First off, for my good friend Rob (who I don't think reads this blog, but still): BritneyWatch 2003. Because nothing spells "Entertainment" like watching a Pop Diva's career crash and burn!

Secondly:





I am happy with my score. H0ow 'bout you? (Note: on a 56K it takes while to load.)

I finished the book. And if you're reading this before reading my last entry, then skip it, go down and read "Back to Fidelity" and then jump back here.

It seems the idea is that once Rob stops thinking (and by default, worrying) about women (and relationships and romance and life in general) he's able to be there for Laura.
And, on one level this works out quite nicely. After all, After all, she already said she exists outside of the relationship, and can live without it; it makes sense that she’d look to Rob to give her justification for staying with him. And I see the logic in forcing Rob into a position where he’d finally, concisely, choose either Laura or not-Laura.

But the reality of this begs the point: it’s an extraordinary risk to take for someone who has given her no reason to believe Rob would give Laura what she wanted. Perhaps she's trying to make sense of her life by forcing Rob to make sense of his. Still, it makes her look a little stupid; she already said she exists outside of the relationship, and can live without it; while it makes sense she’d look to Rob for justification of staying with him, it seems a bit silly to all but force him to decide . . .

There's the nice scene where Rob proposes to Laura. It's romantic in it's unromantic way, but beyond the fact that Rob becomes committed to Laura and their relationship . . . well, that's it. And is that enough, then? Because it doesn't quite seem to track. If the idea is simply that all Laura wants from Rob is someone to be there for her--or, perhaps, their relationship--does that justify her doing all that for him? Without any material reciprocation? It’s as if Hornby is trying to say that relationships need not be an equal partnership provided both people are satisfied with the arrangement. It’s as if love--and here’s the problem with “love”--it’s terrible word. People spend five thousand years writing about it and figuring it out and we're as confused about it now as we were when Sappho was waxing poetics; Love, the state of being that we ill-define as "love", is so much more than that word; it's bigger and scarier and painful and less dramatic and more tender and sublime and mundane than anything we actually call "love". . . .

Where was I?

OK, let's track this ("track" is now officially my new "kewl" katch-frayz):

Laura loves Rob. Laura puts up with Rob's shit because she loves him and, as far as I can tell, sees potential in him. Rob loves Laura, and can love her better--no: can be a better person to/for/with her once he cleans up his shit. So Laura pushes him and puts up with him and does all for him just so he can realize what he needs to do . . . which rather puts him on the same level with Laura: Rob still has to sort of where he goes from where the novel leaves him, just as Laura, though enjoying her job, is still wondering what to do with it and where to go from/with it. But the implication seems to be that "love" (which, like "reality" is a word that should only be used in quotes; thank you, Nabokov)--

The implication seems to be that "love" is not about equality, and that the partnership isn't going to be equal. Someone is going to need more than the other, someone will have to give more than the other. And there has to be an acceptance of that. And this isn't to say the roles will remain static. Time is a spiral, life is fluid. Needs change, expectations change. One moment you're giving all and then you wake up in the morning needing everything. Perhaps not so dramatically literal, but the concept is sound. Which means, theoretically, that at some point Rob is going to have to put it on the line to be there for Laura as she won't be able to put it all down for him.

And this flies in the face of everything I’ve experienced and witnessed. Show of hands, you married folks (and you long-term lovers): is your relationship based on inequality? Is one person giving far more than the other? I’m not talking about the normal see-sawing that come in every relationship that, when tallied up at the end of the line, wind up even. I mean is the core of your relationship set up on unequal terms?

That aside, there is one aspect of relationships that I think Hornby nails quite accurately, and that’s the bit about thinking too much. Like I said above, Rob’s big epiphany comes when he stops worrying and thinking about the relationship and just lets it happen. It’s not that all problems are solved without work and worry, it’s about how you approach the situation.

It's like algebra and the unknown variable. You should try and find what the variable is, but don't worry about finding the variable. Once Rob stopped obsessing over the process, he was able to focus on doing it. It’s a subtle distinction, so subtle that far too many people don’t realize it (myself included) and there may be a slightly cleaner metaphor for it than algebra, but I think you get my point. (If you don’t, don’t worry; I like the metaphor so I’ll probably expand on it at some point.)

But I think that’s about as far as I can take my thoughts on the novel for right now. And if you’ve read all this without really knowing what the hell I’m talking about, then now would be a damn good time to go read the book. High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. Read it. It’s worth it.

(Don't worry, it's all about the novel, though. :)

So I’m about 30 pages away from finishing up High Fidelity and I’ve finally hit the major point that the book differs from the movie: Rob and Laura don’t have sex at her father’s wake.

(I realize this is spoiling it somewhere for someone; tough.)

In the movie, Rob walks out of the wake, Laura goes after him and asks to have sex with him. They do and they get back together. In the book, it plays out the same, only as they’re about to have sex, Rob stops her because he doesn’t have protection and Laura has slept with Ray so the implication is he’s worried about STD’s.. The thing is, Rob doesn’t really do it because she’s scared of STD’s. He did it because Laura has slept with Ray and he used that moment as an excuse to get back at her for it.

It’s an incredible moment. Now Rob’s character is extremely immersed in pettiness. The novel’s replete with moments of it and most of the time Rob’s the one pointing it out. But to do that, at the very moment he’d been dreaming/obsessing about, to have Laura when she’s utterly powerless and completely in his hands, to still make that cut. . . that’s pretty damn low. Not quite sure what to make of that yet.

Mind you, it’s not that there was much romance in the air in the first place. Like the movie, Laura gets back with Rob because she’s “too damn tired”. And I like that the book shows more of Laura’s point of view and tries to give more credibility to why Laura would go back with Rob. The complete un-romanticism about it is what makes it believable--there’s no Jerry Maguire bullshit where True Love™ is revealed--there’s hesitancy and uncertainty and doubt and arguing. And above that there’s an incredible amount of work. It’s the opposite Fairy Tale: they get back together and the story is still going, because nothing ends happily ever after. Rob’s stuck in neutral and Laura’s sorting herself out as well, and the only thing they’ve got going for each other is despite it all they compliment each other.

But that doesn’t quite hold water, because while Laura’s pushing for Rob to get out of neutral, there doesn’t seem to be much that Rob’s doing for Laura. I mean, relationships are work; got that. But, theoretically speaking, you work at them because you get something out of it. So what’s Laura getting? Stability? What’s Rob giving her that she can’t get elsewhere? Familiarity?

If there’s one quibble--and I realize I’ve still got the final few chapters to go--it seems that while Hornby is making a great attempt at a “realistic” relationship, minus all the romance and flowery bullshit that most fictional romances give people, there’s still that aura of “fantasy”. Because what the hell is keeping Laura with Rob? Why does she need him, or want to be with him? She gives reasons to be in the relationship, but nothing about being with Rob

Understood--the novel’s about Rob, so perhaps it’s a necessity, especially in a first person narrative, that the other character gets the short-end of the stick. But the problem is, by leaving out the understanding of why Laura’s with Rob--and “too tired” doesn’t cut it, that’s an excuse; too tired to be with someone? It’s settling. And Hornby tries to make it more than at, but never gets there, because her motivations are never known. Yes, she’s sorting out her life, and she states that she knows she exists outside of her relationship with Rob. But if that’s the case, why does she bother to be with him? What is it that she needs or gets from being with him? For all the novel’s honesty about relationships, it still seems to rely on the ideal of a woman having the patience to be with a loser simply on the blind faith that he’d change. The novel’s overflowing with Rob’s pulling the rug out from under the clichés of romance, but it tends to ring hollow when you realize Hornby’s using a variation of those clichés to do it.

The first thing I do at work today is call up one of our cable suppliers to check on a shipment. I'm on hold waiting to speak with a rep and I wind up listening to a muzak version of "Just Like a Dream" by The Cure.

It's not as bizzare as the muzak version of Tori Amos's "Cornflake Girl", but it's close.

Oh, and I've lost my cell phone.

It's going to be an interesting day.

An aquaintance of mine recently joined the Army and is currently stationed in Okinawa. He's been posting pictures he's been taking and there's some really beautiful ones there. Definitely worth a look.

Proving yet again that when it comes to posting the pics I take with my camera, I am slower than shit moving up hill on a hot summer's day, Terry has posted a buncha pics from Lauren and Dave's wedding. It's rather amusing to see how many times Terry and I took pictures of the exact same thing.

However, here's one I rather forgot about:





The picture I took of this moment will not wind up on Available Light, I assure you.

Daylight Saving Time (not "savings"; more on that in a moment) officially ended this weekend. I didn't notice it so much yesterday as it was a long day at Storm King, and when the sun set it felt like it should set. But today at the office was an entirely different matter. It was definitely disorienting to see it so dark outside. In fact, I had pretty much forgotten about the end of DST until that moment, but it suddenly made things clearer: it had been utterly desolate in the office today. Extremely little energy, very little work to do. The pouring rain probably had as much to do with it as anything else, but the change in clocks certainly didn't help matters. (Hell, my own computer clock is now 90 minutes slow; and as it's all tied into network servers, I can't change it manually.)

Being the first officially rushouer after DST, I knew it would be a hectic one, and it did take slightly loinger than usual to get from my office to the highway (about a mile away, a little less). And as it's been raining all day, I knew that would make it that much worse. Yet imagine my surprise when I got home roughly ten minutes earlier than I have over the last six months.

All that being said, this whole "change the clock" thing got me thinking (dangerous, I know), so, as to not make this a completely self-gratifying post, I hereby present to you the Wonder That Is Daylight Saving Time:

Time and Date.com has a very concise and well-written explanation as to the how's and why's and what-nots regarding DST.

Webexhibits has the most comprehensive explanation and discussion about the subject, although it tends to read as if it were meant for a younger audience.

And, because there are three sides to every coin, check out this campaign to end DST as well as another alternative to the current DST system

I've got the latest Cure Greatest Hits compilation in rotation in my car, and "Lovesong" came on as I was driving back from doing the laundry. "Lovesong" was Lauren and Dave's wedding song and when the song first started playing at their wedding, I couldn't help but think was an odd choice that was. I mean, until their wedding I thought "Lovesong" was a break-up song. Tori Amos is responsible for that, really. She began covering it prominently during her '96 tour, which was the tour she had after the severely-emotional break-up with her long-time boyfriend; and you could hear her heartache everytime she played the song. And I've always let the feel of the song influence more than the lyrics, so "Lovesong" always had that "break-up" affiliation. And with lyrics like "however far away, I will always love you" it seemed justifiable enough.

But then Lauren and Dave dance to it at their wedding. Well, not really dance, which was another thing that struck me odd about their choice. Because "Lovesong" has a nice, catchy dance beat to it. It's not a gonzo-freestyle kinda dance song, but it's got your basic bouncy groovy rythym to it. Despite its title and content, it never struck me as a "couples" song. But Lauren and Dave slow-danced to it. And when I write "slow-dance" I mean it was a "arms-wrapped-around-the-other-and-shuffling/swaying-ever-so-slowly" kind of slow dance. As a result, as most things that strike as incongrouous do, it got me thinking.

And this is what I realized: it didn't matter what I thought the song meant. It didn't matter what anyone thought. The point was that Lauren and Dave had found a song that they felt best expressed their love for each other. They did it for themselves. And watching them out on the dance floor, literally wrapped up in one another, they made that song their own; they completely changed my perspective of that song because I saw it through their eyes. Watching them dance to "Lovesong" was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

Click it. Go on, click it!!

"I have been thinking a lot about love, these days, my hatred of the word, my constant recurrence to it, and it occurs to me, one of insomnia's perishable revelations, that before we love something we must make a kind of replica of it, a memory-body of glimpses and moments, which then replaces its external, rather drab existence with a constellatory internalization, over-simplified and highly portable and in the end impervious to reality's crude strip-mining."
--John Updike, A Month of Sundays

"It seems to me that if you place music (and books, probably, and films, and plays, and anything that makes you feel) at the center of your being, then you can't afford to sort out your love life, start to think of it as the finished product. You've got to pick at it, keep it alive and in turmoil, you've got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you're compelled to start all over again. Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content; we have to be unhappy, or esctatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship."
--Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

Dear sweet Pam Anderson has only ten years left to live. Maybe.

I tell ya, first John Ritter, yesterday Fred Berry, and now Pam. All our great american actors are kicking the bucket faster than customers at an All You Can Eat White Castle Buffet.

I hear the silicone breast industry will retire the double-D size implant in her honor.

It moved me to tears.

Really.

Well, I liked it. Hell, I was on my feet singing and air guitaring/bass-playing/drumming along almost as if I was watching them live. The vitality and energy of a Rush concert came through perfectly. And it's always a plus to hear the variations in the songs; how they differ from the studio performances. The footage is amazingly clear. After years of worn-down, decade-old video tapes, to see the band perform in such vibrant clarity (that will never fade with age and repeated viewings) is alone worth the price of admission.

The crowd is a spectacle in itself. They effectively sing back-up to half the songs, and to hear them singing along to one of Rush's trademark insrtumental's is a wild experience. (I can only imagine how Rush themselves must have felt--it's one thing to hear the audience sing words, it's another when they're singing chord progressions and drum beats!)

There are many moments Rush fans will appreciate: the comradarie of three friends who have 30 years of performing together, the incredibly camera shots during Neil Peart's drum solo, and--in a mark of classic Rush humor--during one song three stagehands come out dressed like Rush circa 1977 (with long unkempt, waist-length hair) and put quarters in the three dryers that were on stage.

The "goodies" are enjoyable enough. The documentary gave a nice "behind-the-scenes" look that any Rush fan will appreciate. (Non-Rush fans may be SOL, but Sean sat through almost the whole thing and seemed to enjoy it, so perhaps others will like it too.) I found the hidden "By-Tor cartoon"--an animated movie that played during Rush's encore--though the 1975 footage remains hidden for the moment.

My only real quibble is with the multi-angle feature. Now, the idea with this feature is that you can select which view you want to see. But within the three views they give, the camera angle changes within each option as well. Consequently, even when you choose an angle to view, that angle changes randomly after a few seconds. That sort of defeats the appeal of the feature, doesn't it?

Minor quibbles aside though, a very cool DVD that any Rush fan would enjoy. I heartly give it four man-in-the-stars out of five.

As promised (if slightly delayed) a sample of pictures from Lauren & Dave's Wedding and from Mia's Birthday/Halloween Costume Party. As always, clicking on the thumbnails opens the full pic (640x480) in a new browser window.

I have no idea why there's so much space between the pictures. There's some glitch in the Blogger code that puts seven billion line breaks anytime you put in a table. If I can fix it, I will; if it really gets annoying then I'll find some other way to post thumbnails.

OK, the first act is over so I'm taking a break and uploading the wedding and party photos so that when Act 2 is over I can just post the HTML and be done with it.

Needless to say, the DVD rocks. Sean is currently holed up in his room and keeping his music as loud as possible so that he doesn't hear the DVD or me singing along. Now, it's a concert DVD so it's fairly self explanitory, but the documentary was amusing, and I found the "hidden" "By-Tor" cartoon. (For some reason it doesn't seem as funny as it did in concert, but there you are.) And it's funny seeing 40,000+ Brazilians singing the instrumental parts of the songs.

Anyway, while you're all waiting for me to finish the DVD (because none of you have the good sense to buy it and watch it and behold the Glory that is a Rush Concert) I leave you with this:

Warren Elli's blog, Die Puny Humans recently had a week of original ficition; just short pieces Warren jotted down for fun, as opposed to the coomentary and links he usually posts. In one link he revisted one of his signature creations, Spider Jerusalem, the futuristic Hunter S. Thomspon protagonist of his series "Transmetropolitan". The beginning is sheer genius:

There are twelve different channels showing LAW AND ORDER 24 hours a day. In some countries, Jerry Orbach has become a cargo-cult figure. They don't understand the language or much of the situations. They comprehend only that Jerry Orbach is immortal. They watch and divine from the show that he outlives the young gods who are selected to be his assistants. Criminals fall. DAs change. Assistants fade away. Jerry Orbach is forever. Jerry Orbach is, in fact, some kind of avenging God-King who will hunt and incarcerate Scum until the end of time.


The rest is here.

Go read. I'll be back in about 80 minutes.

FUCK YEAH.

I may be a bit indisposed for a few hours. Normal service will resume after exhaustive playing of the above DVD.

Just for the record, you'll be happy to know I've hit the part of the novel where it differs from the movie. The whole "sleeping with Marie" is handled differently, and given greater detail. And Rob visits his parents, which doesn't show up in the movie at all.

Just in case you all were curious.

So if all is well with the HTML, you'll see I've added a few more links to the left there. I've decided to be a nice boy and publicize my friend's blogs.

This was done for a few reasons. One, I felt it would be nice to do, especially considering I may steal tidbits from their blogs from time to time, and it will save me the bother of having to always hypertext to their site in individual entries. Now I can simply write out the name--It's Miller Time, for example, and rather than link the name, you can just go over to the left there and hit that link instead.

The other reason is, as astute readers will have noticed, I completely forgot to link Miller's blog when I mentioned it a few days ago. (And let me also point out, dear readers, that Miller hasn't updated his blog in two days. Meanwhile, I have updated mine. And this is after he mentioned that he doesn't visit my blog regularly as I don't update it daily. Not so easy, now, is it, Miller!?!?!?!? :)

Also, part of the appeal of blogs is that you're supposed have a copious amount of links listed on your blog (a la my cousin Mitch's Monkey in My Pants blog) in the hopes that, like a webring, it'll help drive up traffic. (and we all know what an indespensible tool Webrings have become.) So, in theory, if I drive people to one site, and they have links to another, you could (in theory) go there regularly, and thus someone else's site will benefit from greater exposure. Likewise, by being linked on other sites, theoretically, some stranger will huave jumped from there to my site, fallen in love with it, and will help spread the Gospel According to Me.

(Mind you, the only blog to have me linked is Terry's Babakganoosh, and that's only to my website and not my blog. Miller don't have me, Mitch don't have me, and Silent Witness don't have me either.)

(Why the hell have I listed them again??)

I will get to Dave and Lauren's Wedding. Really. But rather than post a picture of the Bride and Groom, here's a picture of the freaksd they call Friends.





Be afraid.

Suffice to say, life has kept me busy since that blog. Sean and I went shopping on Tuesday for the bathroom, and it was affirmed, once again, that we're two straight guys living in a queer eye world. We were clueless, spending an hour in Bed, Bath, & Beyond trying to decide A) on what shower curtain to get and B) what floor rugs properly matched the curtain. In the end we bought a curtain, which I fear blends in far too much with the color and tile, and couldn't find a bath matt. So our redecorating quest continues slowly and with many a start and stop.

(There's never a gay decorator around when you need him.)

I took some neat pics of a sunset Wednesday. I got home after buying the wrong hanger at Linen'n'Things just as the sun was setting. By the time I got my camera and made it over to Brookedale Park the sun had already gone below the treeline, and the larger cloudbank had moved on. But I think this one turned out OK.
Well, you be the judge:



Beyond that, I've spent most of the week doing webwork for a client of Bright-Matrix. Yes, we have clients. Three, with a fourth on it's way and about two potentials. It's all Mike and his contacts, so once again I re-iterate to all those who read this blog: BRING ME BUSINESS FOR MY WEB DESIGN COMPANY.

(It's that sort of nose-to-the-grindestone-professionalism that ensures my success as a freelance designer, don't you think?)

The design was a simple one, but I must move very slow when I design things because I was up 'till one inthe morning both Tuesday and Wednesday working on the damn thing. I sat down with Mike yesterday and estimated I spent about 9 hours building one page. That's about twice as long as it should take. I'm viewing this as a learning experience.

The good news is the client seems to like the design and we were giving him a flat rate anyway, so all is well.

This weekend should be pretty interesting: I'm going to hang with Ryan tonight, and tomorrow is Mia's Birthday/Haloween Costume Party Blowout Bash Soiree. And yes, there will be pictures. On Sunday I'll collapse into a pile of exhausted goo.

Well, that was odd. I started writing out this entry but instead got a tad sidetracked and decided to write the previous entry instead as I realized it deserved not to be lost in the shuffle of marginalia that this entry will contain.

So, anyway, I was talking with Miller last night and, among other things, the irregular posting to my blog came up. To any of you out there reading this, I do apologize. It's not easy blogging. I'm not one of those magicians that scour the net and find endless pieces of information worth sharing and commenting on. All my cool links general come from either the V or from Skate Jesus, and if I don't have time at the office to waste online, as I don't have time when I'm home, then I have nothing to report on my end.

And while the occasional diatribe about my personal life can be occasionally amusing (I think Tuesday's entry hold up fairly well, though you can see where I was trying to type mutliple thoughts at once and, alas, failed to immiate Hornby's style as well as I hoped), I doubt you all are that interested in reading about my problems; I'm sure as hell not interested in complaining about them all the time.

So, aparently this has inspired my friend as the bastard now has his own blog. Go visit and see what the copy-cat's got going on in his head.

Love you, Mill. :)

I was talking with Miller last night and the subject of my blog came up. It's nice to know he checks it out every so often. (this brings the total of people that read my blog to ... four, I think. I'm not sure.

In fact, let's see what we can do about that. For everyone who reads this blog click here

There, now just write "blog" or whatever in the subject line and hit send, and I'll know that means you read my damn blog.

I'm curious to see whether or not this works. I will let you know whether I am adored by the masses or unloved by all.

So I'm reading Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, the novel that the John Cusak movie of the same name was based on. I'm amazed at how close the movie followed the book. I have the DVD, and either the commentary or interviews on the DVD mention how they lifted dialogue verbatem for the movie script, but I hadn't realized how much. As a comicbook reader I am forever wary of other-medium adaptions as comics, as a whole, are difficult things to adapt "faithfully". Novels aren't exactly a cake-walk either (I read an article where Tom Clancy was asked what he missed most from his novel The Hunt for Red October that didn't make it into the movie; he replied: "About 400 pages".) But, 100 pages into High Fidelity, thie book and the movie are so damn similar that I cannot read the book without picturing, crystal clear, the scene I'm reading as it appeared in the movie. So much so that I'm dying to watch the movie again (which seems far better a movie now that I'm reading the book), because the book (and, consequently, the movie) is so damned good

But I can't do that yet. I'm 100 pages in, and in terms of the movie, about half-way through. So there must be differences--at the very least, interior monologues the movie couldn't possibly convey--and I'm dying to see just how far this "faithful" adaptation can go, and where it will differ. Not to mention I'm midly afraid that, if I watch the movie (it being so "faithful") that after finishing the movie, I'll feel as if I just "read" the rest of the book and will see no reason to finish the book.

This sort of convoluted logic abounds in the novel. I think the other reason why I'm enjoying this book so much is that I see myself as Rob. The way he thinks, especially the way he analyzes and over-analyzes the situation, how he recognizes his contradictions and faults and acts on them anyway, even when he knows it's wrong--the rationalizations and compulsions of the character; the whiny, self-absorbtion; the pity-rant-mixed-with-righteous-indignation; the self-deprication and self-loathing all the while hoping and waiting to turn out better than he is--or knowing that he is better than he acts, or thinks he is, but can't quite get to be that way more often than not. It's like I'm reading about myself, except that he's gotten laid more than I have.

I'm expecting an epiphany by the time I finish the book. It's as if I'm expecting that by reading how Rob changes his life, and becomes a better person, a better boyfriend, I will magically aquire that engimatic key that will enable me to do the same; or, even better, through Rob's transformation, instantaneously find myself likewise transformed.

Either that or I'll just watch the movie and then read About a Boy.

Maybe both.

Either way, in honor of Hornby's style, which I feel like I'm imitating here (but don't think I have the rythym down quite right), instead of relating about Lauren and Dave's wonderful wedding, I'm going to talk about Brenda.

Brenda's one of my co-workers, I know I've mentioned her from time to time; she works in the customer service dept and our respective jobs require to interact regularly. I've got a crush on her. She's an extremely cool person. She's got that down-to-earth-but-wacky personality that I love. She can be goofy, which is easy relate to, and she spits hellfire when she's pissed, which is a quality I always find highly attractive in women (as long as they don't use it on me, of course; it's a power thing.) We get along fairly well, joke around easily enough, and she's very much the sort of girl I can see myself with. In many ways, she reminds me of the qualities I found so attractive in Patti and Hannah.

And we all know how fucking wonderful it was with Patti and Hannah.

(An aside: Hannah and I never dated. Our friendship was a brief, intense experience, and it's only because I fell so blindingly and unreasonably in love with her that I include her in the "relationship categorey". Because when you talk with someone several times a day, when she is the last person you talk to at night, and go out together often--if that isnt a relationship I don't know what is. Sure there was no physical intimacy but, hey, I didn't have that much with Patti either. Exhibit 57393679 that I've got issues.)

The point is, I should be avoiding Brenda like the plague. Never mind she already has a boyfriend. Never mind that, as co-workers, it would be extremely dumb and reckless to attempt any sort of relationship. These two reasons are more than enough to prove to me there is not a snowball's chance in hell of us being anything more than co-workers.

But above and beyond those reasons, the simple fact is, I know it would all end up horribly wrong. Because I've heard and seen enough glimpses of her current relationship to know that Brenda, like Hannah and Patti, has got her issues. And I don't mean issues in that "everyone has problems" way; I mean the woman has things she desperately needs to take care of before she's any good to anyone (pot kettle, kettle pot; hey, we have the same taste in clothing!) That, as it currently stands, I would never be more than someone she'd happily endear herself to, would call up and be able to talk about all her problems; would come to me when she was having problems; would feel down and look to me to cheer her up; would take me for granted because, being the "nice" guy that I am; would happily form a platonic connection that would give her all the emotional stability she'd want from a romantic relationship without actually being in a relationship. And I'd be left out in the cold, forever being able to come up to the window and look in, but never get a foot past the door.

And I'm done with it. I don't even want to be friends with the woman, because I know how I feel. I know, even if I said "hey, let's just be friends" I wouldn't mean it. I'd want far more than she could ever give, and I'd delude myself into thinking that either A) she'd come around or B) being "just friends" is enough. Both are bullshit. I've seen Brenda's boyfriend; I'm nowhere near her type. And I've learned that you can fool yourself into thinking being "just friends" is "good enough", but it isn't. It never is. When your heart wants something, consolation prizes will never do. Ever.

So here I am, knowing full well that this woman is no good for me what so ever. And yet when a vendor stops by and unloads a boatload of chocolate for me and Pete, when I know Brenda has a weakness for chocolate, that I go almost out of my way to offer her--repeatedly--the chocolate. That I give to the other co-workers not so much out of a need to share but mostly to cover up the fact that I'm really doing this to make Brenda happy (and get on her good side and talk to her and--well, you get the idea.) That when we start joking on e-mail, I start wording my response carefully to present the most appealing view of me as possible; worrying that if the jokes start flying too much I won't be taken too seriously, or that I am not a serious person; so how does one write so that it both continues being witty and humourous and yet steers away from that to something of more depth? That it makes me happy to see that I can make her smile.

Like I said, you couldn't have more obvious signs that this is trouble then if you had a giant robot waving its arms and crying out "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" I shouldn't even bother flirting, trying to be any friendlier than I am to anyone else in the office. I shouldn't even have harmless fun like giving her chocolate because it isn't harmless fun. It's begging for trouble. And I can picture Mia reading this, rolling her eyes, and complain, with good reason, that it's ridiculous of me to knowingly go about this way and then bitch about why I'm still single. I can blog forever about pipe dreams like Brenda but God forbid I try this tact with someone who is actually available.

(A fallacy; as both Aline and Mike can attest, I have taken the opportunity when it presented itself. But, let's face it, those circumstances happen far less frequently than my more familiar modus operendi.)

This past Friday, I got to hear Mia and Mirjam go on, at length, about the status of their love life. And I felt like a shmuck because they've had their dates, and find more dates, and they may not work out, but they're at least dating. And I have absolutely nothing to offer by way of relevancy. But I have to wonder: are they that much better off? Oh, definitely, you got to spend money to make money, and you need to go out and meet people if you want to find someone you want to be with. But is that what it's come to: dipping your head into the freezing tub again and again on the notion that, sooner or later, you might come up with an apple in your mouth? That the only way to do it is to push and pull and fight it out and go out; again and again with people you might have an interest in, that seem like we get along; in the almost vain hope that one of these damn people will actually be someone I can form a connection with? What about all the stories of people looking over there but then find the person they really want to be with in a place they never considered looking in before? In the endless stream of failed possibility, is quantity more preferable than quality?

So asks the man who has neither.

When Cinnamon died in 2000, my parents (and, by default, me) were without a Golden Retriever for the first time in over 25 years. Growing up, the pattern had been that when our current dog had reached 9 or so years of age, that it was time to get a new one. Cinny came along in the summer of 1990, when our then-current Golden, Custer,. was about eight years old. Custer died in June 1991.

The following year my brother brought home Joey, a Cocker Spaniel. Though not a Golden, Joey (a loveable dog in his own right) filled in the requisite "second dog" slot in our household, even as Cinny grew older.

When Cinny died in 2000, it was very odd. Though our other dogs had been with us longer, I felt pretty sad at her dying. Cinny had been there through many formative moments; through high school, college, moving out of my parents house--Cinny was there for all of them.

I assumed my parents would then get another Golden. They kept saying how strange it was not to have one around. Even though I was out of the house, it felt odd for me, knowing there was no Golden waiting for me to return for a visit. In October of 2000 my parents announced they had found a new dog, Chelsea.

Chelsea was eight when my parents got her, through one of those "rescue" programs. Chelsea wasn't absued per say, but she had grown up in a store--her owners had a business and Chelsea was raised in the store. My parents were fairly certain she never felt carpeting until she came into my parent's home. Conesequently, while not abused, she hadn't grown up in the most loving and nuturing environment, and her health was not the best. But something clicked between her and my mother when they met--it was clear from the get go that this was my Mother's dog, more than anything. And so she came to live with my parents.

But the real problem was, Chelsea was not a Golden Retriever. She was a white Lab. My mom had mentioned, over the years, of her interesting in getting a Labrador, preferably a chocolate one, but our family was a Golden family, so it never went beyond mere wishful thinking. So to hear the news that my parents had a new dog, one that wasn't a Golden, felt almost like a betrayal.

I didn't like Chelsea at first. This was very hard to do. She was 120 pounds, milk white fur. Big black nose, big saucer-like grey eyes. And she was one of the sweetest dogs you could meet. The sheer size of her made her a bit formidable; when she came over to be petted you had a more than likely chance of being bowled over. But she never charged towards you, she simply walked on over, and let you pet her.

But she wasn't a Golden. And though I was friendly to her, I purposely favored Joey to her when it came to giving the dogs attention. As if Chelsea was to blame for not being Cinny. I would see her, pet her, talk to her, but told her straight: "You're a good dog, but you're not a Golden."

This lasted a good year or so. But the truth is, Chelsea won me over by sheer virtue of being Chelsea. The first signs came when my parents nutured her back to health and she regained some of the Pup to her personality. She would get bouts of hyperactivity, running around the house, and she learned to like playing with toys--there was one furry ball which squeeked that was her favorite, and you could play with pull toys. (At her size, you couldn't pry anything out of her jaws without mechanical assistence.) And the truth is, I love playing with large dogs. So, after a while, despite her unfortunate luck of being born the wrong kind of Retriever, the unfair resentment I transfered to her faded away, and instead of seeing her as "not a Golden" I grew to love her for simply being Chelsea.

But as I said before, even when my parents first got her, Chelsea wasn't in the best shape. Growing up on nothing but hard surfaces had worn down her paws. She had trouble walking, and her body's natural defences weren't very good. With time and various treatments, Chelsea regained much of what she lost. Her coat regained a bit of color to it, her paws improved. But, still, a ten-year-old dog well over 100 pounds isn't going to be worry free.

I honestly am not sure what finally did it. I know, even by summer-time, my parents had seen noticeabl declines in her behavior and health. In the last month or so she'd have trouble eating, her gums became extremely sore, and she had trouble walking. My parents were saying they'd be surprised if she made it past the year, though, obviously, they were hoping for the best.

It didn't happen. Things took a turn for the worst earlier this week, and by yesterday my parents knew it was time to put her to sleep. When my mother got home from work, she took Chelsea to the vet, who administered ther various shots. She died late in the afternoon. My mother held her the whole time, even after Chelsea was gone.

She was a sweet, sweet dog. A loving, gentle creature and I know I can take comfort knowing that she probably lasted longer than she might have had my parents not taken her in, and that for the last years of her life she was happy and in a house that treasured her. But, dammit, it just hurts that she's gone.

Hail and farewell, Chelsea. You are missed.

Yeah, yeah, it's hardly original, I know.

But here's a few links I figured I'd share in case anyone really thought Arnie was going to be different from any other politician:

http://www.alternet.org/story.html?StoryID=16902

http://www.consumerwatchdog.org/utilities/pr/pr003708.php3

It seems Arnold has had meetings with Kenneth Lay, the central figure in the Enron debacle. Enron, in case you didn't know, had a fairly large-sized hand in causing the energy crsis California has suffered under. And Arnold has gotten rather chummy with them.

My friend Jen lives out in LA. I feel so sorry for her.

You ever want to hear music but don't know what you want to hear only want you don't?

I've got about 450+ MP3's on my computer. I used to think this was a lot but apparently it's not much. I suppose I could slowly make MP3's of all my CD's, but if I wanted to listen to my CD's I'd put them in my CD player and that would be that. So it's a hodgepodge of singles . . . personal faves and sentimental faves that I enjoy not because they're particularly good but because I remember when I thought they were; and then songs that are simply good songs; not because they've changed my life, not because they have some sort of memory recall attached to them, but because it's a piece of music that simply works.

Obviously, by the title of this entry you can figure out which song I went for. It's the tribute version, the one performed at the 2003 Grammy's with Elvis Costello doing vocals.

And now we're on 'Dust in the Wind". Next.

Land Down Under; Men At Work. Next. A live version of A Better Place to Be; Harry Chapin . Next. Deliah; Time Jones. Tempting. Next. This&That; Michael Penn. That'll do.

Went to the diner with Mia. Sean and I were to go bathroom shopping to continue our (rather) slow moving redecoration objective. We threw out the Ugly Couch last night. Sean took down his Shakespeare in Love poster, but hasn't put anything up in its place. We were going to get a new curtain and matching floor matt for ther bathroom, and a new hook and/or rack for our towels as the standing towel rack I've had since my freshman year of college (ten years!) really shouldn't have lasted that long. I was debating getting new towels as well. But he had to work late, and I think take care of some thing's at his folks, so I went home, had dinner, watched TV, joined Mia, and here I am.

Weekend was good. I should post pictures from Friday's mental health day. Joined Zav and we went into Philly. I took some incredible shots. (A Farewell to Kings; Rush) Really good pics, some of my best. Now I remember why I liked taking pictures.

Saturday was errand day. Got make-up for my halloween costume (pictures will come, oh yes, they will come . . .ew). Sunday I worked on "Kewl Enterprises" a faux-company website I'm doing to pass the time. Watched "Alias" (rapidly losing the little appeal it had left).

Monday I researched how to increase traffic to one's website and discovered, as I feared, that search engine placement is kinda like a vicious circle. I could pay a company hundreds if not thousands of dollars to make Bright Matrix one of the top search engine finds whenever someone types in "web design" Not an option as neither Zav nor I have that sort of cash to spare. Looked around at the "hints and secrets to increase web traffic" sites and saw that Mike and I are already doing what they ask. There are some web design portals that lists links of web design sites, but the catch is you have to reciprocate by placing a link to their site on yours. I have to talk to Mike about this one, because, though it may seem silly, those reciprocal links would clash quite noticeably with our current design. And, as "professional" designers, I think the whole "links" idea is a bit outdated, unless it was a link that legitimately relates to our site, and not superflouous. (Black Boots; Nils Lofgren)

One of my co-workers was fired on Friday. Or maybe she was "let go", I don't know; as I took the day off, I wasn't there to watch. I knew it was coming. We have a new person in the customer service department; a tranfer from Fiberconn. I knew she was coming and, a week ago, I asked Mike where she was sitting, as space in the customer service center is fairly maxxed out. Mike admitted without admitting that the new person would be taking over someone's space. He didn't tell me who, but process of elimination made it fairly easy to guess, and this Monday proved me right.

It sucks, on several levels. Firstly, it sucks because I got along quite well with the woman who left so I was sad to see her go. It sucks because her son still works part-time in the engineering department. It sucks because, from what has been said of Those Who Were There, the upper management did thing's a bit sloppily. Telling the rest of customer service that the position was being elminated, but not immediately mentioning that the position wasn't being so much eliminated as re-assigned . . . to a new employee. (Cross-Eyed Mary, Live; Jethro Tull).

The new employee seems quite nice and it sounds as if she'll get along fine with the other people in customer service, which is a plus. And neither person in customer service bears the new woman any ill will over things. But they are uncomfortable, and understandably angry since the head of customer service is the sister-in-law of the woman who was let go.

I don't know why I'm not naming names. There isn't a lawsuit pending, it's not like writing this will bite me in the ass (I know my weblog is unbevlieveably popular and the latest "In" thing, but I don't think anyone from work is reading it.) Fuck it; Setec Astronomy Lives.

(As this point a click through way too many songs to lsit and settle for Anything by Dharmarama. Now it's Modern Love by David Bowie.)

I was reading some interviews today about Rush. It looks definite that they'll be heading back into the studio next year. Like when they were about to start Vapor Trails, they're not promising anything, and on one hand I am happy that they're all of the mindset that they don't have to make an album. They'll do it because they really have something they want to do, or they just don't do it at all. On the other hand, it's frustrating because with such an open-ended agenda, who knows when word will come that they do have an album and when it may come out. The last one took fourteen months to make and another three months to actually be released. At that schedule it'll be 2006 before an album hits the stands, although, if an album is made, I doubt it will take that long.

On the upside, the live DVD comes out in just two weeks. Still not sure if I'll buy the album as well, but something tells me I probably will.

(No Myth; Michael Penn)

Nighty-night.

As soon as my head hit the pillow I regretted how I left my entry regarding Evlis and the Beatles.

The notion that "we're always defined by someone else's shadow" sturck me as horribly pessimistic, even for me. Not to say there isnt validity . . . shadows can be light or dark, and identity is as a chaotic popourri of so many influences that, to an extent, who you are is defined by other people as much as yourself. But at the same time, I'd be foolish not to recognize the independance in being you, apart from others.

Using Elvis and the Beatles in the equation: the fact that the Beatles were a group, and Elvis was simply Elvis . . . maybe I'm repeating myself here, but Elvis never had a chance to not be Elvis. And the shadow of the Beatles will stay with John, Paul, George, and Ringo for as long as they live (or lived). But John Lennon "solo" was not the same as the Beatles.

Hmmm . . . this was so much clearer a few moments before I fell to sleep....

And am I the only one who finds it ironic to be typing this while listening to Harry Chapin's "There Only Was One Choice"?

The sky was mostly blue. When I left the office all I could see were droplets of clouds --small cauliflowered and stretched-cotton ball shapes scattered here and there. Then, as I took the River Road overpass to get onto Rt 46, I looked East towards the hills of West Paterson and I saw the most amazing thing:

This massive, gargantuan cloud, easly several miles long, positioned just behind the hills, looking as if it was rising up behind it. It was like a wave, widening as it rose upwards to the point that the top looked almost like outstreched hands, as if it were about to pounce the hill and consume it. It reminded me of those ubiquitos Dracular pictures, where the vampire stands arms outstreched, his cape funnelling down behind him. It was an awesome sight: this one cgiant cloud, mangificent and consuming. Yet another reminder that I really should have my camera on me at all times.

This morning was bizarre. I woke up and in my half-dazed state looked at the clock. The clock is on the opposite side of the room, and without ym glasses, I can barely make out the numbers. But even in my half dazed, half-blind state, i noticed I had forgotten to set my alarm. Good thing I woke up, I thought, I better go click it on; good thing I woke up in time to still catch some more sleep. It's only 7:19; since I don't have to be up until 6:45 I can get about twenty . . . wait a minute. It's 7:19. I get up at 6:45 . . . OH SHIT!

Needless to say, it was a mad dash to leave the house. The amazing thing was that even though I started over thirty minutes late, I was pulling out of my parking spot by 7:48, which was only about five to ten minutes later than my normal time for leaving. So I managed to make up a solid twenty minutes. Ultimately, I got to work just seven or so minutes late. Proving once again Peter's Laws: The faster you move, the slower time passes, the longer you live.

(This would be a great defence regarding my drivin habits--I drive faster to get there sooner to have more time to live. It would be perfectly justifiable if it wasn't for the fact that each time I do this, I increase the chance of killing myself or someone else while on the road. Sometimes it's like a game: I imagine the odds quickly shifting as the chances of collusion occur. You'd imagine that, sooner or later the odds will become 1-in-1. But you can spend twenty years playing the lottery and not win a dime. Probability resets with every circumstance. When you play the odds that something won't happen, you wind up winning a lot more often. For rather obvious reasons, this proves small comfort to anyone who sits in the passenger seat.)

Then, with about two minutes left to go in the work day, the general manager asks me a question regarding some part numbers. End result, I didn't leave work until after 5:30, half an hour later than usual. Which I really didn't mind so much as most days the last thirty minutes of the day is spent wasting time browsing the internet, so I just looked at it as making up for the time I wasn't working. Which would have been a lot longer as I usually kill at least an hour a day web surfing. It's a terrible habit, I know.

But I have a Mental Health Day tomorrow. And the cloud was awesome in the truest sense of the word. So it all works out in the end.

The King or the Fab Four?

I think that's how the old test went. You were either a Beatles Fan or a Presely fan, and which one you liked said certain things about youyr personality. There are sub-tests, I think. Which Beatle you preferred further determined who you are. (I, for example, probably am Paul. I'd like to be John--who wouldn't?--but I think I'm Paul. Too obnoxious to be George. I could be Ringo . . .but I'd like to think I'll have a better solo career, you know? So that leaves Paul. Whenever I think of this I'm reminded of something I read in either time or Newsweek during the hype surround the Anthology releases: that Paul always wanted to be a rock star, but John couldn't care less, which is of course why he became the biggest one of the four.)

There's a Beatles/Stones test, too. And I suspect, now that I am older, that I'd enjoy the Stones music much more than I have in the past. But that's a different story.

The thing about Elvis, though, is that he's bigger than himself. Now the BEatles are bigger than their individual selves, but the Beatles ended before the individuals did, so the individuals had a chance to be themselves apart from the Beatles. But Elvis was always Elvis and there was no way to seperate himself from what he was, because he always was Him. Does that make sense? The Beatles were a group, and that grouped ceased to be and so the people in that group managed to live on in ways seperate from that association. Elvis couldn't. He tried--from early heartthrob to movie star to movie hack to the Comeback Kid and in the end a parody of himself (though I think that is a designation fostered more after his death).

So who are you? Are you Elvis? Are you George? Paul? John? Ringo? Mick or Keith? Sonny or Cher? Seems we're always defined by someone else's shadow.