- Humans were never meant to wait several waking hours before, uh, eliminating unneeded fluids. What a strange combination of mores: fear of the sight of certain parts of the anatomy (usually not that exciting to see when performing... maintenance functions), an unspoken idea about how many trips to the lavatory is too many... and the persistent declaration that most of us are dehydrated and should be drinking much more water.

-

You a drunk or doper who twelve-steps? He kindly asks you to err on the side of caution. Don't reveal who ya are, first name and last. Like singleness of 'porpoise', this is one of those traditional ideas that might not seem too important. Please keep asking crusty old-timers until you get an explanation that might suggest why Grrr is concerned 'bout dis. The Web may not be "press, radio and film" yet, but the lines are blurring even as you're skimming this. He asks ya to take it on faith, nyuk nyuk, that outing yerself is bad for you, for Grrr, for the groups, for the fellowship, and even for those slobs who haven't made it through the door yet. E-mail is invited.

How extreme. What's his beef?

As he types this, Plan 9 from Outer Space is sapping precious minutes away from his life. Being one to root for the underdog, it's pretty amazing that this film can be so diligently bad...
Every bit as horrible as it was made out to be. Were it not for the Ed Wood flick, this would not be tolerable at all. And he thought Attack of the Killer Tomatoes was the low-water mark of Terran cinema. Not as bad as Haunted Honeymoon, which wasn't as bad as Urban Cowboy... which wasn't nearly as wretched as countless '80s teenploitation kitschfests so proudly featured on USA Network's Up All Night.
What we could do, here, is to isolate and quarantine the Machine Metal Music of motion pictures...

So what kinda flick does this guy like, anyway?

Does it depend on the motive of the one posting the page? He wonders.
Looking through any list of personal home page announcements, there's always these mildly self-deprecating remarks. As if ya surfers feel kinda bad about spending HTML on yourselves...
Take heart, he says. There's still a difference, even these monomaniacal daze, between telling your own story and tooting your own horn. Some people are egotistical turds whether they're on the web or not. If they get nettrified, their favorite topic is still their own self and it's all too plain. That's not what he usually sees, though.
Strangely enough, the most attractive thing about this solitary pursuit is hooking up with y'all. Artdorks and technohoods, and 'trackers, protosuits, kitchen-table knights of biz.
Keep risking, sibs. Crack that door open a leeeeetle bit wider.

Extra time and extra money never coinciding, and all that.

The weekend looms. Much to do; summer is thundering in with a vengeance, as if to make up for lost time. This is the local excuse for a springtime, soon to be baked away.

But enough about the weather. Further in, he's trying to budget more effectively: time, brain-MIPS, legal tender. Priorities, especially. An older person once told him, "We do what we want to do." But for a very small number of exceptions, he's found that to be the case: choices are more deliberate and less voluntary than most humanoids would probably care to admit. Where he is, what he is known for, what is said about him when he's not within range to hear... he does have a part in this life, a primary and conscious one. Some friends talk about learning to recognize when they have put themselves in a position to be hurt. Such foreign concepts are coming closer to home as days elapse.

May be factual, may be cruel / everybody plays the fool

He wrote a tiny bio for a 'net registration service. The text is not as specific as he'd like, if the anonymitywas pure. All he needs, four or five years from now, is a potential employer or (hah) girlfriend stumbling across some raw honesty. Here it is:

Christian, GR/Detroit native, Sacramento 'inmate', friend of Bill W, friend of Jimmy K, XFMC, FAL, Filmmaker at Large, oneeighty, singer, writer, cartoonist, runner, computer lop, rat lover

Second thought: his life sounds much better on paper.

He figures he can submit a revised bio, down the road.

This is the real thing. He's probably past the halfway point of his earth-time. Plans never set in motion will never come to pass. Maybe this is instinctive with some humans. Others fight with linear time, as if.

Forty distractions beckon. C'mere, buddy. What will this day's efforts bring? Progress, regress, antigress?

Freeze this moment a little bit longer

Big thoughts of the moment:

• His pecs hurt from lifting weights.
• Friday will not end soon enough, so he can get away from the workplace for two days.
• "Free" time is a mixed blessing.

Gotta wow 'em with a big opening.

Did it work? From this end of the, er, creative process... hard to tell. It's pretty sad when it's easier to write new word-clumps than it is to unearth the old ones. He's got boxes and tubs full of paper. Earlier, dismal attempts at organization have resulted in some of the paper being stored in file folders or pockets. This could be called "progress".

In his shadowy youth, he heard the Carpenters' cover of Help before hearing the Beatles' original version. Almost too many conclusions could be drawn from this. (Not a progressive home, musically speaking; the Fifties were too fondly remembered by those with the plurality of votes.) He was just awake enough to read the liner notes, seeing the author credit for "J. Lennon/P. McCartney", and of course the recognition was there.

This particular thought is a retrospective, not an apology. Coming of age in the late seventies was... bizarre. He graduated from high school in 1979. Most of his class smoked (five bucks a carton), weed was everywhere, acid had yet to make a comeback 'cause it hadn't yet left. "Whip Inflation Now" rallies; large-bore tetracycline prescriptions for acne; LP's for $5.98; bussing tables for two bucks an hour plus tips. Rubbers were furtive, unexplained.

Detenté and disco.

My independence seems to vanish in the haze

 
version 1.51       11dec97