The Unswung Bat

Saturday, October 30, 2004
 
Leather Pants!

My scheme to be some kind of asskicker/biker type for Hallowe'en worked perfectly. The original concept was a villain in the mold of Roy from Blade Runner, but that fell to the wayside when the best motorcycle jacket ever came into my possession.

So a party happened and it was the five bottles of wine kind of party - I actually just had a couple of glasses and no one seemed to get hammered, except one guy who did it on his own beer he brought, the empties of which beer he carried back home with him most conveniently. I really don't care for the trouble of disposing of them at a refund of 10¢ a bottle. I do believe Izzy brought 4 of those 5 wine bottles I mentioned earlier, which was quite spectacular of her. Dave may have had a hand in some of it too, but without his bank card I doubt he got very far. Look:

CHRISTOPHER WALKEN WILL EAT THE EYEBALLS OUT OF YOUR SKULL! Ahhaha, my amazement at Leora's ability to dig up the bizarrest photos on the internet amazes me continually.

So yes the party was quite successful with wine provided by Izzy and music provided by my laptop, Fat Tony. The name comes from my sister. It is humorous, because my computer is neither fat nor Italian-American. I believe it's Japanese, but the kind of Japanese that comes to Toronto by way of Texas. And Japanese names are more difficult to work with than Tony, and also all reek of anime that I do not want associated with my nice laptop and by connection myself. Lousy damn bluehairs.

The one thing I coulda done without is the toilet got clogged, which it does alot because this house lacks water pressure, as well as discipline although that has more to do with the fact that it contains us three. Yes, so there was a plumbing glitch that gave and new a horrible meaning to the word "backlog." Fortunately it wasn't tremendously bad, and Dave has a score of 6 in Fix Toilet, so it got put right.

There were a lot of people I too seldom see, and I believe Meredith said a lot about why in her lament for the student shut-in - which I actually quite liked reading, no intent to sound sarcastic, just that the digital surface of this blog is such that it burns irony into every word I leave on it. So yes I see what she's getting at and lord knows it happens. On the other hand, well, anyway I just hope people in the future have less cause to write about it. And by people in the future I do not mean those with jetpacks and robot butlers, but rather ourselves next week.

This isn't really a normal entry for me in that most of my entries either are stories or are very short and contain instructions (like "sign my guestbook,"), but I'll get back to my old tricks in short order. I actually have three draft entries just waiting for me to finish 'em, but they'll probly never get finished. As we know, only the very finest pieces of polished verbal craft ever get published on weblogs, and mine is certainly no exception to this iron-bound rule.

PS: According to my evil spies, forty unique visitors have been to my blog in the past week. I don't think I know forty people. Who are you, and why aren't you signing the guestbook?

I had a really great line I was gonna use as a closing motto, but I made the mistake of not writing it down right away so it's now gone.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004
 
PLUG IN!


That baby is actually physically connected to the internet through tubes fed into his brain. He's currently getting a live stock feed from the New York market, processing SETI data, and playing Quake. Popup windows make him scream.

I really will put new stuff up here in a couple days, just as soon as Bad School Week wraps up . . . unnnnnnng.

In other news, my blog is the number five google search result for the phrase "go to sleep medicine" !!! I did not discover this on my own.

I must to write an essay now, get out of my office.

Thursday, October 14, 2004
 
My GUESTBOOK is up here!!

Now go sign it or hairfish will haunt your plate.

 
Adhesive

I tear off the stamp slowly and enjoy the taste of it. I hear it's a rice-based glue. That's just the kind of thing he'd know about, but I don't feel plagued to find it popping up in my head. Instead, the piece of knowledge satisfies me obscurely, as though I might've turned against him some thing he said.

Every letter has been more vicious than the last.

'To Dianne,' the last one read, - he'd dropped the 'Dear' two months ago - 'I won't even deal with what you said. I'm going to tell you what actually happened, and if you ignore me again it's not my fault.'

For a while I'd worried we'd reach a point where we'd just get sick of each other and drift away. When he responded to a letter of mine with a single page reading:

'Dianne: Fuck you,' with 'what the fuck do they teach you in Vermont, anyway?' tacked on as an afterthought, I knew we'd hate each other so much that we would be okay.

The perforations tickle my tongue, which I never used to notice. Now they do it more and more. One day it'll be unbearable and I'll have to spit on them or use a sponge. Fucker. I'm putting that in the next letter, maybe it'll happen to him too.

Sunday, October 10, 2004
 
Into the Fold

Andra finally got curious and started her own blog. But it's a picture blog. No words allowed. Or at least they're only allowed in with a picture. So don't try to sneak in with any just plain words. Except comments, they're cool. Anyways, she means to post a new picture every day, starting as soon as she steals her digital camera back from a theiving hobbits!

buh-bye.

Thursday, October 07, 2004
 
andre/tactics/2

The air around him, moving over moist skin, made Mark feel fleshed-out and dispelled the last touches of sleepy paralysis. He creaked down the stairs.

Some days the microwave shorted out the kitchen circuit. Other days the water-boiler did. Today, nothing went wrong. Otherwise, he would have had to go into the basement, where the Queen lived, to get to the circuit-breakers.

A mess of spiders had swarmed the lower region of the house, crawling in from God knows where, to build a palatial web between the edge of a recessed window and the fusebox. A diaphanous spire, every morning it would catch sunlight from the east and seem to grow. From the corner of the eye a trick of shape and light made it a person. The Queen. A hood shadowed the top of her face but showed foggy features flashing into human lines when she stood just past the edge of reliable vision. Luminous, regal, alive. Head-on, nothing but cobwebs.

Three

Wednesday, October 06, 2004
 
Tactics

Mark arose from bed, spinning with forgotten dreams that circled his head, leaving webs of imperfect memories that the first glance of the sun, the first chill of tapwater would undo. His reflection in the mirror and the solidity of a glinting steel faucet were the lightest touches of corporeality that popped his mind like a bubble and brought his body to life.

I am late, he thought, because I laid in bed fifteen minutes past nine.

The faucet and taps made a jester's hat atop the sink basin, three-pointed: cold water this way, hot water that. Mark touched one tap and a stream jangled out the middle that he pooled in his hands and slapped on his face. The instant before the water hit him he imagined that his pores would contract and the hair uncurl from the nape of his neck, to protest the cold. All this made him pucker his face, but he smoothed it out with fingers that drew his cheeks gaunt, and the gone dread of cold made his bones tingle distantly.

two

Tuesday, October 05, 2004
 
Danger Danger Danger!


Really?

Not really, no.

Oh, ok.

But I want to ask you to do something: everyone who reads this blog, leave a little note in my handy little guestbook here with the address of your favorite blog that isn't on my links, which is to say one by someone I don't know, and if you happen to notice that someone's already put that one up, try to come up with something different. I wanna see what the connections are like. Oi, and Julian, I know you're out there.



original site + text contents ©2004 twenty oh four by me called it

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