Happiness is:
Supposing, for the sake of argument, that you were about to come into a sizeable amount of money you weren’t really expecting. Not an “independently wealthy” sum, mind you, but a “moderately significant changes in your life might be possible” sum which is a great deal more than you’ve ever had before…
Would you bank the money and carry on as usual, but with a fairly large safety net? Would you invest it in some major changes which might be geographic and educational in nature? Or would you just live it up like crazy?
I think I might be more inclined toward the first two options. But I’m just wondering…
Why does it annoy me so much when complete strangers email me and call me “dude”? Probably has something to do with the fact that I’m neither a surfer, a stoner, nor a drunk frat boy…
And why do faggot video pornographers get that whole skater thing so dreadfully wrong? A couple of tips: real skaters do not refer to each other as “skater boys” nor “skater punks”, they do not generally look and dress like circuit clones (nor like a spandex version of the woman in Flashdance), and they generally don’t hold bladers in very high regard…
Of course, they don’t generally fuck each other like rabbits in heat either, so I guess you have to draw the line somewhere. But what’s with this sodomite tendency to turn everything real into a bland, cutesy, cartoon version of itself? Witness the Castro…
That’s more than I was really going to type on this, my day for pretending I don’t have a computer, but I just got started and I couldn’t stop…
When I was a kid, my orbit wasn’t very large. Within a mile or so of my house was just about everything I needed: the record store, the supermarket where my mom caught me buying beer when I was 15, my high school, and the mall, where sex, drugs, and rock and roll were always available…
I’ve always been glad I didn’t grow up in the hardcore suburbs, where you have to go two or three miles just to find a convenience store. How do kids without cars manage areas like that? I’d hate it even as an adult who HAS a car…
That’s one really great thing about San Francisco: if you don’t want to drive, you really don’t have to. In fact, it’s very often better NOT to drive here. Except for the occasional Safeway run, the purpose for having a car in the city is to get the hell out of it, not to navigate within it…
Which is a lesson an awful lot of people need to learn…
I’m beat. After watching the Voyager farewell, I sort of feel like I piloted the damned ship back to the Alpha Quadrant myself. Damned temporal mechanics…
But I’m not too tired to ask this one simple question: how did someone like SF Chronicle and KRON reporter Phil Matier ever get airtime on one of the top-rated stations in one of America’s largest TV markets without knowing how to pronounce the word “nuclear?”
Repeat after me, Phil, before you make yourself look any more ignorant. It’s NU-KLEE-ERR, not NU-KU-LER. One more time. NU-KLEE-ERR. Got it? Did the capital letters help?
Wow. The aforementioned Star Trek site is currently “403.9 Access Forbidden: Too many users are connected”. Somebody’s gonna get screamed at tomorrow…
Wanna feel old? “Bette Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes was the number one song in America twenty years ago this week. Pretty horrifying, huh?
While I’m at it, note that the Beatles were at number one this Memorial Day weekend in 1964 (“Love Me Do”) and 1969 (“Get Back”), Ray Stevens was at the top in 1970 (“Everything IS Beautiful”) and 1974 (“The Streak”), and George Micheal and/or Wham hit in 1985 (“Everyting She Wants”) and 1988 (“One More Try”).
And to think I learned all this while taking a crap. It’s always a good thing to have entertaining bathroom books.
Best way to kill off the better part of a Saturday: Thrift stores in Sacramento with Jamie, accompanied by copious amounts of Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne on the radio.Most entertaining disco song from my past heard in a queer bar I shouldn’t have been in: “High Energy” by Evelyn Thomas.
Most disturbing realization of the evening: I know the title and artist associated with the aforementioned song.
Second most disturbing revelation of the evening: I purchased the 12-inch in 1984.
Third most disturbing revelation of the evening: I still speak French passably well after a couple of beers.
Biggest disappointment of the night: Putting a boy I rather like into a cab at 8:00 because he started drinking way too early.
Not to brag or anything, but Bottles is a Yahoo Pick of the Week as of today. I haven’t had one of those since about this time in 1996, when Jonno and I were both featured (which is actually how we “met”)…
I think this year’s annual Memorial Day walk across San Francisco (1999 or 2000 for reference) is officially cancelled. I woke up at 5:00 this morning (after going to bed at midnight) and never quite got back to sleep. Now I just feel like sitting. Or maybe even reclining…
God forbid I should answer some of the email I’ve been ignoring for the past week or so…
It strikes me upon looking back at yesterday’s entry that anytime someone starts a sentence with “not to” (as in “not to brag” or “not to change the subject”), they’re about to do precisely the thing they claim not to be doing…
Anyway, it’s about to be a week from hell for me, so I’m warning in advance that I’ll be all but useless with respect to updates, email responses, and the like. More so than usual, even…
Now get out of here and go tell Sarah to have a happy birthday before it’s too late, dammit…
It felt miserably hot today, but not this hot. After all, it was only 39 degrees above normal. To make it worse, my bus broke down on the way home. At least I wsn’t on BART; it caught on fire…
Some nights I’m just glad to be sitting at home in front of my fan, working my butt off…