[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 16 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Tuesday, May 30th, 2006|
I am exceedingly dissapointed to discover that the Mac requirements for Civ IV are significantly higher than they were for a PC. I mean, I was happy to dump the huge piles of obsolescent components and just put the little mini brick on the bookshelf, but now I'm suddenly caught up in upgrade Hell again. Since I've switched to Mac I can't just drop a faster proc in, I have to buy a new fucking computer.
Which means I can either fix this guy up in a week and impress everyone with how big and manly the mikester really is:
Or I can put an iMac on my desk and spend the next 50 sundays tinkering on my penis car while an ever bigger portion of my budget goes to keeping my dying Macho Mercury Tracer alive for another year.
Damnit, why can't men wear it on the outside so we don't have to work so hard to compensate!
|Saturday, May 20th, 2006|
|Bland food sucks
So, when one of your employees comes down with stomach flu and throws up on you before turning into a complete gibbering wreck, do not, I repeat, do not stoically march on for the next ninety minutes as if everything is okay to act as an inspiration for your panicking, freaked out company in a heroic effort to hold everything together.
First run straight to the nearest bottle of hand sanitizer and drown yourself in it.
Successful though my efforts were, I would happily trade the past three days (specifically the glories of having excreted from orifices I was not even aware of upwards of 100 times since Tuesday) for the polite but chipper, "Say, the guys said you did a great job on Sunday."
I suppose it's nice to have another "Mike saves the day" button on my lapel, but sheesh! Current Mood: drained
|Saturday, May 13th, 2006|
I can't breath..
|Wednesday, May 10th, 2006|
Okay, I've been hit on by a lot of guys, but what was the middle-aged short guy referrign to yesterday when he walked up to me in line at the Eureka Branch library (that's in the Castro btw) and asked, "Are you by any chance a member of the Southern California World Wrestling Federation?"
Do guys get dick this way? I mean, do young, gay guys hear this and think, "Oh, he thinks I'm all sveldt and manly."
Does this look like a wrestler to you?
|Saturday, May 14th, 2005|
|There's a rocket in my pocket
I have longed for the day that after sacrificing all my Summer vacations, including the weddings of two friends (one dear)*, that the one vacation left to me is stymied by a complete lack of air traffic (unless I wanted to hop the commmuter route from Eureka, CA, to SF, CA in 9 hours) and a sudden bout of the stomach flu, no doubt brought on by stressing over my rapidly vacating vacations, and guaranteeing that the minute I have dumped the side job that's gobbling up all my free time, I'll have another time torpedo in my pocket ready to go off.
WHere do I get off, man?
*forgive me I've been reading Kerouac.
|Saturday, May 7th, 2005|
|Jock Dad and his road-pizza rat
Saturday morning, Lower Haight, and cars everywhere scrambling for parking so they can (actually I have no idea what all these people do in Lower Haight on Saturday afternoons since they aren't in the park and half the stores aren't open). I find a spot on Pierce, close to Duboce Park, and steal it from a VW Rabbit that thinks it's too small for them.
Down the street, Jock-Dad, his son, and what appeared to be a Latina nanny carrying their bags are coming as the VW Rabbit does a 3-point turn. Moron jock dad throws the football over the Rabbit to his kid (who is well ahead of him) at my end of the block. The kid, no older than 6 years old fumbles the Nerf football and chases it as it bounces under the front end of my car while I'm pulling forward trying to parallel park. Two cars in motion no more than 10 yards from his son and he decides "it's time for a long one." Jock-dad has the same marine haircut I do, and has pretty much the same build, but athletic as opposed to crank-thin. He in every way epitomizes the expendable hero-dad icon in the way that I don't. As his kid *dives* under my front tires to get the ball, Jock-dad just watches and smiles. I decide not to move my car until the kid is well out of danger (about 3-1/2 miles away, I'm estimating).
As they pass, Jock-dad gives me one of those conciliatory waves as if to thank me for my patience. I tell him he's a fucking idiot. Jock-dad barely beats an eyelash, "Well, get over it." "You're going to kill you kid." I shout, but Jock-dad has the ball again, and arm protectively around his future roadkill. He ignores me and gives the boy's mullet a "chip-off-the-ol-block" tousle (yes, he did have a mullet).
|Tuesday, May 3rd, 2005|
|Social climbing or just peering up the poop chute?
It's odd when you go to a party (my friend did a show tonight and I lit it for him) and the fact that it's taking place in an upscale bath and body lotion store doesn't faze you. It's odd that the fact that you are the only one who would stand out at both a tractor pull and a political fundraiser doesn't even grab your attention (until later reflection on another topic :p ). What makes those odd is that what I really noticed was that there were dozens of really yummy cakes on nearly every horizontal surface, and though clearly some people were grazing with impunity - They Weren't All Gone in Five Fucking Minutes. If you laid out ten times that spread at Death Guild they'd be hoovered up in a minute flat. We had some snacks out when we opened Dracula and Othello, they were gone instantly!. But here I am amongst a company in which every person has on fashionable shoes and neat, trendy haircuts, and they're just letting all this food sit on the counters. It's like they're not human. Like androids programmed not to act *too* human.
I mean, maybe my proletarian roots are showing, but it took all my willpower not to scrape together a platter for the ride home. Of course I was actually too drunk from the free bar (that hardly anyone was mobbing) to have coordinated such a task while breaking my gear down. It strikes me that I should have something witty, yet scathing to say about urban yuppies and professional artists (partistes?), but I really feel like sipping a $3 whiskey sour and flailing badly among a bunch of coke-addled xxxx/xxxsters. This urge has yet to leave me with a sense of superiority, however. Current Mood: Taco
|Saturday, April 9th, 2005|
I just saw Liz. A few moments ago.
I had just dug an Examiner out of the recycle bin, and was skipping down the stairs (it's nice being on restricted duty at work when you have every after two shows at midnight to skip down a flight of stairs) and she was coming up the escalator. I saw her as she said a stammered, "Hey." She was smiling, a half knowing smile I used to recognize, but now I see it's a mask that hides what is within. She never used to show it to me, but we're strangers now. She rode past and did'nt look back. I took a few more steps and realized, maybe I should have stopped. I looked up, but she was still riding up, as if I was gone.
I was waiting for something to hit me. I was almost glad that I'd finally seen her after over a year, I think, just to bump into her. But then she was gone. The annoying part of it was not that she blew past me, but that I was much much more interested in getting to the crossword puzzle than examining why Liz had'nt tried to stop. I was'nt even interested in examining my feelings. I had been looking forward to the puzzle, and the feelings were a nuisance to that.
I have really gotten so far along that I just don't care what relation Liz has to me, which is pretty strange. I did'nt expect it to feel like this. I did'nt really expect to ever get over her, even though I left her. It was just annoying baggage. Unlike my teen self I don't feel the need to burden myself with that kind of thing any more.
I really did'nt expect to be over it so utterly. It's kind of nice to discover that. Sort of like discovering that your really good at ultimate frisbee, even though you don't go out for sports. It's just nice enough to go, 'cool.' Then you move one.
Odd... Current Mood: content
|Monday, July 7th, 2003|
I had the most romantic day of my life yesterday.
A long breezy afternoon at the Piedmont Cemetery, lounging on the grass in assembly with crafty, victoriana-clad beauties.
She, by my side, beautiful and awash with jubilance, barely kept from bubbling over. The two of us, getting lost in the gaze of the other as we strolled through the lanes.
So much passion. So much glory and wonder.
|Saturday, July 5th, 2003|
I forgot to ask if anyone knows any good editors who publish children's books...
Not that it's important, but I just wanted to make sure everybody knew that I don't update my lj very often...
I mean, I thought it would be a good time to clue anyone who might happen to have a blinker tunred my way for any particular reason.
Then again, it's not just about love is it. We have fear to envelop ourselves in so we can tolerate our mortality, embrace the withdrawal symptoms and never let them go so when they come again we'll be ready, like that breath of air you take before plunging off the bridge and into the water, even though you're planning on drowning (once I get that part licked I'll start saving a lot of money on waterlogged boots).
So she comes along again, a slow sultry crawl, sort of a passionate demise one can only dream about wrapping your hands around, but in the end this is the ultimate illusion. Only she had that choice, and her fears are the clue, Mike, that such is the case. Watch them wither, but don't forget that like a courtier (or Cabana boy :) :) :) ) kneeling before his majesty, she grants boons and blessings at her pleasure, not due to some force you wield over her.
Yes, I've a strogn desire to stick a needle through me neck today, but lack the $50 it would take. Mayhap to sell some books...
|Sunday, May 11th, 2003|
Two sides: 1) I am a compulsive must-know-it-all. I will drive myself to know so much that I understand little and must spew out trivia to justify my massive overconsuption of knowledge and esoterica in order to justify my existence. In spite of this, there is no topic of which there is not a casually particular person who knows more. I also exaggerate and omit details to create the impression that I know more than I do. Analysis: I suck.
2) I am a compulsive people pleaser. I care so much more about pleasing the people around me and being liked that I become crippled in the face of meaningful conflict with friends and work aquaintances. I promise everything then get resentful because I can't deliver. I don't confront people with actual problems when they arise, or when they are recognized, I bury them and try to learn to live with them because it has always been more important for me to be liked, than to address important issues. It is easily argued that this is why I left Liz, refusing to really confront the issues because it had always resulted in months of agonizing and arguing.
Shit, have to go back to work.
|Thursday, May 8th, 2003|
Happiness is finding twice in one day your work space populated by SCREAMING KIDS PLAYING BASKETBALL!!!! Hapiness is being harangued constantly by your boss who can never spare more than two minutes for you even though she's contantly insisting that we need to chat.
Hapiness is ditching this whole tech directing thing and just doing the design phase. Yep. I like building shit, but the whole cost-benefit vs. time wasted on this BS is not quite panning out.
Then again, I had the most delightful sex last night, and in spite of having only had a couple hours of sleep, I feel pretty damn spunky. Plus, telling Rhino to fuck off has done wonders for my mood. The Mikester is not taking care of himself. Telling the fuck-ups to go take care of their own problems so it doens't come at the expense of work I care about, well...
Can't really complain.
Of course, ditching TD'ing means ditching my best present prospect for steady employment. Hell, maybe I'll be able to to more design work, I dunno...
|Tuesday, May 6th, 2003|
Fun is discovering the moment you decide to test the new platform you just built by stomping up and down upon it, that when a few score girls start playing basketball on the roof of said building, it feels like "Oh, I just made a terrible mistake..."
(the upshot is that, no the platform did not fall down)
|Sunday, May 4th, 2003|
|I am not really dead
I'm really getting irritated with the fact that everyone I tell I went to convergence says "Oh, you went to that?" (negative emphasis on the "that." part) Apparently it's the "fat" "brown-hair" goth-con. Glad to see my friends are equally as capable of being ignorant and judgmental as the intelligentsia who drove us out of Sacramento and whatever hick enclaves almost all of my friends were spawned in.
I could have sworn that getting a life was why we all became such reject dorks in the first place.
I guess I must have achieved transcendental uber-cool status to be so maligned and alienated by all my uber-notagoth friends...