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this is an excerpt (without lunch's misplaced salad dressing ) from a book that my friend karen suggested i read. i wonder why she thought i might like it?

everything was electric gray, and aidi and alex were supposed to meet at the corner of via codivilla and via san mamolo. he locked his bike with two chains to the post of a billboard with a white poster that had something to do with city hall, so he whipped out his marker. before he finished transcribing the lyrics to "sunny side of the street," aidi joined him on her scooter.

alex liked her a lot. he liked her cheeks, her fingers, the way she hugged him. after all their late-adolescent greetings, she suggested they go take a spin around the hills, and our run-of-the-mill tough guy accepted right away, all enthusiastic and ready to fly on the wings of his imagination. he rode on the back of the scooter, less than an inch from her green sweater. she put it on to make him happy--alex knew it--because that marvelous sweater intimated ireland, the pogues and happiness. all stuff old martino would no longer experience, he thought at one point as the scooter cruised through the streets. he'd never again feel a lump in his throat because tomorrow morning he was leaving for two weeks and wouldn't see that special girl; he'd never again get butterflies in his stomach about having to make a certain phone call for the first time; never get all happy to hear the sound of a scooter when you think you recognize it even though you're just dreaming in your own bed one spring morning; he'd never have a goddam thing again, no girls you hope to go to bed with, no albums to buy, no riffs to play on the fender jaguar... martino would never again cruise through the hills with a girl, two on a scooter. alex was trying to get used to this feeling, and then
     when they got to the end of the 16 line aidi went up the hill leaning forward, and he felt like they were a single thing, his chest against her back and his hands on her hips. her hair flowed out from her helmet, and a smiths song came to alex's mind, "there's a light that never goes out," from the queen is dead, where he says something like "don't take me home tonite because it's not my home, it's theirs, and i'm not welcome anymore. and if we get hit by a double-decker bus, it would be a pleasure and an honor to die by yourside."
     and that's nothing on tape. alex saw an old concert on mtv, and for starters there was morrissey with that triumphant jacket and open shirt, dancing like a clown, epic and grotesque at the same time, a bouquet of withered white flowers in his hand, a sublime allegory reminiscent of the sex pistols' "we're the flowers in the dustbin," and as soon as they kicked in with "And if a double-decker bus crashes," the theater explodes, and thousands of fans are singing in a chours about how much they dream of dying together.
     well, that's just what came to his mind. not that he hoped aidi would shoot into the next curve and splatter them across the embankment. but the magic of being together did come back again, along with the charm of not knowing exactly what to do with each other because--ooh--just holding hands they had it all.

- from, jack frusciante has left the band : a love story -- with rock 'n' roll, by enrico brizzi.

my manager just caught me, at my desk, reading a borrowed copy of scientific american. i think she was mad that i wasn't writing code, but then i explained how interesting the principles behind super-cavitating underwater projectiles were, and i think she forgot to yell at me. *phew*

an object at rest will tend to stay at rest, unless acted upon by an external force.

ever wished email had a recall button? a digital leash, which could somehow detect if correspondence had yet been read? a slight tug, and an 'un-opened' note would come tumbling back, through the digital ether?

oh, if i could recapture the senseless drivel i mailed out last night... where was my mind?

to: she
from: me

hmm.. 1:33 am. can't sleep. again. far too distracted to submit, far too indifferent to do anything worthwhile. correspondence sits, unanswered in my inbox; i fret i don't have the mental capacity to generate replies with necessitated depth. i think, 8 hours in advance, you face now the hell that will soon wash over me.

at this moment, on the other side of the world, monday is hurtling in my direction. in only a few hours, i will be sitting in my office, staring at my disgruntled and unshaven reflection, contemplating the fleeting nature of a weekend now past.

i launched a rocket. i aimed high. i tumbled back to the earth, reduced to flaming bits...

i have nothing intelligent to say. i am spent. i resign. retire.

see you in the office.

it has now been 50 months since the first touch, 2 months, 1 day since the night's conversation, and 2 months since the morning's resultant decision...

recent events suggest that she has carried on as agreed, and has recently been touched by another; yet, i continue to wait, motionless.

if the catalyst for these developments was my idea, why then am i so paralyzed? so unable to move? unable to make proactive decisions about my current direction?

an object in motion will tend to stay in motion, unless acted upon by an external force.

damn, i'm tired.. but for some reason, i just wanted to finish this before i went to bed. yes, i know i'm mad. must be the glue, but i felt like i owed it to kidA.

gee, i sure miss my rocket....

so very new and interesting; i could write to her all day.

it's friday already...

where has the week gone? as of late, time seems to have lost all cohesive qualities. it undulates about me, sometimes with impossible velocity: i lose time, hours slip away, without a trace. others, i find myself counting the seconds, even the silent moments between seconds, (yes, they do exist), committing each one to memory, in excrutiating (and unnecessary) detail.

friday. another week, now gone forever. depressing really. what do i have to show for it? hmm.. well, today IS payday. that's nice.

'we were wondering about the girl', they kindly ask.

'the girl'? this term is allegory for all that will eventually destroy me. as always, i too am wondering about 'the girl,' and all that this has come to represent; even dwelling. this is my fallacy. this is my downfall.

forget it. tonite, i will complete my rocket, for saturday is launch day. perhaps i can find salvation in the raw physics of projectile motion. -perhaps this might be the drug that dulls the pain.

perhaps i'll just blow my hand off in the process. i guess that would work too...

'hovering in front of me is still this idea. it has rolled itself into a ball, it stays there like a large cat; it explains nothing, it does not move, and contents itself with saying no. no, i haven't had an adventure.'
         -from Nausea, by jean-paul sartare

how clearly i can recall standing up, turning off the lights, brushing my teeth, and sliding under the sheets. i opt for the messed up side, so as not to disturb the other half, with sheets folded nicely on cold mattress. i vividly recollect how the orange streetlight paints parallel swaths on the wall to my left through the blinds; these familiar stripes dance, in subtly precise movements, responding to the displaced air of my recent passing.

yet, this morning, i awaken in another room, shoehorned into the loveseat, and barely covered by a small throw. i have no recollection of how i got here, or why i have chose this over the comfort of my bed.

i must be sleepwalking again...

this evening, the silence of my apartment is deafening; i find the resonance of my own thoughts nearly unbearable... i am captivated, even obsessed, about events transpiring this very moment, in the place i cannot be, and now can never go.

this is not healthy. i am going to bed.

april 25, 2001 - 17:09

she writes sentences in fluent french that i can (with babelfish) only barely understand... in return, i foolishly respond with fragments of broken italian (that i can't expect an italian to understand ).

conceding the fact that the fundamental act of communication is obstacle enough, what reasonable expectations can one have of being understood, whilst operating in circumstances such as these? then again, how can you explain your intentions to someone else, when you haven't figured them out yourself? as always, i am doomed.

april 25, 2001 - 14:32

yesterday, the company executed it's sixth round of layoffs in recent memory. today, i still have a job, but have received unfortunate news from some good friends.

... and then there was one

april 25, 2001 - 10:24

scott says :	"i'm oscillating wildly, ..."
steve says :	"Better to be oscillating than logarithmically flat-lining.."
scott says :	"is that not the same as being asymptotically bounded? and if so, is it not then only slightly more restrictive than being forced to pendulate about a fixed axis? sure, while oscillating, you have more latitude to wiggle, but you're still constrained from independent motion... perhaps decieved by a false sense of freedom?"

april 25, 2001 - 9:43

so... received the monthy 'nameguard' report this morning and it appears the registrar's office has been a busy lately... two new beingboring domains have popped up in the last month. (damnit, i knew i should have registered those... another case of not realizing how much you wanted it until it was gone.) learn your lesson boy! learn it.

• scott appears to be a student at hsu. (really weird coincidence)
• god only knows what's happening here

april 25, 2001 - 1:42

because i'm a dunce, and neglected to bring the promised photographs to share with wes and jeannette last weekend, i have gone ahead and scanned them in. they can be found here. although, IMO, they probably aren't very exciting for anybody other than wes and jeannette...

april 24, 2001 - 12:50

(the essential is invisible to the eye, said the fox)

april 24, 2001 - 10:40

violently awakened by a ray of sunlight subverting the meager defenses of my blinds, i hastily fall into the same thought process that i embraced deep into unconciousness the night before...

the oldest saying in the book? 'be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.' funny, sometimes it looks (or feels) a little different when it arrives than all of the times you imagined it.

like the conversation last evening; i knew it was inevitable, but didn't think that it would hurt so much when it occured. shocking really, how casually she said it. actually, it was sorta nice to feel something again; i just wish that the feeling was something other than the air rushing out of my chest...

i'm not whining or complaining in any way, just dumfounded:: i consider myself to be a moderately intelligent individual, yet i keep walking into the same (thinly disguised) obstacles again and again. at first, it was quite humbling; then embarassing... now? now it's just depressing.

i wish i had the focus of this morning's trespassing sunbeam... millions of miles it has travelled through a frigid darkness that insignificant i can only imagine; all of this way, it has unfaltered from its original vector, and has managed to ingress the millimeter disruption of my blinds and end, forever, squarely on my retina. what admirable determination... what commendable devotion...    ( although, i do suppose that i have it licked in the 'futility' department )

then again, the light of the sun? how fucking pretentious of me... perhaps instead, i shall just aspire for the focus guiding the unfaltering aim of a grapefruit, similiarily vectored for the eye of an overzealous consumer.

the glare of this morning is almost unbearable.

april 23, 2001 - 14:27

my friend blair recommends the following cure for boredom:

you can mime a little box, and then mime pulling its plug from the wall. And then turn around to bow to your audience. And then check ourself in at a clinc.

i especially like 'ourself,' is this an accidental typo, or a clever admission that this idea is almost as madd as it's possible implementation; -in effect, suggesting that he should be admitted with me upon it's conclusion?

april 23, 2001 - 13:47

so, somehow we managed to survive the weekend... admittedly, i'm still paying for events only recently transpired. -those topz sure know how to throw a fun rally- i made several new friends, and got to see many scooter kids that i haven't seen in months. this was one of the best times i've ever had at a scooter event!

the best part? i was only in sacramento for a few days, but i was able to meet and hang out with everyone that i knew! (including non-scooter kids) wes and jeannette rock, and are more gracious hosts than my grandparents (their band sounds better too). i wish people this cool lived in my town, but alas, i know of none... they should come visit. SOON. ;)

heck, i even got to hang out with my old friend amyj.. that was tip-top. (albeit painfully brief). that girl is endlessly elusive.

april 19, 2001 - 17:42

finally... the descending sun beckons freedom from office confinement; i'm off for a weekend of debauchery, dressed as a cartoon character and running rampant through the hills of sacramento on my trusty vespa with the burgundy topz scooter club.        cheers.

april 19, 2001 - 15:44

today is exceptionally slow; i clumsily exist, stumbling through time with the poise of flesh colliding with concrete. wrist hurt disease ensures every key stroke is felt, implying that even the most casual of efforts must be carefully calculated for its expected reward.

i wait for the final build, for the imminent new project:: always it looms, just over the horizon. different technologies, different responsibilities. perhaps something new, something stimulating. something better?

i haphazardly fantasize of being tasked with an assignment appropriately mapped to my skillset. i am gloriously under-utilized. i am sick to the core of my daily concessions of mediocrity. at what point did i lose focus?

...did i ever have it, or have years of lament generated false memories?

today is the last day i will share an office; my office mate has convinced the company to sponsor an extended holiday in uk. (reality: transfer):: i shudder with jealousy... lately wanderlust has infected my being, and prevents the enjoyment of even the most fundamental of daily pleasures.

surely there is something new? surely...

april 19, 2001 - 10:20

jack writes meaningless haikus and mails them to everyone in his addressbook:

     worker bees can leave
          even drones fly away
               the queen is their slave

april 17, 2001 - 10:21

so, last weekend, my good friend randall and i decided to have the first monthly meeting of the santa cruz rocketry association; an idea that started with the casual combination of a long-standing fascination with pyrotechnics / projectile motion, and the simultaneous desire to find something entertaining to do on a lazy saturday.

although he was able to construct his rocket rather quickly, mine has required a bit of patience whilst waiting for the 'glue' to dry. he has since moved on to the assembly of an igntion system / launch pad, and i'm consumed with finalizing ideas regarding ideal color schemas for my missile.

sitting at work, i should be spending a bit more time on this UNICODE conversion, but can't seem to get my mind off my rocket. i'd like to clearcoat it, as i'm fond of the cardboard / balsa look, but admit that a color such as bright orange might be prudent once this toy has been pushed to 3000 feet, and i'm forced to find out where it lands.

perhaps i'll just paint the stages orange? i guess we'll see....

april 16, 2001 - 14:09

alright; now i've done it.. certainly i've appeased some deity somewhere, as i've managed to reach an unfathomable milestone: 1/4 of a century. then again, perhaps this is yet another cruel twist of fate? i stand in the bathroom repeating it to myself; the concept remains as foreign to me as an obtuse woman in pink spandex. why? how? weird.

some goals attained; some remain out of reach; and many more forgotton. time is a weird thing indeed.

april 13, 2001 - 16:53

friday afternoon consideration: isn't it funny how some days are just terribly slower than others? today, for example, the seconds cling to me like unwanted suitors at seedy dive bar.

april 13, 2001 - 9:59

mmm.. been a crazy couple of weeks: been pretty sick lately, and trying to keep a pretty low profile; however, this trend of waking up from an illness induced (and perscription enhanced) fog and finding myself in strange places is just getting out of control....

take last weekend for example; somehow, somehow i managed to end up in portland, oregon on a friend's scooter, trying to navigate hail, metal grated bridges, and mad muni bus drivers... what crazy turn of events beckoned this situation? i have my theories, but will tell you, i'm asking my doctor for a new cough syrup... this one's a little too strange for me.

... but it sure was fun though.... ;>

(thanks: bean! chad, & twistnplay )

april 1, 2001 - 17:17

taxes suck, and that's all i have to say about that. ARGH!