Noise Stress 20 October 1998

Oh man. I would not want to be a Padre relief pitcher tonight. Again they carry a lead into the late innings, again they let it slip away. Or, rather, get it pounded out of their hands. Ow.

I had been thinking about sneaking into the Media Room here to watch the last half of the game, at least. But these cow orkers of mine have the nerve to actually be using the equipment for work-related purposes! Where are their priorities?

Then I remembered that I had RealAudio on the Mac here, and that the game would probably be on the ... what do you call that? "I-radio"? Yick. Anyways, a local station is simulcast on the Net and so that's what I connected to. Funny thing about radio, though. I could only get the volume to go so high, and it was getting a lot of competition from the office stereo, the Goddamn Air Conditioning, and Those People in the Media Room. So it's easy to start working on something, half-listening, and find that you've lost 10 minutes. One minute there's one out, the next thing I realize, it's 2 strikes, 2 outs, 9th inning, and then bye bye Papists! I was unprepared.

I was looking around at my apartment last night, and I thought: "If I disappeared, and the police came here looking for clues or whatnot, they'd probably conclude that I was mentally unstable. Then no one would look for me because they'd figure I just finally snapped and drifted off to Van Nuys to yell at cars and eat Jello or something." And that's probably true. The question is, is it a good thing or a bad thing? There might be a way to take advantage of this.

Well and then I suppose it does raise the question of whether or not I am mentally unstable, but really. Does it matter? I wear a hat, I have a job, I bring home the bacon, no one knows.

As I write this, Elvis Costello! and Burt Bacharach! are playing together at the Universal Ampitheatre in Universal City, which is one of those melanoma patches that claim to be a city down in LA. Why should you care? I have no idea. Why do I care? Because, is the pudgy little bastard playing up here??? Oh, no. Only An Ampitheeeeatrrre is good enough for Master Costello. Stamp feet.

I'm waiting for something to happen. What, though? It's not clear. Only a sense that when the thing I'm waiting for shows up, my reaction will be "Oh well all right then, this is what I have to do." Look, it is my density! But it's very unAmerican, not to mention possibly unSmart, to wait around for Fate. (Heh. Sitcom, no?) I'm supposed to go charging off into that Great Unknown, my Unnecessary Capitals by my side, ready to do ... well, whatever. That's where I get lost in that plotline. Am I supposed to just pick something at random? Do anything, rather than do nothing? How very energetic.

Dunno. I'm demand-driven. Need me and I respond. Allow me and I sleep. Someone's got to be like this or the world would be even more of a madhouse than it is. Right? Of course it would be, you just lie down over here now. Pat pat pat. (Have you seen his apartment? Dreadful. Then one day he seems to have just disappeared. Poor fellow! Well, but there it is, isn't it?)

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.