Tom: What is Tom?
Satan: Tom is a 23-year white heterosexual male. He plays the guitar and the piano. He sings too.
Tom: So he's a musician?
Satan: Up until about two years ago he refused to call himself a musician because he believed that one had to make their living playing music in order to legitimately call oneself a "musician". He has since revised his definition.
Tom: Yeah but is he any good?
Satan: He can play accurate excerpts of Beethoven and Mozart piano sonatas, Chopin nocturnes, Bach inventions, as well as his own compositions, and he has played guitar and/or sang with miscellaneous "rock" bands in just about every bar in town.
Tom: What else?
Satan: Well, other than music, he's usually thinking about sex or ontology.
Tom: Does he fuck a lotta bitches?
Satan: No. When he thinks about sex it's not usually just a matter of in/out penetration. He prefers to single out one woman at a time and transform her into his intellectual and neurotic equal. After that he attempts to seduce his hapless victim by giving her the best head she's ever had, thus binding her to him through a combination of codependant devotion and raw carnal lust. Frustration often results when he steps out of his reality-tunnel long enough to realize that his intended target isn't playing along. This process can take anywhere from five minutes to seven months.
Tom: What was the other thing you mentioned?
Satan: Ontology?
Tom: Is he some sorta fuckin' existentialist?
Satan: Not especially.
20020918
20020915
Satan: Wanna hear a story?
Tom: Have I heard it before?
Satan: I don't know. It's about a guy and a girl who went out together for a while. Not too long, not years or anything, but long enough to get pretty attached to one another. They fought all the time and the girl always wondered how much the guy loved her. She'd only been in love one other time and it ended badly, so she couldn't help but question his every move.
They fought back and forth, each fight worse than the last, until finally, the guy broke it off once and for all. He said that if two people truly loved each other they should let each other go instead of being miserable together.
Tom: What did the girl say?
Satan: She took it as proof that he never really loved her.
Tom: To love and not be loved in return...it happens to all of us.
Satan: But what if the guy really did love her? What if the sorrow continued to hit him in waves, long after the initial break-up? What if he was the kind of person who, for better or worse, gives everything when they love someone...mind, body, and soul?
Tom: And the magnitude of the loss changes him, forever?
Satan: Precisely.
Tom: Yeah I don't think I need to hear that sob story.
Satan: Okay.
Tom: Have I heard it before?
Satan: I don't know. It's about a guy and a girl who went out together for a while. Not too long, not years or anything, but long enough to get pretty attached to one another. They fought all the time and the girl always wondered how much the guy loved her. She'd only been in love one other time and it ended badly, so she couldn't help but question his every move.
They fought back and forth, each fight worse than the last, until finally, the guy broke it off once and for all. He said that if two people truly loved each other they should let each other go instead of being miserable together.
Tom: What did the girl say?
Satan: She took it as proof that he never really loved her.
Tom: To love and not be loved in return...it happens to all of us.
Satan: But what if the guy really did love her? What if the sorrow continued to hit him in waves, long after the initial break-up? What if he was the kind of person who, for better or worse, gives everything when they love someone...mind, body, and soul?
Tom: And the magnitude of the loss changes him, forever?
Satan: Precisely.
Tom: Yeah I don't think I need to hear that sob story.
Satan: Okay.
20020913
Tom: Why do I like fucking so much?
Satan: Fucking?
Tom: Not just fucking, I enjoy the sexual act from start to finish: dinner, movie, music, oral, penetration, rise, fall, cigarette. It's neat.
Satan: Well, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe other people are like that too?
Tom: Like who?
Satan: Oh come on now, I'm sure you know men and women who feel the same way you do, they just express it differently. Face it Tom: humans are sexual beings. The urge to reproduce is hardwired into you. The way sexuality is expressed depends upon an infinite number of factors that come into play the moment you're born. Take what you've got and make the most of it.
Tom: You got a sister?
Satan: Oh piss off.
Satan: Fucking?
Tom: Not just fucking, I enjoy the sexual act from start to finish: dinner, movie, music, oral, penetration, rise, fall, cigarette. It's neat.
Satan: Well, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe other people are like that too?
Tom: Like who?
Satan: Oh come on now, I'm sure you know men and women who feel the same way you do, they just express it differently. Face it Tom: humans are sexual beings. The urge to reproduce is hardwired into you. The way sexuality is expressed depends upon an infinite number of factors that come into play the moment you're born. Take what you've got and make the most of it.
Tom: You got a sister?
Satan: Oh piss off.
20020912
Tom: Hey Satan...
Satan: Yeah?
Tom: I made a graph.
Satan: A what?
Tom: You know, a graph, you fucker. It illustrates my current hypothesis that happiness is impossible.
Satan: Oh Christ, lemme see it.
Tom: Sure...
Tom: See, for there to be such a thing as "happiness" there would have to be a point in the space-time continuum at which one stops being "sad" and becomes consciously "happy". But how can this happen? Can one ever be completely happy? Can one ever be completely sad? Of course not. We are lead to believe that if we only ate less, exercised more, played more X-treme sports, and just tried hard enough, everything would be SWEET SHIT.
Satan: Hmmm...
Tom: Which leads me to ask the question "Who is the asshole that spreads this nonsense?" At best it's just bad semantics! At worst it's a fallacy, a lie, a sick joke sold to us by conniving faith healers, intent on controlling our emotions and making us feel responsible for the SHITTY things that happen to us. I for one will not stand for it! What do you think of that, bitch?
Satan: I don't know...it sounds to me like you've stumbled onto one of Zeno's paradoxes.
Tom: Come again?
Satan: Zeno's paradoxes are a set of paradoxes conceived by Zeno of Elea to support Parmenides's doctrine that all evidence of the senses is misleading, and particularly that there is no motion.
Tom: Yeahhh...?
Satan: Well, in the paradox of Achilles and the tortoise, we imagine the Greek hero Achilles in a footrace with a stupid reptile. Since Achilles habitually indulged in an ancient form of methamphetamine known to the Greeks as crankus, which allowed him to perform superhuman feats over an extended period of time, Achilles graciously gives the tortoise a head start of a hundred feet.
Tom: I don't give a shit...
Satan: If we suppose that each racer start running at some constant speed (one very fast and one very slow), then after some finite time, Achilles will have run a hundred feet, bringing him to the tortoise's starting point; during this time, the tortoise has "run" a (much shorter) distance, say one foot. It will then take Achilles some further period of time to run that distance, during which the tortoise will advance farther; and then another period of time to reach this third point, while the tortoise moves ahead. Thus, whenever Achilles reaches somewhere the tortoise has been, he still has farther to go. Therefore, Zeno says, Achilles can never overtake the tortoise.
Tom: So...?
Satan: So therefore, by your reasoning, one can never be happy because as one approaches your theoretical "brink of happiness" it too continues to move along in the space-time continuum, always just ahead of us, always eluding us no matter how fast we (you) careen towards it.
Tom: See? I'm right. Suck my dick.
Satan: Sorry to tell you, but the paradox is resolved with the fundamental insight of calculus that a sum of infinitely many terms can yield a finite result. Adding the (infinitely many) times together that Achilles needs to reach the previous positions of the tortoise results in a finite total time, and that is indeed the time when Achilles overtakes the tortoise.
Tom: What the fuck are you talking about?
Satan: An infinite series is a sum of infinitely many terms. Such a sum can have a finite value, and if it has, it is said to converge. The fact that infinite series can converge resolves several of Zeno's paradoxes. Here, let me draw it out for you:
The simplest convergent infinite series is perhaps
1 + 1/2 + 1/4 + 1/8 + 1/16 + ... = 2
Tom: Bullshit.
Satan: I think not. It is possible to "visualize" its convergence on the real number line. This series is a geometric series and mathematicians usually write it as:
Formally, if an infinite series:
is given with real (or complex) numbers an, we say that the series 'converges towards S ' or that its 'value is S ' if the limit:
exists and is equal to S. If this is not the case, we say the series diverges. How's about them apples, ya fucker?
Tom: We'll get back to this, cockface. I gotta go to school.
Satan: Yeah?
Tom: I made a graph.
Satan: A what?
Tom: You know, a graph, you fucker. It illustrates my current hypothesis that happiness is impossible.
Satan: Oh Christ, lemme see it.
Tom: Sure...
Tom: See, for there to be such a thing as "happiness" there would have to be a point in the space-time continuum at which one stops being "sad" and becomes consciously "happy". But how can this happen? Can one ever be completely happy? Can one ever be completely sad? Of course not. We are lead to believe that if we only ate less, exercised more, played more X-treme sports, and just tried hard enough, everything would be SWEET SHIT.
Satan: Hmmm...
Tom: Which leads me to ask the question "Who is the asshole that spreads this nonsense?" At best it's just bad semantics! At worst it's a fallacy, a lie, a sick joke sold to us by conniving faith healers, intent on controlling our emotions and making us feel responsible for the SHITTY things that happen to us. I for one will not stand for it! What do you think of that, bitch?
Satan: I don't know...it sounds to me like you've stumbled onto one of Zeno's paradoxes.
Tom: Come again?
Satan: Zeno's paradoxes are a set of paradoxes conceived by Zeno of Elea to support Parmenides's doctrine that all evidence of the senses is misleading, and particularly that there is no motion.
Tom: Yeahhh...?
Satan: Well, in the paradox of Achilles and the tortoise, we imagine the Greek hero Achilles in a footrace with a stupid reptile. Since Achilles habitually indulged in an ancient form of methamphetamine known to the Greeks as crankus, which allowed him to perform superhuman feats over an extended period of time, Achilles graciously gives the tortoise a head start of a hundred feet.
Tom: I don't give a shit...
Satan: If we suppose that each racer start running at some constant speed (one very fast and one very slow), then after some finite time, Achilles will have run a hundred feet, bringing him to the tortoise's starting point; during this time, the tortoise has "run" a (much shorter) distance, say one foot. It will then take Achilles some further period of time to run that distance, during which the tortoise will advance farther; and then another period of time to reach this third point, while the tortoise moves ahead. Thus, whenever Achilles reaches somewhere the tortoise has been, he still has farther to go. Therefore, Zeno says, Achilles can never overtake the tortoise.
Tom: So...?
Satan: So therefore, by your reasoning, one can never be happy because as one approaches your theoretical "brink of happiness" it too continues to move along in the space-time continuum, always just ahead of us, always eluding us no matter how fast we (you) careen towards it.
Tom: See? I'm right. Suck my dick.
Satan: Sorry to tell you, but the paradox is resolved with the fundamental insight of calculus that a sum of infinitely many terms can yield a finite result. Adding the (infinitely many) times together that Achilles needs to reach the previous positions of the tortoise results in a finite total time, and that is indeed the time when Achilles overtakes the tortoise.
Tom: What the fuck are you talking about?
Satan: An infinite series is a sum of infinitely many terms. Such a sum can have a finite value, and if it has, it is said to converge. The fact that infinite series can converge resolves several of Zeno's paradoxes. Here, let me draw it out for you:
The simplest convergent infinite series is perhaps
1 + 1/2 + 1/4 + 1/8 + 1/16 + ... = 2
Tom: Bullshit.
Satan: I think not. It is possible to "visualize" its convergence on the real number line. This series is a geometric series and mathematicians usually write it as:
Formally, if an infinite series:
is given with real (or complex) numbers an, we say that the series 'converges towards S ' or that its 'value is S ' if the limit:
exists and is equal to S. If this is not the case, we say the series diverges. How's about them apples, ya fucker?
Tom: We'll get back to this, cockface. I gotta go to school.
20020908
Tom: What's up?
Satan: Nothin' much. What are you doing today?
Tom: Ah, just the usual. Went to the beach, got a lesson later, come home, try and get some school work done, maybe see Kelly. I thought of something though.
Satan: What's that?
Tom: You know how the seventies were supposedly the "ME" generation or decade or whatever? I figured out what this decade is.
Satan: Well?
Tom: This is the "MY" generation.
Satan: How do you figure?
Tom: Well, it's still about getting ahead of your neighbor, your friends, and/or your family, but the fashionable way of going about it seems to be much more infantile than ever before.
Satan: How so?
Tom: Well, look no further than this here computer: you got MY AOL, MY Documents, MY Buddylist, MY Plaything, MY this, MY that, mine, mine, more me, less you. What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine. Mine. My. And it's spreading. It's spreading far beyond cyber-space. Just look around you. Turn on the T.V.
Satan: I don't watch T.V.
Tom: Oh piss off, you righteous bastard.
Satan: I wonder if I can get AOL to sue you...
Satan: Nothin' much. What are you doing today?
Tom: Ah, just the usual. Went to the beach, got a lesson later, come home, try and get some school work done, maybe see Kelly. I thought of something though.
Satan: What's that?
Tom: You know how the seventies were supposedly the "ME" generation or decade or whatever? I figured out what this decade is.
Satan: Well?
Tom: This is the "MY" generation.
Satan: How do you figure?
Tom: Well, it's still about getting ahead of your neighbor, your friends, and/or your family, but the fashionable way of going about it seems to be much more infantile than ever before.
Satan: How so?
Tom: Well, look no further than this here computer: you got MY AOL, MY Documents, MY Buddylist, MY Plaything, MY this, MY that, mine, mine, more me, less you. What's yours is mine and what's mine is mine. Mine. My. And it's spreading. It's spreading far beyond cyber-space. Just look around you. Turn on the T.V.
Satan: I don't watch T.V.
Tom: Oh piss off, you righteous bastard.
Satan: I wonder if I can get AOL to sue you...
20020904
Putting my cum-soaked sheets into the washing machine, I began to wonder how many other cum-soaked sheets are put into the washing machine on a daily, monthly, even yearly basis. I still cringe at the thought; even though there are only 8 apartments in my complex, that poor washing machine must be a veritable stew of human bodily fluids. I'll bet the residue alone is virulent enough to impregnate an 80-year old woman and give her 3 different strains of herpes at the same time.
No no no.
That's not at all the way to begin today's entry.
Satan: That's really fuckin' gross man. Why don't you talk about what you got in the mail today?
Tom: The invitation to Cheryl and Aaron's wedding?
Satan: Sure.
Tom: What is there to say? One of my best friends is getting married to a woman who truly loves him. I'm happy for them.
Satan: Bullshit. Tell the world how you really feel.
Tom: Well shit, I dunno...My first memory of Cheryl is from back at the house on Maryland Street. I walked up, she said, "Hi, I'm Cheryl", I introduced myself, and she's been just that friendly ever since.
Satan: But...
Tom: But Aaron, on the other hand, is a total loss. For eight years I've done what I could for the boy but alas, come October 26th, he's out of my hands.
Satan: Yikes...
No no no.
That's not at all the way to begin today's entry.
Satan: That's really fuckin' gross man. Why don't you talk about what you got in the mail today?
Tom: The invitation to Cheryl and Aaron's wedding?
Satan: Sure.
Tom: What is there to say? One of my best friends is getting married to a woman who truly loves him. I'm happy for them.
Satan: Bullshit. Tell the world how you really feel.
Tom: Well shit, I dunno...My first memory of Cheryl is from back at the house on Maryland Street. I walked up, she said, "Hi, I'm Cheryl", I introduced myself, and she's been just that friendly ever since.
Satan: But...
Tom: But Aaron, on the other hand, is a total loss. For eight years I've done what I could for the boy but alas, come October 26th, he's out of my hands.
Satan: Yikes...
20020903
Tom: I started school today.
Satan: So?
Tom: 17 units. Almost all music classes except for French II.
Satan: mmm-hmm...
Tom: What the fuck's your problem?
Satan: Is school what defines you as a person?
Tom: Shit no. I happen to LIKE going to school; it exposes me to new things.
Satan: Then what are you all excited about?
Tom: Who said I was excited?
Satan: You're having an identity crisis aren't you? Jesus Christ, you go to a beautiful foreign country, smoke acres of weed, almost go insane on mushrooms, come home, and expect things to be business as usual? When's the last time you completely reshuffled your surroundings and DIDN'T take stock of who and what you are? You have no job, no band, new love, and an ever growing pessimism towards existence in general. I'd say it's perfectly normal for you to feel the way you do.
Tom: So what do I do? Is it really just going to be this way from time to time?
Satan: Fucked if I know, man. Love your girlfriend, love your family, love your friends, read good books, read bad books, initiate incredible orgasms, create things, be kind to animals, be kind to people that ask you for things, and above all, don't panic. Perhaps spend a little less time getting high and always, always remember to breath.
Tom: Ya fuckin' bitch.
Satan: So?
Tom: 17 units. Almost all music classes except for French II.
Satan: mmm-hmm...
Tom: What the fuck's your problem?
Satan: Is school what defines you as a person?
Tom: Shit no. I happen to LIKE going to school; it exposes me to new things.
Satan: Then what are you all excited about?
Tom: Who said I was excited?
Satan: You're having an identity crisis aren't you? Jesus Christ, you go to a beautiful foreign country, smoke acres of weed, almost go insane on mushrooms, come home, and expect things to be business as usual? When's the last time you completely reshuffled your surroundings and DIDN'T take stock of who and what you are? You have no job, no band, new love, and an ever growing pessimism towards existence in general. I'd say it's perfectly normal for you to feel the way you do.
Tom: So what do I do? Is it really just going to be this way from time to time?
Satan: Fucked if I know, man. Love your girlfriend, love your family, love your friends, read good books, read bad books, initiate incredible orgasms, create things, be kind to animals, be kind to people that ask you for things, and above all, don't panic. Perhaps spend a little less time getting high and always, always remember to breath.
Tom: Ya fuckin' bitch.
20020829
After
sitting in a chair, leaning back
one leg crossed over the other
pensively smoking a long cigarette
24 hours ago I was not a man
I was an animal
cut loose from anything and everthing familiar
flying too high in an infinite prison
all around, on every side of me
all things were possible
and now I have the feeling
it make take years to sort it all out
sitting in a chair, leaning back
one leg crossed over the other
pensively smoking a long cigarette
24 hours ago I was not a man
I was an animal
cut loose from anything and everthing familiar
flying too high in an infinite prison
all around, on every side of me
all things were possible
and now I have the feeling
it make take years to sort it all out
20020827
20020824
Febo Rules
Sometimes I dream about visiting other cities in other countries. I don't really give a shit about monuments or landmarks or bright sunshine or clubs or shopping or any of the usual tourist bullshit. I dream about finding a place where, if you so desire, people will leave you the fuck alone and let you do what you want. Solitude is a more extraordinary thing than most people realize or desire. I'm sure I'll never find exactly what I'm looking for. But Amsterdam is pretty fucking close.
Sometimes I dream about visiting other cities in other countries. I don't really give a shit about monuments or landmarks or bright sunshine or clubs or shopping or any of the usual tourist bullshit. I dream about finding a place where, if you so desire, people will leave you the fuck alone and let you do what you want. Solitude is a more extraordinary thing than most people realize or desire. I'm sure I'll never find exactly what I'm looking for. But Amsterdam is pretty fucking close.
20020823
Fun With a Student's Life
I am currently seated in front of my mother's computer, quietly seething, as I have just been informed that I am "not eligible for a federal Pell grant." For those of you who don't know, the Pell grant is the grant that actually affords poor people the opportunity to attend college. With the Pell grant, it's almost possible to pay for tuition, books, parking, gas, supplies, etc. Without it...you're fucked. I cannot possibly imagine why I am not eligible for the grant. Last year I was still considered a dependent and my income was almost 100% greater than this year. Now, I am considered independent and I've made horseshit compared to 2000. Yet, for some reason, my expected family contribution shot up from 0 to $5,385.
At this very moment, I can completely justify all forms of hatred in the universe. I want to destroy all. I want to torture everybody associated with FAFSA until they scream for mercy, so I can coldly remind them that they are "not eligible for mercy." Fucking bastards...
I am currently seated in front of my mother's computer, quietly seething, as I have just been informed that I am "not eligible for a federal Pell grant." For those of you who don't know, the Pell grant is the grant that actually affords poor people the opportunity to attend college. With the Pell grant, it's almost possible to pay for tuition, books, parking, gas, supplies, etc. Without it...you're fucked. I cannot possibly imagine why I am not eligible for the grant. Last year I was still considered a dependent and my income was almost 100% greater than this year. Now, I am considered independent and I've made horseshit compared to 2000. Yet, for some reason, my expected family contribution shot up from 0 to $5,385.
At this very moment, I can completely justify all forms of hatred in the universe. I want to destroy all. I want to torture everybody associated with FAFSA until they scream for mercy, so I can coldly remind them that they are "not eligible for mercy." Fucking bastards...
20020814
I was coming home on Sunday, driving my sister's car. A large man with tattoos driving a lifted Ford Bronco pulled off the exit in front of me. When we rolled up to a stoplight he pulled over and spit at me. After that he pulled into an adjacent Rite-Aid parking lot and waited. I told my sister about it after I returned her car and she said the guy probably thought I was gay. That made sense: I am tall and thin; my sister's car has pink seat covers, Power Puff Girls stickers, and a license plate frame that says "Bitch".
What I don't understand is why he took time out of his day to harass someone he thought was a homosexual. I was on my way home to get ready for a date with a woman. Wherever he was going wasn't important enough to prevent him from annoying me. I can't help but think that if he indulged in regular sex with a caring, attractive woman, he wouldn't have had the time nor the inclination to bother me.
What I don't understand is why he took time out of his day to harass someone he thought was a homosexual. I was on my way home to get ready for a date with a woman. Wherever he was going wasn't important enough to prevent him from annoying me. I can't help but think that if he indulged in regular sex with a caring, attractive woman, he wouldn't have had the time nor the inclination to bother me.
20020812
20020811
Since I'm quitting my job to go to Europe a Taiwanese lady I work with invited me to her house for a barbecue. She has good taste in classical music so I went. There were a few other people from work there too, including the vice-president's mom and dad who were also from Taiwan. After we finished eating we went into the living room for a soiree of sorts. She called her children in, a boy of fourteen and a girl of thirteen. I fully expected it to be an awkward show-off session, obviously instigated for the sole purpose of impressing us at the children's expense. To the contrary, they seemed to enjoy it at least as much as the rest of us did. The son, Robbie, performed a Kabelevsky piece on violin with his father on piano. The daughter played a few pieces on the cello after which the mother, Rose, asked me to play. By that time I was happy to do so but I wanted to break the mold a bit, so I played them a solo rendition of my own piece "You Be Quiet". They liked it well enough and asked me to play something else, so I borrowed their acoustic guitar and whipped out the Beatles' "Girl".
After that the father, son, daughter, and I took turns on the piano. They all played well and the father turned out to be a very good sight-reader. I couldn't resist showing off my chops so I played a bit of Mozart's "Turkish March". It turned out to be a very enjoyable evening and reinforced my desire to one day have children if for no other reason than to have my own band.
After that the father, son, daughter, and I took turns on the piano. They all played well and the father turned out to be a very good sight-reader. I couldn't resist showing off my chops so I played a bit of Mozart's "Turkish March". It turned out to be a very enjoyable evening and reinforced my desire to one day have children if for no other reason than to have my own band.
20020810
Last night I had an unexpected opportunity to see Weezer at Irvine Meadows. Murray Webb, a friend and former coworker (soon to be of "Murray File" fame), had an extra orchestra ticket. I like the green album a lot so I decided to go. Sparta and Dashboard Confessional opened up for them and I would have been completely happy paying $25 just to see Sparta. They appeared to be by far the youngest of the three bands, somewhere in their mid-twenties by my estimations, thus making them a full decade older than the average audience member. They played with complete urgency, something I found the other bands to be lacking in.
Some other highlights of the show included:
Murray bumped into someone as we were walking back from a beer stand. The guy started to get in Murray's face so I stepped in between them, looked him in the eye, and said, "Don't fuckin' do it." He gave me a look like "Alright then, I'll kick your ass", and just then a large woman walked right into the beer I was holding in my right hand. She started cussing at both of us so we went back to our seats.
When we got back to our seats there were a couple of hot chicks in our place and they hung out with us for the rest of the show. Somehow they had gotten ahold of some VIP passes from a backstage assistant. I asked one of the girls if the assistant was cute and she said, "Not as cute as you guys." Despite the encouragement I didn't think we'd really be able to compete with real live rock stars, so we left.
We made it back without getting pulled over.
Some other highlights of the show included:
Murray bumped into someone as we were walking back from a beer stand. The guy started to get in Murray's face so I stepped in between them, looked him in the eye, and said, "Don't fuckin' do it." He gave me a look like "Alright then, I'll kick your ass", and just then a large woman walked right into the beer I was holding in my right hand. She started cussing at both of us so we went back to our seats.
When we got back to our seats there were a couple of hot chicks in our place and they hung out with us for the rest of the show. Somehow they had gotten ahold of some VIP passes from a backstage assistant. I asked one of the girls if the assistant was cute and she said, "Not as cute as you guys." Despite the encouragement I didn't think we'd really be able to compete with real live rock stars, so we left.
We made it back without getting pulled over.
20020808
20020807
"Love is against the law. Fucking is allowed."
My sister's friend arrived early and I offered her pate and cabernet. I am good at keeping plants and I am kind to bugs. I won't try to sleep with a woman unless she makes me laugh and/or has good taste in music.
The only solution, as I see it, is to become a homosexual.
Yet I find myself continually attracted to the female form: their tender breasts that yield to the touch; silky smooth stomachs seemingly made to caress and explore; long, creamy thighs that you could suck on for a day or two and their luscious, succulent lips that long for my kiss.
My sister's friend arrived early and I offered her pate and cabernet. I am good at keeping plants and I am kind to bugs. I won't try to sleep with a woman unless she makes me laugh and/or has good taste in music.
The only solution, as I see it, is to become a homosexual.
Yet I find myself continually attracted to the female form: their tender breasts that yield to the touch; silky smooth stomachs seemingly made to caress and explore; long, creamy thighs that you could suck on for a day or two and their luscious, succulent lips that long for my kiss.
I took a beginning piano class at Southwestern Community College many moons ago. I thoroughly enjoyed the class, and the teacher loved me. I actually learned some stuff, and I got a little better at the piano. One thing I noticed, while I was taking the class, was my propensity to change the written music on the page without even realizing it. The teacher would usually catch me and correct me. Then I realized that the reason I changed certain songs was because the way I played them sounded better than what was written. As I reflected on that thought earlier this evening, I came to the conclusion that the purpose of my existence is to correct everybody else's mistakes. So far I'm failing miserably.
20020806
Today we finished watching a movie in French class titled "Momma, There's A Man In Your Bed" or something to that effect. It's about a poor black French cleaning lady who has five children by five different ex-husbands. She works the night shift in an office building in which all sorts of shady dealings take place during the wee hours. The head of the company is framed by one of his associates who is eager to take over as CEO of the company, Blanlet Yogurt. The cleaning lady ends up helping the CEO out of trouble and as a result he winds up falling in love with her and marrying her in a severely ridiculous public ceremony, happily accompanied by her five children and ex-husbands.
It was interesting to note the inherent cultural differences between French and American cinematic drivel. We had a discussion about it in class after the movie and here are some of the more interesting things I thought about:
Francois Mitterand had a long-time mistress who was present at his funeral, along with his wife. I think that's a stroke of cultural honesty the United States is CENTURIES away from.
I am dating a black woman and I don't see her as "black". I see her as a person who laughs at most of my jokes and happens to have darker skin than I do.
I dated an Asian woman and I didn't see her as "Asian". I saw her as a person who used to laugh at some of my jokes and happened to have darker skin than I do.
I dated a white girl and I didn't see her as "white". I saw her as a person who used to laugh at some of my jokes but not the ones I thought were funny. That hurt.
It seems as though I am determined to date the entire spectrum before I call it quits and shack up with your mom.
It was interesting to note the inherent cultural differences between French and American cinematic drivel. We had a discussion about it in class after the movie and here are some of the more interesting things I thought about:
Francois Mitterand had a long-time mistress who was present at his funeral, along with his wife. I think that's a stroke of cultural honesty the United States is CENTURIES away from.
I am dating a black woman and I don't see her as "black". I see her as a person who laughs at most of my jokes and happens to have darker skin than I do.
I dated an Asian woman and I didn't see her as "Asian". I saw her as a person who used to laugh at some of my jokes and happened to have darker skin than I do.
I dated a white girl and I didn't see her as "white". I saw her as a person who used to laugh at some of my jokes but not the ones I thought were funny. That hurt.
It seems as though I am determined to date the entire spectrum before I call it quits and shack up with your mom.
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