I'm not an addict, maybe that's a lie

This is the eve of the birth of baby Jasmine. I've already started referring to her as Jas in various communications, accepted as part of my forthcoming reality. There wasn't this shock of "zomg, i'm becoming a dad". Feelings like that do not really penetrate into my consciousness.

Instead, last night I was faced with a rather tough question that involved some introspection, as some tough questions do:

How much do I want Jas to be like me?

It is no secret that I am not my biggest fan. I feel that is justified, for I know much better people, and people who are better at everything, and... well, enough of that. The important thing is that, despite that, I think I do have some good qualities, and which of those do I want Jasmine to take on? But even beyond qualities, are there habits I want or do not want her to pick up? Let me consider.

Frugality: I think I'm pretty good with money. I do not spend a lot, and I value pretty much everything. I am not afraid of money problems and I can deal with them directly. I can be rather lax about money with my friends though. In this particular aspect, I think what would be best for Jas is if she does not gimp herself to save money like I do. She should enjoy her life to her full enjoyment, and let me be frugal for her to do so! But I would still like her to understand and be able to plan finances.

Pleasing People: Yes, I do try to please everyone and accommodate everyone. This has some advantages, as I never get into a mode that's way too selfish (at least, I think), but of course this means that I am pretty upset when I can't please someone. I'd probably want her to have a modicum of this, but I want her to be more sensible about it.

Technology: I'm pretty crippled without it. It's a weird feeling... I just don't like being offline. I never talk to people on the phone. I am comfortable with the layer of separation between me and the other party, so that if I start being boring, it is easy for them to ignore me. I certainly would not like Jasmine to inherit this. I want her to be tech-savvy and a cool gaming girl, but what I do is pretty unhealthy. I will not let the computer or a TV babysit her. I promise this.

At this point, I'm thinking this task is much larger than I originally thought. I probably have traits that I'm not even aware of. And I apologize now for passing down any that you dislike, Jas.

Shot through the heart

Lyrics are a tricky thing. The simplest way to describe them would be poetry put to music, so I treat them with the same scrutiny that I do with poems. Of course, there is the one conditional component: the words and music can match so perfectly that it doesn't matter if the words count as good poetry.

So what makes a good poem? The most obvious trait would be that it is revealing. It grants you an epiphany, or it makes you think about something. Another criterion is to make you feel something, which is a very common goal in all kinds of art. But the hardest thing to master about writing good poetry, and the thing that makes it the most interesting, is simply this: Show, don't tell. If a song can't achieve this (most people are not good poets), then I will settle for some subtlety.

And in the very of spirit of showing, I will provide some examples of what I consider good lyrics and bad lyrics. Starting with the bad:


You drive me crazy
I just can't sleep
I'm so excited, I'm in too deep
Ohh...crazy, but it feels all right
Baby, thinkin' of you keeps me up all night

- "Crazy", Britney Spears


Why did I pick Ms. Spears? Because I like hollow victories. And kicking a girl when she's down. Also, her lyrics (as with most pop artists) suck. So what's wrong with these lyrics? They pound the emotion in your face. There's no detective work to be done. I feel A, I'm B, You do C to me. Done. Over. What else is there? It may make people feel something, but I have no idea. But all it does is tell me stuff.

Now for a good example:


I once knew a pair that used to fit very tight
But now a man standing tall in the wake of this night
His eyes are watering in anger at the thought of her sight
The scene of adultery sets the stage for his plight

- "People of the Sky", Sloan


Why did I pick Sloan? Cause they rock. Cause they are entertaining live. Oh, and they write good lyrics. In this opening verse alone, there are very many questions you could ask or scenarios you can wonder about. It gives you just enough information to entice you to listen further. What happened on this night? "Sets the stage for his plight" implies that the "scene of adultery" isn't his plight... what's next for this guy? It invokes more emotion than the Spears lyric, strangely enough, even though it's less personal as it's a third person account. This is due to the Showing: His eyes are watering in anger (he is not simply angry), and we know that what he has lost was once valuable (they used to fit very tight). Just the atmosphere set by the description "in the wake of this night" is interesting.

I understand that some people may actually like the Spears lyric better. But they'd be wrong. Or maybe you don't like the Sloan lyric. But comparing these two is like comparing raw teenage poetry and a masterpiece, because the difference to me is so glaring. Amateur poetry is often tough to read simply because they don't follow this principle. It becomes this session of hearing someone complain (and it's not someone you care about). I will leave off with another good (I think it's good anyway) example:


Now I'm falling asleep
And she's calling a cab
While he's having a smoke
And she's taking a drag
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now

- "Mr. Brightside", The Killers


This time I chose a pretty mainstream song. It's a ridiculously rocking tune, but the lyrics make it even better. The interesting part of this verse is "and it's all in my head". How much of what he has said is in his head? Is it all made up? I think that the part that's in his head is after she leaves him, between lines two and three. Between lines. The very fact that it's making me literally read between the lines produces some enjoyment. Also, it would seem that if she is returning to this other man, then that makes the narrator "the other man"? The perspective of the other man is interesting to me, and I had never taken much time to consider that they may get jealous. Another interesting thing is that he imagines them being intimate the way they are (presumably) intimate - but can this other relationship be that great if she's sneaking off to see the narrator?

And really, this is what's great about the "show, don't tell" principle: other people can read these verses completely differently and have a different understanding of them. I love to hear other people's interpretations of literature. In the Spears lyric, there's not much to discuss and not much to wonder about, and that makes it very, very dull.

You say you want to go for a spin

---

The lanes at every cash were packed. This is certainly no more than I deserve, Robert thought to himself as he desperately searched lane after lane for one that contained any slight advantage to the one he was already in. His eyes paused at the self-checkout lanes beside lane 1 and thought about the advantages of demonstrating his independence and competency, but decided against it. He didn't like the tone of the machine telling him to "Please Place Items in the Bag".

So he stood there, and as is inevitable to anyone in a supermarket line-up (he imagined), he glanced at a few tabloid headlines: "Britney's Visitation a Disaster", "TomKat Aiming for a Second", "Mary Kate's Cry for Help". I'm the one crying for help, he joked to himself miserably, which did comfort him a little but the feeling was too ephemeral to be of any real help. He dissected the word Disaster in his mind. Di-saster Disas-ter Dis-aster Disast-er. He mused over how a tabloid headline could make any word look aesthetically pleasing. An old lady is finished loading up her bags, and Robert took a careful step forward, savouring it because he knew another one wouldn't be coming for a while.

The man who was on deck but is now the batter, who was also obviously a father as well as a professional baseball shopper (the mysterious tenth position that is never mentioned), loaded up the conveyor belt with various diaper packages and foodstuffs. Robert let his mind wander again as a wellspring of misery threatened to consume him.

As his eyes started to glaze while browsing the colourful selection of candies, a unique "fusion" of many different fruits and flavours, somewhere in the world he was leaving, a light went on. He did not have an idea. This was an extra lane opening up. The gods have shone this light upon him.

Robert, growing up, was not the best at anything but quite above average in reflexes. He turned his cart and darted for the newly open lane. He raced his accelerating cart, trying not to have it go out of control or spill its contents and yet reach the now open lane with expediency. Perhaps he could be the first, or, being more realistic as he tends to like to be, second or third in line. He flexed his calves and asked his heart to pump more blood and pump it faster, he was quite far from his destination but maybe he could still reach his goal, and he is now jogging across the massive contingent of checkout lanes now, ever closer now, only a couple of people have noticed and lined up at this escape route, and if -

a jolting sensation and a loud clang caused him to stop and reel backwards. Various dairy, vegetable, meat and potato products flew for aisles in every direction, and several shoppers gasped at the collision, but were unwilling to leave their hard earned spots. The other market athlete, another young man in his twenties, seemed stunned as well, his cart toppled over by the force of the two carts crashing together. Robert looked at the open lane in panic. "Was there an open lane at all?" he wondered to himself, as he looked around bewildered from a sitting position on the supermarket floor. All he saw were lines of people forming one-way walls, and he was caught between two of them. The other man had gotten to his feet and offered him a hand. Still in disbelief that the open lane had vanished as soon as his eyes were off of it, Robert took the hand and raised himself to a standing position, instantly feeling less confused. Is that how kids always feel?

"Sorry buddy, I was trying to get into the open lane," the man said somewhat timidly.

"What open lane?"

---

"It's in the trees it's in the trees", it's not - it's inside me

Today is Blog Action Day. I have a blog, although it is not often updated. So, two birds with one stone!

My topic is one that people will relate to, or they will be angered by, but at the very least they should be familiar with: Cigarette litter. Instead of going all macro about global warming and whatnot, I've decided to play small ball and focus on one of my pet peeves.

Smoking is in itself quite a revolting habit. It's smelly, destroys the lungs of you and those around you, and burdens us heavily in terms of public health dollars. It's also not as fun as alcohol (disclaimer: do not drink and drive!). But that is another topic for another day. I am playing even smaller ball than smoking. This is like... a sacrifice bunt, except I'm only talking about the part where you drop the bat.

That's right, for those of you who fling your cigarette butt and then step on it, please take the extra step to put the butt into the trash receptacle. When my company goes on the "clean up day", we could fill entire bags of garbage just full of cigarette butts in the smoking area. It's not nice. The corpses still reek of the thousands of chemicals you've transformed into gas.

For those of you who toss it to the ground and don't even bother putting it out, much less waste your precious time putting it in the trash, I'm sure there's some special level of hell waiting for you. Maybe level... 6a or something. Where people on level 6 are forced to constantly smoke cigarettes and then they just toss them down at YOU. While it's still lit. It will land in your eye. You won't like it.

So now that we're friends, I once again implore you to keep your city streets clean of cigarette butts (especially Torontonians). It really does make a difference!

Still I can't decide, cause my hands are tied

I've been reading Gaiman stories. His stories are always the best stories. They make you feel good reading them. They have internal consistency, just as he describes in American Gods, that there are these rules and you don't know them all but you know they're there. Anyway, I encourage everyone to read Anansi Boys and anything else by him that you can get your hands on. His I, Cthulu short story is pretty amusing (you can read that from his blog linked above).

But I'll come back to me, since this song is about me. Now I want to write stories. It has been a long time and I'm sure I won't be any good at it, and yet, I'm compelled.

---

"Come on, get up, punk!"

Robert felt like he had been hit by a truck. But of course that was not true, he had simply been hit by a three hundred pound sack of muscle. His vision was still fading back into reality piece by piece from the white wash that filled it, like some bad transition on a TV show.

"What's the matter, pussy?"

He saw the kick coming and managed to edge slightly away from it before it connected with his side. It sent him rolling across the wooden lacquered dance floor, and into a small puddle where someone had - against the rules - brought a drink onto the dance floor and spilled it. No vision problems this time.

The darkness and the occasional stream of coloured light that struck him helped Robert see the concerned look of club-goers, who were in no way offering to help him against his burly opponent, but felt very badly for him nonetheless. Especially the fathead's (he had one of those squat, square heads) girlfriend, who got him into this mess in the first place. "Never get mixed up with broads in low-cut dresses," he could hear his dad advise. Thanks, dad.

Right now though, Robert had to make what seemed to be the most important decision in his life - get up and possibly witness an end to his short, but remarkably fun 21 year old life, survived by old-fashioned and loving parents, Body, his lovable Westie, and his vast collection of golden age comic books, or stay down, let this pool of alcohol and saliva soak into his silk shirt some more, and probably live a long, healthy, and hopefully marvelous life. The choice seemed obvious, but at that moment, fathead decided that he was going to make his choice for him.

Robert was suddenly looking at fathead eye to eye, not recalling that he ever used his own two feet to stand. That's when he noticed that he wasn't standing, but hovering about a foot off the ground, suspended by two massive hands that you might find at a prehistoric gorilla exhibit. An upwelling of well-being and cleverness came over him then, despite the pain that pervaded his body. He began to dramatically work up some phlegm and made a spitting motion. Fathead instinctively turn his head and loosened his grip a little, which allowed Robert to introduce Fathead's crotch to his foot. Fathead's crotch did not enjoy this meeting, but Robert didn't stay to console it. Instead, he bolted and ran into the night.

---

Comments, thoughts, and suggestions are all welcome.

I want to know you, want to trust you

No need for words now, we sit in silence.

As I often do, I pondered as to why people give a rat's ass about celebrity news. Who had who's baby, who's breaking up with who, etc. Personally, I could never understand it, but today I thought of something that may be part of it.

I think that people like to know secrets. They love to know. But I also like to know other people's secrets, so how come I don't care about celebrity news? The answer is that there are two parts of a secret. The first is that it is forbidden knowledge, and it is this part that relates to celebrity news. It doesn't matter that everyone knows - all that matters is that you're not supposed to know. The second part is the sharing of the secret, and this is the part I enjoy. I like it when people tell me things they wouldn't tell other people. It is a sign of trust and friendship.

I divulged this little revelation with Sat, who said that it is also because it is a neutral topic that makes people feel involved, and people want to feel involved with anything. Probably true.

We're the bodies piled up by the roadside

Sometimes, I ponder about death. Usually not my own, but if my mother is sick I will think about it. There is a small amount of guilt attached to the thoughts, because at some level something is threatening to make my thoughts a reality, even though I know it has no actual power to do so. I've never been too concerned about my state after her death. I mean, I'll be very upset. Is it because I've lost a link in this world? I have no perception of other worlds.

I would lose such an ally - my mother is always in my corner. She is always looking out for me and willing to go out of her way, and I know that when all other lights go out, she will be there to absorb the darkness. I would lose one such person, and that would suck, but that's not why I would be sad... would it?

Would it be because I have no other birth mother? Is it biological? What is the big deal about death? What does it say about my life if she were to die? Would I be telling my children that it was tragic that both my parents died so young? How should I even think about it?

I'm afraid that I wouldn't be sad though, that I would be proven to be some kind of monster that I could just accept it, mourn, and move on. I know I'm some kind of monster, but am I that kind? What if I could just deal with it better than most?

Is this desire enough?

If you are going to make a multi-display wallpaper, this is a perfect example of how to do it. It breaks nicely in the middle, and it's almost two separate wallpapers except that it is connected by theme and colour, and when you consider both together it does add more to the piece than apart.

Thanks to evilhomer for this awesome background. Follow this link to the full deviation.

Tag Team, back again

That quote really dates me, doesn't it? The other day I realized that I am actually 26. I've never given much thought to it, but somehow the act of mistakenly thinking that I was still 25, and then finding out I'm 26, now that I think about it, seemed to have triggered ill feelings towards my age. I'm not looking back in regret or anything like that, but twenty-six just has some negative energy attached to it.

The other thing you notice as you get older is that people around you start talking about their age. Mark commented on how songs on the radio remind him of his age, because he remembers when they first came out.

From January until now, and for the near future I've been in another World. Of Warcraft. I'm enjoying it even more this time around, partly because the expansion is amazing, partly because I'm actually getting to raid, but mostly because I've found some cool people to play with. When you can find a group of trusted people to go spelunking with, it makes all the difference!

"Keep looking a the bright side", but that just hurts my eyes

I often think of property or phenomenon, and then wonder if it's the same for other people. For example, I don't think much at all about my own birthday, safety, health, or any of that... but I really care about other peoples'. I'm sure it's some manifestation of a serious self-esteem issue, but at some level I know I think it's just more noble to care for others rather than yourself.

That's not to say that I spend all my time caring for others... or even most. It's just my frame of mind. I would not die to save myself, but almost anyone else? Sure. Also, I can't seem to display this desire for nobility in person... it seems easier to be difficult. Do I really desire it, then?

It's also a pretty handy shield at times. For example, if someone forgets my birthday, or does not come to a celebration of it, then I can deflect any hurt or resentment to the fact that it's just not important. And I can ask myself things like, "why should it be important to them?", and of course I have no answer, and that would be that. I also can't help but to ponder the meaning of such actions. It doesn't mean anything. Everyone falls the first time.

'Till the words flow like the pros

I know the trick to dealing with people. I say trick not because anyone should use this information to manipulate (although I'm sure people do), but a trick in the sense that it's not obvious. I guess it's more like a secret, although that word implies that people are actively trying to keep it hidden, and that's no good either. How much time do I spend analyzing the correct word for things? Ineffable.

Anyway, the secret is to acknowledge that this person that you're talking to has overcome some amount of trauma, in tact, and emerged better. I think, in some way, that at least most people want people to acknowledge that. They want people to know what kinds of horrors and difficulties they faced, and how they managed to come out of it a much smarter, wiser, or stronger person. And everyone has difficulties. I love to learn of the struggles of other people... maybe for this reason. It garners at least a modicum of respect when someone has struggled through something.

Linda may be coming home early. That will be fantastic. I feel a bit guilty that I hadn't written a letter to her like I was meaning to, or send her a postcard of Toronto for laughs. I'm dreaming up other schemes, but who knows what will happen to them. Her postcard put a smile on my face, as always.

Things seem to be ok... hockey has started and my heart bubbles with hope that the Leafs will win it all! Oh.. and Kyle Wellwood (AKA Frodo) will win the Hart and the Conn Smythe.

I'm writing "sharp and gifted", with my finger on the steam

I don't know who this guy is, but I hope he's pretty good!

Chris Ferguson 72 Poker Face, 9 Irritating, 76 Mathematical

Poker face - Tight and very difficult to read, probably known by your friends as being quiet and aloof. You'll use whatever props and techniques it takes to stop people understanding how you really feel. This is a real asset in a game of poker, but not a great virtue socially. Irritating - Not at all. Good company, not too loud, not too offensive. At a party you're not the centre of attention but you're chatty and always mingling. Your fellow players welcome you to the table for a pleasant chat, safe in the knowledge you're not going to send them over the edge in a fit of rage. Mathematical - Tight and conservative, you only like to play hands where you know you've got the edge on your opponents. You need to loosen up a bit and stop scaring the other players away when you bet. In summary - You'd probably make a great poker player. Try being a little more loose with your betting to improve your game even more. Your professional match - Chris "Jesus" Ferguson. Ferguson started playing at the age of 10 but didn't start playing in tournaments until he was 31. Since then he's amassed over $5,500,000 in winnings and has also scooped the game's most coveted prize, the World Series main event. He also has an unusual skill - he can chop fruit and veg by throwing playing cards at them.

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 57% on Poker Face You scored higher than 14% on Irritating You scored higher than 85% on Mathematical

Link: The Could You Be A Poker Player Test written by dennisnewark1 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

That is just more bad news cause I'd really rather die

I've already worked 50 hours this week. Only 37.5 more hours to go. Poor Chris is also working these hours, except he also drives me home. I feel bad that he seems to have lost his DS... I hope it turns up.

On other fronts, Ellen should be coming home soon. I have not received an email from her... I can only assume that she has not found an appropriate internet cafe. Haven't received a postcard either... I think to myself: "if she doesn't send me one, what does it mean?"
It means nothing is new.

I always have these dreams in which I'm inappropriately naked. Usually I am hidden - under covers or something... rarely I dream I get on the bus without pants or something. It causes a lot of anxiety throughout what is supposed to be my resting period. Last night I dreamt that Mark and Linda were visiting, and we were watching TV and I went under covers. Some time later, when I wanted to get up and get a drink or something, I realized that I no longer had my shorts on. I figured I must've taken them off as soon as I was covered by the blanket, but I couldn't figure out why I left my shorts on the other side of the couch. So I tried to casually walk over (keeping covered), and retrieved them. The rush was embarassment woke me up a little but I didn't dream of their reactions - there was too much focus on my own problems and avoided their gazes.

Baa Baa, Black Sheep

I feel distant. I didn't really have a chance to analyze it when I was seeing both Mark and Chris everyday, but it had burrowed itself inside a little cache somewhere within my being and insidiously taken over. For now I can hide from it with DVR looming so large at work, but I know that even talking to Ellen before she left, and seeing Linda again for the first time in a long while did little to diminish it.

Will it get worse now that Mark is in the Petes and Ellen visiting China for the month? It's this weird sensation... I don't feel connected to anyone (except Nads of course, we are always bound). I feel like other people are weaving their webs, carefully avoiding me, and I am unable to weave my own. I go around happily, and like everything else, I am able to forget it most of the time, but it's there. It is pinning itself to every activity - just a tiny little post-it note to remind me that either I am elsewhere or everyone else is.

But no, it's better to face these kinds of things

I wonder what the human fascination with lists is. Letterman, Sportscentre, music stations, online stores... everything has lists. It's like an ordered enumeration gives us... comfort? No. Something to discuss and contradict. They're easy to digest. There is some minor element of suspense. They let us in on another point of view.

I've had many great moments involving food, but the I've had very few experiences where the food was the defining element of the occassion. I've never had a great relationship with food... I don't really snack, I often just plain forget to eat even in the middle of eating, and I can resist hunger (maybe I'd do well as a vampire?). My top five food moments:

5. 1 pound of chicken wings from Wing Machine (90s?): For some reason, I remember this, because it was just so much food and I only finished half of it. It wasn't particularly amazing, but it was... plentiful. Partly though I think it's because this was a meal I ordered solely for myself and I would never do that otherwise.

4. Whole crab $8.99 (2004-ish): For my birthday, Keith took me to the special they had on green onion crab at a chinese restaurant. A whole crab to myself! I was in heaven.

3. Alaskan King Crab @ Fish House (90s): My mom was there, maybe her boyfriend, but I remember the crab came in these steel buckets. It was so delicious, and I think crab became my favourite food at this meal.

2. Live lobster in Vancouver (95-ish): This traumatizing meal is brought to you by Japanese people. I don't know which of my mother's sick friends ordered this, but I remember one of the aunties saw that the lobster, freshly chopped up into sections, was still moving, and proceeded to ask everyone to close their eyes and pray. I just kept staring in horror at the tentacles waving in the air, the legs slowly undulating. Even after the prayer, it was still moving, though with less enthusiasm. Even worse, it was the most delicious lobster I've ever tasted.

1. Crab legs extravaganza (2005): For my birthday, Nads made be like a billion curried crab legs. I had nothing but crab for like 2 meals! Just thinking about it makes my mouth water and my stomach feel full of crab meat.

The funny thing that I just realized last night (when I had crab with my godmother) is that I'm probably a tiny bit allergic to crab. There's always a semi-itchy feeling in the back of my throat after I eat it. But it's *so* worth it. Soft shell crabs, curried crabs, crab crabs... bacon wrapped crabs, baked crabs, boiled crabs... mmmm!

Zombies win "thriller" in SO

Last night, Dany Heatley netted his first goal as a Zombie in a 4-3 shootout win over their conference rivals the San Jose Sharks. You could not tell that the goal won't count on the statistics though.

"I just carried some speed into the zone and shot it as hard as I could," Heatley explained modestly. "I got a bit lucky."

The skilled 26 year-old winger joined the Zombies in a blockbuster trade that saw Sergei Samsonov, who had only played two games with the team, head the other way. The move was the last of a series of roster-shattering moves that surprised many hockey fans.

"I thought we were done when we got rid of Thornton and acquired Satan, but apparently management had some other demonic plans in mind," laughed Wes Craven (maniacally).

The Zombies had sent the oldest member of the FNG line, Jason Spezza, and the Offensive Dynamo, Nick Shultz, to the Penguins in return for the big centre, but promptly made a three-way trade to acquire the players back.

"It's nice to be a Zombie again. Less thinking," jokes Spezza in a light practice yesterday. "I was really getting attached to Moncton and I hope to never leave again."

Team co-captain Patrick Marleau looks to rejoin his teammates sometime this week after being mauled in the ankle by linemate Iginla. "I heard the whistle but I guess Iggy was just caught up in a bloodlust. The next thing I knew I was out 2-4 weeks."

"I don't know what happened," Iginla protests guiltily. "I swear I didn't do anything."

The injury-ridden zombies will be missing their top two centres next game, as well as Iginla. Coach Craven suspects foul play. "Some of our rivals may have employed some clerics to rebuke or command us. I hope the league investigates."

I think we're alone here, you and I

Here I am again; in my space. Why do I not document my life as diligently as I used to? I know it wasn't that frequent before, but now I almost avoid it. What brings me here now?

Sometimes I think of something to write here... something clever or witty I wished to record. But then, when I get a chance to do it, when I literally think, "I should blog about that right now", some insidious advisor convinces me otherwise.

There is a growing worry inside of me that i'm becoming a bit of an ass. I always mean to do or say things jokingly, but I should seize the opportunities to do nice things. One of the most effective ways to tell who you are is to look back upon the decisions you've made or the actions you took, pretend someone else did those things, and then ask what kind of person you think this phantom reflection is. Most people start the other way, from the inside, but it leaves room for self-deception. I mean, this process allows for self-deception as well, as any process that only involves the self will permit, but it provides an accurate compass.

She's just someone's favourite daughter

I don't know why, but my annoyance at the sheer reactivity and incompetence at work is growing. Often growing to levels at which I find myself complaining, which I usually never do. My department isn't so bad, but the rest of the company seems to just be content until something goes hideously wrong.

On the other hand, the project I'm currently working on is very exciting. Fun with Swing!

We celebrated Chris' birthday last weekend. It was good times, and most of us got him board games. Power Grid, Ra, Hacienda... Linda got him a shirt. I'm feeling quite cruddy that I basically forced a ride from Chris today. Being a leech taxes on your karma, maybe. I'm very oblivious to my karma, usually. I wish I had some money to do nice things for people who help me out more frequently. I mean, with Linda I can write a letter, or do crazy things like make a fake monster manual for her. But you can't do that kind of stuff with *guys*.

I need to get back to writing.

She has the smoke in her eyes

Linda's housewarming last night was an interesting event for me. I have not been in a social situation with a large number of people unknown to me in quite a while. There were some cool people there, and some who were not so cool. I think the weirdest moment of the night must've been talking with Linda's other roleplaying group. The GM was clearly very intelligent. However, after discovering that I had known Linda for 11 years, they (the GM and some player guy) started talking to me about Linda's boobs!

The conversation went something like:

Me: Yeah, we know you as the "group she dresses up for" (I go on to explain the story)
GM: Back when we still knew her as the "token girl player", she once wore a really distracting sweater. I couldn't get the attention of my players (poor summary).
Me (thinking maybe it was bright pink or something like that): What do you mean?
GM: How do I put this? It showed off certain of her good qualities.
Me (stubborn): I don't get it.
GM: , help me out here... She's well endowed, etc.

Do people talk to you about your sister's breasts at her housewarming party? I didn't know if I should punch him or what, but it really weirded me out. I didn't talk to the GM again for the rest of the evening after I managed to exit the room.

I think Alex and Elan were pretty cool, though. I didn't get all that drunk once again... I've developed this stopping mechanism that I never had before. Chris seemed to be the biggest hit at the party out of the three of us. I told him unconsciousness would get him all the fly honies, but I guess I was wrong. Molly likes to stare at herself in the mirror.