*Wouldn't you have thought that the seemingly obvious phrase "blogging the light fantastic" would have been used somewhere, sometime, by somebody? and then used again by about 12 million other people who were all sure they were the first to use it? Strangely, though, according to Google, this might be the first time that "blogging the light fantastic" has appeared on the internet. Expect a KeyWord Rankings update in a few weeks.

12/31/2002 10:24 Tuesday AM
The eighth day.
New Year's Eve.

Yesterday was such a blah day. So blah in fact that I didn't even feel like updating after yesterday morning's rant. I went out to go somewhere in the late morning. And, excuse me, but I'm pretty sure I shouldn't see open flames shooting up out of my carburetor assembly, should I? Isn't that, like, page 21 of the Chevy S-10 owner's manual that I never bothered to read because I already know how to change a lightbulb, fasten my seatbelts, and turn on windshield wipers? Isn't there a part in the trouble-shooting section about explosions?
It started rough, which is a little unusual. And almost immediately, there was a huge backfire out of the exhaust, like somebody had stuck four firecrackers and three smoke bombs in my tailpipe. Well, that's peculiar, I thought. It was loud enough to bring my brother (who had been still asleep) staggering out into the yard. There was also some backfiring and popping up in the carburetor, and the whole engine was sputtering. And, of course, it wouldn't start. Now, this truck has been a dream, even though it's only thisbig, and after 147,000 miles, it hasn't smoked, leaked, dripped, or anything. Now, there it was, popping and sputtering and sounding like small arms' fire. So I kept cranking, keep trying to start it, rather foolishly, probably. I lifted the hood, took the air cleaner out of the assembly, and tried it some more. Still nothing, but I could tell that it almost wanted to turn over. I got some starter fluid (that I keep for my semi-annual Rituals of Revival for my Trans-Am) and sprayed that into the carburetor, hoping to trigger ignition. Hey, works on the TA, right? Well, it almost worked on the truck, too. So I kept trying. Nothing. With resignation I called for a tow-truck, bitterly cursing the luck that made this happen a few days after Holidaymas, when I'm as broke as everybody else. Went back out and kept trying it. I could hear and feel that it was getting closer and closer to starting, but I was also draining the battery by trying. There was still some popping in the carburetor, still some smoke coming out of it, and at one point the starter fluid produced some rather glorious open flames in there. I did what I could to smother them and douse them, wondering if at any moment the flames would ignite some fuel or fumes and send a small engine component whistling through my brain. Who would tell Mariana, I thought, as I leaned over a burning carburetor in a monumental failure of my common sense. Well, there was no tragedy, and I kilt the flames and kept trying. I then hooked my brother's car up to jumpstart it, since my battery was dying from all the attempts to start it. That provided a lot more juice and I could tell the engine was much closer to cooperating. Finally it started. I let it sit there for a few minutes while I feverishly thanked it, kissing the steering wheel, stroking the gearshift seductively, and promising it a nice wash and some fuzzy dice if it behaved. Cancelled the tow-truck and drove it without incident up to my mechanic. Naturally, it drove fine, perhaps a little roughly, but otherwise fine. And naturally, it started fine at the shop - no hard cranking, no popping, no smoking, no roaring fire in the carburetor. My mechanic (a chain-smoking Asian Indian fellow named Red, so surreal), muttered something about temperature-control and said there might not be anything "wrong" with it except for the inopportune collision between a cold morning (which it was) and an engine badly in need of a tune-up (which it is). But he'd check it out. Called me later in the day and said yeah, it looks fine, starts fine, runs fine, but he'd keep it overnight and check it again this morning. So we'll see. After all the drama and hoo-haw, I expect to get away with nothing more than a good, solid tuneup. I'll think more about the fuzzy dice, and I'm sure it would be satisfied with just, like, a nice shout-out on the in-ter-net. So here's to you, Mr. Chevy. Good truck. Nice truck. The best truck. You were always on my mind...

For much of the evening I read and re-read some stuff that alternately eased my loneliness and feeling of blah, and worsened it. And then later on I finally started on a small project which I'm not yet ready to unveil. A day or two, perhaps. But once I got into obsessive mode, I wasn't going to stop until it was done, or at least, the framework entirely finished, which wasn't until about 3:45 or so. But the very nature of it, also, just fed the feeling of blah. So I slept a little bit, and woke up around 8:30 or so, sleepingly only fitfully if at all after that. I will definitely need some naptime this afternoon.

So here it is, New Year's Eve, I'm still feeling some holdover blah, and this is a day when already I'm supposed to be all introspective and summational, and I'm supposed to offer some sage commentary about the ending year, the coming year, and the probably differences and similarities between them. And I'm sure sometime I'll do that - this afternoon, perhaps, or tonight, or tomorrow, or whenever. Mostly right now, though, I'm feeling very blah, very lonely, very much cursing the circumstances that keep 163 miles 'tween me and she, and very regretful that we could spend none of the holidays - Thanksgiving, Eid, Holidaymas, or New Year's - together. I missed my Beloved Cousin's graduation, spent only the one evening with the other siblings, have mastered not losing at PS2 rasslin' but still haven't won, have four more days to wait, and never did put any decorations on the tree. Happy New Year's Eve.

12/30/2002 9:56 Monday AM
The seventh day.

Well, so far, the tally is still only two students who have complained about their grades. But the second one, the one who was doing well but then dropped out of sight (12/19 blogs), has stepped up her campaign. She contacted me last night and asked if she could meet with me sometime this week to discuss her grade and how I calculated her percentages - you know, now that she's back in town. I said, trying to be evasive, well, I'm not sure what my schedule will be. She said that's fine. She said she knew her final paper was really late, but, you know, she didn't realize the due date, etc.etc.etc. I said, late, I didn't get it until a week after the deadline for final grades to be calculated and turned in! She then repeated all of her excuses and explanations, all the while offering disclaimers like "I know it probably won't change anything, but..." and "I wanted to say I'm sorry and I didn't mean to blow off your class". Then she asked who she could talk to that would "allow" her to talk to me about the grade. I told her, hey, it's not a matter of anyone "allowing" her to talk to me. Okay, she says, well, do you know who I could go talk to and tell them what happened? I offered a few suggestions, but of course, what I really wanted to tell her was, look, you screwed up, okay? Sure, there are people to complain to, but after you tell them that you forgot when it was due and you just couldn't find my e-mail address anywhere and you just had to go out of town to bail your boyfriend out of jail after he dropped out of my class and out of sight, they're going to spend exactly a half second telling you 'Tough damn luck!' She wanted me to offer to change her grade, but despite her enthusiasm for the class (which, given her overall decision-making, I'm starting to think was at least partially a facade) and despite her intelligence, I feel no compulsion whatsoever to change her grade. Tough damn luck, indeed. Life's rough.

12/29/2002 11:34 Sunday AM
The sixth day.

Here's a letter to the sports section of today's local rag, apparently in response to yet another blah-blah-blah feel-good story.
"I have been really depressed since the death of democracy in America (Dec. 12 2000). It sort of took the fun out of the holiday season to be reminded every year at this time that we now live under a tinhorn dictator. This year's election just sunk me deeper into a funk when I realized that warmongering and greed would rule the country for the foreseeable future. Increased homelessness, people choosing between food or medicine and rent, decreased giving and increased need: all stories we read about daily in the paper....
...I may still live in a country where Iraqi lives can be callously threatened to ensure cheap gas for polluting SUVs, but at least I know that there is one family that cares more..." blah blah blah about whoever the feel-good article had been about. He says the article "changed my whole attitude." (It was apparently about a family whose love and devotion to one another aren't much different than yours or mine, except that somebody wrote an article about it.) The letter is signed "Ben Larson" from Leesburg, Florida.
Now, after reading crap like that, aren't you kinda glad you don't have to live with Ben Larson? Even more, aren't you glad you don't have to BE Ben Larson? To have to go through life that miserable - and you know he was miserable long, long before December 12, 2000, and would have been miserable long after that date no matter who had won the election. Folks like that find a reason to be miserable, and haven't learned any other way to live. That's what's so sad about it. So while I'm glad that I don't live anywhere near Ben Larson, and as much as I pity those who do, I think I pity the person living inside Ben Larson even more. He can piss and moan about the way the country has turned out, but deep inside, what's worse must be knowing the way he himself turned out. He can't be very happy about it.
One more thing - he says the article changed his whole attitude and thanks the people in the article for "restoring {his} faith and making {his} Christmas bright." In other words, this letter is written by the bright, cheery(er) Ben Larson. What does that tell you about him? Kinda makes you wonder...

12/28/2002 11:30 Saturday PM
144 more hours. Yep. 144 more hours, yessir...yup....144...That's how many...

12/28/2002 10:21 Saturday PM
At 9:47 this evening, I didn't lose at the PlayStation2 rasslin' game.

12/28/2002 9:49 Saturday AM
The fifth day.

Again, nothing in particular today. Work all day. Sleep later. Talk later. The usual. I'm in a rut. Well, the working all day part is new, I guess, at least relative to yesterday. Woo. Woohoo. Maybe something exciting (and, let's face it, something bloggable, that's what we're all thinking, right?) will happen today.
Well, at least something exciting will happen in seven days, counting today. (I just don't know how much of it will be bloggable!) ;)

12/27/2002 1:33 Friday PM
The fourth day.

Again, nothing in particular today. Work later. Sleep later. Talk later. The usual.

12/27/2002 12:02 Friday AM
Ok, I'm losing faith in the new, revamped FridayFive. I say we thumb our collective noses at this new ownership and continue with our own.

1. What was your biggest accomplishment this year?
Finally getting the circles to overlap.
2. What was your biggest disappointment?
Not finishing the thesis.
3. Will you be making any New Year's resolutions?
Honestly not sure yet. Is that a copout? For reasons both obvious and not, this year has been different from the previous years, and I expect the coming year(s) to be different, too. So I'm not sure yet what I should be trying to change.
4. Where will you be at midnight? Do you wish you could be somewhere else?
I will mostly likely be either in my living room, or strolling around my driveway. I have no plans and no expectations to be anywhere else. But like a similar question in an earlier FF (about Christmas), where I'd like to be spending it isn't nearly as important as how.
5. Aside from (possibly) staying up late, do you have any other New Year's traditions?
Drinking nog at midnight, if I'm home, as I expect to be? Watching Dick Clark?

12/26/2002 10:59 Thursday AM
The third day.

An update to the KeyWord Rankings.

Nothing scheduled today. The guys came over last night for some right proper Christmas/Holidaymas celebrations - boasting, gift-giving, insults, and then PlayStation2 (one of my gifts to Ed). We forgot the noggage. But a good time was had by all. Tom, as always, was very careful to make sure his gifts to me were wrapped in generic "Happy Holidays" paper and Dallas Cowboys paper, and not paper with overtly Christmas/Christian imagery. After all these years...someone actually notices the little things.
Well, a tally is in order, I guess:
1 nice Polo shirt (from Joel)
1 elegant, long-handled barbeque-utensil set (from Tom)
1 "best of" Bob Newhart stand-up compilation CD (from Ed)
5 DVDs: Creepshow (from Tom), Stephen King's The Stand, AKA Cassius Clay, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (live-action, Jim Carrey version), and Jaws, the 25th anniversary collector's edition (all from Ed)
1 hard plastic Dallas Cowboys logo, like some car dealerships use to put their names on the back of a car (from Ed)
1 alarm clock, nothing particularly notable about it (from Ed)
1 "motorized coin sorter," perhaps the oddball gift of the night (from Ed)
1 matching, boxed set of the first six original Hardy Boys mysteries, a rather sentimental gift from Ed, since as kids we loved reading the Hardy Boys books that my dad had read when HE was a kid (and which we still have)
The only near-calamity of the night was when I inadvertently opened one of my gifts to Ed. He was playing Santa at the moment, dispensing the gifts, and mis-read my tag and thought it was one of his to me. I didn't examine the tag, of course, and just started opening it. Almost immediately I recognized it, but of course pretended not to, thinking that once again, I had somehow managed to trade the same gift with someone - first Mariana, now my brother. Adding to my certainty was the fact that a day or two prior, I had directed him to the exact place I had bought the item (a rather large FSU snowglobe), since that place also had lots of nice, foofy, homey gifts where he might find something decorative for mum. So when I saw this snowglobe packaging emerging from the wrapping, I thought, oh dear, I sent him to Dillard's, he saw the same snowglobes that I did, and he got one for me! But almost at that same time, he's looking at what I'm unwrapping, and asking me who gave that to me. I said, you did!......uh, didn't you? He said no, he's pretty he didn't. I checked the tag on the wrapping, and saw that, sure enough, this was what I had wrapped for him. Egads. There wasn't much recovering possible at that point, so I just handed it to him and told him it was actually his. Much hilarity.

12/25/2002 1:11 Wednesday PM
Christmas Day.
Or, Holidaymas Day, to us heathens, burn-in-hellers, ruffians, and rogues.
The second day.
Warm wishes to all who celebrating. I hope this day greets everybody well and leaves them weller.
And to Mariana, a great big, warm, smoochy Fleas Navidad. I wish you were here.

Not too much scheduled today. Nothing, in fact. The guys may, or may not, stop by for some manly gifting, sometime between now and...well, sometime after now. Is that vague enough? I woke up around 9ish as usual, for my usual manly gulp of milk (skim, of course, VERY manly) from the carton while standing in my Christmas HoHoHo boxers at the open refridgerator door. But mercifully, I drifted back to some quality sleep. Dreamt during that time some weird dream where Mariana and I were going to school in some monolithic, medieval-looking campus, with huge stone, castle-like buildings. (The good news is, there were no skeletal monks trying to set fire to Jesus. I hear that happens sometimes. Shivers anew.) I haven't written it up yet, but sometime today I shall, once the cobwebs clear and things get a little sharper around the edges. As is, I didn't wake up again until nearly noon, and my feet didn't touch the floor again until after 1pm, just a few minutes ago.

Joel had warned me that my mum would be cross-examining me about Mariana last night, and called me not once but a couple of times during the day to chortle about it. Unfortunately for him, though, there was NO mention of it, of her, or of us. None whatsoever. I was prepared for it, but still mildly relieved. (But, you know, Guam. How could mum not love her??) Joel, of course, was crushed. So that's that for now, I suppose - a lovely Holidaymas day of laundry, some cleaning perhaps, napping. Maybe I'll wander around town and see if any merchants are open - if so, I might buy some supplies and roast a good chicken or something for dinner. Otherwise, I'll raid the freezer and pull something out. I'm certainly hungry now, so maybe I'll go now and try to throw together an early/mid-afternoon lunch. Then maybe I'll stare at a calendar and count days. Ten of them, you know, counting today.

Oh, for the Other Half's perspective on Monday, see Mariana. I neglected to mention the Santa, the train, and some other morsels.

12/25/2002 12:20 Wednesday AM
Home from mum's.
Did the gift thing with mum and siblings. Played the "Worst Case Scenario" board game with two siblings and sis-in-law (wife of brother). Picture this: there are four of us playing. One, a brother, is the head diving coach at a university, and therefore has a wealth of first-aid and similar education and training. Another, his wife, is a Registered Nurse. I and the other sibling, on the other hand, have no such training and education. You can guess which two of us contended for the win, and which two of us would be the Red Shirts on the old Star Trek series (yeah, the guys who always died first).
And there was pecan pie. All is well in the universe.

And an update of the KeyWord rankings.

12/24/2002 12:20 Tuesday PM
It took me two hours to write that blog entry, I've just NOW finished - writing it, and sequencing it, and rephrasing stuff to explain things I only hinted at earlier, rearranging, resequencing it, figuring out the most accurate timeline, rearranging it...No more authorial tricks for me. I'll leave that the sitcom-about-nothing writers. Too much work!

12/24/2002 10:12 Tuesday AM
Christmas Eve.
The first day.

Awake now.
I shall attempt this blog entry in the spirit of that classic Seinfeld "backwards episode." (The time intervals are approximate. And I'm sure I have the timeline screwed up, so I may have to revise it. And if it gets totally an unreadable mess, I reserve the right to say screw it and re-blog it as a normal sequence.) I don't know why. I've just read some really excellent advice, so this will be the cyber equivalent of shaking my ass on the dancefloor. Or maybe I'm just feeling silly. Beware. I'm a maniac.

ONE MINUTE EARLIER After I logged off, I finally went to bed, exhausted, and delirious (for several reasons).
FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER I had just talked to her, had just caught her before she stumbled off to bed. I barely remember the drive home. I'm not exactly sure where I got onto the interstate relative to where I left the interstate on my way down there, but as near as I can figure, once I did, it was 2 hours and 20 minutes from there to my driveway, and 163 miles. So give or take a few minutes and a few miles, it's that far from here to there, from me to her. Not bad at all, but of course, the 163 miles driving away from her aren't the same 163 miles driving to her.
3HOURS EARLIER I left her in the custody of Kristen and Felix, after we had finally met up with them. I had spent about 15 minutes as...well, I was the fourth wheel, but one that was unnecessary, so let's say I was the fourth wheel on the tricycle. But Mariana (the only one I had known for more than a matter of minutes) was sensitive to that and didn't ignore me, and I was grateful. I showed them mine, she showed them hers, and we all had a good laugh about it. It was 15 minutes of pleasant small-talk, standing in a nearly deserted parking lot. Then after about ten minutes of good-byeing, and performing various calculations designed to minimize how long eleven more days will be, I left.
7 HOURS EARLIER After finishing our drinks, we went outside and...sat and talked, mostly, for a couple hours, not knowing if we would ever meet up with Kristen again, and (me at least, and hopefully her as well) not really sure we wanted to. She still experienced some really aggravating snifflage; I experienced some really aggravating sympathy.
10 HOURS EARLIER We walked around and shopped a bit, mostly looking, sometimes looking over our shoulders. A few scares here and there. Finally she made a call and learned that there would be no unpleasant run-ins. She debated whether or not to buy a particular dress, and ultimately didn't. Avril took a beating, and rightfully so, that wench. And we didn't see a suitable Eeyore, darn it.
Mariana got a peach Clearly Canadian drink. I got something called a Fufu Berry soda from, I guess, a small company called the Jones Soda Co. (Oh, alright, go here.)
She says she's pretty sure she saw who it was, but I still have no idea. All I know is that I'm glad we didn't find out for sure.
11 HOURS EARLIER Then we drove to the Sarasota mall, which was about 30 minutes away. Throughout the drive we kept an eye out, not knowing who we would see, or where. At one point she swears we saw somebody in particular, but who knows.
13 HOURS EARLIER After lunch, we drove around a bit more, and wound up at a bookstore. Books-a-Million felt like home, as all bookstores do in one way or another. We flipped through magazines, poked through the shelves, found this or that. She bought a magazine, and for me bought two Buffy comics that according to my checklist I didn't have. Whatta gal.
Then we drove around a bit, me getting a guided tour of Venice.
15 HOURS EARLIER The three of us went to Applebee's for lunch.
16 HOURS EARLIER Then we decided to drive around a bit, and do some sight-seeing. She showed me lovely Venice and whatever sights there are. It's a nice city - small, I guess, but seemingly rather spread out. There's less sense like in Orlando that this section is fast-paced commercial, and that section is purely quiet residential, and that section is industrial. There was very little that was hectic and the transitions from one section were not that jarring.
While waiting for Kristen, we wound up at Venice Beach (and if that's not what it's actually called, sue me). Venice Beach was AMAZING. Now, as a lifelong Central Floridian, my beach experience has been mostly on the Atlantic coast - Daytona, Cocoa, New Smyrna. On those beaches, you can walk from your car to the water on the backs of fellow beach-goers and never touch sand. You can't take a deep breath without bumping into somebody else. Venice Beach, on the other hand, was nearly deserted, and this was, I dunno, 11am or so. (The picture is compressed to save space, resulting in lower quality.) Now, granted, it was just a couple of days before Christmas. But it was a beautiful day, in the mid- to high 70s, lovely beach-going weather. I was shocked at how few people were there. Going to Daytona is an event, and they make sure you feel it: you must cross through some gates to be able to drive to the beach; you must park somewhere with an attendant and make sure to pay; you must trek hundreds of yards sometimes before you can actually see water or sand; and once you do, you are competing for a few square feet of sand with folks from all over the world. At Venice, though, the whole beach experience seems like an afterthought, a spur-of-the-moment decision for the folks who were there. We parked in a small, free lot that's right next to the beach; we didn't have to cruise around looking for an open parking space. They were just there. And the lot was, basically, behind a large sand dune from the actual beach. We walked over a short walkway, and there was the Gulf. The surf was mild, almost non-existent, either because of Gulf geology or because it was an extraordinarily calm day. In that respect, at least, the Atlantic beaches have the advantage. But another thing about Atlantic beaches - you can walk for a hundred yards without seeing any shells other than those colourful, half-inch mussels that quickly burrow into the wet sand. It's sand, and water, and that's it. Venice, though, is literally covered with shells and shell fragments, and that's no exaggeration. I was stunned. The pictures aren't staged at all; I didn't arrange them or sweep them together for the picture. This is what the beach and surf area looks like - you're not walking on sand for large stretches, you're walking literally on shells. And everybody had their little pooper-scooper things - scooping up bunches of shells, letting the sand and water filter out, and looking for, I guess, unique shells or sharks' teeth. Mariana said it's the "Sharks' Tooth Capital of the World." And sure enough, after just a couple of minutes she found one, from a mako, by the looks of it. There's nothing really notable about it, we've both found sharks' teeth before. But I kept it, of course. Maybe an earring, or a necklace. Or maybe it'll just rattle around in the empty bottle of Fufu Berry soda. We weren't dressed for beaching, so we just walked around a bit. Kristen finally joined us after a few minutes, so the three of us talked, kicked sand at each other, etc. Then we decided to do lunch after some minor errand-running.
17 HOURS EARLIER Her directions were perfect, and she was easy to find (as always). We sat and greeted, and I sat and grinned. We were supposed to meet up with her friend Kristen at some point, and perhaps her friend Felix as well, but for now I had her all to myself, and I relished every moment.
The trip was long, but once I got out of the Orlando-area I-4 nightmare, relatively fast and uneventful. I-4 put me behind schedule, though. I averaged about 75 or 80 for long, long stretches, even though the last three or four miles were excruciating. I was grinning.
She gave me a Christmas ornament, with Eeyore draped over a green ball with '2002' written on it - so precious. It had to be Eeyore, you know. It's on the tree right now, amid the 800 lights. Next year she's hanging it on the tree, though. She also gave me the Buffy 'Once More, With Feeling' songbook. I had a sneaking suspicion she'd be giving me that, and inside I was already laughing, and couldn't wait to give her my gifts - I had gotten her the exact same songbook, and had it wrapped up in the back of my truck. I couldn't wait to give it to her. Oh, that smile, that face, that hug. The thirteen days were over.
After she opened the Magic 8-ball, she opened her songbook - and we both exploded in laughter. I had been waiting for that moment. She couldn't believe it, but she had the same sneaking suspicion that I had had. It was a cute bit of synchonicity, and we knew we had to tell Kristen about it later.
20 HOURS EARLIER In just a few hours, I would see her!!!

12/24/2002 2:17 Tuesday AM
What a beautiful day it's been.
I made it home intact. Mariana's butt didn't.
(because of that unfortunate Thumbtack Incident)

12/23/2002 5:51 Monday AM
Today's the day!!!

12/22/2002 11:11 Sunday AM
The thirteenth day.
Twenty-two hours.

Mariana is feeling better now - not 100%, but hopefully better than 79%. Healthy enough so that at least, tomorrow is a go and not a heartbreaking cancellation.

So, I've got all day to go there, get some of those, maybe go there and get that, come home, wrap gifts, make cookies, nap, do laundry, maybe do a bit of cleaning, and perhaps watch some football. The Other Job Christmas party is 9:30 or so, so there is an unusual amount of socialization in my schedule this week. But I hopefully shan't be able to join the gents tomorrow night, so I should at least partially make it up tonight. Because, you know, it's just not a party unless I'm around, right? Right.

I received some alarming news last night from an old student:

I thought she had perhaps seen my GuestMap. At any rate, I'm quite disturbed to hear of this mass extinction in my fair state, although I do look forward to much easier parking at the mall.

12/21/2002 10:15 Saturday AM
The twelfth day.
Two more days, including today, unless she changes her mind.

What WONDERFUL musical are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

12/20/2002 9:51 Friday PM
Oh, NOW they tell us.

1. What holiday or holidays do you celebrate this time of year?
I participate, in some ways enthusiastically and in some ways grudgingly, in my friends' and family's celebration of Christmas, though the holiday carries no religious significance for me.
2. What was the best gift you have ever received?
My quasi-"adopted" mum has welcomed me with open arms into her family and home, and shares her home, her holidays (and every other time of year), and her love with me. She doesn't have to. But she does, because she wants to. And everything she gives me, whether it comes wrapped up in pretty paper, or comes with a smile and a hug, is pretty special.
I must also acknowledge the huge, annual CARE packages my grandmother would send for Christmas. It would always be filled with tins of homemade cookies of various sorts; one or two of those huge, solid Hershey's kisses; one or two of those Lifesaver "books" with 10 rolls of Lifesavers; a tin of Danish butter cookies; perhaps some small, non-edible gifts or doodads; perhaps some other small package(s) of candy; and occasionally an oddball tin of Spam or Hormel ham or something weird and completely unpredictable. I always took them for granted, but also always looked forward to mid-December, when any day might find it on my doorstep. My friends would ask me - did you get your grandmother's cookies yet? Are they here yet? They knew, too.
Though she's still alive, I'm quite certain we won't be getting any more CARE packages from her. Physically, she just can't anymore. And Christmas isn't quite the same without them. I always took her for granted, too.
3. What was the worst gift you've ever given?
Nothing. No, not that I've never given a bad gift, I mean, giving nothing was pretty much the worst. And I give it way too often.
4. Where will you be celebrating the holidays? Are you hosting? Going away?
I will be at home for most of it. And I will be both hosting, and being hosted. We always go over to mum's Christmas Eve and/or Christmas day, depending on when the various sub-families (and, unfortunately, step-families) are available. Also on Christmas Eve and/or Christmas day, my closest friends stop by for our own gift-giving, hanging of out, and nogness.
5. If you could spend the holidays with someone who isn't around, who would it be with? Why?
Well, as she said, I'm not sure if this refers to living people or non-living. Of non-living people, I'd have to say either my bio-parents or my adoptive father (or all three), for obvious reasons. Of living people, Mariana, of course. Because my world is better when she's around.

12/20/2002 4:46 Friday PM
I have no idea where today went. This time yesterday, I think, it was only 2pm. Today it's nearly 5. Something isn't right.
I'm assuming that my darling is sleeping, poor girl. I challenged her sickness to a fair fight, and just dared it to pick on me instead. We'll see. I hope I'm deathly ill tomorrow.

12/20/2002 11:29 Friday AM
The eleventh day.
Three more days, counting today.

Another night and early morning of waking to the sound of rain, and being able to roll over and curl up under the blankie and go back to sleep. If life gets much better - well, scratch that. It does get much better. But as is, it's still pretty cool.

I hope this MyOwnDamnFridayFive isn't too redundant of previous efforts. It's themed, and the theme has been done, but I'm coming up with the questions on a spur-of-the-moment basis and I hope the questions themselves are new(ish). They're new to me, at least. And it's all about me. As always, answer them. Or don't.

1. All other things (price, convenience, travel distance, etc.) being equal, do you prefer shopping at a series of small specialty stores, or large mega-stores or department stores?
Well, all other things are rarely equal, so that's a poorly written question. Specialty stores are likely to have a greater depth of whatever product(s) it sells, but the tradeoff is that they're also likely to be a bit more expensive, and sometimes harder to get to. Specialty stores are fun to walk in and out of, and explore, and poke around in. If I'm feeling leisurely, sure, I'll take the small stores. But if I'm all business, there's something I need to purchase and I know exactly what it is and what I should end up paying, I'll go to the most convenient merchant. One thing, though - I don't have much sympathy for the plight of the "mom and pop" stores who complain about being run out of business by the mass-merchants like Wal-Mart or whatever. Hey, it's a capitalist society; the best ideas generally win out and in most cases the consumer ultimately decides. If the consumer decides you lose, don't complain to me. For a lot of items, there's no benefit at all in going to the small specialty store - except the smugness of saying that you prefer the "quaintness" or "personal feeling" of the mom-and-pop store. Well, I don't wait in line too long at Super Wal-Mart or Super Target, and I don't need to be friends with the employees, and if their prices are lower than yours? Sorry, Mom, too bad, Pop, good luck in the future.
2. When shopping, do you prefer to pay with cash, by credit card, by debit card, or by check?
For most items, at most locations, usually cash. It's a much easier transaction - less paperwork at the point of sale, less paperwork later in the mail. If it's an item where I want a paper trail, of course, I might opt for the debit card; I rarely if ever drag out a credit card. And I don't remember the last time I stood at a counter and wrote out a check. Years ago I used the checks up faster than the deposit tickets; now that trend is completely reversed and I have to special-order books of deposit tickets. I'd say that's a positive sign, but I'm still po', so it's really not.
3. Coins. Sound off.
Mixed feelings. I love that serendipitous feeling when you dip into the pocket and realize you have exact change to give a cashier, or when you can at least add a few pennies to make your return change, say, 50 cents instead of 48. (This completely flusters some cashiers, however, and they stare at the coins you give them and you just hear the rusted gears clanging in their heads.) And for a guy, with no purse, having the coins accumulate in the pocket after several purchases gets a little uncomfortable and a little noisy, depending on the looseness of the trousers. It also tempts you to fidget with them in your pocket, which can draw stares. On the other hand, we all have that secret, Scrooge-like fantasy about saving all of our coins for months and months until we count it all up and realize we have hundreds of dollars' worth in the jar, and for that fantasy I'm sometimes willing to just pay with all bills so I can receive and save the coin change.
4. Do you notice the years on the coins you use and receive?
Almost always. I've always been a bit of a numismatist, and it's usually not difficult to tell at a glance if a coin is relatively old. (Although, yes, a lot of them fool you - a newish coin that's extraordinarily worn, or an older one that looks like it came right out of a collector set.) I love that feeling of discovering an old 'wheat' penny, or a World War II nickel. Those are about the most exotic coins I ever discover in circulation. I've gotten some silver (pre-1964) quarters or dimes in change, but only rarely. I'll keep any pennies I find before 1960; any pre-1964 quarters or dimes; or any nickels pre-1960. (There's no significance to that year for nickels. But they don't wear as much as the other coins and never had any silver content to make people hoard the older ones, so you're more likely to find older nickels in circulation than other coins. So there's less novelty value to finding a 1962 nickel, for instance.) A few days ago, I was about to hand some coins to someone who was fidgeting around with something and was not yet ready to receive them. I noticed a 1940 penny in my hand that I was about to give the person. I didn't know the propriety of making a big scene to say, no, whoops, you can't have that penny, let me find you another one. Could that person claim the 1940 penny, since they saw it in my hand and saw that I was about to hand it to them? Does that make it theirs? So I stood there, horrified, considering my options. Fortunately, the person took long enough so that I was able to casually find another penny.
5.Is there a normal, average amount of money you carry around with you on a daily basis?
That's none of your business!

12/20/2002 1:00 Friday AM
She and me are giving up. We will announce a new FridayFive in the morn.

12/19/2002 8:39 Thursday AM
The tenth day.
Four more days, counting today.

The tally so far: two students complaining about their grades. The latest is a young lady whose performance throughout the semester was, if not exemplary, at least quite impressive - when she attended, that is. Her essays were outstanding, her participation was enthusiastic and not forced. Too bad her attendance dropped off the table in the last couple of weeks. Like the first young lady who complained, she did not turn in her final essay OR her journal entries OR her final. She has e-mailed me now with a rambling, apologetic explanation of how the last two weeks were caos (sic), she lost track of what the last day of class was, she couldn't find my e-mail address, etc. She was also campaigning for the grade of a fellow who rarely came to class, blew off the second essay even when I gave him a rare opportunity to completely re-do it for full credit, got arrested halfway through the semester, and disappeared. Somehow I'm more sympathetic to her than to him, but then, part of her explanation is that she was caught up in trying to help him out. Yeesh.

12/18/2002 7:02 Wednesday PM
A KeyWord Rankings update, along with a reformat.
As for the most recent seach term, I don't know if they wanted sexy pictures of women fly-fishing, or pictures of sexy women fly-fishing. I guess they're different, aren't they? I think they conjure up a series of very different images, some of which I'm not too happy with.

12/18/2002 6:02 Wednesday PM
I picked this up in my journeys across the internet today. I won't tell where I got it from, because the overall site is frankly not that interesting (to me), and not that relevant, and if you're really interested, you can find it yourself. After discussing a Christian pamphlet he found, he says:
"Is this supposed to help lead someone to God? It makes sense to me, someone who has heard all of the Christian rhetoric and Biblical spoutations (new word, like it?) since childhood. But how much sense does this make to someone who might have never been to church? What does "receive Jesus as Lord of your life" mean, really? Yeah, I've heard it a million times and have done it several times myself, but I'm sure it means absolutely nothing to non-Christians. I think that one of the major problems with Christian outreach and evangelism is apparent through this tract. They speak in words familiar to other Christians but what good does that do for non-believers."
I think that there fella has a darn good point. His last sentence says it all (albeit with, uh, non-standard punctuation). They speak in words familiar to other Christians, but which are dramatically less meaningful to non-Christians. We've all heard these phrases: "accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Saviour" and "receive Jesus as Lord of your life." They sound wonderful, they sound incredible. But he's right - they sound wonderful mostly to other Christian evangelists. But to someone with no background, no "feel" for Christianity, what does "accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Saviour" really mean, in practical terms? How does this lofty but incredibly vague term work for the non-believer, for someone who has no idea what it's supposed to make him/her feel and do? I think he's spot on - so much of evangelical Christianity is mostly designed for other Christians to nod at and say, yep, that's right!
It is, to use a perfectly valid metaphor, preaching to the choir.

12/18/2002 9:58 Wednesday AM
The ninth day.
Five more days, counting today.

I'm about to go there, and do that; there, to do that; there, to do that; and possibly there to do that. Maybe more stuff in addition, who knows. Gotta love Holidaymas. Or not.

As I suspected would be happening once it settled down after that monumentally disjointed week or so, the brain has been doing some really interesting stuff when I sleep. The Coming of the Dreams is almost like going into a sunspot cycle - you know it's going to happen, but that's all you know, and you do NOT know what you're actually going to witness.

12/17/2002 3:42 Tuesday PM
Progress Report:
I went out there and did that, and got some of those. And that's it. I didn't feel like negotiating with traffic to go there and do that or get those. Nor did I go there, or there, or there.

12/17/2002 12:02 Tuesday PM
Okay, in a fit of madness and boredom, I've just added some KeyWord rankings, to the right, under all the other stuff. It tells you exactly where I fit in, in this big, crazy world of ours. (NB: it does not include keywords which are part of the overall format of the Hellmouth, like "Things I Learned Today" (#17, Google). I'll only track odd sequences of words which I discover (or am told) somehow produce this site on large search engines. So if you discover any such combinations, be sure to let me know - guestbook, e-mail, AIM, whatever.)

12/17/2002 11:11 Tuesday AM
The eighth day.
Six more days (counting today).

Errands to run, things to do, shopping competitions to, ehh, compete in. This is why I sometimes find Christmas a loathsome time of the year. Let's see: I have to go out there and get that, and maybe go there to look for some of those; I have to come back here and do that; then I have to go there and there and possibly there to maybe get that; then there to get that and maybe some of those; then, finally, I think I can come back home and do that. Loathsome. All the while, I'll wish I was there doing that, or even here doing that. (Hey, get yer minda outta the gutter, ehh?)

Which reminds me, because nobody else has reminded me (don't y'all care anymore?) - I really need to keep updating the Portrait. Starting today.

12/17/2002 1:37 Tuesday AM
I spent several hours tearing up the house looking for Holiday Tree ornaments. I know we still have some, despite not having a Tree for years now. I went shoulder-deep into the living-room closet, pulling out all manner of refuse and rubbish, but unfortunately NOT pulling out Holiday Tree ornaments. I found several boxes of Christmas candles, that pretty much are heirlooms now, all the ones I remember as a kid that my parents started collecting before I was born (and, possibly, before they were married). I'd love to display them, if I had a designated and hound-proof curio cabinet or something. So no, I still haven't found the ornaments. They've got to be around here somewhere. The unintended benefit is, I also threw away about three large garbage bags full of that refuse and rubbish - sections of wrapping paper which were nicely folded and pristine when stored in there, but which have gotten creased and crumpld over the years; some old clothes that had fallen off hangers and gotten lost in the refuse; empty boxes that I can't remember what they once held; some strands of lights that are tangled and which I know I'd never get around to untangling and replacing bulbs on. So now the doors stay closed and there's actually room in there. Woohoo!

Then we went to Gator's for our regularly scheduled socializing. I didn't eat; I still have wings at home that I got today for lunch. Then I sat while Tom, Ed, and Ty played the Golden Tee golf video game. I'd rather be torn to pieces by a pack of wild dogs than do ANYthing golf-related, so I sat alone while they played. There were no wild dogs, so I just sat, safely.

Beavis and Maddux the Indestructible WonderHoundz love to out into the front yard. The back yard is all fenced in, and is where they spend most of their outside time. But they also like to go out front, which isn't fenced in. So we have a long leash tied to the huge maple tree in the front; the leash is long enough so that they can circulate over almost the entire front yard. When I go to let Beavis out front, she gets so excited, circling around and dancing in place, hopping, grinning. I have to hold her collar while I open the door and walk out to find the end of the leash. Over the years Beavis has learned that when I do so, when I grab her collar and prepare to open the door, she must take a step or two back away from the door, to give me room to open the door and lead her out. It's very funny, and very predictable. She stands close to the door, I bend down and grab her collar, she backs up three feet. Smart hound. Well, right now, the Holiday Tree is in that corner of the living room, blocking off that door completely. Now, to take the houndz out front, we have to go out the carport door, which is on the opposite side of the room. Beavis hasn't figured that out yet, so when she wants to go out, she still stares at the usual door, wagging and dancing. We have to physically pull her to the carport door, reassuring her that she will still "Go Outside!!" She hasn't figured it out, though, and always strains against us. She just KNOWS that to Go Outside, we must go out THAT door, not the carport door.

12/16/2002 12:45 Monday PM
The seventh day.

I care.

12/15/2002 10:09 Sunday PM
The sixth day.

Well, I got a Holiday Tree today. It's been several years since I had one. I've only got 600 lights on it, though, which isn't nearly enough. Must...get...more. I wish Mariana could be here to help me decorate it, or just sit with me and watch it flash. I've told her about some of the family's heirloom Christmas/holiday ornaments and decorations, and those that aren't really heirlooms but have some anecdotes connected to them. Would be lovely if she could see them. (Except for those horrible yarn Lifesaver men that terrified me as a kid.) BUT - she can't, so I tried to the next best thing. I took some pics of the tree and gave them to her. It's really not quite the same. But this year, at least, it'll have to do.

The tally so far: 1 student complaining about her grade. I gave her an F, since I never saw her final essay or her Reading Journal entries. She says she turned them in; I can't find them. Those two items were turned in the same day as the Final Exam, and all I ever saw was the Exam. I can't imagine how I got her Exam but somehow managed to lose both her essay AND her Reading Journals. I've never lost a student's essay, EVER. So while I can't be sure, for now, I have to operate under the assumption that neither the essay nor the Journals were turned in. Right now, she has the F.

12/14/2002 10:07 Saturday AM
The fifth day.

Which Beatles Album Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Oh, I'm on to something, all right...

A windy day, so far rather cool, and a bit overcast. A good day to not be where I'm going to be, and not do what I'm going to be doing all day, and not be with the people I'm going to be with. (In other words, a great day to be somewhere else, doing something else, with somebody else.) And in 18 days or so, I shall.

Evander Holyfield fights Chris Byrd tonight. I'm a big fan of the Real Deal, but Chris Byrd is just so damn slick and one of the most underrated fighters today...I have a feeling this will be the final chapter in one of the great heavyweight careers of all time. I hope I'm wrong. But even if I'm not, I thank Evander Holyfield for some of the most thrilling sports moments in my lifetime - the Dokes war, that Round 10 against Riddick Bowe in their first fight, the uppercuts that saved his titles against Bert Cooper, putting Bowe down for the first time in his career, making Mike Tyson run like a scared kid, saying "put my mouthpiece back in...I'm gonna knock him out," when Tyson got hungry in their rematch...Thanks, Evander.

I still have to write about that dream with the honeybees and my amorous neighbors. Please remind me.

The Rankings Watch: I am currently the #2 Google result for "very scary haunted places to visit in akron." And if it took you a little bit to figure out how those words produce this Hellmouth, that's okay, it took me a while, too. It was the Akron bit that threw me, but then I remembered that Homecoming was against Akron, and I guess I mentioned that in text somewhere. The #1 result is from something called the Ohio News Network, which sounds kinda permanent, so I'm not sure what hope I have to seize the all-important top spot. But of course, I will keep you updated on my quest. I hope I can count on your continued support.

12/14/2002 1:13 Saturday AM
Well, I think I'm giving up for the night. I've watched Dracula 2000 (notable, really, only for its concept that Dracula is actually an immortalized Judas Iscariot), and I'm scraping through the dreadful final portions of the generally dreadful Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday (notable, really, only for being somewhat of an anachronism in the overall Jason mythos). I hadn't realized for most of the day that it's a Friday the 13th today, so I'm celebrating in an appropriate fashion. I think I've got much better things to dream about tonight; I doubt Jason will be making one of his semi-annual appearances in my subconscious netherworld.
This must have been some very good Nog! I told you so, I told you so.
I'll be at work in the morning, and anyway, that's why they make cellphones.

Nineteen more days - and hopefully less.

12/13/2002 12:52 Friday PM
I should have more faith in people! We already had an OccasionalFridayFive for this week, and I didn't even realize it. Friends taking care of friends, indeed.

1.What is/was the biggest cause of stress in you life?
The completion (or, so far, the non-completion) of my Master's thesis. I literally have nightmares about it, no lie. I don't know what's worse: me thinking that I'm a failure; Departmental colleagues thinking I'm a failure; or her thinking I'm a failure. Any one of those is humiliating; facing all three is absolutely debilitating.
2.How did/do you handle the stress?
Cheap booze and trashy women.
No, seriously. This is why I stockpile videotapes of sitcoms - Seinfeld, Friends, Drew Carey, Married With Children, etc. - and Looney Tunes/Merry Melodies cartoons. (They're good for when you're lying in bed sick, too.) I'm also a big believer in Buffalo Wing Therapy.
3.What's your take on regrets?
Hmmm...I guess, regrets in general? I used to hoard them, clutching them to me in a reflexive, self-defensive gesture so I could point to them and show people what I almost did/didn't do, trying to get partial credit - as though "almost" means anything that way. But I'm trying not to do that anymore. I still have regrets. But the future is almost always sweeter than the past is sour. In general, I'm trying to live by that old Statler Brothers song - "I'd rather be sorry for something I've done, than for something that I didn't do."
This question was WAY too difficult. Must find tape of cartoons now.
4.If you could live one year of your life over what year would that be? Why?
Wow. I'm torn between reliving a good year, or redoing a bad one. I do have regrets, but I can't think of entire years that would have been drastically different if I had done certain things differently, and I'm not sure I'd want them to have turned out differently anyway (see below). I've contributed to the demise of some nice relationships in the past, but then, if I hadn't torpedoed them, I wouldn't have the one I do now. I've quit jobs, but if I hadn't, I'm not sure I'd have the education I do now. So there. So I guess I'd opt for reliving a pleasant year - but which? Let's say, my 18th year, I suppose. I had just moved out on my own, with my brother (ironically, this was also "moving home," to the house we inherited from our birth parents). There was complete freedom, minimal bills and responsibility, plenty of friends, plenty of fun, plenty of wild times. Always something to do. That was a fun year.
5.If you could erase a moment in your life what would it be? And, knowing what you know now would you really want to erase that moment?
I'm not sure how to approach this one. By "erase," am I deciding on a moment I wish hadn't happened? or just a memory I wish I didn't have? They might be the same, but they might be different.
As for a moment I wish hadn't happened, I'm tempted to name my bio-mum's death, which naturally affected my future and led indirectly to my bio-father's death, as well. But again, everything that happened to me led me somehow to where I am today, and I'm pretty happy with that: I'm intelligent and educated; I have some good friends who care about me and who I know I can count on, and a wonderful woman who can bring a smile to my face and a tear to my eye without saying a word. So while I can't bring myself to say that I'm glad my bio-parents died, I can say that either because of it all, or despite it all, I wound up in a relatively good place.
As for erasing a memory, I have two: when my dad put his arms around us and said, "Boys...mommy's gone," or when I sat in a small bedroom, listening to the paramedics' heart monitor flat-lining on my father's chest as he lay on the living room floor of my grandparents' house. I'll never forget listening to that awful tone, and I'll never forget wanting to scream "turn it off turn it off turn it OFF!!!"
But I'd like to forget both of them.

12/13/2002 10:16 Friday AM
The fourth day.

12/13/2002 12:54 Friday AM
Okay, everybody's had a turn, so I guess we'll collaborate again to produce an AlmostEveryFridayFive for this evening.

1. What's the worst hairstyle you ever had?
Late elementary school, as it was growing out of the buzzcuts and crewcuts my father made me get as a child. One year it looked just like a stereotypical bowl cut, swept forward so that even on the sides, it pointed almost forward instead of down. I'm appalled now.
2. What's the best?
Hmm. I've gotten a few in recent years where the length on top was just right, where it would stick up at a rakish angle without looking like I had styled it that way. Or, in 12th grade years ago, I had it down in the middle of my back, and the top a bit shorter, and I styled it differently every day. That was, like, cool. I'm not that cool anymore.
3. Do you prefer to get haircuts/styles from someone of the same sex, or the opposite sex?
I'm not adamant about it, but all else being equal I'd probably say opposite. It's not a sexual act (not usually!), but I do think there's something at least a tiny bit intimate about it. I think heads and faces are fairly private places on the body, much more so than feet or hands. I think the "personal areas" are much larger around heads and faces. There's only one person who can play with my hair without me growling. So I'm a little bit more uncomfortable with other males running their fingers through my hair.
4. Have you ever gotten a haircut/hairstyle you knew you wouldn't like, just to impress someone?
Yes. The boss of a former workplace, who wouldn't permit me to keep it past the collar. But I needed the job. Oh, did I mean to try to impress a special someone? Well, no, I don't think so. But I've NOT gotten a haircut in order to impress a special someone...
5. What's the most extreme hairstyle you'd ever actually get?
I'd definitely dye it a bizarre colour, provided I didn't have a job that prevented it. Other than that, I've done practically everything to it already over the years, so at this point I'm not sure what I could consider "extreme."

12/12/2002 11:58 Thursday AM
The third day.

An announcement: I have regained my status as #1 Google result for "Pierce Bronson shirtless." Yes, thank you, thank you, I appreciate the applause and your support, thank you very much. I'd like to thank everybody who made this possible, who painstakingly taught me rudimentary HTML...go ahead, stand up, you deserve some of the credit, too. Really, this award means so much to me,it's like a validation of everything I've worked so hard for. So again, thank you. Party at Devaney's after the show.
Oh, you want to know the second Google result for "Pierce Bronson shirtless?" Trust me, you really don't. It's a fetish site that lists "trampling" scenes in all sorts of movies. Here is what it says:
"HERE YOU WILL FIND A COMPLETE RESOURCE OF ALL THE TV AND MOVIE TITLES WHICH CONTAIN SCENES OF MEN'S AND WOMEN'S BODIES GETTING TRAMPLED, SAT ON, SQUASHED, FLATTENED AND GENERALLY UNDER ANOTHER PERSON OR PERSON'S WEIGHT. HAND TRAMPLE FOR EXAMPLE AND VICTORY POSING TYPE SCENES ARE EXCLUDED. IT LISTS ALL FORMS OF THE ABOVE AND IS NOT JUST LIMITED TO WOMEN ON MEN AS YOU CAN SEE. JUST IGNORE THE PARTS THAT DO NOT INTEREST YOU. I AM CONSTANTLY ON THE SEARCH FOR NEW SIGHTINGS OF SUCH MATERIAL AND WILL POST HERE AS OFTEN AS I CAN. THIS MATERIAL CANNOT BE COLLECTED ALONE AND I AM GRATEFUL TO MANY OTHER PEOPLE FOR THEIR TIME SPENT ON THEIR OWN PARTICULAR SITES FROM WHOM I HAVE OBTAINED MANY TITLES. IN MANY CASES I HAVE ONLY BEEN ABLE TO LIST THE TITLES AND YEAR OF FILMS THAT I KNOW TO CONTAIN SUCH A SCENE, AND I ASK PEOPLE'S HELP TO FILL IN DETAILS OF THE SCENES IN QUESTION. THIS SITE IS ONLY DEDICATED TO MEN AND WOMEN HAVING FULL WEIGHT ON THEIR BODIES - THERE ARE OTHER SITES DEDICATED TO FOOT WORSHIP AND VICTORY POSING SCENES ETC, SO SCENES RELATING TO THESE TOPICS ARE NOT LISTED."
I cannot tell you how creepy that is. And, of course, you can find it at Under Pressure. This is not an official endorsement, and I assume no responsibility for nausea, blushing, or your favourite trampling scenes not being listed. And no, there are no graphics and no illustrations. I was going to suggest that we all sign that Guestbook and mock him for being #2, but it's not available. Sweet justice.

As I expected, it was a fairly eventful night of dreaming. I don't remember all of them, though. What my brain did is the equivalent of a wet dog shaking himself off.

12/11/2002 12:17 Wednesday PM
The bird is in the oven.
No, that's not one of my cute little crypticisms, or a secret code that only one person knows the meaning of. It's literal. The 17+ pound turkey is roasting, yea, even as we speak. Just another hour or so, maybe a little more. The fixin's will be ready, too. This is my long-delayed Eid feast. Well, no, the Eid feast took place during Eid, but it was deliberately subdued. This, today, is the genuine Mr. McCoy. It's delayed by almost a week after the actual Eid by various circumstances - the same circumstances why I didn't post at all yesterday. So this feast has, I guess, several layers to it, although they're not all celebratory. I'm acknowledging the end of Ramadan, of course, last week. But some other things worth acknowledging and celebrating have happened, and I'm...well, acknowledging and celebrating them today, too.

Monday was a cold, rainy day, all day and all night. It felt like it, too. I went over there early afternoon to "help pack and move" and, well, you know, because I wanted to be over there. We were both wiped out. After packing and moving, she slept. I watched over her and nodded off a couple of times myself. (And oh, the imagery that flooded my mind when I did! It was as if my brain was saying, "ok, man, you've been torturing me for a week now, so here, have some of this, peanut butter in the middle of your kitchen floor. What? That wasn't abstract and colourful enough? Here, try to analyze this. Gonna mistreat me some more? Huh? All right, then..." I haven't been remembering many dreams the past week or so; I'm sure the neuroscientist guys could point to my schedule with charts and graphs and explain exactly why. And I know from experience that I have some nights of just explosive dreams ahead of me as a result.) She was still in the grips of sugar hangover to an extent, and slept it off. Afterwards we just stayed in and amused ourselves with various surfing, etc. And laughing. It was the perfect way to spend a lazy, rainy, cold day and evening - if we just hadn't been so damn tired. I'm sure I seemed like a lazy, bored pooh, but I was still just zombified. But we still had fun, and there was no place I would rather have been. There will be more lazy and/or rainy and/or cold days and evenings, and I look forward to them, whether we're out and about, or just huddled up inside.
Oh, leaving was hard. So hard. I had promised to meet the guys out for dinner, a Monday night tradition of football, food, and insults. At about 8 I called them and said I was just about to be leave and would be there around 9, 9:30 or so. About 10:30, I was still leaving, though. I alternated between crushing sadness that she was leaving, and singing euphoria that she'd be back. I still feel both. It's an unusual feeling, and wanting to really savor it without trying to fence it in with words is mostly why I haven't posted since early Monday afternoon. So I drove in the rain, silent and alone, to meet my friends. Their interrogation was mercifully and surprisingly brief, which allowed me to wolf down a huge meal and go home a disgusting, bloated eyesore. I started planning out some compelling, poignant things to blog about it, and used none of it (obviously).
Yesterday was travel day, the first day of...however I'm characterizing it. I still haven't decided. Aloneness? No...I can't see her, but I'm not alone. So "loneliness" is out, too. Vacation? Technically, that's accurate, I guess. But that's not how *I* am describing it. But regardless, yesterday was the first day of it, and today's the second day of it, whatever it is. And wow, almost two of the 23 days are gone already! I might actually make it through.

So the bird is in the oven. I can wait, and it will be worth the wait.
This time, maybe that was a not-so-secret code.

Today was also the deadline to turn in final grades, at 9am. So guess what I was doing all night? That's right. Final calculations. Calculating finally. Calculations of finalness. I knew I wanted to get the bird in the oven around 9 or so, for a decent, early-afternoon lunch which would leave plenty of time for leftovers later in the day. So as the late night crept into early morning, I was torn: do I sleep for an hour or to, wake up and drive to campus, come home and put the bird in the oven, and then go back to be for another couple hours? or do I grind straight through, go to campus, come home, sleep for a couple of hours, wake up and put the bird in the oven, and then go back to sleep? In the end, the latter is what I opted for. I was in no mood to sleep from 5am to 7am, get home at 8:30ish, get back to sleep at 9:30ish. So I got to campus about 5:45am or so this morning. I'm pretty sure I was the only person on our floor, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I was the only person in the whole damn building. I could have looted the place. It would have been a caper, a she-nanigan. But alas, there was no capering, just a quick drop-off of my grades, some fetching of stuff from my office, and I was out. Came home, went to bed. I woke up for some reason a little before 9, which was not when I planned to wake. I had, by then, decided to sleep later and put the bird in the oven later, and have a late-afternoon or early-evening feast. But there I was, awake, so I got up and got it in, and then went back to bed for a little while. So I'm still zombified, but hey, I got feasting soon.

Speaking of being the only person in the building...
A few weeks ago I posted about someone who had somehow left a letter in people's mailboxes (this was October 22nd, if you really must know, check the archives). Well, yesterday, this e-mail came:

"Dear Colleagues,

1. SECURITY

Late one evening last week someone taped the doorjam to the Mail Room in Colbourn Hall so that the door would close but would not lock.

YOU MUST NOT OVERRIDE THE LOCKING SYSTEM OF THE MAIL ROOM DOORS.

Regardless of your intentions or your purposes, do not do this sort of thing. Once the staff members leave we must rely on faculty to honor the security of this room. Such an action places everything in the room, including equipment and faculty member's mail, at risk of theft. It also enables unauthorized people to enter the room and rifle through faculty mailboxes...." It continued on about some less juicy, more mundane topics, and was sent by the Chair of the Department.
I just love a good scandal. All I can say is, it wasn't me.

There's probably more backlog I can/could/should write about, but later.

12/09/2002 12:10 Monday PM
This is the day I've been dreading, even though The Good Part is going to be much longer than I had expected.
I haven't slept more than three consecutive hours, nor more than four or five in a day cumulatively, since lastTuesday. I'm sleeping at times when I normally never sleep, and not sleeping when I usually do. My metabolism and body chemistry are so screwed up right now I think I'm about to sprout a third arm. My dogs don't recognize me anymore, I've completely lost track of basic timelines and scheduling, and it just took me at least four tries to correctly spell "scheduling."
This is the Future, finally, and I wouldn't change a minute of any of it.

The Madrigal concert was quite fun, and most importantly, I was not chosen to dance. Seas would have boiled over, rocks would have tumbled from the sky, fire and brimstone, if they had picked me. She was disappointed. She was also lucky, that they didn't pick me. But it was quite impressive, and all of the performers did quite well, as near as these uneducated ears could tell.
Then we went to the Cheesecake Factory, and it damn near killed her. It was quite funny to watch, even if holding her hand as she bounced and wiggled and quivered under a severe sugar rush felt a bit like holding one of the leashes on one of those big Thanksgiving parade balloons. "And now, coming up Orlando Avenue, we finally see her....you know, she's a whopping 64 inches tall and just over 107 pounds after a full meal..but for this evening's entertainment she's filled with about six cubic feet of sugar...she looks like she's a little hard to contain, right now, whipping around out there, her handler is doing his best to keep--OMYGOD, SHE'S BREAKING LOOSE, SHE'S CAREENING AROUND TOWN, WREAKING HAVOC, for the love of God, somebody please give her some water...oh, the humanity..."
Still, it was fun, and worth waiting for. It always is.

12/09/2002 7:37 Monday AM
When I said goodbye to her and drove away, it was under a rather grey sky, with a few drops of rain marking the windshield.
By the time I got home, it was a hard, dark, cold rain.

12/08/2002 4:27 Sunday PM
I was rummaging through the closet just now, dealing with assorted laundry issues, wondering what to wear tonight. Just for a moment, I found myself experiencing a very feminine "I haven't got a THING to wear!" moment as I stood there yanking hangered clothes out of the closet, holding them up to myself to gauge the effect, and sliding clothes back and forth in the closet. I had to reassure myself that I'm still a guy, so I burped, scratched myself, and slammed my forehead into the dog's just like the football players do after a big play.

Christmas Spirit, for Lazy People:
Someone just drove slowly down the street in a small pickup truck that had a little sound-sytem in the bed connected to an intercom mounted on the cab, playing tinny, badly distorted Christmas carols.
That makes me feel like joining in the celebrations by roasting some acorns over the electric stove burner coil.

12/08/2002 3:12 Sunday PM
What do you mean, 3 hours of sleep per night...er, uh, per 24-hour period isn't enough??? I only ran off the road twelve times on the way home this morning. No problem! And that fence? Whoever heard of putting a fence there?! Besides, if that old woman hadn't panicked and started running and fallen down when I lost control and came crashing through her back yard, I wouldn't have been distracted and gone into that ditch. And another thing....

12/07/2002 9:10 Saturday PM
When I got home....whenever it was that I got home, I was, believe it or not, too tired to think much about it. But I'm not too tired now. And I'm thinking about it now. A lot.
There are a lot of things I know, and a lot of things I don't know. I think that's the way it's supposed to be. But whether or not that really is the way it's supposed to be, is one of the things I don't know. And most of the things I don't know, I think I want to find out. But whether or not I truly want to find out, is another one of the things I don't know.
I'm happy. That's one of the things I do know.

12/06/2002 9:08 Friday PM
See, now, this is sweet. People taking care of people. That's what it's all about, isn't it? I was thinking tonight that we didn't do a FF last night. I was going to suggest that she put one together while I got myself ready. But somebody's taken care of it already. Here goes:

1. Does the commercialization of Christmas bother you?
Not particularly. I don't have a dramatic religious investment in the "true meaning of Christmas," so I'm not offended there. And as for the, shall we say, emotional meaning of Christmas, I find the commercialization of it actually puts me more in the mood. It reminds me what's coming, why I care about what's coming, etc. When I'm bombarded with sugary images of friends and family in all the made-for-TV specials and commercial advertisements, it's bound to rub off. I must say, I do have a rather problematic relationship with Christmas as an actual holiday/event, for reasons I won't go in here. So perhaps I'm not even answering the question correctly. For me, "Christmas" is a season that stretches several weeks, roughly from November 20th to perhaps January 5th (dates chosen fairly arbitrarily, but easily encompassing Thanksgiving and New Year's). The actual holiday I find mostly dreadful. But the days before and after are wonderful. Have I babbled enough? May I be excused now?
2. How many people do you shop for? Which are a joy and which are obligatory?
My brother; my closest friends Joel and Tom; usually one person chosen randomly from the sub-set of my married brother and his wife and my married sister and her husband; jointly for their young'uns; and for my mum. And for someone else. :) They're all mostly a joy to shop for, even if I frequently have no idea what I'm shopping for.
3. Do you like Christmas music?
Love it. Usually around the beginning of December I start scouting around for whatever stations are beginning to mix the Christmas songs into their playlist (usually the soft-rock/adult contemporary and oldies stations) or even shifting entirely into a Christmas music format. I also start digging out some CDs or compiling some. The soundtrack to Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown! by Vince Guaraldi is my favourite and I've been known to listen to it throughout the calendar year. Because of the song selection, the soft style of the music, and the pure nostalgia factor, I find it's one of the most soothing CDs I own. Then there's my Charlotte Church CD Dream a Little Dream that I love (and saying this will get me smacked in about an hour and a half, probably). My favourite Christmas songs are "The Little Drummer Boy" (virtually ANY version), "Silent Night," that Kinks song, the Cheech and Chong ditty "Santa Claus and His Old Lady," and a few others.
4. Christmas Cards. Sound off.
Noncommittal. These are what I usually do out of obligation. I have no preference in terms of style, but when sending them, I usually get some sort of neutral "Happy Holidays" motif.
5. Will you be spending Christmas where you would most want to?
Mostly where, yes, but most definitely not how. And if I was spending it how I'd want to, I wouldn't care where.

12/06/2002 12:49 Friday AM
Eid al-Fitr, the Feast of Fast-breaking (roughly translated).
"Allah is the light of the heavens and the earth; a likeness of His light is as a niche in which is a lamp, the lamp is in a glass, (and) the glass is as it were a brightly shining star, lit from a blessed olive-tree, neither eastern nor western, the oil whereof almost gives light, though fire touch it not-- light upon light-- Allah guides to His light whom He pleases, and Allah sets forth parables for men, and Allah is Cognizant of all things." (Qur'an, 24:35)

(Proprietary note: this image was taken from the Council on American Islamic Relations site.)

May God accept our efforts and forgive our errors, and strengthen our community, Muslim and non-Muslim alike. I hope this day finds you in joy and peace. For those who have sent their good wishes and warm thoughts, they are appreciated, and returned to you and yours.

Another day, another wonderful night. I'm a little worried, though, and guilt-ridden (an ironic sort of day to feel so Catholic!). I'm about to find out if I have reason to be.

12/05/2002 8:47 Thursday PM
I've been thinking that I haven't said enough about the last couple of days. But as I said a few days ago in reference to something else, there are some things I just can't blog about. I'm not sure if that defeats the purpose of having a blog, or if typing the words that say, hey, I can't blog about this defeats the purpose of having a page to say them on. But if the most meaningful points in your life don't appear in a blog, where do they go?
Well, for one thing, I carry them around with me everywhere I go. I carry her around with me everywhere I go. Ultimately, some things are bigger than the blog, and sometimes, the Hellmouth is closed.

12/05/2002 11:42 Thursday AM
The thirtieth and final day of Ramadan.
"It is reported on the authority of Abu Huraira that a bedouin came to the Messenger of Allah (may peace be upon him) and said: Messenger of Allah, direct me to a deed by which I may be entitled to enter Paradise. Upon this he (the Holy Prophet) remarked: You worship Allah and never associate anything with Him, establish the obligatory prayer, and pay the Zakat which is incumbent upon you, and observe the fast of Ramadan. He (the bedouin) said: By Him in Whose hand is my life, I will never add anything to it, nor will I diminish anything from it. When he (the bedouin) turned his back, the Prophet (may peace be upon him) said: He who is pleased to see a man from the dwellers of Paradise should catch a glimpse of him." (Muslim)

Well, okay, if I said what really happened last night, how could I expect you to believe me when I'm not sure I believe it myself?
And how could I tell you anyway, when there are no words?

12/04/2002 9:37 Wednesday AM
The twenty-ninth day of Ramadan.
" Narrated Sahl:
The Prophet said, "There is a gate in Paradise called Ar-Raiyan, and those who observe fasts will enter through it on the Day of Resurrection and none except them will enter through it. It will be said, 'Where are those who used to observe fasts?' They will get up, and none except them will enter through it. After their entry the gate will be closed and nobody will enter through it."" (Bukhari)

And as of right...now, 10:11am, it's just become a "good morning."

12/03/2002 11:53 Tuesday PM
It was a beautiful day today. I left campus singing this song to myself:

"These Arms of Mine"

These arms of mine
They are yearning
They are yearning
Yearning to hold you

These arms of mine
They are wanting
They are wanting
Wanting your love

And if you were to let them hold you
Oh, how grateful they would be
Oh, how grateful they would be

These arms of mine
They are searching
Searching
For someone like you

These arms of mine
They are yearning
Yearning
Yearning to hold you

And if you were to let them hold you
Oh, how grateful they would be
Oh, how grateful they would be

And if you were to let them hold you
Oh, how grateful they would be
Oh, how grateful they would be
Oh, how grateful they would be
Oh, how grateful they would be...

It's always been one of my favourite songs. The version I was thinking of was recorded by Willie and the Poor Boys, a for-charity supergroup collaboration organized by Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones. This particular song had Jimmy Page on guitar and Paul Rodgers singing, and was the impetus for those two forming their own short-lived band The Firm.
And I couldn't think of any other song to sing on my way home. It fit.

12/03/2002 10:03 Tuesday AM
Ye Gods. I've been bumped! I am no longer the first result in a Google search for "Pierce Bronson shirtless!" That sunuvabitchin' Randy has claimed the magical top spot. I must....I must do something about this. What an outrage.

12/03/2002 9:51 Tuesday AM
The twenty-eighth day of Ramadan.
"Narrated Mu'adh ibn Jabal:
The Apostle of Allah (peace be upon him) said: (The reward of) prayer, fasting and remembrance of Allah is enhanced seven hundred times over (the reward of) spending in Allah's path." (Abu-Dawud)

Ahh, UnLunch sweet UnLunch. I will miss them. Oh, how I will miss them.

I've been notified that this site also is the first one listed in a Yahoo search for "private hellmouth." And it is. So I guess that's pretty cool. And hey, I didn't even have to pose nekkid.
So I guess I should go delete those pics from the digital camera.
Pierce Bronson, indeed. Hmmph.

12/02/2002 8:14 Monday PM
Today was worth waiting for.

And the semester is, for all practical purposes, over. There are still more days worth waiting for, though. Like, all of them.

I was doing some more thinking about this nekkid Pierce Bronson thing. It occurs to me that "Pierce Bronson shirtless" is almost certainly the only random combination of words from this whole site that would yield my site as the first result listed in a Google search. I don't quite know what to do with that information. But I kinda wish Pierce Brosnan would change his name now. I'd probably get a lot more visits from lonely, horny middle-aged women. And, you know, that wouldn't necessarily be such a bad thing, even for a happily spoken-for guy like me, would it?

12/02/2002 6:48 Monday AM
The twenty-seventh day of Ramadan.
"Narrated AbuHurayrah:
The Prophet (peace be upon him) said: If anyone breaks his fast one day in Ramadan without a concession granted to him by Allah, a perpetual fast will not atone for it." (Abu-Dawud)

I am very frightened. On a routine check of my site stats, I noticed that two searches had led folks to my site. The first appears to have been a search for "Lowe's home lake building's." The second was a search for "Pierce Bronson shirtless."
I don't have any pics of me on the site (yet?), but I wonder if either person left disappointed. And if I did have pics of me up, would they still have been disappointed?
And I also wonder if the person who is doubtlessly looking for nekkid pictures of Pierce Brosnan has figured out why s/he (she, presumably) hasn't found any yet.

For the record, mine is the very first site listed when one does a Google search for "Pierce Bronson shirtless." Try it. I'm glad Google apparently knows I exist. But I'm kinda sad that there isn't a Pierce Bronson in real life that people would want to see nekkid. If there was, I'd get a lot more traffic, apparently.
As I said, I'm glad that Google knows I exist, although I was unable to find my site by Googling some other combinations of words that appear here. In fact, because I was unable with other combinations, I wonder why that combination of words DOES work. That also frightens me. The power of a nekkid Pierce Bronson is not to be underestimated, I guess. But look at it this way. If you ever want to grasp the scope of this whole In-ter-net thing, try Googling any random combination of words that you think would never appear on the same site together. You'll be surprised.
Well, ok, you'd have to be VERY bored to spend more than thirty seconds trying the above experiment, but hey, that's thirty less seconds you'll be bored.

12/01/2002 11:28 Sunday PM
I am sitting here in my robe, using my imagination. It works well. TOO well.
No, not TOO well. Perfectly well. Much better than not being able to use it, and infinitely better than not wanting to.

12/01/2002 10:17 Sunday AM
The twenty-sixth day of Ramadan.
"Narrated Salman ibn Amir:
The Prophet (peace be upon him) said: When one of you is fasting, he should break his fast with dates; but if he cannot get any, then (he should break his fast) with water, for water is purifying." (Abu-Dawud)

The air seems sweeter today, the sky a little more blue. By this afternoon or early evening, I'm sure it will have turned into a wonderful day.

A long Sunday at work. I'd really rather not.

I watched the MST3K version of 'Mitchell' last night on DVD. Decent, but not really remarkable. The MST3K version of 'Final Justice,' also starring Joe Don Baker, is much better, and might be my favourite MST3K ever (along with 'Horror of Spider Island,' 'Riding With Death,' and 'Horror of Party Beach'). But what the heck, it was a Saturday night, all the elements were (mostly) in place, and I was in the mood.

And tomorrow? The last day of classes for the semester. That's the last of THOSE big red Xs on the calendar. There are a few more left, of course, counting down to other things, bigger and much better things.