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May 04, 2006
Long Overdue: After Four Years, The Employee Is Let Go
There is, of course, a feeling of profound personal disappointment. It is tempered, though, by the emerging realization the the weekend job, and the seven-days-a-week work routine it entailed, had to end at some point. I'm looking forward to weekend bike riding, watching pro football games in the home theater, and actually seeing what my neighborhood looks like on a Sunday morning. This tweaked poem from Stephen Dunn sums up how I felt after receiving the news.
nor gone, her mind cut loose And he felt the weight of caring a freedom some of his friends knew, September 05, 2005
Between Dreams
It's all so hard to fathom, this state of persistent sloth that's had me gone for so long now. This must be a fatigued obliviousness that likeminded people are familiar with; having struggled to stalemate the core, paralyzing bitterness of the past year, we are cognizant that the world marches on around us, and yet detached. Visions and wanderings, headless. With this post, GeckoBlue will cease. I will resume blogging elsewhere when I am more myself, in May, 2006. May 13, 2005
I'm Back
I've been AWOL from the blog for about two months now, working on two mutually exclusive ventures, one the result of hard work, the other a complete surprise, and both with, I'd say, a 50-50 chance of success. When I know more, maybe you will too. March 06, 2005
In an Instant
It's really strange how, in the moment prior to an accident, your perception of reality speeds up and everything around you seems to slow to a crawl. And it's extraordinary that, when you see the accident coming, your singular focus becomes the physics of avoiding or minimizing the imminent physical impact. The scope of your life suddenly narrows, like a camera with a wide-angle lens focusing on the pin of a needle. And what's even more amazing is how, in even the most unforeseen accidents, we always take a split-second prior to impact to subconsciously assign blame. To think, fuuuuck, I knew I shouldn't have done that. Or alternatively, WTF?? This guy... That happened to me yesterday as I got onto Interstate 76. Let me explain. Just moments before the occurrence I'd been sitting beside the highway at a red light, waiting and sizing up the hill ahead of me. I was thinking about how I wouldn't be one of those people who gets up to the very end of the on-ramp and then stops, waiting for a traffic gap of at least 10 car-lengths before they feel safe enough to sputter onto the highway. You see, that's what always happens at this particular on-ramp, at Green Lane. Most days I'm already on the highway by the time I approach Green Lane. (Today is different because I took a different route home.) Every time I pass by, I see a queue of cars waiting to get on, and I heed the urge to accelerate. I think to myself, If you're too timid to merge onto a highway, then I sure as hell don't want you in front of me. And as I pass them, I look to my right, hoping to catch a glimpse of the non-senior citizens who can't manage a simple on-ramp. I mutter at all of them, stay there...idiots. This time, though, it was my turn to approach the on-ramp that so many others had found unmanageable. It was a clear night, and a yellow light for traffic crossing under the highway reflected off my car's hood. I let the car drift forward, my foot hovering above the gas pedal, ready to mash it in as soon as the light facing me turned green. A few seconds later I was racing up the hill. Or trying to race, at least. A quarter of the way up, I was only going 25mph, so I forced the transmission to downshift. Halfway up, the speedometer was teasing 45. When the concrete separator on my left gave way, I could see the highway traffic rushing by. It was heavier than usual, and as I gauged my speed to that of the passing cars, I contemplated whether I could get the additional 15mph needed from my aged, overdriven Taurus to glide seamlessly into traffic. I thought about how I might have to joust my way into the lane, relying, as I often do, on that firmware that forces other drivers to yield their space as they see your on-ramp space running out. And how, speaking of space running out, it might help if I knew how much room was left until it was time to start nudging in. It's when I glance at the road in front of me that everything happens. My eyes widen, and my right foot snaps back from the gas pedal. My lungs inhale, and my arms extend until I'm pushing the steering wheel as far away from me as possible. A pair of red lights is looming ahead, two snake eyes, and they are separating rapidly. Slow-motion begins. My upper body flashes hot, the physical equivalent of WTF?? I push in the brake pedal. A half-second later, I'm grateful that I'm not skidding and yet mindful that I won't stop in time. My eyes dart to the right and, not seeing a car on the shoulder, my hands follow suit. During the pivot, I lean forward to see the front-left corner of my car maneuver around the right side of his bumper like the nose of a guided missile around a building. I whip the wheel back and, seeing open road ahead of me, I take my foot off the brake and coast past him. Side by side I think, This guy... I swerve back onto the road and, this being the end of the on-ramp, accelerate into highway traffic, looking back only briefly at the car I just passed. The danger has passed. I start breathing again. My forehead was hot and perspiring a few seconds ago, and now it feels like there's ice in my pores. I clench the wheel with both hands, taking a second to wipe each palm off onto my lap. I shrug my shoulders uncomfortably, because my back feels damp. I think about what transpired. Matching the rear of the car to the dark front end that I glimpsed in the mirror, I realize that that was a Dodge Caravan completely stopped at the top of the on-ramp. Some schlub who was waiting for the highway traffic to stop and invite him on. I imagine how, if some father had been beside the minivan, changing a tire, I would have run him right over. I push the thought out of my mind because it's unsettling, and well, that didn't happen. The car is filled with the noxious smell of burnt rubber and discs. I roll down several windows to let out the wind sweep out the tension and its byproducts. The episode begins to evaporate from my thoughts. Life expands. I have somewhere to be. I look to my left, and then to my right. I judge which lane is moving faster, veer my car into position, and hit the gas. January 12, 2005
"What's up??"
As I had to remind someone today, you have to actually live life in order to write about it. Hell, I've been thinking I should take all of 2005 off from blogging. Yes, I would like that very much. December 31, 2004
If it ain't bolted down...
There's one picture I forgot to post from NYC. I was walking near 33rd and 3rd when I happened upon this:  [click the pic] Apparently, there wasn't enough parking at the V.A. hospital. If you look closely, you'll notice that there's not one, but two chains on the wheelchair. It's as if the owner, having been burned once, resolved to be doubly vigilant against those wheelchair black market bastards.  [click the pic] December 25, 2004
December 24, 2004
It's The Thought That Counts
I only gave three gifts this holiday season. One of them was an Amazon gift card, which conveniently served as a combination birthday/marriage/x-mas gift. Another was a video game, a birthday gift:  [click the pic] And the third one...well, one of my roommates was always whining that his room was downright frigid. So when I got him a space heater, I opportunistically "wrapped" it to kill two birds with one stone:  Those are cable and network wires, in case you're wondering. I tried anchoring them to the wall a couple of times when we first moved in, but ultimately realized that nobody cared if I left them out anyway. And that's our cat, Brenda, aptly named after this character. With all the static electricity during the winter months, she's practically a walking power plant, so we try not to touch her. But back to the home heating issue: I dunno why his room was so cold anyway, since I sometimes have to open my bedroom windows due to the searing heat.  Come to think of it, I should have rented him that heater. Damn. I need to be more revenue-oriented. December 19, 2004
Back
I'm back in West Chester now, and newly certified in ITIL Foundations of IT Service Management. I was the youngest person, as usual, in our class of 12. When they went around the table for introductions, the others mentioned that they had 15, 23, 25 years of I.T. experience. When it was my turn to say how long I'd been working, my question -- "Does college count?" -- got the expected laughs. I learned a lot of useful information in the course, but have mixed feelings about the overall experience. See, the company offering the course decided to make it three days long -- two days to learn about ITIL, one-half day to review their best practices and the remainder of the third day for the ITIL certification test. The way they condensed what should've been a four- or five-day course into three days was really ridiculous. Our class was grueling, going from 8am to 5pm each day with a few "stretch breaks" plus lunch. Furthermore, they gave us homework to complete after hours. Hell, even when I first registered for the class last month they sent me homework to complete and bring with me on the first day. The instructor basically bulldozed through chapter after chapter so that we could cover the entire subject of ITIL in two days. In fact, one of the homework assignments was to read a chapter at home, and then each person had to explain a portion of the chapter to the group. It was interesting to hear from different people for once, but it also looked like they just didn't want to teach that particular convoluted subject. They also cut short almost all group discussion, presumably so they could keep to their precious timetable. To me, this was one of the most frustrating decisions, since I considered the chance to sit down with other I.T. professionals and compare notes one of the most appealing aspects of attending the course. Instead, I sat with 12 other people for nearly 24 hours, and still came away knowing almost nothing about their I.T. environments or the specific support challenges they faced. So it wasn't the content of the course, but rather, the way it was presented that rubbed me all wrong. There's one other thing I did like: the instructor. At first glance, she seemed like your average sweet southern-accented elementary school teacher. But she told about how, as a child, her aunt would frequently shoot squirrels and cook and feed them to her. And at one point, when there was a scratching sound from behind one of the walls, she exclaimed, "Mmmm, squirrels!" As the course wore on, she made other offbeat statements that I don't think the other people picked up on. I left with the sense that despite her appearances she was an extremely interesting person, and I wished I'd had time to get to know her better. Of the people I did get to speak to at length, two of them were from Lockheed Martin. I was surprised to learn one of them was based just a few minutes from where I currently work. At the beginning of the course, "Bill" made sure to tell me he had two degrees, one B.A. and one master's. On the second day, he told me how he'd written a book on artificial intelligence that was used as a textbook for some college courses. Then, when we had group activities and "Bill" was supposed to be playing the role of the end customer, he immediately stepped out of his role, using I.T. jargon like DASD and "hot spare" when describing his support demands. This is the guy I had to sit next to for the entire course. So imagine my surprise when, on the third day, Bill turned to me and said "Aaron, I gotta tell you, you've done pretty well on these [sample] tests." Uncomfortable, I joked "Well all I did was copy your sheets!" To which Bill responded: "Nah, you got a lot of questions right that I got wrong." Chuffed, I confided in Bill that even though our 40-question certification test was scheduled for an hour, I was sure I could finish it in a half-hour. I had a train ticket for 6:50pm but didn't want to walk around Penn Station for 50 minutes. Bill was extremely skeptical, so we made the bet. The exam started at 3:50. I flew through the pages as Bill, sitting next to me, plodded from one question to the next. I finished at 4:05. First one. As I gathered my papers and got up to leave, I wanted to pat Bill on the shoulder to say goodbye. I refrained, though, because he never looked at me, and I wasn't sure whether it was because he was surprised or pissed off. I caught the 4:45 train home. December 16, 2004
Be More Specific
So the hotel I'm staying at has a cafe attached to it. Together, the hotel and cafe offer a rather convenient breakfast service: Specify your order on the cafe menu, and hang the menu from your doorknob before midnight, and your breakfast will be delivered at a time you specify in the morning. After taking the train in that afternoon, walking over 30 city blocks, unpacking all my things and settling in for the night, I decided that I was due for a rather gluttonous breakfast. I scanned my menu and checked off my items accordingly: 1 - Cheese Omelette (w/ Hash Browns) Yeah, I was aware that my meal choices amounted to nutritional insanity, but I easily rationalized that by telling myself 1) the fresh fruit balances everything out, and 2) who cares, I'm traveling. More important than my personal health, keep in mind that the menu clearly stated "PLEASE SPECIFY QUANTITY" next to each item, and at the very bottom where it asked "How many orders?" I wrote "1," as in one order. At 7am the next morning, I got a knock on the door. I answered it, and there stood the delivery guy holding two full grocery bags as if he'd just come from the ACME market. Too groggy to realize the error, I took the bags and signed the check, thinking "Why the fuck is this guy looking around as if there should be other people here??" Once I bade him farewell, I took the bags over to the desk and started emptying them. This is what I got:  [click the pic] Now, when it comes to glitches in commerce, I like to resolve things using The Goof Method. You see, when I was 16 years old, my first real job was working as a clerk in a real estate office. The head realtor was Ms. Brown, a middle-aged black woman who I swore was the surly twin sister of "Nell Harper" from that sitcom Gimme A Break! During the very beginning of my training period, Ms. Brown succinctly explained what would happen should somebody mishandle the rent monies that her tenants brought by: "I goof, I pay. You goof, you pay." It just made sense. So back to the breakfast: they goofed. The menu had prompted me to specify the number of each item, not the number of orders of each item. So a "3" next to pancakes should have meant three pancakes, not three sets of three. Furthermore, I still might've been tipped off had the menu specified how many pancakes or sausages were already included, but it didn't do that either. And to top things off, it asked "How many orders?" at the very bottom. Yeah, poor customer interface. Their fault. I thought of Nell Harp-- err, Ms. Brown, as I surveyed the meal. I should have called them back, pointed out the error and demanded they take away the extra food, adjust my bill and make the next meal free for all the trouble it caused. Yeah. Instead, I ate what I wanted to eat and tossed the rest. Truth is, I had a class at 8am, and I also wasn't in the mood to bitch at the same people who'd be making my food the next morning. There were those reasons, plus the most pressing one: I was hungry. And at 7:00 in the morning, an order of pancakes multiplied by three smells daaamn good. December 15, 2004
Night Walking
In the days prior to my NYC trip, I decided that I wouldn't bother doing the touristy stuff (Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, Ground Zero, etc.) that I did last year. However, once I arrived, and observed from my cab all the shops and people, I immediately thought to myself, "Screw this, I'm going to Times Square!" I checked into my hotel, set up my laptop, put on some sneakers, threw the rest of my luggage in the corner and set out for Broadway. I knew I'd be on my own until I met my coursemates the next morning. And a certain blogger didn't bother telling me he was in the area, either. It was around 4:30 when I left the hotel, but the streets didn't seem crowded at all. It wasn't until I approached Broadway that the trickle of cars and people turned into a flood. It seemed like each red light held back two walls of opposing pedestians, who, once the light turned green, would rush forward and cut swaths through each other. It didn't take long before I realized that Manhattan city blocks are, well, full-sized blocks. As unsafe as I knew it was, I couldn't help but stop on the occasional street corner and gaze at my fold-out map to figure out where the hell I was. Once I actually got to Times Square, I saw and heard a large throng of screaming women. I looked where they were pointing and, to my surprise, there was Jim Carrey on the second floor of the MTV studio, gyrating in the window at the crowd below. Carrey is far away in the photo I took from across the street, but there were large-screen displays that showed a larger-than-life figure looking back at us. Carrey certainly looked much older than his days as a pet detective.  [click the pic] Once I was done exploring that night, I had walked all the way to 48th street. My feet hurt, my legs ached and there wasn't an empty cab to be hailed. I had walked about 30 city blocks over the course of the night.  [click the pic] December 14, 2004
Digs
Once my co-workers prevailed upon me that the Hilton on Times Square wouldn't fly, I settled on the Affinia Dumont, a self-styled "executive hotel" that's only about three blocks from the course I'm attending and several blocks from Broadway. I like the place very much. I'm on an upper floor, with the nice view of the downtown buildings that I requested. My room is a suite, so it has a stove with oven, a full-sized refridgerator, microwave and coffee maker. Even the shower is nice -- when I used it this morning, it was like a sand-blaster cleaning graffitti off a wall. Since the Barking Dog Cafe is attached to the hotel, I've become rather addicted to their room service. More on that later.  [click the pic] December 13, 2004
Decay
So I arrived in New York City today. I'll be here for most of the week attending an I.T. business development course. This is the third time I've been to the city. I'd have to say that each time, the most enjoyable part of the trip was the actual train ride through Philadelphia to New York and then back. I suspect part of it is because I love railroads -- always have. It's not that I care much for the actual trains -- I don't. But growing up, there was never a trestle or switchbox or underground tunnel that my friends and I wouldn't explore. We were like amateur archeologists scouring over the crumbled, ancient infrastructure of generations past. The older and more defunct the tracks were, the better. It's a habit that didn't fade away with age. When I was a freshman in high school, I actually failed ninth-grade English because of my preoccupation with the subway system. It all started after a chance introductory ride when I was about 14. My imagination ran away with it, and I found myself wanting to examine and learn everything about Philadelphia's simple, two-line subway system: How do the tracks, signals and switchboxes work? What's in those underground storage depots? Where is the graffiti concentrated? What else can I find by following those older, defunct rail lines that split off into nothingness? As a young rider, I realized pretty quickly that I could never get those premium-view seats at the very front (or back) of the train during the after-school rush period; I could only snag a good seat in the late mornings and early afternoons, when most people were at work or school. So I played hooky a few times and it eventually became a frequent habit; I'd use my school tokens to ride the subway all day long, mesmerized. I don't think it ever crossed my mind that I might actually fail English -- a first-period class and therefore begged to be skipped. But what I was doing seemed so much more interesting than plain old writing. In my mind, I was discovering. I had to attend summer school to keep up with my English requirements. Everyone who knew me was perplexed -- English was my best subject. I never told anyone why it happened. Fast-forward to today, and the train rides are more interesting for observation than youthful exploration. For a seldom-traveled person such as myself, even a 2.5-hour junket from Philadelphia through New Jersey to New York seems to provide an unending stream of side-scrolling snapshots of American life. I love to see that rare, resilient sign of vibrancy: the little-league baseball game; the bustling shipyard that sits on the edge of a beautiful bog; the tall building at the town center with an unforgettable architecture. Most of the time, though, I've passed through one stagnant old town after another, and it's sad. Decaying houses with boarded up windows and trash strewn practically from their back doors down to the railroad embankment. Schools with barbed wire fences that look like either high-rise housing projects or prisons. Clusters of abandoned warehouses that mark the hollowed-out heart of old Pennsylvania Steel. The affluent settlements are notable, too, if only for the bland sameness of it all -- Wal Mart after Wal Mart to seed the cul de sac colonies, with their cloned McMansions that stand shoulder to shoulder like circled wagons. I look around me on the train, and people are usually napping, yelling at their cell phones or frowning at their laptops. They probably take the trip every week. Not me. I put on my headphones, queue up a soothing, instrumental playlist, lean forward and absorb it all. I dare not sleep, because there is a compelling story in the making here -- the American story. December 01, 2004
26
She said: "So you're 26? How does it feel?" I said: I dunno, how is it supposed to feel? What does that question mean, anyway? Coming from a 23-year-old, it probably means I was supposed to wake up feeling depressed and haggard today. I didn't; It feels like any other day. Besides, it's not like I'm 50. Or worse, 30. November 30, 2004
Birthday
I'm planning on turning 26 this December 1st. Get something for me off of my wishlist if you'd like. If you'd rather buy me something that isn't Amazonable, like, oh, a new car, then by all means feel free. Go ahead...you know I'd do the same for you. November 28, 2004
A Simple Purchase
So yeah, I had the misfortune of going out to buy a few items at around noon on Black Friday. I wanted a new DVD-ROM drive for the PC I use at my weekend job -- the old drive I slapped in there doesn't handle new DVDs well. And I also wanted a better HDTV antenna -- the one I currently use at work is only good when you find its sweet spot, which is hard because that spot changes every damn weekend (usually 5 minutes before the football game starts). And I wanted to buy a VCR, because, as my roommate said, a tape "got stuck" in the old one. Not one to watch the morning news, I went on a leisurely drive to the Best Buy store in Delaware. I go there not because of the tax-free shopping, but because it's the closest electronics store to West Chester (unless you count Radio Shack. I don't.). There are also a few other major electronics stores close to the Best Buy, which makes things easier in case Best Buy doesn't have what I want. I expected this trip to be like all the others -- I stroll into the store and grab what I want, ignore the salesperson trying to sell me $110 gold-plated Monster cables for "the most crisp VHS video," swipe my plastic in check-out while saying "no" to their AOL/magazine/Netflix subscription offers, and then get t.f. out of there. What I found, of course, was a totally different experience. The entire parking lot was packed on all sides of the store. Even in the back, where they service cars and take deliveries, there were rows upon rows of cars and some people even parked in-between cargo trailers. Once I did find a spot and went into the store, the place was so crowded you could hardly browse. The check-out line wrapped all the way through the home appliance and furniture aisles, ending in Car Audio in the back corner of the store. There were rope lines set up to enter departments such as digital photography. The Returns section was also packed with people, with the line almost half as long as the checkout line. Some sanity must've seeped into these people in the parking lot, their pack mentality instantly morphing into buyer's remorse. That line wasn't moving -- the company obviously hoped some percentage of these people would give up and just live with whatever they bought. Back in the tube TV section, I overheard a woman complaining to her husband that one 25-inch television looked larger than another 25-inch television. Even as a bystander, I was very irritated by her ignorance. I stepped in and told her that the casing and base made one TV look larger than the other, but that they were indeed both 25" TVs. She looked me up and down and said "you work here?" I informed her that yes, I worked there -- I was emergency staff. I tapped the phone on my belt and said the manager had called me in to deal with the crowd. Once the couple looked satisfied with my answer, I walked away before they could ask something else. So I blew that joint, and went to a store I was sure people wouldn't be as enthusiastic to shop at: Circuit City. I don't know about your neighborhood branch, but the one near my day job always seems to be empty. And maybe it's just me, but their sales associates never seem happy either. It must be the fire-engine red uniforms, or the fact that they're not working at a fun place like Best Buy. (Circuit City employees are always ready with a bunch of reasons why they're better -- Best Buy has strict quotas, the managers act like slave-drivers, blah, blah, blah. But it always boils down to the same thing: Circuit City is better to work at because their stores are always empty.) Anyway, when I drove to Circuit City, they had some teenage employee directing overflow parking into a nearby lot. I thought to myself, god-dammit, Circuit City is getting Best Buy's sloppy seconds. So I did a uuey out of there too. So then I went to a place that I knew wouldn't be swamped: CompUSA. That store used to be a techie mecca back in the day. But now, with so many other, more entertaining stores around, the place looks downright bleak. You see, while Best Buy was busy riding the wave of convergence between computers and consumer electronics, CompUSA was still devoting floor space to those shitty Packard Bell computers that they sold to your parents while you were away at school and couldn't stop them. They have a few televisions set up now, but they have neither the floor space nor the expertise to really sell them on par with the other chains. I only go there when I need something very specific -- a power supply or IDE cable -- and don't feel like ordering it online and waiting. As expected, I sped into the CompUSA lot and there were four open parking spaces right in front of the store entrance. I went in and was pleased to see that most of the aisles were clear of shoppers. Even the check-out lines were only three or four people deep. But alas, I'd gone there mostly for nostalgia; CompUSA didn't have a any selection of video players or HDTV antennas, so I left empty-handed. I ended up going to another Circuit City in Pennsylvania -- you know, the empty one near my day job with the frowning employees. I figured that since King of Prussia Mall -- the largest indoor mall on the east coast -- was nearby, along with its own Best Buy, the pack would be diverted there and this particular Circuit City would see only modest gains in traffic. I was right. And while I can't say the same for the employees, I sure left there happy. Overheard: Both Best Buy and Circuit City were sold out of PS2 consoles by mid-day. Can somebody explain that one? Didn't those shoppers know that the PS3 is going to be announced within 6 months? Idiots. November 25, 2004
Bah, Humbug
I sometimes work on holidays for the overtime. Today was one such day. Callers are always more merry and chipper on holidays, but today it was particularly hard to match their enthusiasm because 1) I didn't want to, 2) my HDTV antenna was acting up just before the football game, and 3) the ancient DVD drive I installed went on the fritz, necessitating a lunchtime drive to Best Buy to get a replacement. The following call occured when a doctor interrupted my viewing of Blade II by calling the datacenter: ***phone rings*** Me: Help Desk, Aaron speaking. Caller: Happy Thanksgiving! How are you this morning? Me: Fine how can I help you? Caller: Umm, my name is Dr. B****** and I'm-- Me: I can't hear you, speak up please. Caller: I said my name is Dr. B****** and I'm unable to access the webmail system. I typed in-- Me: E-mail systems are down for maintenance until 7pm tonight. Caller: Oh! Maybe that's why I can't get in. Me: *silence* Caller: That was a joke. Me: *silence* Caller: Goodbye... Me: Bye *hangs up loudly* November 22, 2004
Juice Machine Justice
Since the blogosphere and the media are working themselves into a frenzy heralding the emerging Moral Values Revolution, I'd like to relate a tale of my own, of when I recently rose up in defense of my Values© and struck out at the corporate behemoth that had offended them. I was at my weekend job, sleeping on some chairs and footstools that I'd managed to line up comfortably enough for the all-day nap that passes as work. At one point, when I came out of my slumber, I thought that if I was going to work so hard, I should go and get some water. You know, stay hydrated. So I rolled off of the chairs and stumbled out of the room. I went down the hall and into the breakroom, my shoeless feet sliding across its shiny tile floor. I glided to a stop in front of the drink machine. (It bears mentioning at this point that the greedy evil vendor company that runs those machines raised the prices not too long ago. Not only does a 50-cent pie cost 90 cents in the snack machine, but the bottled water in the drink machine costs $1.25. It used to be a dollar. At the time, I wasn't willing to pay that much for "Maine Spring Water" that was probably bottled from a tap in North Philly, but I ultimately decided it was better than drinking on-site tap water that smelled like it came directly from the building's septic system.) So as I began digging into my back pocket for change, feeding the machine one coin at a time, the thought occured to me that I might not have $1.25 on me. No problem, I thought -- I'd just leave and scrounge up some more change if I came up short. It might've taken another round trip, but it wasn't like the machine was going to erase the $1.10 I'd already inserted. I mean, why would it do that? Still scrounging, the scenario played out in my mind: A customer inserts three quarters and then walks away. Logically, the machine should allow the next person to complete the purchase. There wouldn't -- shouldn't -- be a timeout. Why should there be one? The company loses nothing if a different person adds the additional 50 cents. Nah, they wouldn't just take the money. Why would they do that? Sure enough, I was down to pennies. Chagrined, I walked back out of the room and down the hall. Of course, I could have put my shoes on and walked to my car, which was parked probably 20 feet away. But, nah. It was cold out. So instead I walked around the office, scanning the desks of the 9-to-5 employees, looking for that spare change I always see when I never need it. After looking closely at every desk, I was still empty-handed. Incredulous, I then peered into a few top drawers. Still nothing. Vexed, I slapped on my shoes, clunked my way out to the car, snatched two quarters and headed back inside. As I entered the breakroom again, I looked at the vending machine's display for a sign that the manufacturer had some sense. What I saw made my blood pressure jump by 20%: the "---" on the display meant no money was currently inserted. "Okay, no problem," I thought. "If I just push the 'COIN RETURN' button, it will return my money and I'll reinsert the coins." So I pushed the "Coin Return" button. Pressed it hard. Punched it. My coins were not returned. As the realization washed over me that my hard-earned money was, in fact, gone, my mind flashed to the reaction that my old college roommate would've had. The trademark swish of his hips and three-finger-snap in "Z" formation would've said it all: Oh No...You...Di'int! So I did something so dastardly, I hesitate to mention it on this site. Did I break the glass display? Well, no. Did I topple the fucker? Nah. I thought about that, but then I remembered those diagrams on the side of the machine that show people being crushed by vending machines because people tried to shake them to get the goods they'd been cheated out of. The companies had clearly anticipated such activity, and used the predictable shaking as a means to crush the irate customer to death and keep their money. I wasn't going to let them win so easily. Instead, I went to the back of the machine and unplugged the fucker. In exchange for my 75 cents, the company would lose all commerce from the weekend staff and the Monday morning rush. Yeah, yeah, I know: The goods were bottled, which means they didn't spoil. And besides, I could've kept the machine out of commission for a longer period by placing an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on it. But I wasn't trying to spoil goods -- just make sure the company lost more in potential sales that it gained from taking my money. And as for the possibility that the next employee would just re-plug the machine? Well, no. Trust me, I work there. Tech staff or not, 99% of them would walk over to the machine and watch their money fall down to the coin return slot five times before walking away bewildered. Satisfied by my disabling of the machine, I walked triumphantly out of the breakroom and quenched my thirst at a water fountain. Yeah, I had to drink septic water, but that was a small price to pay for a victory that smelled oh, so sweet. Ralph Nader would've been proud. October 16, 2004
Caffeine
So yeah...I just stayed up for 38 hours straight, starting Thursday morning at 6am and ending Friday evening at 8pm. I had to get a project done and had missed too much time earlier in the week to get it done in the pace I'd have liked. Compounding the whole thing was the fact that I didn't know I'd be pulling the all-knighter (and all-dayer?). My document was a business case for a six-figure project, and it was only when I began to outline everything at 3pm Thursday that the enormity of it all became apparent. There were the common-sense assertions on cost savings that needed to be proven with facts and figures; rationales on user adoption that needed to be articulated and filled out; and later, verbose paragraphs that needed to transmutate into the prettier graphs and charts that PowerPoint-accustomed corporates find inherently more pursuasive. I churned through my document, trying to funnel about 14 other windows with vendor quotes, position papers, past reports and scrap notes into something coherent. As the night wore on, my coworkers began disappear, and light after light dimmed until I was all alone in the place. I two-wayed my boss's boss via Nextel at 11pm and he confirmed that, yeah, that document was needed on Friday. I was in for the long haul. I pictured my coworkers settling in for the night at home and, knowing that image would recur over the next several hours, hated them for it. By 2am, I felt practically dead. My loud music --I actually have a mini-subwoofer on my desk -- became more of a distraction than a stimulant. And coffee -- an absolutely wretched drink that I made drinkable with tons of creamer and sugar -- only worked for so long. With every cup, I got perhaps 25 minutes of intermittent focus before my senses degenerated again. So I drank a lot of that, taking a piss break after perhaps every two cups. I went home to change my clothes at 6am, spending about 5 minutes in the house before going straight back to work. On the way back, I picked up three energy drinks, one of them being Red Bull and the other two being brands I never cared to remember. Those babies worked like a charm. The first thing I noticed was their tart taste, which had the immediate effect of focusing me even before the, uhh, secret ingredient kicked in. I gained maybe 90% of my usual focus after that, save for occasional spells of daydreaming, a couple of yawns and lots of stretching. I was certainly able to do much better work over the nine hours that I spent burning through those cans than I did on the coffee. In fact, my coworkers, who began to filter in at 6:30, were eventually much more of a distraction than my own tiredness. So, yeah. Once I got my document done at 3pm, I was still so alert that I hung out for another hour, eating "lunch" (I hadn't eaten food in 27 hours and never felt hungry overnight anyway) and BSing with folks who'd had the luxury of a full night's sleep. Once I did leave to go home, my energy began to wane and I struggled to keep my focus on the car in front of me. Did I walk through the door, go straight to my bedroom, climb up my loft and fall dead-tired onto the bed? Well, no. I went to the computer, of course, and checked my personal e-mail and the news headlines. It felt weird to be disconnected from the outside world for so long during a normal workday. After that, my roommate and I played Burnout 3 on Xbox HDTV. (Very fun game, check it out.) Then I watched some Real Time with Bill Maher off TiVo before passing out at around 8pm. And unlike a normal night in which I toss and turn and slip in and out of consciousness, I only came to once, briefly, and promptly fell asleep again after turning my little digiclock over to see that it was in fact 12:10 and not 01:21. When I finally woke up "for real," it 5:15am Saturday, an hour before I was to leave to go to my second job. Perfect. July 04, 2004
May 15, 2004
Perversions
It usually goes like this: "YO dude! Here's that video everyone's talking about. You know, the beheading video? It's so awful! I just saw it, and I feel soooo bad now!" "Here's the link!" When I first heard of what happened, and read articles describing Nick Berg's murder, I felt sick, as if I had been punched in the gut. The first day, I thought about it up to the time I went to bed, and it was back in my mind when I woke up in the morning. I walked around for days wishing that awful feeling of dread would go away. And I decided that I wouldn't be seeing that video. Not a chance. Now, a week later, it still seems like every idiot with a screen name is sending me links to the video, as if they think the problem is that the rest of us just don't know where to find it. Even at work, my boss had it up on his screen, beckoning me to come over and watch. (Even worse than the gawkers are the ones who feel we all need to see the video, hoping that we'll add our outrage to the echo chamber in their favor. People on both sides of the political spectrum are showing the video to schoolchildren, with one saying "This is the enemy we're up against" and the other saying "That's why we shouldn't be at war." Others, still, are just engaging in mindless and meaningless chest-thumping with no discernible point to make. But anyway, back to my coworkers, friends and AIM buddies.) I live in West Chester, Pennsylvania, Nick Berg's hometown. He was 26, and I'm 25. I've been here for eight years. The Bergs' house is two minutes away. And as I saw the pictures of anguished family members clinging to each other on the front lawn, I couldn't help but wonder how many times I'd crossed paths with their son while walking downtown, or stood next to him in line at ACME, or cut him off in traffic to beat that light at High Street and Gay. Even in suburbia, where the neighbors never really talk to each other unless there's a fire or an accident scene, I feel touched by this tragedy more than any other event that occurred in Iraq over the past year and a half. This probably won't make one whit of a difference to the thoughtless sheep who feel like everyone should see what they saw, but I'll say it anyway: If you want to see someone murdered, screaming as their head is cut off, then fine. But don't make the mistake of assuming the rest of us want to share in your voyeuristic depravity. May 09, 2004
April 20, 2004
After Making Love
After making love, No one, that is, and its inhabitants, filled, even as it may be, with pleasure, of the future, different heads, Some people actually desire honesty. They must never have broken into their
April 19, 2004
I got a blog too
Posted by Eric: whinning [sic] The funny thing is that my semi-facetious comments were met with silence in the private chat, only to be posted (and answered) in public. What am I missing here? Why do bloggers view their lives as some ongoing melodrama in which the only conversations worth having are the ones they can post for all to see? And on a slightly serious note, shouldn't I be able to talk to my friends with the expectation that I'll be asked (or at least notified) before my comments get published? I guess you could call this the Jennicamification of online discourse. But since we're all whining about our problems, allow me to post a few of my own: - I owe the IRS over $3,500. Don't ask. Something to do with two jobs and tax brackets. - Two weeks ago the stoner in the downstairs apartment almost burnt the house down. The only thing that saved the place was the fact that I was up, uncharacteristically, at 1:30AM when my living room began to fill with smoke. - The transmission in my car died. I rented a car while the auto shop took nearly two weeks to replace the trans. I was quoted a price of $1,250, but the final bill was over $1,450, not including what I paid in rental fees. But hey...I guess I should feel lucky. After all, I could have broken my cell phone (which did in fact happen last month) or, god forbid, procrastinated on a paper. Yes, what a lucky ducky I am. If I had to fashion some substantive point out of this post to make it worth everyone's while, I'd just say this: Nobody knows what you're going through unless you tell them. And conversely, if you're not sure what motivated someone's offhand comment, it might help to ask. It's something that simple that often gets missed in relationships, friendships and conversations between bloggers. It's all much ado about nothing, a small slight to be sure. But I like to think that even bloggers can settle their affronts directly, rather than responding on the blog later in a manner that is narcissistic and rude. April 01, 2004
Cavalier
Boss: "Sometimes it seems like you think this is the Benson I.T. Department." Me: "And what makes you think that?" Him: "You come and go as if you're the CEO...as if you own the place." Me: *grins widely, looking down* Him: *points finger accusingly* "See...you wanted me to say that!!" March 22, 2004
No Longer Daily
Well, so much for that experiment. Over the past month I've found that, when I'm away from the computer and tuned out of the news cycle, I look upon this blog with disdain. It's at those times that I want to stop blogging altogether, because I see the exercise as an unnecessary chore, meant more to give friends, coworkers and random visitors a daily dose of infotainment than to advance my own knowledge of any subject. But I've also found that when I am reading the news and scanning blogs, posting to my own site becomes second nature. A single sitting can generate 3-5 posts, most of which I have to leave in "draft" mode for fear of inundating visitors with too much at once. I wonder how I could have ever considered stopping. Something altogether different has been happening lately. I have been plugged in, scanning headlines and blogs, but when the time comes to post content on my own, I just haven't had the appetite for it. For example, why should I take 10-30 minutes out of my life to write about Martha Stewart? Did you know she's going to jail? I bet you did. How about Terrell Owens coming to Philadelphia?? Yup, it's true. It's the same with politics. George Bush is lying again, this time about John Kerry's record. Kerry, who is both physically and mentally on vacation, is offering weak and ineffectual responses that only help the case against him. Oh yeah...and Howard Dean remains a disaster. Maybe it's just a dry spell, or some weariness with which I anticipate the next ten months, but I can't shake the feeling that it's all really the same old story. We've become accostomed to seemingly jobless bloggers who sit at the computer all day long, surfing the net and tossing us popcorn punditry on just about anything they come across. It leads me to wonder: How are these people any different from their ill-informed associates, who themselves gather around the water cooler to prattle on about the top story on cnn.com, last night's game, the weather, Survivor and Big Brother? It's not that I mind the blogosphere -- I don't. There are still those increasingly rare moments when blogging is an immensely stimulating experience. But there's a fine line, I think, between offering one's 0.02 on relevant subjects and playing slave to the scandal-saturated news cycle for web hits. From here on out, I won't carve out a portion of my time to blog about something -- anything -- once a day, every day of the week. When I have something worthwhile to add to the debate, I'll post it. And when I don't, you'll get the next best thing: silence. March 12, 2004
March 10, 2004
We Once Were (Two)
They leaned back nor gone, his mind cut loose And she felt the weight of caring a freedom some of her friends knew,
February 28, 2004
Subverting the Juggernaut
Umm, yeeeaaah. So I went to a company outing on Friday night at Dave & Buster's. Ate dinner, had drinks, held a treasure hunt, blah, blah, blah... Here's the only part that really matters. After a few rounds of rum 'n coke, and having been beaten soundly by my co-workers at the pool tables, I snagged a few of the company-paid arcade cards and wandered into the gameroom to check out the wares. Jon (a co-worker) and I went to screw with one of the photo booths. This particular one had a feature that allowed you to morph your face into that of any animal, so long as it could map out the key points of your mug (eyes, nose, mouth, etc.). Jon and I both tried to squeeze into the picture, with him aligning his right eye to the diagram and me aligning my left. When this didn't work, we became frustrated and began randomly punching buttons, causing the machine to bite the dust. A Windows Protection Error flashed on the screen, unmasking the nefarious hidden hand of none other than Bill Gates himself. Surprised and delighted by our propensity for destroying the work of The Man™, we jumped out of the booth and squeezed past the line of people who were waiting outside. We then snaked through the crowd and into a dark side corridor, snickering mischievously at the surprise we had left for all the patient patrons waiting to take their family photos. February 27, 2004
Out
Going to the company outing at Dave & Buster's today. Besides, I never post on the weekends anyway. February 23, 2004
February 11, 2004
Four tickets in one day
When I go to sleep tonight, I'll be updating my mental firmware with some new rules: - Stay off the street during street cleaning. Fine: $15 *sigh*...Been living here for over two years. Why can't I remember? - Do not park within 30 feet of a stop sign. Fine: $15 I didn't even know this fine existed. And 30 feet is quite a buffer to be mandating for a stop sign that everyone coasts through anyway. When a police car is cruising down the highway, leading a procession of cars whose drivers are obviously petrified of going faster, just stay in line. Fine: $75 Umm, yeah. I suppose that weaving through the other cars and coasting past the cop while shooting him a look that says "fuck you, pal, I paid for these roads..." is not the smartest thing to do. Of course, that thought didn't occur to me until after he pulled me over for "speeding." As we all know, 60 MPH in a 55 zone is just so reckless... When choosing to defy authority, make sure your papers are legit. Fine: $68 Like my registration card, which expired on Jan 31. *shrug* I didn't care, but the poor affronted officer sure seemed to. February 08, 2004
Now Daily
Yeah, I know, this site has gotten so stale that even the Google Bots have stopped coming. But from here on out, GeckoBlue will have daily posts. Unlike some people, I actually have a job and can't (read: won't) sit here typing eight posts a day. And I thought about whether weekends count or not, only to come up with the incredibly decisive answer of "maybe." But in any case, look for something new here every day, either in the mornings or late night. January 21, 2004
Life Without Cable
So, yeah. We were, umm, sharing cable with our downstairs neighbors, when all of the sudden all our televisions went black. Turns out those bastards collected our money each month, but never actually paid the bill. So there I was, at the most crucial point of probably the past nine months, suffering from a sudden video blackout. So I went back to the antenna. But no amount of adjusting, extending or daisy-chaining them gave me a clear enough picture to alleviate my CNN withdrawal. Fortunately, after countless calls to Comcast, I am now jacked in and enjoying the familiar diet of cable news: Jacko, Kobe, Martha and Scott. Frankly, I don't know how any well-informed person could get along without it. January 18, 2004
Eagles Lose
Whatever. It's just a game. After all the pulse-quickening, heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping living room quarterbacking, this is what you tell yourself to dull the pain and disappointment when your team (and by extension, your town) comes up short. I live in Philadelphia. We're still losers. Oh well. Go Sixers. Go Flyers. Go Phillies. Just a game... January 13, 2004
January 06, 2004
Wizerds Collect Winnings
The West Chester Wizerds' capped off a dominating season with a disappointing championship loss to the Orange County Wolverines.  [click the pic] In the expansion Wizerds' first season ever, the club tied for the league's best regular record (11-3) and finished second overall (13-4). The club quickly made three enemies, but vanquished them by a combined score of 828-512 before losing the title game to the powerhouse OCW. Wizerds owner Aaron Benson collected $120 as a result of the team's performance. However, he returned to work the next morning to find his desk decorated with pictures of OCW's championship MVP, Ahman Green.  [click the pic]  [click the pic]  [click the pic]
West Chester Wizerds
QB - M. Hasselbeck E. C. M. Lost 68-72 Beat 132-41 Beat 116-64 O. C. Wolverines Colorado Condors
January 01, 2004
Happy New Beer
So my roommate Tony decided to have a New Year's Day party...  [click the pic] We would've been able to fit even more beer in the fridge, if it weren't for all the goddamn food in there. People need to start using things the way they were meant.  [click the pic] I got up the next morning to survey the damage, and there were six strangers sleeping in my house. "Good morning, GTFO!!" December 28, 2003
Back
Well, that was a nice vacation. Hope you enjoyed yours, too. Posting will resume, along with a few back entries, once I get done with jury duty. December 01, 2003
It's My Birthday
December 1, 2003. Funny, it doesn't feel like the first day of the rest of my life, but it is. Years later, when looking back on the past, I'll see that this is one of those days that separate the entire story: before today, and after today. Oh, yeah...buy me something off my wish list, if you'd like. November 27, 2003
Happy Thanksgiving
Yeah, happy Slaughter Of The Indians day. On a completely unrelated note, my choice of movies to watch: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Ringu, I Stand Alone, or...Nixon. Don't ask me...that's just the way Netflix works. November 25, 2003
Wizerds' Kill Bill List Complete
 [click the pic] The win gives the Wizerds the best record in the Fantasy Football league.  [click the pic] The Wizerds are underdogs in their next game against the Exton Criminals. However, if they extend their 7-game win streak for two more weeks, they will be the #1 seed heading into the playoffs. November 21, 2003
How Much Is Too Much?
Hmm, let's see. $1,348 worth of repairs to the Taurus in two weeks. Dead battery, fried alternator, malfunctioning water pump, worn tensioner, broken engine mount...you name it. Oh yeah...and inspection is due next month. Looks like I might have to finally go buy a real car. November 17, 2003
November 15, 2003
When Peace Fails
I consider trash talk an integral part of the game, but I've been careful to only open fire on my sworn enemies in the league. So imagine my surprise when, after offering a trade to the (previously neutral) Colorado Condors, the person rejected the trade and then lashed out at me over the league mailing list. The following is what happens in the rough-n-tumble realm of Fantasy Football:
Reject all RB trades with the "#1 ranked team" the Wiz-Terds! Today is the last day for trades and the "Master" needs a backup RB! He did not help me out when I needed it, nor do I think he helped any of you either!
Stop your whining. I never said I was "Master" of the league, but the fact that I stomped you 128-66 certainly makes me your pimp. Given the fact that I steamrolled the Colorado Condoms, and you're now languishing at the bottom of the division, you should be begging for a trade. Instead, you're too busy accomplishing mind-boggling feats like losing to Mondo's Maurauders. And as far as helping people out goes, I've done three trades and sent probably 7 players to other teams. But it's too bad you can't swallow your pride and become a contender.
Whoa, I'm sorry...Ghandi, I guess I didn't realize all of the good you have done for the players of this league! I will talk to the Commissioner about having a bust made up of you and placed in the hall of fame as the givingest fantasy football owner in history! I may have lost 5 straight games in our marathon of a league (this is not a sprint) which puts me at the bottom of our division, but it would also place me at tied for second if I were in the other division! Yes, you did win the week Marshall Faulk got hurt and beat me by 62 points, and I give you kudos for that, you won the lowest scoring game I had all year, (with my starting QB's and RB on the injured list) ...but "PIMP" I think not! Once you have won the entire league, then talk to me...with only two RB's, I hope there aren't any unexpected injuries! At week 15, the slate is wiped clean and it is do or die! Let's see what end of the spectrum you end up on!!!
Well -that- was disappointing. They told me you had "ripped" me in your response, but all I see here are excuses. "Faulk got hurt! It was my lowest game all year! My QB was hurt! My RB was hurt! I would be in SECOND place in the OTHER division!!" I tried to make a deal with you, but if you wanna do it this way, then fine. Listen, your Colorado Crackwhores got pimpslapped by the Wizerds. If the best you can do is rationalize your 5-GAME LOSING STREAK by imagining your team in another division, then you really shouldn't be talking trash. The whole "marathon" excuse may have worked in, say, Week 4, but THIS IS WEEK 11. Which brings me to my next point... Look at the breakdown, bitch. I'm 8-2 head to head against your club. And since you KNOW you can't beat me H2H, you're trying to rally the rest of the roadkill to deny my trade, praying that a chance injury keeps me from stomping you next time. The bottom line is that I am the pimp, and you're running a team full of bitches. And come championship time, you're gonna go out and make me some money.
You could be 14-0 and still lose the first round of the playoffs and it was all for not...all I have to do is make the playoffs, my record is irrelevant then...maybe you should print out that 8-2 record and frame it as a memory of what "was" cause it all comes down to week 15, 16 and 17...or for you week 15! Your response is pretty funny, I have to admit, it made me giggle...When you realize you really were not cut out for Fantasy Football Team Coaching, you might want to look at Fantasy Stand-up! October 21, 2003
Stupid Blog
Well that was a vacation. I first sighed on the 10th. It is now the 21st. I think it's time to get back to work. October 16, 2003
Where I Live
I got bored and took these pictures of my room with my new camera a few weeks ago. They were on my hard drive gathering dust, and since I have this nifty thumbnail generator, I figured I'd share them. I know it's just a room, but until I own a house, it'll have to do...
October 14, 2003
Naivete
An exchange I had with the elevator operator at work this morning... Him: Morning. Me: Hi. Him: How are you? Me: Fine. Him: You look so sad. Me: Huh? Him: You don't look happy. Don't worry man, it'll be alright! [silence...] Me: How do you know? Him: What? Me: How do you know it'll be alright? Him: Uhhhh, well, it always is, isn't it? October 10, 2003
Be Happy
I'm convinced it's the isolation. That, or the torture of a slow news day is finally taking its toll. You see, I've been thinking about a few things after reading a post over at Divigate. Eric is actively searching for happy people, having realized that he's unintentionally surrounded himself with grim company: I came to a scary conclusion today: I know about eight people really well. Of this group, I wouldn’t consider any of them happy people... What does this mean? Does this mean I associate myself with grim company? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I don’t actively search for unhappy people. I even try to distance myself from people who are particularly negative. I imagine being the Co-Chair of an Atheist and Agnostic society means I encounter a higher percentage of unhappy people than most. Yet, I find it rather amazing that I know no one who is truly happy, truly content. While I don't know any of Eric's friends, I think that assessment is a bit too simplistic to respond to accurately. After all, I don't believe anyone can even be completely grim or totally happy. Rather, people are usually content with certain aspects of their lives and unhappy with other parts. But perhaps I'm oversimplifying the question myself, so let's look closer. If we were to drill down from the most general feelings about our lives and scrutinize specific living conditions, would our feelings still be as binary? What would we find there, bubbling up through the layers of the human psyche? Happy or unhappy? I think not. Each person is an ocean of feelings, a complex mixture of longing and resentment, fulfillment and disappointment, exhiliration and anxiety. It's never as simple as a sliding scale, as our feelings are constantly being tugged every which way, churned about by the changing circumstances of our everyday lives. The "level" of one's happiness is never static, either, as I've learned over the past two weeks. Yes, let me use myself as an example. My recent trip to New York was a personal high point, ending with a rare bit of optimism that spilled over into the days afterward. However, since then the afterglow has faded, and a confluence of negative events has left me fighting a bout of depression. Lately, my mood has been rather listless, bordering on a kind of free-floating despondency that seems to turn everything gray. But I digress. I think that, before one can assess the happiness of others, he should first ask himself how well he even knows his friends. We are, after all, taught that as often as possible, our appearances should deceive. I have gotten to know many a chipper fellow, only to realize that they are, beneath their winning grins and dandy airs, a roiling mess. October 04, 2003
The New York Post
I've just realized that people are much less likely to care about one's "business vacation" photos unless the individual himself appears in the pictures. Next time, I'll either make sure my company is willing to operate these newfangled electric doodads, or I'll hand my $600 camera to the random New Yorkers walking along Times Square. Those glamour shots are important.
September 29, 2003
Just Be Honest
Here's a bum we encountered in Times Square tonight:  [click the pic] I've read that panhandlers make a lot of money off gullible pedestrians. I mean, look, this guy probably has a 2BR apartment in downtown Manhattan. But because of his originality and refreshing honesty, I tossed him a few bucks anyway. September 28, 2003
Off to the Big Apple
I'll be away in New York all this week on business. I may update, but don't bet on it. If anyone is familiar with NYC and can offer any traveler's tips, be sure and contact me... September 19, 2003
Out of Power
So yeah, we're still without power in West Chester, PA. It's been 20 hours since the lights first dimmed, interrupting my Kazaa downloads and Instant Messenger conversation-juggling. After a long, boring night (see pictures below), I got up and managed to snake my way into work via the back roads. At around noon today (about 15 hours into the outage), I ventured out onto the main roads in search of lunch. To my surprise, in many of the busiest areas the traffic lights were dead. The drivers who were willing to wedge themselves into cross-traffic got through the busy intersections. Those too timid to do so, didn't. I tried to two-way a coworker for lunch plans, to no avail. "NO SERVICE" was my Nextel's unfamiliar rebuff. I had to drive around for about 10 minutes until I finally obtained a signal, at which point I screeched off the road into a school parking lot and dialed frantically, like a junkie fondling his new crack pipe. I drove to Shop Rite, a large grocery store near the office. The doors were propped open, and I didn't realize why until I had nearly entered the store. I was immediately turned away by the awful smell of rotting food. Crucial convenience stores like Wawa were closed as well. That left people flooding to the powered part of town, crammed in long drive-thru lines at Burger King. "Now we know what it's like in Iraq" was the familiar, self-congratulatory refrain inside, stated by distressed suburbanites as they licked their fingers and smacked their lips over sourdough bacon cheeseburgers. Anyway, here are the g-rated pictures from our night in the dark...  10 minutes without power. Rachel, playing with fire in the kitchen.  25 minutes without power. Company arrives, as Justin (left) seeks shelter from the rain.  45 minutes without power. Our new roommate Tony, in the kitchen, pontificating about who knows what. (If you look closely, you can see our chore board. No one reads that thing.)  One hour without power. Justin, hiding from everyone in the back room.  One hour, 45 minutes without power. Matt, drinking.  Two hours without power. A weird effect.  Chillin'.  Two and a half hours without power. Rachel, trying to read Maxim in the dark.  Three hours without power. Rachel begins to lose her grip on sanity.  I hate Kix. Processed, sugarless shit.  Bored, we're movin' out.  Morning arrives. Still no power.  After 14 hours without Internet access, I never thought I'd be so happy to arrive at work. (That's my coworker, Vhillisia.) September 15, 2003
The Real World: West Chester
After many online ads and dozens of flyers posted around the university, we've welcomed Tony Yoo as our newest housemate.  [click the pic] Above is a picture of Tony (right), who replaces the loser who previously boarded here. Throughout all our meetings (read: interviews) with prospective renters, Tony was by far the most outgoing, independent and optimistic of all the candidates. He liked us, liked the place, and wanted to be here, so now he is. The jury's still out on whether he's a good fit or a party animal, but after five days, things are looking good. We'll see. September 04, 2003
Sharing Beds is a Good Idea
So yeah, a young lady responded to my online ad for a roommate. Take a look at her profile and tell me if she'd make a good roomie. August 20, 2003
I Sucked
...at bowling tonight. I literally slid on my ass in the beginning. White Russians will do that to you, given enough time. And being a complete novice doesn't help, either. My scores: 54 84 52 So? One thing I've learned is that, if you can't be on top, then go all out for the very bottom. At least then, every other loser will look at you and feel better. August 19, 2003
Encounters #2
So there I was today, sitting in my car in the Wawa parking lot. I was listening to XM Radio when a huge, hulking structure appeared next to me, blocking out the sun. Curious, I looked to my right and saw a giant, hulking Chevrolet Suburban. Sure, all Suburbans are gigantic, but this one was even giganticer. Dark green, it had huge, super-duper monster truck wheels that hoisted the car so high I could see its entire wheel wells. (I'm pretty sure that, had I been sitting in my Laser, I would've been able to see the undercarriage, too.) Emanating from this road beast was a bass-filled rumble that literally made my car shake. In fact, my lowly Taurus trembled so much that I checked my console to make sure my engine was turned off. Eager to escape before a cloud of heat and exhaust wafted my way, I grabbed my keys and got out of my car. I walked slowly toward the store entrance, watching as the other driver dismounted from his SUV/truck/rig. He was a middle-aged white guy, scruffy, tattooed, bearded and, of course, clad in a black Hell's Angels t-shirt and "dusty" jeans. Riding with him were three plausibly pretty yet trashy women who stayed behind. Walking in my direction, the dude shot me one of those "Watchu lookin' at, bowaayy" looks. (Or maybe he was more surprised than hostile: "Wut da fuk dere's negroes 'round here, Martha!") I took that as a sign that I should either step toward him and tell him he was a jive turkey, or otherwise go about my business. So after I did my business and left the store, I saw the biker/felon drive off, taking his traveling harem with him. And me? I went on my way as well, content in the knowledge that I bring some sanity and balance to this world. August 02, 2003
Hecticity
Boy, it's been a taxing 24 hours. First, there was the hassle of starting the eviction process for my housemate of two months. Don't even get me started. Hmm...Okay, I won't get into the whole thing here, but I will offer this advice: When you meet an admitted loser who, 10 years your senior, still blames everyone else for the fact that he's a loser, cut your losses immediately and move on. Everyone deserves a second chance, but leave the thirds and fourths to someone else. That's all I have to say about th-- ... Okay, if you insist, I'll tell you a bit more. He ripped up the eviction letter, of course, and left it for the rest of us to find. All through the night, I heard him stalking through the house. And to top things off, this morning I looked out the shower window and saw him staring at me from the back deck. Ladies and gentlemen, lock your doors. Any chance he'll read this? Of course not. He doesn't even have a steady job, much less an Internet connection. Loser. Besides the eviction, there was also today's negotiation with The Company over my promotion and raise. It finally happened though, and at the last minute, too, before a career change. I'll evaluate things in a year and make the same choice then. And finally, in the thick of my work day, there was the asshat, script-kiddie wannabe who decided to flood my host's Web server just to prove a point. The cost? At least a half hour of downtime for me and anyone else on the server. A half hour of haggling with my provider. A half hour that neither I nor my boss had to spare. Thanks. July 01, 2003
Oops
People who go 30mph in a 45mph zone are one reason why I avoid one-lane back roads. Today, after three or four miles of following a little black Jetta at this pace, we came to a stop light. I was so irritated at that point that I stopped too slowly and inadvertently bumped the Jetta. The geezer in front of me was so senile that he didn't even notice the jolt. June 28, 2003
Idiocy
"No, Frank, I didn't get a raise," my supervisor exclaimed, his arms outstretched in a what-do-they-want-from-me pose. "It's a Jewish hospital!" June 27, 2003
For the Love of God
People who write CHECKS (for items that total less than twenty dollars) in the EXPRESS LINE should be dragged out and seriously beaten. June 26, 2003
Zithromax (Azithromycin)
Sure, I read the labels before taking medication. They always warn of the "headaches, nausea, vomiting, blah, blah, blah" that occur in like one percent of patients. But when you have no known allergies and rarely even get sick (once or twice a year), what are the chances you'll wind up having a severe reaction to medication? Yesterday my doctor prescribed Zithromax, which is used to treat bacterial infections. I thought this decision was dubious in the first place, since I don't (believe I) have any infection. But in any case, he's a doctor and I'm not. Besides, the pills came in a purty, consumer-friendly package that made it look more like I was taking Tic-Tacs than prescription medication. So I took 1000mg this morning, as directed. Then I had some water and went into the bathroom to shave. Just as I was finishing, I felt a stirring discomfort in my stomach. Figuring I would ignore it and go to work, I gathered up my things and began walking back to my bedroom. To make a long story short, I didn't even make it that far; I lay on the couch holding my stomach and writhing in pain for 25 minutes before finally driving myself to the hospital (since no one else was home). But before I left, I went back and checked the package. It said "side effects may include mild to moderate stomach pain," in 2-3% of patients. That is total bullshit. Yahoo's Web site is a little more truthful, describing the side effects as "abdominal or stomach cramps or pain (severe)." Once I got to the ER, there wasn't much they could do except give me what they said was an over-the-counter stomach medicine (think Mylanta) and tell me to "ride it out" and discontinue use. I still have a mild headache 11 hours later, and shooting pains in my stomach, arms and neck. There's no moral to the story, I guess. After all, if you don't have any predictable allergies and you're on a collision course with bad (for you) medicine, then I suppose it's just going to happen. However, it's just something to think about the next time you see drug commercials, in which they show kids blissfully playing in flowering fields while describing side effects from stomach pain, nausea and diarhea to paralysis, stroke and spontaneous human combustion. June 24, 2003
Barnard Street Crime Scene
I told you I lived in an asylum. Imagine my surprise when I walked down the stairs only to see my porch cordoned off like a crime scene...  [click the pic] Upon closer inspection, I realized the tape said CAUTION rather than POLICE LINE. Still, though, I wondered if my house had been contaminated and "they" had told everyone except me.  [click the pic] (Yes, that is my Taurus in the background...) Turns out that my landlord, who recently bought the house next door, had decided to re-pave the concrete steps that span both houses.  [click the pic] (If you look closely, you can see my Anyone But Bush bumper sticker on the back of the white car.) We were advised to use our back door for new next few days. We did that (or just hopped the front porch) for, oh, a couple of hours. That quickly got old. I mean, I dunno who that construction guy thought he was, asking me to walk alllll the way to the back of the house just to get in and out of my own goddamn apartment. So, of course, after the guy left we just started walking right over the plastic. The whole thing wasn't as sexy as some crime drama, but it's nice that we can reap some residual benefits from our neighbors' the ongoing home improvement. The job is all done now, and our neighbors from the surrounding houses no longer look at us strangely. And no, the steps don't have the word NIKE stamped all over them. June 23, 2003
Encounters
There I was, laid out on the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum, having rollerbladed for several miles around the Schuylkill River. I hadn't done that activity in several months, and it showed. At the end of my sprint, I was lying there, literally gasping for air. I had pulled off my wrist guards and waist strap, so as not to be encumbered by anything extraneous that might be between my body and the air. My lower back throbbed and ached with pain. My t-shirt was soaked through with sweat from 40 minutes of toil. More sweat kept running down into my eyes, but I didn't have the energy to wipe it away, so I just kept them closed. There was a band playing there, with a large crowd, and I hated that. All the more to distract me from my single focus, which was to just breathe. The situation was all the worse when a rather large lady came and sat next to me, and then lit up a cigarette. I was too busy staring up at the sky to notice it at first, but the smoke, along with the smell of her perfume, eventually wafted over, choking me, and pulling my concentration away from my recovery. As I looked over at this lady, who was puffing merrily on her Newport cigarette, I began to think of something mean to say to her before leaving. I settled on the first line that floated to the front of my brain: "u bitch. I just got done this workout and you're gonna make me choke on your cigarette?" Fair enough; it would get the point across while being sufficiently rude, so as to induce both guilt and hurt. As I swung my legs around and sat up, she took notice of me for seemingly the first time. "Hi, would you like a ribbon?" she asked, holding one out in my direction. "No thanks, I'm leaving," I spat out, as I re-sheathed my water bottle and began to pull my wrist guards back on. "Oh, I'm sorry if I disturbed you," she said. "No problem," I replied, not looking at her. My first statement must have sounded, characteristically, more snippy and harsh than I meant, because she apologized again. My curiosity got the best of me. "What is this event?" I asked. Turns out it was the 11th Candlelight Vigil, in honor of those who had passed due to HIV/AIDS. The woman explained to me that many of the people in the crowd were from intervention programs and safe houses, and were struggling with drug abuse and/or AIDS themselves. Then I told her something I had only discussed once before in my entire life. I explained to her that my uncle had died of AIDS over a decade ago. His name was Gary. I didn't know him well, but I know that he was the only adult besides my father who I remember hoisting me onto his shoulders, and the first to give me a sip of beer. (It was Coors, and very nasty. Still is today.) Gary didn't get AIDS from drug use, though. He was gay, which, inexplicably, was something that I just knew about him. It certainly was never discussed by the adults in front of us. He and his "friend" lived alone in a house across town. Eventually, after observing Gary's steadily deteriorating physical state, I remember inferring that he also had that disease. The link, then, was made in my mind: gay = AIDS = leper = death. I gleaned only one snippet of conversation about Gary. My mother said once: "I TOLD him that he had to stop doing that! He said to me, 'well what am I supposed to do, stop living?' Please!" This was the late 80's. And when Gary died, there no funeral, at least not for us kids. He just sort of went away. Shortly after his death, my family moved into his old house. My parents also never discussed in front of us the fact that it had been his. "Let me ask you something," the lady said, breaking into my thoughts. She leaned over in my direction. "Have you been tested?" No, I haven't, and so we discussed that too. I explained that I've been in a relationship for three years now. How do I turn around one day and say, "babe, I love you, we need to get tested"? We laughed and bandied about several probable responses, such as "Why? Who you been fuckin'?" and "Why? Who you think I been fuckin'?" After a few more minutes of conversation, I said it was time for me to go. She held out a red ribbon. I took it, slapped it onto my chest, and skated off into the deep, red dusk. May 30, 2003
Despondency
I made the hardest choice of my life today, and I'm still not sure if it was the right one. However, I don't think there was any way I could have avoided making it. It is easy, with time, to forgive those who hurt you. It is much harder, I think, to forgive those who make you hurt them. May 29, 2003
Insanitary
So I walked into the restroom at work today and I saw my co-worker, Keith, standing at the urinal and flushing it. Familiar enough, only it wasn't the once-and-done deal that most of us do. He was just standing there, hitting the handle over and over again, and filling the restroom with the near-deafening sound of blasting water. Now, I know who Keith is, but I don't know him. I've just seen him around, an old, cagey guy with a big beard. You know the type: the ones who mutters a grudging "hi" to you in the hallway without making eye contact, as if such salutations distract them from some secret diabolical scheme to take over the world. So, apprehensive as I was, I walked by and managed a lightly sarcastic remark: "Gee, I think you've flushed yours, Keith." Then Keith turns to me and goes, "Well, how else is it going to get down to the water fountain?" May 25, 2003
Malaise
I've been lost in Grand Theft Auto: Vice City as of late. Stealing ambulances, starting fights with strangers, spraying crowds of innocent bystanders with bullets...It can all be very cathartic when real life kicks you in the balls. I'm back to reality now, though. Like a junkie, foolishly giving up the needle. May 23, 2003
Alive
The well hasn't run dry. However, I'm distracted (and exhausted) after a week of senseless drama. I'll be back, volatile as ever, soon. May 19, 2003
Roommate Redux
I'm told the roommate ad wasn't viewable by most of you. Well, now it is. Check it out! May 11, 2003
Just Us
Left: me. Center: Rachel. Right: Matt. Behind the camera: you?  Hmm, let's see. The pic is taken facing the far wall of my room, relative to where I sit. To the left is my fridge, microwave and (now discarded) goodies. To the right is my bookcase and the old WCU Chess Club poster from school. In the center is my long-unused futon, and the bare wall above that is for my projector screen. 100" picture!
Looking to Relocate?
There's a vacancy in the asylum, and the room has been reserved for you. Check the listing here. You may contact us to make arrangements at your convenience. May 04, 2003
Everyone's Alienated
I'm sorry...but I just can't be with someone who's this confused. Amen. May 01, 2003
April 16, 2003
Limping into the Weekend
My work schedule for the remainder of the week: 12 meetings in three days. The breakdown: seven presentations that I'm giving, four overlong training sessions for the company's new enterprise application, and one meeting on the government's new healthcare privacy regulations. And yes, everything will be on next week's exam. Ugh. April 15, 2003
Dumb Customers
There are some customers you just dread talking to. Take this one lady, Gayle. We all hate talking to her, because she sounds like a demented kindergarten teacher. Picture Connie Chung on speed. The first time I talked to her, she was having a printing problem. I asked her what kind of printer she had, and she said "Oh, I don't know." Then she let out one of those dumb bimbo-like belch-giggles, and enthusiastically blurted out "I'm a little tiggy-wiggy!" No kidding. Today she called me because a program kept popping up on startup, and she couldn't can't get it to go away. As I was diligently working on her laptop, she said "I hate this laptop! I'm going to bury you six feet under if it isn't fixed." No kidding. My imagined response: "The next time you visit your doctor, say 'mood swings,' and I guarantee you he'll say 'Paxil.' That'll fix you riiight up." April 14, 2003
Dear Ethicist...
I just sent this question off to The Ethicist over at the New York Times: Dear Ethicist, Of course, he ain't gonna change my mind anyway. But maybe some folks on here can help. April 10, 2003
So long, "best friend"
I told you things would change. I used to counsel other friends that, when the stress of maintaining any relationship outweighs the pleasure you receive from it, it's time to step back and assess whether a separation is needed. I can't believe I spent so much time ignoring my own advice. There's no way to really explain it clearly, but how about this: I'm tired of having to deal with people who are so emotionally haphazard that every interaction is a high-wire act in which I tip-toe around their deep-seated insecurities and inhibitions. And I'm tired of associating with people with whom I can't have an intelligent conversation without struggling against the narrow-minded fear and ignorance of the goddamn Dark Ages. The person I spoke to tonight said "I've known you for X years. I can't believe you're going to do this over a freakin' issue!" That's not the reason. Heavens, no. I disagree with lots of friends "on the issues," and barring certain extreme views, it would be stupid to end friendships because of them. At the same time, though, I've spent way too much time dealing with narrow, one-dimensional, ill-informed, up tight and selfish people who will never (care to) understand me or where I'm coming from. The cheap novelty of those interactions has now given way to a nauseating predictability that leaves me, quite simply, wanting more. Only time will tell if I'm making a huge mistake. But I suspect that improving my own life starts with distancing myself from those who so often leave me feeling angry, frustrated or just plain misunderstood. April 08, 2003
I am who I am
So I had this meeting with my boss today. Asked him what I needed to do for a He said I'd been doing a good job so far, but that I needed to keep team morale in mind and "be more positive, because not everyone understands your sarcasm." <dream>"Pfft, fuck that," I said. "It would've been better if you just asked me to fuckin' roll over and die." Then I said "screw this" and walked out.</dream> ::shrug:: What's an alienated employee or two? I guess that promotion won't be coming for a looong time. April 07, 2003
Ah, April in Philadelphia
One week I'm rollerblading around the Schuylkill River, and the next I'm driving to work in a blizzard. April 04, 2003
Healthcare IT
This is the kind of jargon-filled spam I get at work: From: Maureen G--------
To: PHL IT Department
Subject: BC of CA WTF? April 02, 2003
The Orwellian Corporation
When I came in to work this morning and turned on my monitor, there was a window open with the following message: Mr Benson,
Your inability to secure your workstation is a serious breech of [D-----] security.
Please be advised that contents of your PC have changed.
It is your responsibility to determine what. Kinda creepy. I'm pretty sure this happened because I disabled their "mandatory" screen-locking applet. It was annoying logging back into my own workstation just because I got up to take a whiz. Anyway, I told my boss I didn't care what was changed, as long as they left my mp3 shares, warez FTP server, Kazaa movie downloads and porn bookmarks alone. Hopefully, all my work was deleted. March 29, 2003
Giving Fate a Nudge
Do you care if this is coherent? When I awoke this morning, I had a moment of clarity. My alarm had gone off minutes earlier, and I was lying there in bed at 5:30AM. And I thought to myself, “fuck this.” No, not the lazy, lethargic "fuck this" of someone who closes his eyes again and gropes for that fading dream, deciding that sleeping in is more appealing than getting on with the day. This was the opposite. It was a restless, impatient "fuck this," a stirring discontent that came over me as I surveyed the coming day. As I carried on that morning, the feeling didn't go away. I thought it would, the way a strange dream dissipates over time. Instead, it grew, no longer about a specific chore or responsibility, but seeming to envelope everything. What was I feeling? I'd have to say it was a generalized, spontaneous dissatisfaction with all things. Life, jobs, friends, housemates, relationships...this is the best I could do? Unbelievable. I suppose it's normal for one to feel constrained by the trappings of everyday life at one point or another. Two things are clear, though: The first thing is that I am not where I wanted to be in life, where I could be in life, or even, knowing my shortcomings, where I thought I would be. Maybe if I'd settled for a little less in the way of economic, emotional or physical payoffs, I might have been happier over the long run. The second thing is that things need to change. And if you know me, you'll soon see that happen. March 27, 2003
The One-sided Id
A few weeks ago, I was talking to a good friend of many years. It was the kind of one-dimensional conversation I'd come to enjoy, and indeed to demand since I started blogging. In a nutshell, it usually goes like this: "My view is right, yours is stupid. This is logical, that's illogical. My position makes sense, yours is useless." And so on. You could apply it to any subject and it would reduce to the same thing. During the course of the conversation I made an offhand remark about myself, and he said, "That is the first time you've mentioned feelings in a long time, Aaron." Sometimes the quiet perceptiveness of a friend can shed light on what's missing. It's been weighing on my mind ever since. March 19, 2003
Soy Milk
Okay, so I tried soy milk. 8th Continent for those who care. It tastes like something between breastmilk, watered down condensed milk, and water with a ton of creamer in it. Well, not breastmilk. I don't remember what that tastes like. But it's fun to say so. The bottom line is this: Soy milk is terrible as a standalone drink. Though "vanilla" soy milk tastes a little better, don't ever try to have soy milk and cookies. But it's great as an ingredient. I've never had oatmeal that was so damn good. Yeah, I eat oatmeal. So what? February 27, 2003
Cruising
I finally got a car. A 1995 Ford *cough*Taurus. Upon learning of my purchase, a coworker paid me the following backhanded compliment: "Taurus is okay...my mom drives one." Exactly. Stumbled across the car while riding the bus to work one day. It was in perfect condition inside and out, as confirmed by my three-block solo test drive. Sometimes, you can just tell these things. There's one other thing. I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it: it's white. Who buys a plain, white car? White cars are indicative of their owners' utter lack of taste. But desperate used-car buyers like myself can plead lack of choices. It's the new car buyers tooling around in white cars who are screwing the rest of us down the line. If it were up to me, dealers wouldn't even offer cars in this color. Anyway, if I knew I was going to end up with a family Ford that was white, I would have gotten a Crown Victoria. At least then I could fool people into thinking I was a cop, and force them to get out of my way. I'd start listing engine specs, but who cares? It's a Taurus. There will be no more going 120mph in a 40mph zone. Not with a speedometer that only goes up to 85 (my '91 Laser's speedo went up to 140). This car is so long and broad that when you go 45mph, it feels like 85. That will have to suffice. The only way to spin this positively is to concentrate on the frivolities like this one: It's got power locks, windows, seats, mirrors, etc. See, when you've toiled for years on cars from the 1980's, these things come as a pleasant surprise. Now, finally, I can take them for granted. I'm still happy with the purchase, though. It's a smoother ride, with more power than my Laser had. And in a few months, I'll get a NEW car, at which point I'll give this car to someone else and make fun of them for driving a white Taurus. But the #1 benefit is that I don't have to catch the bus anymore. And you can't beat that for $1,900. February 19, 2003
A Hulking Mass of Futility
I saw an SUV get stuck in the snow today. No, not in a huge snow-drift. Just a little pile of snow on the ramp to the parking lot. The driver was riding alone, of course, in his gas-guzzling, smog-spewing, planet-warming, road-hogging monstrosity. And unfortunately, I didn't see him get stuck. I just noticed the plumes of smoke in the corner of my eye. It was coming from his tires, which were spinning in place as he revved the engine in vain. They stank, too, with an acrid, repulsive smell. Soft rubber, burning. The driver eventually had to have his SUV pushed out by two guys who were waiting for the bus. It was the high point of my day. February 13, 2003
Passing Midnight
My car died. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Depressingly. It was quite alive at the start of the day: 6:20a.m., racing some guy in a minivan down I-76. He had cut me off on the US-202 off-ramp, and I was about to return the favor. So there we were, hurtling down the expressway in a dead heat. I was looking for my opening to accelerate past him when my car topped out at 105m.p.h. This was unusual. And as the minivan slowly crept past me, I looked down at my panel, alarmed and bewildered, and saw that my oil light had turned on. But that's not all: my oil gauge was all the way down. So I broke off the chase and pulled into the nearest gas station. I put two quarts of oil in and took my car home. The next morning, I took it to Midas and the engineer goes "Uhh, sir? Can you come look at sumthin?" He took me out to my car, and as he poured oil into the engine, we could see it splashing onto the ground below. His prognosis? The car had an oil leak. Once I drove it with such a small amount of oil, the engine heated up and blew the seals out. Couldn't I just replace the seals? Well, no, because the engine had been so damaged that it would have to be replaced sooner or later (sooner) as well. Incontinence, it seems, is easier to fix in people than in cars. That was it. I yanked my Alpine system, the speakers and the XM Radio equipment (among other valuables), and said goodbye. The past three weeks have been a lesson in how valuable a car really is. For 21 days I have only been in two places: home and work. Work and home. And, of course, I've opted for isolation rather than rely on the patronage of others. So stubbornly independent. It's just the thing I need for my already-deteriorating state of mind. These are dark days, indeed. January 13, 2003
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GeckoBlue.org -- Straying far enough from the norm to make sense.
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The West Chester Wizerds spanked the 
