I hate Thursdays. To-day's Wednesday but it's acting like Thursday so I have little time.

Last night, Tim gave me a Christmas present which he'd ordered for me a while ago but just not came in the mail. It's a collection of Studio Ghibli movies. Cool guy, that Tim. While I was at his house, I took advantage of some of his connexions in Utah and purchased over a thousand dollars worth of DVDs for merely one hundred forty dollars. And that was very nice. So in about a week I shall have the entire Evangelion TV series and movies on DVD, the entire Cowboy Bebop series and movie, plus soundtrack CD, all of the Ranma 1/2 OVAs, and the enitre Slayers television series. All on DVD.

Yes, it's been a good Christmas.

The Last Place

Gull slipping cry over
Grey stain stumble daytime glitch
No fortune talking, no betting
No song to swirl down the sweet

Straining the sheet, casually
Nothing past the shreds of sheet
Pulling back, naturally, from
Nothing on the coated heart

Full and slick with black fluid
Fast, falling through lifeless tubes
System messing to grim
Cold hands for years

Of no-one in particular
Fading window image gone and
Closing shades are irrelevant
Eyes fall through

False matter, no matter
Nothing, no-one to be seen
Cathlish frogging of shock
Electricity of the dead

Power of the stationary
Of the illusory and story
Diverting fancy vista—
Surrounding Fake

A coat so cold, now
A place so bereft
Unravel all your coats and shirts and stay
There’s nowhere else to go

...

Morning in the Remains of the Orchard

Leaves the colour of blank
Trees the full of gone
Woke up at noon
To blow dry the well

Ugly absence of something
Uncertain feel of lacking
Chill frame of stolen picture
Fascinate—fascinate

It’s the thing
The only one
And the road will break

In our town, we’ll go
And we’ll be as nice
As penguins who live
Together in town

A thousand of us
Means less than one
A cough and we’re all
Sick

Spill now our regular
Whisper songs for me
That mean commercials
And the thought of noise

...

Girl Sleep Killer

She falls that way
Where no-one points
Her eyes have escaped
The reflected sky

They’re busy
Turning amongst the things
When there’s a fire
Over her head

It’s okay when
All the wood is gone she’ll
Have fire instead
And weave her chain mail of heat

Chasing heat, smelling heat
Licking and choosing heat
Wet shoulders
And no more rest

The sky is invisible
The air dances, silly unconscious
No grip no question
But shells so frail and dry

Dark edge like fire
The plain dream of sweet
Girl animal at home
Is heavier than rooms

And boxes and boys
And yes, she is the truth
Answer simple as talk
She is always alive

Fully over the sustenance
Enveloping and not needing
Having and not going elsewhere
The new and old days are hers

Locked inside the outer space
Warm room for her
No more stopping, frustrating
Winning hand perhaps

All chips and dresses
In the safest place
The perfect figure
The most rational thing

In the life of only feeling
The fast of feeding
The walk of the dead
And the burning of sleep

I think I could beat Garfield in the sleeping marathon.

I didn't want to wake up to-day. I suppose if I got to work on one of my many projects I'd feel better . . .

Watched The Two Towers extended edition with my sister last night. For a while, I feared she might not connect with the last hour of it for being in a snit about this long movie keeping her up to 11pm. But, thankfully, by the end she seemed to feel it'd been worth it.

Still, I noticed she missed some of the best moments to play with her dog. She missed Gandalf's charge with the Rohirrum and Legolas's famous horse mounting procedure.

And she does not believe she'll be able to sit through Return of the King. I hope I'll be able to convince her otherwise. She believes she has ADD and I'd like to show her she's capable of getting involved in something of such long duration.

Got the Mullholland Drive soundtrack yesterday. Picked it up at Tower Records where I had gone to buy a Mystery Science Theatre 3000 episode, but got this instead. I was surprised to see it, for some reason. I didn't think there'd been a sountrack released for the movie.

There's a snippet taken from a track on the Lost Hightway soundtrack, although it's not credited as such in the CD jacket. I'd noticed it when watching the movie.

Most of the music is very, very subtle. Listening to it on the way back from Tower Records, I could hardly hear it, even though I'd turned up the volume very high. Then, there's sudden spikes of loud. Which I kind of like--it makes me smile that people are being forced to listen to music loud.

There's also the Spanish version of Roy Orbison's "Crying" and a track written by David Lynch and John Neff called "Mountains Falling."

It's a good soundtrack. Mostly filled with the stuff of Angelo Badalamenti, the kind of stuff that makes soundtracks to David Lynch movies great to listen to.

Now I have things to do . . .

Watched the other half of the Sherlock Holmes DVD with Ha last night and was happy to find that she liked Jeremy Brett a lot, too.

Bought the new Cruxshadows album, Ethernaut, yesterday and it's pretty good.

Can you tell I'm spending Christmas money here?

At 2am, I found myself watching Darkwing Duck on Toon Disney. I like Darkwing Dark. I like the character. The writing in the episode I saw was . . . palatable. I like how characters in that show used guns. Hard to imagine, but just seven or eight years ago, that was okay in a kids cartoon.

At 4am, I watched DuckTales, which was an even greater stride down memory lane. Those were the days when the people making kids shows didn't usually figure the kids wanted some annoying, super-zany character. Well, there are a few shows not like that nowadays--Pokemon's fine, for example. I think the problem is that adults are annoyed by these shows, so they assume that kids like annoying things, and write for them accordingly. That's why Freakazoid didn't work and it's why everyone hates Jar-Jar Binks. It's not that I think the creators are conscious themselves of the annoying quotient of their creations, merely that they have gorged themselves on annoyance-vaccines.

This morning--or, really, this afternoon, for people who keep sane sleeping schedules--I found that the television was still on Toon Disney, and so I watched some of the brand new Mickey, Donald, and Goofy cartoons. These aren't very good cartoons. They're quite bad, in fact. They have much the same problem as the new Looney Tunes cartoons; the writers don't understand the sensibility with which the old cartoons were written.

And it's a shame. These new cartoons have good animation, although not the lush, more unpredictable animation of the old cartoons. It's mainly the writing--old gags and fall sound effects are used Because They Must Be and not because they come from real comedy-logic. Donald's been made impotent, prevented from using some of his old violent tricks when dealing with his foes. Yes, true, he always was impotent. But his impotence had a kind of meaning back then. You could look at what he was doing and say, "Jeez, this guys pullin' out all the stops and still nothing." Now his actions are sanitised and empty.

This unconscious campaign for the destruction of all things biological is kind of doomed, I think.

Got lots of DVDs yesterday. Went to Best Buy to get another Farscape DVD and ended up buying two Farscape DVDs, a Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes DVD, and, while I was waiting in the checkout line, I spotted The Big Lebowsky for ten dollars and nabbed it too.

There're two episodes on the Sherlock Holmes DVD and I've watched one--The Priory School. One of the most atmospheric of the Jeremy Brett Holmes series I've seen. And it's wonderfully dreary.

One of the Farscape DVDs I got is the first of the fourth season, and I was happy to find that it was formatted for widescreen televisions. So I watched it on the widescreen television upstairs, and the whole thing felt more cinematic.

Now I ought to do something to-day on the road to getting things done . . .

Another step on the road to a New Empire.

The gift I received the most for Christmas (I think four times) was the whimsically unlabelled Starbucks gift card. I have no idea how much money is on most of them, making each coffee purchase an enlivening game of Russian roulette.

All in all, it was a good Christmas, better than I've had in a while. I'd say the high point was reading Caitlin's journal entry.

I woke up to-day at 1pm--a big difference from yesterday's 6am. And I feel better. I stayed up until 3am, first talking to Cryptess, then playing Pictionary with Ha, then watching Eddie Izzard--I really did manage to stay up far later than my body felt like it wanted to. I call that--Victory!

I'm wondering if I'm something of a schmuck.

I'm gonna tell you this story and I want you to tell me if I'm justified in feeling kind of burned:

Okay. Everyone asked me what I wanted for Christmas. Mostly I couldn't answer--I was having enough trouble trying to figure out what to get everyone else. But once, when I was at Lake Arrowhead and my mother asked me, it hit me; I wanted the Indiana Jones trilogy on DVD. I mentioned it, and my mother said, "Okay."

Now, I'd almost forgotten about it by Christmas. If I'd never seen it on Christmas day, I don't think I would have been bothered. But Christmas morning, at around 9am, when I'm opening presents with my parents and sister, suddenly my mother brings up a package to "the family" from Bella, the new dog (a tiny, adorable, half Chihuahua, half Yorkie thing). It was the Indiana Jones trilogy--"In widescreen!" my mother points out to me because, most of the time, I'm the only one who cares about that.

So basically, it's like I received it for Christmas. Only I can't watch it most of the time. I can't watch it on my own. I can't lend it to someone if I wanted to. I can't take it with me. Hurrah.

Well, okay, maybe I am schmuck. I'm certainly not gonna bring this up with them. Why sow animosity? And after all, they are buying me new contact lenses and they gave me two Nightmare Before Christmas shirts--that I genuinely like--from when they went to Disneyland without me a few months ago.

I went with them to see Cold Mountain and I fear I may have unintentionally soured the experience when, after the movie, I talked about how I didn't think it was Anthony Minghella's best movie by any means, that while it had some nice components, the whole wasn't so great. I talked about how, in some movies, I find over-prettification to be insulting and disturbing. I didn't like the juxtaposition of very realistic, bloody Civil War battles against the idea that in this reality, Nicole Kidman and Rene Zellweger will always look as perfect as magazine perfume advertisements, no matter how rugged their situation and setting, and Kidman's love scene with Jude Law shall look like an advertisement for Godiva chocolates, even though they're making love in an abandoned wood shed in the snow covered forest.

Returning here last night, I received a new journal book from my aunt. I mean, three journal books with a very nice, interchangeable sleeve cover for all of them. I mean, it's really nice. I'm happy to have it.

I sat down to watch the rest of the Farscape DVD I'd gotten on the 24th only to find, halfway through an episode, that the DVD had a warp in it that prevented the DVD-ROM from reading it further. Annoying.

I suppose I'm the only fellow for many a mile who can have a relaxing day at the mall on Christmas Eve. This I did, yesterday. Bought myself a Farscape DVD.

Went to bed at 6pm last night--no, I can't believe it either--thinking it would make getting up at 6am a little easier this morning.

It didn't. Not really.

Anyway, I have requisite hoops to leap through.

Happy Christmas, all o' yas.

Having done all of my laundry a couple days ago, I now have all my favourite outfits again at my disposal--ah! It's been a long time since I last saw many of these. To-day I'm wearing my "uniform"--one of several pairs of black button shirts and black slacks. I feel like "me" in these clothes.

Watched Johnny Belinda last night. It was basically a great movie, particularly for Jane Wyman's terribly brilliant performance. I had two issues with it, though;

1) The title still doesn't make sense to me. The movie's primarily about Belinda, played by Jane Wyman. So where does the Johnny come from? Halfway through the movie, I was starting to become convinced that it was the Nova Scotia (where the story takes place) version of "Bonny", thereby making the title something like "Pretty Belinda." But then we learn that "Johnny" is what Belinda decides to name her baby. Since the baby never becomes more than a prop in the movie--something for everyone to react to, and mostly as an element in Belinda's life--and never becomes a character, his name being in the title is confusing. And its coupling with Belinda even moreso as Belinda does have a last name.

2) I'm not sure the tidy Hollywood movie of the 40s is really the best place for a story about rape. In a way, it's rather cruel suggesting that everything'll come up roses by the end. But then again, maybe there is some value in saying that sometimes things do work out--although the movie almost seems to suggest that they do so in a way that effectively erases the hurts of that awful experience. Yet, on another hand, it did feel good seeing the guy getting shot.

Went to see The Return of the King again last night, this time with Tim, and this time with a better sound system. Afterwards, he and I talked about how they simply do not make movies like that anymore. Or maybe a movie like that has never been made. But judging from the agonisingly giggly reaction of the audience, modern American audiences are not equiped to deal with the sight of men crying and expressing love for each other. In addition to basking in the glow of a great movie, I was also feeling pretty sad about humanity as we left the theatre.

When Tim said, "They're not worth worrying about," I thought to myself, "Yeah, but we're surrounded by them."

But back to whether or not there's ever been movies like this: I thought there was something very Errol Flynn-ish about Legolas taking down the Oliphant. The sight of Aragorn in kingly attire also reminded me of something from an old Lawrence Olivier movie.

To-day . . . I shall finish my Christmas shopping.

Yesterday I wrote lots and lots. I was on quite a roll. I stopped only when Trisa came by wearing a great coat. She and I went for dinner at an Olive Garden in Carmel Mountain. Wish I could say it was a pleasant evening but in fact I came home feeling like someone had taken my hat and had begun stomping and pissing on it before stomping and pissing on me. So let's not dwell on that . . .

Later last night, I watched Possessed, with Clark Gable and Joan Crawford. It was a very simple, very cute movie. Its chief virtue being its dwelling on the existence of Joan Crawford, which it did rather well.

I didn't get to sleep until 5am--not for any particular reason. I kept getting up, thinking there was something I was going to do. But mostly all I ended up doing was urinating.

Lucky the cat, who seems to want a lot of attention these days, tried sleeping next to me again. Much more successful this time as he found a more strategic spot, one where I didn't have to scrunch up my legs uncomfortably. But at around 8am, he woke me up to let him out.

I then woke up at around noon. Lots of people came to the door and I had no answers or money for them.

In the midst of writing this entry, I received a package from an aunt and uncle in Tennessee. It's a cake of some kind, I think. It smells nice, anyway.

Spent a lot of time on ICQ yesterday talking to Cryptess, Richard, and Ha. Unlike many people who use ICQ regularly, I guess I consider it more of an event than a casual interchange because I just very much don't have a head for multitasking. Kind of pathetic, I know, but when I do multitask, I get kind of an adrenaline rush. I felt proud that I was simultaneously talking to all three people, playing Defend Your Castle, writing yesterday's blog entry, and then watching some Brian Mung flash movies Richard'd recommended to me. When I finally signed off, I felt like I'd been on a spirited gallop through the countryside while I'm sure all other participants were just idly killing time and chewing the fat.

Of course, this means that in the process of accomplishing very little I felt like I'd done a lot. I'm gonna need to make up for that to-day.

Last night I went to my parents' house for dinner and we played a somewhat annoying game called "Seen-It!" that was supposedly a game about testing one's movie knowledge but which often times tended to be more about piecing images together to make words or other things that required a mind quicker than my very slow one.

I guess the generally thrust of this post is . . . I'm too slow for most of the other reindeers' games. But I seem to enjoy myself most of the time, merrily skipping along a mile behind the herd.

After my parents', I went to Tim's where I beat his score in Soul Calibur 2 team battle. That is, the score he set while playing on medium difficulty mode. I was playing on ultra-hard. So there are some things I can do!

This morning I've taped Harvey and Treasure Island(1934). I've never seen either but am looking forward to watching them . . . Of course, I did put them on tape 23 and I've only through to watching tape 6, which was Lawrence of Arabia.

One of the things that particularly impressed me about Lawrence was how real it all was . . . In those days long before cgi and a number of other fancy modern tricks, they had to do actual armies of camels and horses through actual cities . . . Blow up actual trains . . . It all feels great.

Next I have Ossessione to watch, which should be a good chaser for Double Indemnity . . .

I . . . am . . . insured! With the car I am, anyway. No health insurance. No accident insurance with double indemnity clause that Barbara Stanwyck might be able to take advantage of.

Just got the call this morning so now it looks like I shall again be able to enlist my automobile in my regular campaigns of goofing off--which is actually the only thing I've found the car to be useful for, but there's something to be said for goofing off, to be sure.

And last night, I at long last received my copy of Double Indemnity in the mail. For new, the movie costs around eighty dollars but luckily Tim was able to find a Taiwanese bootleg version for only ten dollars. It has a few little quirks, like default cantonese subtitles (but they can be turned off), a little white line at the top of the screen, no end credits, and the omission of Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck from the DVD case cover--The cover would have you believe that the movie primarily stars Porter Hall and Jean Heather.

But all in all, I'm very happy to have this movie. I suppose I oughtn't to have been watching it whilst waiting for a call from my insurance company . . .

And yesterday, Ha and I watched Head, starring the Monkees, screenplay by a young Jack Nicholson. It was strange, and it wanted to mean something--that much I can deduce from its somewhat tasteless use of actual footage of a guy getting shot in the head. But it all adds up to no more than a goofy romp, which was kinna fun, at times.

And, yay, I can post again!

So Return of the King was fabulous. I had this moment of extreme, genuine dread when Eowyn confronted the Witch King. Probably just me though--I dunno. Something about that moment filled me with the utter certainty that this thing was all too powerful for little Eowyn with her plain steel sword. And this is in spite of the fact that I've read the book. I literally trembled and my eyes teared up. It was the most extreme reaction I have had to anything in these movies . . .

I'm almost finished Caitlin R Kiernan's Low Red Moon, which is a terrific book, even better than Threshold.

I wish blogger would start working again.

Okay . . . Still nothing's getting posted. This is really starting to piss me off.

Forgot to take out the trash cans last night . . . I saw Return of the King . . . But what's the point of discussing it?

Posts . . . still . . . not . . . working . . . gagh . . .

Well . . . Wednesday's posts don't seem to be going up. Will this one . . . ?

I get the impression that Roger Ebert didn't want to like Return of the King. He just can't help it.

Didn't get as much stuff done yester-day as I would have liked.

Hmm. I wanna go and see Return of the King . . .

I am not at all hungry. I've had three waffles and they're doing quite more than enough for me at the moment.

I'm gonna get a second chance to tape Only Angels Have Wings to-night at 1am.

I don't think I have much else to say . . . It's been getting indecently cold at night. And I have decided that I shall not catch the flu. I won't. You hear me? Won't.

Last night was the last night of the Acorn Review class. Last night, something kind of cool happened.

A girl showed up to class in her pyjamas. For many, this would be a bad fashion choice, but it certainly was a good one for Ha (the name of the girl we're talking about) whose pyjamas consisted of what looked like a thick, blue silk kimono (yes, this really was her pyjamas).

As folks were clearing out of the room, and I approached the exit, I couldn't help feeling sorry I hadn't gotten to know Ha better.

It was then that I heard that young lady's voice calling for halt, saying, "I want to talk to you."

I turned around to see her extraordinarily tiny finger pointed in my direction but I, nontheless, said, "Me?"

"Yes."

So Ha and I went for a walk and we decided that we had similer tastes and stuff and that we were going to be friends. Also, it was decided that she was going to give me a ride home, which was very nice indeed as I was dreading the typical hour+ walk home through the very chill air.

But first, we stopped by her very fascinating house where she showed me Bjork videos I'd never seen and I introduced her to Samurai Jack.

So last night went very well.

A very brief phone conversation with Trisa this morning brought very strongly to me the realisation that I've been closely associating her with the American Super Mario Brothers 2 (or the Japanese Doiki Doiki Panic!) for some time. After hanging up the phone, I was unable to remove the musics of Mario 2 from my mind.

I don't know exactly why this is. I think maybe there's something of her temperment in the atmosphere of that game.

I managed to frighten children yester-day. Jolly good fun, that.

I was at Tim's workplace (RadioShack). It was about five minutes before the store closed and he and I were both itching to leave and do fun stuffs. Then, in walks two twelve year-old-ish wouldbe thugs who begin walking around the store with their backs to us, opening the battery cases of various display items, looking for batteries to steal.

Now, it's not that I have anything particularly against shoplifting, especially as Tim says the store itself makes quite a steal on batteries, charging very much more than is paid for the batteries originally. But, again, he and I wanted to go and, anyway, I couldn't resist the "plausible" oportunity to spook kids.

So I started following them around the store.

When they passed from handheld digital sound recorders to heavy headphones, I said to them, "You two must be into sound. I bet that's what it is."

"No," says the taller one, trying to discourage conversation with his lacklustre response.

Undetered, I continued; "See, I've been standing here, bored I guess, trying to figure out what you kids were looking for--Ah! I bet you're in a band!"

"We're just looking around," said the tall one. I figured that, by this point, anyone not up to something shady would have been more confrontational towards me. So I kept following them. I talked them about the keyboard they played with, asking if they were piano enthusiasts and were they sure they weren't in a band?

When they started playing with the megaphones (which of course had no batteries), I said, "Now there's some bad motherfuckers. I bet you can make sound with that." They proceeded to just start clicking and pressing the various buttons on the things, so I said, "Yeah, yeah! Isn't that great? Buttons are so fucking great. You know--when I was a kid, I had one of those big panel things with buttons all over it and, boy, I sure never got tired of pressing them and clicking them. And you know what's cool? There's so many devices for adults now that have buttons on them! So fucking adictive. I could just click, click, click all day!"

They walked quickly out of the store, then.

Yester-day, Caitlin uploaded the latest chapter I drew of The Adventures of Nar'eth to Nebari.net (for those of you who're wondering, Leh'agvoi is my Nebari name. Or perhaps Setsuled is the alias, hmmm!).

I also did a sloppy new page of Doll Merchant. But sloppy is sexy, ne?

I also wrote an awful lot yesterday. I hurt my hand. But then, my hand seems to get cramps awful easy lately. Before it was only when I was playing Soul Calibur 2, but now it strikes even when I'm playing Morrowind or, like I said, when I'm writing. I've chosen to call it writer's cramp, while Tim has chosen to call it carpal tunnel syndrome.

My horoscope told me to use to-day for having fun as I'm likely to be good for nothing this day. I think I'll take its advice very seriously. I think I'll buy some glue for my plastic Enterprise -D model . . .

When I first turned the computer on this morning, for some reason the keyboard wasn't working. I posted on a friend's journal by copying and pasting one letter at a time from a txt file. I'm glad everything worked again when I restarted the computer . . .

I walked very quickly last night back from Tim's house. It usually takes me an hour to walk from there to here, but last night I did it in forty minutes. Five minutes before the movie started that I wanted to tape. It was a breathless, exciting victory.

To-day, I definitely vow to get lots of stuff done. After I've eaten waffles.

You know, I'm really filled with a lot of energy to-day. I think I might get a lot of things done. Laundry amongst those things.

I'll probably stop only to watch to-night's Christmas episode of Justice League.

My eyes hurt.

Waffles . . .

FACT: I do not enjoy filling out insurance forms.

But enough of that.

Downtown yester-day, I saw a gorgeous 7-foot tall girl with orange hair, an old woman with a theraputic walking staff, and a Japanese business man who'd contrived a little game wherein he stood in a corner with his head down, pushing two toothpicks around with the tip of his umbrella.

I managed to buy two whole Christmas presents while I was there.

I'm on my way, yeah.

Lucky the cat tried to sleep with me last night but he's huge and did not fit comfortably on the bed. Still, he loves that spot and didn't give up until around 5am, when I awoke to hear him scratching at the door.

But even now, he is happily sprawled on the bed . . .

Okay, okay! Frell this sluggishness! I'm gonna get all sorts of things done to-day, oh, just you watch!

In fact, I already stayed up until the wee hours writing, and now here I am, awakened bright and early at 11:30! Time. To. Get. It. ON! HUAH!

I think I'll also go look for the new issue of 1602 . . .

This computer is starting to annoy me again. It's making some very obtrusive noises, sort of like a lawn mower. I'm betting this is a sign of things worse than annoying noises. But right now my beef is that it got in the way of me watching for the billionth time Francis Ford Coppela's Dracula a few nights ago.

I'm hungry . . . know this.

Pardon me . . .

don't say anything Sets, don't say anything Sets, don't say anything Sets . . . no. Stop--Ah! I--I see what you're doing. I said stop! Stop it! No! Setsuled . . . Just--will you listen to me? Can it! Will ya?

*ahem* Yes. Sorry. What was that about you may ask? Well, fuck you for asking, it happens to be very personal and . . . Yeah.

Once, in High School, in P.E., people wre picking teams for some game or another. I'd been more sociable than usual that day so maybe that's why I felt vaguely sad that no one wanted to play with me. It was one of the very, very few occasions in my life where I was uncomfortable with the fact that I was abnormal.

For some reason, I mentioned this to my mother, and of course her advice was that I try to change and be more like the other kids.

I think this whole story's pretty obvious and I think anyone reading knows exactly what's so fucked up about my mother's advice.

Even so, to this day I still occasionally have to remind myself that being the kind of freak I am doesn't come without it's price. Sometimes I do see a pretty patch of green on the other lawn. I just have to remind myself that from all the angles I've seen, this still looks like the route that's best for me.

Anyway. I'm not sure I have any choice.

don't say anything Sets . . .

Bugger blogger.

Once again, it's not working through Internet Explorer and I'm reduced to Opera . . .

I think I'll buy some blank tapes to-day. Somehow I don't feel forty movies are enough for me . . . I want more.

I'm sluggish again to-day as well. I'm just dissolving into a gelatenous cube, I think.

I think I'll slime my way over to a lunch place . . .

Don't worry, folks! Sets is taking his notebook with him!

Tried to post that last bit earlier but Blogger was having problems. In fact, Blogger's still having problems and the only way I was able to post this was by installing a new web browser (Opera)(so far I liked Internet Explorer better). And I still can't seem to publish anything. So blah.

Awakened by Trisa from a dream wherein I and Gary Oldman starred in a reality television show having to do with us stranded on a cul-de-sac with no roads leading in and out of it. I seem to remember that the show also involved zombies, but mostly it was just us wandering fearfully around.

So Trisa and I went for coffee at Parkway Plaza, which was fun except that the mall does bad things for Trisa's mood. But basically a good experience to wake up to.

One of my poems got accepted by the Acorn Review last night, which was kind of surprising as it was a strange, less-orthodox-than-is-generally-liked sort of poem. And it's also a poem that I have conflicting feelings about but these days I'm starting to think that I have no head for poetry. I can't even tell when I do something right.

I've already spent too much time to-day watching Lucky the Cat cleaning himself. Now he's stretching in his sleep . . . I guess I'd better force myself to start getting things done.

Dreamt I was a vampire and being a vampire involved playing elaborate games of levitating "tag" with other vampires. Once you'd tagged another vampire, you were no longer a vampire.

So after I'd tagged a pretty vampiress in a purple robe, I dropped to a concrete path where I found a microwave and a basket full of pidgeons. It occured to me that if I put a few pidgeons in the microwave and turned the machine on, I would eventually melt the creatures. But it seemed I also dimly remembered that if I heated them in short bursts, then gave them breaks, I could get them to have sex. And this I did.

...

I almost blacked out yester-day. Never happened to me before. It was very interesting . . . I was kneeling in front of some Lovecraft books, noticing how many times the same stories appeared in different collections, and when I stood, the world suddenly started to fade behind reddish blackness. I remember thinking, "Hey, I'm still able to think while this is going on . . . Wow, I can't see anything. I hope I don't bump into anything."

Afterwards, I got to thinking about how peculiarly tired I've been lately and how I've had an even harder time than usual keeping my thoughts in order. I wondered if I was laking vital nutrients. I walked to Tim's work and asked him what he thought, but he had no better advise than, "Eat meat."

I'm sure I'll be fine . . . I think I need fruit.

I hate Cosco. And I really hate Trader Joes. I don't wanna go to that snake-den of horrid, uptight people! Don't make me go back, I don't care if there're some cool things on their shelves.

I suppose I did get an awful lot of orange juice from Trader Joes . . . But goodness if that place isn't filled with what William S. Burroughs might call "decent church-goin' women, with their mean, pinched, bitter, evil faces."

...

Viewers got to see Hawkgirl's face on Justice League last night. She and Green Lantern finally admitted their feelings for each other and so Lantern reached forward and gently removed that feathery headpiece . . . and damn was it ever sexy. I was turned on. It was almost better than watching him undress her, especially as she's much prettier without her mask. I was beginning to wonder if that thing even was a mask or if it was simply part of her head. She didn't even take it off when she met Cthulhu (I know, I don't know why she would except that Cthulhu really deserved more respect).

Well, this room's a mess and I don't wanna clean it.

I took it apart last night looking for Goodfellas, which Trisa and I decided to watch. She and I hung out for a bit last night, going to City Delicatessan, Off The Record, and Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. We took her car, the floor of which was paved in audio tapes.

Did eventually find Goodfellas, which is a great movie of course. Not the sort one gets tired of. And it was nice seeing Trisa again. She's not the sort one gets tired of either.

I'm supposed to go to my parents' to-night for dinner because they've gotten a new dog--don't ask me how that works.

And I am feeling extremely sluggish to-day.

In Lake Arrowhead, in addition to lots of Caitlin R. Kiernan, I also read the last Arthur Conan-Doyle Sherlock Holmes story that I had not read. The Adventure of the Retired Colourman didn't feel like the final Holmes story. Unlike the stories that closely preceded it, such as The Adventure of the Lion's Mane and His Last Bow, which were stories that featured significant nostalgic peculiarities, The Adventure of the Retired Colourman was a resoundingly good return to form, giving one of the more enjoyable tales of Holmes's powerful deductive techniques put to use.

Of course, I want more. So it was with no small amount of excitement that I last night anticipated watching Billy Wilder's The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes from 1970.

I knew that Billy Wilder was a brilliant film maker. You might remember me glowing about The Apartment, Double Indemnity, and Some Like It Hot. It was only a few weeks ago that I first learned about The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes and the idea that such a terrific director had made a Sherlock Holmes movie had me salivating like a waterfall.

The movie is not based on any of Arthur Conan-Doyle's stories. In fact, various descriptions that I read of the film seemed to indicate that the movie was primarily concerned with the idea that Holmes might have been homosexual and in love with Dr. Watson.

I was a little bothered by what this seemed to suggest. I worried (foolishly, as it turned out) that the movie would be a juvenile melodrama about some repressed passion in Holmes. That the movie would postulate that homosexuality was the entire reason for Holmes's distrust of women. This bothered me because, honestly, it seems absolutely boring and boorish. The concept seems to leap at an irksome presumption--oh, he doesn't like women! He must be gay!

I was always far more interested in the idea that Holmes was unlike any other person and that he was compelled by obsessions and passions outside the realm of simplistic, orthodox character studies.

Anyway . . . I decided that I would trust Wilder, who had not let me down in the past, and simply watch the damn movie and even look forward to it.

I was not disappointed, I'm happy to say.

It turns out to only be the juvenile individuals at Yahoo! movies and other places who think the movie is all about gay Holmes.

Wilder and co-writer I.A.L Diamond give a more complicated portrait of the sleuth that suggests an inner torment that is very, very quiet behind vigour for brilliantly solving extraordinary crimes. It's an intriguing and endearing view of the man in the midst of a story involving ballet, canaries, and the Loch Ness Monster.

The trademark wittiness of Wilder's dialogue is put to good effect here and I especially liked Watson who, played by Colin Blakely, came across as a sort of a mixture of Jack Lemmon, Colm Meaney, and a very enthusiastic puppy. It was simultaneously novel and, er, true enough to Conan-Doyle's Watson.

Robert Stephens played Holmes in a manner that was a little more laconic and sane than I'm used to Holmes being. But it was not really a departure from Conan-Doyle's Holmes, and worked well for the subject matter of the film. Of course, I still would rather have seen Jeremy Brett.

Christopher Lee's in the film as Sherlock's brother Mycroft and, as usual, the guy has great presence. Although I think Mycroft was written as a slightly more sinister character than Conan-Doyle originally intended. And I also wonder if Queen Victoria was really as simple-minded as she seemed in the movie.

Other than that, my only complaint about the movie is that Sherlock wasn't as smart as he usually is. I've never been able to reach solutions before Holmes in any of the Conan-Doyle stories, but I found myself deducing some things faster than Wilder's Holmes. Such as the straight tracks in the dust which at first confounded Holmes's but which I immediately recognised as wheelchair tracks. But I guess this just illustrates that Wilder's is a different kid of cleverness.

Apparently, Wilder and Diamond worked for twelve years on the screenplay and there really is a sense of respect for the original stories. The movie was originally supposed to be a three hour collection of four Holmes episodes, but unfortunately the studio saw fit to cut it down to only two stories (for a running time of about two hours) when test audiences found the movie to be too "episodic."

So, thanks to those bright folks, about a third of this brilliant film is entirely lost--it seems only some of the footage has survived, and only without its dialogue track and with blurred-out nudity (it was saved for a possible television version).

But, as it is, it is still very worth watching indeed.

...

I exhausted myself at the mall yester-day encountering unprecedented difficulty in Christmas shopping. For most of the people on my list, I could not even begin to conceive of what to buy for them. I did, amazingly enough, find a pair of sunglasses for myself. It's terribly difficult finding sunglasses that don't look revoltingly stupid but, astonishingly, there were several in a store at the mall for only two dollars!

They're large, and blessedly round. I suppose they look like goggles. Maybe a little silly but I'll take just about anything in place of those moronic, elongated gecko-eyed things proliferating the market. Oy. Doesn't anyone look at pictures of John Lennon and say "Hey, that looks great!" anymore?

My lip hurts.

This room's a mess and I gotta get my things picked up before I leave as the maid is coming.

Maybe I'll do my Christmas shopping to-day . . . And shoestrings. I need shoestrings. The string on my right shoe finally broke--this particular pair of sturdy strings has been carried through three pairs of shoes. So I think I shall buy the same kind.

Ikimasu.

It'd be nice if there was toilet paper around here, I really think. I guess I know what my first errand shall be to-day.

I've just been looking over a story I submitted to the Acorn Review that was rejected. Being in the class, on the editorial staff, is supposed to give you a sort of advantage as no one in the class is supposed to know who wrote the pieces they're reviewing. So you're supposed to benefit from unabashed comments. Well, in my case, unfortunately, the reverse seems to be true--for my stories, people tend to unabashedly reserve their comments. I still have no idea why this story was rejected. The only real complaint it got was that there were some spelling errors--which is funny because me and Microsoft Word have as yet to find any spelling errors. Although that part of the mystery could be that no one in the class likes the UK dictionary, which I prefer to use for aesthetic reasons. I bet they probably don't know that "realise" can be spelt with an "s".

I suppose the only explanation I can think of is that the story is just plain bad. Not for any isolatable reason . . . It's just not good. It's a bad idea. Or maybe it's that most of the people in the class have vastly different tastes than I do. I was the only one, after all, who voted "no" on the very revolting story about the mother wanting to fuck her dead son (I doubt the author would agree with me on that synopsis. If he or she did, I might like the story).

...

I met my sister's new boyfriend yester-day. He wants to be a movie director--apparently he's already done his own little film complete with a stunt man and a stand-in hand. But really, this guy--Nathan--seemed more like a producer than a director to me. I'm not sure why.

I met him at my parent's house when he came to pick my sister up for a date. So I listened to him talk to my parents. The ever-chuckling Nathan talked about his car--After saying he wasn't any kind of car-mechanic, he went into discussing how he had just changed the something-gasket and the valve-something. He and my dad then talked car-Greek.

My mother approvingly noted that he and my sister looked like a Gap advertisement standing next to eachother . . . and I listened to my dad speak with pride about buying Matchbox 20 and Nickelback CDs.

And if there's one thing this post is starting to make abundantly clear to me, it's that I think most of the people I interact with regularly have bad taste.

I'm an elf amongst orcs.

Fuck.

So far there're around fifty things I want to do to-day. So I probably won't do any of them because I spit in the face stuffs.

Well, no, I'm actually gonna do stuff.

Yester-day, in case you're wondering, was a lot of walking again. I think I startled a woman when I spontaneously helped her lift her baby's stroller over the trolley steps. It only occured to me after I had sat back down and'd been gazing out the window a bit that me--total young stranger in sinister black hat--rushing wordlessly forward to kneel in front of her infant, grasping the bottom of its stroller and lifting with all my strength, might've been unsettling. So much for the happy fantasy of the world of friendly neighbourhood people all about, ready to help those in need.

Was I complaining about the three cans of coke the other day? Ironic, now that they're gone and I miss them.

I'll have to get more. And video tapes too. Oh yes, and maybe hair gel.

I guess I haven't mentioned this here yet--on Sunday, when I was anxious all day and crazy, I started cutting my hair. I cut it a lot. It's very short now, but not so bad looking. I'm actually kind of proud of myself. But I think I might want hair gel.

Here's something exciting.

I think I've gotten a cold. Um. Yes. I have.

I watched A Streetcar Named Desire yester-day which might partially explain my gloomy perseptions of love and reality at the time. I knew I'd feel better by this morning and I do. Something about just waking up makes you feel like you don't give a fuck, after all . . .

I also watched Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious and I finally got that Cary Grant looks awesome in a suit or a tuxedo. Nearly twenty years before the first James Bond film, Grant was already doing what most people would put down to Bond. Ingrid Bergman was also great . . . Ever since my aunt informed me that Ingrid Bergman is Isabella Rossalini's mother, I haven't been able to stop marvelling at the resemblance between the two women. Which has caused me to think about David Lynch's motivations in casting Rossalini in his movies, especially considering Laura Harring's resemblance to Rita Hayworth, not to mention his casting of the actual Anne Miller.

. . . Well, I guess I'd better start walking towards school.

Naked on a Dead World


Killed dredged gunbearers
Ghosts of the rung out bull belles
Cut down necks solemn
Down the gut street

Grey harsh shades
Creep strike stinklight
Foul runs down, down
Suck up in,
Spit down out
In out
Out in

Fool blink casts, shelled
Empty tired gall
Sag, oldsweet battercake
No good no more

Vacant old wood
Round empty cold home
No-one here lives
Pendulum glum sluice

Junk caked hair
Shadow soiled solitude
Blank shot sentiments
Masturbation melodame

One man soccer game
Skinned knee grass stained
Poor suckling cuspdrunk
Naked on a dead world

Now I'm taping To Kill A Mockingbird and whatever movie it is that comes after it.

Last night I picked up the tapes Tim did for me while I was away. For me he got Age of Innocence, Remains of the Day, and a bundle of Akira Kurosawa movies.

I'm strangely not hungry right now. Maybe it's because I don't feel like there's anything good to eat within reach. I'd eat the waffles if there was orange juice.

That was one great thing about Lake Arrowhead; always there were good beverages at the ready. Be it hot chocolate, coffee, orange juice, or water, it was all right there. All I've got here are three cans of coke. That's it. And don't get me wrong, I do like coke . . . It's just not the time.

I failed to mention that I worked on my novel yesterday. In Lake Arrowhead I began chapter 80, the first chapter of part 9. I finished that chapter yesterday. I think. Actually, I think I'll make it longer . . .

Er . . . Maybe this novel's too big. I'm gonna take a hard look at it when I finish the first draft.

I'm tired.

I've said it before and I'll say it again--I wish I could've gotten more sleep this morning.

But I couldn't--The maid unexpectedly turned up.

So I was unexpectedly turned out and found myself at the beginning of an adventure on the trolley through San Diego! to include a smoothie, a phone call to and a recommendation from Trisa, a new book by Caitlin R. Kiernan, a taking up Trisa on her recommendation, and an inept trolley operator who took me in the direction opposite from which her sign proclaimed.

Now here I go 'gain.

Oh, lazy, fat-cat Americans like me, spoiled yet again by paradise--er, and by paradise, I mean the free post-apocalyptic environment of blackish brown smooth hills dotted with the construction paper black skeletons of trees. From here to Lake Arrowhead (almost a hundred miles), this is the genuinely glorious sight on either side of the 15 freeway, not to mention the crusty black scalps of land hugging the winding road leading up to the mountain that Lake Arrowhead calls home.

Lake Arrowhead--cold. Quite cold. Especially in the hotel room where my mother laughed at our craziness with the heater and sagely turned the device down to a perfectly sane 60 degrees (my mother tends to be too warm).

It's easy to kill an hour or two in the cute little "village" (read "mall") within walking distance of the hotel. It was there that I ate at a restaurant that had--judging from autographed photos about the place--previously served David Prowse, William Shatner, and, most incredibally, Lani "Captain Crais" Tupu! Someone at the Casa Coyote had proudly presented Tupu with a Farscape production photo for him to put his John Hancock on! This thrilled me lots. And it's fun to say Lani Tupu.

The drives sucked because I largely had to put up with my mother's insistence on playing a live Eagles CD over and over (I do sort of like "Desperado" and "Hotel California," but if a band's live performance tends to be a collection of their greatest hits, to me that says something). During "The Girl From Yester-day", by mother and sister agreed that it was silly to cry over a lost love and that anyone who did it was a loser. After all, there was always someone else at the party.

With triumphant laughter, my mother informed us that breaking up was a time when one essentially announced, "Next!"

Echoing her laughter, I rejoined with my oft-undetected sarcasm, "Yeah, totally! The idea of someone being irreplacable is preposterous as it is of course predicated upon the idea that people are unique! Ha ha, what a tired fallacy!"

What reply any member of my family may've had to my comment shall never be known because at that time we rounded a corner and saw the aftermath of a rather severe car accident featuring an expensive black sports car with a hood crumpled like a soda can. We were forced to park in another shopping centre so let's shop more, hurrah!

The bulk of my time was spent in the hotel room reading, mostly Caitlin R. Kiernan stuff. I finished the brilliant Threshold which combined interesting, tormented characters who exchanged dialogue that got me in a way somehow similer to the way dialogue got me in Citizen Kane, with a great, slimy dark, dark something underneath it all that was mysterious and mythos-ish. Especially mythos-ish as I spent a lot of time in the hotel room also reading stories from Caitlin's Tales of Pain and Wonder relating to Threshold's characters and something.

Speaking of Caitlin, that lovely woman has put a bunch of my manga and stuff on her Nebari.net in my absence, and oy, was it ever a nice thing to come home to.

I think I'll go out and buy Low Read Moon now . . . Or at least, as soon as I catch up with correspondences and things.

Oh! And happy Thanksgiving (it's occured to me that poultry is the worst smelling thing in the world. Why do people wanna eat something that smells like raw sewage? Maybe my vegetarian olfactory is biased . . .).

Woke up feeling something terrible. Was it the tap water? Was it the Taco Bell burritos I wolfed down on the way home last night? Was it the walk? Was it something else?

It only figures as I now have gotta scramble to get my shit together for departure. Yes, I am gonna be dissapearing for a few days . . . I think I'm getting back on Friday. I'm going with parents and sister to Lake Arrowhead, where I suspect I shall end up eating too much.

What really kills me is that I'm gonna miss taping Only Angels Have Wings on TCM at midnight to-night. You know, if someone out there has a desire to be really, really sweet to me, they might wanna consider nabbing that motion picture for me to-night *puppy dog eyes*.

I shall now try to gather stuff and strength to the soundtrack of Velvet Underground songs. Until days from now, bye!

Oy . . . Not feeling so great this mornin'. Little kids screaming and bumping elsewhere in the house . . . Ug. Can't they just get swallowed by the ground?

I gots some walking for doing to-day. To and from school. It'll be fine. But all I want to do to-day is lay around watching movies.

Blah.

At least I've got money. Maybe I'll stop at Einstein bagels on the way . . .

Right. Off I go.

Taped Touch of Evil, or I think I did, anyway. My cousin was fucking with the TV so, although I think it still worked, I'm not altogether sure.

During lunch, I watched the opening shot and it really was extraordinary. We go from a close-up of a ticking bomb, to the car it was planted in, to lovers strolling casually a few blocks away . . . All it one, single crane shot. Remarkable.

Last night I did four more pages of The Adventures of Nar'eth. Caitlin's requested more, so I think I shall give her more.

This morning I did a new page of Doll Merchant--I think my clear influences for that series are beginning to be less Raymond Chandler and more Arthur Conan Doyle.

So I have been a busy bee. At this rate, I may have to stop insisting to people that I'm not a comic book artist.

No matter what happens to-day . . . I don't think I'm ever gonna get the theme from Pokemon out of my head.

sigh.

I did see a good episode of that series yesterday . . .

"Gotta catch 'em all . . ."

I feel like I'm in a submarine.

But fortune strike in the midst of malaise as I unexpectedly bagged a video of Billie Holiday after taping Johnny Belinda. Nice.

A sort of victory: In a recent answering of reader's questions by Roger Ebert, Ebert said;

"Apparently moviegoers now prefer wide-screen to 'full screen' (i.e., cropped pan-and-scan) by such a wide margin that stores are routinely left with piles of unsold full screens."

I do like the sound of that. And to think, a couple years ago people thought I was crazy for my preference. Huh! Who's crazy now, huh? Huh!? I'm--I'm not craz . . . The door made me do it, I tell you! The door!

...

Six guesses for what I did this morning.

No.

No.

Heh, no.

No.

Well, yes, but everyone does that routinely. Right?

No.

Okay. I did something kind of wrong, I guess . . . I watched the Paris Hilton sex video. Morbid curiosity, I suppose. I'm not really sure why I wanted to watch it but if it was for sexual arousal, my libido was quite disappointed. It's kind of depressing that someone can seem so artificial and superficial in such a situation. Here she is, having sex with her supposed boyfriend, and she can't even sound genuine. Isn't 19 awfully young to be so emotionally jaded? Maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

Do I feel sorry for her that this video is circulating? Vaguely.

The door! The door made me do it, I tell you!

Turns out a guy can indeed get around without a car.

Yesterday I went to La Mesa, came back, then went to Parkway Plaza. I figured it'd be silly to waste the Trolley Day Tripper I'd gotten for going to La Mesa.

It was at Parkway Plaza that I finally bought The Apartment, and it was shortly thereafter that I finally saw the end of that movie. It's all good, it turns out.

Last night, Lucky the cat made a break for the outdoors well after sundown, a time he's not typically allowed outside. While looking for him in the backyard, I saw in the darkness the small, pale, round face of a opossum, looking about with tiny black eyes from atop the fench.

I was reminded of dream I'd had the night before about Victoria the cat escaping because she'd lain thousands of black and white kittens all over the house. These strange little kittens were of varying sizes, some smaller than a fingernail, lost between carpet fibres. One had to walk very carefully around the house.

...

It occurs to me that some of the decisions we make in life are extremely difficult to deal with, even if it was probably the right decision. You wonder when on earth you'll stop thinking about it, as it keeps popping into the brain.

Good advice.

To bed, for bread.

I must go to sleep early so that I may travel to La Mesa to-morrow and retrieve bread from my Aunt.

I don't wanna. Why did I agree to this? I have plenty of food . . . Oh well . . .

Anyway, I must get up early--Hullo! It's already 3am. So much for that! Then again, 3am is early for me . . . but not early enough to make waking up at 9am very comfortable. Maybe I can do it from 10am?

Halloa, my neglected blog!

Eh, I didn't type anything into you on Tuesday because I gave the whole day over to watching The Two Towers extended edition. And I'm not sorry. Nope.

It's like all better with the characters and what not. Blah. No word things in my brainmouth to-now. I'm tired. Shall I watch more? I haven't even begun on the special features of which there are . . . heh . . . a lot.

Suffice to say, like Fellowship of the Ring before it, The Two Towers is now a far better, less frenetic feeling film.

So it's single-handedly responsible for me being in quite a good mood. Otherwise, I'd be miserable and crazy, maybe, from isolation and lack of a proper desk to draw on which is really starting to get to me. I'm tired of drawing on the floor. It's just not comfortable.

Oh, yes, I used to have desk space for drawing on. But what happened? The big, beautful, frelling desk got cut in half is what happened!

Ah . . . but that's an old wound. No sense pestering it now.

Sean Bean is an excellent Boromir.

Dreamt ants were taking over the world. Not a good feeling, especially as they started with my glass of apple juice.

I'm busy to-day again.

Feeling out of sorts for an altercation with Trisa.

And to-day's the last day of car insurance. I have a feeling that the next couple of weeks are gonna be composed of long, slow days. But that's fine, as I'm in a slow mood these days.

But whatever happens, I do know that the Two Towers extended edition comes out to-morrow. That's the kind of thing that keeps me alive.

Found this on Mel's journal. It's cute . . . if the graphic ever loads, huh?


Sometimes your creative solutions land you in
sticky situations but you remain adventurous
and undaunted by failure. You posess an
infectious confidence and deep thinking comes
naturally to you.
Always on the go with many paws in many pies,
Rabbits can appear slightly manic to others.
But not to worry, you have everything under
control... most of the time.


Which Pooh character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

To-morrow's my last day of car insurance. The Company sent me a form in the mail for me to fill out in order to get my own insurance, but said form has not yet arrived. Fortunately, I won't actually need my car for a while after Monday. And on either Wednesday or Thursday, I'm going to Lake Arrowhead with my parents and sister.

Lake Arrowhead was caught in the fire and I'm looking forward to seeing majesticly burnt trees and shrubs.

To-day . . . There're a couple projects I wanna work on, I wanna do laundry, and . . . Oh yes! Eat breakfast. I think I'll start out by going for coffee.

To-night I plan to tape Cleopatra from 1913. I also want to tape Adult Swim for Marty who, not having cable, has never seen Adult Swim.

So, tapie, tapie.

...

Last night, I managed to watch all of They Drive by Night, a movie I'd taped because it's got Humphrey Bogart in it. As it turned out, this movie was made before Bogart was a big star, and he's forced to play second fiddle to a far inferior actor. And the story was ludicrous mid-century Hollywood shlock, beginning at point A, going to point L, coming back for point G, spinning out to N, taper spiraling round to C, and, at last, ending up at K. Bogart and some other guy are brothers who drive a truck delivering produce, dreaming of one day actually owning their truck or even their own trucking business. But things go awry when Bogart falls asleep at the wheel and looses his right arm. The Other Guy goes to work in the garage of a big trucking company where the boss's wife (Ida Lupino) has a deep crush on him. Lupino kills her dopey husband, makes The Other Guy a partner in owning the company, but goes wacky when she learns that Other Guy is marrying a sweet, plain little redhead played by Ann Sheridan.

It ended up that Ida Lupino was the person who made this film worth watching. She'd killed her husband by allowing an automatic garage door to close on him while the gas was on in his car and, later, which she was on the stand, her mad laughter and cries of, "Yes! That's it! The door made me do it! The door, I tell you!" were just delicious. What a plucky dame. I understand there's another movie she costars with Bogart in. I just might hunt it down . . .

The last two movies I saw at the cinema were Kill Bill and Lost in Translation. Two movies having a lot to do with two different perspective on Tokyo. Kill Bill being the more stylised, Lost in Translation being the more raw. They're both incredibally good movies.

This morning, for some reason, I also remembered that both films have a Charlie Brown gag, wherein a group of people decide that an individual resembles Charlie Brown and so they take to refering to him by that name. Strange, no?

I woke up to-day at around 10:10am, watched a bit of a Mystery Science Theatre 3000 episode I'd never seen, and then went back to bed. I really must stop doing that.

I think I'm catching a cold . . .

Hoy.

Got up at 2pm to-day. Well, technically I woke up at 11am, read the last chapters of The Valley of Fear, and then went back to bed.

Again, I stayed up looking for Sarah Bernhardt, only this time the hunt yielded my quarry. Here.

If I can find a large enough photo of Benhardt, I might make a Sarah Bernhardt desktop scheme. I don't know where this sudden interest in Sarah Bernhardt comes from. Maybe I just feel nlike I wanna possess her in some voyueristic fashion before I see Nicole Kidman's rendition of the legendary actress in Steven Spielburg's new film.

I got Elvis Costello's new album yesterday and, thanks to a breathtaking traffic jam on 15 north, I managed to listen to it twice in a row. It comes with a smashing good DVD and a PIN code for a bonus track on the website which doesn't work.

. . . Gods it's weird having Sarah Bernhardt yelling at me so passionately . . . This is exactly why I wanted these mp3s . . .

Er, so anyway, the new Costello album is great light, somewhat gloomy jazz. I think I'd enjoy it more if I was more in touch with my emotions.

Hmm. I'm going real creepy . . . The girls in my life are Sarah Bernhardt, Rita Hayworth, and Sophitia.

Help.

Even I think it's obscene that I'm this tired at 1pm.

I was driven last night, though, for no apparent reason, to find mp3s of Sarah Bernhardt. Apparently recordings do exist, some even from before 1900. But alas, my search was in vain.

If any of you know where I can get my hands on some Sarah Bernhardt recordings, let me know. And mind you that's Sarah Bernhardt, not Sandra Bernhardt.

...

Don't know what I'm gonna do to-day. Maybe just read.

Victoria the cat returns!!

After weeks of avoiding me, she suddenly seems very happy to hang out in my room.

Not really any other developments besides that around here . . . Looks like it may be easier to get car insurance than I thought . . .

Victoria seemed overtaken by horrid fascination when I did thirty crunches in front of her. The look on her face told me she'd never seen anything so inexplicable and bizzare.

I wonder if 1602 number 4 is out yet?

(jumping to another topic) I taped Clash By Night with Barbara Stanwyck, Paul Douglas, and Marilyn Monroe. It's good--not spectacular, but good. Seeing Stanwyck reminded me of how much I wanna get a copy of Double Indemnity.

I finished part 8 of my novel yesterday--the first draft, anyway. As it looks like the novel shall end up being in nine parts, I guess this means I'm in the home stretch. A home stretch that's likely to take five months, at least.

Dashing all about yesterday, influenced maybe by the dashing about of my main character in my novel (or perhaps the other way around? Naw).

Went to Parkway Plaza first, after pressing record on the VCR to nab A Streetcar Named Desire and Notorious. Spent hours at the mall just writing, and looking for my aunt's birthday present, which I never found. But even if I had found something, I suppose I really dinna have the money . . .

I had eighteen dollars yesterday. Pretty pathetic, really, as I was trying to save money to pay Trisa. But as Trisa was unavailable yesterday I figured, hell, I can just go and spend it, whoo-hoo.

Spend it I did, on coffee, and lots of it. So it was that in the cool of the evening I was sweating through me sweater as I realised that I needed to be at Grossmont Centre to buy groceries from Trader Joe's (this was at 6pm I realised this). I promptly left the Rubio's I was waiting in line at and took off for Grossmont Centre mall.

Now, I know what you're thinking; Sets! Don't you have school at 7pm on Mondays!

Well, at about noon yesterday it came to me that Juliana Cardenas (teacher) had informed ze class that Monday was to be a Veteran's Day and there was thusly no school. I thought it was too bad I had not remembered this Sunday night, when I had stayed up 'til 3am typing up a story for subission to the Acorn Review.

But fuck it! I thought. No one liked my last story, "Gregg's Mermaid"--a fact which has led me to believe there is a prejudice against sci-fi/fantasy around these parts as the complaints for the story were vague and a couple people even said it was well written. Stories have been accepted for less--and yet this story of mine got only two votes; mine, and this cool girl named Sarah (or possibly Sara, or even Sera--I once knew a Sairah) who told me it wasn't the sort of story she liked but that she was voting for it on principle. Hurrah! Someone in the class has ethics.

Right--Monday.

So I get back to my grandmother's house at 7:19 and my grandmother mentions she'd been to the bank to-day.

"I'm surprised the bank was open on Veteran's Day!" says I.

"To-morrow's Veteran's Day, not to-day!" says she.

"Oh fuck," thinks I, outwardly keeping my cool because I got some moves on me, or so I was told by a flying saucer salesman at Parkway Plaza (I was carrying my copy of Caitlin R. Kiernan's Threshold and when he jovially launched his inflatable saucer at me as I rounded a corner, I reflexively batted at the saucer with Threshold, causing the thing to fly off at an angle to where it hit a partition, rebounded, and landed in the salesman's hand. Smooth, yes, I know).

So.

I grabs me story and a card thingie, drive as fast as I dare to Grossmont College, park off campus (because I am too cheap for parking permit) and march up the dark night hill towards school whilst trying to fill out the submission card.

There were no cars in the school parking lot.

There was no one at the school.

I walked across the campus and, apart from a rabbit dashing across the quad, mine was the only soul present.

Sigh!

The day ended as I left Tim's with his extra packets of hot sauce from Del Taco. I took something home last night.

. . . just realised I have no school to-day. Huh.

Well, let's see . . . I've got eighteen dollars. What shall I do with it? I wanna tape A Streetcar Named Desire at 2:45 . . .

Maybe I'll buy food. I spent five dollars on a sandwich yesterday and it seemed like a bad idea at the time. Now it doesn't sound so bad.

Getting dressed would be a good start, true . . .

About the Bush Administration, Al Gore recently said, "They have taken us much farther down the road toward an intrusive, 'big brother'-style government toward the dangers prophesied by George Orwell in his book '1984' than anyone ever thought would be possible in the United States of America."

I was thinking the same thing. Lots of people are, I guess.

Yesterday's post was gonna be longer but a carpet cleaner blundered into my room and I had to leave. But now that I think about it, I didn't really have anything else to say . . .

Last night I was quite enjoying The Apartment (Billy Wilder's film with Jack Lemmon, Shirley Maclaine and Fred MacMurray) until I found that the last thirty seconds or so of the movie had been cut off by what I'd taped after it. Grr! The frustration. I'd forgotten that some VCRs have a helpful tendency to rewind the tape slightly when you press record.

It seems the other movies I'd taped are okay since for all of those I'd left them recording for much longer than necessary . . . oh, the pain. Looks like The Apartment isn't available on DVD--Damnit, it won Best Picture, why the frell isn't it on DVD? Gah!

There are two projects I wanna work on to-day, but I think I shall only have time for one. I'll flip a coin . . .

Watched (and taped) Les Diaboliques last night and it was good and even had me a little frightened. Many good qualities about this movie including a glimpse of the starlet's nipples at the end. It's just more exciting to see in a movie made in 1955, for some reason.

Just watched the very short first chapter of Star Wars: Clone Wars. It seemed good but damn was it fucking short. Anakin Skywalker hasn't spoken yet, but already he's a strangely more believable character than he was in the movie.

It's too bad Palpatine isn't played by Ian McDiarmid. I can't tell if Obi-Wan is Ewan MacGreagor.

My cousin's a model and she once told me about a job of hers where pictures of her were taken for a dating service's advertisements. I asked her if she herself actually used this service and she told me that of course she did not.

Common sense had told me this already--I doubt there's anyone who truly thinks the made-up creatures grinning from the meticulous advertisements are actual examples of people using the service. But having this cynical fact definitely proven gave me some kind of cruel glee.

There lies the gaudy, accessorised marketing machine naked and blushing before me. Ha!

So to-day, when I was looking over my hotmail e-mails, I found myself idly gazing at a row of three photographs of different women's faces--a dating service advertisement. I got to thinking about how each face is supposed to look different, implying that there's "a match for simply everyone!" out there. I'm not sure why the photos caused such a meloncholy to fall over me. Something about the way I could sense the photographer saying, "Oh, you've got a snazzy look to ya. Give me a bit if fun . . . Yeah, let's see mischief, like you're up for fun and what not," and to another, "Aw, you're a sweetie aren't you? Let's see a little coy, but let's make sure you still look like you give great blow jobs. Perfect!" and, "Hey, yeah, just give me a reasonable smile . . . yeah . . . your life's together but you're not judgemental and all that . . . Yeah . . . brainy but docile . . . yeah . . ."

And then I imagine the guys being pulled in by these ads, whether they know it or not, into using the dating service. These poor lonely bastards with their simple, little mental crayon drawings of woman "types". I've known plenty of guys like that, some of them even smart guys. It's amazing how dumb a smart person can be when they've all but given up hope.

Another example of real life being too complex for itself.

...

Gods, I have a lot to do to-day . . . And I'm having big trouble concentrating. Things just flit helplessly in and out of my brain. I'm forgetting important things way too easily lately.

I think I'll begin by typing things up. Sounds simple enough, yes?

It's Garfield, the movie.

I would prefer that Lorenzo Music, who was Garfield's voice for the old cartoon series, be the voice for the movie, but it seems he died in 1999. Still, the fact that Bill Murray's onboard for Garfield's voice makes me hopeful. The fact that Jennifer Love Hewitt is also onboard is something I'm trying not to think about.

I got me copies of Citizen Kane, The Adventures of Robin Hood (with Errol Flynn), and Holiday (with Kathryn Hepburn and Cary Grant). Oh yeah.

I also took a test yesterday. The school kind. And yet, also, at the same time, it was the moral and spiritual kind. That sort of crossroads where you ask yourself, "Oh, what is the fucking point, anyway?!"

I'd skipped this class on Monday in order to hang out with Trisa (which I do not regret as hanging out with Trisa is more important than school), so I didn't actually know about to-day's test until Mr. Ding (that's his name!) started writing questions on the board.

They were all about Twelfth Night which we would have studied last week if there hadn't been fire all over the place. Instead, I guess he expected us all to have independently done our work, merely because he'd had it all written down in the syllabus . . . Okay, not an unreasonable thing to expect of students. But I was busy smouldering under my own cloud of inner drama so I could hardly concentrate (wish I could say that inner drama was worry for our firefighters but it wasn't. It was Shirley McClaine saying, "Why do people fall in love with people?"). This was pretty much the reason I'd dropped the class the first time and I'd re-taken it now. When I signed up for classes, I didn't think I was gonna have much else to think about (ya'll get what I'm saying, right?).

So, yes, I'd read Twelfth Night once, a very long time ago, which was a fact I wasn't even aware of until I started frantically (while trying to look casual) skimming over the text (thankfully, this test was open book).

In the middle of all this hoopla, though, I couldn't help thinking, "Is this how I wanna read Twelfth Night? 'cause this kinna sucks." But no, it must be this way to placate the gods of acedemia. That glorious realm of their's where one should not learn unless it does not get in the way of memorising. Unfortunately, it often does.

I finally caved in and wrote one of my patently bullshitted essays. Like Trisa says, being things for all people . . .

"We had such wishful beginnings . . ." -David Bowie

Hello, friend. How does this sacred evening find you? You look good. If you come over here, if you sit on my lap, I'll tell you a little secret. If you put your breath on my ear, I'll make known to you things that are hidden beneath the shifting, black silks of the mind and eternity. Draw close to me and I will tell you . . .

It's a mad, mad, mad, mad, madmadmadmad, mad world.

No, I've never seen It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, but it's gonna be on TCM on Friday and, as seems to be the wonderful norm on TCM, it'll be without commercials and it'll be completely unedited.

I'm not so sure it interests me enough to watch it. I only mention it because it's title speaks the truth. It is a mad, mad, mad, mad world.

I'm troubled. I'm dreading a couple of things right now. I guess top of the list is the fact that I still need to get car insurance. And that just sucks. I never really wanted a car to begin with. All I ever use it for is goofing off. I could do with a lot less of that. Aw, but what am I saying. That's mad talking . . .

What do I want most right now?

As Agent Cooper once said, I wish I was making love to a beautiful woman for whom I had genuine affection.

I'm currently recording a movie starring Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Shirley McLaine that I've never seen before. I think I'm just recording it because I've suddenly become wildly excited about TCM's generosity with their movies.

Wednesday looks like it'll bring in quite a haul; Citizen Kane, Mark of Zorro, Stagecoach, and The Adventures of Robin Hood. I think I'll probably try to get all of them on tape. And I probably won't have time to watch any of them.

I am becoming an impulsive collector of movies, huh . . .

Hmm. Wait a minute . . . what happened to my apple juice . . . ?

Trisa and I partook of the unknown yesterday in a forray into Mitsuwa. From this place we took popsicles that were green tea ice cream on the outside and some kind of tangy fruit paste on the inside. They were also very good.

Apparently, Trisa and I both really liked Kill Bill. Has does everybody. This is a loved movie.

I will have money soon. I'll probably buy Low Red Moon. But I also want Elvis Costello's new album, and I'm even thinking about the Indiana Jones box set, which I really shouldn't be doing. I'm also thinking about breakfast . . .

...

Oh, and Happy Birthday Trisa!

The mail yesterday was not so bad as I thought, at least it does not seem so thus far. I received a notice from West Hollywood, as I had expected--well, not so much expected--I mean feared. I had feared that there would be some additional charge to what was paid on the night that Trisa and I took back my car from the clutches of Hollywood authorites, even though the receipt seemed to include all conceivably relevant fees. I was nevertheless worried that I'd forgotten about something.

What I received yesterday, I could not exactly make heads or tails of. I'm not certain if it's simply a notice that my vehicle had been stored by them at one point, which is the nearest thing to making sense of it. What it seems to be is a notice that they are still storing my vehicle and why haven't I picked it up? Which would be awfully extraordinary as I seem to recall parking my car and driving it about scores of times since the incident.

I suppose I ought to eat breakfast . . . Gods, I want a latte.

Not sure what I want to do with this day.

Some people are too uptight.

Okay, Existence. Now what?

Oh . . . you don't know? Well, don't expect me to give you a clue because I haven't got one.

No, I ain't mad at ya. Things would be so much easier if I was, huh, because then at least we'd have something to chew on. But for the moment, we're doomed to freedom and the cognisance of the insignifigance of pleasure.

Blasphemy, I know . . .

I mean to say, I have no money. Well, I've got some. But I'm saving it to pay Trisa back for the fiasco in L.A.

It's getting cold around here. Maybe that'll be good for the fire. Maybe Mother Nature shall stop bingeing and sink into a cold, numb aftertaste.

. . . I have places to go to-day. I'm told I have mail at one of my other addresses. And I have a bad feeling about this. I have a bad feeling about a lot of things to-day.

No time, no time. Just a few quick words of warning:

Stay away from apple juice, ants, old makeup, confusing hats, other people's maple syrup, and rulers.

Happy Halloween.

sigh.

The sky is cloudy with clouds to-day. Old fashioned, water oriented clouds. Which generally seems to be regarded as being a good sign.

Yesterday I watched Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with my sister. It's heartening when she enjoys watching a good movie enough to watch it all the way through. I still resent the the experience of having her stop halfway through Bram Stoker's Dracula because the movie was too scary.

To-day, I wrote a few pages of novel in my notebook with a blue pen. This is my first time experimenting with blue ink for my prose and hopefully something horrible won't come of it. Things seem okay so far, but you never know.

Before, I was alternating between red and black ink (this idea of alternating ink colours was one I got from Neil Gaiman's blog--the idea is to keep track of how much one has written in a day). But now that I've run out of red pens, I've decided to try blue out, as blue should be more easily legible, in any light. I'm mainly thinking of a time a very long time ago when Trisa and I were at The Living Room under a red light that suddenly turned mine into invisible ink. But aside from that extreme example, the red is still pretty weak, especially on the thin lines of my current notebook.

I guess I was vaguely attracted to the idea of writing in red more than blue for purely aesthetic reasons--like maybe I wanted to tell people I was writing in blood half the time. Trouble is, it really didn't look like blood. What I'm getting at here is that it was fucking weak.

I also picked up Trisa's birthday present yesterday, but who the hell knows when I'll see her.

It was nice to sleep on a bed again.

I think I'll finally watch Scanners to-day. It's more than a week overdue.

I started reading Caitlin R. Kiernan's Threshold and so far it's pretty good. The Palahniuk book I read a couple of days ago is mostly written in present tense and so's the Kiernan book. It's surprising how something so simple as having the events happen now rather than earlier can sort of charge a work of prose with an intimate electricity.

To-day, I think I'll drop by Grossmont College and see if I'm supposed to go to class. Then my sister and I are probably going to watch a movie . . .

Ugh. I'm just saying, and not for any particular reason.

I finished writing a grusome short story a few days ago . . . It was about spaghetti.

Get your own nudist t-shirt!

Driving on Fletcher Parkway, into the cancer yellow haze, I looked up and saw, in a half constructed tower on the corner, the dark shape of a rotted corpse, silhouetted against the diluted sunlight, hanging from a noose.

Wouldn't it be funny if Armeggeddon happened on Halloween? The thought's crossed my mind more than once over the past couple days.

I've been spending most of my time at my aunt and uncle's house in La Mesa, with my back against a piano, in the corner, reading. I read the enirety of Chuck Palaniuk's Choke on Sunday and Monday morning. It was really very good.

There was a scanner being left off the hook that beeped once every ten minutes. My cousin spent all day walking quickly from one end of the house to the other, answering phones, spreading and infecting her own special brand of disinformation. One of the my many aunts who was staying there was dressed and wearing her hair exactly like my mother. She and my mother haven't been on good terms for about a year.

I still haven't heard from my parents. I knew they'd be gone for the weekend, but it wasn't until after the fire had begun that my cousin had informed me that my parents and sister were at Disneyland. More disinformation? Maybe. They were in Anaheim, anyway. They didn't ask to speak to me. Why should I care?

I was concerned about Trisa all day yesterday, as her house was one that was mandatorily evacuated. When I finally reached her, she was going out to dinner with a guy who made her feel safe and good.

I just took a shower for the first time in several days, and I still smell ash. Doesn't really bother me though.

My dad, who's a fireman, wasn't able to join the fray, being caught in Anaheim. But from what I hear, my parents are back, so I suppose he's going at it with more than a thousand other good men and women.

There's been eleven deaths and more than five hundred destroyed homes. And I feel a little sick.

There's a fire around here and people're being asked to evacuate. This house hasn't been asked to evacuate, but I guess they'll probably ask soon. I just wanna go back to bed. But I guess I'd better start loading things into the car . . .

Life's been too interesting lately.

So far to-day, I've done this.

Yeah, go ahead and make fun of me.

Last night TCM had a number of good movies on and I watched three of them. Portrait of Jennie, The Haunting(1963), and Vampyr.

Portrait of Jennie was very sweet and had great dream-logic for it's supernatural stuff--the kind of logic that feels like it makes the right sense, even if it doesn't technically add up. The most tantilising kind of logic, really. And perfect for a romance movie.

The Haunting was damned good. I haven't read the Shirley Jackson book it's based on, but the movie's tight point of view from the character of Eleanor put me in the mind of We Have Always Lived in the Castle--a Shirley Jackson book I have read. The strength of both pieces is the narrative of a character who we know is going a sort of crazy and yet it's somehow the sort of crazy that pulls us right along. When Eleanor says fearfully of the noises outside the door, "It knows my name!" we know precisely what she means, and how she's afraid of it, even as we detect the madness in her voice. We recognise that madness in the same way we'd recognise madness in ourselves. It's that kind of intimacy.

Vampyr was very good, and obviously influencial. I see now where Francis Ford Coppella got the idea for the independant shadow he gave to Dracula in his film. My only complaint about Vampyr is that I found the music a little distracting for some reason. Otherwise, the movie has a great mood, and I actually aplaud the directors preference for not using professional actors.

I did end up staying in all day yesterday, and I suspect I shall do the same to-day . . .

. . . water . . . water . . . water . . .

. . . want . . . water . . . there's just . . . no . . . water . . . need . . . water . . . oh . . . oh, gods . . . Sets, no . . . gods, don't . . . don't . . . mustn't . . . drink the . . . tap . . . water . . . not the . . . tap water . . . mucus-like . . . tap water . . . no, Sets . . . stop . . . !

I'm listening to "Stairway to Heaven" and, blog, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I'm reminded of the time I saw a troupe of three musicians dressed as Pirates wandering through Parkway Plaza performing various songs, usually having to do with pirates. But they also played, upon request from a guy at a cell phone kiosk, a surprisingly very good rendition of "Stairway to Heaven."

Well, unless Trisa's up for watching Scanners or something to-night, I'm probably going to spend all day in this house. I suppose I'll get quite a lot done . . .

You know what? I wanna draw something to-day. So I think I shall . . .

Where to begin . . .

There's too much.

Suffice to say, Rasputina was a great show, but I got my car towed in the meantime, and I now owe Trisa around a hundred bucks. We wandered around, frightened that my car'd been stolen before we finally figured out that we'd parked in some silly private parking area that only welcomed giggling young men who ineffectiually kicked at each other (it's true, I saw them).

Paradoxically, I do feel a lot more comfortable driving around L.A. now. Or at least that part of town, which I believe is actually Hollywood. I knew we'd be better off if I didn't bring any directions. Yahoo! maps gave a frilly, over-complicated route when all we needed to do was take 5 to 10 to La Cienega to Santa Monica. And done. No tricky intersections, no nonsense. Well, except that there wasn't apparently any good parking.

Yesterday also marked the first occasion where I sent a short story to a magazine (Azimovs). I confidently expect a rejection, but at least I'm not afraid of the mailbox anymore.

I'm broke 'cause I gave all my money to Trisa who, poor thing, had to be at class at 7am--just two hours after we arrived back in San Diego. She had a big test thing and I wish her luck. And sleep.

"I doused a friendly venture with a hard-faced, three word gesture." -Morrissey

Aeryn: You are Aeryn Sun. Some might call you cold,
or even tight-assed, but it's okay, 'cause you
can take 'em! Cool, calm, and collected you
work well under pressure and aren't afraid to
take on the boys.


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So to-morrow Trisa and I go to L.A.

I must admit, I'm rather nervous, especially after reading this.

Looks like we'll be arriving at night again. All we need is a rainstorm and visibility shall be as bad as last year . . . Oh, I do wish we could arrange to arrive during daylight, but apparently that's out of the question. Driving in L.A. is, for me, in case I have yet to make this clear, kind of intimidating. And certainly nerve-wracking. And it just has to be at night, doesn't it?

sigh.

Well, blog, I hope we see each other again . . . To-morrow's not Sunday, after all.

Eh . . . To-day, I will get an oil change . . . for my car.

I'm surrounded by fascists. Go 'way fascists! I really think I am surrounded by them.

Reason takes a back seat to "feelings" these days. It's cloying and it gives me stomach ache.

Woke up with a bad stomach ache this morning. And a headache. I dreamt I was part of a team of teen vampire hunters. We were all drving about in old Buick--there was me, another guy who had shoulder length black hair and glasses, a chubby blonde guy with a buzz-cut, and a guy and his girlfriend. This guy had glasses and short, oily black hair, and his girlfriend had mousy brown hair and wore big sweaters.

We regularly drove to the graveyard to hunt vampires who were rapidly taking over the world. One night, we were over powered. The guy and his girlfriend were making out in the back seat so they never saw it coming. The other two guys vanished into the crowd of blood-suckers, and I was the last one fighting. I finally lost consciousness, and when I awoke, I was in a regular looking hospital. My friends were there and we were all okay. Only we were all vampires now, of course. As was everyone in the world. But it turned out that it didn't matter at all--everyone was exactly the same as a vampire, only we had pointy teeth.

. . . Just watched the last episode of Evangelion. Am I a sap for feeling terrifically better about reality for having watched it? Maybe. Maybe it helps to be reminded of very simple things now and then. It certainly seemed to help Shinji.

The last episodes of Evangelion are always better than I rememeber them. I almost don't wanna watch the Evangelion movie, afraid it'll spoil the vibe . . . maybe I'll wait on it awhile.

Hideaki Anno was right. How the last episode went was truly better than how a lot of people thought it should have ended. The series really was about being human, and not about big robots. Kudos to Anno.

On a side note, it becomes very apparent in the last episode that the voice of Rei, Megumi Hayashibara, is also the voice of Lina Inverse. And Girl-type Ranma. And . . . well, lots of people . . .

I feel like shit. Like Spangler said at the end of Ghostbusters, I feel like the bottom of a taxi cab.

But I shall press onward . . . I managed to get some laundry done last night, finally. And I drank copious amounts of Cherry Coke.

Talked to Cryptess on ICQ last night. Our first real time conversation since I left Seattle. She has sung in an opera thing.

Also last night, I spent a lot of time plotting the trip Trisa and I are taking to Los Angle-lease on Wednesday. It can't possibly go as bad as last time.
I have class to-day . . . But first I will have coffee.

"Now where am I?"-Ryoga Hibiki