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26 June 2006 @ 01:50 pm


Is there some ceremony to follow turning 21? I can't imagine there's any that would apply to me.

I mean, the idea is that I'm supposed to go out and get absolutely trashed; though everyone does that before they're 21. Most everyone, anyway. I see no point in doing that -- no point proved in it; no discernable virtue beyond that of getting trashed in the first place.

I was going to get stone drunk last night and hang my head over a typewriter, a romantic bell toll to adulthood that could carry me all year, and maybe take some advice ajutla dished out -- start a novel or something. Though I ended up meeting a friend at a Diner and having some coffee. Mostly the same.

Had hopes for lunch today; didn't really go over.

My sister wants to take me to a bar tonight. Guess I'll do that. Heh, her one friend insisted on joining and I know it's for the explicit reason of getting me drunk enough to misplace my preexisting opinion of her. At least she'll buy me a drink or two.

and oh!: I'm writing something now. It's gonna be good and long. A novella or something.

Guess today I'll read a book or something. Work's slow.
19 June 2006 @ 11:23 pm
(formal update)

Goddamn. It feels like months since I’ve written anything at all. I write pages of things in my head throughout the course of a day and I so rarely bother to commit any of that stuff to word processor. It’s not forgivable!

It’s summer – I found a job. A damn fine job, actually. Well, better than any of my friend’s jobs: that’s something. In fact, within this job, I’ve come into a number of other smaller jobs; jobs that preclude the usual lethargy that sets in with all jobs that aren’t exactly what you want to do.

I make t-shirts.

Hell of a job, really. Looks like I might be making some designs/shirts for a website or two. Additionally: I’ll be outfitting a Japanese Rock band with custom fashions from the US. That is the cool part of my summer job, I suspect.

$8 an hour under the table and 60 hour work weeks. I’ve made about $1300 already! T’ain’t shabby, dabby!

What’s money though? A guy I talk to now once (often) said money isn’t really real. I used to think about that a lot. I thought it was short-sighted and selfish, really. Just something a person says for the sake of saying something of the subject.

I guess I understood it had some deeper meaning when I first heard it; I guess I didn’t consider what that meaning meant ‘til some time after.

I couldn’t say if money is real or not real. I always thought of money as a lubricant for life; so comparable with something like KY jelly, it’s uncomfortable. Here, I’ll have you think about it: having sex (vaginal intercourse, sure) a partner might want to use KY Jelly because of some arid genitalia or similar dysfunction. Now, following the sex, the KY Jelly isn’t there. You don’t really the see the remains of KY Jelly after its use – oh hell, you know it was there and anyone who looks at your face thereafter could tell it was there. Yet, there’s no real trace of it to speak of.

Money’s like that: makes life move smooth; then it’s gone.

I’ve done mostly ok with spending so far. Some of the more extraneous purchases include:

  • a half-working 1951 Royal typewriter for about $22 with a new ribbon

  • expensive Japanese food a couple times

  • a Cocaine White DS lite (on sale) with LostMagic and Yoshi’s Island

    That DS lite really should have been a Navy DS lite.

    See, I had this gentleman’s arrangement.

    A Gentleman’s Arrangement with a cowboy. A cowboy down Chinatown.

    This cowboy, who beat-walked like he had just won a fight without taking a hit, said he’d hold a Navy DS lite for me at a $180 price point in exchange for some advice on how to do certain things in California the involve E3 and illegality. Now, if you know something, you know that’s a deal.

    So, this beat-walkin’ cowboy-man and I had a gentleman’s agreement for when I would pick up this thing.

    This kowtow-talkin’ cowboy broke that agreement.


    Tomorrow’s Tuesday and I have to be in Massachusetts for a fistful of reasons. (hi dark steve/eric!)

    Yeah. So, I get a call Sunday morning with a voice mail that confused me until it didn’t.

    “*Chinese girl talking for a few minutes*”

    I thought, “What the fuck?”

    If someone is leaving me a voicemail, surely they’re going to listen to my voicemail introduction saying who I am, (me) where I’m not, (present) what I’m not doing, (picking up my phone) and what the caller can do, (leave a message) all in New Jersey English.

    So, after hearing all that, this girl still went ahead and left me a lengthy message entirely in Chinese. (Don’t know which brand/dialect God.) I was baffled.

    Then, I wasn’t.

    I called the cowboy later and told him the deal was off because I couldn’t get down Chinatown on Tuesday (also I’d concluded by then that I was paying about $60 for a difference in color; I’m not hip enough to let that bother me too much right now.)

    He was disappointed and offered me a glut of other deals and the like. (Nice of him to want to stay in business, I know.) He also mentioned that he had, earlier, had his wife call and explain why he couldn’t get the Navy DS in. “DID YOUE GET THE MESSAGE?”

    “Oh. Yes, I got it.”


    No such thing as a gentleman’s agreement for a cowboy. Of course.

    There’s a whole other story for how I bothered getting the white DS lite that I won’t bother you with. It’d be too pithy.

    Yeah; my summer is going pretty well. If I can do some traveling, it’ll get a lot better. Seems like I’ll have the means to do so.

    It’s a kind of lonely summer, so far, actually, Typically I’m very comfortable on my own; not so true right now. I get no phone calls  and I don’t seem to have anyone to go to the movies with. Oh well, maybe that’ll change.


    Oh: the new "The Gamer's Quarter" literally just came out. I have an article in it that shaper called the "only thing in the whole magazine that acutally talks about anything illegal." So I guess I'm proud of that.
    19 June 2006 @ 01:11 pm
    I am going to update this formally soon, promise.



    That's the link to free World Cup 2006 audio webcast. Very useful as not even XM online has an audio feed availible.

    England allll the way.
    22 May 2006 @ 03:15 pm
    I half-write so many of these.

    Sorry I haven’t written anything about E3 yet, internet. I’ve got a whole write-up cooking in the brain-pot. There’s a lot to be said about everything that happened. Though, I won’t be done with it until probably Wednesday. Maybe Tuesday. Maybe not.

    I’ll have a new blog by day’s end. tim rogers gave me an invite to a mixi account. It’s, uh, all Japanese. I’ll be keeping it as such, which means I get rid of my old Japanese language livejournal I rarely updated. See if you can find that! I’ll be updating this new one every week – something I had to promise. Or, well, something I said I’d do. It’s something I’ll do, anyway. I just will.

    It would be exceptional to have that kind of confidence-of-action in everything I do.

    Anyway, I guess I’ll link that at some point. It should be all set up by late morning.

    A desk! A desk is what I need!!

    It's hard to say how often I’m doing my business on the floor. (haha)

    Even now! I’m on the floor, typing this. I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t covered dog hair. Hate dogs.

    I’ve been thinking about a desk for some time now. I hope it’s something I actually need, as opposed to something I’ve convinced myself I need. Though, these days, I can’t ever tell the difference. I’ll see if I can coerce someone into coming with me to look at bare-wood furniture stores today. Some antique stores too, maybe.

    Something utterly simple and sturdy. Solid wood, none of this sawdust and epoxy nonsense they give the kids. I’m not scrounging the Ikea nesting instinct. Something I use like I use a good bag. That’ll be something.

    This is turning into one of those updates, isn’t it? If I ever write something
    Music: Metal Gear Solid 3 OST
    01 May 2006 @ 12:40 pm
    Staying up all night is a trip. Procrastinating is either going to kill me, or make me famous some day. Because, of course, I wouldn’t be committing all-nighters if I didn’t procrastinate so very well. Or, maybe I would! In fact, I’m most sure I would.

    I stayed up to get caught up on school work. Oh man, oh boy, oh stepchild – I have a lot of a lot to do. Goodness. At least one more all-nighter this week, at least. Though, next week at least I’ll be in California, relaxing at, uh, E3. Which is by no means relaxing. Though, I’m damnably looking forward to going and writing about it.

    I’m getting all dimensions of green, wiggly lines under my sentences, which means I’m either writing exceptionally well today or I’ll be deleting/heavily editing this entry later.

    At around four in the morning today, I was awake, reading a short story called “Sleep” which is entirely about not sleeping.

    Or, if you like your literature interpretive, I suppose you could say it was entirely about sleep.

    It was the story of a dentist’s wife – a mother – who decides to stop sleeping. It’s an ideal story to read wide awake at four in the morning, and comforting to draw on for the drowsy, stiff day that is.

    There’s a lot to be said about it. I don’t have the time or the energy to say all I want. What’s worse is now that I’ve mentioned it here, I’ll likely never return to writing about it. Unless I am jinxing a curse or cursing a stigma. Or whatever.

    Oh dear, I’m fading. I have a large cup of French Roast black coffee from school here. Only my mom makes worse coffee than this school, and I can’t even drink her coffee.

    See, this entry is long, so it doesn’t matter how completely inane or shallow anything I’m talking about is, because most everyone won’t bother to read the whole thing! I’m still in a funk. Dang. This funk is like food poisoning for my head. A lack of sleep hurts morale so bad. And trying to communicate anything to a person who usually has me tongue-tied anyway is a cruel exercise I put myself through.

    And I hate it when a girl says, "I'll see you tomorrow," like it's soon enough.

    I have only three more things to say.


    Person whom has me tongue-tied, I have a question to ask you. It’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you for as long as it’s needed to be asked. Which is probably, like, a couple weeks. I couldn’t ask you in this condition; my words would falter and the very simple idea I want to move from “A” to “B” would go tumbleweed on me. So remind me later.

    I don’t mean to make dramatics out of internet o’er here.

    Also: it doesn’t mean a damn thing to damn nobody; tim rogers ain’t going to E3 no more. Which stinks. And damn you if you fault me for my disappointment. It’s my disappointment, ok? Leave it alone.

    I don’t remember what else I wanted to say.

    Oh. Right. Sometime this morning, I got the idea in me that I should write a play. That I should even try my hand at a screenplay sometime. I think I had a forty-seven-second day-dream talking with Sofia Coppola about something I’d written. Anyway, maybe I’ll try that this summer.

    Hang out with Sofia or something.
    Music: Music made me dizzy
    28 April 2006 @ 09:08 pm
    Still I'm in this funk. What a funk. Miserable funk.

    I bought a copy of "On the Road" by Kerouac. I've never read anything by Kerouac, which is probably unexpected for an admiring writer in New Jersey with a leaning toward the drug-culture and works by writers on the lam.

    So, I went to a poetry reading for this book at my school. By far the best event I've ever attended a held at my school. That I was sitting next to an unreasonably cute girl I might have an impractical crush on might have given it some lift over other events.

    There was a lot of poetry that didn't interest me. I guess I'm ashamed to admit I'm the kind of person who doesn't "see" some poetry right off. Every night for four summer months one year, I read "La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente" by Oscar Wilde to a girl in Boston, and I don't think the poem moved me an inch. Not until at least the third month. Other than that I read Arthur Rimbaud unremittingly for about a month; it only moved me as much as it would anyone else, I figure.

    This though. Damn.

    The poet who delivered it – his name, I don’t remember – he spoke in a sort of sandpaper swagger. A raspy confidence that the unfairly pretty girl to my right said scared her.

    That I have a Corolla and find myself on Route 80 at least an hour a day gives this poem added significance.

    Roy Orbison's Last Three Notes
    Read more...Collapse )

    Anyway, I don't expect I'll be in this funk for very long. And, yeah, I have something to say about the new name for the Nintendo Wii. Don't worry.
    26 April 2006 @ 01:24 pm
    I’m in a funk. The only thing I hate worse than being in a funk is admitting to being in a funk. With no psychological background whatsoever, I can say, without ego, exactly what’s gotten me into this funk: shit. Lots of shit. This is the first thing I’ve written in at least a week, the funk is so deep.

    To start off the dissection of this funk, I’m not embarrassed to admit I’ve been woken up the past couple nights by a mighty drunken ex-girlfriend who’s - by her own admission - too afraid to call me sober. I don't know what she wants. I know it's some flavor of closure; though I know neither brand nor essence.

    Then, there’s this other girl, who today said to me, “you were so smart and put-together when I first met you; now, you’re…” she continued, though my online identity is too smart and put-together to put here what she said. It wasn’t harsh, really. Well, it would be in text, which is another way of saying out on context. Thinking back on what she said, I realize I’m something of a bumblefuck, lately. All thumbs for no reason. Drowsey and dull.

    I should take a serious break from girls for a while, maybe. Just to settle my head. Though, it’s powerfully not-easy sometimes. Especially when you get to a point that is neither dating, nor friendship – that’s the point where every step creaks a floorboard in a dark room. Such an uneasy place that I don't want to leave. Dang.

    Yeah, this is all surrounding that same girl. Geesh. What are men smitten if not weak and undesirable?

    And I think I’m developing an unnatural fear of Brain Age. If I were to play now, I’d do only very poorly. Not only that; my intellect would be judged based on how I play! What the shit! I play a game to feel better about the funk I’m in. Instead, this video game is exacerbating this funk. While that probably (sadly) says a great deal about me, it’s also a testament to how much of a video game Brain Age is not.

    See, I just got a 42 on the age check. Deepest depths of despair I’m in over here.

    and, well, school. That’s another topic I’d rather not put words to.

    I need to write something like, 6 or 7 stories for the school newspaper today. I probably won’t do that.

    Getting out of a funk is the easiest and hardest thing in the world to do, because a funk, at least, at my tender age, feels as dependant on others as it feels dependant on me. I know that’s not true. I know that if I take a more focused role in my existence, things will go as I feel they should. Knowing everything doesn’t mean anything, really. Not that I know anything.


    ALSO: I have about 5000 words in half written entries for this thing. So, I at least try and update it.
    Music: Pandora
    07 April 2006 @ 12:11 am
    A conversation with my mother, earlier today:

    -mom- Oh, are you going to be home tonight?
    -me- No, I actually have a, uh, date.
    -mom- With who?
    -me- A girl from my Journalism class.
    -mom- Oh, what's her name?
    -me- ...It's Jessica.
    -mom- Oh. So, she's Anglo?
    -me- What? You mean as in Anglo-Saxon?
    -mom- Yeah.
    -me- ...What?!
    25 March 2006 @ 05:29 pm
    It’s a gorgeous day today. It’s cloudy and bright. Cold and cozy.

    It hailed earlier. Not usual hereabouts. Not unwelcome by me.

    Anyway, I got a story in the latest issue of The Gamer’s Quarter. This is pretty recent. My piece is called, “Every System, an Island”. Read it. There are some pretty terriffic things going on in there. I suggest getting a print copy. My story is directly above a wonderful Phoenix Wright comic. I'm honored.

    My thing is actually pretty awful. Someone who I asked to read it called it “swagger”. Which is a more accurate description than I could conjure up.

    To be honest, it screws around, stays pretty hazy and has some loopy metaphors and parallels that go no place I really wanted them to. Maybe too many ideas was the problem. The idea of Microsoft being a reactionary company hadn’t occurred to me until the day after I submitted it. That would have made an impact on it, I figure.

    I’m not ashamed of it, don’t misunderstand. I’ll follow up with something important next issue. Important in an important way. Something I’m really looking forward to. I hope it gets in.

    I’m watching Malcolm X right now. I feel an odd connection to Malcolm X in some ways. Ways I’d be made fun of for admitting to. Yeah.

    I have OH SO FUNNY stories to come. Wait.
    Music: Morrissey - at last I am born
    10 March 2006 @ 03:26 am

    It's three in the morning. I have an 11 hour road trip tomorrow, and I still have three articles to write. Two 350 word and one 500 word.

    Goddamn. I keep writing half updates for this -- nice long ones in which I tell an interesting story about things that happen to a wayward Journalist in New Jersey. Good material, I swear!

    No! I get too busy staying up writing till dawn shit I don't even get paid for to finish them. I'll finish the most recent one.

    Miserable stuff. I need a newspaper job, or something. At least I'd be paid for this kind of slavery.

    And, for a correction: Japanese isn't really hard. It's just awfully big.