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Garion born; thinking of doing video logs - 2012-09-01

I'm married, I'm a prospective father, wow I never update - 2012-05-22

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It's never been better - 2011-06-02


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I pay for the internet once again!

2010-05-13 - 12:04 a.m.

I found one use for money.

Having internet installed. A connection. That I don't steal. This is a concept. I haven't re-reconnoitered this prospect since 2004. And even then it was just something my landlord offered.

But now. Now the Devil's firm, meaty dugg has nudged squarely against my jaw, and I have tasted wonder.

Wonder.

To go from, at best, a 500kb/second of patchy wireless connectivity to anywhere up to 25mb/s is a wonder to behold. In roughly 10 years time this will seem quaint.

What is not quaint is the awesome.

There are fields.

Trees.

Mountains.

Gorges filled with bellowing quixotic college students endlessly chanting fertility rituals born of ethanol and hormone mediation, all captured by YouTube in stop-motion photography as Welsh sheepherders tether 120 watts of winking fluroescent pagentry along livestock and play pong along the clear-skinned undulate in the dead of night while Rome burns in the background and bare-breasted women wearing ties and wax standing on goats perched upon select rude boys remonstrate against the Western zeitgeist for not using them in contemporary civic expression since the early 18th century.

Ponds.

I can download pornography like aerial bombers shelling the outlying islands of Japan.

I can waste entire evenings doing nothing but watching Lost, or Buffy, or select episodes of The Wire like when McNulty crashes his car in season 2 I think or those dead cops hanging out on pool tables while people sing 'Body of an American' by the Pogues, or the pre-Wire or post-Wire shows with the same character actors, or Rome, or Dexter season 5 whenever the hell that comes out and hopefully gets shuffled onto instant play instantly, or the Tudors if it appeared more than once every 2 1/2 years, or Christ on a cheese biscuit knows how many mildly interesting series that warrant a cursory examination.

Kindred: The Embraced is a good example. It ran for, roughly, 6 episodes. It was based off of a reasonably popular tabletop role-playing game. Having seen half of the show. Yeah. It was a fetus not long for this world. But. That still necessitates watching the rest for the hell of it. Because brief life is interesting.

- - -

I have been reading other people's words.

I missed this.

I'd occasionally lulled myself in a drunken revery in times past, Wikipedia article in one hand, finger a binary page in the other. Jack used to update. Tasha used to update. People who made repeatedly bludgeoning one's head against the wall of one's own personal shortcomings highly entertaining used to update.

But then Facebook came. Or life did. Or we all collectively did and decided sex with life or people or beasts was better than peddling emotional masturbation to others with similarly apportioned Radioshack equipment strapped and stuffed accordingly.

But I occasionally re-discovered this enterprise despite relative normalcy.

I'd re-read things I wrote in my early 20's. I'd marvel at how little I'd really changed beyond gaining more knowledge and growing a 9" penchant (safely and naturally!) for careerist panzermensche.

I'd say: "Wow, this month in May was actually inspired. I wrote poetry, short stories, richly illustrative narratives, and didn't rely on sophisticated obstinant sarcasm, unchecked rage, or self-effacing navel-gazing laced with swearing for occasional amusement. This was a fucking journal! Oh. Fuck."

It's true.

The one thing I miss is that there's no social medium to recycle the past from roughly 2003-2005. Oh the days when this site had a (semi-)functional chat room. It would be sad. Yes. Given that I apparently should do something more with my evenings than sit at home after working out and making dinner. Like don't most people who are single go out drinking? Or married people of a lower SES status because their spouse is a useless or obnoxious?

Pedro's burned to the ground unfortunately. That was a manifestation of Godspeed You Black Emperor! if I ever sat or stood and cried in one.

I just can't see myself as being a hole-in-the-wall type. Or even an upscale place that serves scotch older than I am like Maduro.

Or really much of anywhere that isn't a cliche or just completely fucking lame. I love hobby stores with teens to mid-40's men and the occasional woman pretending to be someone else somewhere else, and I'm not knocking it, I did it, I lead it occasionally in the past, but I'd like to think I've grown to engage in more pro-social, traditional sorts of interactions.

So says the asshole who's been on Bulletin Board Systems pre-internet sine 1994. But I can do 6 minute miles and deadlift my own body weight so who cares.

Why would I care? Other than seeing this entry devolve into self-exploratory rambling devoid of an endpoint except a circuitous trudge through a similar experience I had--we've all had--years ago.

But I guess that's the point. We as humans are dumb. We learn lessons like sunny days piss lightning: few and far-between.

I need to believe I've made progress as a person beyond drowning most of my empathy in a bathtub full of kerosene and lighting it on fire.

I dig polyvinyl chloride in moderation.

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