Candidates stayed (mostly) within the time limits: plus.

John Kerry didn't stmmer like a moron like during the Diane Sawyer interview: plus.

Geroge Bush sounded confident and resolute: minus.

Geroge Bush called Kerry a flip-flopper without using the word "flip-flop": minus.

George Bush used the phrase "rue the day": plus

Rean Genuis fans everywhere laughed so hard they missed what Bush said next: minus.

John Kerry repeated the phrase "internationakl respect" so many times he sounded pandering: minus.

George Bush channelling Vicent Lombardi with is "best defense is a good offence" philosophy: minus.

Mutal admiration society where they complimented eachother on their daughters despite spitting venmon at one another for the previous 60 minutes: minus.

Daughter-compliments leading me to have visions of a lesbian foursome between the Bush and Kerry daughters: plus plus.

Craig Klein feels like a flip-flopper after lambasting Kerry for the Diane Sawyer clips when he performed fairly well tonight: minus.

The truth that Kerry did not stammer so much during the debate is due to the exhaustive amount of time spent preparing and has little bearing on how he reacts in every day situations: minus.

The fact that after watching the debate I think the candiates came out fairly even: minus.

The fact that this would've been more entertaining had the two candidates agreed to a no-holds-barred wrestling match in a vat full of jello: minus.

Though that would've meant seeing Kerry and Bush in bikini briefs: MINUS MINUS MINUS MINUS MINUS.

So there you go. Five pluses to Fifteen minues. Hmmm. I should've given more points to the lesbian fantasy.

Yay politics.

Well, it lasted four weeks. Not a bad record, but, admittedly, I'm a little dissapointed. I mean, you'd think committing to a weekly schedule wouldn't be very difficult. That it took four weeks to slip up seems distressing.

To be fair, I did remember to make an entry yesterday. The problem was this whole 24-hours thing. See, apparently, no matter how hard you try, you are only alloted 24 hours per day, and if the other things you do wind up taking more that you anticipated then, unlike so many things in our culture where you can "just buy more", no amount of cajoling, flattering, bribing, or threatening will get you more hours in a day.

So, thusly, though I was really only supposed to web design for about two hours, it ran over three. At which point it was after midnight and that pesky "sleep" thing meant that if I wanted to be even semi-coherent later that morning, I'd have to get to sleep and thus forgoe the obligtory weekly blog entry.

On the bright side, my sleep was no interrupted by multiple members of the law enforcement fraternity, so, in perspective, the lack of blogging isn't the worst thing to happen to me.

I'm afraid there isn't much to report. Other than I think I'm reversing my decision to vote for Kerry. Sean was dialing 'round and was watching The Daily Show show a clip of Kerry's interview with Diane Sawyer. She asked him if the war in Iraq was a mistake. He wouldn't give a straight answer. At one point his answer was that it depends on how it turns out, but then he quickly realized what a collossal blunder that was and tried to back-trakc by saying that, regardless, the current leadership is bungling things. But, really, considering the situation in Iraq is the one, best chance he's got to get voters on his side, this late into the campaign it would probably be a good idea to have a coherent answer on the topic. I used to think that Kerry would be able to trounce Bush in a debate but, honestly, I now think Bush is in for a cake walk.

I mean, really. I was under no delusion that Kerry is an unremarkable candiate. I know that with him as President he wouldn't be great, might not even do a good job. But, hey, he's still the lesser of two evils, right? Well, let me tell you: I'm watching the debates tonight, but if Kerry winds up acting as willy-nilly (to say "flip-flop" is just soooo passe) as he did in the Diane Sawyer clip, I think he may actually be worse than Bush. I mean, he may not be as egotistically thick-headedly arrogant and narrow-minded as Bush, but what he lacks in converative extremism he seems to make up for in incompetent thinking.

My original idea, upon turning 18, was never to vote for either Republican or Democrat. Both paries are corrupt, blah blah blah. Vote third party for my meaningless symbolic gesture and life goes on. Then Bush got ellected and it's been an attrocious four years and so it seemed clear: in order to ensure Bush gets kicked out, it'd be best to place my vote where, statisically speaking, it'd do the most good. But, well, there's the rub.

I dunno. Let's see how the debates go. Maybe Kerry will be prepared. Maybe he'll make a point, have a coherent, definable answer.

Whatever. Thinking about the people trying to lead this country only makes me depressed. And how depressing is it that the leaders of our country are depressing? I think the only thing more depressing than that are the people than genuinely think either candiate is inspiring. Le sigh. The old adage that every cvountry gets the type of government they deserve has never been more accurate.

On the bright side, as much of a downer as this post has been, it's been a downer about other people, and not my own self-pitying babble, so that is a plus.

I think we should all carry score cards around. Whereever we go, whastever we go, keep a little tally. Got to work one time: plus. Coffee was already brewed when I got to the office: plus. Accidentally spilled coffee on pants: minus. Cute co-worker in the office is wearing tight clothing: plus-plus. Etcetera. And then, at the end of the day, sit down and tally it up (and you are allowed to give yourself an extra plus for making the effort of sitting down and tallying up the score card).

I think this is a very good way to feel good about yourself. Aft erall, who wants to end up with more minuses than pluses? You'll think of a million little things to give yourself a plus and the best part is, thinking about the little things that make you feel good will in itself make you feel good. And therefore you will inevitably have more pluses than minsues and therefore will feel better more often than not.

I could go into business for myself selling daily personal scorecards. Life Cards: the best way to make the best out of Life. It could be the biggest thing since pet rocks.

Shit, the debates are about to start..... (is that a plus or a minus?)

Oh, yeah.

This is a long one. Even for me. Seriously, it's taken me three days to write it; you're going to be here for a while. But, trust me, it's worth reading the whole thing. Just get comfy.

--------------------------------------

I went to bed a little before 12:30. I was tired. And, if you've read my last post, you could tell that I haven't been in the best mood lately. So, naturally, it didn't help my mood when the cops came knocking on my door at 1:30 in the morning to serve me with a summons.

Sean heard them first, and woke me up with "Craig, there's some cops here to talk to you."

I stumbled out of bed and put on my robe, still very much half-alseep and trying to figure out what the hell the police were doing at our apartment. At 1:30 in the morning. It could't have been an unpaid parking ticket....

I'll be honest: I half remember what was said. There were three of them, two by the door and one further into the apartment. They asked if I was Craig Klein and then announced that they were serving me with a summons. For insurance fraud. And that I had to appear before a grand jusry at the Superior Court on Friday at 9:00 AM. In Massachusettes.

Yeah. That's what I said.

They asked me if I had been in Massachusettes lately. Not since 1998. They asked me if I knew a Sean Nisivoccia, a Charles Nisivoccia, or Luis Perez. I had not. Unimpressed with bleating protests that I could not be the person they were looking for, they told me to call a lawyer. They gave me the summons and then they left.

Now, being thrust head-first into this bewildering, surreal crisis, I did what any stout fellow would do, and promptly fell apart.

I called my parents, half-seriously thinking they could solve the problem. I related what had happened and we reviewed the summons. It was eleven pages--there were three seperate summons, all for charges that took place in 2003. Strangely, the cover letter of the summons referred to me as "Dr. Craig Klein", though the actual summons did not use the medical prefix. This was the best clue I had that this was a case of mistaken identity, although at the time my worst fear was that this was a case of identity theft, which would make things far more difficult. After all, proving I'm not someone is one thing, but how easy is it to prove that you are you and that someone else isn't when they have the same pieces of evidence that prove you are you?

My parents did their best to keep me calm and focused. They suggested, even at this late hour, to call the Lawernce Police Department, the place that faxed the summons to the Bloomfield police. The summons listed two Detectives: Thomas Murphy, and Det. Simard. I got the front desk and asked if Det. Murphy was on duty--he was the one who sent the fax. The officer on the line said he wasn't, but I could leave a voice message if I wanted. So I did, my half-trembling voice telling the Detective's voice mail that they had the wrong guy.

I called back my parents and they assured me (for what else could they do?) that this was obviously a mistake and that since Det. Murphy wasn't there there was nothing else to be done but get some sleep and contact them first thing in the morning. Sean, ever the level-headed thinker, said he would contact his brother (who is a cop) in the morning and get his advice. My father also suggested I try to Google "Dr. Craig Klein" and see if I could find anything that would show why he and I were getting mixed-up.

Honestly, if it wasn't for Sean and my parents, I probably would've collapsed into a fetal position. I'd like to say that my inital reaction was one of stout resolution and action, but it wasn't. What can I say, I've never been good at improvision.

Trying to sleep was comical. I laid in bed envisioning the drive to Salem, Massachusettes, where the Superior Cout is seated, to prove my innocence. Worse, I envisioned not being able to prove my innocence. My mind strayed to remembering fragments of Harlan Ellison's semi-autobiographical novel Memos from Purgatory in which he related the story of how he was arrested and spent a day stuck in the New York City criminal justice system, including a nightmarish stint in the infamous Tombs. Only as my thoughts whirlled it wasn't Harlan trampped in the Tombs, but me. It took a forced recitation of Valerie's Letter to calm me enough to fall asleep.

I was in much better shape when the alarm woke me up at 6:45. I sprang out of bed and headed into the shower, as I always do on a weekday. But all the helplessness and incoherency I experienced before was replaced by a much stronger resolve. After all, I was innocent. All I had to do was prove I wasn't the Craig Klein they were looking for. Even if it meant driving into Massachusettes to do it.

I woke Sean up and asked him to call his brother. While he did that I remembered my father's advice about using Google. My first search didn't discover anything; when I typed "Dr. Craig Klein" into Google, nothing useful appeared. But on a hunch, I re-typed the name inside quotation marks and hit paydirt. The second link on the page led to an article that explained everything.

An article by the Eagle Tribune detailed an insurance scandal that had been going on in Massachusettes. To make a long story short (too late), loopholes in Massachusettes insurance law made it possible for people to file exorberant medical claims with insurance companies and recieve little scrutiny when doing it. This resulted in millions of dollars in fradulent insurance claims. When the state began cracking down on the fradulent claims, one of the people involved was a Dr. Craig Klein. So was Dr. Sean Nisivoccia and Dr. Charles Nisivoccia two of the names mentioned in the summons I was given. Apparently the three are NJ chiropractors, with an office in Clifton NJ, who set up shop in Massachusettes. Dr. Klein and Dr. Charles Nisivoccia were fined $25,000 dollars in New Jersey in May of this year.

Naturally, having found this article, my spirits were in much better shape. It wasn't identity theft, just mistaken identity. I still was worried that I'd have to drive up to Salem to prove this to the police, but at least I knew I could prove it and that the summons was delivered to me by mistake.

I called my folks to let them know the details, and I let Sean know as well. My parents gave me the number of a family friend who works in a law office. Even with the article, I certainly wanted to speak with a lawyer to see what my legal options were. Nancy, my parent's friend, has known me all my life so she was amazed to hear what had happened and more than happy to help. Since it was still early in the morning, I had a solid hour and a half before the Detectives in Lawernce would arrive at their desks. I spent the time scanning the summons in my computer to send it to Nancy and my father (who was checking with the lawyers in his office. I also called my office and told them I might be out for the next two days.

Between calling my parents, Nancy, my job, and the Lawernce Police Department, I must've used up all my alotted monthly minutes on my cell phone. Every time a scrap of information was avilable, I would relate it to everyone. Also, by sheer conicidence, I learned the husband of my co-worker, Laura, was on duty at the Bloomfield station when the summons came to them. In fact, he's the one who assigned the officers to deliver it to me! Laura said he knew the name was familiar but couldn't place it (we had only met two or three times in the two years I've been working), but now that he realized it was me, he said he'd try to contact the Lawerence police on my behalf.

However, contacting the Detectives on the case wasn't easy. Det. Murphy, apparently, was not at the Lawerence Police Department that day, so I was transfered to another station to get in touch with him. After two calls to that number, I learned from the desk jockey that the Detective was out of that office for the day as well. I explained to him the situation and asked who I could speak to on the matter. Rather coldly, the man said there was nobody that could help me and that I'd have to appear at the station to sort it out.

Needless to say, my buoyed spirits began to sink. Worse, after speaking with Laura to try and get in otuch with her husband, she related to me that the summons was "very serious" and she thinks if I did arrive in person, the police would arrest me first and ask questions later. Now the summons specificed that it was not and arrest warrant, but it did instruct that, upon arriving at the court, I would have to go to the Lawrence police station for booking. I began to worry that the only way to clear up the situation was for me to spend time in jail.

Trying not to panic, but definitely worried, I continued with my phone calls. Since contacting Murphy was a bust (not upn intended), I called the Lawrence Police again and asked to speak with Det. Simard. Fortunately, he was at his desk. I explained to him the situation.

"You haven't been to Massachusettes?" he asked.

"Not in five--six--years," I told him.

"You don't know Sean Nisivoccia or Charles Nisivoccia?" he asked. It was deja vu all over again.

"Nope." I said.

"And you're not a doctor?"

"I work for a fiber optic cable company," I said, unable to surpress a chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

I can't say why answering those questions was enough to convince Det. Simard that I wasn't the Craig Klein they were looking for. Really, a faceless voice on the other end of a phone is hardly incontrovertable proof of identity. But perhaps it was the tone of my voice, or perhaps Simard's experience allowed him to realize I was telling the truth. Perhaps he was just a nice guy (Perhaps all three). But it was enough for Det. Simard and asfter I answered his questions he said all he would need to clear things up would be a copy of my driver's license and a recent W-2 statement to confirm my occupation.

At this point it was just after 10:00 in the morning. Between making more phone calls and preparing the documentation (naturally, I had trouble finding last year's tax returns), I wouldn't leave the house for about another forty minutes. Once everything was ready I drove down to the local UPS store, made some copies, and faxed them to Det. Simard.

Except the fax wouldn't go through. More precisely, the fax line at Simard's office doubles as a phone line. Not realizing that, the attendant at the UPS store kept hanging up whenever a voice came through the line. I called Simard and he clarified what to do; after that, the fax went through properly.

When I called Nancy to explain everything seemed resolved (I still hadn't spoken with a lawyer; all the lawyers in her office that could have helped me were out that morning. Figures.) she told me that until I hear for certain that everything's resolved, I should try calling every number I have at my disposal. She pointed out that the summons listed the number of the probation office and it'd be a good idea to call it. I dialed the number and was told they only handle probations so I'd have to speak with the summons office. The summons office asked who the DA listed on the summons was, but the summons I had gave no name. With a little more information, the summons office figured it out and transfered me to Assistant District Attorney Alex Cain.

When I got ADA Cain on the phone and began explaing the situation, I was surprised when he cut me off and said he knew all about it. Apparently in the time it took for me to leave the UPS store and get transfered to his office, Det Simard had recieved the fax, contacted Cain, and sent him the information.

"I'm looking at your driver's license and a picture of Dr. Klein and you're clearly not the same person," Cain told me.

I have to say, it was a pain in the ass getting in touch with these people, but once I did, I doubt I could have asked for better treatment. Both Simard and Cain were extremely polite and apologetic about the situation. Cain assured me the matter would be corrected and that I no longer had anything to worry about. To be on the safe side, I asked him if he could fax me a letter to that effect. He was happy to do so, asking that, in return, I send one more fax of my ID. I said he'd have it in an hour.

And thus ended my surreal experience of being summoned before the Superior Court of Massachusettes for insurance fraud. From being woken by the cops to hanging up the phone with ADA Cain, ten hours passed. Considering four of it was spent alseep and two more were wasted waiting for offices to open, things tied up rather neatly.

Well, almost. I did get the fax from Cain (since everything was taken care of so quickly, I wound up going to work for the second half of the day.) and I have several copies (one sent to my parents, one for my car, and one that is laminated and will eventually be framed and hung in the bedroom of my new apartment) of Cain's letter, as well as a voice mail from Det. Simard in which he apologizes, on behalf of the Lawrence Police, for the mix-up. So at first everything seemed fine and all I got was this wild (and long) anecdote.

However, on Friday, as I continued typing this sprawling blog entry, I re-Googled "Dr. Craig Klein" to make sure I had the proper URLs for linking. And to my surprise I discovered a new link on the Eagle Tribune website. It was posted on Thursday the 23rd but i know for certain it wasn't indexed by Google when I did my original search. This article lists the names of every person indicted in connection with this scandal. And it lists "Dr. Craig Klein, 29, Bloomfield, N.J., charged with two counts of conspiracy to commit insurance fraud and two counts of insurance fraud."

Now, it may very well be that Dr. Klein is 29 and lives in Bloomfield. But I seriously doubt it. All the other Doctors are in their mid-thirties or older. It could explain how they sent the summons to me and not him, but even if there are good odds that two people with the same name and the same age could live in the same town, that seems too coincidental, even under these circumstances. Regardless, it's obvious the newspaper obtained a copy of the summons as it was delivered to me and was never notified about the correction. And though it is amusing, I'm not too crazy about the fact that my name, age, and town of residence is posted by a daily newspaper. So I've e-mailed them and asked them to check their records and confirm the true age and residence of Dr. Klein. That was Friday so I'm giving them untill Tuesday to respond. In the meantime, I'm going to get in touch with Nancy and speak to a lawyer. Just on the safe side.

Of course, now that I'm writing this beauty of a post, who knows who'll read this. I really have no desire to bring legal action (if I even have that option) against either the Bloomfield Police, the Lawrence Police, or the Massachusettes District Attorney's office, so I'm not writing this out of a desire for vengence or serious compensation. As long as I don't recieve any further hassle over this, I'm content to let this slip into the recesses of memory.

Besides, I look at it this way: A) this bit with the Eagle Tribune notwithstanding, it all worked out in the end. B) it got my mind off everytyhing that had been bugging me the day before and that's a very good thing. C) I got one hell of a story to tell. So I think it's fair enough that I get to tell it.

I took a risk on some music last Friday. Work was hellacious. Yes, not just hellish, but hellacious, which is a delicious word, now that I think about it. It rolls off your tongue like licorice. I suppose, somewhere, there exists the flavor hellacious licorice, and it tastes like cinnimon and brimstone, with a hint of love and a twist of damnation. Like storm clouds enveloping you, kissing you with humid rain.

But that has nothing to do with this post, so forget about it.

I bought two CD's last Friday. Because work was a horrid, wretched, hellacious thing that had to be revisted on Saturday (it was that bad) so I sought to temproarily assuage my electrocuted nerves with some pointless spending. I only wanted to get the remastered version of Rush's Presto album--it being my favorite rush album and all. But Best Buy didn't have it. Instead I bought Story of the Years' Page Avenue and the debut album by The Killers, Hot Fuss.

I knew nothing of Page Avenue other than I thought the album cover was pretty cool: an arieal photograph of a grided city, a large sillouhette of a body--either falling or sprawlled--coverings the topography. Hot Fuss I picked up because, I believe, John recommended the band to me.

Well, Story of the Year was nothing special. When I spoke about it to Noah at Pete's bachelor party he said it was "angry young man" music. And he's right. It's chock full of stock rage and post-adolescent whinning. The night will come and rip away her wings of innocence through every word we say. Dear brother, I wrote better self-indulgent poetry when I was in college. The current single, "Anthem of our Dying Day" starts off by saying "The stars will cry the blakcest tears tonight / And this is the moment that I live for". The song is the third track on the CD and that was the moment I hit "eject" and realized you can only give something so many chances. I suppose when I was 23, or still in college, I might've related to it. And perhaps that's who it's best for. But I can't see the value in being 29 and still feeling sorry for yourself that the world's unfair and that girl doesn't love you. And even if you are 29 and feel sorry for yourself that the world's unfair and that girl doesn't love you, you don't need to listen to music that only reinforces that mindset, doing nothing to move you past it.

But then we come to The Killers and Hot Fuss and it's not much better--although I like the album far more. I'm still not sure what to think about the fact that it sounds like every 80's New Wave band I heard at Aldo's. I mean, some songs sound right out of a Flock of Seagull's album, or Duran Duran, or, God save us, The Smiths. It's all filtered through that 21st-centuyr Garage rock, streamlined production so it doesn't sound completely dated, but it's definitely retro. That alone bothers me, but not as much as how much I like it. I still can't decide whether or not the whole "I've got soul but I'm not a solider" chant is a brilliant hook or insipid word-play, but beyond that I really like the album. Which is bothersome enough but what bothers me most is the song that first caught my attention: "Mr. Brightside".

You click here for the lyrics. Seeing them on the screen simultaneously reveals just how ridiculous the song is yet does it a horrible disservice by not allowing you to experience exactly how it sounds. And it sounds good, it trully does. There's a great baseline and the whole thing builds nicely, perfectly paced. But those damn lyrics--it's just another whiny song about jealousy and someone else not getting the girl you want for yourself. This will be the second single off the CD. The first one, "Somebody Told Me", is similar "the-girl-can't-be-mine" fare.

Are you beginning to get the hint, now?

In The Once and Future King, T.H. White has a field day with the Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot triangle. He's in a bit of a bind because how do you keep Arthur as King and Hero, yet play the cuckold for thirty years? White's solution, understandably, is a two-pronged approach. Firstly, he establishes that Arthur always knew about Gwen and Lance. But he so loved them both that he kept the knowledge unconscious. That he was such a decent and virtuous person that he understood their need for one another. He loved them, they loved him, and since everyone only wanted each other to be happy, they lived their lives at each one's corners and never openly admitted what they all knew. Secondly, in order to sell that approach, he maintains that the love Arthur had for Guinevere and Lancelot, and the love Guinevere and Lancelot had for each other, was a purer love, a better love, than anything that exists today.

It's this second point that I can't help but thin kwas White's commentary on the world today more than the practicalities of the triangle. Toward the end of the third book, White writes: For in those days love was ruled by a different convention to ours. In those days it was chivalrous, adult, longh, religious, almost platonic. It was not a matter about which you could make accusations lightly. It was not, as we take it to be nowadays, begun and ended in a long week-end Shortly thereafter: It is a story of love in the old days, when adults loved faithfully--not a story of the present, in which adolescents pursue the ignoble spasms of the cinematograph. And my favorite barb comes in the beginning of the fourth book: Lovers were not recruited then among the juveniles and adolescents . . . In those days people loved each other for all their lives, without the conveniences of the divorce court and the psychiartrist.

And, elistism aside, there's some truth to that. White understands the complexities of love--it's the driving force behind so many of his characters. Even White conceeds: sometimes we give the best of ourselves uncritically, to those who hardly think about us in return. Love does take work. It's not about living in the moment. The Once and Future King spans some thirty years--taking Arthur and Lancelot from chidhood and into their 50's. It's a perfect example of time marching on. It isn't like most romantic comedies where people mee and fall in love but the credit's roll before they even get married. In The Once and Future King people grow up, fall in love, fall out of love, live, and die. It's a stoy about lifetimes, and what can be done with them; and complications are things to be worked through, even if they're unsolveable, because resignation only leads to stagnation and decay.

It's why the albums I've mentioned vie for top-40 status while the book I'm reading is only explored in classrooms. Sitting here, listening to the self-indulgent diatribes of Story of the Year and The Killers, I can't help but think our society is certainly missing the boat, in its race for instant gratification, on the virture--yes, virtue--of patience and understanding. "I am hurt and someone needs to pay." "I'm upset and want to let you know about it." There's certainly something for the ability to vent and recognizing the things we feel as being valid feelings, but music--the music I'm hearing now--doesn't take you do anything with it. It simply leaves you in that self-pitying state because that's what we have now and it doesn't matter that it will pass or that life goes on or that we grieve and grow.

And yet . . . look at that final verse of "Mr. Brighteyes":

Jealousy
Turning saints into the sea
Turning through sick lullaby
Joking on your alibi
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
I'm Mr. Brightside

Recognizing the jealousy, the underlying sarcasm in calling himself "Mr. Brightside" when the whole song is anything but . . . it's a tacit admission of everything wrong with the state of mind the song holds. It's not just about the moment of jeaousy, and holding onto that moment of pain. The song--the writer, the band--also admits to a greater understanding of the situation. there is more there. That I focus on all the lyrics prior to those last ones is my fault, not the song's.

Well, it's it's Wednesday (for the next twenty minutes) then it must be time for another blog entry.

You know, Wednesdays used to be Comicbook Day, the day when all the comicbook companies would release their new comics. It used to be on Fridays--all throughout grade school, when I really got into comicbook collecting, I was always bugging my parents to drive me the comcibook store on Friday evenings to get my fix). I think for a brief while it was on Thursdays, but some twelve years ago (give or take) it moved to Wednesdays and its been that way ever since. Of course, I haven't bought comics on a regular basis in nearly two years, but after so long, it's hard to disassociate the day which used to hold so much importance to me.

Anyway, it's Wednesday (for the next sixteen minutes) and I would've written sooner but it's the start of Rosh Hashannah, so I had to play the4 dutiful son and head down to my folks for dinner. Even though ths and Yom Kippur are the holiest days of the Jewish faith, for me there's much less religion associated with it than, say, Passover. That's because all the theological ritual is done at Temple during the day--and let me tell you, I think being forced to spend four hours in Temple every September did more to turn me off to Judaism than anything else. I suppose, in retrospect, I can see some appeal. For one thing it was kinda cool to dress up (not that I thought this at the time), and I still hold the memory of seeing Shara Litowitz dressed up and looking oh-so-fine . . . but that was zen and this is tao, and if I want to see people all dressed up I'll go to a wedding. Or a funeral. Either option is far preferable to spending hours praying to (as Joss Whedon so wittilty called Him) the great Sky Bully.

But, in a semi-vain attempt of trying to stay on topic, since all the theology and God-ritual is concentrated at the temple services, that leaves the dinner time relatively ritual-free. One or two brief prayers to start off the night is all it takes before the food rolls out. And at that point it's just another twenty person diner with friend's and familiy. So, all things considered, it was a good time.

Even if it is 11:50 and I'm too wound up from dinner and the ride home to go to bed now, which means I'll be doubly tired tomorrow (what else is new) from further lack of sleep (ibid) and I get to repeat the whole process when I go to Marvin and Marsha's place tomorrow.

The one bright side is, when I mentioned to my mother that I'd see them a week from Saturday for Yom Kippur, she looked at me with a surprised look and said "Oh, you mean you're coming?" which meant she didn't expect me to come, which means I actually had a get-out-of-family-obligations-for-free card for that Jewish holiday, which means I now have that Saturday free after all. Whoopie!

Oh, and before I forget (and I rather have already becsause I don't remember the exact wording) I'd like to give full props to Dave Pearlman for the quote of the night, which is also this entry's subject heading. When the conversation t our end of the table inevitably turned to the latest sports talk, and I started poking fun at Scott's Cowboys for having Vinnie Testaverde on their team, Dave and Ryan marvelled at the fact that I was actually contributing to a conversation about sports. I replied "It's one of the signs of the Apocalypse." To which David responded: "Yeah. I hear Wolverine had a good year."

Bastard.

(If this joke fails to make sense, forget it. If I have to explain it'll be even less funny to you.)

Anyway, that's my life this week. Another half day tomorrow, and I get to officially announce changes to the Warehouse at my job. It's going to be a very interesting coupla weeks. I'm very curious to see where things stand come the end of October.

October. Jesus. It was fun having the last few months to not worry about looking for a new job or a place to live. But Time never stands still when you want it to.

Two minutes left to Wednesday. I'm getting good at these time-limited entries, aren't I?

I have some time to kill before my weekly phone meeting with Mike, and I'm rather tired of having last week's post be the first entry, so let's see what I can do in sixteen minutes.

Fringe was quite successful. We plastard the postcard at every Gallery in the Old City, and we got some encouraging interests in our company by some of the poeple at the Fringe. If we can land one or two then we're golden. If we can land all three of the people who were more than passingly interested in having a website, then I'd say our two-day campaign was an unqualified success.

The postcards came out really nice. Better than expected; if I didn't know that Mike and I made the damn things, I'd almost say they were trully professional looking. Could've used a slight trimming of the text on the back, but overall it's a nice card and I think it'll work well to catch people's interest. Whether it makes them contact us is another story, but right now we're happy with what happened last weekend and hopefully we will get to work on some sites. If I get off my lazy ass I might upload the card so you can all see. (If there's anyone left, of course.)

Work is still rather hectic, although today was probably the calmest day in a good two weeks. When you consider how hectic today was, that I could consider today at all "calm" should tell you how insane it's been of late. Then again, as I'm not really going into details, you don't have much to go on.

More changes afoot. Yet another long talk with Matt. I almost wish I was staying with the company. I mean, really, the one real regret I have in moving is that I'm cutting off my career with Emerson (although who knows, I might wind up at another subsidiary in the future). Matt's been real good to me and there is a futre there. But being at the level I am now . . . I think I have become a better supervisor, to some degree. But it's proving to me that the level I'm at is pretty much as far as I'd like to go up the corporate ladder. So moving to stay with Emerson might be financially practical, I can't justify moving out of state to stay at a level I can easily stay at with another company. Plus, you know, there's that whole web design thing...

Kate and I hung out 'till 3:00 in the morning on Sunday/Monday. We were at John and Tricia's for John's Birthday, and then we headed back to hang out in the cemetary again. But Kate got spooked after a few minutes, so instead we went off to find this park just off Upper Mountain Avenue. It's a secluded section, I never saw it before, but it was quite nice and I took a bunch of pics of kate and about five of them look pretty good. She and I are planning a photoshoot sometime within the next month, and if it goes as planned it should turn out quite nice.

And that's the exciting things of late. Trying to work on Available Light and as usual it's like drawing blood from a stone. But I am nothing if not obsessive and stubborn, so I hope to have a re-design before the end of the year. Mind you, I'm only talking the design of the damn thing. It probably won't be until mid-next-year that I have the friggin' content uploaded. but we shall see.

It's been an odd week with having Monday off. Tomorrow's Thursday already and it barely feels like Wednesday. Tuesday definitely felt like a Monday. I have a feeling I'll have to remind myself that Friday is just a day away. (Oh great, now I've got red-headed orphans singing in my brain.)

OK, well, I'm just marking time at this point. I think I'm done. And written in less than 17 minutes. This must be a record.

The dream was going fine when it was just me and Brenda kissing. It's when I was hugging Al Pacino on the floor and trying to keep him away from the nuclear fallout that things lost its charm. But it was all my fault; I'm the one who fired the missle launcher in the first place. I told Brenda not to worry, what with her boyfriend being Superman, he was sure to survive. Considering that, in reality, Brenda's ex's behavior towards her has been less-than-stellar, you have to wonder where my self-esteem must be if I'm dreaming that this guy is Superman. But considering this dream also involved me being a chaparone to The Godfather, perhaps I shouldn't be reading into things too far.

Work has been disgusting of late. End-of-year inventory has been murder; I'm still working like mad to get everything done. All this week I've been coming home late and my brain has been on shut-down mode. I worked eight and a half hours on the physical inventory on saturday, finished the report at 11:30pm on Monday, and have worked late every night this week as Matt and I adjust our inventory in the computer system.

Meanwhile The Fringe Festival is this weekend. I think Sunday will be the first day since . . . I'm not even sure when that I'll be able to relax. But I've got two jobs looming for Bright-Matrix tat I have to do, and Available Light.

I ran into Mirjam on Tuesday. Almost literally--I was cutting through Brookdale Park on my way home, looking around and seeing this blonde in jogging clothes stretching
by her car. I was half-way past her when i realized it was Mir, so I parked, walked over, and said hello. This was around 6:15 or so. When I got in my car to drive back home it was 8:40. It was good to catch up, surreal in its own way. There's some uncomfortable parallels between roommates and sisters that I have to leave under Setec Astronomy, and though I'd really like to think moving out of this area will solve (resolve?) things, no matter where you go, there you are.

I don't know what's going on with this blog. Does anyone still read this thing? It's been on hiatus for the last . . . . what, two weeks? Three? I'm considering dropping it. There's been a rash of that lately. "The Life is Never Boring" has shut down. Christine's blog is sporadic. The one bright spot was when I spoke with Mitch two weeks ago he mentioned trying to drive more traffic to his blog. But this place has been quiet and it isn't so much that I haven't had time (though, to be sure, time has been scarce) but that I've had nothing to say.

I could wax poetic about the Rush concerts. Robosapien is begging to have its potential unleashed. Breakfast Club was a blast and so were the three lovely ladies Ryan brought along (Ryan Pearlman: Ther White Boy's Pimp), and have Christine play Let's Make a Deal between the Showgirls boxed set and the Buffy Season Five DVDs was trully classic. But that was almost two weeks ago now and it just doesn't seem right.

There was Traxx last Friday, and before that I spent the evening socalizing with my co-worker Jen, probably the person in the office I was friendliest with, and now she's down in our Hanover office. Traxx was me, Sam, Kate, Lauren, Dave, and Terry, and though the music was good, it was an odd sort of night. Not sure about that, not sure it matters anyway.

The idea is that when I move to south Jersey this blog will come in handy to keep my Northern Friends informed of my "new life" elsewhere. Like I'm moving half a world away or something. (Heh, that'll be interesting: somewhere aong the way my "Home friends--Miller, Noah, Pete--became my "southern friends". But now when I move south of them, will I still be able to call them that?) The point is the blog will have a purpose again. It doesn't have one now. It never did--there never was a focus, that was the pouint. But with no focus the only thing keeping it going is sheer willpower. Which I must have if I'm writing this entry as I'm obviously not ready to shut it down completely, but it also means I lack a direction to take it in.

I haven't kept up with the news.I hear snippets about the Republican Convention on the radio and it sounds like a bad comedy--not the convention itself, the reporting of it. It's like this whole country is just going through the motions.

You know this entry didn't start out that bitter.

I'm tired. I've barebly been eating this week--usually working through lunch, and coming home too late to make a serious effort to cook. I ordered Chinese food for dinner and ordered enough to have lunch tomorrow--if I don't work through it again, though if I do then I know I'll have dinner.

Yeah, definitely bitter.

I've been listening to Rush's live albums for the last few weeks. The show at Homdel made me break out their first three live albums--All the World's a Stage, Exit... Stage Left, and A Show of Hands. I hadn't lsitened to them in forever and a day, though the latest, Rush in Rio has gotten copious play over the last ten months. So to step back as far as 1976 to see how far the band has come.... I mean, this tour opened up with an insrtumental medly of a half dozen old songs, stuff not played in twenty years, and to listen to their '76 live album, when the band was just two years old . . .. they sound so young. Even though it was just when they released 2122, they weren't anywhere as near as polished as they'd become. To hear Geddy constantly sing at such a high register, Alex's guitar work lacking the subtely he'd develop, listening to Neil's drum solo as this raw bombastic thing and nowhere near the polsihed symphony it'd become two decades later....

Ah well. Make no promises, tell no lies. Well, at least the first part.

See you on the other side, Dr. Venkman.....



They may cut your dick in half
and serve it to a pig.
and though it hurts, you'll laugh,
and dance a dickless jig.
But that's the way it goes
and though we're shat upon
though you die,
La Resistance Lives On!

---"La Resistance", South Park