Monga had pissy day today.
First, there's something pressing (and expensive) that has been weighing on my mind for the last week. When I went to Chicago, my brakes started making a really awful grind-y noise. I knew it had to be an expensive sound, just from it's pitch. True to form, it was.
Seems my calipers were shot, and the grind-y noise was the sound of my brake rotors being ground to dust. I went to "ghetto garage" which is around the corner from work. The guy who runs the place is nice, and I don't think he rips me off. Well, when I got back to the office, he calls and says "We need to talk." Turns out the calipers are $200 each, brake pads are another $60, the rotors are looking in the $40 area each, plus labor, etc, etc.
*sigh* I aint exactly rolling in 'flow' right now.
Well, I remember that when I bought my car, I also latched on to a warranty thing. True to form, it covered the calipers, being a part that doesn't normally fail. Unfortunately, "ghetto garage" was not authorized to do the work for various reasons.
I once again phone the dealership, and leave a message.
...And another message.
I'm up to about 5 messages, and I'm really starting to get pissy because nobody can call me back. All I want is a stupid appointment so I can make some planning. My car sounds scary, and I don't want to drive it any more than necessary.
Long story short, I finally have an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. Yay. Money to give away!!
I'm going to leave work tomorrow afternoon about 2:30, and hang out a bit. I want to do some thinking about life and love. I'm down on both presently, and not quite sure where things are pointing. On one hand, I want to pitch it all and move away, but that's not an easy proposition. There are a lot of things to work through. On the other hand, I want to buy a house and become stable. That's also not willing to happen.
If life were easy, I guess everyone would have one. *sigh*
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Monday, June 28, 2004
How I spent my summer vacation
Yesterday, I embarked on a little trip down memory lane. Now, it's less of a lane and more like a rural highway, but you get the idea.
Once upon a time, I had a bloggie. The main difference was that at the time I had mine, the internet was a young thang, and the technology was far from developed. In fact, the term 'blog' had not been coined yet. I had an online journal.
I was motivated to rediscover it by a friend who told me he missed it. Said friend has his own blog that I enjoy, so I figured what the hell. I pulled a dusty box of floppies out, and went on a little journey through the 500+ plastic squares I found.
Mostly, I found porn.
Lots of porn.
After masturbating, I found what I thought was the object of my desire--a series of red disks that I called "webpage stuff." Since I only had 2 pages, I figured I was getting close.
Not close enough. My journal ended in 1999, when technology was really kind of sucky for doing such things. As a result, I churned out a page that by "late 20th century" standards looked quite spiff but is amateurish by what is seen today.
It took some more tweaking and working to finally cleave the words from the disk, but I did. For the greater part of the day, I read, edited (not much, mainly for clarity) and posted 96 pages of my life. You can find it on "Realm of the Shtupman I." I've posted it in the order that is was written, so if you want to read it in chronological order, you'll need to scroll allllll the way down to the bottom. I may index it and recreate it as a separate page, but that's for a later day, and only if I feel an interest in doing it.
Bleh!
Whilst editing, I read. I realized. I really should believe my own PR. I can write, and the quality of my prose really isn't too bad. Those who know me will emphatically tell you that I can be a very harsh critic, even if I resolutely refuse to tell it to your face. I've always been like that, and the future will bring more of the same, I'm sure. *shrug*
...that discussion is for another day.
Once upon a time, I had a bloggie. The main difference was that at the time I had mine, the internet was a young thang, and the technology was far from developed. In fact, the term 'blog' had not been coined yet. I had an online journal.
I was motivated to rediscover it by a friend who told me he missed it. Said friend has his own blog that I enjoy, so I figured what the hell. I pulled a dusty box of floppies out, and went on a little journey through the 500+ plastic squares I found.
Mostly, I found porn.
Lots of porn.
After masturbating, I found what I thought was the object of my desire--a series of red disks that I called "webpage stuff." Since I only had 2 pages, I figured I was getting close.
Not close enough. My journal ended in 1999, when technology was really kind of sucky for doing such things. As a result, I churned out a page that by "late 20th century" standards looked quite spiff but is amateurish by what is seen today.
It took some more tweaking and working to finally cleave the words from the disk, but I did. For the greater part of the day, I read, edited (not much, mainly for clarity) and posted 96 pages of my life. You can find it on "Realm of the Shtupman I." I've posted it in the order that is was written, so if you want to read it in chronological order, you'll need to scroll allllll the way down to the bottom. I may index it and recreate it as a separate page, but that's for a later day, and only if I feel an interest in doing it.
Bleh!
Whilst editing, I read. I realized. I really should believe my own PR. I can write, and the quality of my prose really isn't too bad. Those who know me will emphatically tell you that I can be a very harsh critic, even if I resolutely refuse to tell it to your face. I've always been like that, and the future will bring more of the same, I'm sure. *shrug*
...that discussion is for another day.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Teardrops, diamonds of salt and water from your body
Ok.
In the grand tradition of beginning a post to the journal with an exclamation, so we begin this exercise in futility. I've spent the better part of this morning reading words that I thought were lost. I am a verbose creature, and frankly I'm surprised that the words don't come easily.
Exercise in futility, indeed!
Thus, we begin. In Naptown, it's a very pretty day. I'm not quite sure why I'm looking through a window at it, but here I am in Spiff Chair doing just that. The windows are open, which are a mixed blessing. I get fresh air, and also fresh noise from the assortment of crack whores and drunken old black men that live in "ghetto building" next to me.
Hrm. I think I'll sit back and wait for inspiration to strike. In the mean time, I'll toss up a bunch of shit from the past for your perusal.
Ciao!
In the grand tradition of beginning a post to the journal with an exclamation, so we begin this exercise in futility. I've spent the better part of this morning reading words that I thought were lost. I am a verbose creature, and frankly I'm surprised that the words don't come easily.
Exercise in futility, indeed!
Thus, we begin. In Naptown, it's a very pretty day. I'm not quite sure why I'm looking through a window at it, but here I am in Spiff Chair doing just that. The windows are open, which are a mixed blessing. I get fresh air, and also fresh noise from the assortment of crack whores and drunken old black men that live in "ghetto building" next to me.
Hrm. I think I'll sit back and wait for inspiration to strike. In the mean time, I'll toss up a bunch of shit from the past for your perusal.
Ciao!
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