MY AWESOME LIFE 2003

(8 January, 2004) A Harsh Grace

Christmas is supposed to be a time of rejoicing and familial happiness, according to everything you see. And for my family, it usually was. This year, was different, however. I don't know whether to rail bitterly or lapse into pious musings - the temptation to either is great. But, I suppose that this is life, and good comes with bad; beauty with horror.

On Christmas day, at 12:15 PM, my mother's brother, my uncle, died from complications with pneumonia. He'd only checked himself into the hospital less than two days prior, and on the 24th, he'd been conversing with two of his children. When we got called at 4AM on Christmas, to tell us that he was on a ventilator, we rushed the three hours to Grand Island, where this man who had been such a role model and, at times, substitute father, lay struggling for breath and life.

As we watched and waited, he failed and died. Three of his children weren't able to make it in time. He was in the hospital with his brother and sister, his oldest son, his mother and father, and me.

Parents shouldn't have to bury their children.

I keep recalling: He didn't suffer long. Thank goodness mom was back from North Carolina. The community and his friends have been outstanding. But these are graces with sharp, sharp edges, and I wish I had never needed to receive them.

(20 December, 2003) A Whole Bunch of Sh*t

So it was a month between the previouis two entries, and almost two months between this and its prior one. It's not that my life is so boring, but quite the opposite - it's too busy to sit down and do anything resembling recreational web work.

Looking through my planner to recall what's occurred since October 27th, I find a lot to talk about. So, uncharicteristically, I'll keep this as brief as I can:

• I was recorded with the UNL Varsity Men's Chorus on NETV (Nebraska Educational Television Network) for a holiday concert, which was broadcast recently.
• I started several new web projects, and got paid for one which was both big and fun. The $$ site was www.lpa-neb.com, and the other projects are still under construction. In conjunction with these new sites, my boss and I walked around Lincoln and took pictures of ourselves climbing on artwork.
• I saw The Matrix Revolutions - what a great movie!!! Church officials came out condemning it because it "commercialized Christianity." Talk about ass-backward. Instead, to someone with any sort of connection with the characters, it provides a totally logical analogy for the necessecity of salvation and divine intervention t make it so.
• I visited my best friends, Jeremy & Megan, and their daughter, Willa. That was just great & relaxing. Then I had a very interesting conversation with my father.
• I taught elementary music to kindergarteners and fifth graders for six weeks as part of my education classes. It was a rewarding and very enjoyable. If I get "stuck" teaching little kids, I don't think I'll cry too hard.
• I met a new running/exercise partner. Of course, Elaine and my schedules have been so busy that we haven't actually been running yet, but we've gone shopping a couple of times.
• I sang with the Men's Chorus in "The Big Sing," an annual concert with K-State, where the visiting team brings their choir. Let's just say the choir went significantly better than the game.
• I sang with the UNL University Singers for two worship services at First Plymouth Church. What an astounding space to sing in!
• The University Singers had their end-of semester concert, which featured folk songs from around the world, and Leonard Berstein's Chicester Psalms, which was breathtaking.
• I sent various birthday presents to various parts of the country, at great expense.
• Tests, Tests, Tests (Theory, History, Piano, Oboe, Saxophone, Aural Skills...)
• Men's Chorus performance for the Nebraska Music Educator's Association (NMEA) Conference
• University Singers performance for NMEA
• A couple of really interesting evenings spent at the bar for 50¢ beers.
• Several of my friends had recitals, and I had to attend several concerts for class credit.
• I spent Thanksgiving at Bassett, and then my paternal Grandfather got remarried! That causes one to consider realities that are really better left completely out of mind. Viagra?! Eek.
• The first week of December was spent in choir rehearsals, averaging about 6 hours a day.They were rehearsals for the Lincoln Symphony concert, Choral Garland, and the community Messiah sing-along.
• The Men's Choir sang with the Lincoln Symphony in a holiday concert. The event was fun, I suppose, but the music was really wretched.
• All of the choirs came together for the annual "Choral Garland" holiday concert, in two performances.
• I put up and decorated a really f-ing cool Christmas tree. (scroll to the bottom of the linked page.)
• I got to see the King's Singers in concert at the Lied Center.
• I had my piano jury.
• My voice jury, and Finals, up the wazzoo's wazzoo.
• Mom flew in from Greensboro to Kansas City, and I got to pick up up and then hand out w/ her for the past two days.
• My friend, Kenny, came back from student teaching in Rapid City, and will be staying with me until he finds an apartment.

So, I think that's it. You are free to pity me now. Maybe I'll have time to write witty commentary at a later date, but for now, I'm posting this.

(27 October, 2003) Fall Break, et aliud (Pictures)

I had the intensely enjoyable experience of returning to Boston for Fall Break. I got cheap tickets through Kansas City and skipped a day of class, to make it a five-day trip. All I can say is, "woohoo, Pop Rocks!"

I stayed with Steve, and he had the burden of entertaining me for the duration. But, we managed to have a good time anyway. Friday was Lexington and Concord - the home of the Revolution - and then an apple orchard, which was really beautiful and fun fun fun. That night, dinner at our friend, Matt's, and then a board game (I'm getting old!) until 3am (well, not that old, I guess). Saturday was a haircut for me, and flag football for Steve. Then we met up with his team at the bar, then went to The Head of the Charles - sort of the World Series of Crew (rowing) - that takes place in Boston every fall. After that, it was to Harvard Square for a few beers, and then to a club. Walkin home from Cambridge, Mass is quite an adventure at 3am.

Sunday saw a big, homemade brunch, and then down to Cape Cod. It was pouring, but we went exploring anyway. We visited the Atlantic shore and then went to Provincetown. It's usually a teeming resort community, but it was a blustery Sunday night in the off-season, so it had become a sleepy little town, which was nice. We walked around for a couple of hours, had a really nice dinner (you've gotta have seafood on the coast), visited a couple of the local drinking establishments, and then returned to Hyannis for the night. Monday, we went back up to the National Seashore, hiked the dunes (not 7 foot dunes, like I was thinking, but brush-covered, 70 foot dunes - it was awesome), then went to the inner shore and mucked around the beach - it was low tide - went to Plymouth to buy a certain cranberry chocolate bar for my mom, and then went and saw cranberries being harvested (check out the pictures). That night, I went out with Steve's dart league, and the next morning it was (with much regret) time to return to the airport and home.

But, what a trip. I plan on going back soon. Donations are being accepted...

(10 October, 2003)

The truly dedicated among you (my devoted readers ;-) have probably concluded that I have died of SARS. Truth be told, aside from feeling miserable for weeks, I'm well. Sadly, it was only a cold or allergies, or something, which doesn't lend itself to a good story. So, why the long space between entries? Here is my life:

Get up in the morning
Go to class for most of the day
Come home, eat and study
Go to bed

In what most people would consider spare time, I practice my music and make web sites for money - I do not have time for updating my personal web site. Well, until now. I sort of have a weekend off, and I'm going to use it - for sleeping.

Since the 18th of September, my friend, Edward, came to visit, so that I could take his senior pictures. It seems that my foray into photography is expanding. Some of them even looked good. We got to explore Omaha, UNL, and the State Capitol, and avoid security guards during costume changes. Ah, the life of a photgrapher.

Then, last weekend, my best friend, his wife, and their daughter: Jeremy, Megan, and Willa - came to visit. That was absolutely the best weekend of the semester thus far. It really sucks, having friends who live in another time zone. We went out to eat. Did some killer shopping, and just hung out. Their daughter's a cutie, too. I posted their pictures - I hope they don't care. (What am I saying - they don't read this thing. They'll never know.)

Really, there's nothing to write of any interest. I've moved from learning to play the bassoon to learning to play the oboe - not nearly the fun irony there. I also am learning the guitar, so when I walk to class these days, I'm beginning to look like a small band. I just need that bass drum on my back and some cymbals on my head.

And, a week from today, I'll be in Boston for Fall Break. Impatience is not the word. I think that's enough for now.

(18 September, 2003) SARS?!

I don't have pneumonia (probably). Steve thinks I have SARS. The doctor joked about Ebola. But, after toting colored pieces of paper around the University Health Center for two and a half hours, getting blood work done, a chest X-ray (a digital chest X-ray, no less), and getting poked and prodded, I've been told the same thing I told them when I walked in: "You've got a really bad cough and I don't know why you're having trouble taking deep breaths, but they seem to be related."

Geniuses.

So, I have Z-pac, Alledgra, Advair, Viagra (just kidding), an appointment for tomorrow, bright and early for more tests, and a follow-up appointment on Monday. The best reason I can see for staying well is in order to avoid trips to the doctor's office. Good Lord!

(15 September, 2003) Hallelujah!

Turn the volume way up: it's the Hallelujah Chorus, and it's blasting from my freshly cleaned apartment. The nice young gentleman who sub-let my apartment for the summer was in a self-admitted state of depression for the (evidently) the end of July and all of August. Consequently, when he moved out, the apartment was in a state of rather alarming disarray. Busy with my insane class schedule (no, I'm not going to quit whining - that schedule serves as a great excuse to get out of a lot of things I don't want to do), I had only been able to do minor cleaning until this weekend.

Saturday, the apartment his critical mass. I looked around and said, "I can't live here anymore. I either have to move out or clean." And, since moving is ridiculously unpleasant and expensive, I opted to clean. Almost 10 hours of picking up, sorting, dusting, vacuuming, mopping and otherwise sanitizing, I have an apartment that is fit to live in. I also have my homework done for today and tomorrow, and it's 11:00 PM - time for bed.

Wasn't that nice?

(12 September, 2003) Breakin' the Law

Taking 19 credit hours and having an aweful schedule makes one a very busy person. I haven't even considered updating my site since I've been back - sure I've felt guilty about not keeping the world up to date about the zany goings on that are my life - but I haven't had a spare moment to do anything except homework and honest web work.

Today, I bought my last text book. The previous bill was $400, which I thought was excessive, but with 12 classes, a high textbook bill is to be expected. For my Elementary Music Methods class, the books (through an administrative snarl) had not been ordered until the first week of classes. So, we were book-less until today, when they arrived. Being the dutiful students we all are, we were expected to go to the bookstore, purchase the book, and read it dilligently for the next class. Thus, I did go to the bookstore.

Then, I saw the price...$70, for 157 pages of text, contents, index - the whole shooting match. For you non-math whizzes out there, that's 44.6¢ per page. I may not be particularly good at arithmetic, but if you multiply 5¢ per copy by 157 pages, you don't get $70. And, if you're resourceful and know how to reduce the image so two pages fit on one...

I got the whole book copied for $5.

I then got it spiral bound (I was feeling extravagant) for another $3.

Tomorrow, I am returning the $70 textbook. When copyright law and rationality collide...

(27 August, 2003) Jimmy Buffett, Alltel, and other things I hate

I'm back in Lincoln: back to school, back to the heat, back to everything from which I got a well-deserved break this summer. On Saturday, I sent a gracious email of thanks to fraternity and departed after breakfast and coffee with Steve. A pleasant, uneventful drive marked my entire day, lasting until I reached Chicago, 15 hours later. I had passed numerous hotels in Indiana, but there was something about reaching Illinois - it was a mental landmark - that made me keep going. So, very tired, I arrived in Chicago, only to find that I had arrived during the summer event of 2003: the Jimmy Buffett concert. Every hotel within an hour in any direction was full, a friendly desk clerk informed me. So, with long pins in my mental, Jimmy Buffett voodoo doll, I drove another hour, to take a $70 room at Super 8. After 16 hours on the road, a motel at any price looks good, even if it's a stinky smoking room for twice the price it should be.

"Sir, our rooms are priced by event, so you won't find anything anywhere less than this. The Jimmy Buffett has everyone marked up." The poison spreads.

The next day, I got a late start - 10 AM - because I couldn't drag myself out of bed. Seven hours later I was home, an hour after that I was unpacked. An hour further, and I was at dinner with a friend, and by 9 PM, I was asleep. Sometimes grace is found in exactly nothing happening.

I have mentioned below that Alltel is evil. I'm trying to get out of my cell phone contract, since I was clearly sold a pack of lies instead of a cell phone plan. They are, of course, intractable, so now I've contacted the Attorney General, the Public Service Commission, and the local ABC affiliate. I have one more person to threaten, and then Alltel will (hopefully) get a whole face-full of well-deserved bad publicity.

There's probably a lot more to write, but I'm taking 19 hours this semester, and it's time for bed (you know, that 10 PM college student bedtime). I will have no social life this semester. grrrr.

(20 August, 2003) La souris est mort. Vive la souris.

Due to the violent and graphic nature of the following entry, reader discresion is advised.

In the previous entry, I (with moderate coherence) described the brave little mouse that had taken up residence in my room. What follows is the continuation and violent end to a troubled little life. And remember, I warned you.

I was sitting on the toilet, taking a dump, with my shorts around my ankles. I was in that relaxed, happy place, right before one stands up to leave, when out of the corner of my eye, a fuzzy grey blur darts across the (filthy) bathroom, across my flip-flop-wearing foot, and heads up my leg. With remarkable dexterity, I yelled (no, I didn't "scream like a girl," as most people would style my outburst - it was definitely in the mid-range my chest voice), jumped off the toilet seat and high into the air, while kicking my right leg to dislodge the mouse. I jumped right out of my shorts and landed with a thump back on the floor.

I'd seen the critter in my shorts, so balancing on my left leg (which was still in my shorts), I shook my shorts vigorously to dislodge the mouse, but no mouse was forthcoming. So, I shook my underwear, also still tethered to my left leg: again to no avail. I slid on my flip-flop and kicked at the pile of trash next to the toilet, but still, no movement. Thus, with some trepidation at not finding the offending vermin, I put my shorts back on. As I looked down one more time, I noticed a little tail, wiggling feebly as it protruded from underneath my left flip-flop. I'd jumped high enough in the air to dislodge the mouse and have him drop to the floor, directly beneath my rapidly descending body.

The nice thing about mice (if there are nice things about mice) is that they have lots of extra skin. Thus, they don't explode when 180 pounds of flustered graduate student crushes the life from their pitiful little bodies. Instead, they get limp and squishy, like an under-filled bean bag. By now, of course, I felt quite proud at the service I'd done for the house, but the question remained of what to do with the creature. As luck would have it, a cardboard box was near at hand, and so the fuzzy remains remain in the dumpster this evening.

As an ironic coda, I mentioned this whole event to several members of the fraternity. As expected, most were happy and enthusiastic with my kill. (The presence of giant rats in the basement - yes, I've seen them - lends a special savor to a rodent which is actually dead.) However, a couple of people said, "Oh, you killed it?! Couldn't you have just let it loose outside?"

What!?! Go back to your veggie burger and have a nice time at your PETA meeting. I'm going to Outback to celebrate.

(17 August, 2003) Washing Machines are Heavy

Six cups of coffee and a few cigarettes seemed like a great idea a couple of hours ago, to counteract the beer and allow me to drive home. Now, twitching like a mild epileptic when I should be sleeping, and dreading the non-productive mess I'm going to be in the morning, I thought I'd write here, since sleep seems out of the question until these Tylenol PM's kick in.

In reverse order:
(One:) If I were to write a book called "Things I Don't Understand," in addition to chapters on two-party politics and the city planning of Boston, there'd be a section about the girl here in the closet. Currently we have a mouse living in the room, eating my absent roommate's food and doing gymnastics on his desk - at least you'd think it was the ratine version of Richard Simmons, judging by all the noise it makes. And, it's fearless. I can climb down from the loft, throw away the mouse-eaten food, bang on things, etc.; and a minute later, it's running around again. Damn thing.

Anyway, the last time a fuzzy critter was prowling the room, the girl in the closet decided to attempt to domesticate it. And, she got thoroughly bent out of shape when the house cat got loose and nearly ate her project. So, mildly irritated by the presence of vermin, I climbed down from the loft and stuck my head in the closet door, where she was curled up, reading a book. In the spirit of friendliness, I asked if she was interested in trying to tame another mouse, because there was one on Ezra's desk. To wit, she paused in her reading, looked up from her book, stared at me in silence for about twenty seconds, and then returned to reading. Wtf?

(Two:) I added another rule to the rules of driving. There are now Four Rules of Driving.

(Three:) Last week, I went to visit my mom in North Carolina. Basically, all I did was sleep - that was the goal, after all. Unlike most of my vacations, there was only one interesting adventure, and it has lent itself as the title of this entry.

When I told mom I was visiting and finalized my schedule, she (casually) mentioned that the washing machine was making strange and terrible noises. Since I am the family Maytag man, it was chilling serendipity that I was about to arrive, bringing both my tools and my Maytag know-how. The squeak seemed to be loose belts, so we visited the Maytag store and spoke with the proprietor. In his folksy, Southern way, he explained that the belts were supposed to be loose, but that the load may have been too large and caused the belts to burn, thus rendering them in need of replacement. I was to examine the belts for burn marks and report back. He actually advised us against buying belts at first, because "they're kinda expensive; about fifty bucks."

On the way home, we stopped by Home Depot, because the kerosene for mom's emergency space heater was turning the containers that held it from white to pink. We inquired if this would deteriorate the jugs, and whether or not kerosene (like gasoline) goes bad after an extended period of time. No one knew the answer to either question (If you know, Contact Me, please!), but one employee did relate, in his folksy, Southern way, about how he had doused a yellow jacket nest in kerosene and lit it on fire, because:

"Them yellow jackets is nasty buggers. They'll sting ya fer no reason atall. They was like a big cloud around the nest, so as you couldn't even go near 'em durin' the day. 'Cause the one time, I was out with my buddies. We was drinkin' beer and doin' shots; playing horseshoes and stuff - you know how it is. Anyway, I took my drink and didn't look in it none, and there was this yellow jacket that had fallen in. Well I drank him down, and the sucker stung me six times all the way down. Course, I curled up in a fetal position, like, and my buddies, they just thought I'd passed out. I had t' go t' the hospital..."

It went on and on. You've gotta love the South, bless their hearts.

When I returned home, I took the front of the washer off and discovered a leaky seal around the washer tub. Then I discovered no burn marks on the belts. I wanted to discuss this with the repair man, but he must have been very busy.

We never heard back from the Maytag repair man. We left multiple messages and stopped in numerous times, but he was never there. Mitzy, the secretary was always very friendly, and completely useless. "Oh, I'll give him your message, for sure. He's awful busy, though, with deliveries and all. I'll have him call you as soon as he gets in." We waited for two days and decided to just buy the seal and be done with it. My goal was to replace the seal Thursday and drive back Friday. Turns out, the seal needed ordered and would take a day to arrive. So, I cut my losses and ordered the seal. It showed up Friday, and I proceeded to replace the old one. It turned out, however, that the old seal was fine, and that the tub had rusted, so that any seal would work equally poorly. Thus, we went to Wal-Mart, spent $3 on some silicone sealant, and glued the old seal in place. Then, we returned the new parts, bought new belts (what the heck - new belts are better than old belts, right?), and I replaced them in less that 5 minutes.

I left for Boston bright and early Saturday morning. Fourteen hours, several thunderstorms, an angry gas station attendant (Snack!? You want a snack?!), an hour's wait at the toll booth, and a stop by the Yuengling Brewery in Pottsville, PA, I arrived in Boston safely: back with the rats and mice, the girl in the closet, and plentiful alcohol, just down the street. Life is good. If only the Tylenol would kick in.

(10 August, 2003) Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

My friend, Steve, has been trying to get me to go hiking in the White Mountains of New Hampshire since I met him in March. The White Mountains are possibly his favorite place on earth (a map of them hangs above his bed, for crying out loud), and I'd been wanting to see Steve in his natural habitat. Unfortunately, our schedules never synchronized until yesterday, when - after much arm-twisting on my part - we left Boston at 8AM to drive the required two hours to Lincoln, NH. A frustratingly lengthy stop for gas, snacks, and lunch (Subway is more convenient than you'd think for such things), we began our hike up Falling Water trail.

As the name would suggest, Falling Water trail winds along waterfalls and cascades (when the water just rushes down over rocks without really "falling" - see what I learn on hikes?) for a good part of its length. The weather threatened rain, and the clouds would boil around us, in and out of Franconia Notch, but the only real complaint was the 100 percent humidity, which had me, who never sweats, looking like I'd just stepped out of a fully-clothed shower. Sunny days are only good for hiking if you absolutely must have unimpeded vistas of the surrounding terrain. Otherwise, they are just hot and give you sun burns. For us, the clouds were a welcome ceiling, just slightly below the top of the peak we were set to ascend.

All totaled, the hike was 9 miles, up a 5,000+ foot peak called Lafayette, via two smaller peaks, Little Haystack and Lincoln. The three peaks are connected by a bare ridge that was breathtakingly beautiful. The views were not of far away places, but the clouds added a sense of peace and mystery to the things close at hand. Check out the pictures - they're worth it.

I didn't know what to expect from the hike. I know that it wouldn't be the happy little hike along trails with logs along side to mark them, but I didn't know how much actual climbing to expect. It turned out to be a lot of "up," mostly just scrambling over rocks when they were in the way. Such a fun, fantastic day. Words fail to describe the beauty of the day.

We stopped at a brew pub on the way home and played backgammon there. What a cool place. Then a fun ride back to Boston and one of the most welcome showers of my life. I can't wait to do it again.

Tonight we had the memorial in Boston for Jay. It was an opportunity for the many varied people Jay had known to get together and share memories, laugh and cry. We had the memorial I want when I die. Jay's cello teacher played a couple of pieces that Jay had been working on. People stood up and shared their favorite memories of Jay. I gave another eulogy, and then we listened to some of Jay's favorite music while we ate and drank the food and beverages that everyone had been instructed to bring. Jay was known for his hospitality and his parties, so we had a three-hour social to celebrate his life and mourn his passing. It was the most positive expression of grief I've seen in a long time.

More to come next week: The web site gets a break until next Friday, as I'm headed to North Carolina to visit mom for the week.

(7 August, 2003) Another reason to love the Geo

To measure the usefulness of a car, it is important to take into consideration the ease with which it can be repaired. After all, cars break - it's in their nature. And if it takes tons of time and a wad of cash every time some little thing goes wrong, pretty soon a stylish cruiser becomes a rat-hole, down which to poor money.

My Geo is not a rat-hole. Sure, it seems that I fix it more and more, but $25 here and $40 there is pocket change compared to most auto repairs. Plus, I can usually do the work myself. And, a good quantity of the parts I need are available super-cheap, at junkyards. What could be better?!

You can't buy a door lock at a junkyard, but you can order one from your local Chevy dealership for $40. In the meantime, crawling in through the hatchback is a). inconvenient, b). time consuming, and c). funny-looking, so what is an impoverished college student to do? Why not go to Home Depot, buy an extendable feather-duster for $8 (extends to almost 7 feet!), yank off the duster, and, voila, a door-unlocking wand which can be used from the open hatchback. And it looks (slightly) more dignified than my bottom in the air.

Today, the lock mechanism came in at the dealership, so I picked it up on my lunch hour, and spent about an hour tonight installing it. (Thank you, Steve, for convincing me that "putting it in" is incorrect English, considering where I put the preposition at. ... ;-) Since I've had the door apart on numerous occasions (you don't even want to know), tearing into it, replacing the lock, and replacing the parts was quite simple. The only remarkable experiences were thus:

• It started raining about halfway through the installation.
• My slacks, which I thought never touched the door, are now dirtier than I imagined.
• No one in this citified fraternity, nor on my overly prosperous alley, have ever seen anyone, let alone their neighbor, do anything more challenging to their car than wash it.

  "What are you doing?"
  "Replacing the door lock. It broke." Gratuitous explanation added for the mechanically challenged.
  "Are you allowed to do that?" What kind of question is that?! "Wow, you really know how to fix things. Are you thinking about getting a new car?"

People are forever asking me if I'm getting a new car. The answer is: No! I am not getting a new car. Sure, it has a few dents, 180,000 miles, 50% of the engine compression it should, and a whole host of other "idiosyncrasies." But these just serve to give it character and panache. Why would I, a college student with a negative cash flow, want to go into debt to replace a car that runs, is fun to drive, is easily fixed, holds a lot of stuff (again, you don't want to know), and - most importantly - is paid for?

(4 August, 2003) "If it weren't for bad luck..."

The nice thing about a comfortable existence is that it allows you to blow the little inconvenient things way out of proportion, and to learn from them "meaningful" lessons that seem far more significant than they really are. I learned one of those kind this afternoon:

A car must have a minimum of two doors which can be unlocked with the key. Period.

If you are in the camp that I was until, say, this afternoon, you're thinking to yourself: "Hey, as long as the driver's side door unlocks, what's the big deal? Is it really that inconvenient to let passengers in from the inside? I mean, - strictly by way of example - even if you've bent the inner-workings of the passenger-side lock (in the name of making repairs, of course) so that you have to open the door while holding the lock open, it's still not that bad. What's all the fuss?"

The fuss is thus: Having one unlocking door is just fine and useful, until, for instance, at your trained-monkey job, somewhere between your arrival and your noon lunch break, the only remaining doolock becomes nonfunctional. Then, you have to crawl into your car through the hatchback.

I'm sure I've done less graceful things in my life. I just fail to remember when or in what circumstances. I squatted down and started clambering into the car, over the toolbox and under the weather-stripping, when it suddenly dawned on me how ridiculous I really must have looked, with my kahki-covered buttocks sticking out of the open hatchback of my car and into the rain, like some intrepid car proctologist. At that thought, I burst into laughter, which was exactly the wrong thing to do.

When you start to laugh uncontrollably, certain muscles relax - no, not my bladder. But, those all-important muscles which were currently keeping you squatting in the trunk of a Geo relax, and you collapse very suddenly, in a big, painful heap, on the parking break...with your left hand on the steering wheel and your right hand pinned under your chest...and your feet sticking out of the hatchback...in the rain.

Parts stores don't carry things like door locks - that's for dealerships to stock. A Chevy dealership on the way to work opens tomorrow at 7am. I'll be there, bright and early, but not before repeating the entire ridiculous car entry process for the enjoyment of my neighbors as they sip their morning tea.

I'm not going to leave my car unlocked in Boston, after all.

(2 August, 2003) A Fantastic First

I meant to write this yesterday, as she's been breathing air for four whole days now: My best friend, Jeremy, and his wife, Megan, have had their firstborn, a daughter, Willa Marie Sharp. She was born at 11:50 PM on Tuesday July 29. She weighed 7 lbs. 10.2 oz and was 21 inches long - a big girl for a tiny mommy. In the midst of grief, there is always hope, if we look.

(1 August, 2003) Unpleasant Firsts

If you've been to my web site in the past few weeks, you probably noticed a memorial to my friend, Jay Sharp. That was one of many "firsts" I've experienced lately, and one of the most unpleasant. They weren't all serious and sober - some require merely a rueful shake of the head instead of an outpouring of grief. On the subject of firsts:

First Number One: Death
I've never been closely associated with an unexpected death. My grandmother passed away shortly after the September 11th attacks, but she had been sick. I've lost various, elderly relatives and worked closely with the dying in some of my pastoral work at two nursing homes. But to have a close friend (the older brother of my best friend - so basically my older brother in an adoptive family) die unexpectedly at the age of 33…that was a first.

Because of the circumstances surrounding the death (i.e. its total unexpected-ness), an autopsy was performed, but was only able to tell us that he died of natural causes. Since it wasn't a homicide, the autopsy report now sits on some over-worked policeman's desk, waiting to be typed sometime in the next six weeks, so that we can know what happened. What a wait.

In the meantime, I was in the unusual position of having known many of the friends from Jay's different circles of friends - he kept his life compartmentalized, and due to my being from "out of town," I got to meet a little of all his friends. So, it fell to me to begin digging through old business cards and playing detective to hunt down phone numbers and names, and then grieving anew each time I had to recount that such a marvelous person was no longer to be an active part of our lives.

But really, that's not true. In an interesting way, Jay's been more a part of our lives for his absence. Those times when I think of something that I want to ask him, or to tell him; when I think I see him on the street; when I get an email or a call from one of his friends, planning the memorial or just feeling the loss - I think of Jay and how he's changed my life, for the better (on the balance), I'd say. I'm reminded, shockingly, of the beginnings of Christianity; of how the disciples were stunned by their friend's brutal murder; and of how they kept seeing him (though here, the analogy limps) after he was risen. Must "I will be with you always" mean only in memory, for mere mortals? One of Jay's friends even suggested that, since a bottle of wine remained at Jay's condo, we should bring it to the memorial service and share it, with the rest of the food that everyone's brining - but the thought of a little plate full of little cups of wine got way too weird, way too quickly. "Drink this in memory of me," indeed.

Jay had two funerals, where most of us only get one. On Tuesday, the 22nd of July, his family and friends held a memorial at Pine Lawn Cemetery, in Rapid City, South Dakota, where Jay had graduated from high school (the city, not the cemetery, of course). It was a very heart-wrenching and moving ceremony, but it allowed grief, which can heal if expressed, to begin to mend our loss - I hope. I was granted the great privilege of giving a eulogy, which I delivered with my usual ineptitude to express anything of meaning, but I guess a few were affected by my words, so it wasn't a total loss. The really remarkable thing was the number of people from so many different places who arrived for the ceremony: his family and extended family; former educators; friends from grade school and high school; college friends; and friends from work - from all over the country. One wonders how to even consider the possibility of how someone could touch so many lives in a short 33 years. In meeting his friends, I could only mravel at how they were each persons of incredible quality. Where were the losers and hangers on that "normal" people attract. It seemed as though he had emptied every city he'd visited of his best, and kept them for his own.

The second funeral was a memorial Mass for the family and community of Gordon, Nebraska, where the family now lives. This was a less comforting affair, as the well-intentioned pastor failed to give much comfort to a Christian family coping with the loss of their professedly atheist son. The priest managed to miss the profound message in the gospel - Jesus is walking past a town, out of which is coming a funeral procession: the only son of a widow. Feeling pity for the woman, he raises the young man from the dead and returns him to his mother. All of this evincing Jesus' mercy, even for those who haven't heard of or accepted him, and his care and concern for the grieving - and to replace it with quotes like "if you believe in me, you will have eternal life," from which the priest understandably receives comfort, but which seemed hollow and thoughtless in the current situation. Where the focus should have been on God's universal desire for salvation, we were treated to a catechetical lesson on the Christian view of the elect. It's a shame that laymen aren't allowed to write homilies.

If you are interested, you may read Jay's obituary, and learn about the memorial fund that's being established in his name, to benefit the Rapid City orchestra program - a very worth and Jay-esque idea. Support for the fine and perfomring arts? No way!

After a prolonged argument with Alltel about my non-functional cell phone (which I like to refer to as my Call-Dropper and Voicemail-Loser), I flew back to Boston. I am considering registering the domain AlltelReallySucks.com, and posting there all of my vituperation (thanks Fabes) toward that evil and incompetent company, as well as the complaints of others. If you'd like to contribute to this project, email me. It's still in the R&D phase.

Then, this week, Jay's brothers, Edward and Larry, and Larry's wife, Stephanie, flew to Boston to get Jay's affairs in order, to pack up his condo, and to move his possessions home. Let me make this suggestion: everyone should have a "who to call if I die" list. The whole process was rather surreal: trying to erase the memory of a person, so that a new person can move in, happily oblivious to the life (actually lives, since Jay certainly wasn't the first occupant) that was played out there before them. Sometimes a person is an outgrowth of their possessions, and when the things are gone, the person fades away. When we had moved the things from Jay's condo, it looked different (and empty), but Jay hadn't been erased by boxing up his stuff. I guess I've got him boxed up inside me, now.

The memorial is being held next Sunday, the 10th of August, at the Junior League of Boston, on Newbury Street. It should be about 6pm. I'm sure it will be amazing - things with Jay always are.

First Number Two: Stench
My room (the subject of much wry discourse on this page) now smells like a nursing home. The girl in the closet (see below), though a genuinely nice person, has taken to bathing infrequently and laundering her clothes with even more irregularity. I've never lived in a room that I couldn't control the stench somehow, so we have another unpleasant first - which is unbearable if the wind isn't blowing through the house.

First Number Three: Archbishop
Having lived in Lincoln, which has had a sexual abuse policy in place for years, and which has a tightly regulated ecclesiastical structure - for good or for ill, depending on your views - I had no real idea of the scope of the sex abuse scandal, nor the impact it could have on a community such as Boston. The incredible anger, directed toward the Church and its leaders by victims, and by those who feel victimized, is stunning. And when it was met with the imperious pomposity of Cardinal Law, the resulting cataclysm is no surprise.

Archbishop Sean O'Malley was installed Thursday as the new archbishop of Boston. Rather than obfuscate the issue and dither about legal proceedings, Archbishop Sean (as he asks to be called) addressed the abuse issue head on, like a man, in his very first homily. Then, in his first day as archbishop, he replaced the head legal counsel in the abuse cases from the archdiocesan bureaucrat to a lawyer who was instrumental in settling abuse cases when O'Malley was bishop in Fall River, Massachusetts.

Also, in his homily, he told a joke which bears repeating: "A bishop's secretary buzzed his office and said, 'There's a man here claiming to be Jesus Christ. What should I do?' To which the bishop replied, 'Look busy.'" O'Malley went on to say something on the order of, "Despite the obvious humor of this remark, we must remember that the schizophrenic man off his meds is, in fact, Jesus Christ, in a new and distressing guise." I think that such clarity and genuine charity provides hope - a great deal of hope - for the shattered Catholic community here.

First Number Four: Employment
It's the last week of July (well, it was when I started to write this, anyway), and I have my first job in Boston. Yes, I have been looking for work since June. And, yes, I did come to Boston to make money with a lucrative summer job. Sadly, I will do slightly better than recoup my expenses, which is not a total loss, because I did have a great time.

I had four interviews, a background check, a credit check, a drug test and seven reference checks with Nieman Marcus - to become a salesperson, of all things! - and they still were dragging their heels last week. So when my temp agency, which had found me nothing to date, called with two positions, the choice was easy. Now that I'm their, I have to continually remind myself of my rate of pay to justify the mind-numbing project I've been given.

Currently, I am a trained monkey for the Pizzeria Uno corporate office in West Roxbury, Massachusetts. I have a beautiful, half hour commute along a winding, frenetic four lane road beside the Charles river, which is fun. Once I arrive at work, I sort through files. The lady who did their filing has been sick for about six months, so they've had a series of apathetic, illiterate temps. I work in the accounts payable department, where they have nearly 40 drawers of files that are sorted by first letter and nothing else. (i.e. they're in the right drawer, but not in the right order - at all…) And, when the temps couldn't find the folder to place an invoice in (imagine that), they would simply put it in the Misc. file for that letter. Big mess. I had to alphabetize the entire system again (which is particularly irritating, as they alphabetize people by their first name, not last!), and then to sort through the Misc. file and place the files in their correct folders. Next week, I get to go back through everything and ensure that all of the files are in the correct folders, and in reverse chronological order in those files. I can hardly wait. At least they pay moderately well.

Then, in a couple of weeks, I take a new placement with American Express, answering the phone. That should be an adventure, too.

First Number Five: Feeling My Age
There is an accounting intern at work who is nineteen. I can't tell if he's trying to be friendly, or if it's just the normal, non-personality of accountants, but he comes by often to talk about random crap. My philosophy degree has him particularly mystified, and he's constantly asking questions about what I've learned. Whatever.

Anyway, this first is as follows: In the course of a conversation about the exponential growth in the complexity of cell phones, my age came up. I'm used to this, as I guess I look pretty young, but this didn't stop there. Instead, this little shit had the nerve to say, "I don't know about your generation, but my generation is really fascinated by phones. They have to have the latest thing and the cooler, the better."

My generation?!?!

A dreadful first indeed.

(21 July, 2003)

It's almost 2 AM, and in five hours, I fly to Nebraska for a funeral. There's really no way to explain or describe the whole affair - it sucks, and that's about all I can say. Jay Sharp, my best friend's older brother, and basically my older brother, too; the guy who lived in Boston and was instrumental in my choosing Boston as a summer destination, passed away last week. It was totally unexpected, surreal, and sobering - if I had a dollar for every time I've heard "the fragility of life," I would be a wealthy man by now.

When someone very close to you dies, everything comes to a halt: job interviews seem irrelevant, plans for outings or things that you'd wanted to try seem irrelevant. All I want to do is to shout at the people walking down the street - going about their workaday lives - "My friend is dead! He's gone and I'll never see him again! Have you no sympathy?" A human life is snuffed out too soon, and the world continues as though nothing has changed. But everything has changed.

Ah, Jay, you would be so proud of me. The personal subjectivity you so often championed is never more apparent than in your passing. My world is changed; my lens is clouded; my heart is heavy, but no one else notices. They are in their reality, and I in mine, and never the twain shall meet. Is nothing objective by the loss? Does nothing perdure but memory? And that but a fleeting thing.

This is not a rational elegy, for delivery to a church-going crowd. It is raw and ragged; a cry to reaches of my imagination; to anyone who will listen and grieve with me: "Oh, God, Jay, how can you be gone?! It's far too soon. Too soon! Will nothing ever be the same?! I expect to see you in the thousands of faces I meet every day - but I won't. I await your call or email, to comment sagaciously on some aspect of the world, so that we can argue and debate once more - but we won't." Oh, the loss. It can't be true, but it is. And nothing will ever be the same.

(12 July, 2003) Thank God for Eli Whitney

Email message to those living at Tau Epsilon Phi fraternity, 11 July, 2003:

with a loud bang and a cloud of acrid smoke, my
computer's power supply tooks it's life earlier this
afternoon. if anyone has a power supply that they'd
part with, i'd appreciate the favor.

thanks in advance.
scott (summer renter in 33)

p.s. if anyone wants the underwhelming experience of
seeing a medium sized capacitor having been exploded
into a little ball and now resempling a knot of duct
tape soldered to a PC board, tours are being given on
the hour. donations accepted.

For over a year, the computer's fan had been making growling noises and vibrating, but yesterday morning, it went: "grrrr GRRRRR grrrrrrrrrr whiirrr GRRRRRRRRFF BANG!!!" - or something like that - and then a big cloud of smoke came pouring from my ominously silent computer. Of course, this didn't awaken the roommate living in the closet (it's currently 2:05pm, and she's still asleep - night before last, she thought that 3am was the perfect time to blast loud, bad music through the room - and she was sober then, too.), but it did put a kink in my plans for the day. Instaed of productively creating web pages, or whiling away the hours online, I was bereft of purpose.

Yesterday was standard East Coast weather - grey and rainy. I was trapped. In the fraternity. Without a computer. Without a book. Trapped! Sadly, I don't remember exactly what I did for those many boring hours. I tried to take a nap; I wandered from room to room, visiting other renters; I stared forlornly out the window, willing an end to the rain; I tried to read the books laying around my room (why not try The Isoquinoline Alkaloids, by K. W. Bentley, B.Sc., M.A., Ph.D., F.R.S.E. for a light summer read...). It was hours of nightmarish, undirected Scott. I shiver just to recall it.

Eventually, one of the fratties decided to celebrate his birthday, so a group went to a great Indian restaurant, and I tagged along. Then we went to The Cheesecake Factory® for dessert. In true MIT style, upon our return to the house, everyone vanished to their own computers and the faux sense of community evaporated in the technological marvel of email and instant messaging, but luckily, one other frat member had recently returned to the house with three cases of beer and a shopping bag full of hard liquor. He held the key to making my day better - because he had a stack of old computers on a shelf in his room, waiting to be scavenged for parts.

I have a "new" power supply now. It's the same age as my old one, so when it blows up in the next few months, I'll have to break down and actually buy one, but for now: Viva la cheapskate.

By the way, the pictures that were promised below, yeah, they'll be up soon.

Oh, and here's the quote for the week, taken from one of my housemates - she's a genius:

"I derive approximately 28 percent of my joy from hating the French."

• Note: it's 3:30pm and she's still abed. Fascinating - someone should study this stuff.

(10 July, 2003)

After a while, it begins to seem impossible to do anything productive: that everything only leads to an abiding sense of frustration, at least in the hunt for employment. I am preparing for my third interview with Nieman Marcus on Monday. In the mean time, I'd rather find something that didn't require working on strict comission and developing a client base, since I'm only going to be there for a little over a month at this point. So, I hold out hope that any of the 40 stores and restaurants I've applied at (no kidding here - I am the new master of employment application completion!) will call me back, while still retuning once a week or so to see how things are progressing.

I'm impressing the wrong people, it seems. The very good-looking help at these places is beginning to speak to me in the mall, when we meet, smile and flirt; enquiring about any job I may have secured, and leaving me to smile in self-deprication and indicate that no one is hiring for any reason. It's a litte frustrating that the girl across the hall got hired on site for a position I'd applied for with more experience. But, I'm not schmoozing the managers, it seems - only the help, and on the off chance that that company might hire me, I've not persued dating any of them. Can you say, "Catch 22"?

Today, I went yet again to Dick's Last Resort, a restaurant staffed by rude people. That's there gimmick - be rude and abrasive and watch your tables sit vacant. I've been told to return and speak with various people four or five times now, so I wasn't holding out much hope, but when the manager asked me if I caught birds in my hair, that was about the end of my temper. I said, "of course I do. Do you need help finding my application? I can't believe that you're really that disorganized here." Strangely, this softened the chill somewhat, and when I was denied a position based on my lack of experience waiting tables, because of the "high volume" nature of the restaurant, I merely looked around and said, "High volume, huh? Could have fooled me." To which a reply was made, "Well, not now, smart ass, but on weekends." I was told to check back in a week and see if they need door help or bar backs. Progress. It's sort of Scott's Last Resort, too.

Yesterday, my friend Brian and I went to the Bunker Hill monument and the USS Constitution, the oldest ship still afloat in the world. The monument is 294 steps high (they warn you on a plaque at the bottom), and the Constitution is a comissioned Navy vessel, launched in 1797, and still used today for tourists and entertaining dignitaries. It sails about 8 times a year. There are good pictures of that adventure on the Latest Pics page.

Then, today, after the futility of the job hunt, I decided to go take pictures of the Esplanade, this park-like area along the Charles River between Boston and Cambrige, where people exercise or relax all day long. This is where I run. There are several bridges across the Charles, and running loops down one side, across a bridge, back on the other side, and back across another bridge is the easiest way to get a decent run in. The distances have all been figured, so all yo have to is to decide how far to run. I didn't run today. Instead, I took about 100 pictures, the best of which are also on the Latest Pics page. Enjoy.

(7 Joolaiy, 2003) "A Weekend With A Bang or Six"

If you don't know me well, chances are, you may be insulted by some of what you read here. If you do know me, you will be aware of those times when my tongue is firmly in cheek, and those times when I strive toward veracity. Good luck.

As I listen to the faint strains of some overwrought diva belting out tired patriotic songs on this Monday after Independence Day and listen to the Iraqi flag flapping slowly from the flag pole in front of the house, I am reminded that it's Monday, and I still haven't checked Homestarrunner.com. What am I thinking?! - hold on here a minute!!!

Okay, that was funny. If you haven't learned to waste time there yet, it's high time you learned.

I had the opportunity to do many interesting and enjoyable things this weekend. The Boston fireworks display takes place on a barge in the Charles River, which is conveniently located three blocks from the fraternity. The fraternity has a big party every year, involving about 100 people, a kiddie pool that seats about 12, lots of burgers (veggie or beef-esque) and hotdogs (I was even able to get one down), and more than $300 worth of beer, which is conveniently located on the roof of the fraternity, three convenient blocks from the fireworks, and five convenient stories above the street. The fireworks were impressive; the beer was very good, and while I've learned my lesson about throwing things off of high places, it was fun to watch others do the same.

Roof-throwing involves large fines.

Saturday was beach day. For those of you who've never been to a real beach, it's a large expanse of sand (n. finely ground rock with the uncanny ability to infiltrate every bodily crevice) leading up to the ocean (n. cold body of salt water which is too big to see across - really!!!). On the way to the beach, I had the opportunity to be reminded how important our freedoms are, and how we must work to protect them in every way possible: how the country is in grave moral peril, the likes of which it has never seen before; how we must pray and hold fast to the only answer to our disintegrating culture - the Catholic faith - as the Supreme Court daily upholds unnatural abominations and undermines the very fabric of our society; how our liberties are being taken from us by stealth, so that Hillary Clinton can become President and work unknown depredations on the country... these are truly tough times, and it is only by knowing what really matters that we will survive them.

The trip to the beach was made with my friend, Steve, and our friends Matt and Mike. First, we went to Singing Beach, so named because some aspect of the sand (see above definition) squeaks as you walk across it. And, obviously, "Squeaking Beach" just sounds, stupid. There, we sunned (my lizard ancestors would be proud), climbed on rocks and into various tide pools, and swam on the ocean (again, see above). Then, we went to Good Harbor, where we looked around a bit and then left for Rockport after a stop at the package store. Rockport is so named because it doesn't have a beach, just lots of really big rocks, so we found an out-of-the-way rock, opened our chips and salsa, poured our malternative beverages into plastic cups, and watched the sun set over Rockport Harbor. Beautiful. Then, we walked about Rockport and pretended to be tourists as Steve, Matt, and Mike relived their east-coast childhoods in various candy and comic shops. This was followed by the sad discovery that all of the restaurants in Rockport had closed, and the hunger-driven trip to Woodman's of Essex, an internationally known restaurant that specializes in clams straight out of the bay, and then fried. Our little fried food festival was (f-ing) fantastic, and the only thing longer than our praises of the place, was the line to the bathroom when we got back to Steve's. The food was delicious and fast-acting. The night closed with us drinking on Steve's roof-deck, the view from which is marvelous.

Sunday was a movie day. In Boston, a movie costs $10. I, personally, find this a bit excessive, so Steve, Matt, and I had an impromptu double-feature. I have now seen "28 Days Later," which I do not recommend to the faint of stomach, though it is well done, and "T3 - Rise of the Machines," in which California's next governor proves that you're never to old to need to learn to act. "Eeetz mahndlezz fahn. Yooool beee bahk."

The Boston Pops orchestra played in the Hatch Memorial Shell, an outdoor pavilion on the Charles River last night, so after our movie outing, we grabbed way too much portable food, a couple bottles of wine, and joined (seemingly) half of Boston in the park to listen to the Pops play. It was very enjoyable, and as w/ the other nights this weekend, it was again, too hot to sleep.

(28 June, 2003) "Hot & Wet"

A title like that can only mean one thing - it's summer and the heat index is well over a hundred for four days in a row. Today is the first break we've had this week - high 70's and only slightly humid. If I had been able to enjoy it instead of just sleeping all day, that would have been fantastic.

I am a very problem/solution oriented person, so today, when I was walking past a neighbor's house and a rat ran across my foot (this is the fourth or fifth time I've seen this thing), I knew it was time for some action. A trip to the drug store (the D-Con was next to the pet food: good thinking!) and in fifteen minutes, I was dumping little blue pellets of death in my neighbor's yew bush and gutter. Now I can just hope the little guy's hungry.

Thursday saw an interview with General Dynamics, the huge defense contractor. One of their subsidiary companies works out of Needham, MA (30 minutes away w/ no traffic) and needs a temporary position filled. The interview went well and I should find out Monday. I'd love to have a job - the uni-directional cash-flow is getting a little tiresome.

Wednesday: I now have a bank account here in town, with Sovereign Bank. A friend of mine from school stayed over night on his way back from upper New England earlier this summer. He'd had his credit card stolen, so I just spotted him the money he needed and he was going to pay me back. He sent me a money order last week, and I went to cash it, only to learn that a money order is not a cashier's check, and therefore, un-cash-able in Boston w/o a checking account. An hour-long process ended with me having to deposit the whole money order to start the account, not being able to withdraw said monies for three days, and my being in possession of the Deluxe Portable Gardening Tote and the Deluxe Picnic Cooler for two, replete with plates, glasses, silverware, napkins and a waiter's key. I guess it's not a total loss.

Nothing else that exciting has happened. I went out last night and didn't return until late this morning, so coherence is about the furthest thing from my mind. It's time to upload this and get some sleep.

(21 June, 2003)

Progress is being made - so many pages, so much time! arrgh. I missed the only nice day this week making those pictures pages, so enjoy.

Last night, my roommate who lives in the closet (did I mention that she literally lives in the closet) decided to come out and be sociable - for the first time in three weeks. She asked if I wanted to go with her and some friends to watch the two Harry Potter movies, and then go wait at the bookstore until the Order of the Phoenix was released. Seeing as I may never have another chance to meet my roommate, I accepted. (fateful music)

Following her lead, I knew that something was amiss. She isn't notoriously full of common sense to begin with, but when she told me she didn't have directions and she didn't know how to get there, except that she'd looked at a map (and hadn't been able to tell which way was up), but that she thought she would be okay, I shouldn't have been surprised when we went to the wrong subway stop, took the wrong train, and finally had to be picked up by the people we were going to meet. We arrived halfway through the first movie.

About this time, my friend Steve called and asked if I wanted to go out. I think the "yes" must have been heard on the other side of Boston - get me away from these freakshows! So last night was filled with billiards and conviviality.

The guy who's taking my apartment for the summer got in a car accident today - nothing serious, but his parents (already upset that he's not at home for the summer, but running amok in the big city of Lincoln) are threatening to take his car away. Lovely.

Must have a nap - very little sleep last night, since bars close here so late.

(19 June, 2003)

Interesting development #1 - I now have a third roommate. (This is in addition to the girl living in the closet [literally] and the guy who just graduated with a masters degree in something between electrical engineering and neuro-biology.)

Interesting development #2 - My third roommate is a hot girl.

Did you know that any mail weighing more than 16 oz. and bearing stamps as postage must now be inspected personally by a Post Office employee. After 9-11, due to heightened security, such parcels are considered potential bombs. So if (for instance, let's say) they guy who's taking your apartment for the summer is mailing you all your bills and mail in pre-paid envelopes, and these envelopes happen to weigh more than 16 oz, and he (can you imagine) has never heard of this new policy - mail will float around the system for at least five days before being returned to the sender and having new postage demanded.

Let's hear it for late charges on credit card bills!

(18 June, 2003)

Here begins what might be a lengthy, fascinating narrative of a life lived well.

Leaden clouds, heavy with the prospect of yet more rain, crawled across the sky as if pushed by some lethargic weather god, who was himself bereft of ideas about what the weather tomorrow should hold - save more rain, of course. Hunched over his computer in compound concentration and frustration, a young man types and clicks; watching intently the outcome his actions bring to the screen. Rarely, a subdued shout of triumph escapes the half smile of his lips, but far more often, the result leads to further furrowing of his brow and redoubled intensity in his typing and clicking. Slowly, the directionless light fades, replaced by the harsh yellow glare of a touchier lamp leaned against the wall of an incredibly cluttered room.

With moderate disgust, he looks at the garbage of his roommates that litters the room. Vermin wouldn't live here. Yet in Boston, a bed, a parking space on Commonwealth Avenue, a T1 internet connection, free laundry and an unlimited supply of granola bars - all for $300 a month - was unheard of, and consequently, worth a little clutter. Again he looked out the window. A run in this weather wouldn't be pleasant, but

Alright, that's enough self-indulgent narration for today. Strangely, it was all true, but that's beside the point. You're here because you're interested in my life. Good for you: it's good to know somebody is.

Today, I finally have created something of a basis for ScottRieker.com. The menu and navigation has been the hit or miss project of almost six hours, and I'm sure that the architecture will change as I go, but dammit, it works. (Finally.)

This is the moment when the savvy web user looks for the web-site-possessing zealot to make outlandish promises about his site. Let's get a few things clear here.

1. I will not update this thing every day. I may not update it every week.
2. The site is over-the-top on purpose. If you think my life is awesome, good for you. But, you might want to see a counselor about that.

With those notes made, it's time to be productive and find some supper (see, I'm still from the Midwest - "supper").

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