Thoughts from above hit the people down below.
kitten   October 31, 2001

I think I should hire someone to follow me around all the time, to say the three words I need to hear when I think my life is falling apart.

Often, I ask why. Why me? I think I behave myself - I've made my mistakes, but certainly I don't deserve half of the wet steaming bullshit that's dropped on me on a weekly basis.

Oh yes. I often find myself wondering why.

"Why, why, why, why, why?"

And at those moments, my hired lackey would tell me:

"Come on now.. You expected differently?"
And I'd look at her (should be a female, I think) and she'd look at me, and I'd sigh. Because she'd be right.

In viewports glowing red.

It's a beautiful world..

[Brak] Life sucks.
[Dan] You're damn right.
[kitten] I concur.
[Brak] Being in IT sucks harder.
[Brak] Ugh.
[Brak] Fuck the economy.
[Brak] Fuck Bush.
[Brak] Fuck Osama bin Laden.
[kitten] Fuck traffic.
[kitten] Fuck the weather.
[kitten] Fuck the utility companies.
[kitten] Fuck girls.
[kitten] Er.
[Brak] Yes.
* kitten coughs.
[Brak] Especially that last one.
[Brak] Fuck managers.
[Krev] fuck parking tags
[kitten] Fuck cops.
[Krev] fuck rent-a-cops
[kitten] Fuck traffic lights.
[kitten] Fuck legislation.
[Krev] fuck car batteries
[Krev] fuck paychecks
[Brak] Fuck power locks.
[kitten] Fuck Daylight Savings.
[Brak] Fuck computers.
[Krev] fuck money
[kitten] Fuck phone companies.
[Krev] fuck the color spectrum
[Brak] Fuck Afganistan.
[Dan] Fuck leaping to conclusions.
[kitten] Fuck my rampant paranoia.
[kitten] Fuck this laptop.
[Dan] Fuck stupidass insiniuation, assumption, and bullshit.
[kitten] Fuck PowerPoint.
[Brak] Fuck Microsoft.
[Brak] Fuck Cisco.
[Brak] Fuck IBM
[kitten] Fuck routers and gateways.
[kitten] Fuck banks.
[Brak] Fuck IPv6.
[Dan] Fuck student loan officers.
[kitten] Fuck late fees, deposit fees, withdrawal fees, and service fees.
[Brak] Fuck college
[kitten] Fuck customer support hotlines.
[Dan] Fuck public transportation.
[Dan] Fuck private transportation.
[Brak] Fuck cars.
[Brak] Fuck Volkswagen.
[kitten] Fuck the public in general.
[Brak] Fuck football.
[Brak] Fuck people.
[Dan] Fuck baseball.
[Dan] Fuck basketball.
[Brak] Fuck rugby.
[kitten] Fuck Code Red.
[Dan] Fuck Nimda.
[Brak] Fuck Bryan.
[Dan] No, don't fuck Bryan.
Brak] oh
[kitten] haha
[Brak] Yeah, I forgot.
[Krev] fuck the work privellage tax
[kitten] Fuck ad valorem tax.
[Brak] Fuck right-to-work states.
[kitten] Fuck Canada.
[Dan] Fuck non-right-to-work states.
[Krev] fuck me
[kitten] Fuck this.

You see, George? You really have had a wonderful life..

This says it all, really.

[Dan] Why do women exist? Is it just to make me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic?
[kitten] Yes.
[Dan] Oh.

From Atlanta, good morning.

The New Threat: Coca-Cola
kitten   October 28, 2001

From the site

This site is dedicated to our dear son and brother Kevin Mackle, who was found dead in his Residence at Keuhner Hall, Bishop's University, Lennoxville Quebec on December 13th 1998, a day of sorrow for us, his family. A toppled Vendo Model Coca-Cola machine which was put in place, unsecured, by the Beaver Foods Company crushed him.
Ladies and gentlemen, this simple paragraph plunged me into a nightmare world of terror and fear for my life. I drink Coke on a regular basis - would I be the next victim of unsecured and toppled Coke machines?

Wanting to know more about exactly what happened, I read on, hoping to glean information on how I could defend myself against this new threat. I went to the Facts About The Accident section and discovered that

there have been several accidents where venders have been tipped over, causing serious injury or even death. These accidents have been due to the intentional misuse and abuse of the vender by tilting, shaking, or rocking the machine in an effort to obtain free product..
I consider myself to be a fairly articulate person, yet even my linguistic abilities are insufficient to properly express the outrage I felt upon discovering this. We - you, me, everybody - cannot even attempt to steal from a vending machine by tipping it over onto ourselves without fearing for our personal safety.

Is this the sort of world you want to live in? A world where you can't even steal from a Coke machine by tipping it over onto yourself, without worrying that it will be the last course of action you undertake on this mortal coil? I think not.

The machine, weighing over 900lbs, was not secured, nor were there any warning signs on it.
You read that correctly - there were no warning signs on this Coke machine, or any other Coke machines for that matter. How are we supposed to be aware of the inherent dangers in tipping Coke machines on ourselves? We may be stupid enough to think nothing bad will happen when we tip nine-hundred-pound machines on ourselves, but goddammit, we're smart enough to check for warning stickers first. Coke's reluctance to put such warnings on their machines is truly sickening, and a threat to public safety.
The simplest and safest recommendation has not been made, and that is, to secure the machine.
I wholeheartedly agree with this statement. Let's face it - Coke machines are an embarrassing subject to discuss with children. Do you really want the burden and responsibility to sit down with your child and explain to him the dangers of tipping Coke machines onto himself?
Hell no, you wouldn't - and neither would anyone else. The Coca-Cola corporation should protect us from this by bolting the machines to the floor or wall, providing ample warning stickers, so that our children - duly ignorant in the dangers of Coke-machine-tipping - can try to steal from the vending machine without being killed.
A good portion of this Report is devoted to explaining the internal working mechanisms of the Vendo 475. It was known to be faulty when tipped past a certain angle, it yielded a can of Coca-Cola. The students at Bishop's were well aware of this, had in fact been observed by the school janitor tipping it in the Kuehner Hall Lobby for just that purpose. However, on the morning that Kevin was found dead underneath it, there were no loose pop cans. Why not?
An interesting question. It is certainly out of the question that the attempt at theft failed - we should assume that something more happened. Something evil.
there is something terribly wrong with not taking the simple but effective step of securing the machine to ensure the safety of our children. Where is the moral leadership? Or is it that Coca Cola Bottling, - as demonstrated in recent events in Poland, Belgium, and France not only don't seem to care about the contents of their product, neither do they care about the safety of our youth.
Once again, I agree. Coca-Cola is solely responsible for ensuring that people - too stupid to know not to tip half-ton machines on themselves - are safe. Forget parenting - the blame is entirely on the corporation for designing machines that look so innocent and yet are so deadly.
Perhaps the most definitive point of the website is contained in this excerpt:
I appeal to all students to Boycott Coke until all machines are secured. And for Vendo Manufacturing, build pop machines that are less susceptible to top heaviness and the effect of shifting centers of gravity.
If you have a shred of decency and human compassion in you, you'll stop purchasing Coke products until such time that Coke makes their machines safe to steal from. This is our calling, ladies and gentlemen - the time to act is now. We will not go silently into the night.. we will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on.. we're going to be strong! Today, we celebrate our Independence From Evil Coke Day!

The authors of the website - Kevin's parents - are shrewd and unrelenting in their mission to discover the truth. They posit several insightful, hard-hitting questions which they would like to have answered before they will rest. Among them:

How does someone shake a machine without leaving fingerprints? No fingerprints were found on the machine by the police, only "a partial handprint".
It is clear, therefore, that the Coke machine tipped itself over in an effort to give Kevin a free Coke.
Was Kevin really alone or was someone with him who panicked?
This is totally relevent to the issue at hand, and I am appalled that it hasn't been investigated more thoroughly.
Why does the US Government provide Safety regulations when the Canadian Government does not?
Another pointed question. We must also wonder why the US flag has cool stuff like stars and stripes, while the Canadian flag has a stupid maple leaf. The ramifications are far-reaching and terrifying.
Why was the machine located in the Lobby of a student residence, with no warning stickers in place, in a confined area?
Damn straight. There is no reason a Coke machine should be in a confined area in a student dorm - it should be out in the middle of an open field, far away from any people.. people it could kill if they tip it onto themselves.
Why did the Sherbrooke Police play at tilting the machine themselves to see if they could tip it? Is not that the role of experts?
Now that is curious.. why wasn't the Special Operations for 900-pound Coke Machines called in to investigate? Can we safely assume a conspiracy from this?

I implore you.. take a look at the picture of poor Kevin on the front page of the site. Notice the Butterfinger used to lure his massive bulk onto the stage, the dull-witted glee with which he reaches for it. Did this fat fucking idiot deserve to die when he tipped a half-ton vending machine onto his bloated body?

If you will do nothing.. if you will sit idly by and turn an uncaring shoulder to the issue of Fat Fucking Idiots Who Tip Coke Machines On Themselves And Die, then you deserve nothing less than the fate of Kevin Mackle.

Sad girls in the snow.

She's not here, but I can hear her voice.

It hurts to hear her voice. It hurts to hear her voice.

She's not here, but I still find strands of her hair on my pillow. I can still smell her in my sheets.

Why doesn't she answer me?

The wind whistles through the open window as a cloud of Swedish metal makes a blur of concrete and asphalt and dark cold sky. The radio loud, for background noise; I haven't been paying attention to it until now.

She likes this song. She likes this song.

I turn the radio off.

Her ghost is in my car.

I drop into third and the engine revs up, catapulting me across the open road. Her ghost leans over and whispers into my hear - those words that will make it better, those words that I've been waiting to hear for two years. The words

And she isn't really here

that I need to hear

and I don't know where she is

and the engine sputters

I want her to understand

and dies

And I'm left alone on the cold dark asphalt, wondering where I went wrong. The sky is icy and clear, the moon in a waxing phase.
For the second time in my life, I see the moon as a sphere, not just a two-dimensional disc hanging motionless in the sky.
Smoke curls away in a lavender haze from my lips as I hurl the cigarette into the frigid water of the river below, and the ripple distorted contours of the moon's reflection in the flowing black river mocks me, reminds me that nothing is static.

I light another cigarette and it still hurts to hear her voice.

I ain't sayin' nothin' without a lawyer.
kitten   October 26, 2001
[Dan] What's the easiest way to kill someone with your bare hands? Punch to the throat? [kitten] Eh. [kitten] There's a number of ways. [kitten] A punch to the throat will do it nicely. [kitten] You may also wish to consider the benefits of snapping his neck. [kitten] Although this is not as easy as it looks. [kitten] A solid hit to the bridge of his nose is effective as well; drives the cartiledge into his cerebellum if you do it correctly. [kitten] Additionally, you may wish to kick his sternum with enough force to puncture a lung. [Dan] More than likely, though, that'll just break his nose and stun him for a few minutes. [kitten] You may also try a solid kick upwards and into the solar plexus. [Dan] How does one properly snap their opponent's neck? [kitten] Explaining via text is difficult; I'd have to show you. [kitten] Could use Bryan as an example.. [Dan] Haha. [kitten] But you ahve to secure their head first. This is done by wrapping your eft arm (assuming you are right handed) around his chin - your left hand will grasp the back of the right side of his skull. [kitten] With your right hand, grab the lower left of his jaw, and pull it towards the right, with an upwards snapping motion. [Dan] Okay. brb. [kitten] Er.
Something tells me the Feds are going to be knocking on my door shortly..
How are you gentlemen !!
kitten   October 25, 2001

So, you think you know Zero Wing memes inside and out?

Take the All Your Base aptitude test and find out. You know what you doing.

* * *

In other, more serious news: I have absolutely no idea what is going on with anything (those in the know understand this statement, and those who don't need to know, do not), but although I wish to believe, it's difficult - maybe impossible.

And furthermore I don't think it's fair that I should have to be in a constant state of paranoia and suspicion, second-guessing and questioning the validity of every statement. Before, I wouldn't have given it a second thought - now, as soon as something is said, I want to know who, where, and why.

Yes, I'm being deliberately vague. Deal.

Interactive e-solutions for the interweb paradigm.
kitten   October 20, 2001
Now Tom is a real-estate novelist Who never had time for a wife And he's talkin' with Davy Who's still in the Navy And probably will be for life.

And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes, they're sharing a drink they call lonlieness
But it's better than drinking alone..

- Billy Joel, Piano Man

February made me shiver.
kitten   October 17, 2001

Yesterday, I went to pay my bills. Again.
Now, I can't blame the gas company entirely for the ensuing frothing-at-the-mouth annoyance, because it was my fault that I had not learned my lesson from last time, and made the same mistake. Yesterday's episode was essentially a re-run, since I didn't have a copy of my bill with me. Read all about it here.

Because of this "five days to post to your account" nonsense bullshit, however, I am 'officially' past my due date, even though I'm holding a receipt that shows I paid on time.
I discussed this with the customer service representative on the phone, who was almost - but not quite - entirely unhelpful. She informed me that because a payment (mind you, I'm paying in cash) takes five days to "post" to the account, I should take the receipt and drop it off at the "payment center" somewhere in downtown Atlanta.

"Listen, I am not willing to drive twenty miles out of my way to drop a receipt off." "Well, sir, if you don't, the payment will not be posted to your account for five days." "What does that mean?" "It means that they will receive the payment after your due date." "No, wait a second. What's the due date?" "October 17th." "Right, and my receipt says October 16th." "Sir, we don't get that payment for five days." "I'm sorry, that's your fault. I paid a day before it was due, and I have a receipt that says so. If it takes you five days to figure that out, that's your problem, but you'd better not make it my problem." "Sir, there's nothing I can do. Unless you drop the receipt off, we have no way of knowing if you paid until we actually receive the payment five days from now." "Why does it take five days?" "That's just how long it takes to process." "Process what? I paid in cash." "The payment takes five days to post to your account, though." "Yes, you already said that, I'm aware. I'm asking why it takes that long for a payment made in cash. You have no reason to 'hold' the payment. There's nothing to process." "That's how long it takes, sir." "What are those computers for?" "Sir?" "The computer you're sitting in front of right now? Is it linked to anything? Like a network?" "Well, yes...?" "Then I don't see why you can't get with the 21st century and move information around a little faster. Those computers are there for a reason." "I don't understand the question." "I didn't ask a question, ma'am. I'm saying that if you people can't figure out a faster way to move information, that is your problem. I paid today, and if it takes you five days to figure that out because you're living in the 19th century, well, I don't see why I should have to suffer for it."
I'm really bitter about this. I shouldn't have to wake up for the next five days wondering if my shower is going to be hot. Sure, I have a receipt, and sure, if they disconnect me, they'll be in the wrong, and I could probably make a legal case for it - but that won't help me much if I don't have heat in my house.

Speaking of gas, Veronica ran out of it last night. I was on my way to pick Jen up, and as I'm waiting in the turning lane for a left, her engine sputters and dies. So I turn the hazard lights on, jump out of the car, and sprint across the street to a gas station.
Now, this in and of itself is a major annoyance, but what makes it worse is how all these fuckers on the road have to honk at you and give you dirty looks as they go by, because you're blocking them. Hey, I'm sorry, alright? You idiots think I enjoy having a car that doesn't Go? I'm aware that I'm stopped dead in the middle of the road - I don't need ten cars blaring horns at me to bring the fact to my attention. So dieplzthx.

The truth is, I thought that music mattered.
kitten   October 14, 2001

This evening was an interesting dichotomy between the intellectual and the mind-numbingly stupid.

I went to Starbucks for caffiene and to read Hard Boiled Wonderland and The End Of The World (which thus far has surpassed all my expectations, and though I'm not yet close to finished with it, I would recommend to anyone).

I sat outside, because for once the weather was nice - a shockingly rare occurance in Atlanta. Cool temperatures, and that "storm front approaching" feel has been in effect all day. When I woke up this morning, typhoon-level winds were in full force and they have not abated since. I have yet to see a drop of rain, but the winds are there, and the air has that electric feel that comes before a particularly fierce storm.

At any rate, I'm sitting out there, reading my book, drinking my coffee, and refusing punk-ass teenagers who sally up and go "Hey man, can I bum a smoke?" I've found that it really irritates people when they ask that and you simply reply, "No." Not "I'm almost out," or "This is my last one," no excuses or half-baked creative half-truths. Just an unequivical, no-room-for-argument "No."

When reading, my attention is dually focused: I am reading the text before me and considering it (and as Bryan will testify, probably memorizing every word and its position on the page), but there's always a small part of my mind that detaches itself from the act of reading so it can pay attention to what's going on around me.

And that minute part of my conciousness prodded me into looking up from the book and listening to two people, about 18 years old or so, who were discussing physics - specifically, causality.
I was impressed that they were excited about the right things, but I also got the impression that neither of them really knew what the hell they were talking about. It seemed to me that they had only a passing familiarity with the topic - having picked up bits here and pieces there, they both considered themselves knowledgable on the subject.

The need for some hubris-stroking came over me, and I was forced to wander over to them and explain why they were both wrong, delivering a brief but informative (at least, I think it was informative) dissertation on the topic of Hawking radiation and how it is produced.

I enjoy giving lectures, I really do. Most people hate speaking to an audience or to any stranger, but when I know what I'm talking about, I relish the chance to do so. I've heard it said of me that I speak in full paragraphs even when I'm not lecturing, but that I probably think in complete paragraphs when I am. The charge is probably a just one.

During this, I gathered a bit of an audience, up to and including the cop that Starbucks hires to stand outside and make sure the teenagers aren't loitering, skulking, doing drugs, commiting acts of vandalism, and generally behaving like the riffraff that they are.

When I concluded my speech, the girl told me I should be a teacher. I've considered teaching as a profession before, but the utter lack of motivation that is required to pursue the education necessary for teaching credentials gets in my way.

* * * * *

I went back to my book and finished off another two chapters. It was eerie how the weather was mirroring the weather being described in the book during the End Of The World narrative. As I was considering that, that Watching The World part of my brain kicked me again, causing me to look to my right, where some kid was showing some other kid a picture that had been printed off the Internet.

He caught me looking, and goes, "You wanna see?" Curious, I went over to get a better look, and it appeared to be a photo, rendered negative, of the World Trade Center shortly before collapsing. If one were to squint a lot at this blurry image, one might be able to see something that vaguely resembles a bearded face constructed from the smoke pouring from the tower. Or maybe not.

"This," the kid assured me, "has not been touched up or anything. It's the face of Nostradamus."
"Uh huh," I replied, rolling my eyes.
"You know," his friend piped in, "Nostradamus predicted the whole thing."

Bad mistake, friend. Really bad mistake.

"Did he now," I said. "And just where did you get that idea?"
"I've read some of his stuff," he informed me, proudly. Proud of the fact that he's one of those types.. the types that honestly believe in prophets and psychics and seers and other voodoo hocus-pocus claptrap bullshit.
"Then you must be aware of how vaguely worded his 'prophecies' always were," I said.
"Well," the kid retaliated, "you have to know how to interpret it."
"Really?" I asked, not fully believing I was even having this discussion. "Exactly how many times has someone used his prophecies - interpreted 'correctly' of course - to know about something before it happened?"
"Don't bother, I'll tell you the answer: Zero. That has happened a grand total of zero times."
"Well," said the kid, and stopped.
"Well what?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "What's your point?"
"My point is that with something as vaguely worded as this nonsense, it's easy to 'interpret' it as a prophecy of an event after the event happened."
The kid gave me a look. Before he could respond, I went on:"And how many of his prophecies either made no sense or didn't come true at all?" I pressed.
"Yeah, well, sometimes his stuff is impossible to understand, but it's amazing that he got even one in ten things right." says the kid. "I mean, when you look at the odds, he did pretty well."
"You call that amazing? One in ten amiguously worded predictions that may or may not have come true, depending on the 'interpretation'?"
"You know what?" I said. "I predict the color blue, a tennis racket, and the letter H."
"What the fuck?"
"Yeah," I continued, "that's what I predict."

The kid muttered something that I didn't quite catch and wandered back to his table, which was only a few feet from mine. I went back to reading.

About a minute later, a girl wearing a blue jacket, who apparently knew him, walked by and said hi to him. I leaned over and said, "Blue." He ignored me, but I'm certain he heard me. I'm not known for being easy to ignore.

I'd only finished a paragraph or two when I was disturbed by an obnoxiously loud car exhaust - one of those rice-rockets with a Flowmaster muffler that I hate so much. It was a Honda.


"Hey," I said to the kid again, pointing at the car, "there's your letter H."

Kid turns, gives me a derisive glare, and says, "Dude, the letter H could have been anything."
"So could Nostradamus' writings," I countered.
"So where's the tennis racket?" he sneered.
"I don't know. I got two out of three right. That's doing better than Nostradamus."
"No it isn't."
"You said he got about one in ten things right. Two out of three is a little over six in ten."
"That's not the point," the kid says.
"Then what is the point?"
"I, uh."
"Well?" I demanded.
"Why don't you mind your own fucking business?" he explodes.
"The prosecution rests," I declared, and went back to my book.

Stupid people.

My work is never done.

You've Got Stupidity!
kitten   October 13, 2001

So I downloaded Trillian, for the express purpose of being able to use AIM.

Thirty minutes later I uninstalled it. It isn't Trillian's fault per se - it's AIM.

No sooner had I logged on than I was treated to the following intellectual gem of a dialogue:

nightcrawler245: hi asl???
rantingkitten: Fuck off.
nightcrawler245: LOL
nightcrawler245: wats wrong with uranting
kitten: What part of "fuck off" did you not understand?
nightcrawler245: wanna chat??
rantingkitten: No.
nightcrawler245: y not
rantingkitten: Because you're an idiot.
nightcrawler245: lol
nightcrawler245: oic ur not serios
rantingkitten: Uh huh.
nightcrawler245: fuck u

For several years now I have avoided using AIM, because the one or two times I have used it, I found it to be unbearably annoying. The interface is crude, cumbersome, irritating and unprofessional, the sound effects (which took a solid ten minutes for me to remove - don't know if that's AIM or Trillian though) are unbelievably gay, and all in all it's a hopeless pile of ones and zeros that could be better used to spam Sade mp3s nonstop to

The first thing I tried to do was find a 'buddy'. That's what the people on AIM are called - buddies. And the list of people you have is called a 'buddy list'. If anyone can think of a more juvenile and childish nomenclature, I'd be interested in hearing it - 'buddy' anything is going to be hard to beat.At any rate, I wanted to search for a specific person. I had a rough idea of what his "screen name" was, so I typed in part of it, and was informed that I can only search by first or last name.

AOL apparently thinks everyone uses their real names. LOL isn't that funny!!!!1

At this point I decided to test the actual service, so I sent an Instant Messege(tm) to Bryan. When he responded I was greeted with a pestilential noise that would disfigure Hell, and when I replied, an equally hideous auditory assault was inflicted upon me. I wanted to kill myself - or the subhuman monster that designed AIM in the first place.

At some point during the conversation with Bryan, I ended a sentence with a :) emoticon. I find these useful at some junctures, if deployed properly and with discretion, but most people overuse them. Anyway, what happens when you do that in AIM? It doesn't display :) ..rather, it displays a stupid face that is supposed to look like a smiley face. Does anybody find this feature to be cute or useful or funny or clever? because I sure as hell was not amused.

Clicking around on the menu, I discovered that I could send a "warning" to Bryan. So I did. He immediately chastised me, explaining what a "warning" is. Apparently, the more warnings you send to a user (by virtue of clicking "Send Warning"), the "Warning Level Percentage" goes up, and this is inversely proportional to the rate at which that user (or "buddy" if you prefer, which I don't) can send messeges to you. Because you see, AIM is like being in Kindergarten again, where you have to hide behind silly things like that instead of doing the mature thing when a particular user is bothering you, which is

  • Ask him to stop, or
  • Ignore him, or
  • Get rid of AIM altogether because 99% of the userbase is composed of brainless halfwitted teenagers. LOL!!! ROFLMAO!!!11

    Seriously though, why the hemmoraghing fuck would anyone need a "warning"? I felt like I was on the bus in second grade where the bus driver would turn the aisle lights on or off to signal us to quiet down. Or when the teachers would give you little demerit marks on your daily evaluation sheet, and when you accumulated X marks in a given timespan, then Bad Things would happen. But I'm not in third grade anymore - I'm 22 years old - and I'm still being subjected to (or have the potential to be subjected to) the same bloody nonsense.

    So I stopped sending "warnings" to Bryan, and instead focused on trying to add more people to the contact list - er, I mean, Buddy List. I typed in a certain individuals screenname - at least, I thought it was him - and the name was added to my Buddy List. No questions asked. I had no idea if that was even the person I'd wanted, or what. And because he was offline, I couldn't send him a messege for him to pick up later, no sir. That'd be too easy. Instead, I'm apparently supposed to keep my connection active for all eternity, or until the person shows up (whichever happens sooner), just so I can ask "Hey, are you who I think you are? No? Sorry to bother you." But you're forced to do that, because god forbid AIM should let you actually search for a user in a logical manner so you know who the fuck you just added to your Lamer List.

    Yes, my despise for AIM has become more deep-rooted then ever, and I seriously question the mental balance of those of you who actually use it and have no problems with it's inane interface, juvenile antics, silly names, and stupid sounds.

    Personally, I'd sooner take the wages of sin from the painted jezebel than use AIM ever again. But others disagree. Here's an insightful testimonial from an anonymous source:

    "With AOL's Instant Messenger, I can pretend I'm a 12 year old girl and get young boys to talk dirty to me!"

    Suffice to say that I detest AIM more than ever, and if any of you have a problem with it, you are hereby invited to kiss my Volvo-driving ass. And if you don't like it.. I may just have to send you a Warning.

    TTYL. Or something.

    * kitten rolls his eyes

  • Yet again.
    kitten   October 12, 2001

    Once again.

    Seems it happens every two years, at about the same time..

    The "crush kitten like a worthless twig" bi-annual festival. Fun for females the world over.

    It's shaping up to be yet another long, cold, dark, worthless, bitter, lonely winter.

    And like a fool, I fell in love with you
    You've turned my whole world upside down

    Things were finally beginning to look up. I have a job that supplies me with decent income and something to do with my days, and I had a female that supplied me with the notion that I mattered, somehow, to someone.

    only I could turn back time
    If only I could say what I still had

    For a year and a half, I wandered through the realm of Apathy.. not caring what happened to me, because hell, nobody else did.
    That changed in mid-June, or so I thought. She came into my life without warning, without preamble, without fanfare. Before I knew what had happened, I had fallen, completely and utterly, into her. And I went willingly. Never looked back.

    And if she says 'come inside' I'd come inside for her
    And if she says 'give it all' I'd give everything to her

    She dragged me out of the abyss of self-loathing and despair. She gave me the things I thought I'd lost forever. The simple, almost trivial things that matter so much in this cruel and ugly world.

  • Hope. Dreams. Meaning.
  • Happiness. Contentment. Security.
  • A chance to love. A chance to matter. A chance to belong.

    And just as quickly as she'd given it to me, she took it away..

    I always try; I always miss
    One of these days you'll go back to your home
    You won't even notice that you are alone
    One of these days when you sit by yourself
    You'll realize you can't love without someone else
    In the end you will submit
    It's got to hurt a little bit

    And once again, without warning, preamble, or fanfare..
    ..just like that

    she's gone

  • So like.
    kitten   October 8, 2001

    There's this elite Army Ranger, paddling a raft through a canal behind enemy lines. To bolster his courage, he repeats a mantra to himself with every stroke of the paddle: "I'm a Ranger. I'm a Ranger. I'm a Ranger."

    A scout/sniper sees him, and brings his rifle to bear. Sniper sets his crosshairs on the Ranger's head, squeezes the trigger.

    The front of the Ranger's skull comes off.

    And the Ranger keeps paddling. "I'm a Ranger. I'm a Ranger. I'm a Ranger."

    Baffled and angry, the sniper chambers another round, takes aim again, and fires. The bullet crashes into the Ranger's head and comes out clean on the other side before the crack of the rifle is heard - bits of brain and a ghastly red mist.

    The Ranger keeps going. "I'm a Ranger. I'm a Ranger. I'm a Ranger."

    The sniper decides he's had enough. He chambers another round, centers the ruined head of the Ranger in his sights, and fires once more. The shot takes most of the Ranger's head off, leaving little behind but bottom half of his head and the autonomous brain stem, sort of dangling from the spinal cord.

    Thusly satisfied, the sniper puts his rifle away, thinking that without a functional brain, he's logged a confirmed kill.

    And to the sniper's amazement, the Ranger keeps going.. but he's now singing: "From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli.."

    * kitten hides

    Living in a material world.
    kitten   October 7, 2001

    Jen and I went up to Helen yesterday. Now, I'd only seen a few pictures of Helen, and never really heard much about it, but I was excited. The impression I had was that it was a small town that was entirely done up in what can only be described as "alpine" style - it's supposed to resemble a generic village in Switzerland or Austria.

    Well, that's what I thought.

    It's not really a town. Helen is basically a few square blocks out in the middle of nowhere, and it isn't a town - it's basically a theme park. There's shops and restaurants and not much else.

    Oh, I had fun, don't misunderstand - but I was kind of disappointed, too. I had this illusion that going to Helen was going to be like going to Vienna, and instead it was like going to Disneyland. But still - it was worth it. There was quite a festival going on for Oktoberfest as well, but what really shattered the illusion was the yokel factor there. You'd walk into some tourist-trap shop (actually, let's be honest - the entirety of Helen is a tourist trap) and watch the glass-blower guy make stuff, and suddenly you hear

    "Hay Maw, lookit! They's got tay-sharts!""Wassat say?""Ah don't know, Ah can't red Austrian."

    At which point I turned and said, "German." And this backwater inbred gives me a look from under his gimme hat, and says "Whaddya mean?" And I said, "It's German. Austrians speak German. And it says 'I got smashed at Oktoberfest in Helen'." The guy looked at me, put the shirt back, and walked away. :)

    Anyway, on the way back to Atlanta we stopped in Dalonagha, which I'm sure I'm spelling incorrectly. Let me explain something - we were in downtown Dalonagha, and it consisted of a shitload of antique shops, a sandwich shop, and a "general store" which for some inexplicable reason, was selling display-style katanas and bushidos. So I'm in there drinking my "honor system 5 cent" coffee and I ask to see one of the katanas. So the woman behind the register gives me a weird look, shrugs, and hands me one. I tried to grip it correctly, but unfortunately the hilt was far shorter than it should have been - these not being actual katanas - and I'm standing there in the corner of this shop going through a few basic kendo moves (which I'm not very good at), and I look up and notice that most of the people in the shop have stopped whatever they're doing to stare at me. So I gave the sword back to the clerk. It was a piece of shit anyway.

    For some reason, there were about four or five "bands" standing on various parts of the sidewalk playing mostly Christian songs. Except one of them was singing a song about how his woman was looking at another man, so he killed her, dragged her by her golden curls to a river, and threw her corpse down a waterfall.

    So I'm standing there in my black vinyl jacket and grey button-up shirt and pressed black pants, with my spiky hair, and smoking a cigarette, and some woman pokes the guy next to her, points at me, and the guy looks at me and mumbles, "city slicker". I wanted to call him a "two-bit honkey cracker motherfucker", but I didn't. I wish I had.

    But despite all this, Dalonagha was pretty cool too. There were some candle shops, an enormous amount of Native American-oriented shops, and a really cool glassworks shop where this guy was making barometer swans. And other than the moron who called me a "city slicker" (which I guess I am), the people in this town are actual "Southerners", not "rednecks" - unswervingly polite, holding doors for ladies, calling everyone "sir" and "ma'am" no matter what. Also, the view on weaponry there is much more liberal, if a bit strange. While in the general store, this guy and his son who must have been about eight or nine were looking at the swords and knives (they also had SWAT knives and Smith & Wesson blades). The following conversation ensued:

    "You think your brother would like one of these?" "Probably, I think he needs a new pocket knife." (notice: the 'pocket knife' he was referring to was a 120 dollar S&W double-edged lockback) "How about you, you still have yours, right?" "Yeah, it's in my room." "You like that sword? You want me to get you one of those?" (he's referring here to a 30-inch bushido blade of 440 carbon) "No, thanks."

    That's right - this guy was ready to fork over 80 dollars so his kid could have a fucking sword. I'm not really sure what to think of that.


    The rest of the night is a complete blur. I wound up going to Chaplin's around midnight, knocking back a few Coronas, and getting up to sing "Material Girl" with Sonny at the kareoke stage. We ruled.For some reason, my left ribs are killing me. I bruised them badly somehow, but I don't remember getting into any fights. It's a mystery. Jen showed up at the bar, we went back home and the next thing I know, I'm waking up at noon. Apparently, we'd taken a bath, and then she was giving me a backrub, and I fell asleep, or something. And she also relates how I woke up several times in the night, went over to try to close the (already closed) window, complaining that it was too cold in here, and saying "cold kitten" over and over.I remember none of this.

    Stupid alcohol.