Thursday, February 27, 2003

Mister Rogers has died. I feel like something in me just died, too. Perhaps this is why the skies have been weeping so.

"I feel the greatest gift we can give to anybody is the gift of our honest self."
-Fred Rogers
Too Cynical To Sleep

I've been re-reading "Watchmen," by Alan More and Dave Gibbons. It's a graphic novel (not a comic book!), and one the finest I've ever read. If you've studied any philosophy, or ever wondered what kind of superhero you would be, this is the comic book to read.


I don't know what else to write about, so here is a tale of The Apartment, or as I lovingly referred to it, "The Den of Sin." (My roommate Phill Rush and I lived together (as roommates tend to do) in an apartment on Mill Avenue) Our group of friends had discovered the drinking game of Kings, which opened the door (literally) to a whole world of antics. I hazily recall one night, after several rounds of the game, that a dare card was drawn. Phill was dared to run streak out of the apartment, out of the complex, and across the street, and then back. This wasn't much of a dare for Phill. But in a flurry of drunken logic, I concluded that I, being his roommate, could not let him go alone. And off we went.
Phill was quite experienced at it, so he was far ahead of me and had already made it across the street just as I was reaching it. Although the hour was late, streets tend to attract cars, and I saw a pair of hazy lights approaching. Phill quickly jumped behind a tree, while I did my very best to act casual. I began to whistle and tried to stick my hands in my pockets. Of course, I had left my pockets back with my pants, so somewhere out there is a driver who has seen a naked man with a very simian expression on his face furiously trying to plunge his hands into his outer thighs. I never did make it across the street. Not that time, not that night.

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

I apologize for being cryptic. It was late, I was tired, and being vague is an easy way to avoid revealing my actual thoughts. I'll try to be more aware of that.

I miss my younger brother, Donaldo. He's off in Kuwait. He joined the Army a year and a half ago. I had fled the military within a year of enlisting and I've been wondering what is taking him so long to do the same. I guess Uncle Sam learned that you really have to keep an eye on those Lopez boys, especially when you're not watching them.

Something unsettling that I realized as I was driving/hydroplaning through the streets today: I got out of the Army on a technicality and received a general discharge. However, I can be activated again for up to TEN YEARS after being discharged. I hope that doesn't happen, I'm running out of loopholes.

I don't fear going to war. I'm all for layin' the smack down on Iraq. But I don't like to have my time wasted, at least not by anyone other than myself. There have been troops sitting in Camp New Jersey for many months, just waiting around and counting grains of sand. And I discovered that I am very easily brain-washed. Just like a bull, once that ring is in my nose...

I don't think they have railroad tracks in the Carribbean, not within stumbling distance anyway.

Tuesday, February 25, 2003

The Final Word on the Cruise With Kate:

The reason I am going away on this trip is because I have to see who returns from it.

Monday, February 24, 2003

The very astute D.C. pointed out that I write poetry, so blame him for this. (Really, it's like saying, "Hey, weren't you in the Army?", (which, incidently, I was, and this twenty-year-old-timer does tend to ramble on about it sometimes (I have stories that would make a raccoon cringe.)))


Crush over a moment in time
An isolate cell in your mind
So polished it almost shines
With a light that maybe wasn't there before

Past. Imperfect and frozen
Only after "Remember when
Virgil let go of your hand?"
And then you had both free to grope your own way

Spit. Watch where the wind blows it
A Sputter A vocal skip
Blame a weather glitch
To fool every fool that heard you

The breeze is slinking through the glen
It carries oxygen
To try to suffocate
The wild grasses there this time for good


The simple build their cellar doors
To admit them below their floors
And when below, despite their boredom
Do not invite the earth to join them
But leave it outside where they've flung it
And convince themselves they're not among it.

Well, that's the kind of stuff I write, some are just wordplay, some have a vague point.

Again, direct all complaints to D.C.
We Hatesss It #1: People who put things in quotation marks as if someone else had really said them.

"There's the right thing to do, the wrong thing to do, and then there's what I'll probably end up doing."

I'm going on this cruise. Trevor pointing out that cruises have buffets really closed my ears to all other arguments.

I have been working at a group home for the past 5 months providing living assistance to people with developmental disabilites. The people I work with are schizophrenic, bipolar, and mentally retarded. It's usually fairly relaxed. It can get pretty interesting, but as long as you keep your sense of humor it's fun. This Sunday I worked from 8 am to midnight. That's my usual Sunday shift. So, I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not free to hang out on Sundays.

I enjoy my work mostly because I am incredibly interested in how to deal with people. My theory about human beings is still holding at this level; People won't do what they don't want to do. I mean that in a literal sense, because you could say that people don't want to work, but they do. Many people don't want to work per se, they want money, which requires work. Following that chain of desire to the end goal is very helpful. All you have to do then is remind a person that they are doing what they want.

The most interesting thing about people to me is that they actually kill themselves. No other animal in nature does that that I am aware of, and if they do, certainly not to the extent that humans do. Certainly a strong argument for the Nurture side. I guess it's not much, but it's a start. Hell, the majority of us are killing ourselves in some little way.

Are there social rules about blogging that I should be filled in on? After perusing through some other ones, I have had to stifle the urge to jump on the backs of some of their topics and ride them over to my blog. Would that be okay as long as they didn't have a direct link to your blog? And if it isn't, what if they had a link to a link to your blog?

I don't feel well. I think I've been trying to ignore what I know it is.

Sunday, February 23, 2003

I must give proper thanks to my old friend Brian Goldstein for the HTML primer. It hurt at first, but after a while it started to feel pretty good.