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Posts for the date of Friday, August 02, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:01 AM |
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I’m back! I’m back! I feel as though I’ve been floating in the ether for the last day, as I watched Blogger eat posts, but not regurgitate them back here. It was an empty feeling. After all, I have my fans to consider.
Both of them.
Wayne in Durand, Illinois. He and I go way back to our days on AOL when I was Luakabop and he was Nozpkr929392. We’re buds, of the cyber kind, that nothing can tear asunder. Except for dropped connections, downed lines or busy signals on his cheap, external 14.4 modem that he refuses to update. In fact, Wayne, screw you. Update your technology man. I mean, you suck. DSL, my luddite friend.
Patty in Blue Springs, Missouri. Actually, Patty reads this site daily, though she doesn’t realize that there’s a person writing it. For some reason she thinks that the entire Internet is a message from an alien race giving her instructions on how to defeat the encroachment of intelligent marmosets hell-bent on taking over the world. Patty also drinks water straight from a stream that is down river from a factory that makes industrial cleaners.
While I was having a problem publishing to the main page (it published to archives, for some reason) I started cursing the software and my site hosting service. This is no way to run a business. I need to blog. My life depends on it. Well, not really. But what if it did? What if I was being held hostage and my only contact to the real world was updating my blog (okay, so the kidnappers would be insanely stupid)? I could very well have blown my own ransom demand.
Stupid Blogger. Why do I pay them for this service if they can’t provide reliability? Oh wait. I don’t pay them. It’s free. Blogger rocks! (Seriously, this is just another reason for me to get my own domain and host it through John. I think he’d let me pay him in Yes CDs for the hosting.)
(Cool interjection. My daughter Matilda is standing behind me wearing her invisibility cloak and some “Little House on the Prairie” bonnet singing “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt. 1” by The Flaming Lips. Sometimes kids are cooler than you can ever imagine.)
So, why do I blog? Because I’m a total attention hound. I want everyone to love me because I’m witty, urbane, intelligent, slightly off-kilter and unpredictable.
Purple Fuzz Monkey!
See? Totally unpredictable.
And I want people to think I’m cool. I doubt anyone does. However, I just received an email that had the following statement:
“But the longest carbon nanotubes accomplished to date are something like 8 cm in length. So it would be necessary to somehow bind these short filaments together. I've never heard that the structure of the tube can be manipulated such that one can be made to fit end-to-end with another like screwing together pipe sections. If you could do that it seems to me you'd also have the capability of just merging two strands into one longer, seamless filament instead.”
That was written by Brad Walsh. Though he’s no engineer, I still think he’s pretty cool for discussing carbon nanotubes. This is from a mailing list about the space elevator I recently joined. This is a list that I have no hope of ever contributing to. These guys are just way too smart for me.
Actually, why does anyone have a weblog other than they want attention? I use it to hone my writing, make sure I’m writing something every day. You know, keep the juices flowing. (No, the other juices. Higher. Higher. Yes, there.) I couldn’t imagine putting intensely personal information on the web. That would seem, well, intensely personal. I don’t want people who are searching my site for “Furry Mascot Foam Sex” to read about how I was broken-hearted when Audrey Steinbeck rejected me in sixth grade because I wore parachute pants with white Nike high tops. Crap. Now you know. And so do those people who get a thrill out of mascot lovin’.
Well, this has been, perhaps, the most pointless post I’ve ever put up here. (No, wait, that was the Robo Rat post.) I hope you’ve enjoyed this little trip through my brain.
Tomorrow we’ll inspect my colon, so wear rubber gloves and a mining helmet.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:32 AM |
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For Marion O'Brien, 1926-2002
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
--Wayne Coyne
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Posts for the date of Thursday, August 01, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 11:55 AM |
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Blogger really hates me today. It's not letting me in on the server level. Why? Because it hates me. Granted, I did call its mother a "ratty bitch of a 286." Is that bad?
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 10:35 AM |
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Blogger refuses to work today. Instead, it queues my posts. Or, perhaps it is reading them, making sure that it isn't a coded message to my alien overlords detailing my spywork on Earth.
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 9:22 AM |
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This morning, despite the fact that I had no desire to wake up, I had to take the girls to the sitter. My lovely wife needed to go to work early to make up some hours, so it fell upon me to deliver the children to their daily internment camp filled with toys, macaroni and pretzel rods.
Why didn’t I want to wake up? Because sleeping felt so damn good. I often wonder if sleeping is what we’re supposed to be doing because, well, it feels a lot better than being awake. It doesn’t hurt, it’s restful and no one tells me I’m doing it wrong. In fact, I’m quite good at sleeping. I’d say that I have a natural talent.
Once I got going I realized that only the right side of my body was awake. I had no depth perception, as, for some reason, my left eye was not functioning properly. It took a long time for the systems to come on line. Since only my right brain was functioning, I had this random intuitiveness that I don’t normally have. There’s a general battle between the two sides of my brain. Logic versus holistic thought.
I had composed an epic poem about this when, out of the blue, my left-brain became active and blew it away with a mathematical equation that I didn’t understand.
After feeding and watering the kids, my lovely wife had to go. She handed the baby to me and said, “She needs to be changed.”
I joked that she was fine the way she was. We all laughed and decided that I should tour with a comedy troupe because of my intense original comedy.
So, the wife departed and I took the baby upstairs to change her diaper. That’s when I realized a crime had taken place. I had been set up. I was a patsy.
There was something in that diaper that defies explanation. It was horrible. It may have been sentient. It was proof that nature is laughing at us.
Now, normally, it wouldn’t be a problem to change a diaper. But this . . . this . . . stuff wanted to move on its own and escape. It was the blob, wanting to replicate and grow, devouring all human life in its path.
Worse, still, is the baby is now in her total Fidget (her nickname) mode. She wasn’t content to let daddy free her from the expulsions of her own body. No, she wanted to roll in it. It was like trying to horizontally thread a wet spaghetti noodle into an oscillating fan.
Distraction worked as I repressed my gag reflex. I contained the biological contamination zone, sealed of the girls’ room until the men with the hazmat suits could come and make it fit again for human dwelling. I put the nearly naked baby in a cute little sundress and placed her in her car seat for the drive to the sitter.
Halfway there, I realized that Matilda had wanted to spend the morning with her mother at work. Why? Because she enjoys watching the corporate system beats down mom.
I glanced in the backseat and saw that she was covered in a silver, reflective fabric. It’s her invisibility cloak (from Harry Potter). I knew that I wasn’t allowed to talk to her because she was invisible. One must respect the controlled dementia of childhood. The baby was snoozing in her seat, so I just listened to the plaintive wails of the new Flaming Lips CD.
I dropped off Matilda at her mother’s work. She denied all knowledge of the heinous science experiment contained within her youngest daughter’s diaper.
But I know the truth is out there. And revenge will be had. Oh yes. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But when she least expects it. And I know the baby is on my side because I give her tummy zerberts and she giggles.
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Posts for the date of Wednesday, July 31, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 12:57 PM |
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Disturbing image of the day:
Pudgy, pale carptenter in short shorts, no shirt, wearing a tool belt, a bandana and glazed with sweat. Add to that image his team of apprentices in the same get up and you have a moment that Richard Simmons would run away from. I feel like I’m caught in some sort of sex dream that the Village People would have.
Great. Now "Village People Sex Dream" will show up in a google search. Why do I do this to myself?
Eh?
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 8:29 AM |
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I’m back. Sore and tired, but I’m back. The move didn’t take long, once a truck was finally procured. GeekFriend, needless to say, was rather miffed with the rental company. I mean, he reserved a certain truck at a certain time and it was more than 24 hours late in getting to him. Bad business, if you ask me.
If one pays for a truck from your company, one should get a truck from your company.
I was able to meet his dad, which was a treat. He’s a wonderfully funny and kind man. I’m sworn to secrecy regarding everything he told me, however. I may not even discuss it with GeekFriend himself. If I did, I’d have to kill him.
We had to move some extremely heavy things down stairs that were nearly vertical. In many ways, it was horrible. Drenched in sweat, the appliances and furniture would slip and we’d have to readjust as we moved down the stairs. Very odd, indeed. But, it was much easier than when we moved stuff in there. The fact that I have the upper body strength of an anorexic fourteen-year old asthmatic girl didn’t help much.
Our last big item of the day was a cat pole. It was around three hundred feet tall and had geometric arrays of platforms that would make a cat go nuts with pleasure as it moved from level to level. However, we don’t know how we were able to get it up the stairs of the fire escape because we couldn’t get it down.
Enter rope and GeekFriend’s amazing ability to tie knots. We looped around the top platform, made a pulley system out of the fire escape’s railing system. We lowered that sucker down.
With all his stuff loaded in the truck, his pick-up on the trailer . . . the only thing left to do was say good bye. We’d been discussing this for a long time and, I think, it was hard for both of us. Neither of us have much faith in humanity . . . or maybe we just find most humans annoying. So, the fact they we formed a strong friendship in such a short time was unusual for both of us. I actually had a buddy again. Something I hadn’t had since Boston Friend became Boston Friend.
But life is a series of hellos and goodbyes. Whether it's on a daily basis or on a grand scale. We are always saying hello and goodbye to one another. It's those open-ended goodbyes that are the most difficult.
So the truck was loaded, locked and ready to go. We stood on the sidewalk, his dad and ex-wife staring at us. In the end, neither one of us could really face the fact that we had formed a bond and really truly cared about each other. And . . . we said good-bye. As if he was going on a long vacation and nothing more.
I suppose that is the way I should look at it. Life is such that we never know which way it will flow. Perhaps someday my family and I will find ourselves out in Oregon. Or, perhaps, GeekFriend will wind up back here again. Life has a funny way of leading us along a crooked path. We’re never really that far away from those we care about. In fact, I haven’t been reading all this science fiction all these years only to be frightened by something as simple as time, space and distance. Bah! I should say. Tis only a few thousand miles.
But, really, it’s not the distance. Just like it isn’t the distance from here to Boston that’s the issue. Portland and Boston are far away, that is true. But it’s the daily grind that I miss. No more movies together, not phone conversations about how Superman’s cape is not logical because it causes drag. No more sub movies.
Life will have to suffice with the occasional visit. But the time will be so short. That’s what intimidates me the most. It’s not the long periods between visits but the short time allotted for visits.
In the end, we were both allowed to have a portion of our childhoods back because, for three years at least, we both had a playmate who was willing to dig in the dirt and act like a little kid.
But as for the final goodbye, we chickened out. I’m glad we did because I don’t think I wanted anyone to see my emotions. Or hear the lump in my throat. I’m a grown man who was sending his friend off to his new life in a distant state. I should be able to handle this. I’ve done it before. I shouldn’t feel so selfish.
But I wasn’t being selfish. I was feeling bad for both of us. We were a good team; still will be, albeit over a distance. We had fun. And I guess that’s what I was mourning. The future fun that wouldn’t be had. Now, after my wife goes to bed, when I point up in the sky and say, “Wow, look! Venus is really bright tonight.” No one will be there to hear me.
I walked to my car and threw a final inane joke back to the group and through my rearview mirror I watched them get in the cab of the truck. I drove away quickly. If I saw the truck pull away, I’d know that my friend actually left. At least now my last memory of his time in St. Louis will be of him in his alleyway, rather than pulling away.
I turned the corner, with the early evening’s sun casting a golden light on the tree-lined drive. On the car stereo played “Bookends” by Simon and Garfunkel.
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; They're all that's left you
And those were the end credits to the buddy movie phase.
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Posts for the date of Tuesday, July 30, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 7:43 AM |
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Right . . . so that truck loading thing? Didn't happen. The bastiches at the truck place neglected to actually have a truck on hand, despite the reservation. GeekFriend pointed out that making a reservation means that, well, they have a truck for him. They didn't care.
So, we hope that it's today. If not, then I suppose he can't move.
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Posts for the date of Monday, July 29, 2002
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posted by Gary O'Brien at 6:48 AM |
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Well . . . today is the day we load GeekFriend's truck and send him off cross-country. So, no major update for today. I just don't fargin' feel like it.
I'm not getting misty or anything.
Just wait until he finds out we sabotaged him. Heh heh.
Good news is Boston Friends will be in on the 13th. She's pregnant. He's nervous. It'll be great!
Miss them too.
Warning: If you befriend me, odds are you'll move. It's written in the stars. Seriously, check it out. Just connect the dots.
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