thanks for working to bring back the drive to re-institue the Missile defense system, one of the most terrifying things to huant the Reagan eighties

National Missile defense program

If you don't know anything about it then maybe you should read more

Let's talk about WMDs shall we. . .and the Bush administration's position on them. . .
Read about the US Nuclear Posture review

the position of the Union of Concerned Scientists on Global Security

TREATY ON THE NON-PROLIFERATION OF NUCLEAR WEAPONS

Bush's New Nuclear Weapon Plan: A Shot at Nonproliferation
03/11/2002 @ 4:09pm

After George W. Bush's tough talk about the "axis of evil" unnerved allies--and forced the Administration to dispense assurances it was not about to go halfcocked after Iran, Iraq and North Korea--the White House has once again supplied the international community reason for the jitters, thanks to its new Nuclear Posture Review. The classified report, first revealed by The Los Angeles Times and then front-paged by The New York Times, is the Pentagon's master plan for developing and deploying nuclear weapons. The document, which lists contingencies in which nuclear arms might be used, notes that the United States might have to resort to nuclear weapons during "an Iraqi attack on Israel, or its neighbors, or a North Korean attack on South Korea or a military confrontation over the status of Taiwan." (The latter, of course, would be a confrontation with China.) The report also states, "Iran, Syria and Libya are among the countries that could be involved in immediate, potential or unexpected contingencies" that would require "nuclear strike capabilities," and it states that the United States could launch a nuclear assault to destroy stocks of weapons of mass destruction, such as biological and chemical arms.

Read more. . .

I will be picking apart this debate as soon as this is over.

Go here for transcripts of the debates

Al Jazeera

BBC World news

my sister supports Bush. She of course is entitled to her own opinion but not without a lecture from me. I don't even know if I'm a hundred percent right about what I told her. . .but that never stops me from sounding off to her.

Hey, that's what older sisters are for.

anyway, she said she had a Bush sign in her front yard and I told her I was going to send her this book by Thomas Frank entitled, "What's Wrong With Kansas?" I sent her some quotes from an interview with the author, which you can find here.

and then I summed it up like this:

"so anyways. . .to distill it. . .he talks about how, while most people from the midwest take to the republican party's espousal of things like family values, they don't realize that the economic policies most republicans eschew are detrimental to their own better interests and people in the midwest are worse off than ever before economically

because republicans are typically anti-union (bad for your husband), not protectionist (like keeping manufacturing at home instead of farming it out)

they are pro big business which hurts the economic interests of american manufacturing and agriculture as things get farmed out over seas in favor of maximizing profits

it's a tough call
I like fiscal conservativism

and the republican dogma has always been about balanced budgets but this guy in the office right now took us from a budgetary surplus into one of the worst deficit this country has seen since the depression

some of it was sliding before he got into office . . .but he and his administration have done nothing to institue any kind of policies to alleviate it"

Now I'm not sure if I'm a hundred percent right about everything I said. . .well let me rephrase that. By extension, I don't know that the dems are the opposite of everything I just said, in fact I know they're not. BUT, you can guarantee the shit I just outlined will continue by electing another shitty republican to office. so if you want to see the middle class sold down the river, and the sidewalks of your city swim with a river of homeless people, and watch your progeny get shafted out of a decent college education, and you think that breaking your ass in a 10$ an hour manufacturing job or a 7$ and hour food service job is a liveable situation, and you could give a shit about supporting the arts, and you have a thing against nuclear proliferation treaties, and you're rooting for global warming, and you want locusts to rain down from the heavens, and fire and brimstone to devour your heathen sisters and brothers, well be my guest; vote for the cretin.


This is the world destruction, your life ain't nothing.
The human race is becoming a disgrace.
Nationalities are fighting with each other.
Why is this? Because the system tells you.
Putting people in faceless categories.
Knowledge isn't what it used to be.
Military tactics to control a nation.
Who wants to be a president or king? Me!
Mother Nature is gonna work against you.
Nothing in your power that you can do.
Yes, the world is headed for destruction.
You and I know it, cause the Bible tells you.
If we don't start to look for a better life,
the world will be destroyed in a time zone!
-- Afrika Bambaata & John Lydon "World Destruction" 1983

I sent my sister the picture featured "the look" blog entry. She said, "awwwww. . .look, it's the irritated you. You didn't have to send me the picture; I'm very familiar with that look."

See. Everyone I know knows that look.

Picture me, watching the debate tonight, fuming and railing and flashing that look like impotent lightning back at the idiot box television.

Katherine introduced me to a guy who is working on the Kerry campaign on Tuesday night. He said things look hopeful. I told him I hope they look hopeful.

I don't think they look that hopeful.

Wellington here I come.

She sings world shut your mouth
Shut you mouth
Put your head back in the clouds
And shut your mouth
--Julian Cope "World Shut Your Mouth"


I'm having one of those fucked up days where. . . content edited whew. I feel like I narrowly avoided a car wreck.

hanging on by a spit and bandaids today.

I'm starting to feel a bit overwhelmed because my third class just started so I swear to god I'm going to have to get a whiteboard for my house. I will probably be buried at home for the next 10 weeks. I think in January I will need to take a quick trip somewhere to alleviate the burnout. I can see the future and the future looks tired.

I knew this time would come. . .something will have to give and it will most likely be the writing. Sucks. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. All of a sudden I can't keep it all in my brain. . .like everything is vying for position at the top of the pyramid and something is going to slip off.

Plus work is crazy too. I'm headed for a freak out breakdown.


This rather simple epitaph can save your hide your falling mind
Fate isn't what we're up against there's no design no flaws to find
There's no design no flaws to find.

But I learned fast how to keep my head up 'cause I
Know I got this side of me that
Wants to grab the yoke from the pilot and just
Fly the whole mess into the sea.
--The Shins "Young Pilgrims"

oh yankee stadium. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

One. Knowing the secret uncrowded entrance.
Two. Section 535 Box seats.
Three. Alex Rodriquez hitting a home run!

Yankees win. 5 to 4. Boston lost to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays (thank you Lou.) New York needs to win one more game to clinch the division title.

I am on a mission to get playoff tickets.

I'm working from home today, listening to Prince and eating the most al dente , and by al dente I mean RAW, linguine that I have ever eaten. MMMM, yes, with the reheated meat sauce that I managed to burn while reheating.

I'm a culinary retard today.


Now move your big ass ’round this way
So I can work on that zipper, baby
Tonight your a star
And I’m the big dipper

(kick it)

(gett off)
--Prince "Get Off"

yesterday I saw a praying mantis outside of my office. It was the coolest looking bug I've ever seen. I nicknamed it papi. I don't know if praying mantises are indigenous to central jersey or not. but then I thought, maybe hurricane jeanne is screwing it up for the bugs too, and papi was just surfing the storm front.

I wish I could've taken a picture of papi but the digi-cam is at home.

Today rules. I lost my office mate. . .sad for her but now I have the office to myself. . .no overhead flourescent lights, any music I want to listen to. It's a great way to work.

I think I've gained a couple of pounds back. . . I feel like I'm wearing a spare tire. double plus un good. That's okay. . . my will will prevail.

here's an excerpt fron an article in the Village Voice:

Hurricanes are widely thought to be among early signs of intensifying storm systems caused by global warming. The Bush administration, which doesn't officially believe that there is such a thing as global warming, has kept the U.S. out of international agreements aimed at controlling it. Among other things, global warming and rising oceans swollen by melting North Pole ice bode ill for the Sun Belt (where Bush is strongest), threatening cities like Miami and New Orleans with truly catastrophic floods and leading to a gradual retrenchment of urban development all along the American coastline.

But the Christian fundamentalists don't believe this is what God's got in store for the planet, so it made good sense for the president on Sunday not to open a discussion on global warming and instead offer the Lord's blessings. Bush's line on the hurricanes also happens to be another example of the GOP's call to the working class to stop selfishly thinking about jobs or health care, and instead concentrate on things that really enhance the quality of life, such as religious beliefs. (It may be interesting to note that the Republican right is inching its way toward a theocratic state with the creation of Christian wings in prisons, faith-based social welfare schemes, and the Heritage Foundation's most recent proposal to establish faith-based health insurance.)

you can go here to read the whole thing:

Today, I pretty much look like this. . . it's my "what the fuhhhhhhh. . . " look.

I've had to give this look to several people here today because of the fact that they are fucking morons. My roommate will consistently laugh when she sees this look on my face because she knows I've had it. She always thinks it's funny when I get fed up and exasperated.

if I had my way today I would be here:
or here
but not here

a friend forwarded me this blog. . .it's worth reading although I think this guy was ordered to stop blogging. Anyway, he's a dude from SF serving over in Mosul. . . his blog is very moving and eye-opening.

Check out MY WAR

Man. My concerns are so petty.

Man Stabbed To Death On Subway Train
No Weapon Recovered

POSTED: 7:57 am EDT September 26, 2004
UPDATED: 8:08 am EDT September 26, 2004

NEW YORK -- A 45-year-old man stepped off a subway train in lower Manhattan early Sunday with seven stab wounds to his chest and back, and died shortly after collapsing on the platform, police said.

The man, whose name was not released, had been riding a northbound N-train when he stumbled onto the platform at the Rector Street station at about 4:40 a.m., police said.

He was taken to New York University Downtown Hospital and pronounced dead at 5 a.m.

No weapon was recovered and no arrests were made as of early Sunday.

The train was taken to Ditmar Yards in Queens for further investigation, said Officer Jennara Everleth, a police spokeswoman.

-------

okay. . .this happened while I was passed out on a train car somewhere in the deep projects of Brooklyn.

Rector Street is my stop. It unloads into the WTC Path Station.

I am not a fool. I am just acting like one. I have to fight to evolve past this behavior. I refuse to go out as a victim of a violent crime. . .especially if it's something I could avoid with a modicum of common sense.

Alcohol. . .another one of Darwin's little helpers.

the mania has reached its logical conclusion. I have to sleep now.

--

okay okay, I'm awake now. I thought I was dying as I rolled in at 10 am this morning. I'm going on hiatus from nightlife. This is ridiculous. I had every intention of taking a cab down to the WTC last night/this morning. Instead, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I took a train. And what the fuck? Why were they running the F train on the A track. . .or how did I end up on the F train anyway. I know for certain I didn't stumble over to 6th AVE from 8th. Anyway, I woke up at fucking Avenue X. Fucking Coney Island. Fuck.

I rode the entire F train loop.

Anyway, when I came to, I assesed the damage. . .no cut pockets, wallet and money still intact. Still alive.

Is this the equivalent of driving drunk? Do I have a guardian angel?

Went back into Manhattan and had breakfast at the diner on the corner of west 4th and 6th. Walked over to Starfuckers and got a coffee. Sat in the park and looked at the squirrels. Laid down on a bench until I felt like I was going to fall asleep there and decided it was time to get my ass home.

They have black squirrels in the park. I didn't notice any integration problems between the grey and black squirrels so apparently Washington Square is an equal opportunity park.

man. . .I was looking through reams and reams of CRAP that I've written over the years. . . a couple of things worth taking out and seeing if there's something in there and a lot of stuff that's just painfully bad. . .mostly brain lint. Makes the blog look like a classic piece of literature.

boy was I depressed in my twenties. . .no wonder I coudn't produce anything. Too much angst and not enough distance. You know, thank god for the internet and email because over the course of the last eight years, communicating with other people through writing has been a godsend, really. It got me to write outside of my own head. Because when I look back at some of the crap that was coming out of my head, I cringe.

shit like:
010794 Denver
"Fuck you everybody. I hate my life. I hate myself. I wish I was dead. I don't give a fuck. I don't want to do anything. I'm not anything. I don't exist. I don't have the strength to kill myself. I hate everything."

HOLY CRAP. . .I don't even know that person. . .who the hell was that? One depressed mother fucker, that's who. good god. Thank god for time.

But there are some things that are funny. . .
an excerpt from a letter:
050497 Seattle
"Well now I'm back in the cult who's grasp is ever reaching; the security of a corporate job with all its trappings and benefits and stock options and 401k and free coffee encircling my jugular more and more tightly. I cannot leave. I am doomed.

Actually I made a pact with myself that I will be a full-fledged computer geek by the year 2000, fully ensconced in a corporation, not unlike this one, only dealing with a different subject matter. And MAYBE, just maybe, I'll be able to put some of my earlier training in graphic arts to use in a multimedia setting. We shall see."

did you know I was psychic?

and I'll leave on this note:

Seattle scenes

Dear Hope,
Remember Mexico? Summer in the Carribbean?
Isla Mujeres -- Woman Island.
We were islands too.
We sat at the beach bar, watching water,
and Kaes said with his droll Dutch accent,
"Oh God, here comes America."
We turned from the tide, you laughed out loud,
but held your tongue.

They were four --
two Grandpas with canvas keds and sport socks climbing
not quite halfway up their skinny calves.
One wore a baseball hat saying "Don't mess with Texas."
Two Grandmas with bright visors broadcasting "Hotel Nabalam"
neon fanny packs lounging on their striped shirted stomachs,
pudgy, sunburned knees and elbows,
and large, dark glasses sheltering them from the locals.

I quietly divorced myself from my country.

"God Bless America!" you sang as we exchanged expatriate glances,
subversively drinking before noon on a white sand beach,
under a palm thatched roof,
two islands,
one mind.

nothing like a pair of drunken blogs to demonstrate what can come out of dying brain cells.

I vow not to blog drunk. But, in the spirit of blogging, I won't delete the posts. . .they are what they are. Also, I seem to be two days ahead of myself on the postings. Lately I've had too much to ramble about I guess. Maybe I need to find another outlet. I even started writing work Haikus. . .

Datafeeds abound.
Even with automation
they are tedious.

I NEED COFFEE. and on that note I will leave you with this:


What kind of Candy am I?

You're chocolate. You're the old soul type, people feel that they have known you their entire life. Many often open up to you for they view you as thoughtful and trustworthy. Although people trust you, you have a hard time trusting them. You prefer to keep your feelings bottled up inside, or display them very quietly. It is alright to open up every once in a while.


Which kind of candy are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Writing will keep me awake.

"i'd rather be a hammer than a nail. . ."

That's what I heard coming down the subway stairs. Some effing Simon and Garfunkel tune played on a flute; and then I felt compelled to sing along which is probably the most pathetic part of this blog entry. and then there was the couple making out. And the 42nd st. subway smelled like dial soap. a nice departure from the usual.

I look like an ass, sitting on the train, writing on my giant stolen office notebook but at least it's keeping me from waking up on Nostarnd Ave. I probably won't be able to decipher this later but then if I can't, neither will anyone else.

Just stopped at W 4th -- doors open -- trumpeter playing some jazz standard that I know but can't name -- I know it's not Freddie the Freeloader. What the hell is it anyway?

Spring st. Damn.

this is usally the zero hour stop but thankfully this writing is helping me keep my shit together.

--

I have 20 minutes to kill here at the WTC PATH station -- it's 1:37 and it sucks. I wish I could call a cab or a genie or something. . . .

Anyway, as I was riding the escalator down, I heard this disembodied voice. . .

"yeah, I haven't seen you in awhile. . ."

"yeah, I know. . ."

"yeah, okay. . ."

"baby, you're not listenin' to what I'm sayin'"

at first I thoughtit was in my head but then the perp came into view. . .orange safety vest, blue maintenance uniform; talking to his girl; trying to get home. I might be projecting but I believe that the univesal mindset of the working class is "get me the fuck outta here."

I don't feel as bad as my penmanship and scattered thoughts would allude to.

So today katherine said, "you know, losing weight is all fun and good and you look great and feel great but don't forget to eat."

to which I replied, "I'm having some issues with that. Bethany told me 'Anorexia is really addictive. . .don't be seduced by it."

I'm not. I like food. yet suddenly I'm afraid to put any in. Where did that come from? oh how I can self destruct. . .let me count the ways. This is all coming out of the brain of someone who would plan where she was going to have dinner while in the process of eating lunch. very foreign.

Here's the kicker. . .I can feel my bones making an appearance again, my ankles aren't swollen; my hands aren't chubby. I can feel my shoulders and my collarbones.

I just have to make sure I don't go overboard.

--

on the way home from the PATH. . .there is hardly any sound. . .just air conditioners, crickets, the distant clink of a bottle going into the trash, a train. A delivery truck up the street is the loudest thing;its roll up doors breaking the relative stillness. It smells like Chinese food, cut grass and paint. A block until I'm home and in bed. . .or typing these thoughts out.

good night.

let me see; where do I begin. It's 3:24 EST and I'm home finally from the bar. a trip I couldn't shouldn't afford, monetarily or mentally. But, I'm surprisingly lucid. Fancy that. must be the increased metabolism. I'm only having issues with capitalization. Bethany said that insomnia is the sensitive person's curse and I had to laugh.

yet I can't sleep.

so, after hours of trying not to think, I came home and I'm not tired. Just restless. To borrow a phrase that came up tonight "i'm a futilitarian."

speaking of futilitarian, the debates are slated to roll. The first is in nine days, in coral gables florida, between Kerry and Bush (@%$#* A%#hole) about foreign policy. The second is I don't remember where--some podunk place between here and the other side of nowhere and they will debate some other crap. The third is in tempe AZ where they will debate about domestic policy.

I said tonight that I wish I could vote on where my tax dollars go; kind of like a 401k plan. I'd allocate 10% to roads, 30% to schools, another 10% to gov't services; 25% to arts and 25% to universal health care. I suppose I should be looking for another country to live in but right now it's a moot point. I'm stuck here.

And on a more comic note, wouldn't it be great if count chocula, booberry and frankenberry had their own tv show, like meet the press, where they got to grill a bunch of political heads?

"And what makes you so qualified to ask me questions about fiscal policy, Mr. Boo-berry?"

"Because I'm the spokesperson for the cereal that bought you your constituency Mr. President. Muhuauahahahahaha."

fuck. I have to get some sleep. Have to stop thinking.

I used to know this bartender who worked at my favorite place in SF who we nicknamed "Angry Mike." I had the most horrible crush on angry Mike, which figures. Always attracted to the wrong person. Anyway, Mike hated tourists and this bar was a mecca for tourists who were looking for the ghost of jack Kerouac. He especially disliked European tourists. Why? Because they didn't tip.

One day a german tourist (not Herr Wingnut) left a quarter tip on a twenty dollar tab. Mike picked it up and threw it at the back of his head, cussed him out, and when the guy argued back, Mike kicked him out. So that's one incident that earned Mike his rep. Another, which I was privvy to witness was an incident involving a squealing party of bachelorettes in for drinks. . .they were real "Woo-hoo" girls, you know the kind. . they have a couple of cosmos and start yelling in their little cheerleader/sorority voices "woo hoo WOO HOO!!!!" Very piercing. Always obnoxious. Anyways the bride to be starts opening up some presents and suddenly emits a high pitched squeal/scream. . .it was enough to make my heart stop. At the same time this projectile flies over the bar from their table, hits the bottles of scotch on the back bar and breaks one, I think is was Lagavulin or something. Mike runs down, pissed, and picks up the projectile; a twelve inch black dildo. He starts yelling at them to get out at the top of his lungs, pointing the way to the door with dildo, wagging it around, his face the color of eggplant.

Why did I think of Angry Mike? I'm listening to this jazz station at work and The Girl from Impanema came on. . .Mike hated that song with a passion. It was enough to drive him into a frenzy. I think Astrud Gilberto was his kryptonite.

I pledged a hundred bucks to WBGO this morning. This is about the hundredth pledge drive I've listened to and I finally buckled under and said I'd give them money. They're probably THE BEST jazz station I've listened to in my life and they deserve it.

Want to listen? Click here to see what's going on at WBGO-Newark

It's better than the time I donated money to the ACLU. I love the ACLU but man, they put me on every freaking mailing list known to any bleeding heart liberal ever. I swear to god I received the entire Olympic National forest in my mailbox and it was all mail from organizations like the World Wildlife Fund and the Nature Conservancy. You'd think that they would have more environmentally friendly and eco-conscious ways of soliciting. I find that somewhat disturbing.

So anyway. . .support the arts. Someone has to do it because our government surely has no place in its heart for the humanities.

xoxoxo

I didn't leave the house today and I didn't do much except clean and think and do a little work. Wasn't thinking too much about writing the blog either but what I did think about is how I've got to come up with two oral presentations for this oral presentation class I'm taking.

In the first presentation I have to bring an object that I think represents me and sort of introduce myself to the class through it in an "Extemporaneous Speech." I'm thinking about bringing a pen. Because of the idea of writing and self expression and stuff.

The second excercise is that I have to tell a story and I'm thinking of telling the story about how I was locked out of my car somewhere in the desert outside of San diego and nice people from minnesota came along and bailed me out. Perhaps I will elaborate more in a future blog because there is certainly more to the story than what I just said.

so that's that.

But later I got to thinking about the reunion and this whole rapid weight loss thing I've been experiencing and I know this sounds new age-y but I think that maybe I was really holding onto something and once I went back home and got whatever it was out of my system. . . well, maybe it was a block or something. Some kind of invisible block that was holding me back from a lot of things. Not only is the weight coming off but other things have changed as well; the way I feel about my job, about school, and about life in general. And as the mental weight keeps coming off, and the physical weight keeps coming off, I feel a hell of a lot more free.

What the hell is that all about? Some kind of hippie mumbo jumbo apparently but hey, whatever works.

I got my butt kicked by Ivan this morning.

There was nothing I wanted to do less this morning than leave my house at 8:30 am in the torrential downpour that was occuring outside. I have honestly never seen anything like it. My street was like a river with water running up and over the curb. It looked great for kayakers. By the time I reached the top of the street, four blocks up, my jeans were so soaked they were starting to drag down. By the time I got to the PATH station, I'd given up any efforts to avoid the pond like puddles that had formed all over and simply waded through them, water pouring into my new converse low tops. I also gave up on trying to keep my 2 dollar umbrella from turning inside out and walked with it's mangled mass over my head realizing that a paper bag would have been just as effective.

I sat in the air conditioned PATH train car, drenched and shaking, convinced I would have pneumonia by the time I reached New York eight minutes later.

When I reached the E train, I looked at my watch and celebrated a little that it was not yet 9:30 and I would only be a wee bit late to my class. Since I wasn't there last week I didn't want to appear as if I were that cavalier about the whole thing and I didn't want to be THAT disrespectful to the instructor. About ten minutes later, I had givin up the idea that I would only be a little late as the car was still sitting there, doors still open, with evidently no intention of moving.

I heard some muffled announcement that a woman next to me interpreted as "I think they advised us to take the 2 or the 3 trains."

Finally I decided to give up on the E train and started walking to the A track. As I reached the very first car of the train, there was an announcement from the conductor saying that the train would be moving. Forever the optimist, I jumped back on. Sure enough, the doors closed and the train crept slowly up toward canal street. Where it stopped. And sat. For fifteen more minutes. I decided to wait it out. W 4th street was only two stops away and I wasn't going to walk from the canal street A stop all the way up to Washington Square in the downpour.

The train started to move again and I breathed a sigh of relief which was cut short when the train stopped, this time in the middle of nowhere. The idea of being trapped in the subways has always creeped me out and the longer we sat there, the faster my knee jiggled up and down as I tried to concentrate on being still. Twenty minutes of deep breathing and one charley horse later, we again, FINALLY started moving. We reached Spring street and stopped, with conductor announce that if there was anyone on the train that couldn't risk getting stuck again, now was the time to get off. I decided to take him up on that. Of course the exit was at the back end of the stop, and I was at the front end of the train. As I reached the mid to back region, someone yelled out "GREEN SIGNAL" and the conductor yelled "GET IN THE TRAIN" and I jumped back in because, well, I'm stubborn dammit.

Finally reached W 4th. Finally reached my class. . .an hour and a half late. Evidently, I came in right after the instructor so I wasn't disrespectful after all.

Holy crap. . .I cannot even imagine what it was like in the gulf when that boy came to town.

okay. . .this is what woke me up this morning. I heard an excerpt from Laura Bush's speech on NPR.

. . .All of these issues are important in our country. But as we grieve for the families in Russia, and as we mark the third anniversary of September 11th, I believe what's most important is my husband's work to protect our country and to defeat terror around the world. (Applause.)

AUDIENCE: Four more years! Four more years! Four more years!

MRS. BUSH: Too many families here had a loved one or a neighbor or a friend who went to work in New York that day and never came home. I met with several families earlier and I know that that happened to them and they lost the person they loved best. It's for our country and our children and our grandchildren that we do the hard work of confronting terror and promoting democracy.

LOOK, let's talk about what this fucker could've done with the presidency had September 11th NOT happened. Christ, not even a month after he was elected there was a guy arrested for shooting a gun at the whitehouse. Okay, so the media said he was just a crackpot. . .an unstable guy. . .maybe he wasn't. In any case, I swear to god, if that fucking campaign, doesn't stop playing the September 11th card I'm going to put up my own ad. I may do that today and start circulating it around the internet. Dead People Don't Campaign. . .not the fucking victims of September 11th, not dead soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq. grrrrr.

AND what's with Sue Niederer getting arrested. The print and radio news media is making sound like she disrupted the rally by going inside and yelling at Laura Bush. Maybe she did. But, what I saw on TV was Mrs. N, talking to a group of reporters and the police walking up to her, and cuffing her. And she demanded to know why she was being arrested. So what is the real story? Did anyone witness the whole thing that is not a supporter of George Bush? Please email me, I'd like to know.

Here's a simple account of the event.

AND here's another little golden nugget from the press.

The commotion didn't deter Kathy McMichael, 56, of Hamilton Township from savoring the experience of seeing the First Lady.

"Oh, she's beautiful - inside and out," said McMichael, decked out in full Republican regalia: red straw hit, powder blue pin-striped suit, a scarf resembling the American flag, red, white and blue jewelry and Bush-Cheney '04 buttons. "She's got great charisma. She's shown that a woman can be independent and be supportive of her husband."

And. . .what else can a woman be? Nice message to all the little girls who want to be scientists and engineers and journalists and supreme court judges and have a brain. Maybe I'm over-reacting but something about that really grates a nerve.

Anyway, NJ will be under water later today due to Ivan so I can rant with the rest of the water goblins.

glug glug glug.

I had a crush. I wrote a story about it. It was back in 94 or something like that, when I was living in Colorado. I had this horrendous crush on this guy named Ed, who I still know to this day. He's a great guy. But man was I smitten. It's funny when I reflect on it. . .

The essay/story or whatever you want to call it is pretty raw. . .I tightened it up a bit while retyping and I'm sure it could use another round of editing but it's late and I'm tired.

So if you're not doing anything. . .here's a little something to read.

It was definitely too long for the blog but it's not that long. Have fun.

I need to meet someone.

Someone I can be around and have a crush on that's not fruitless and grim. Someone who will sweep me off my feet and seduce my imagination and tempt me with words. Someone who can come along and startle me and knock me out of this stupor. Someone who can kill the ache that I try to drown out with the noise of my life and alcohol and one night stands. Someone available, who can treat me like the pet that I am, to lavish me with attention, to stroke me and pet me.

Someone that makes me feel like I COULD be the star that rocks their world.

I care about myself enough to know that sitting around, waiting for attention is bad. I get a little bit but it leaves me wanting more, like a junky.

The ache is a shark. It's eating me alive. I can't take it.

I'm going to bed now. . .just me and my thoughts.

I was walking to the PATH station this morning past these two construction sites I see everyday. Now, I'm not a construction manager, a contractor, or an engineer but in looking at the two projects I see some major stylistic differences. The first project is a 13 story residential/retail building with parking. I was very excited when they started it because before, there was just a scary vacant lot with crackheads. But as I watched them start to build I noticed they proceeded in what I can only describe as a very slipshod manner. I'm at a loss to explain it properly. On the other hand, the project across the street looks professional, and sturdy. . .it's a five story addition to Hudson County Community College's culinary school.

HCC addition = built by professional contractors.
13 story apt = built by the mob.

So as I was thinking about it I thought, I have a digital camera at my disposal; I'll take pictures of the work. Then I thought, "Wait a minute, what if I'm taking pictures and someone views it as SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY. And what if then, I'm am questioned by the FBI and hauled off to some holding cell without proper representation and I have to sit there for months while they figure out whether or not I'm a terrorist? That's messed up." And I would have to tell them, "hey, do you think a terrorist has his eyes on Journal Square. Quite frankly they could drop a bomb in the middle of the square and all we'd be down are a couple of dollar stores and a handful of junkies."

So, I WOULD show you what a mob construction job looked like but Homeland Security has got me running scared.

In assault weapons we trust,
krixfort

maybe that's being a little harsh and I would probabaly be chastized by my circle of friends for saying this but I have a lot of mis-directed anger and so and so (he whose name has been edited out) ended up being the unlucky recipient.

he-whose-name-was-edited just came back from europe with a wad of cash in pocket because he did some ad for some company across the pond. he has always been a "successful commercial actor" to borrow his words but I find him tiresome at times. . . so I busted his balls a little tonight.

I went to meet up with friends at the bar-whose-name-cannot-be spoken and retrieve my coats which I had stored there on Friday. He was sitting at the end of the bar lounging, looking as if he had just got through working out, which I'm sure he did. anyway, I, and other people just ignored him for the most part. He has this tendancy to get all actor-y ("look at me! look at me! look what I can do! see how funny I am! pay attention to me!) BUT there was one point in the night where he was going on and on and on about how great he was and i got so fucking tired so I said "what is that fucking thing on your arm? It looks like a heart monitor. what the fuck do you need that in here for. . . you monitoring your heart while you're drinking beer? Don't you work out? "

The words themselves weren't overly harsh, really, and anyone else I know would laugh and make a joke out of it. He couldn't. He's too sensitive and he can't take a joke, especially at his own expense because he's too worried about his appearance. I COULD GIVE A FUCK.

I guess I scored points with the bitter people in the bar who think he conducts himself like a self important asshole (in fact one friend of mine said that he'd wished I hadn't stopped because he wanted to see him cry.) But honestly the whole thing is sad. I have no real ill will toward the guy. . . he's just trying to make a living like anyone else. I guess i was just feeling a little sharp tongued and I felt like lashing out at someone. And he was such an easy target. I kept waiting for the comeback from him . . .a little jab back, but it never came, which now makes me feel worse.

he really is an okay guy. I was not being an okay girl. I don't know why.

Anyways, I was on a sharp-tongued roll tonight. . . .all of it cruelly funny at the time but in retrospect. . .I don't want to be that person. I don't know what my beef was with the world.

Later on, I got propositioned by some brit businessman guy. . .nice enough to elicit that kind of response I guess, but I couldn't go along with it no matter how much I would've liked to have gotten laid. I politely declined and thanked him for the offer and then got into a cab to the trade center PATH station.

The PATH station was a total bummer. There is this fence that surrounds the pit that is Ground Zero. It was covered in flowers. I tried to walk past, ignoring all of it as usual, but somewhere in between the cab and the escalator down I stopped and walked over to the memorials. There I saw candles burning and more pictures of the dead and a letter folded over on top of some lilies. I unfolded the letter and and it was from a woman to her brother-in-law telling him that she knew he would've been a fine father and that she missed hiim and that everyone was okay. And then I burst into tears, looking at the wall of flowers lining a metal fence, smelling the lillies and roses and exhaust and city air. And then I cried, all the way down the escalator for being a sanctimonious fuck; for being unkind; and for families that will never have a place to go to mourn their dead that won't be desecrated by tourists with their digi-cams and their 9-11 t-shirts. And I thought about how much we try to pretend like it's all good and normal as we take a trian through a fucking burial ground.

The flight pattens changed today, sending planes bound for Newark dangerously low over my house. And I ducked, even while I was inside my house, and peered like a tiny squeaking mouse, out my window, hoping that it was just a plane and nothing else.

I wish they would just build the memorial and I wish the election was over and i wish they could let the dead rest in peace and I wish I could live in a world without this fucking terror.

if you'll remember, I had trouble writing the police and theives entry because my mind was in other places over the holiday weekend. . .now, as the republican convention distances itself from us, geographically and politically, I guess I can remember what I was going to talk about. yes. . .what was it. . .OH YEAH.

So during the GOP convention the city was like a complete police state. At one point I counted 11 cops on the southeast corner of 46th and 8th. . .and I didn't count how many were on the southwest, northwest or northeast corners. ANd there were sirens constantly, up and down the island. To tell you the truth, it didn't make me feel safe at all. It made me feel like it was September 12th and we were waiting for the aftershock. I can not begin to tell you how offensive I think it is that BOTH candidates have politicized the tragedy of 9/11. . .Bush in particular, kissing up to the firefighters in Queens, talking about what a great leader he was on that day. A friend sent me this editorial and it sums up Bush's leadership capability more succinctly than I could.

But enough ranting. One of the rather funny factions of the boys in blue was this group of undercover cops riding scooters. . .in a group of ten or so, like a posse. They were parked outside the Collins and one of the patrons went out to ask what they were up to. They said non-chalantly, "we're just riding around", as if they were some scooter gang from the 80s (definitely not cool enough to be a mod scooter gang from the 60s.) So the guy walks back in and reports to us that they "aren't police. . .yeah, right. . .then why are you pulling out that walkie-talkie that says NYPD all over it" and we all laugh and the guy says, "you know, no one rides scooters like that anymore. It's so obvious. At least they should've dressed them up like Italian hipsters or something, and put them on Vespas."

the last night of the convention I was a little sour on the whole thing AND flat broke. I announced that I was going to resurrect "The New York Mugger" character and I would play the starring roll. And I would start by terrorizing those who had recently terrorized my stomping grounds. I figured, republicans have a way of hanging on to their wealth. . .if I roll a few, I could make a couple of bucks and they wouldn't miss it. The plan was squashed by my friends who always have my best interests at heart.

Thanks friends!

GO Dems!

I asked Scott if he was gearing up for Ivan as he lives in New Orleans and Ivan might pay a visit to the gulf. here's his reply:

Nope, nothing as yet. We're all keeping a "flinchy" eye on Ivan, though. That red bastard is all the fury of the Cold War--and then some--if you live in this part of the world. we've been dodging the bullet for a long time here and I think we're about due for some serious blowage.

I've never been a fan of Florida, but those geriatric screwballs are really takin' it in the pants this season. The scary fact is that the hurricane season is really just hitting its stride--most of the big ones have fallen between early September and the end of October.

So. There's still time.

What be new with you? Is Frances dropping some serious weather on ya'll?

Call and bring me up to date.

Shiver me timbers,

Scott

He kills me. Here's another old email from him that used to slay me too:

Subject: Bush Speaks...Sits, Fetches, Begs

Was I having a flashback or did he suggest that it's not too late for the Taliban to "cough up" Bin Laden?

If I hear "evil", "evil-doers", or "the evil one(s)" much more, I think I'm going to have to stop listening. It's beginning to sound like Buffy The Vampire Slayer meets The Lord of the Rings.

The man has a lot on his plate, granted, but he should save himself (and us) the humiliation of live press conferences. I felt a more than a little uncomfortable, like suddenly finding myself tripping my brains out while coaching the Special Olympics.

Our Man Bush trying to navigate that press conference was like watching Forrest Gump. No offense to Tom Hanks, but has it really gotten this bad?

which in turn spawned me to write this AP style article (I was practicing the AP style because I was going to apply for an online editor position at NBC when they told me my job was going away.)

Bush signs new law banning EVIL

WASHINGTON, Oct 25- George Bush has signed a new law to make evil a federal offense. "All evil-doers will think twice before committing their heinous evil deeds," senior law officials said, "unless of course they WANT to burn in hell's fiery pits."

The fiery pits were worked into the bill by Republican majority leader Senator Trent Lott-Mississippi in a deft manuever showcasing the republican party's support for both President Bush's initiative and Satan.

The ACLU has come forth with a statement criticizing the new law's lack of protection for first time offenders. "Clearly when you have a first time offender, it is not a case of 'evil is as evil does'. The Bush Administration has not made a commitment to the needs of those who can be rehabilitated and delivered from evil" said Laura Murphy, Director of the ACLU Washington National Office.

I met up with Mark and Katherine last night and we diverted from the Collins to this place called Barrymore's. It was a great place, even though I got confused and called the picture of John Barrymore "Ethyl." It's right in the theater district on 45th and 8th and it's a crazy mix of stagehands, retired choreographers, and ooooold drama queens, and by queens I MEAN queens. And there was this little old portly black man with a captain's hat who sounded like Louis Armstrong, or Uncle Remus from Song of the South. It was awesome. It was the antithesis of the evil Thursday night freak show that had invaded the collins. . .drunken former frat boys from Long Island by way of wall street, wearing checked short sleeve button down shirts and tan dockers, whooping and yelling and doing shots and slapping each other on the back.

Anyway Katherine, Mark and I bullshitted until it was LATE. Really late. Too late. And then we left; Mark went home and Katherine and I had a night cap. And I was sooooo good at staying awake on the train. . .until spring street.

And then sometimes you wake up in Bed-Stuy, sitting in a subway train car that looks like it rolled out of a Jay-Z video, or a Spike Lee movie. No one bothered me. . . there were a lot of people which makes me feel more comfortable than if there is no one at times. Having no one is great if you're sitting on a dock at the edge of a serene lake, skipping rocks. Having no one around is not great in the middle of a city with 8 million plus people.

Anyways. . Nostrand Avenue. Not the place that I would be hanging day or night. I waited for a subway station that had a platform I could walk across to transfer back, rather than exiting and walking around on the street at 4am. I guess I wasn't the only idiot because there was another person sitting on the platform who CLEARLY wasn't from the neighborhood, waiting for the train back to Manhattan. It was kind of a bummer way to end such a fun evening, knowing that I wouldn't get home until 5 ish and then have to bounce back up and go to work.

In any case. I'm awake, and I'm on my way in.

TGIF.

It's fashion week here. Hoo-fucking-ray! 8 feet tall human skeletons and men with so many cameras on them they would need to be an octupus to handle them all. Doesn't matter to me because I could care less abut the new Michael Kors line, or what Anna Sui is dishing out.

They say that when someone has anorexia that they are suffering from a "distorted body image"; that they continuously see themselves as too fat regardless of the fact that they weigh 88 pounds and their knees are larger than their thighs.

I've never really had to worry much about that. I mean I'm a normal American female who has her fair share of neurosis about herself but I really think that I've suffered mostly from "REVERSE distorted body image." How else could you explain the fact that I'm constantly picking up clothes at the store and wondering why I can't jam my ass into them. And then I'm surprised. When did it happen? I'm scratching my head over this one. It's never been a hindrance to me. . .I still get phone numbers and all that (AND VOICE MAIL STALKERS.) So what's the problem, right?

The problem is that I want to be healthy. The problem is that I want to be able to walk into any store and buy clothes that fit me. The problem is that I LIKE to wear a bikini. The problem is that I LIKE showing off my body. The problem is that I don't want my arteries clogged up with fat. I don't want to resort to shit like tummy tucks and liposuction. So what am I doing about it?

I've been eating better. Drinking less. Excercising more. It's a basic recipe, very simple. And well, guess what. . .I got on the scale for the first time in a zillion years and what do you know, down 20 lbs. It was like a shot of energy in the ass. ROCK & ROLL. I'm actually at a weight number that was a major milestone. Boom. Hit it. Now I'm going to go past it and crank it up.

I look goooood today. Hell yeah. Thank you scale.

Let me tell you about Washington Square park today. It's very hot, 80 something degrees, and humid. You can definitely tell it's the first day of school because the sidewalks are jammed with students. I see quite a few people carrying instrument cases so perhaps Tuesday is rehearsal day. And speaking of music, as I approach the southwest corner of the park, I hear a trumpet and then a snare and and highhat and I realize there's a combo playing in the park. The music defies the humidity and floats along lightly, tickling my eardrums. I walk toward it; now I can hear the bass and a little rhythm guitar; it's a stand up bass! They're very good. I walk by as the trumpet ends his solo and steps back to let the guitar take a run at it. It's all very mellow and a pleasant addition to today.

The weather doesn't seem fall-like but the atmosphere does. There's that "first-day-of-school" electrical current running from person to person. I look around and I can feel the charge.

I notice a guy walking toward me, messy hair, golden t-shirt, kinda cute I think. He's walking a dog and I need to adjust my steps a little to be polite to the dog. It's a rhodesian ridgeback and a nice looking one at that. I wonder how city dwellers can keep dogs as large as that in their miniscule manahttan apartments. Maybe he's one of the lucky ones who has a little space to breathe.

I'm at the fountain now and it's JAM-PACKED. There are a couple of kids playing in the fountain along with a couple of water nymphs, probably around 18 or 19. The nymphs are sitting in the middle of the fountain practicing what looks to be synchronized swimming. I recognize the yoga poses and laugh a little to myself and think 'hey, why not? Looks like a good place to do yoga on a hot day!' I think they're exhibitionists but I would do the same if I was in their shape. As the nymphs get up to leave, with their wet clinging yoga pants and somewhat transparent wife-beater t's, I notice a proliferation of (fauns, satyrs) of similarly aged males in the audience, seated around the fountain, focused intently on the intricases of downward facing dog.

It all makes me smile.

If I had time, I'd hang for awhile on a bench with the rest of them; the cell phone talkers, the philosophy debaters, the squirrel chasers, the day watchers but I must run and learn things.

****

On my way home from class, I have to stop in the park. The arch, which has recently undergone a signifigant restoration project, is illuminated with flood lights, the marble glowing like a big bright moon. I swear it's the brightest light in New York right now.

There is a group of people a ways away from me circled around a couple of guys with an accoustic guitar and a harmonica. They are in the middle of a serious blues jam. There are two girls between me and the circle-crowd, wearing flip flops and kicking a soccer ball back and forth. They look like they are sisters, the older one around 9 and teh younger, maybe 7. The younger one is doing a lot more running as the older one keeps kicking the ball in any old direction. The younger one is more accommodating and always kicks the ball, once retrieved, directly back to the sister.

A dog fight breaks out in the dog run which sounds particularly nasty. There is a lot of growling, barking, and yelling as the dogs and their owners try to wrest control of the situation. People in the park run to see the fight; it's like a grade school playground. The dogs quiet down once the greivous offense has been sorted out.

An older man, probably in his late 70s or 80s walks by slowly with a book in his hand. He is looking around slowly, taking in the sight as I do. He passes by rather close and if I happen to catch his eye I will say, 'Nice night, isn't it?' but he continues to drink in the park unaware of my meager attempt to share the moment with him.

Applause breaks out around the circle. The blues jam is over, the dogs have settled their differrences and it's time for me to go home.

Good night park.

School. Yeah. Not excited. Hopefully I'll get some stimulation from it instead of having to go through the motions. I encountered a good prof last semester. . .he challenged on level not usually seen in the department that I'm in. He came from the Tisch School of Fine Arts and he challenged me to think differently about the internet. It brought me back to the reasons why I liked it in the first place. . .the idea that anyone can reach anyone, there are no boundaries to communication. One of the big things he was into was challenging the temporal and spatial notions of the Internet and how do we contextualize the internet in our lives. Is it a place? Is it a thing? What is it on a social and philosophical level? We read a group of essays/studies and one was about minority producers and the digital divide. Is the internet already at the point where it is solely controlled by big business, corporations, media conglomerates and the like? Or is there still room for the minority producer -- not only for minorities in a racial sense but also minority interests, artists, social commentators, etc. Does the internet create an even platform for all content producers? We also talked about things like digital rights management, gender bias, etc but the idea of the minority producer really struck me.

In the class we had to pair off with another person and develop a site. I paired off with this guy who wanted to explore the topic of the minority producer but I thought he was very narrow in his approach. Good guy but . . .I don't know. . .his basic idea was that he wanted to have a site that was an open forum for minority (racial) communities in New York, but he didn't want to get political or push the boundaries of social interaction. He wanted to choose groups that were already well represented and basically just have a community bulletin board and chat crap. Well, everyone has done junk like that; there's nothing provocative about it. I told him "we at least need to include the gay and lesbian community (it was at the height of the marriage debate.)" I 86'd the Italians and Irish in favor of Gay/Lesbians and Orthodox Jews, two groups that don't generally exisit side by side in society. We figured, there are a lot of different voices in New York that need to be heard. . .we will provide a forum for these voices in the scope of the project.

The real thing that I got to thinking about however was the idea of the individual voice. A minority of one. And how a single voice can transcend the white noise of society and ring out clear with an idea that can galvanize others. So what I thought to do was create a website that contained a database of quotes from individuals who have spoken out on issues like liberty, social justice, tolerance and things like that. And then, because the internet provides a medium that can supercede the printed word, I would make it interactive. People who came to the site could add their own voice to the corpus of voices in the database. And what I would provide when you reached the site (is it a place? we speak of it like it is) would be a random quote generator, mixing quotes from Martin Luther King Jr. and Joe Blow and hopefully the chorus would build and build into a collection of voices singing about well, in a perfect world, equality and community.

So we ended up with Community-Voices.com, a compromised version of my vision and my classmate's vision. The "Your Voice" link is an example of what I was trying to get at with the quote thing. Because of the time constraints involved in the planning and documentation, it was quite a task to actually get the site built but it is what it is and it's still exists out in the cyber realm in a remedial form. Take a look. Add a quote.

disclaimer: The site uses cascading style sheets so I can't vouch for how it will look in older browser or on platforms other than a PC, which it was developed on. So I guess that shows that I'm not really concerned about reaching EVERYONE. . . :-)

It's the second morning in a row where I'm up at some ridiculous hour listening to some damn birds chirp watching the light slowly enter the room. I NEVER get up this early and if I do, I'm seriously NOT writing; usually scheming of ways to get in another half hour of slumber.

I woke up short of breath so maybe I had a weird dream or something.

It's no dream. It's emphysema. I know it. Or pulmonary edema. No wonder my feet were swelling. Anxiety? Adult Onset Diabetes?

When I was in Monterey last May with Dennis and Stephanie, I kept making jokes about how I had adult-onset-this and adult-onset-that until finally Dennis said, "And did you get Adult-Onset Hypochondria too?" To which I replied, "No, that's genetic."

It's Labor Day. I don't even have to work. I'm going to try to go another round in the sack. Classes start Tuesday so I need my rest.

Why is that recycling truck below my window right now???? It's too loud. It's conspiring with those damn chirpy birds to keep me awake and that fucking annoying car alarm. Terrorists.

Peace and quiet, where are you?

well. It's approximately 5:45 am here, and I may have been asleep for about 2 hours or so. . .obviously that's not the case now. I woke up haveing some dream about older black comedians and skyscrapers. (don't even ask. . .not what I was expecting to dream about.) For instance I was trying tell this man, who looked surprisingly like Richard Pryor but sounded like Bill Cosby and had alzheimer's, that my uncle, who happened to be another older comedian, had sent his regards. I spent a million years trying to explain who it was that had sent the regards. And then the dream shifted and I was with some vague group of friends and we were flying past cities and I was pointing out the particular skyscrapers that defined each city's skyline and why it was built that way and what style of architecture it was, etc. etc. basically stuff I know little to nothing about. (. . . and did I tell you that I invented post-its?) Oh yeah, and there was something in the dream where I supposed to go in for an operation and my father was the surgeon and as they were wheeling me into pre-op, they looked at me and said, you can't take that in there and I was laying on the gurney, looking down at a B.L.T. in my hands with a couple of bites out of it.

But, when I finally woke up, I was so hot. I was laying there, marinating in my own sweat. It took me a minute to figure that the AC had shut off which was funny because I KNOW that I turned it on and had set my glass of water in front of it, thinking the water would keep cool. We're starting to feel an increase in the humidity due to the hurricane and when the humidity rises, I always turn the AC on. So I think to myself, "Check the clock. Is it blinking? The power must've shut off again like this morning. Check the stereo and see if the light is on."

The clock is not blinking.
The stereo light is on.
The door to my room is shut tight (normal) so I know the cat hasn't been in.

It all seems a little off. My brain is sleepy and confused. I think "Why did this thing shut down? Did it shut itself off? Is something broken (dear god no!) Who could've possibly turned it off?" and then I freeze for a moment and flash back to last night and the conversations that had over beers on the deck at KB's. . .

We were sitting around this small, round table, kicking back the deck and for some silly reason we start telling ghost stories. Everyone had a particular weird story about some supposed encounter that they had had or that they had heard about. Michael was particularly funny; he started getting the creeps because he said that his grandmother, who moved from Haiti, used to scare the shit out of him with stories of seeing death, or the grim reaper, or the shadow of death, pass by on many occasions. My roommate also started looking particularly disturbed as if she was getting nervous talking about the subject. I laughed and told everyone how it felt like we were kids, sitting around at camp outside in the woods, trying to outscare each other.

Then I told them that I thought I had a ghost in my room. It had sat down on my bed on a couple of occasions and scared me out of a sound sleep. Not a great way to wake up. . .or there have been a couple of times when I've been on the verge of falling asleep and the bed would shake for a moment, more violently than if I had just tossed and turned, and that would also wake me and I'd feel very odd, like there was something in the room. I live about a half a block from a very large old cemetery.

I've never thought much about ghosts. I was brought up in some flavor of christian church, learning about heaven and hell, and jonah and the whale (sounded a lot like pinnochio. . . I used to get them confused) and other biblical all-stars. We never spent too much time covering the manifestations of the spirit world. . .only how to get rid of them if they ever show up. Seattle never had a very ghost-y vibe to me so I never worried about it. When I came out east, the proliferation of cemeteries and old building and the idea of soooo many people passing through this place made me think that if I'd ever encounter something of that nature in this country, that this might be the place. The odds are in favor of the ghost. My logical programming mind rejects this but somewhere in my core, the part that grew up scared of fire and brimstone, and turning into a pillar of salt, of possibly becoming possessed. . .that part of me says. . ."Yo ghost! I'm cool if you're cool okay? Right? so like, uh just do your thing and you can keep doing your thing. . .just don't scare me and shit. And while you're at it. . .I need my rest so if you can go about your business without sitting on my bed OR turning off my AC, I'd really appreciate it."

so if you are the ghost, and you are surfing the internet, or WATCHING OVER MY SHOULDER (shudder), that's what I have to say to you.

I guess no one is too old to get scared by a little ghost story now and then.

entry deleted

Last night I was in a somewhat distracted mood. Was going to go to the sit-in at Union Square and light candles with the Hippies but ended up hanging out with Joe and Bethany at the Collins. I'm trying to find out if Joe will be the anesthesiologist for Bill Clinton's bypass surgery. Anyway, I digress.

I cannot even begin to describe what a police state NYC has been this week.

I was trying to write this out but I have been so distracted. I will have to come back to the NYC police state later

more people I know have been reading this blog and you all know who you are.

I just re-read some of it and I'm a little disturbed. There's a lot of brutally personal info. It was quite a bit easier to shovel my guts out on an unsuspecting ANONYMOUS public. I'm getting flattering feedback from friends but I'm not sure if I should take the next step and open this up to the void. Some people actually put links to discussion boards so that people can have a conversation stemming from whatever was brought up in the blog that day. shudder. Just what I need is someone critiquing my life.

I think I'd have to keep a separate blog for the public debate/two way conversation stuff. I like Hell's Half Acre to be somewhat one way. Don't get me wrong, friends who read my blog. . .feel free to discuss if you desire. And by the way, thanks for reading.

Not much to say today. Ventured into the city last night. . .was bothered by very few re-pube-licans. Saw a lot of hippie kids. Met two from Seattle who recognized my raven tatoo. They flew out to march on Sunday. I was impressed.