Hello. Hello. Hello? Hello.
3 December 1998
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|
Hello. Hello. Hello? Hello.
3 December 1998
|
|
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
Yay. The linux installation here is finally working. I don't have to look at NT NEmore. ha ha. The letters are so teeny tho. Is this good exercise or will it ruin my eyes? People tell me that a lot, that things I'm doing are going to ruin my eyes. Like what, it'll corrupt them, destroy their sense of independence and dignity? But blindness, that'd be bad. All I do for fun is read. If there was no more reading... Bang. Thud.
Finally gave in to Music Boulevard and bought about 2,000 new CDs. Well, 5, anyway. I was trying to ask people at the bar last night what the name of Beck's new one is, and none of them had even heard it was out. They were trying to convince me that I had just dreamed it up! Damn it! As if I don't have enough of a problem with that. So that, and some Stereolab singles collection, and ... hmm. Oh! New Hole and new Squirrel Nut Zippers. Yay. Bye money! Do good! There it goes.
Bla bla bla. List of activities. Statement of moods. Metairony. I read in the New Yorker that Tom Hanks had a big pimple on his head when he appeared in Cannes (or something like that). I have a big pimple on my forehead today. He is losing his hair and getting a double chin too, I noticed. Maybe I can emulate him. Pay me $10 million to fall in love with Meg Ryan! sigh.
Working nights is bad. I'm tired of this endless one-way conversation. Waking up in the morning is bad too. Life is so hard.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love living in the city? How lucky I feel, how wonderful it is? Because it is, I do, I do. I love taking the train to work.
AAAH! Earthquake! Whew. Just a little one.
But the train, it is, it's nifty. No need to walk all that way, carried in comfort (well mostly), open to all people who can scrape up the fare and it's not THAT much, a dollar.
Look at what's available all around me, too. Food from almost everywhere in the world. A huge variety of books, records, magazines, videos - not online, but right there in front of you, to browse, smell, or ignore as you like. Movie theaters, live music, plays, opera, strip shows, bad performance art, it's all here.
See, all I have to do is think about losing my apartment and having to move away to somewhere like, oh, Ukiah. Or, what if I was a time-traveler from the past? It would be pretty amazing, this place. And it is, too. It is wonderful in the way that this stupidass web publishing software that is mangling my work over here on the other computer isn't.
Agh. I'm curdling. I can smell it.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| yestoday | today | tomorrowday | ||
| archive | semi-bio | |||
| listen! | random | privit | ||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
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. | ||||
| ||||