December 2004 Archives

cropped and resized

original (big!)

got my first blog comment spam, 3 pieces of crap from some "free online poker"
moron.

if this keeps up i'll have to figure out
1 - how they found me
2 - how to block this crap automatically.

ugh. i hate this stuff.

i realized something last night at simba's, the delightful southern-food buffet in palm springs: i eat the parts of things that nobody else wants.

the well-done parts of the beef ribs.
the crusty, crunchy, burnt edge-parts of the mac-and-cheese.
the dry, baked-on parts of the sweet potato dish.

why do i do this? i dunno. i'm the favorite son, so i always got first dibs on the food, i wouldn't have to resort to eating the leftover parts. huh.

those of you who know, already know, and those of you who don't are about to know: i own a laptop.

by now, it's a couple days over a year old.

it's a 15.something" widescreen emachine with an athlon xp 2200+ and 512MB RAM and a big enough HDD and integrated wireless other such bells and whistles. it's got XP pro and photoshop and cygwin and microsoft compiler and all kinds of fun software. it does everything i need.

i bought it last xmas for myself because i was going on a photography trip on new years, and figured i wanted a laptop on to which i could empty my camera's CF card, and maybe do some photo editing, all from a hotel room.

yeah, it was a flimsy excuse. the real reason was: i wanted a laptop. the price was right, too.

i had "always" wanted a laptop. my theory was that i'd take the laptop to "peaceful places" like the beach or the forest or the top of a library (my favorite getaway in college before i found my beach home) and sit down and write. well, i didn't start writing until late august, and it really had little to do with my owning a laptop. i never took the laptop out of the house to write.

until a couple weekends ago. i took it with me to a coffee shop to finish up "resurrection". that's when someone came and took out a 12" powerbook, and i realized that my 15.something" emachine was heavy and clumsy and ugly.

so i looked into powerbooks. pricey, but i hadn't blown a large chunk of cash in a while; not since silvia and rocky, i guess. just to convince myself i was "shopping" i also checked prices on small PCs. there was a 12" averatec laptop for 700 bucks (after rebates) at staples. nice.

still, the powerbook was cooler, and i sorta wanted to try out os X. sure, i'd used it before and decided it sucked big time, but that was os X.1, they're up to .3 or .4 or something now, right?

so i took me to the apple store 1 day before leaving the bay area, and found... os X.3 or .4 or whatever still sucks. barf. so forget it.

but i still wanted a small laptop. now i had a use for it! if it was lighter i know for sure now that i'd use it for writing, and i want to encourage that, right? right.

so on the 8.5+ hour drive down, i had my brother check out the averatec for me. they had 2 left at the local staples, with plenty of good reviews. so, the first night down there, i got me to staples to check it out. i'd seen it before but it was bolted to the table so i couldn't judge its weight. this time i could. but best of all was staples return policy: no questions asked, full refund. just don't smash the thing and i can basically try before i buy.

so. new plan: buy the thing, put freebsd on it, and i've got a 700 dollar 12" powerbook equivalent. sure, there's no brushed aluminum, but i've got an extra grand to dick around with.

my CC was declined. bah! (turns out they didn't like me tossing down 1k (that's 700 *after rebate*) outside my normal spending area.) fortunately, my brother was near and put it on his CC.

home we go, and find that freebsd has no support for the averatec's wireless card. no problem, i'll try linux. after about a day.5 of dicking around with linux, i realize: i fecking hate linux just as much now as when i ditched it for BSD. documentation sucks (yes, there's tons of it, but i like my documentation the same as i like my coffee: quality over quantity) and the support for my wireless card required doing things that require lots of documentation.

after a while, i realized another thing: even if i eventually get it working, i'd be stuck with linux, and i really don't have the time anymore to get to learn linux, much less KDE or gnome or whatever i ended up with.

bah.

so what did i have left? another windows laptop: small, unproven, and cheap. i had no real use for it. why did i buy it?

because it was cheap? because i could afford it? because it was kind of cool? because i was bored and it would be entertaining for a while?

i didn't like any of these reasons. what did they say about me? nothing good. ostensibly, i had bought the thing to write on. but most of my remote writing had been done on paper, and had come out just fine. i didn't remotely need a new laptop. the real reason i had gotten it: it was a distraction. pah. the same crap i was writing about in "resurrection". something to fiddle with instead of addressing my problems or doing something productive (such as writing!). i think i actually said "pah!" out loud when i realized this.

pah!

so it had to go back. it was an extravagant waste of money, something i try to avoid, unless i am extravagantly wasting money on something obscure and original, like a nice shiny la pavoni manual pump espresso machine. mmmmmmm, manual....

so back it went. i hadn't technically spent a cent on the thing (it was my bro's CC). no hassles on the return (thanks, staples!). i feel like much less of a materialistic schlub, now. whoopie. back to being smug and self-satisfied.

there's a lesson to be learned here, of course: just because i have the resources to be a weak-willed, impulse-buying, self-justifying wastrel "consumer" doesn't mean i have to.

i don't make "new year's resolutions" because nobody keeps those. i make resolutions whenever i want, as needed. and i keep them. and lately, i post them publicly to keep me honest.

resolved: not to be a boneheaded sheeple money-wasting "consumer" (ahem: for anything other than coffee products).

someone thought it a good idea to give me some cocktail umbrellas.

with my mom's stuffed frog and pig.

oddly enough, i didn't do it.

i heartily endorse it, though.

duplicate gifts!

fortunately, i didn't get duplicate copper head massager things.

i didn't get a hug or a goodbye kiss or a "call me when you get there" or a "drive safely", so what can i think but that your "jerk" was not in jest?

am i a jerk for delaying myself an hour - to hit both bay area AND LA rush hour - to spend more time with you?

next time i can leave without waking you, if that would be nicer of me.

is it because i didn't want to add an extra hour to my 8+ hour journey?

next time i can leave from my place, if that would be nicer of me.

i don't have many ways to respond to seriously being called a jerk:

- i can stiffen my heart and not allow the words to come in. this has the side effect of keeping anything from coming out.
- i can let the words hurt me, and become sad. when i'm sad, i like to be alone, often for a very long time.

what's a jerk like me to do?

---- written 1 hour late at the halfway point

the drive was 8.5 hours (< 7 hours for thanksgiving)
i witnessed 4 near-collisions, and lost count of how many times i nearly fell asleep.

shoulda taken my no-doz, that probably woulda helped the coffee-withdrawal headache too.

---- written 5 hours later

sent an email yesterday to a former coworker who - tho he probably didn't know it - changed my life in major ways. i would not be lifting weights today were it not for him, and if we want to be honest here (and why else are we here?) were we not lifting today, we would still be college-days-sainttoad. not so nice.

sending him an email had been on my todo list for months, i'd just been putting it off because... the same reason he's been putting off writing to me. it's kind of uncomfy cold-calling (or cold-emailing) someone you haven't talked to in years, no matter how close you used to be.

he wrote back right away. i should have done this earlier.

it turns out he's living the dream - his dream, which wouldn't be a dream for anyone but him. living in a small small small town in UT, building houses and restoring old ones, crawling around in the mud and sleeping in the back of a truck (this guy did QA/programming in the silicon valley for 10+ years). raising his family. he's as happy as he could be, other than the business-owner's-ulcer he's got. still, that's better than the silicon-valley-stress that he left behind.

says who?

says he. and me.

i need to hurry the hell up and figure out something like that. i postponed my departure a while back because that was the cop-out thing to do.

layoffs are coming in january. does it make sense to want and fear something at the same time? yes, it does.

my scale today said "LO" at me, immediately after showing me my weight.

either my mother has reprogrammed it to tell me to stop losing weight, or after 5 years, the battery is running out.

i just caught myself talking at myself in the mirror (and you thought all that mirror-talk in resurrection was fiction, eh?

i was telling me what a handsome looking guy i am, then i was shouting at myself like a pro wrestler, and playing with my beard.

why am i so frisky/goofy/happy?

i made a good choice this evening.

maury_cohen: i write about marcus to figure out things about myself
maury_cohen: one goal of this last story, which failed, imho
maury_cohen: was to have 2 characters instead of 1 character and a bunch of 1-dimensional line-speakers
maury_cohen: some day i'll be able to write people other than me
maury_cohen: and probably around that time, i'll be able to make some sense of people other than me

finished "resurrection", time to get to work on the next piece of crap.

the schlock home page has been updated with "page 743", the next thing i'm going to do.

hope it turns out better than res, tho res did have a couple of good chapters.

the last entry in my private urinal is dated sep13. i think i'm overdue!

wtf am i doing here?
wtf am i doing?
blah.
blah!

or not sweating enough.

i've got too much agua in my system, i'm a tearful little baby.

it's not tremendously uncommon for me to get weepy when listening to songs. oddly enough, it usually happens during heavy metal guitar solos - the really good ones.

this morning it was therion's "the siren of the woods". a very emotional solo-out, imho.

metallica's "fade to black" always does it for me, too. funny that they used to be that good.

i can never quite decide whether the "fade to black" person ends it all or not. in my mind, the solo at the end is either the person remembering the good things in life and changing his mind, or else it's the person giving his last farewell. they both seem to work.

music interpretation is fun!

you seemed surprised at my tears
when you said you loved me
each time is like the first
musical words, beauty in the air
hearing those words from you
is a reassuring caress
a supportive embrace
"you're doing all right," they say
"it's all been worth it," they say
"everything turns out all right in the end," they say
when i hear "i love you" whispered in my ear
i hear you telling me that it's okay for grownups
to believe in happy endings

I sit and stare upon the sky
As the world so swiftly passes by
No one stops to ask me why
Or What it is that so disturbs

This is the place where the mild ones go
Where the wind blows over hills of snow
And the clouds pass by as if they know
What it is that so disturbs

Withdrawn and silent do I stare
Upon the wispy shapes so fair
And ask the blinding snowy glare
What it is that so disturbs

But nary an answer can be found
To the questions that so abound
Still hidden upon that silent mound
Lies What it is that so disturbs

Soon the sun falls out of sight
High mountains filter out the light
Tomorrow will regain the fight
With What it is that so disturbs

As I give up my peaceful post
My mind remains in rapid coast
Pursuing that ever present ghost
What it is that so disturbs

My destination is ahead
My mission is not ever dead
For the false world outside my head
Is what it is that so disturbs

What it is that So Disturbs
May 1995

there arent enough hours in the day.
marcus tries to cry, but he cannot find his tears.
marcus tries to understand, but he cannot find his thoughts.
marcus tries to sleep, but he cannot find his dreams.

here's me, hard at work, at the editing beach.

editing is a boring job, wenis wandered off to take some excellent photos.

such as this one.

the most awesome building in all of san mateo

resurrection has undergone the final edit.

i wipe my hands of it.

remember:

it's FICTION.

okay? i mean, some of the things that happen in the story should make it abundantly clear that Marcus and I are not the same person.

but just in case:

it's FICTION.

thank you.

resurrection has finally been THE ENDed.

tomorrow: a trip to the editing beach. and after that, an announcement email. woot!

this one is "powerful" and "emotional" or some crap.

in other words: boring as shit and confusing as all git out.

yeah!

it's gonna need special formatting just to make it marginally comprehensible. Heh.

linky

linky

so, because i said i would, i tried to make a cappa.

general problem: i'm so far out of practice, it's not even funny.

specific problem #1: because of my adjustments to rocky last night, the grind was a little bit off. no problem.

specific problem #2: i put too much milk in the pitcher. i was only up to 100F (target is 150F) by the time the milk was overflowing and hence "done".

specific problem #3: i split the coffee between a straight espresso and the cappa so the cappa was super weak, in addition to being pathetic.

blah.

nobody's perfect. not me, not silvia, not even rocky.

rocky's got a little "finger guard" right above the burrs, so you won't poke your finger down there and end up with meat and bone chips in your espresso.

the problem is, occasionally the beans get stuck and need a little push. but with the finger guard, a push cannot be given, so i have to knock the grinder around. that's no fun, and it doesn't always work too well.

so i removed the finger guard so that i may flick the beans down the hole as necessary, fingers be damned. turns out, though, the finger guard is what holds on the top burr. so i got to take out the top burr.

man, that thing is fargen heavy! that's quality. so i voided the warranty and hopefully reseated everything properly. works just fine without it, although the beans jump around more since they're not bouncing off the underside of the finger guard. now when they get stuck i can poke them with a fork or something and hope i dont end up with fork in my espresso.

fun!

the last thing i ever want to be is preachy.

come on now, why can't everyone be just like me?

look at what a wonderful time i'm having with life!

just follow this simple, 12 step plan...

if you think i'm talking to you here, you're wrong, though i've probably preached to you at some point.

i said before:

my life has never been convenient or easy. if you think it has been or is - even if you think that because i told you so - you don't know me.

i see people making the same mistakes i have made, treading down the same unproductive path, and i want to help.

but then i realize how i would have sounded if i'd tried to help me, back when i was walking the bad road (still am, of course). i would not have been appreciated.

we must all make our own mistakes, and live - and die - with them.

layoffs coming in january.

no idea until then who gets the axe.

merry xmas!

hope it ain't me.

youuuu can dew eeet!

gonna push hard and finish this wanker tonight and saturday, and with some luck, spend sunday on my editing beach. hopefully not alone.

as a whole, it may be inscrutable.

but each vignette, taken independently, will be eminently sctrutable, and perhaps even enjoyable and illustrative.

no, I don't use 10 dollar words like that in the story itself. gotta use them somewhere, tho ;)

i couldn't resist, even though it's appropriate only in the strictest of technical interpretations:

all mush and no play makes jack a dull boy.

nyuk nyuk nyuk.

my life, especially so.

i hope You're getting a good laugh out of all this.

i know i am.

"what are you thinking?"

fair enough.

but it's tough. it's tough because i'm bound by a rule, self imposed, and strengthened when i said "i love you":

i will never, ever lie to you.

but i never want to see you sad, or mad, or anything but smiling.

so what do i do when i know that what i'm thinking will take away your smile? there's a conflict.

if i haven't got a spare thought handy ("whew, in addition to that ugly thing, i was also thinking about butterflies. tell her about that."), there's not much that i can do. i can change the subject, or i can lie.

but i won't lie.

so i'm sorry when i make you upset, and i don't want to do it, but it will likely happen again. i wish you'd stop asking that question, because i will answer it honestly.

don't stop asking that question.

most of the time, the answer will be "i love you," and you'll never have to worry about whether i mean it.

i said i was broken
i revealed one of the fractures and you fixed it
like you always do
but then you saw more of them, i didn't mean to show them
i have many breaks, maybe we all do
i'm working on them as fast as i can
sometimes, to fix a break, the doctors have to break it even more
and the best they can do is say "sorry for the extra pain"

so.

i started out my commute from oakland to berkeley with a bit-o-pressure in the old bladdermotron. no problem.

then my commute from berkeley to fester city. what do you think i did the whole way there?

that's right, drank my coffee.

so when i arrived in the parking lot at work, the old bladderama was near bursting. oy! into the elevator i rushed, fortunately, my ID badge didn't give me any problems at the front turnstyles, as it's been doing lately.

up to the 8th floor, only two stops on the way. hurry! hurry!

through the elevator foyer doors (ID badge worked again, whew)... finally, at the froom... sign? a sign? what?

oh fuck.

"restroom being cleaned, use the one on the next floor."

gaaaaaaaaaarrrrghh!

i made it, though. sorry. and my underpants were on with the fly in the front this time.

i've got a mandatory 3 week vacation (plus about 2 weeks of regular vacation that can be combined) that i must take before next july.

i have always wanted to go see the middle east: egypt, israel/palestine, perhaps even iran or jordan or lebanon or turkey.

but i have never wanted to get blowed up.

i wonder if rule #1 implies that my fear of getting blowed up is something to be ignored.

i'm betting it doesn't, but wtf am i gonna do for 3 weeks off?

i got this for 2 reasons :
1) SM doesn't have TOO many espresso blends, and I may as well try them all
2) i fargen like the name, it rules. liquid amber. liquid amber. liquid amber. ahhhhhhh.

i pulled a decent shot of it today. just starting to temp surf regularly (well, that is, I count to 45 after the light comes on after i've pulled a blank shot - i'm pretty sure that counts). i am getting shots that are a little better and less bitter. i'm going to PID after the NY so i can stop worrying about temperature and focus on roast + grind + tamp + the other bazillion variables. sigh....

so anyhow, back to the beans.

drinking it, I think : this is bold. aggressive. assertive. it's a coffee that says: "hey, motherfucker, you're drinking coffee, not water!"

it's coffee that makes me want to maybe go back to making cappas because it'd definitely hold up well and come through.

it's got a super after taste. i guess i don't use the standard coffee tasting terms (maybe I should). but the aftertaste is "coffee grounds", which may not be appealing to you, but i dig it. yum.

the label on the bag sayeth:

potent, pungent, caramelly, sharp, licorice

i concur.

roasted up another batch, this might last me until xmas departure. at that point (unless i take the gaggia with me, which i might) it's drip coffee only for a week and a half. no worries.

i ought to try a really dark french roast of this stuff some time. but i've only got 3 or 4 batches of it left, and 5 fargen lbs of the more mellow "classic italian espresso blend", not to mention a pile of "espresso monkey".

espresso monkey also has a cool name, but i don't like it as much (the flavor, not the name) as liquid amber and CIEB.

blah blah blah.

i am broken in so many ways.
it's hard to address all the fractures at once.
some are so severe and painful that they cannot be ignored.
i've got work to do.

so i'm probably gonna void the warranty on silvia and PID her.

no, i don't really know what PID stands for and I realize it's a noun (acronym) and not a verb.

I'm reading through one of the PID turorials and come across:

"Malabar Gold may taste sweet at a temperature that makes DSB taste sour."

even though I've never had "DSB" i know what it stands for. it's pretty obscure. i'm a pretty big coffee geek to know it. har!

on the other hand, "dsb coffee" on google takes you right to it. super!

a while ago, me dad suggested that i should take a laptop with me on dates so that i don't have to talk, i can just IM the girl.

(i'm 99% sure i blogged this but my blog search turned up nothing, so sorry, no link)

well, i'm not really "dating" anymore, but I do have a way to IM with my gf in public:

that's right, pictochat on the nintendo ds.

it rocks.

it rocks my socks.

it rocks my socks in line at the bank.

it rocks my socks waiting for a table at the restaurant.

it rocks my socks in line at k-mart.

ho ho ho.

i think i've made it.

and it might have moved up a little, too.

i killed myself.

again.

i did it in tilt.

now i've gone and done it again.

and i've even got the rest of this mess mapped out. if i push it, i could even finish before 2005. huzzar!

happened to be in the east bay today, and took a couple of photos. i'm pretty sure that's the richmond bridge. no, the sky didn't look like that, i adjusted the colors in photoshop. enjoy.

numero uno

numero dos

numero tres

okay, so the coffee suitcase nuke kit is a little bit unweildy, and it takes about 12 minutes to make a cup o joe. that's too long.

so i assembled a new kit with different gear. simpler, more portable, smaller, and faster: about 8 minutes for a cup, including cleaning.

closed

open : left to right : #2 manual drip cone, #2 swissgold filter, beans, zassenhaus turkish mill (kickass!), scoop, bodum mini-ibis (takes up too much room, ugh).

i dig it, even though i still haven't gotten the grinder "dialed in" for drip coffee. it's designed for a turkish grind, which is much much much finer - still getting sludge in the cup. oh well.

no, it's not a pint of guinness.

it's a double shot of sweet maria's espresso donkey blend - decaf espresso!

i don't really like the flavor and i didn't get much crema (by my standards). it was a little bitter. all of that is probably my fault.

but the cool part is the glass. it's actually a votive holder from a candle shop, but it's the perfect size for a nice double shot, it's thick enough to keep the coffee hot, and it's see-thru so you can see the coolness in the cup. huzzar.

cafe strada, berkeley. bancroft and college.

popular place. nice place to sit and write.

bad place to drink espresso. that's not what the internet said when i phoned it up and asked for a coffee shop in berkeley.

i always have a double shot at home, so i ordered a "doppio". their idea of such is actually more like a "quadruppio" - it came in a near-full cappaccino (no, i can't spell it, and i don't drink it) cup. very thin crema, gone by the time i'd taken 2 steps. the flavor was... lifeless. thin. without the back-of-the-throat-bite that make my own espressos so delightful. this was devoid of character. bleh. i could taste some potential in the beans, but that potential had been stamped out by poor grinding, poor brewing, and overall lack of enthusiasm in the process - understandable when you pull shots for a living. i'm glad i don't, i still have some passion for it.

this is the first time in many many months that i have allowed coffee other than my own to pass through my lips. i believe the last time i had an "espresso" that i didn't make was at peet's, in july, to prove to my brother that everyone else's espresso sucks. (of course, he thought mine sucked too, but he's not a coffee fan.)

(oh, i may have had a shot or two at the very excellent barefoot coffee roasters in santa clara, the only bay area espresso i've found that's worth drinking.)

there is something supremely validating in drinking someone else's horrid coffee - as long as i don't do it often - especially if it's a hip, popular spot with lots of customers who enjoy the bitter, stale, lifeless swill they're drinking. yeah, there's a touch of i'm-better-than-you-ism, but that's easily ignored and besides the point. the point is that i have gained and honed a skill, become good (relatively) at something that i enjoy. i can make coffee that makes me happy to drink it. i can't get that in a store. it makes me feel like all the effort (and money!) was worth something, even if nobody that i know likes it besides me.

you can't please everyone, so you have to please yourself.

it's exciting to find that a $2.00 "doppio" can't match the stuff i roast, grind, and brew at home - even though i know i'm not exploiting the full potential of my process and beans.

everyone i saw had some tall glass full of whipped cream and nutmeg and shit. if "baristas" could just learn to pull a decent straight shot (and be provided with decent beans), they wouldn't put such a strain on the dairy industry, and my protein shakes would be much more affordable.

bleh. bitter aftertaste. ick. i can accept a bitter aftertaste if it comes after a sweet and exciting shot, but that wasn't the case here. bleh.

at least my caffeine withdrawal headache vanished.

sitting in an eye-talian restaurant on shattuck in berkeley. all my muhself. in comes a young dad, probably my age, +- 2 years, with a vivacious 5 year old boy. the dad is a big-not-fat lumbering fellow, jolly and funny and happy and good, and the boy is hyper and happy and silly and fascinated.

they both remind me of me.

watching them, my eyes tear up.

shit.

what is the single most important thing i have?

the one thing that i will protect at all costs?

the one thing that i would grab (perhaps metaphorically) when running out of my burning apt?

what is it that i treasure most in this world?

just temp surfed silvia

i think i did it right, the bitterness i had this morning is much less noticeable.

sweet maria's liquid amber. i took my first sip just as i took another batch out of the roaster ;)

linky

hey, i shouldn't be here reading slashdot, i should be out doing stuff...

that was, quite simply, the best run of my short running career.

after a week-long sickness break, i was back on the asphalt.

i was tired as hell with a still-full belly from last night's too-big dinner and this morning's too-little... never mind.

so, i'm out on the street. and i'm flying. lighter than air. soaring above the pavement. i went up new streets and ran up hills instead of avoiding them. even the scary ones felt small. my knees were way up, none of this old fart shuffling stuff.

i never did get the soreness in my arches and shins that usually signals the end of my run. at about the 27:00 mark, i'm in the home stretch. how about a sprint of sorts, huh?

so my legs go on auto-pilot. i dunno how else to describe it, it's an incredible feeling. i'm not running, my legs are just spinning. knees way the hell up, huge strides.

so i'm sailing down the road, and what do i feel?

my breakfast and dinner on its way back up. oh man. i stopped 2 strides short of the finish spot, at 28:something, 2 minutes less than i wanted. but i didn't hurl.

that was the closest i've ever come to puking while running, and almost as close as i've come while lifting. what an unpleasant way to end an awesome run.

ugh.

i remembered

i was thinking today about why i run and lift and bike. why i feel that i must be physical as much as i can.

one of the reasons:

i do it because i can, and they can't.

i don't buy the bullcrap that these young men sacraficed their bodies for my freedom. but i will honor their sacrifice - and the sacrifices of those who came before them - by not taking for granted or wasting my own physical capabilities, modest as they are.

i'm going for a run tomorrow, and i don't care if i'm tired or hungry or have a sinus infection or a sore back.

i'm going for a run because i can. someday, i might not be able to make that choice.

i had something really really great i was gonna blog about, but i forgot what it was.

the uncomplicated life is worth living.

you've just got to know how to do it.

my first broken espresso cup.

it was one of the moka-brown dealys from sweetmarias. fortunately, not one of my rancillios. the former, i can buy piecemeal, the latter comes in sets of six.

sigh. that's what i get for washing the damn things.

oh well. i guess that gives me an excuse to place another order with tom and maria.

Brazil Matas de Minas - Fazenda Brauna. dark vienna roast.

single origin espresso. spicy, dark, heavy body. a little rough on the tummy. coffee-ground flavor. complex aftertaste, a little bitter on the lips.

a delightful digression from espresso blends.

i love this

even tho i can't understand some of it.

"i told you to go and fock off! do you comprehend?!?"

wrote my very first in-story kiss.

i think it went all right. hopefully it's not too cliched, mushy, cheezy, or otherwise lame. "resurrection" has sorta been... resurrected. it's a love story, isn't that funny? it's also got time travel and a confusing structure and no plot to speak of. plus, i dunno if it will ever be finished.

my own story is getting in the way.

is my poker face.

it's always on.

sometime's it's smiling, laughing, or otherwise happy.

sometime's it's not a poker face - it's a real face.

but sometimes it's a poker face.

and when it is, nobody knows it. at least, that's my observation. i could be dealing with an ulcer, a detached bicep, dysentary, a frontal lobotomy, terminal boredom, and the drowning death of my goldfish - and nobody would be able to tell that something was "wrong".

at least, that's my observation.

combine this with my chronic inability to excuse myself from a conversation and you can understand why i've got a reputation as a good listener.

plus, i'm a good listener.

i don't want to play chess
i want to look at the stars and feel the earth fall away under me
i want to make my dreams manifest
despair is not permitted
self pity is not allowed
i have become the enemy: a sloganeer
what are You going to do about it?

you're working on a really decent piece, and it sorta fizzles and/or you become too busy to work on it much, and when it appears it's going nowhere, you get an idea for a new piece, and that pretty much seals it for the old one?

the old one goes on "the back burner" which you know is really "the graveyard" and you've got a sneaking suspicion that the new one is headed for the same fate?

well, i hate it when that happens.

is "wenis".

WENIS :

WENIS :

WENIS :

sinus infection, the doctor said.

well, it's not like he waved a tricorder at me or ran some tests, he just guessed from my symptom descriptions and threw some amoxicillin at me.

i fargen hate antibiotics.

that's what i get for breathing in palm springs.

i'm finished with men's shirts:

the women's stuff fits me better.

i just realized : i'm a minuteman

i've got packs, packed and ready to go for many occasions :

- overnight bag : fresh underpants, shirt, socks, toiletries, prophylactics, and drugs
- running bag : watch, shorts, socks, shoes, pants, shirt, jacket, mp3 player
- coffee bomb suitcase : french press, beans, grinder, water boiler (temporarily moved to coffee bag, see below) glasses, scoop
- coffee bag : grinder, #2 fitler cone, #2 swissgold fitler, beans, scoop, water boiler (on loan from coffee bomb suitcase)
- writing/work bag : notepad, shitload of pens, mp3 player, energy bar, cold-eze, kleenex, nintendo ds, and other misc stuff

when the hell did i become so organized?

oh yeah, when i got a girlfriend

the crab parable flowed from my fingertips beginning friday afternoon, after i had a less-than-pleasing (for both of us) phone conversation with W.

usually i have to force the words to come out when i write. in this case, i had to force myself to take a break.

unedited. probably crap. oh well.

ATTENTION:

go read part 3 first.

(... continued ...)

More time passed. Mick the Hermit Crab and Angel the Angelfish now spent all their free time with each other. They were always happy. Mick had learned to be more careful when he spoke, and Angel was less guarded with her own thoughts. They talked, and laughed, and cried, and hugged, and kissed, and did all the things that a pair of young sea dwellers in love might do.

one day, Mick saw another hermit crab walking by. the crab was doing something inside his shell, Mick couldn't see what. it didn't matter. The shell reminded Mick of all the things he'd left behind in his own shell: his baking, his bicycle, his blowfish dictionary, his telescope... even though he loved being with Angel - even though he loved Angel - he missed doing all the Hermit Crab things that he had loved doing when he had a shell. It made him sad to think that he might have to choose between spending time with Angel and doing some of the old Hermit Crab things that he used to love.

But he really wanted to start doing some of those things again. he needed to tell Angel about it. he decided he would tell her that very day.

"Angel?" said Mick.

"Yes, Mick?" said Angel.

"Angel, I'd like to talk about something - nothing big. But it will take a while. When does the exhibition start?" Angel had a big sand art exhibit at the museum today.

"The exhibit starts in 1 hour. What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh... one hour... How long would it take to get there by bus?" asked Mick.

Angela looked hurt. "But Mick," she said, "I thought you were going to take me?"

Mick was silent. If she took the bus, he could go ride his old bicycle, or surfacegaze. "I've got some things I want to do," he said, "it would be easier for me to drop you off at the bus station."

Angela went to look at the bus schedule. "1 and a half hours," she said.

"Okay then," said Mick. "I'll take you, no problems." Just then his tea kettle went off. "I'll be back in a little bit," said Mick. Angela didn't like tea, so he didn't offer her any.

When Mick came back from his tea several minutes later, Angela was still sitting in front of the bus schedule. Her head was down, and it looked as if she was crying.

Anguish pierced Mick's heart. He panicked. He couldn't stand to see her this way. She never cried. What had he done? He didn't know. How could he make it better? He didn't know. He felt helpless.

"What's wrong?" asked Mick.

"You made me feel like I was a burden," said Angel.

"I'm... sorry," said Mick. "You... you are not a burden. It's just that... it's just..." Mick's voice trailed off. He took his mind's eye and looked into the future. He saw the same scene, repeated again and again and again.

He said something inconsiderate or mean or thoughtless or horrible, and Angel cried. And each time, he would feel like dying. And each time, he would feal totally helpless to fix whatever he'd done. Angel had been so understanding in the past, but sooner or later, she would not forgive him his clumsy mistakes.

He couldn't bear the thought. He didn't want to be responsible for causing her pain. Ever. No matter how much happiness he got from her, he didn't want to give her sorrow.

Mick hugged Angel, gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Mick the Hermit Crab turned away from Angel the angelfish, and with his head down, crawled back toward the rift.

As he approached, he could see where his old shell had been left. It sat there, covered with seaweed and barnacles. It was too small for him now, but it still had all his old things in it.

A strong current arose. An abandoned shell - a big one - came tumbling toward the rift. It spun and it shimmied as the strong water carried it. It looked as though it would fall into the pit, but it didn't. It hit Mick's old shell and ended its journey. The impact knocked Mick's baking pan out of his shell.

Mick looked at the baking pan, and looked behind him, to see Angel crying. She had not seen him leave. It was better that way, he thought.

Mick dragged himself across the rift, and transferred his things from his old shell to the new one. He crawled inside. All the way inside. All he could see was the sea-bed under his feet. He turned his back on the rift and began to walk away.

"Mick?" Angela's voice came from outside his new shell. she must have found his new home. "Mick? Come back..."

"I'm sorry," choked Mick. His eyes were full of tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Mick the Hermit Crab continued his journey away from Angela the angelfish.

He never came out of his shell again, not even a little bit. Mick the Hermit Crab lived lonely ever after.

THE END.

ATTENTION:

go read part 2 first

(... continued ...)

time went by. Mick and Angel became closer and closer. They shared many things: stories, laughter, walks along the rift. they spent all their free time together.

one day, Angel produced a book from under her bed. she motioned for Mick to come have a look.

"This is my diary," said Angel. "I don't show this to many people. I want you to read it."

"I'm honored," said Mick. He read the diary.

"What do you think?" asked Angel.

Mick had seen something in the diary that he didn't quite understand. It was a delicate subject. He guessed at what it meant, and wanted to tell Angel that he understood how she felt.

Unfortunately, Mick decided not to be straightforward, he wanted to try to be sly and funny.

What he said next to Angel made her very upset: sad and mad and disappointed and terribly insulted all at once. Angel turned her back on Mick and was silent.

Mick didn't know what to do. He had not meant to insult Angel, but he had. He couldn't take back what he had said. The best he could do was try to convince her that he hadn't meant to hurt her.

So Mick began to explain his intent: simply to find out what her journal entry had meant, and if it had meant what he thought it meant, to explain that he understood her position. Mick talked and talked while Angel was silent.

Mick heard a sniffle. He realized that Angel was crying. Angel never cried.

Mick was stunned. He knew he'd been an idiot, but if she was crying, then what he'd said must have hurt Angel terribly.

Mick felt terrible, and he felt worse every passing second. He thought it had been a good idea to come out of his shell to be with Angel, but now he'd hurt her. He never wanted to do that to anybody.

Mick wanted to go back inside his shell and never come out again. Out here, he was just as capable of causing pain as causing or receiving happiness. By his thinking, receiving or causing joy wasn't worth the risk of causing pain, especially not to someone like Angel.

Mick began to cry. He was sorry he'd hurt Angel, and because he couldn't figure out how to fix it, he would go back into his shell forever. He'd never cause pain again to anyone but himself.

Angel heard Mick crying, and she turned around to face him. Mick saw the tears in her eyes and cried even harder.

"I'm so sorry," said Mick. "I don't ever want to do that to you again. I'm leaving now."

"Wait," said Angel. "Don't leave. What you said hurt me a lot, but I understand that you didn't mean for it to. And the rest of the time, you make me so happy. If I must take the bad to also get the good, I will. It's worth it."

Mick's tears of sadness turned to tears of joy. Mick the Hermit Crab put his claws around Angel the Angelfish, and they hugged one another.

(... to be continued ...)

ATTENTION :

go read part 1 first

(... continued ...)

so Mick couldn't fit back into his shell. That was all right with him, though. the world outside his shell was exciting and promising. he planned to explore it some more. Mick still baked his cakes, but he also began to surfacegaze, learn to speak blowfish, and bicycle. he drew up a list of things to do to make his life even better. things were beginning to look up.

one day, Mick came across a drawing in the sand. it was a portrait of a beautiful angelfish. nearby were more drawings, each more wondrous than the last. Mick followed the trail of drawings and found himself standing at the edge of a bottomless rift. the rift was not too wide. he could probably jump across it, if he weren't dragging his heavy shell with him.

on the other side of the rift, still drawing in the sand, was a beautiful angelfish, the same one from the sand portrait he'd seen earlier.

"hello," said Mick.

"hi," said the angelfish.

"I like your work," said Mick.

"thank you," said the angelfish.

"my name's Mick," said Mick. "what's yours?"

"I'm Angel," said the angelfish. "Nice to meet you, Mick."

"Likewise," said Mick.

Mick stood on the edge of the rift and watched Angel paint her sand portraits. She drew and drew and drew, and the more he watched, the more Mick's attention drifted from the drawings to the artist. The angelfish was beautiful and graceful. He began to have feelings for Angel, similar to the ones he'd had for the starfish. Similar, but not the same.

Mick baked a cake for Angel, but he knew that he couldn't throw it all the way across the rift. he wanted her to have it, though, so he called to Angel.

"Angel, I baked a cake for you. Won't you come across the rift and try it?"

"I can't, Mick. I have to stay on this side. Why don't you come over here? I would really like to try your cake."

Mick thought about this for a while. Why couldn't she come over to his side? It didn't matter. He wanted to be with Angel. She said she couldn't come over to his side, so she couldn't. He'd have to go to her side, and that was that.

So Mick mustered up all the courage he had and pulled his remaining leg from his shell. He kicked his shell back away from the edge of the rift and jumped across.

Mick looked back across the rift, at his old shell. His old home. His telescope (for surfacegazing) and his baking set and his bicycle and his blowfish dictionary were all in his shell. But now, without his shell, it was so easy to move! He was free, in a whole new way! It was very exciting.

Angel came over to Mick and hugged him. "I'm glad you came," she said.

"Me too," said Mick.

(... to be continued ...)

i am not superman

but i wont admit that until i've killed myself

ouch

there once was a hermit crab.

his name was... uh... Mitchell, yeah. Why not. Mitchell. Mitch, for short. Sometimes people even called him Mickey or Mick.

So, Mick the Hermit Crab.

he lived inside his shell. inside the shell, Mick wasn't happy, but he wasn't too miserable. everything he needed was inside his shell. he had food, a place to sleep, even some hobbies and pastimes. there was enough inside his shell to keep him from coming out too often, and there was no room in his shell for anyone else, so he kept pretty much to himself most of the time.

every once in a while, though, Mick poked his head outside his shell to see what was going on in the world. usually, it wasn't anything too interesting, or he was busy thinking about the things he had to take care of inside his shell. since he was a Hermit Crab, the shell was not attached to him - he could leave whenever he wanted. but he never wanted to leave. he never ventured outside his shell.

Mick had many hobbies to keep himself busy inside his shell. Among other things, Mick enjoyed baking. He didn't like to eat, though, so he would throw his baked goods outside his shell and let the sea consume them.

one day, Mick finished a crab cake that he was baking. as was his habit, he tossed the crab cake outside his shell onto the sea bed.

at that moment, a starfish was passing by, and saw the crab cake. "what a beautiful crab cake," said the starfish. "may i try it?"

"certainly," said Mick, "have the whole thing. if you like it, i will make more for you."

the starfish took a bite. "this is very good!" she exclaimed. "please, make more for me."

Mick was excited to find someone that enjoyed his baking. he had always done it to please himself, he had never imagined that someone else would appreciate his crab cakes. he began baking many more cakes for the starfish.

He finished one, and tossed it out of his shell to the starfish.

"Won't you come out of your shell?" asked the starfish.

"I have never come out of my shell," said Mick the Hermit Crab. "It is my home."

"Don't be afraid," said the starfish, "I don't bite.... hard." she giggled.

Mick considered his situation. it was thrilling to find someone that appreciated what he had to offer, especially since he thought that no such person existed. It would be interesting to meet such a person. Mick was afraid to go outside his shell, it had been a very long time. But he wanted someone to talk to, and the starfish seemed to want to talk to him. He mustered all his courage.

"Very well," said Mick. He stuck his neck outside the shell, and his legs, and his body. He came almost entirely out of his shell - all that remained inside was one little leg.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" asked the starfish.

"No," lied Mick. It had been very difficult, in fact. Hermit Crabs rarely ventured this far outside their shells, and certainly Mick never had come so far out.

"Here is another cake for you," said Mick.

"Thank you," said the starfish.

Mick and the starfish talked, and ate cakes, and became good friends. Soon, Mick the Hermit Crab began to feel an emotion that he'd never felt before. He suspected it was love. It seemed to match the descriptions that he'd heard before. He decided to talk about it with the starfish.

"Starfish?" asked Mick, coming almost all the way out of his shell.

"Yes, Mick?" said the starfish.

"I'd like to talk about something," Mick began. He looked at the starfish and noticed something odd. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at something behind him. Mick decided to ignore this and continue.

"Starfish, I have... feelings... for you. Feelings that I've never had before and don't understand."

"Oh dear," said the starfish. The starfish knew what Mick was about to say.

"What?" asked Mick, startled.

"Mick, I'm sorry. Your cakes are delicious and you're a very nice person to talk to... but you're not a starfish. I can't be in love with a Hermit Crab, only another starfish."

Mick craned his neck behind himself to see what the starfish had been looking at. It was another starfish. A male starfish. The male starfish was smiling. Mick smiled at his friend the starfish as she swam off to meet the other starfish. As soon as she was behind him, though, he began to cry.

he tried to pull back into the safety of his own shell, to hide away from the cold world, but found that he could not fit. he had grown while he was outside, and he was too big to back into his shell.

(... to be continued ...)

edom edom edom edom edom.

the kings of edom were about to be dethroned, but my timing was off, so now their demise may be seen in an even more negative light than was otherwise necessary.

what's the most important thing in comedy timing.

whatever happened to WW?

life is complicated.

i wish i'd gotten started earlier.

contentment in life is not my destiny, or at least, i am not destined for an abundance of contentnment.

a tweak here, a nudge there. i ask myself: WWMD? and then i try to do it.

but the tweaks and nudges must come from someplace, and it seems that when i add something to one part of me, i'm taking away from another. i try to make myself better in some aspect and end up - if i'm successful - making myself worse in some other aspect.

i try to heal one disease and end up with another.

fortunately, along with perpetual contentment, depression and self-pity are not my lot in life. a little whining now and then, however, is allowed.

whine whine whine whine whine. bleh.

(15:32) <bigboote> that's because:
(15:32) <bigboote> i've got a positive attitude!
(15:32) <bigboote> have to
(15:32) <bigboote> otherwise i'd be dead already

and so am i.

i am a unique individual, just like everyone else.

sad but true. now what am i gonna do about it?

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