Olympic-level disinterest

All I can say about it is: I just don't care about the Olympics. China's apparently a shamefully smoggy nation that backed out on all the pretty promises it made to entice the Olympic games into hosting there.

The games just have no appeal to me, and I don't think they ever did. It's like the run up to a Presidential election, which we'll see again soon enough: a bunch of bullshit that interrupts the true and best purpose of my television set: entertainment programming.

Boundless apathy; can't wait til it's over.

Screaming

Sometimes, when the music is up real loud, and the sound rampages through my head and it swirls into a formless cacophony, I hear sirens, babies crying or phones ringing. I don't know what that means, if anything.

CCTA

I've gone and joined a small political organization in my area. I'm not too sure what they're all about yet, but if they chase the rainbows they've advertised that they chase, it could be a worthwhile investment of time and energy.

Or, they could be the nuttiest gaggle of kooks this side of the Sierra Nevadas; but that's the gamble you take on any group of hominids these days, so what have I got to lose? I look forward to finding out.

Got my new HDD adapter, works well

I did finally get my hard drive adapter, and it works really well. True to my procrastinating nature, I have yet to download the data therein, which I have coveted so greedily ever since the Big Crash. I'm different.

Try, try again, to adapt

I bought an adapter recently to try and overcome the loss of data that occurred when my laptop failed and I was left wishing I'd made more recent backups. The adapter gizmo I bought should have installed inside my desktop machine's case and allowed me to use the laptop drive like a regular hard drive.

For reasons about which I'm still uncertain, it didn't work. The desktop didn't recognize the drive, as if I should done something different with the jumpers. Since I don't have laptop jumpers nor a simple/nearby place to get them, I went a different route.

I've gone and ordered a USB hard drive enclosure, that should give me similar functionality without the hassle of cracking the case and diggling with jumpers. Who needs that?

UFC for you and me

Another big-name UFC event tomorrow night, and I'm pumped to see it. I tried to get a couple of pals over to help me watch it, but they had contravening plans. Dicks.

So, I've got a line out for one or two other gents who want to watch sanctioned brutality and drink beer. And if they don't make it, I'll be equally happy to watch it all by myself. I like that I'm happy in my own company.

Dry

It's an odd thing, to blog about how much you drink, or how much you don't. I do odd things, though...

For the last several weeks, I'd zip home from work and crack open a beer, and several (less than six, invariably) of its little brothers. It gets to be a habit. Sometimes, it gets to be a little more than that. There are several things I've come to dislike about my afternoon ritual; chief among them, the bleached-out feeling my body has the next morning.

Not hung over, but certainly and significantly minus the zest for life. It feels very much like my vital organs have been thoroughly rinsed of some essential chemicals they normally produce, the ones that put a twinkle in my eye, and pep in my step. Like I said: not hung over. No nausea nor headache, and it leaves me with a perfectly reasonable amount of energy and alertness, but not a bit more. It occurs to me that if I didn't drink on such a regular basis, this effect wouldn't be so prevalent. Apparently, it's a cumulative efffect.

That, plus weight gain and low resistance to voracious snacking are enough to give one pause to look around and take stock of just how one got here. The truth is, I have no problem with chemically tweaking your mood or even consciousness. Coffee, pot, alcohol, any reasonable adult should be able to avail himself of these, as long as he keeps his head on straight. Perhaps I am straightening my head at this point.

But like I said, it's become a habit, and not an altogether good one. This is particularly unfortunate, as I am very much a creature of habit. It is similar but distinctly different from what I'd call an addictive personality. I get in my ruts and I stick with them, generally. But as I've gone along, I've looked for reasons to enjoy loosening up with a small gaggle of beers, and that's fine by itself. Now I find that I must reacquaint myself with the reasons for not drinking. I find it useful to list them here:

• The morning after - even when hangover is not a concern, I find that his milder, sneaky little brother (shall I call him "Hangunder?") is a regular, unwelcome guest the next morning, after as little as two glasses of wine. When I don't drink, I can greet the next morning with energy, optimism and mirth that delights others and myself. I am often that obnoxiously happy jerk that people love to hate. How can I give that up?
• The crash - after the period of euphoria and well-being pass, and they always do, I find myself tired, irritable and generally wrung-out. I justify it to myself by noting inwardly that I would usually be spent by this time of night anyway, so I'm really not missing out. There is truth in this marketing message from my indulgent self, but it is not absolute. Yes, I get tired at the end of the day even without beer, but it is not such a wearing and cranky fatigue as sets in after a few Heinekens.
• Constipation. 'nuff said.

So, although contemplating the benefits of "not drinking" seems at first a meditation of the blandest sort, it turns out to be a worthwhile endeavor. It reveals benefits that are subtle but run deep. They're worth exploring.

It's in all the papers - I love my wife.

I made this for my wife's MySpace Comments area:

An old enemy comes creeping back

What's my problem?

At my last job, as I've written before, I allowed an unhealthy frame of mind to dictate the structure of my work, allowed a cranky, negative voice to rent space in my head.

It's not all just my weak-mindedness, although that does play its part. It's a condition brought on by too much to do, the unwillingness to say 'no' to more projects when asked, and an inability to compartmentalize and maintain perspective under stress.

There, I said it. Typing it out makes it feel like a dirty secret, but I don't think there's anything to be embarrassed about. It's precisely that compulsion to deny a problem that exacerbates it. Follow that line, and before you know it, you get a repeat of two or three years that were among the shittiest in my life, culminating in the monstrosity that was early 'o7. Let's not do that again, shall we?

It causes me to lose what is probably the best asset of my personality: my sense of humor. I lose that, I might as well shoot myself. It's the only thing that balances out my cynicism, my negativity. I can easily imagine every good person in my life dropping me like a hot turd in that event.

What to do? Luckily, solutions are available.

Do more. One thing I have found to be as reliably true as anything else in this life is that if you want more, give more. Do more. Be more. Working to do less and less, avoiding work and responsibility creates an internal culture of fear and withdrawal, making it impossible to grow and break new ground. However, working to maintain a positive, even aggressive attitude, saying to the world: "I shall stop fearing the world; rather, let them fear what I may do" is hugely more useful and productive. It projects my focus outward, leaving less attention for navel gazing and fixation on the self, especially the negative aspects thereof.

I find that if I abandon the opportunity to goof off at work, to eschew procrastination, I can get through intimidating tasks more easily than expected. Putting my head down and actually doing what I'm paid to do allows me to reach a point where secondary, even leisure activities can be addressed without shame or unfavorable consequences. Sloughing off tasks is a seductive but poor habit to get into.

This is not the last word in pulling my head out of my ass. There must be additional answers and techniques involved with improving my workplace happiness and attitude. But, this is likely a cornerstone of a comprehensive solution. Good for me.

One more gift

I am very fortunate to have received the triathelete of birthday gift lists this year: lean and muscular, no fat, no waste. I've truly and sincerely valued everything I've gotten, from the small to the grand, and goodies continue to trickle in. One last thing I'd like though, is something I will give to myself: the gift of organization.

When I was younger, leaner, handsomer (really, it is possible), I was more organized. And a millionaire, I was very rich. Hey, it's my nostalgic moment, get your own if you don't like it!

One thing that was true though, was that I was organized. I knew where things were, or at least where they ought to be, should I need them. Back then, for a brief time, I was single.

As much as I'd like to pretend that I was some alphabetizing dynamo, it was more to the point to say that a) I had less stuff to spread out and lose, and b) I was the only one to move things around. I might (might?) get drunk and hide things from myself, but I was the only one to worry about.

It is only coincidentally true that I am now married and sloppy. Now, I am a disorganized slob, my home a disheveled wreck at a crisis point that I'd be embarrassed to show to a crackhead. I have lots of stuff (note to self: material wealth not the key to happiness), but as often as not I can't find a lot of it. This is just not the me I want to be.

In my defense, I am not totally shiftless. It is a busy life. I get lots of things done, things that matter. I just don't have this one thing that is an important piece of my psyche. I have an innate need to be able to find things that I know I have, and to use them without an inordinate amount of difficulty. I must accommodate this need, at least somewhat, if I am to be happy.

I have the tools of organization, I just haven't employed them. So, this year I've decided to work towards a life containing bare tabletops, indexed files and possessions that are grouped and arranged to the point where one doesn't have to move two of them to access a third. I hope to walk through a bucolic nirvana where stumbling over items is something does in inebriation, not with claustrophobic regularity. I hope to climb a mountain of dear belongings and outright junk and discriminate between the two!

I hope to become: more organized.

Creative cramp

Every workday (every good day anyway, and that's most of them), I sit in my car, going to and/or from work, and I wish... I wish I had a little more time to do the things that present themselves to my mind on such days. Draw. Videotape. Practice guitar/French/whatever. The trouble is, even when this free time wanders over and sits in my lap, I procrastinate.

Sometimes I procrastinate actively - I find "better" things to do. My favorite is housework. I'll do loads of dishes and laundry, pick up the clutter and maybe pick up a less pro-forma task or two. Often though, dishes are set, laundry is at a non-critical stage, and I will still sit and stare idly at the guitar, the French textbook, the camcorder and the whatever.

Sometimes, I procrastinate passively. Watch TV, browse the web or noodle around with something that has no possible redemptive value.

Every now and then though, something in my inherently self-defeating mind will fail, and I'll actually commence to creating something. I like those times. They're usually preceded by the unusual combination of a) a good idea, and b) the organization of said idea into a thumbnail, or some other structured planning. If I carry that structure long enough to sneak it past my own mildly destructive qualities, it's a fair bet that something (I consider to be) useful will come of it.

Those are good times. I should concentrate on improving that rough formula into a work ethic; right now though, UFC fighting is on, and I've been meaning to catch up on John Bizarre's website. He's very funny.

New 'top

I am currently blogging from and building the foundation of my new laptop.

Dell hurt my feelings last time (by sneakily denying me a Windows XP CD and not warning me that their Inspirons suffer from a design flaw that will surely and unexpectedly booty-hump them), so I excluded them from my search for a new portable lap-lover.

I ended up getting a new HP from Best-Buy, finding the right mix of features vs. cost. It so far is quite acceptable, and although I do not yet love Windows Vista Home Premium, I am still open to it. Time will tell the tale.

So, I soldier on through the somewhat tedious, yet still enviable, task of setting up a brand-spanking-new machine.

New bells, new whistles. What fun.

Perfect birthday

I had the best birthday ever yesterday.

I got to spend a lot of time with my wife. We had a couple of local friends over, but nothing big or difficult to prepare for.

The weather was picture perfect: it promised to be hot, but in the afternoon a delightful band of clouds rolled between us and the sun, doing things not only to the temperature but to the view that was better than I could have hoped for. When the sun went down, the stars came out and we bullshitted in the front yard.

I've got toys yet left to play with.

The food, the drink, the company, the weather... just incredible. My thanks to all who came, who called and who wished me a good one. Your wishes paid off.

My brother's birthday may be cooler than mine

My birthday coincides with those of many other notable figures. The one of which I'm proudest is Moe Howard, of the Three Stooges.

My brother's astrological pedigree may be more enviable, however. His includes former French president Georges Pompidou, and P.T. Barnum. That's pretty cool.

...And Bill Watterson, author of Calvin & Hobbes! I wonder if he knows that? He'll be thrilled!

Eight more shopping days til my birthday

My birthday is on the horizon, getting close. Someone asked the other day what i'd like, were somebody looking to buy me a little somethin'. If it's useful, here's my reply:

• Gift certificate from Starbucks
• Gift certificate from Amazon.com or any bookstore in Stockton or closer to Valley Springs
• Field & Stream magazine
• Heineken, Harps or Hefeweizen beer
• The Glenlivet Scotch
• Any red wine you've enjoyed

Or, just an e-mail or a phone call. Just as acceptable.

Inspiron 100 - relinquished the spirit...?

Oh, dear... I am coming to grips with the fact that my Inspiron 1000 (apparently geekspeak for "cheap bastard") laptop has given up the ghost.

It's spontaneously powered down on me once or twice, and I fear that today's was the last gasp. I gots no lights, not even a twinkle, not even on the AC power light. Oh, I am afraid this one's not coming back.

I've been watching the pile of silicon and dog shit degrade for a while. It hasn't done much that indicated a real meltdown, just gotten apparently slower, and the CD/DVD drive hasn't been right in over a year. The hard drive crashed a while back, and that was enough of an ordeal, and now this. Poop.

When the hard drive failed, I learned a few things:

• Dell didn't give me the OS CD's that should have come with it - they waited for me to find out on my own in my darkest computing hour. Shit, they could have e-mailed me at any time, confirmed my address, and shipped them. That would've been the thing to do for a company that valued its customers.
• Dell's Inspiron laptops aren't all that sturdy
• A helpful guy named Rick (working at Dell? I think so, but cannot now remember; nor can I read the e-mail dfrom that time which is on the hard drive of my laptop) read my blogged wail and did contact me, effectively talking me off the ledge. I'd like to buy him some beer.

I don't know that other manufacturers are any better, but I'm certainly going to give them a look, going forward. After all this fun, I'm certainly not happy enough to beeline my dumb, lemming ass back to Dell without comparison shopping.

I would like to be able to recover the data. I know better than to not make frequent backups. Once again, my laziness has caught up with me. Ah, well... C'est la vie.

Factor that

I used to watch "The O'Reilly Factor" regular, if not religiously. I now haven't watched it in many months, and I don't miss it.

One thing that always put me off was the e-mail segment, where some approaches in presenting viewers' e-mails bordered on the dishonest. Most annoyingly, two nutbags with foaming, diametrically opposed complaints ("Bill, you're a card-carrying leftie!" vs. "Bill, you're a conservative kook!") about the show would be presented side-by-side, and then Bill would profess a mystified, head-shaking hopelessness about how both viewers "watched the same show," implying that people who wrote to complain were rabidly ignorant. He'd then dreamily conclude that hapless ol' Bill was just a regular, middle-of-the-road Joe who couldn't catch a fair break. This smarmy feint became quickly tired to everyone but Bill and his producers.

I wonder if they still do that. Not bad enough to start watching again, but I do wonder...

Open mike comedy pleas - posted

In a rare display of follow-through, I have posted several ads on local websites calling for amateur talent to contact me. The purpose: putting together an open mike comedy/spoken word event.

I've posted to craigslist.org, ourvalleysprings.com and MySpace in a cattle call for anyone (preferably stand-ups) who want the chance to perform in front of real live human beings.

There's a lot I don't have worked out, but I'm excited to take a fat swipe at it. Onward!

It's about damned time

Finally, a little shift in momentum. GM announced this week that they'll ease back on gas-guzzling trucks and SUV's, and try to crank out something that doesn't cost a fortune in fuel to drive for a fucking change.

I really had lost hope that anything at all would turn America's sloppy, unintelligent lust for oil away from its course. I knew as well as everyone else that it would take a real kick in the nuts before industrial and political will would start to turn that ship around. In the faceoff between the status quo and good sense, it appears that GM finally blinked, and thank your god for that. I honestly thought it would never happen.

I know it's not everything - it may not even be much. But I allow myself to believe that this is a first step in a process that is too long in starting; that of switching from the endless reliance on fossil fuels, and a move to more sensible, sustainable and contemporary fuel sources.

Customer service sucks

Having worked for years and years in support positions of one variety or another, I can safely say that spending your life in the direct service of others sucks the life right out of you.

Like any other job, its difficulty is magnified exponentially by the degree in which you try to excel. Nurses, technical support jockeys, retail clerks - all these jobs are pretty easy if you're the type to just coast along and make a concerted effort not to give a fuck about the quality of your work and the people it affects. Take it seriously though, and the job's demands will tap your soul like a vampire with a tapeworm.

Working to accommodate the needs of others takes skill, talent, planning and devotion. It's like being the cartilage in a knee, or the squishy rubber of a mountain bike tire, absorbing the impact and jolts and whiplash from every bump in the road, so as not to pass it on to the next guy.

Need something impossible, due to someone else's failure to plan their own life? No problem. Need something done in 5 minutes that usually takes 20? Hey, we'll give it a shot. Need a solution to a problem that isn't even in my field, much less my direct resposibility? You got it, champ. It takes a lot of guts to plant both your feet and shout with determination: "Sir, I am your squishy rubber!"

Not to say that other gigs aren't tough, but they're tough in a different way, I think. Overall, we're all in the business of helping or accommodating someone else, but those who deal face-to-face with those whom they serve know just how exhausting it is, compared to simply appeasing one, pointy-headed boss.

There should be a separate spa for those in the support industry. An oasis just for those who need it most. Hotel clerks, 911 operators, paramedics, teachers, but only the ones who demonstrate a willingness to do a decent job of it. A sanctuary, stocked with lots of booze and pot and hookers, no clocks and no phones but those that dial out. But most of all, they should all have comfortably-appointed soapboxes, constantly manned, where any visitor can plop down and bitch to their hearts content about the people and the predicaments they faced that week, and what geniuses they are for having braved the storm and found a solution to a problem they didn't cause. Because that's what those in the service industry need most: someone to unload on.

And the people on the other side of the soapbox, listening to all the haranguing of these special spa clients...? Heroin. All they want.