december 31, 2001 - 1:06
entry from www.webster.com :
Main Entry: bof·fin
Pronunciation: 'bä-f&n
Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
Date: 1945
chiefly British : a scientific expert;
especially: one involved in technological
research
how is it that a word, only relatively recently (1945) recognized as a token
in the english language, can be in commonplace usage today, and exist
with 'origin unknown?'
especially one used to describe 'one involved in technological research'
(a person presumably anal about keeping notes and maintaining references)?
december 30, 2001 - 22:55
after reading this article @register.co.uk, i can't help but wonder
about the various seti clients i've littered about, during my tenure as a
lab manager @ university, or the grand temptation posed by banks of idle
machines in the test labs that belonged to my previous employer.
i am certain that my superiors knew of my 'research projects' whilst under
their employ, but i don't recall any such nod from academia...
funny thing though...
now that i sit and think about it, the automation in the test lab probably
has not been disturbed, (although originally approved, the staff has almost
entirely turned over, and it now belongs to another company).
more interestingly, i would be terribly surprised to discover that somebody
had found the sleepy little process running in the background on the
university's giant sgi, tucked away in the basement of the sciences building.
i suppose it's a good thing that seti@home doesn't offer any monetary
rewards...
december 30, 2001 - 20:26
lower than low :: end of the year, jack sits in an empty apartment and
recounts the months past. am i really better off now than i was
12 months ago?
december 30, 2001 - 11:42
like a good little trooper, i ventured south to spend the holidays with
my parents, eat good food, and 'rebaseline' before returning north, launching
the plan.
my mom had finally found occasion to complete her excavation of my room,
a bit of an archelogical dig, of sorts, as it had been converted into an
impromptu storage unit within moments of my initial departure for university.
an easy 7 years have passed since i've slept behind that door, in that bed.
she was terribly excited about her achievement, so i didn't have the
heart to tell her that i actually preferred the old futon that i would pull
out of the garage and sleep on in the livingroom when i did actually return.
(2x's now, in the last 3 years).
on my first night back, i had been up playing 'grand theft auto' on my sister's
ps2 (how is it that even she has one before i do), before i finally
stumbled into my room around 3 am.
(as i don't have a game console myself, i have found that i fall into a
rather unhealthy binge and purge relationship with them, while exposed).
down hall, turn left. track lights on, i remove pants, socks, shirt,
then fall, as if remembering a bit part in an old film, face first onto
miniscule mattress. heel of left foot kicks up, contact on wall
extinguishes tract lights, and a new world appears.
hundreds of phosphorescent, adhesive stars, lied dormant for years, in wait,
for this blitzkrieg attack of nostalgia. hieroglyphics from another
time, told countless stories of a boy who was consumed about a girl.
time.. funny how the very thing which can cut such painful wounds
can provide the therapeutic distance from them to allow nostalgia to wash
over and cleanse their mark.
we had a sort of code, she and i. a type of 'writing' based on the
organization of these stars, that we used to leave messages on the walls
of each other's rooms, shrouded from sight by daylight.
imagine my surprise, after seven years, to be lying with my nose not 6 inches
from the nearest such message, glowing there on my wall. heel flashes
up, again hits switch, lights turn on. it is gone, practically invisible.
lights off. re-invigorated by a quick charge of light-energy, the
loose collection of stars now glows brighter, more defiant. lights on.
it dissappears again, but i am stopped, for a moment, by the image
on the wall opposite.
a casual photo, by an acquaintence, of her and i as we boarded a bus on prom
night. at the time, we unanimously decided that this image was far
superior to any taken by the staff photographers, and i took it upon myself
to produce several enlargements, such as the example before me.
for a moment, i am caught up in the thought of where its sisters are today,
or if they even exist. i do know that the home of the blue-eyed girl
has been turned on end in years past, surely a victim to the divorce that
rattled through that family.
would she keep it? where would it be today? is it lying dormant,
as this one did, silently biding it's time, just waiting to surprise her
with this same feeling of nostalgia that encompasses me now?
before turning out the lights to resign again to the darkness, i can't
help but to look back at the photo; she really did look amazing that
night.
december 29, 2001 - 16:24
wireless card in laptop leads to revolution in bandwith; it's faster and
easier to bum signal from neighbor than to use pc and modem. the
fallacy? all ergonmoics, voice recognition tools, and other such
escapes from wrist hurt disease must be disbanded along with slow baud
rates.
i fear this revolution will die out shortly; it is fundamentally flawed.
until then, it's damn fun to sit on the sofa and surf the net while watching
the news.
december 19, 2001 - 13:29
(dragonspeak)
sometimes i can't help but wonder if itunes has developed some sort of ai,
as it always seems to land on scarily appropriate selections.
...
but it's best to finish as it started
with my face head down just staring at the brown formica
it's safer not to look around
i can't hide my feelings from you now
there's too much love to go around these days
you say i've got another face
that's not a fault of mine these days
i'm honest, brutal and afraid of you
- excerpts from 'there's too much love,' by belle and sebastian.
december 19, 2001 - 10:19
(dragonspeak)
it is not often that you can exit a movie theater at 3am, and carry with
your trembling steps to a frosted parking lot a real sense of accomplishment.
as if flying southwest, we made it into the first batch of 'boarders,'
(boarding passes 1-30), and captured the seats that we desired.
once there, we waited again as those who were far colder than us (members of
the same line, but to a seemingly different class, (a sane one?),
for they held positions in the chilly night, outside of the front door),
and then it began.
and it was good 'precious.'
and now it is over, and there is little left to look forward to:
harry potter, book 5? -sometime in june '02. star wars, episode
2? -to be released sometime next summer...
...nothing to satiate the lust, for now i must also wait for the second
installment of this trilogy, a seemingly impossible year away.
who knows what will happen before then?
dirty marketing bastards, i know they are holding out on me!
december 18, 2001 - 16:57
(dragonspeak)
::in::
- appointments with light touch therapists that sooth wrist hurt
disease and make days worth waking to
- proper english cadbury cream eggs from
the pig.
- tickets to the 'preview' midnight showing of lord of the rings.
::out::
- not being able to teleport to sacramento to attend the internet
superstar conference going on there.
- reducing my remaining stock of cadbury creme eggs by 33%, in one
fell swoop.
- anticipating a terrible line for lord of the rings, even if i get
there three hours early.
oh yes.. logic says, be cool jack, wait and buy matinee tickets next
week... you know the movie isn't going anywhere, and that way you
won't have to fight overzealous fanatics for good seats.
yet, there is just something appealing about the propsect of having to wait
outside in a line. (at least, in theory, in the current comfort of my
apartment) i guess it kinda makes me nostalgic for the old days
when we used to sleep in cars in the parkinglots of ticketmaster depots.
you know, before the internet?
that, or maybe i just need to find something more substantial to look
forward to?
december 17, 2001 - 17:38
(dragonspeak)
wet strands of dirty hair stuck in haphazzard clumps across my forehead,
i sit and watch steam rise from white t-shirt, adhesive to skin, from
unusual display of prespiration.
i take deep, gulping breaths of cold ocean air, each icy mouthful laden with
sea-spray that aggrevates the stitch in my side. short, shallow breaths
might alleviate the situation, but deprecate the sensation.
tonite, i have run farther and harder than ever before.
honestly, i hate jogging. i always have. there are so many
fantastic forms of locomotion, jogging always seems, well, primitive.
however, i have grown desperately out of touch with myself; somehow
forgotting what it feels like to truly be alive, to feel my heart pound
heavily in my chest.
it is this instant, sitting here, with cold air against damp skin, that
i may embrace 'life,' the fleetingness, the possibilities, and all the other
new-age hippy-dippy sentimentalist b/s that someone might digress into
at this point.
tonite, the sea-spray formed a kinda foggy-non-fog, a sticky cloud that
lingered on the cliffs, and caused everything to glow orange,
then pink as the sun finally slipped away. it is this phenomena
that blurs the horizon between ocean and sky, and truly makes it feel as
if you stand on the edge of infinity.
i remind myself, it is this feeling that i used to dream about,
only a few weeks ago, whilst sitting in my cube and watching the parking lot
grow dim with the conclusion of the workday.
december 17, 2001 - 15:41
(dragonspeak)
still confounded over an unprecedented phone call from
drew, i was reeling when
the EDD finally called, at the very end of their allotted window.
the telephone is a tricky tool today.
edd : 'so, where were you during the
week of november...'
jack : 'i had flown east, intending to meet with potential contacts...'
december 17, 2001 - 11:42
(dragonspeak)
again, because prahu has demonstrated the intrinsic beauty of simplicity :
(and i'm too lazy to write about my weekend).
::in::
- friends with hydraulic presses that can help you straighten lambretta
frames, and,
- are willing to do it for peanuts. (specifically, ice cream).
- attending a hip 'geek' party, (misnomer?), and engaging in
particularily stimulating conversation for the first time in what
seems like ages.
- getting into a debate about the number of possible solutions to a
coffee-table mindteasing puzzle, and working with other attendees to
design an algorithm to brute force the particularily difficult to
model solution.
- remembering, whilst tired and intoxicated, how to do matrix transforms.
- implementing that algorithm, in perl, before anybody else had solved
it by playing with it alone. (a race, to see if kids with laptops
could find all the solutions before kids without could find one)
::out::
- riding lambrettas with twisted frames, without legshields.
(it looks like a wannabe motorcycle, makes your legs cold, and
handles like a three wheeled minivan full of marbles in the corners)
- finally deciding that you won't be able to purchase a new stereo for the
car, 'for a little while.'
- breaking down and making a new mix tape, for existing crappy tapedeck, in
said car. (but only after listening to the other one for six
months, whilst constantly reminding yourself, 'i'll
get a new deck, next week')
- spending hours of a sunny saturday to create the tape, only to discover
that it only plays through the left speakers.
- shrugging it off, because the right ones are blown anyway.
- trying to do linear algebra whilst tired and intoxicated.
- noticing that the yahoo messenger buddy list was again populated, and
considering it the only indicator that the weekend was now over, and a
new work week had begun.
- knowing that your only engagement for the day will be an interview with
the EDD, sometime between 1 & 3 in the afternoon.
december 17, 2001 - 10:50
new low : normally out of bed, showered, and dressed for 6:30am cartoons,
today, jack is unconcious and unrousable until the sound of the front door
closing signals departure of the girl. it is 9:45.
today, he crawls directly to the couch to slurp cereal in pj's, because
it's raining outside. channel surfing for stimuli, he 'stumbles' onto
a martha stewart special on vintage punch bowls, is consumed with a
supernatural desire to prepare holiday egg-nog, and thusly decides there is
something desperately missing in his life.
knowing jack's distaste for all things martha, i fret this can only be
considered a shameless cry for help.
december 15, 2001 - 8:12
(dragonspeak)
miserable: awake at 5:30 am on a Saturday morning with arms that ache
ambiguously. one of those mornings that i stare in silence at
the ceiling, wishing i could remove them cleanly at the shoulders.
i pushed it too far again yesterday.
december 14, 2001 - 17:06
(dragonspeak)
token dragon speak-o for the day:
jack : "it is conversations like these."
dragon : 'it is calmer systems that like to cease.'
today, i sit in an empty apartment, bored out of my mind. i can't
help but stare, entranced by her only surviving baloon, a shiny metallic
balloon, that floats listlessly in the corner to my right.
..........
on my fifth birthday, my parents took me out to some sort of family venue,
(which may or may not have been a chuck e. cheeses's, but certainly
something similiar). as we departed the establishment, freshly
satiated with greasy food and hours of video-gaming, i was carrying a
large handful of balloons, including the then-new shiny metallic ones.
it was a great bundle of floating festivity, and i was quite pleased with
myself, as i had never amassed such a collection before. i liked the
noise they made, a series of muffled rubbery (yet hollow) thud as they casually
glanced off one another, accompanied by the light shuffle of ribbons which
fought to keep them tethered.
as we were attempting to pack into the car, my father took the bundle from
me, and was working to coax them into the back seat of the buick.
somehow, during this time, they manged to get away from him, and began
the heartbreaking ascent towards the heavens.
i yelped, he cussed, and the balloons drifted higher, leaving us standing
there helpless (and feeling it). then, something truly amazing
happened...
our olive green buick was parked in a dingy florida parking lot, which
was composed of that inhumane composite concrete made from crushed up
seashells which shreded the skin of those who stumbled and fell. (me)
our particular parking place was just under a dark stripe of powerlines that
traced a series of parallel paths towards one of those menacing exposed-frame
power poles silhouetted in the distance, and then off, deep into the horizon.
well, as that metallic balloon bundle hit the powerline cluster, it
formed a sort of arc between them; a sudden and deafening
crack, and the buzzing noise of the transformer was silenced, leaving only
the distant resonance of crickets singing summertime in the sticky air.
before anyone could comment on this unprecedented turn of events, people
began to spill out of the dinner/gaming (chuck e. cheese's?) venue, all
working to shield their eyes against the bright light.
it turned out that my birthday balloons had brought down the power grid
for a good part of that sleepy little neighborhood...
dad hurried us into the car, and we drove away in a brisk silence.
although his effort was swift, it was not quite quick enough to keep me
from putting 2+2 together, silently, in the back seat.
metallic balloons + powerlines = giant light switch
...........
as the years passed, i never forgot this little lesson, but certainly didn't
spend any time dwelling upon it. by the time i was nine, i had
acquired a job, (garbage duty, yard maintenance, etc..) and a disposable
income, (allowance).
we had only recently moved to california, and currently lived on a military
base where my father had been stationed. at the time, i attended a
public school off-base, and had to walk the distance between the nearest
bus-stop to my home.
this path wound along the side of the hiway,
through a hole in the chain-link fence, (the base perimeter), and past
the commissary before turning at the gym onto the street my house was on.
about every other day, i would go into the commissary to purchase some
sort of snack; sometimes a simple candy bar, a package of now-n-laters,
but occasionally something as heavenly as one of those klondike ice cream
sandwiches... (i loved those...)
anyway, one afternoon, the fossil-lady checker who spoke and smoked through a
hole in her neck decided that it would be in my best interest not to
consume so many junk-food items, and was going to take it upon herself
to reduce my access to them.
she had just come in from a break, and sat with the stale lingering scent
of the pack of cigarettes that she clumsily slid under her register as she
sat down. i walked up to the register, placed the item and my
carefully counted quarters upon her counter, and stood there, waiting for
her to ring it up.
'every day you come in here, pawning your lunch
money for junk food. well, i'm not to stand for it, i am. '
smiling treacherously with stained yellow teeth, she took my milky way and
placed it, entirely out of my reach, on the shelf behind her.
'.. but, i've already eaten lunch, and this is my
allowance ...'
'yes, yes, well i've heard it all before young man,
you're going to have to try harder than that to pull the wool over my eyes.
you'll not be getting any more of this while the lights are on in
my shift, no sir.'
it was then that something seemed to just click into place..
i shrugged her off and quietly turned to leave. perhaps the checker
lady was expecting more of a confrontation, because she was calling after
me even as the exit door 'fwooshed' closed, muffling her raspy voice.
i walked into the next store down, (a florist), and told the employee
there that today was my younger sister's birthday, and that i'd like to buy as
many metallic ballons as i could for $3.27. (total sum of my life
savings, minus the cost of that elusive milky way).
oh, and i am going to need a long ribbon on those.. 'you see, she likes to fly them, you know, like a kite.'
i think the cashier thought i was endearing, as she hooked me up with
an impossible bundle of tin-foil wrapped helium, all with bright letters,
spelling out 'h-a-p-p-y b-i...' (i remember thinking that if i
could get this many for $3.27, i should've only spent $2, and preserved some
of my savings).
anyway, i thanked her profusely before walking outside to wave at the
evil-checker-lady nextdoor, stationed just inside the sliding glass doors..
then, i walked around the back of the building, stood beneathe the power-lines,
and began slowly releasing the bundle. (thankfully, the florist
had provided an adequate length of ribbon, as it took about ten minutes
of careful alignment, release, miss, align, release, miss... )
before :
kerrr-zawarp.
..........
sadly, i did not get my candy bar that evening; however, i did receive
a ride home from two nice gentleman in a cool open-top jeep that belonged
to some company called 'mp.'
(i really liked that jeep. good thing too, as i got to ride in
it a couple of times in the next couple of years...)
..........
today, i sit in an empty apartment, bored out of my mind. i can't help
but stare at her only surviving balloon, a shiny metallic balloon,
that floats listlessly in the corner to my right.
i remember reading a couple years ago that they had changed the composition
of these, that they no longer should conduct electricity, but i can't help
but wonder....
*sigh* i need to get a job.
december 13, 2001 - 17:15
(dragonspeak)
during casual conversation with fellow apartment renter and garage user,
i mentioned that i was considering selling some of my scooters to temporarily
offset cost of sc living (and reduce rolling stock in anticipation of move).
after suggesting how heartbroken i am about actually having to do this, (i've
been toying with the idea for months due to wrist hurt disease, but not very
seriously), she mentioned how it would probably do me good to get rid of some
of those 'old things' anyway.
"seems a shame to park your car outside when all this
good space is wasted in here, on these, these..."
biting my lip, i stare at her, then the line of scooters, parked cowl to cowl
(haphazardly trying to fit within a single parking space) and wait for her
to leave. devil departed, i stand up, walk over to the garage door
opener and change the frequency of her door's receiver.
i think she just 'magically' lost garage priviledges for a week for that
snide little comment.
december 13, 2001 - 11:03
(dragonspeak)
preliminary work in creating a seamless conduit between dragon voice recognition
engines and my neural network project is finally beginning to show some promise.
maddened that i am unable to work on it straight through, (for fear of wrist
hurt disease aggrivation), i force myself to take a break today. that
said, i'm off for a bike ride along the cliffs... perhaps i'll end up
reading a.i. textbooks in a corner at borders?
( nevermind the books, i wish i could still afford the coffee. )
december 13, 2001 - 10:15
(dragonspeak)
this posting is brought to you by the numbers 3, 24 & 46 :
after visiting the superlotto website to confirm the stupidity of my
impulse 7-11 purchase last evening, i was pleased to discover that i am
now $10 richer than i was last night.
yes, this $10 represents the only income i've had in over 1
month.
today, the battle with CAL-EDD, insurance companies, and various doctors
continues. (a minor annoyance in several arenas has now swelled to
a fulltime job that pays exactly zilch).
i'm afraid that it is time for some more draconian measures to be
implemented... i've been toying with the idea of selling scooters
for months, but have just been unable to bring myself to do it.
this reluctance, along with some other unnecessary baggage, needs to be
addressed immediately. the future, the very plan, depend upon it.
december 13, 2001 - 9:58
(dragonspeak)
i watched the initial public broadcast of the recently 'discovered' (or
manufactured, or faked, or edited, or...) OBL tapes on the news this
morning; all thoughts on conspiracy, spinning, and politics aside, only one
truth is self evident...
along with all of those aide & care packages we've been littering in
afghanistan, we should probably find a way to include the occasional tripod...
perhaps this will allow these rogue documentary filmmakers to
capture a somewhat palatable image; i'm practically seasick in my pajamas.
considering the instant audience they have (which would make any film student
jealous), it would be keen to keep an eye out for some production values, eh?
december 12, 2001 - 16:29
(dragonspeak)
infuriated by the impossible bureaucracy of the EDD, jack slams down his phone and falls deeply into a
fructy relapse. hours later, he wakes, and finds himself
surrounded by an embarassing collection of discarded pez containers.
shamefully, he disposes of the evidence, and then slides out the front door
for a race along the cliffs.
ARGHHH!!!
december 12, 2001 - 14:14
(dragonspeak)
bop bop bop bop bop..., boy quietly sits at light, on black scooter,
staring blankly into the distance as if lost in thought.
vroooOOM, screeeech. thrwap-brwrap, thrwap-brwap, he is joined
by a particularily mangy looking bmw enduro bike, which drops clumps of
solidified earth as it idles roughly to his right, thrwrap-brwrap...
"heeey man, nice moped."
shuddering, boy glances over his shoulder, as the newcomer continues...
"have you ever seen quadrophenia?".
perhaps prematurely summing up his newfound company, scooterboy decides to
lie, in a half-harted attempt to truncate interaction. "um, no"
it is, of course, to no avail, as his unsolicited company continues on, as if
compelled to provide a soundtrack to the construction of the small pile of
dirt that was even now collecting improbable mass beneathe his machine.
'oh well, think it came out a few years ago...
anyway, i guess you're supposed to be scared of me, being on a motorbike and
all. then 'gain, i guess you couldn't really outrun me neither, with
those little wheels and all, i hate little wheels.' then,
stopping almost as suddenly as he started, perhaps for breath, perhaps to size
scooterboy up...
'saaay, do you like that silly thing? i mean,
with those little wheels and all?'
bop, bop, bop... boy on scooter looks at enduro-dirt man,
then at his large, knobby tires, and back again to enduro-dirt man.
he smiles at torn jeans, no-fear sweatshirt, and gardening gloves that rest
behind brush guards on wide-set handlebars...
'well, it's not as fast, but little wheels
certainly are a lot more manouverable in traffic.'
as if to prove his point, he clicks into 1st, and slides forward through the
narrow crack between the metrobus before him, and the gardening truck in the
lane to the right.
bop bop bop BOP BOP... 'click', second, 'click', third...
'...click', freedom.
december 12, 2001 - 10:10
(dragonspeak)
newly discovered form of entertainment that is fun for the entire family:
requirements:
- (1) relatively mellow house cat (or wumple)
- (1) bunch of "yesterday's" birthday balloons
- (1) collar, of length roughly greater than circumference of cat neck.
- (1) collection of brightly colored ribbon. (6-10 cat lengths)
using a small clip, attach the collection of brightly colored
balloons to the cat's collar, and let the entertainment begin. (if
you don't understand yet, you soon will.)
surprisingly accurate visualization submitted by
©juju
this 'upgrade' has the fantastic side effect of always informing you as to
the present whereabouts of the beast. the days of, "now where is that
crazy cat?" can now be a thing of the past...
jack glances over left shoulder, notices a gathering of brightly colored
rubber, with green ribbon that traces a line deep into a crack in his
computer rack. "ah.. beast-cat!"
were this methodology combined with a mechanism like those remote-controlled
blimps, it might even be considered a cat-auto-walking mechanism, or perhaps
even a cat-recovery-mechanism?
(hmmmmm.... could there be money in this?)
december 11, 2001 - 13:49
(dragonspeak)
in the spirit of prahu...
::in::
- waking up to rows of freshly baked cookies on counter
- crainal-sacral fascial adjustments for whd
- walks on cliffs while tall ships are sail in bay
::out::
- cat paws in my milk glass
- garage door openers that don't work, even when the light is blinky
december 10, 2001 - 17:59
(dragonspeak)
this morning, the girl commented that my hands have phsyically started
to atrophy... she was right of course, and i hadn't even
noticed. flesh, derived of nutrients due to constriction
of bloodvessels, wastes away.
now, i can't help but to stare at them. always relatively
bony and thin, they have now grown gaunt, with skin stretched
tightly across tendons like bedsheets on a clothesline.
...
boy on the bike, what are you like
as you cycle round the town?
you're going up, you're going down
you're going nowhere
it's not as if they're paying you
it's not as if it's fun
at least not anymore
when your legs (arms?) are black and blue
it's time to take a break
when your legs (arms?) are black and blue
it's time to take a holiday
- excerpts from fox in the snow, by belle and sebastian
so, today i had to stop by the company for a meeting with
bosslady and an investigator hired by the worker's comp insurance
company, in an attempt to describe what my previous job 'description
and responsibilities' really were, s.t. they could take appropriate
action w.r.t. my disability.
to do this, i had to sit in my old cube, now filled with the
belongings of another. while answering ridiculous questions
like "how many times per work session did you look to the side",
i couldn't help but focus on the purposeful keystrokes from ex-cuban
neighbors, still working away, out of sight, behind the wall.
it all seems so far away now, work does. how strange it felt to
be sitting there; almost as if i was watching snippets of
the memories of another.
december 10, 2001 - 9:45
(dragonspeak)
tumbling end over end, this is jack, suspended in geek-limbo;
man, has this ever been a difficult week...
you see, the company finally caught onto my continuing usage of their
modem banks as an access point to the net. (i had honestly (foolishly?)
hoped that they would not be bothered to delete my account, as i knew they
were revamping the entire system with the coming of the new year. )
with limited resources, perhaps they might wait until that point to do the
logical housecleaning?
(that, and it's just silly to start a new contract with an ISP whilst on
the very precipice of a possible out-of-state move).
full-stop. jack's wall of antiquated hardware comes to a screaming
halt; atrophying bandwith instantly renders 1/2 a dozen machines, (thus,
life), ineffectual.
'hrmm... well, perhaps i'll break down and try
one of those free ISP's, like blue light.. i'll just jump online and
download the software... doh.'
'well, i guess i'll just have to live without it for
a little while then, eh?'
no less than 30 times in those first few hours, i found myself mid-"doh" over this unprecedented loss of connectivity.
bullshit. jack mulls over list of viable (and not so viable) options;
time to get creative... (if ever there was a time)
..........
closing thought: beautiful thing about public consumption of emerging
technologies such as 802.11; there are ip's, just floating there, floating in
space. you just need to know how to ask for them. ;)
december 5, 2001 - 10:08
(dragonspeak)
token dragon speak-o for the morning :
jack : "thoughts that come"
dragon : 'thoughts succumb'
perhaps it was the quick 20 minute scooter ride; maybe it was just the
diminutive light-work wrenching session in my garage yesterday afternoon.
regardless, the result was unfortunate and, after all this time,
relatively unsurprising.
a familiar depression washes over me again; it has been more than three weeks
since i've actively used a computer for any type of serious keyboarding
session. hands still weak, but pain-free, i had hoped that recovery
had progressed far enough to allow me some work in the garage.
i had hoped...
last night, i found myself back in braces on both arms. this morning?
i had to go so far as to solicit help from another just to remove them.
then to the sink, contrast baths : hot water, cold water, hot water, cold
water...
unwise to use a computer, unable to play in the garage, just what does jack have
left to do with himself?
np : Gershwin - Raphsody in Blue
while speaking to an acquaintence about my travels in the czech
republic last month, i made the following observation:
the funny thing about time and money is that they actually share an inverse
relationship; it seems as if any moment i actually have money, i have no time to
enjoy it. else, i have all the time in the world (like now), but no
money to spend.
in retrospect, i would make that generalization even broader.
just a few months ago, whilst staring out the window outside my cube, i
used to maintain lists in my head that would surely stretch for volumes if
ever transcribed.
lists of things i'd love to do if i had more time, of dreams i'd like to
chase when i wasn't so distracted, or busy.
flash forward to now; i still maintain the same desires, and in fact now have
the time to address them. the cruel irony is my newfound physical
inability to persue them.
wrist hurt disease is driving me mad.
december 4, 2001 - 9:10
(dragonspeak)
did i mention that
amelie was amazing? catch it now, it will absolutely save your day,
i promise.
december 4, 2001 - 07:51
(dragonspeak)
revision of yesterday's plan; i restep over old resume with new vision.
it should not be more generic, instead more specific. i refuse to
settle for mediocrity again.
(at least, not until i've been eating potatoes for 2 around months... then,
then i guess we shall see.)
december 4, 2001 - 05:32
(dragonspeak)
last night, i saw amelie; it has been quite some time since i've seen a
film so endearing. -truly one of those rare gems that remind me
why i dream of making movies myself.
scarily, there are a lot of parallels between its plot and my current
project, which begs the question that haunts me incessenatly. do
i feel a particular affinity for another's work because it is
similiar to my own style, or rather, it is in fact how i would like my
style to be?
alternatively, if i were now to continue with my current project, can i
persevere in good conscience that the product would be of my own, original
vision, or just my vision contaminated with ideas or styles inherited from
another?
undeniably, the triumphs of modern science (and art) have been facilitated by
earlier steps of predecessors in such fields, that said, at what point then
does an inidvidual step forward with truly unique ideas?
december 3, 2001 - 7:08
(dragonspeak)
i can sit idle no longer; i have been loafing around the house for less
than a week, and i'm already going stir-crazy. a little post-travel
decompression, and then the cabin fever sets in.
no agenda? the very prospect is driving me mad. in just this
short week, i have found myself, far too many times, asleep at 4pm
(cat-nap, in sun beam), then awake at 4am, face glowing blue with
monitor-cast..
personally, i'm finding it very difficult to face a day when you know the
most difficult decision you'll be making is what to eat for lunch.
the irony? with spare time accrued whilst en-route to various
destinations during last month's galavant abroad, i found time to solidify plot ideas for a film i've been conceptualizing. now? now, i have
nothing but time to work on it, but no way to solicit any cast or crew.
(who, like honest contributers to society, are out at work, paying taxes... )
so, jack turns back to the old resume, and the prehistoric job search engines
(constructed last year). the latter, of which he removes cobwebs,
then executes, yield distressing results: the very entities which used
to solicit 30-45 type-specific employment opportunities per day, now yielded
2 (yes, that is two) such hits, posted in the last month.
revision of resume :
- old goal specific, intrinsic details about experience and interest,
a desperate attempt to reduce job-solicitation offers from over-zealous
employee placement agencies.
- new goal generic, 10,000' level overviews of experience and future
goals, a desperate attempt to increase job-solicitation offers from
nearly extinct employee placement agencies.
i think it is now time to again seriously consider re-invention.
re-set, re-boot, re-start. time to move...
...from revolution to revelation?
december 2, 2001 - 15:16
december? how is it december already? this year
has been a mess; i've been playing catch up since day 1. perhaps
i should jump ahead to 2002 in a desperate attempt to get some sort of
headstart there?
2002? the number is right; this one has to have potential.
ack. wrists hurt. i'll be back in a little while.
( check out november here )
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