July 2005 Archives

I have started a virtual armada. This is because it is easy to do (just need a buddy list) and fun. Listed above are the ships of the Swayze Attack Division. I will be posting stats for these ships in due time. For now, bask in the glory of their names.

So at core, philosophers all have a chronic incurable case of intellectual blue-balls.
-Joshua Archer

Don't drink alone at bars.

I don't mean this in the way you're thinking. I don't mean it in regards to drinking alone. Drinking alone is fine as long as you're doing it for the right reasons: no reason at all. The hazards of drinking alone in a bar are different. Often, you run the risk of inviting company without even knowing it.

I met a couple friends for dinner out in east Santa Rosa earlier this evening. Good food, good times, if a little short. Afterwards they headed over to a movie and I headed off towards home. I didn't quite feel like going home, though, and pulled off the freeway aftger a short while. I felt like having another beer and being in a public place to watch people. So, I do what you do in a situation like that. I went to a dive bar.

It was nice enough. Only a few Harley's out front and even fewer people inside. It was quiet for a Friday night, but, then again, it was only 9:00PM. I picked a quiet corner, around the end of an L-shaped formica bartop, and order a beer. I didn't plan on staying long so I only got a bottle, rather than a pint, and sat there to watch social interations unfold.

A minute or two went by before I caught the eye of another guy at the bar a few seats down around the L-corner. He was about my age, similar height and build. He, too, nursed a bottle of beer. I could tell he'd been there a while both by the dull look on his face and the size of the condensation droplets on the beer bottle.

"Fuckin' left."

I glanced back over at him, neither angry nor concerned, "What, man?"

"She fuckin' left."

I have this effect on people. I am inherently trusted. It's not that I mind. It is interesting, though, how easily others open up to me.

"I'm sorry," I managed.

I hasdn't planned on being there long and, while I didn't owe this guy anything, I figured I could spare 15 minutes to hear him out.

He just sort of stared at the bottle in front of him for a while, carefully peeling the label off only to stick it right back on where it was before. I took a swig of mine and looked back up at Sports Center on the shitty TV in the bar.

"Me too, man. Me too..."

His voiced trailed off as he pulled the label off again and stuck it to the coaster he wasn't using.

"I just..."

I waited for him to finish.

"I've got a lot. I mean, a lot, you know? More than most." Here it was. "I should be perfectly happy. But, she's gone and all I can think about is how much I don't have."

"What was her name, man?"

"Doesn't matter. Doesn't fuckin'...You ever been in love?"

Tough one. Had I? I had to think about it.

"I think so. Once or twice."

"Good, good. Hold on to that. It's worth it, even if it ends."

I smirked, "That why you're here?"

He convulsed a small laugh and swallowed a mouthful of beer. "Fuck you," he said and smiled. I smiled back. Here pushed back on the bar like he was going to get up only to ease himself back again.

"I just want a girl I can go home to every night," he said as he leaned towards me. "One I can rail when I feel like it. One that doesn't give a shit like the others have. Someone relaxed. Someone I can trust. Someone who doesn't need to be around me every second of every day because she knows that I have my life and she has hers and that's okay. One that doesn't call me every 20 minutes when I'm at my place trying to sleep or out with the guys or just trying to be fucking alone."

I've heard this before, I thought. Fuck, I've said this before. But he's skipping around the point.

"Someone who just...understands."

It can be a little discomforting when people unload this stuff on you. Friends and family are one things, complete, drunken strangers present a different story altogether. Especially ones who've probably been drinking since they got off work at 5:00PM. I could tell he was almost done, though.

The door to the bar opened and I could see it was still dusk out. Funny how it still stays light out even after the sun goes down. When the bartender noticed the new patron, he put down the glass he was drying and walked over to my new friend.

"Ride's here, " the bartender said.

The guy finished his beer and looked over at me.

"You drivin'?" I asked.

"No, man. No. Cab."

I don't know if I cared or not, but I felt like I should ask. He stood and looked at me again, hesitating. It looked like he wanted to say something, but standing had made him realize he was more sober than he'd thought and maybe he shouldn't finish his story.

"I just want someone who isn't a fucking cumrag to me."

My turn to laugh. I choked one out and pulled the beer up to my mouth.

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth."

Cold coffee sucks. It's like sex with clothes on: it doesn't make sense and it's awfully uncomfortable.

Not just is that an awesome title, it is a cleverly disguised song reference! Google Imperative Reacion if you're curious. Anyway...

I'm still kind of reeling from my little discovery on Tuesday, though I already know it was a good thing. Joshua and I discussed it and he hit the nail on the head when he said, "[It] makes you sorta sad/nostalgic, but ultimately, it's liberating."

For as big a realization as it was, it hasn't affected me nearly as much as I'd thought it would. Perhaps it's because I really haven't had time alone since I figured it out. Maybe, and I think this is the more plausible explanation, it was that I knew it all along and just didn't want to believe it. It can be hard to give up something you've become used to having.

Ultimately, though, it is liberating and who wants to remain static, anyway? Life is change and it's far more exciting to wonder about who I'll be tomorrow than it is to hold candles for the past. That is energy I can devote to evolving in my own way; to changing my world. It takes more effort than I thought to keep up old habits.

So, as I said before, onward to see what I can discover in myself and others today.

...and sometimes, when they do, you realize things you hadn't thought of before. Such was the case less than a minute ago.

A question has been answered and while I am not immediately better off for it, it is a step in the right direction. I am please I have come to this realization. Now, old things that need to die can to be replaced by newer, more virbant ones.

Onward.

So, by now my strep throat is completely gone. I took my last horse pill this morning. When the doctor gave me the pills she said they might cause an upset stomach and, until today, I was under the impression I had the hardest stomach on the planet.

Listen people, if the little brown-orange med bottle says to take the pills with food, do it.

Ow.

The Current Stache Threat Level has been elevated again. Please take note. That is all.

Here at work we have a nice men's room set up. Two sinks, liquid soap dispenser, a urinal, and two stalls. Nice tiling and the wood-grain pressboard walls for the stalls really add to the appeal. The lighting is UV, but not too bright nor dark. All in all, it's a pleasant restroom experience.

Now, I don't generall concern myself with #2 business in public restrooms. It seems like 90% of the time #1 is a big hassle and I'm left wondering about the fine motor skills and incontinence of those who've used the restroom before me. However, I have grown accustomed to the men's room at work and now feel as if I can "go #2" there if the excretory situation calls for it.

The set up in the mens room is as such. Most everything is along the left wall upon entering the restroom. Sinks, followed by a divider wall, then urnial, then a series of walls that encompass the stall and, at the end of the restroom, the handicapable stall. When I do my business that requires sitting, I usually take the first stall.

It is a pleasant space in there and I can collect my thoughts while going about whatever it is I need to do. It's not very wide, perhaps 4 feet across, nor is it very deep, roughly 6 feet with 2-3 of those feet being taken up by the toilet. It is almost womb-like being all closed in yet you are afforded a certain range of movement. I like this stall.

However, earlier this week I decided to treat myself to something special. I decided to use the handicapable stall. Most everyone else uses that stall anyway so I figured, "Heck! Why not?" So, with grit and determination I walked up to the front of the building where the restrooms are, opened the door, and walked to the back of the restroom to face the mammoth door that hid the stall's magical treasures just on the other side.

It took some effort to open the sizeable door and I was left wondering how a handicapped male would open a door that size. Soon enough, though, I was in basking in the glory that is the large stall. Wide, open expanses of what would have been rolling hills were Nature left to Her own devices greeted me. The walls streched up to the skies as if to say, "Welcome. You are home now." It was breathtaking.

I jogged over to the toilet and began my business. As I sat there, though, something seemed wrong. I couldn't place it at first, but as the second streched into a minute, I realized what it was: the freedom of the handistall was too much. The change was too drastic too quickly and there I was, moments from the panic attack of culture shock, quite literally with my pants down.

The once warm, greeting fields of tile now scowled at me. The walls seemed to strech further and further apart, leaving me in the middle with no protection whatsoever. I felt that at any moment the roof would open up and there I would be, in the middle of business, completely visibile to everyone.

That sort of thing does not take me very long anyway and I was done soon enough. I cleaned up and raced out of the stall. "Good riddance!" I said to myself as the door close behind me. I walked past my regular stall on the way to the sink and stopped for a moment. A slight smile cross my lips as I thought of the silliness of what I'd just done. I nodded at my old stall and continued to the sink.

The rest of the week has been fairly uneventful. Switching up my stalls is about as much excitement as I can fit into a month, so I imagine things will be smooth sailing for a while. I think it's important to think outside the box; to the push the limits of comfort. Otherwise, it is difficult to grow as a person. Now, however, I don't believe changing stalls is a necessary test of one's comfort zone. Number 2 is an inherently uncomfortable and shameful business to begin with and there is no need to go making it any worse.

I am currently conceptualizing two stories.

One is about a monkey named M-Dawg. Ideally, it will be presented in a children's book format, but will definitely not be geared towards children.

The second is a comic book about the lamest super heros and villains ever.

Those are all the details I'm comfortable divulging now. More to come depending on if I can flesh any of this out or not.

Void Construct rocks. I hate that their website is down. I fear they've broken up.

The stache still rocks.

My antibiotics are handling the strep throat nicely.

At a BBQ on Saturday I decided that butterscotch cheesecake would be a delicious thing to make. So, yesterday, I made one. It came pretty damn good. Below are the ingredients and recipe.

Butterscotch Cheesecake

• Crust
• 1 package chocolate graham crackers
• 3 tbls butter
• 1.5 tbls sugar


• Filling
• 3 8oz. packages cream cheese
• 1/2c sugar
• 2 tbls flour
• 1-3/4c butterscotch chips (one 11 oz package)
• 2 tbls milk
• 4 eggs

The crust is pretty easy to do. Preheat your oven to 325F. Crush the package of graham crackers till they're a pretty fine powder. I generally crush them loosely with my hands into a large ziplock freezer bag then close the bag and roll it with a rolling pin. Melt the butter in the microwave and mix the crumbs, butter and sugar in a bowl, making sure to work the butter into the crumbs with your fingers. I use less sugar in the crust because I don't want it to be too sweet. We're making butterscotch here. That's pretty damn sweet. Spray a 9-inch spingform pan with Pam for Baking (it's slightly sweetened). Pack the crumbs down in the pan pretty tightly and cook for 10 minutes.

Now for the filling. Using an electric handbeater, beat the cream cheese, sugar and flour until smooth. I like to leave the cream cheese on the counter for a little while to let is soften. Put the butterscotch chips in a bowl with the milk and microwave for a minute on high. Stir the chips. If they're not all melted, microwave again for 30 seconds and stir. Do so till all the chips are melted. One everything's mixed together properly, add the butterscotch mixture to the cream cheese and beat together until smooth.

Then add the eggs one at a time making sure to fully mix the egg and cheese/butterscotchg mixture before adding the next one. Once all the eggs are added, pour the filling onto the crust, making sure there's an even distribution. Preheat your oven to 350F and bake on the center rack for 45 minutes. When done, remove the cake from the oven, separate the filling from the side of the springform pan with a knife, and place in the fridge to chill for 3 hours or so.

Tada! Butterscotch cheesecake. It was pretty damn good. This being the first time, I havne't quite perfected the recipe yet, but when I do, I'll let you all know. Until then, enjoy.

I have strep throat. Possibly have had it for a while. Who knows? This is the pill I have to take twice daily. Seriously, medical science, what the fuck? Can't you design anything smaller? It's the size of my fucking thumb! I could choke cats, chihuahuas, and most small children with a pill this big! Well...at least it's not a suppository.

I have also been advised to follow the BRAT diet: bananas, rice, apples, toast. All plain.

Yay.

At the request of millions, here is the current status of the stache. Enjoy.

In keeping good records, I have elevated the current mustache threat level.

We are now at Cary Grant.

Why do I get melancholic every time I hear that song?

It was a rhetorical question. I know why.

...

"I ain't missin' you..."

Going to bed at a decent hour is good.
Getting up when your alarm goes off is good.
Eating breakfast is good.

What follows is a short list of dreams I had last night. Mind you, none of these were the result of excessive drinking. The were, as it turns out, the result of waking up roughly every 45 minutes, sitting up in bed, looking around, then falling back to the pillow thinking, "I'm going to wake up in 45 mintes." Enjoy.

Sleepytime Craziness

• Shooting zombies with M249 machine gun is frustrating


• Realizing, much to my dismay, that headshots do not kill nor even seem to damage zombies


• Despite the efforts of a group of 5 highly trained scientists, Frankenstein's monster will never be a reality


• The 1966 Volkswagon Beetle is a ton of fun to drive


• Unaided human flight is easier than I anticipated


• I should leave hostage negotiations to professionals

I seem to have a decent number of zombie-centric dreams. This is cause for some alarm as I don't think the populace, in general, as zombie-related dreams. The sheer randomness of the dreams is interesting, though. For example, between 1AM and 2AM I dreamt about hostage situations, but between 2AM and 3AM I was shooting zombies in the head (which, as I said, had no effect).

I'm going to be at 8 tonight.

This is getting ridiculous, the focus on others rather than on the self. There's a reason shrinks have shrinks; they're too scared to turn their tools inside. They don't want to know what they'll find so, instead, they find it in others. But what happens when the others find it in them? I'll show you...

Operation Stache
Phase 1:
   Status...................complete
Phase 2:
   Status...................in progress

I have successfully completed phase one of OpStache. However, it is the easiest of the phases and its completion should come as a surprise to no one. It simply consisted of not shaving for a week then, when shaving, leaving the area to be mustachioed alone.

I do have an unfortunate handicap, though. It seems that I have sparse hair growth around the corners of my mouth. This is not uncommon, but difficulties arise when attempting to grow the white trash mustache as the area of the upper lip is not connected to hair growth down the side of the mouth and chin.

However, I have decided to combat this with stealth by first shaving all but the standard mustache area. I will then let the mustache grow out, past the corners of my mouth thereby giving the illusion of connectedness. Once this is complete, I will simply not shave for a week or two, then shave out the areas down the sides of my mouth and chin.

It is, in a word, ingenious. It was also Joshua's idea. Thanks, man.

Semper Ebrius!