I would really really really like to be able to live my life like I was watching television. I want things to happen to me, but I would like them put into a nice little narrative storyboard where I can sit back and watch as a detached viewer.

He doesn't have a girlfriend, so ladies, you can snatch him up if you like. In fact, he's looking. He's got a sketchy timeline for the next few years.

"Optimally, I'd like to date someone for 2 or 3 years before we get married. So, I guess this is about the time."

Life plans.
Planned life.

Call me dense but does any of this seem dispassionate? Dunno. I guess I don't want to get married if I don't have to. And it seems to me that "having to" means that somehow, I will be compelled to be frantically in love with a person. If that happens, woo. If it doesn't, well, then I don't see the purpose of getting married, having kids, getting a mortgage, buying a minivan, mowing the lawn...

I packed for a business trip and blew the dust off of my cameras. Thankfully, the light meter on my manual camera was working. However, much to my befuddlement, the point- and-click idiot box was not operational and I finally figured out that the supremely expensive batteries were dead.

I went to work -- which was fairly uneventful. Then during my lunch hour, when I ran out to purchase black and white film and batteries, I left my scarf on my chair and the chilled spring wind would not let me forget. Conversely, my gloves were too hot and my fingertips grew icky with sweat. I walked ten blocks to hand in my assignment for the class that I had to miss that night. When I glanced at my watch to see just how much of my lunch hour was left, I realized that according to the analog timepece, it was either twenty past six in the morning or twenty past six at night.

Stumbling through the revolving door of Walgreen's (a CVS-like store), I asked a salesperson to pry open my watch, which she would not do because she was afraid to break it. She handed me a shaky tool the size and breadth of a sickly flagellite that I was supposed to use. Of course, the damned thing wouldn't open, so I assessed my situation.

How much did I need a watch this weekend? Too damned much. I had to be places at specific times in the Mountain Time Zone.

I considered the cheap plastic watches hanging on the wall. There was a $2 digital timepiece wrapped in an attractive plastic container that seemed to suit my frugal nature, but where it should have been blinking "12:00," it was blinking "LOOP." I settled on a $14 plastic analog watch which I suspected I would return for a full refund.

My lunch hour was up and I purchased a sandwich wrapped in cellophane with a package of mayonnaise tucked inside of it. Lower than ever, I ate at my desk and found oh-so-tasty fake cheeze [sic] glued to the roast beef.

I gave an uninspired lesson on HTML tables to my coworkers.

I gathered my carry-on bag and headed for the elevators only to hear the assistant call my name. Twas my mother on the phone and she had a thin envelop from the University of Illinois. I already knew the answer because of the extended non-communication from the institution which I took to mean that I was a part of an unofficial waiting list. I encouraged my mother to open it and I listened to her read to me in her halting English that I have not been accepted to the program.

My mind was fairly blank as I thought about braving the cold Chicago air to catch a taxi driven by a manaical Indian immigrant when a three different voices chanted the same phrase in my head.

In the words of the immortal Chris Hariazs (reticent Polish immigrant and ex-Penn theater techie extraordinaire):

"I think you have been reJECTed!"

And the echoes of that cheered me up greatly.

On the bus, my seat partner was dozing. I happily ignored him in his professional looking overcoat carrying his oversized briefcase.

I was editing my assignment for class. My handwriting was more jerky than normal. Loops of cursive letters came to acute angles and dots on i's became crosses on t's.

"Is that for class?" I hear. I notice that my seat partner is not asleep.

"Yeah."

"What are you studying?"

"I already graduated, I'm just taking this class for my own interest."

So, I find out that the man is a lawyer. I tell him that I studied history. I'm actually enjoying the fact that someone is talking to me on the bus. Generally, people make stoic faces out the window at imaginary interests. I thought that there must be a catch.

"I'm part of a Bible study group," he says.

A-HA! There it is! The nefarious reason.

Why is it that the only strangers who start up conversations are either crazy or Christians?

I get a bit frustrated with the idea that a person's identity is first and foremost framed by this question, "So... what do you do for a living?" I've come up with a relatively good stand-by phrase, "Oh, I'm a dilletante slacker."

I am exploring how I've constructed my identity and it seems like what I purposefully omit and what I purposefully stress are things which are important to me... are things that are me.

You'll see that I have a couple of friend's as links and you'll see that I've linked my brothers. I only wish that all of my friends had homepages -- but that would be too easy. I wish I could tell you about all of the people who I love. Maybe that's what the soup is for -- more than talking about myself, I'd rather tell you stories about my friends and make you see how they are fucked and beautiful and how they are me.

Possibly... in the future.

one tooth... lower left canine...

and I thought that dreaming about losing one's tooth was actually a sign of death, which it isn't. I found out that it's a sign of losing efficacy, losing power.

Which is funny because, as dreams are wont to do, I found myself all of a sudden running away and strategizing and fighting a demonic ghost which was plaguing my friends and family.

It was pretty fucking cool because at one point, I had this long-fingernailed bastard in one hand and I was swinging him around and slamming him up against the walls.

I don't know what it means. It wasn't a nightmare, I woke up smilin'.