyone and everything until I just get tired of it and stop even trying.

I always just wanted to be someone other people felt proud to know. I guess, until I actually do something successfully, I'll never really know. And today, my dear readers, that seems alot less likely to me than it ever has.

Because I just stopped fighting. If I can't succeed or at least make some sort of difference in my own life or the lives of others, why waste the energy? I have so little energy as it is.

Maybe I just need to pick better battles.

Las Vegas the Sequel 2

2007-08-27T08:21:00.000-07:00

On the morning of day 2, I was rudely awoken at 8:30 by the alarm on a cell phone. That is to say, the cell phone alarm that was left on OUTDOOR setting. That shrill blare left me really, really groggy, and stuck awake for the rest of the day.

For some reason, this time in Vegas, the 2 hour time difference made more of an impact on me than it had the previous trip. I think that because this time, I was working and on something of a schedule. When you're unemployed, time really has little actual meaning... when you have to be in and out at certain times, and such, it's alot harder.

Moral of the story so far? If you're going to travel some distance, quit your job first. :)

We gathered up and went over to the Imperial Palace for their breakfast buffet. It's cheap and serviceable, but their coffee just sucks. It's one of those things that's important because it's tradition for us to eat breakfast there, more than it being worthwhile.

After breakfast, we began our search for show tickets for the night. Also tradition is to catch some sort of "adult" revue. In Vegas, the topless bit is the added bit of extra attraction to the show itself, rather than being the primary selling point. It's like the nude Cirque du Soleil show, Zumanity. You don't go to see the bits and pieces, but if you get a gratuitous thrill, and it's the added incentive to get you to see that show instead of another... well, then that's all good.

Consider it marketing and competition rather than tawdry. Well, for the most part anyway...

Dave was obsessed with the idea of seeing Fantasy, considered the best show of its kind in Vegas (you may remember my experience from "Bite" last year). I joked with Dave that it was a "couples" show, and it would be unseemly for a group of guys to be seen there. In truth, it's just more of an all-round show with the girls singing themselves, and comedy and such, so it's more amenable to couples than bachelor parties... but it made a great running joke for most of the weekend.

Fantasy plays at the Luxor, the giant black pyramid on the end of the strip closest to the airport, so we braved the heat of the day (it was just after the western heat wave broke, and temps were down in the manageable high 90s/low 100s) and shuttle-trained our way out.

We burned time until about 1ish doing absolutely nothing. Then, we got scammed out of almost $10 for a fast food lunch in the Luxor food court. I love being a tourist. By then, one of our group who had waited at the half-price ticket Coke Bottle got us tickets for the show. He showed up and we exchanged the vouchers for the tickets and went on with our day.

Even in the heat, we walked back. It didn't seem to be as long a distance as it really was. In the hot, sticky weather (a rain storm was predicted for later) it was a miserable sojourn.

Except for Dave's cousin Kent getting goosed on the street. And when he turned around, the gooser sang out the 60's Batman theme. Duh duh duh duh Batman! (Kent WAS wearing a Batman shirt, so I guess he was asking for it...)

We all got back to the hotel without further incident and showered and refreshed ourselves for the evening.

(OK, I'm going to be honest. My notes kind of stop here for Day 2 and all I have is "Ugly" in all caps circled, and Fantasy written after it. I'm going to do my best here, but it might be sketchy...)

Deciding that dinner would be a good idea, we went to the new Planet Hollywood for a gourmet dinner in one of their restaurants. I had a pretty spectacular Pasta Carbonara dish (think pasta, cream, and bacon). Before and after dinner, as folks were getting themselves situated, a few of us had some mixed drinks from the separated bar.

The bar had these really low chairs that had the effect of putting the barely-covered waitresses' bottoms right in your face. And let's be direct here... when I say barely covered, I mean, barely covered.

It didn't help that Shawn was sitting across from me, and kept ordering top Shelf Grey Goose, so she'd bend over him (for the upper half show) to deliver his order. And, we tend to be very good tippers, so she kept coming back.

It was difficult, let me tell you. Women are truly nature's masterpiece.

Afterwards, I had to run back to the Flamingo because I was getting a headache and didn't want to poop out on the party early. I offered to meet everyone over at Coyote Ugly, our new haunt in Vegas. After getting about 4 advil in me (I'm a big guy, so it seems to take more to work right -- this is important in a bit), I rushed to the monorail station and rode it down to the MGM Grand, across the street from New York, New York and my destination.

I decided to take a calculated risk. The MGM Grand is notorious as the hardest casino to get out of once you're in it. As I noted last year, many casinos are designed to keep you walking back by the slot machines... kind of like how important things in retail stores are at the back; hoping to get you to stop and look on the way. We had found a shortcut from the monorail station to the front door, and I thought it would be faster to take it.

It was closed off with construction tape. Even though we had used it earlier in the day on our way to the Luxor. Like I said. Risk.

One of the other problems with getting anywhere fast in a tourist town like Vegas is that everyone is walking super slowly to take in all the lights and sounds. There's so much, it can be overwhelming. Needless to say, I knew where I wanted to go... it's just that the huge crowds of tourists (because it was still technically the weekend) didn't.

But the strangest thing happened on my one man steeplechase through the casino... They pipe in music for people to listen to. My luck was that Def Leppard was playing somewhere in Vegas in the next couple of weeks, so they were trying to hype the show.

They were playing Pour Some Sugar on Me through the casino PA. And you know what's strange? That's not the weirdest part.

People at the tables were singing along. It was a giant fun-fest. I've never seen or heard anything quite like it.

I did eventually get to the front, and beat the rest of the guys to Coyote Ugly. They stopped in Jason's room at Planet Hollywood and discussed the fact that Rambo's arrow was on the wall. (I'm not even going to try to explain that one if you don't already know what I'm talking about...)

Now, as I told the guys, all it takes is one single asshole to order the first round of shots, and then everyone feels obligated to return the favor. All 6 other guys in the group.

That asshole was me.

Call me an instigator. It'd be true.

So, with hard rock, including a stellar choice we made on the jukebox to play AC/DC's "Have A Drink on Me" for the bar, we bought shots and had a good time getting fairly buzzed (and I'll say that, because that's all it really was at this point). I didn't get sprayed with water, but the bar was packed and everyone was having a great time.

As I noted last year, ladies get free shots. It's very clever, because when you girls are having a good time... everyone's having a good time.

We were only able to be there for a couple hours, but 5 shots down (and 2 beers, and an extra shot for Dave and I who did it to call the other guys wimps... I know, guy thing), we were feeling good.

We were a raucous crowd when we arrived at the Luxor for Fantasy. We had a bit before the show, so some of us could "break the seal", a prime component of heavy drinking. Anyway, this group of late 30s/early 40s women there for one of their birthday parties approached our group. They were completely wasted.

They wanted to feel our hands. They had some sort of bet going, which none of us quite understood. And I doubt we would have even if we hadn't been drinking ourselves.

And we had another shot right about now because everyone still hadn't purchased their rounds.

Anyway, it turns out I have the softest hands "ever". The birthday girl, who I can't for the life of me remember her name, though I think they were from New Jersey, had to ask what we all did for a living, because we all had soft hands.

And mine were the least manly. Sigh.

They eventually went on their way with apologies for holding us up, and we proceeded into the theater.

With another mixed drink in each of our hands. Buzzing muchly, the show was completely satisfying. I can see why they say it's better for couples, as it was meant to be more "mainstream", and the breaks between dance numbers were filled with a comedian who was pretty funny.

Afterwards, most of the guys waited in line to buy a $15 calendar and get it signed by the dancers. (Of course, in the light of the next day, they were all kind of questioning their purchase considering Dave and Kent had no option of even putting theirs up because of wives/workplace issues and beyond that, it was already July... so they paid $15 for 6 months of calendar).

So... buzzed, eyes full of half-naked girls, we had to decide what to do next.

Back to the Ugly for more drinking it was.

The show let out at around 11. We closed down the Ugly sometime around 2:30. My memories are hazy because we went through another round of shots (at this point, probably 3/4 of them contained Jagermeister). I couldn't tell you how many I had... suffice it to say, it was probably close to 15 shots that night.

During our second stay, it was pretty much just loose drinking, hanging with other tourists, and for some reason, being stalked by these German girls. I've never been so glad to be as unattractive as I am.

Maybe it's a personality thing, an aura thing, a wrong type of soap in the shower thing... but it kept me in good stead because these German girls, who numbered a half-dozen, were all over the other 6 guys in my party.

What did I tell you about free shots and the ladies?

Luckily, the bar closed up and everyone was ushered out. Although the German girls lost us when we took a taxi, they followed us wherever we stumbled until we could get outside. Remember that bit about confusing casinos? Bastards.

Anyway, the number of people in a cab is limited in Vegas, so, as the most sober of our party (ie, the only one who could see straight, walk striaght, and count money), I arranged for a cab for four of us back the flamingo. The two of our party staying at Planet Hollywood took their own cab, and poor Kent, he of the Valium and never drinking, decided to hit up Denny's with this guy named Jay from NY he met in the Ugly.

Once in the cab, Dave was nearly unconscious, and Shawn was completely out of it. He started asking the cab driver what his name was. Unable to hear him, and any of us at that point being unable to read his license stuck to the dashboard, Shawn blurts out, "Equinox?" He thought for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"So did you guys have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah."

I can only imagine what cabbies in Vegas have to put up with every night.

I paid the guy and made sure Darin, Dave, and Shawn made it to their rooms and then collapsed in my own bed. Before falling asleep, I had the weirdest thought:

It never rained. That would have been cool.

I Hate Every Bone in Your Body But Mine

2007-08-23T10:51:00.000-07:00

So, my notes for Las Vegas day 2 were accidentally left at home, along with starting the dishwasher before I left since I was in a hurry because I was running late.

I have to stop reading the books I'm reading. :)

And believe me, without my notes, my second day in Vegas is a blur. A completely, ridiculous, immature jagermeister-influenced blur. Which is why I wrote it down... but that doesn't help me now.

So, I figured I'd throw out one of the other two ideas I had for posts to entertain you until I re-procure my notes. Especially since I'm so bored with the project I'm doing at work (necessary and I'm kicking its ass, but boring all the same) that a 15 minute foray into my weird mental landscapes would serve to at least recharge my batteries.

The other night, I watched "The Pickup Artist" on Vh1. A writer, and former nerd himself, calling himself Mystery, attempts to teach the secrets of picking up girls to a host of guys who aren't proficient in the art of, well, picking up girls.

On one hand, it's kind of intriguing. For one lesson the students have to learn to be interesting in their stories by talking to elementary-aged girls.

On the other...

Let me apologize to all women who have to go through being picked up. What a silly thing to have to subject yourself to in order to find a mate. I'm so ridiculously sorry about what it's like to go to a bar with your firends for you, it pains me deeply.

Let me share some terminology for you. When you go into a place, you select targets. In order to attract the initial attention of the target, you must be able to open a set. The most important opening to a set is to tell a story through use of the DHV technique. You must only select the emotional high points of the story to generate interest, while at the same time, demonstrating higher value. All the while, you must realize that you have to Neg the target. Subtly give her signals that you're not a potential suitor in order to put her at ease. Turn away; constantly mention other friends and options. Make her come to you because you're a high value prospect, and you don't need her.

Though careful use of gambits, you can guage her interest, and slowly move the conversation from meeting to mating.

The next episode moves into how to broach the beginnings of physical interactions (namely kissing you pervs) though the use of these techniques.

I'm sorry that you have to put up with this. Really I am.

But I have to admit... this stuff works. Honest to whatever higher power you believe in.

Just like that cologne in Anchorman. 60% of the time, it works every time.

There's something in us bred for certain kinds of responses to certain things. At base, we'd all like to think we're more intelligent and capable of choice in situations. But we're not. Not at all. And it is fascinating to see.

Next time we're out at a bar, I'll show you a gambit. And you'll be embarrassed.

But even moreso, so will I. :)

Continuing

2007-08-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

Update coming and Las Vegas stories to finish. Unfortunately, someone hacked my Ebay account through the email address attached to it, and started trying to scam people.

Needless to say, making it right is not easy and I've been fighting with it a couple of days. I think I have everything worked out as of this afternoon, but as soon as I say that, I'm sure something else will crop up.

If not, expect more hilarity to ensure tomorrow.

Spamalot

2007-08-09T07:39:00.001-07:00

I was there.

It was brilliant.

The audience sang "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" with the cast at the end of the show.

Money well spent.

I35W Bridge Collapse Part 2

2007-08-02T07:49:00.000-07:00

More thoughts as they come:

First, it's utterly bizarre to surf through a normal littany of Twin Cities blogs and not only share the stories of yesterday's tragedy, but to see just how every major news source has taken on this story.

Blogs were becoming popular ways for news outlets to share the views of "everyday" people, but it's odd to see interview requests posted on blogs with eyewitness accounts from news outlets when everyone else who's read those blogs and knows their owner is simply hoping to find out that their friend is ok.

Second, the eeriest image from the tragedy so far was the sight of all the automatic headlights coming on as night fell.