Being the type of person that I am, I don't seem to be capable of having an idea and simply letting it solidify on its own.

Nope, once something begins to form in my head, I'll obsess over it until I have it properly defined and categorized. If I can't do that then I'll at least come up with a metaphor for it.

I've read that when Titanic was struck, a lot of the passengers gathered up on deck to see what had happened. Some of them reported hearing a noise, but they couldn't describe what the noise was. It turns out, or so I've read anyway, that they hadn't heard anything at all. The sound that they thought they'd heard was actually the silence that fell upon them when the engines were shut down.

They'd simply noticed that something was different, but they didn't know what.

And that, my dear readers, is probably as close as I'm going to get to what I've been feeling lately.

I've noticed a change in the noise level within me. Something LOUD, I think, has either gone silent or is at least running more quietly than it has in a long time.

What does it mean? I don't know, but I have my suspicions.

We'll see.

Damn. It's almost 11:00 and I've got nothing.

I'm supposed to write something here every day. If I don't then I get shit. I get accused of giving up. Of shutting down. My muse won't let me do either.

But what if, instead of giving up, instead of shutting down, I just run out of things to write? What if I just need to be rewound like a watch?

Hey, that's a good one. I'll use it.

I used to have this watch that was powered by arm movement. There was no battery. There was no little thingy on the side that you'd pull out to wind the watch. Instead, there was this pretty ingenious mechanism inside. An off-center flywheel that would spin around whenever you moved your arm, and that movement would wind up the spring.

I am so in need of a rewind.

I guess part of it is just that it's Thursday. Four days of nothing interesting happening. Four days without any movement to wind the spring inside me. I bet if I went back and checked, I'd find that Thursdays have been my weakest days for quite a while.

It wasn't always this way though. Last Fall, Thursdays would freak me the fuck out. I'd get nervous about the upcoming weekend and never find myself at a loss for words.

This isn't all because it's Thursday though. Something is definitely happening. I've been noticing it for a couple of weeks at least. I'm changing. I'm not sure how, or why, but something inside my head or my heart is...

I don't know. Searching for something maybe. Something that it's lost, or something that it never had? No, I think it's deeper than that. I feel like I'm searching for something to search for. Looking for a goal. For a guide. For a light at the end of some tunnel that I can at least get a sense of direction from.

That's not quite right either. Something is missing here.

I think it might be me.

Am I searching for what's left of myself? Is there anything left to find? Would I recognize it if I found it?

Would I run away?

UPDATE: Thinking about this some more, I don't think that searching is the right word. That would require (a)an actual desire, and (b)actual effort.

I think all I'm doing is wondering. Something is missing, and I'm wondering what it is.

I think I know how I'll end this.

I hope I'm right. I hope that all these random possibilities flying around me sort themselves out eventually, and let this little drama end in just the right way.

See, I know what I'm going to write, when it ends, if it ends the right way. The odds are pretty slim, but maybe I can help the odds a little. Because I've already got the ending written in my head.

What's that mumbo jumbo called? Oh yeah, affirmations.

You write something out, or think something through, several times a day and, abracadabra! It comes true. Something like that anyway.

I'm pretty excited actually. I want to write it now.

But I won't. It's not time yet. There have been too many false alarms already. I was going to say I'd cried wolf too many times already, but that's not right. What's it called when you cry out about good things that aren't really there?

KITTEN! KITTEN! KITTEN! KITTEN!

I think it would be worth the effort though. I think people would smile once they understood.

And what if it doesn't end in just the right way for me to write what I want?

I'm not sure. I think that may mean that it never ends at all. In that case I won't have to write anything except more bullshit like this entry.

Bullshit I can write. Clever endings, not so much. It would suck indeed if I came up with such a clever ending and never got to use it.

Today I employ one of my standard methods for trying to beat mental constipation. Here's this week's horoscope from Free Will Astrology:

A Pisces woman I know has heard harassing voices in her head for years. They've often urged her to commit suicide or commit other heinous acts. Three weeks ago, they mysteriously stopped, and have left her alone ever since. Meanwhile, another Pisces friend recently received a letter from an old lover who unconditionally forgave her for hurting him while they were together. A third acquaintance, also born under the sign of the Fishes, had a lucid dream in which she buried the dress she was wearing during the saddest moment of her life. Subsequently she has felt an exhilarating release from the weight of the past. I see these three events as examples of a theme you too are enjoying: a burst of liberation from a demon that has plagued you for eons.

I was actually thinking about writing an entry about something similar before I read this horoscope. Strange, but true.

For over a decade at least, I've had this recurring dream wherein I visit some place where I used to live. Sometimes it's a house, sometimes it's an apartment, but it's still always the same place in my dream. I don't suppose that it matters where it is or what it is because, in real life, I never lived there.

So in my dreams I'd go to this old abode. A lot of my stuff would still be there, and I'd have an enjoyable time going through all of my forgotten possessions and just exploring the place for a while.

Sometimes I'd imagine moving back into that old place. After all, I'd think, so much of my past was already there. Waiting for me.

Like I said, I've had this theme pop up in my dreams for a long time. I never paid much attention to it except to notice that it was always a pretty good dream.

Last night, I dreamed of the old place again.

This time it was a house. A regular ranch-style house that sat in a subdivision among a bunch of identical ranch-style houses. I did the usual exploring. I remember marveling at the fact that I had three pool tables in the basement. I wandered around the house, touching everything. I dreamed that I took a nap in what had been my bedroom.

This is the point where this dream became different.

This is the point where the moving company arrived, and I helped the movers load all of my stuff into their truck.

Once the movers had left, the real estate agent was there, and she was putting a "For Sale" sign in the yard. She told me that the old place was a little run down, but that she expected it to sell rather quickly.

"A fixer-upper," she called it. "May I ask why you've decided to sell after all this time?" she asked.

"I guess I just realized that I was never really coming back here. Having two houses is nice, but you can only live in one of them," I replied.

I woke up shortly afterwards.

I've slept two hours since Monday morning. Just like old times, I say. Go fuck yourself, I respond.

Because my day has been spent in this half-dead daze, I really have nothing of interest to write.

I dealt with some bullshit earlier today the best way I know how - I completely ignored it except to vent about it here.

I guess the only thing that really happened to me today was that I managed to sneak in a dream this morning.

*** Warning! Boring dream description ahead! Proceed at your own risk! ***

I went to the grocery store and, as I was approaching the doors, I saw a sign announcing that Danny DeVito would be signing autographs. Sure enough, I could see Mr. DeVito already. He was inside the store, talking to a couple of women who were stuck outside. They ask him if they could PLEASE come in and get his autograph.

Danny DeVito looked the women up and down and told them, "No, not today. Maybe some other time." Then he disappeared into the store.

This just struck me as completely rude and unfair, so I vowed that I'd get Danny DeVito's autograph for these women.

The doors to the store were locked but, you may recall, doors and walls and windows mean nothing to me, so I just went right in.

Now, for some reason I knew, just knew, that the best chance I'd have of getting Danny Devito's autograph would be to find a box of Honey Nut Cheerios and have him sign the box. So I went looking for such a box.

This took a loooong time, but eventually I found the cereal aisle and scored a box of the stuff.

Next, I had to figure out where the autograph signing was taking place.

This also took a loooooooong time, but after exploring the entire store, I found Mr. DeVito sitting at a little table next to the smoking section.

As I approached him with my Honey Nut Cheerios box, my alarm went off and I woke up.

I am more observant than you think I am.

I am not as stupid as you think I am.

You are not as irresistible as you think you are.

I'm bored, and I'm lonely, and I'm wide awake.

Nothing good can come from this.

Sorry about that. Sorry especially to my sisters who, upon reading that title, will probably jam cooking utensils into their ears in hopes that they'll scramble that particular bit of imagery out of their brains.

So what if they also forget a couple of kids' birthdays, or what verbs are, or how to pee. So worth it.

I just always wanted to use picture me naked as an entry title. Shit, I did it again. Oopsie.

But seriously, folks.

I always wanted to say that too.

Looking up the word, I find several definitions, including the following:

na-ked
adj.
4. Being without concealment, disguise, or embellishment: the naked facts; naked ambition.
6. Exposed to harm; vulnerable: "naked to mine enemies" (Shakespeare)

Going from the above, I'm already naked here. In fact, some might even argue that I'm much more exposed via this journal than I'd ever be if I simply stopped wearing clothing in public. I'd find no fault in that argument.

I remember back in the 70s seeing news stories about people streaking. This type of behavior seems to be old hat these days, but back then it seemed like a really big deal. Especially to an impressionable, yet groovy, young boy.

I remember wondering just how in the Hell people could do that. Weren't they embarrassed? Weren't they afraid that someone would see them? Laugh at them?

I thought they all must be crazy. Running around with their pee pees and their boobies bouncing around. What if their grandmother saw them? *shudders*

Now it's thirty years later and, I'm not parading around au naturel, but I think that I must be at least as crazy as those hippies were back in the 70s. I'm showing you people parts of me that nobody, not even my ex-wife, has ever seen. I pose and bend and flex and twist myself around so that everybody gets a really good view.

And why do I do this? What do I want in return?

Simple. Let's all get naked together. Let's stop hiding the best, and worst, parts of ourselves. We are what we are, and we are who we are, and there should be no shame.

So this is me. No better and no worse. Like what you see? Good? Don't like what you see? Feel free to look away.

If you can.

(I'm pretty sure that I've stolen the subject of this entry from somewhere, but I cannot be bothered to research it. Also, I'm not picking on anyone in particular here.)

I just don't see what the big deal is with all this Unconscious Mutterings crap that keeps cropping up everywhere.

That's right. I said it. I don't get it.

Is this supposed to be fun or something? Are you supposed to do it and learn something about yourself? Maybe you're supposed to post them in your 'blog and people will just understand you better.

I don't get the purpose of these things.

For those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, first of all you're lucky. Second of all, what you're supposed to do is this word-association thingy like they've had every shrink that's ever been on television or in the movies in history do at one point or another. For example, here's this week's list from the site. I'll read each word and then write the first thing that pops into my head:

1. Crave:: Beer
   
2. Whole package:: Cereal
   
3. Roommates:: Lesbians
   
4. 5:30:: 4:57
   
5. Lesbian:: Roommates
   
6. Poignant:: Sad
   
7. Hurtful:: Mean
   
8. You and I:: Unlikely
   
9. Grateful:: Whatever
   
10. Giggle:: Tickle
    

I don't get it.

There's one journal that I read frequently- the guy seems to have become obsessed with these things. All that I've learned from reading them is that he likes to do boring things and post them on the Internet.

Hell, I already knew that. We all do that or we wouldn't be here.

I dunno. Maybe I'm too stupid to understand the appeal of these things. Maybe I'm too smart. Maybe it's all just some big joke where the inventor of the things is getting a big kick out of the fact that people are actually doing this shit!

Hey! I've got an idea! I'll start a new sensation. I'll write a word and you send me money. The amount that you send will reveal hidden things about your personality. I promise! Right off the bat, for example, it will reveal two things:

• Whether or not you have too much money laying around.
• Whether or not you like to read random words.

The first word I'll use is *drumroll* perambulate.

Feel free to PM me for where to send your money.

I don't feel like writing anything, but I guess I'll get this over with.

Last night Rich O's was just incredibly dead. One of the PBDs was having a party and all of the other PBDs has gone to it. Not that I particularly miss those people.

MisunderstoodGirl was sitting at the bar when I came in, but she was talking with one of the assholes that does nothing but badmouth you know who all the time, so I went over and sat at the island.

I had a Smithwick's (540). I started off with a tame beer because I'd originally planned to be there for a while and I wanted to pace myself.

After the asshole left MisunderstoodGirl came over and we talked for a while. I wanted to try something new, so I had this beer from Lithuania.

Utenos Porter (17)

(bottle) Very malty and sweet. There might have been some chocolate and/or coffee flavor under all that malt, but I couldn't be sure. Mouthfeel was creamy and sticky. Finished like it had a higher ABV than it really did.

About halfway through this beer my friend left and the entire place pretty much emptied out except for some idiots that I don't know in the living room and some more idiots that were sitting behind me in the red room.

So by 9:30, I'd only been there an hour and I'd already had two beers. So much for pacing myself. I thought about maybe switching to Guinness but then I figured that it would only make my mood worse, so I paid and left.

Went to White Castle and spent a few minutes trying to get this cat that was in the parking lot to let me pet it, but it kept a four foot buffer between us at all times and just meowed.

Got home a little after 10:00, ate my White Castles, and played pool for a while.

Yippee!

1. Were you named after anyone?
My first name after my dad. My middle name I have no idea.

2. Do you wish on stars?
Nope.

3. When was the last time you cried?
The last time something bad enough happened.

4. Do you like your handwriting?
I do. It's self-encrypting in that sometimes even I can't read it.

5. What is your most embarrassing moment?
That would be this.

6. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you?
I think so.

7. Do you have a journal?
Duh.

8. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
No, I would never resort to that.

9.What are your nicknames?
Dave (duh), This one girl tried to call me Grasshopper but it didn't stick, barenada

10. Would you bungee jump?
I don't think so.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
Nope.

12. Do you think that you are strong?
Hard to say. I'm easily knocked down, but I keep getting back up.

13. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?
Vanilla with chocolate swirl.

14. What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
My unwillingness to ever do anything except whine about my problems.

15. Who do you miss most?
Duh.

16. What color pants and shoes are you wearing?
No pants, no shoes. I'm wearing a robe.

17. What are you listening to right now?
Just the voices in my head.

18. Last thing you ate?
White Castle cheeseburgers last night.

19. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be?
Why does this stupid question keep showing up on all these surveys?

20. What is the weather like right now?
Haven't been outside yet. It's cloudy though.

21. Last person you talked to on the phone?
MisunderstoodGirl.

22. What is the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
From far away, their general body shape. From close up, their eyes.

23. Favorite Drink?
Diet Vanilla Coke.

24. Favorite Sport?
Pool.

25. Hair Colour?
Blonde.

26. Eye Colour?
Blue.

27. Do you wear contacts?
Tried to several years ago, but couldn't get used to them.

28. Favorite Food?
This varies. I like crab legs at lot, and now I'm craving some.

29. Last Movie You Watched?
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

30. Favorite Day Of The Year?
None really stand out.

31. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings?
I like both types.

32. Summer Or Winter?
Summer.

33. Hugs OR Kisses?
Both.

34. What Is Your Favorite Dessert?
I don't eat dessert. That's for fancy rich folk.

35. Living Arrangements?
I have a house.

36. What Books Are You Reading?
Dead Lines by Greg Bear and Evolution by Stephen Baxter

37. What's On Your Mouse Pad?
It came with the computer. It says "Gateway" on it.

38. What did you Watch Last night on TV?
Nothing.

39. What are your favorite Smells?
Bacon, Vanilla, Lilacs.

40. Rolling Stones or Beatles?
I never cared for either band at all.

41. What's the furthest you've been from home?
Saudi Arabia.

42. Do you have a special talent?
Shooting pool.

43. What is your ring tone?
Just whatever came with the phone.

44. Least favorite sound?
See above.

I don't know why this is interesting, but it is. To me at least. Well, not really.

Here's who has sent the last 50 text messages to my phone.

My niece Bethany
RealTrainGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
RealTrainGirl
RealTrainGirl
MixedSignalGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
MisunderstoodGirl
MisunderstoodGirl
MixedSignalGirl
VigilanteGirl
MisunderstoodGirl
MisunderstoodGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
RealTrainGirl
MixedSignalGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
VigilanteGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl
VigilanteGirl
RealTrainGirl
RealTrainGirl
VigilanteGirl
MixedSignalGirl
MixedSignalGirl

It's a sad little list, really. Two lesbians, one girl that only wants to flirt with me, one niece, and one girl that I manage to hurt every time I see her.

MisunderstoodGirl called a little while ago. I guess I'm going to meet them at Rich O's. I hope they're still there when I get there, because I don't really feel like going to their other hangout, Mac's.

Don't really feel like going anywhere actually. Especially not tonight of all nights. But it's especially tonight of all nights that I have to go out. Otherwise I'll be admitting to yet another defeat, and I'm not willing to do that. Yet.

Tonight Rich O's was about half full. There were, of course, some strangers sitting in the living room area. I ended up grabbing a seat on the loveseat anyway. It was either that or stand.

I had myself a Spezial Rauchbier (760) and sat and listened to the three drunk idiots sitting around me. It actually made me feel a little better about myself, knowing that I was so much cooler than those dorks.

Once the idiots left, I had the brilliant idea of asking the bartender if Baltika 6 was back yet. It's back! Yay! Of course I had one (192).

Nerdlinger and Butterface were sitting at the kiddie table and I had moved to the throne. I spent some time talking with Butterface, who had to look past Nerdlinger to see me. Kind of prophetic I think. I could so steal her if I wanted to, at least for the night. But I'm not that kind of person.

DisgustingMakeoutCouple came in at about the time I ordered my second Baltika (209). Those two really make me uncomfortable, but at least tonight they did a pretty good job of keeping their tongues in their own mouths.

That's it. A pretty boring night. Just what I needed.

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free. In love, you feel the most alive when your lover is creative and never lets you feel bored. You'd like to your lover to think you are loyal and faithful... that you'll never change. You would be forced to break up with someone who was ruthless, cold-blooded, and sarcastic. Your ideal relationship is lasting. You want a relationship that looks to the future... one you can grow with. Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred. In this moment, you think of love as commitment. Love only works when both people are totally devoted.

What I'd like to know is how can a quiz that asks you a bunch of animal questions gives such accurate results.

Once again, I'm it really sure where I'm going with this. Once again, I should probably wait until I have a couple of beers in me before I write anything. Once again, I'm bored, so I'm going to do this now.

If you've joined me late, I'm clearly insane.

I have the feeling that a part of me must like it, because I keep coming up with new excuses to be this way.

That fact is that, no matter how much I protest, the pain is nearly gone. Whether it's because enough time has passed, or because new evidence has come to light, or because it was stupid from the beginning, it's almost over now. I can feel it leaving me. I can feel myself becoming something again. Not happy. Not even content. I guess I'm just becoming not sad.

Being completely unable to do anything about my problems since this all started, I spend an inordinate amount of time analyzing them. I have a theory as to why I keep coming up with new excuses to be sad. Putting it into words will be the tricky part.

If I'm not sad, then I'm not hoping to become not sad. To become not sad, something should happen. My pain shouldn't just fade away, something should happen that fixes me. Time heals all wounds may be standard words of encouragement, but it just seems like bullshit to me.

Sadness didn't sneak up on me, it exploded all over me. Something happened to make me this way. Is it unreasonable to want something equally dramatic to change things back?

Of course it's unreasonable. But I think it's understandable.

Consider the following:

Once upon a time this wicked witch gave a maiden a poison apple. She ate the apple, and she fell asleep. She slept for twenty years, then she woke up and felt very rested.

Once upon a time a fair maiden was sealed in a castle tower, she waited at the window for her prince to come and rescue her, but then she got tired of waiting and managed to pick the lock on the door and escape.

If I'm trapped, then a rescue is always possible. As soon as I free myself from this mess I'm in, the chance to be rescued is lost forever.

A part of me is clearly not ready to give up the dream of rescue, so I find walls everywhere I look.

A while ago I decided to start trying to bottle things up. I thought it was so I could seem more like a normal person to those who know me. That's what I thought. Now I think that the reason I'm bottling these feelings up is that they're almost gone. I'm not so much locking them up as I'm clinging to them.

I read all these journals, written by all these amazing people. I read for the stories, and for inspiration, and for the humor. I read for several reasons, and I never go away unsatisfied.

What I never expected to see, even after all these months, what I never thought I'd find was a fucking mirror. I certainly wasn't looking for one. And most definitely not one that revealed my own feelings better than I ever could.

I am completely, utterly humbled. I'm reduced to using the same words that I used the first time I looked into this mirror:

Wow. Just, wow.

Just watched one of the janit, er, custodial engineers use a shovel to get the squirrel's body out of the shrubbery. It had managed to run about thirty feet with a smashed head and untold internal injuries.

Now I'm sad.

I'm also wondering, if I ever got to the point where I really needed it, could I count on anyone to step on me and put me out of my misery?

I was standing outside my building today having a smoke and watching this squirrel spaz out.

We have trees all over the place, and the front of the building has ivy growing maybe 50 feet up it. The squirrels will climb the trees, and jump from tree to tree, and jump from the trees to the building.

I don't know what they're up to, but it's entertaining to watch.

Today I figured that this one particular squirrel must have gotten into one of the bottling lines or something because it was obviously under the influence of something. I've never seen a squirrel, never known for their sedentary ways, move so quickly and frantically.

This thing would climb one tree, then jump to the ivy on the side of the building. It would then immediately climb up a little higher and jump to another tree, then climb down to the ground. Then it would climb the first tree again and the pattern would repeat.

One of these circuits took about 10 seconds. I watched about 20 of them.

I'm not really sure what happened. I took my eyes off the squirrel for a second, and I heard it scream.

Did you know that squirrels can scream? Well they can, if they're pissed enough. Or scared enough.

Maybe it misjudged the distance to the tree. Maybe it misjudged how tired it was getting from all the spazzing out it was doing. Maybe a sudden breeze moved the branch. I don't know. What I do know is that the squirrel screamed, and then it fell about 40 feet onto the sidewalk.

The squirrel bounced. I was sickened.

The sound was exactly like you'd hear if you took two pool balls and struck them together. It was the sound of many small bones breaking at the same time. It was the sound of a skull shattering. It was the sound of something dying.

I'd say that I'm pretty normal when it comes to liking animals. If they're cute then I like them. If they have eight legs or beady eyes, well then not so much. So possums and spiders are out, but squirrels are definitely in the like column.

I took a second or two to work up my nerve, then walked to see if the squirrel was alive. I was sure that it would be dead. Hoping that it'd be dead actually. Because if it was alive and hurt as badly as that sickening sound and that horrific bounce indicated, if it was hurt that badly, then I was going to step on it. I was going to kill it and put out of its misery.

I could see the squirrel laying on the sidewalk when I started walking toward it. It hadn't moved. How could it have moved? It was dead. But I had to make sure, and I walked around some bushes that hid the squirrel from my view for a second. I remember wondering how much blood I'd get on my work shoes if I had to step on it and kill it. I wondered if I'd really be able to go through with it.

When I rounded the bushes, the squirrel was gone.

There had been no noise, no rustling of the shrubbery. There had been nothing. It was there one second and then gone the next.

I've heard that some animals, in the last seconds of their life, will often summon every last bit of energy and strength they have and just run. Run to hide, somewhere safe. Run to heal, somewhere warm. Run to die, somewhere private.

I don't know where this squirrel went to die. All I know is that, wherever it went, it went there fast.

It was a spaz right up to the very end.

I didn't watch the final show, but I tivoed it and planned to watch it tonight. Then they went and spoiled it for me on the radio this morning.

For those of you that don't have my 'blog memorized, I just wanted to point out that I wrote this on September 1st.

I got the ordering of the Suzie and Jordis eliminations switched, but otherwise I nailed it.

Yay me!

(response to another message from the same person)

OK but if LG wasnt(sic) there would you be with MSG?

To answer your question: I don't know. LG isn't really here anyway, only her ghost is, and it's been here for so damn long that I can hardly imagine what things would be like without it. I suppose that, if I got some closure, or if I grew up, or if somebody hit me in the face with a baseball bat enough times, there could be a time when I stopped being haunted.

So I don't know. Six months ago I'd have said no, there were too many other problems. Today I'm not so sure. There would certainly be obstacles, just as there have always been obstacles. I actually think that I'd be willing to try. She is a very sweet girl, and she actually cares about me, and she's hot, and she's smart, and she laughs at my jokes...

...and she's not LG.

And that's the problem with hypothetical questions. Reality always comes back and fucks things up.

(response to message)

Dont(sic) you find it funny that your(sic) putting MSG thru the exact same things that LG is putting you thru?

The situations are similar, but that's about it.

I was thinking I'd go over some of the differences between these two situations, but the first (and main) thing I need to say here is that nobody is putting anyone else through anything. Those of us that are hurting here, we are doing this to ourselves. To accuse me of putting someone else through something painful implies that I'm doing it intentionally. That's just not the case. I do everything I can to keep from hurting causing MSG any more pain. I believe that LG would prefer that I didn't hurt either. There's no malice here, in either situation.

(I may write something here that could be seen as disparaging. That is not my intention. I'm just stating the facts as I see them.)

I guess that most obvious difference would have to be the fact that MSG and I had an actual romantic relationship. We tried, more than once, to keep that spark going, but it just became too difficult. Her hang-ups, my baggage - it was just too much. Whatever, it makes a little bit of sense that she'd develop some feelings for me during that time. I am a pretty good guy after all.

LG and I, on the other hand, had nothing more than a friendship that turned out to be mostly one-sided. The fact that nobody at the bar believes that it never went beyond that doesn't make it any less true.

MSG and I have talked dozens (hundreds? thousands?) of times about what was going on between us. This type of open and honest communication has been, and continues to be, one of the cornerstones of what I hope will be a long friendship. I've been honest, at times brutally honest, with her at all times, and she has done the same with me.

LG and I have never talked about any of this at all. For this I mostly blame my own fears. Mostly.

MSG knows pretty much all there is to know about me. She knows me as well as anyone ever has. She knows my strengths and my weaknesses. She knows my hopes and my fears. Her heart has been able to make an informed decision about me and her feelings for me.

Everything that I think I know about LG is based on my emotions and feelings and my own sense of the potential in her. I have very little firsthand knowledge about what kind of person she really is.

MSG wanted to have feelings for someone.

I didn't.

MSG still wants to have these feelings.

I don't.

I'm wondering, why does it feel better to love than it feels to be loved?

Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Aren't we, at our deepest levels, pretty much governed by instinct?

One of my sister's professors once told her that humanity was free of instinct, that humanity always had a choice when it came to deciding how to behave, what to do, how to react to stimuli. That, as human beings, we were governed by what we had learned as we went through life. That, with us, it was all nurture and that nature had become irrelevant.

My sister's professor was an idiot.

We may often seem to be governed by thought and knowledge and reason and experience, but that's just the surface of who we really are. That's just what gets projected out to the rest of the world.

The real person lives inside of us. Our heart and our soul. And there's nothing there but emotion and instinct. That's who we really are.

You ever try to reason with your heart? It's not that it doesn't listen. It simply cannot understand what you're trying to tell it. Reason is the domain of the mind. The heart only understands emotion. Joy. Love. Sorrow. Shit like that.

The more basic the feeling is, the more powerful it is.

Every now and then I have a thought. Sometimes it's just something I ran across in the past, but since I can't really remember running across it before, I think that I came up with it all on my own. Today I wrote something in a PM that was such a thought. Someone had asked whether it was possible to choose whether to fall in love or not. I responded:

There's no choice. Sometimes you can fight it with everything you've got and you still fall. It's like gravity, only stronger.

But I ramble. Back to my original question.

Why do we continue to love, even when we're not loved back? Why do we stay in one-sided relationships? Even worse, why do we stay in abusive relationships?

Because we need to love someone more than we need to be loved by someone.

Don't ask me why this is. I have no idea. I just know that I've done all three.

Let's say that someone loves me. Let's also say that I love someone else. I have a choice to make, and I'm always going to make the same one. I'll hurt the one who loves me, and I'll be hurt by the one I love, and nothing will ever change, and everybody will be miserable forever.

This doesn't make any sense, but sense is the domain of the mind. The mind cannot understand the heart any more than the heart can understand the mind.

---

You know what, I'm really trying here. Trying to emote without emotion. Trying to feel without feelings. I'm trying, and I really don't appreciate my mind telling me how pointless this all is. Maybe pointlessness is the point I'm trying to make. Huh? You ever think of that, you asshole mind, you?

I'm going to stop now.

One of the side-effects of bottling everything up is that I'm able to think about things that, a few weeks ago, would have been, um, unthinkable.

Not unthinkable as in terrible or horrifying, but as in hey, I never thought of it that way before, or why didn't I think of that before?

I spent so much time obsessing over the why and the how and the what of my situation that I never really took the time to look at the who.

Who would of course be you know who, and also my lovely self.

Speaking of myself, I've never really been a what if kind of person when it comes to thinking about the past. I've never spent a lot of time replaying past mistakes, imagining what might have happened if I'd said or did something differently. I usually just try to play the cards I'm dealt.

Here's the thing about mistakes: You never recognize one until you've already made it. You might suspect it, but you're not sure until it's too late.

Now, I'm not saying I like the hands I've been given recently. Far from it actually, but I've been dealing with it by whining about it, not by imagining how much better it could have been if...

But I ramble. I do that a lot lately. I DO know where I'm going with this. Really.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah.

Because I'm bottling all of the painful stuff up, I've found that I'm able to think about things without all those pesky feelings getting in the way. I'm able to remember things that before had been overshadowed by more dramatic things.

Such as this thing here that I'm finally going to get to after babbling on for an eternity.

A couple of times last Summer, she was sad. I'm sure that there were more times than just those two, but those are the ones I remember because she was crying. The first time was because CoffeeDude decided to preach to her about the realities of life, and another time that was probably just girl stuff.

The first time she got up and left. I tried to follow her and apologize on behalf of men everywhere, but she would have none of that.

The second time I tried to make her feel better. I tried to say soothing words that would ease her pain and maybe even give her some hope for the future.

She yelled at me.

I'd said the wrong words I guess, and I didn't try any more.

A couple of months later, I could tell that something was bothering her. Her smiles had become fleeting. Her eyes had lost some of their sparkle. She'd get bored easily, and she'd leave. There was something wrong.

I did nothing.

I didn't ask her what was wrong, or even if anything was wrong, or if I could help. I let her be sad, and I didn't do a fucking thing about it.

Part of the reason was that I was pretty tied up with my own problems at the time. Fighting my developing feelings was taking a lot out of me. Another part of the reason was that I remembered what had happened the last time I'd tried to help. I'd only made things worse. Finally, as long as I'm striving for completeness here, there was a part of me that was already blaming myself for her sadness. After all, she knew at least a little of what I was going through. It was at least conceivable that she was bothered by it. But we'd never discussed it, and I always figured that she just didn't want to talk about that with me.

I'm not saying that what I did was right, but that's the way it was. I just tried to mind my own business. I guess I figured that we were friends, and if she wanted to talk about whatever it was, I'd be there for her. But I wasn't going to force myself on her.

I figured that she'd probably talk to me about it eventually.

Instead, she moved a million miles away.

Several thousand years ago, when I started writing this entry, I mentioned that I was never prone to going over past mistakes and wondering what if I'd handled things differently.

Well times change, and so do people sometimes.

Minding my own business was a mistake. Not trying to help was a mistake.

I fucking should have tried to help. It might not have done any good. Hell, it might have even made things worse. Maybe trying to help would have turned out to have been a mistake too. Maybe there was nothing that I could have done or said that would have made her feel better. Made her stay.

I should have tried, and I'm sorry that I didn't.

Why? Why would someone do this to me?

It's just so unfair!

Waaaaah!

*sobs uncontrollably*

Somebody erased what I'd written on the board at Rich O's and rewrote it!

*breathes into paper bag*

Okay, so maybe I forgot to write how many ounces it was. Maybe I wrote a little small. Maybe I got the price wrong. Maybe my writing looked left-handed (inside joke ha-ha Hi M!) but c'mon! What I'd written was a zillion times better than what had been there, which was absolutely fucking nothing.

*tries to slash wrists with keys*

If I hadn't noticed the Smithwick's tap behind the bar, and written on the board, the place might not have sold any Smithwick's all weekend.

How would you have liked that, Roger? Your precious Smithwick's just sitting in the keg, going all stale and shit.

Everyone I asked, of course, denied erasing my legacy from the board, but there was one guy that got so flustered that he spilled an entire thing of straws all over the floor! Clearly there was a guilty conscience at work.

I KNOW YOU DID IT!

But I still don't understand why.

Oh BartenderDude, why hast thou forsaken me?

They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. My revenge will be frigid. A veritable iceberg of revenge. You just wait.

*begins plotting revenge*

(If you don't know what all this gorilla shit is about, you're not reading enough. You could go here and get some background if you're bored enough.)

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually miss the wretched thing.

That battle of wills that Koko and I waged for months, even though all I ever seemed to do was complain about it, it at least gave me something to do. Something to think about and something to care about.

It turned out to be a much bigger part of who I was than I'd figured. A huge part in fact. I should have known that. Having a fucking gorilla for a manifestation instead of, say, a gerbil or a fuzzy bunny rabbit or some such - that should really have warned me. This was a BIG deal, and it would be a tough fight that I wasn't guaranteed to win. There was no way to know who would emerge victorious from the battle for my identity.

It was too fucking close.

I mean, I always knew that I was being referred to as that guy with the gorilla, but what I didn't realize was just how much of me was defined by its presence. It never quite took over completely, but it came awfully close at times, and each time we locked horns a little bit more of who I was transferred over to it.

Then one night a couple of months ago, it finally gave up and left. Problem is, it left in such a hurry that I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. It left in such a hurry that it forgot to give me back what it had taken from me.

I spent about a week being relieved about finally being alone again, then, when the relief faded, I saw just how little of me there was left.

I started to drift. And while my feet have managed to touch ground a couple of times, I've bounced quickly. Or maybe jumped. I don't know. Or care. And that's the root of the problem. I certainly used to care, about one thing mainly, but some of that spilled over to other things. I was almost like a real person. Caring about stuff and shit.

But I ramble.

And another thing. When you're accompanied everywhere by a gorilla, there's really no explanation necessary. Or possible. Some things just are and they'll resist all attempts to explain and excuse them. People, myself included, would see the gorilla and know immediately that to question its presence would be fruitless. It was just there.

Now it's not there and I no longer have an excuse for not seeking the answers to the questions that have plagued me. I no longer have a distraction that consumes me and keeps me busy fighting it while other, less powerful manifestations watch from the sidelines.

Koko is gone, and now I've got all these little fuckers entrenching themselves like maggots in my guts. Just making themselves at home. Each one represents a question that needs to be answered before all of this will be over. And I'll have to address each one of them on my own, when I find the time, because people see me without Koko and they assume that I'm back to normal. They try to *gasp* talk to me and shit. They cannot see what's happening inside me.

At least with the gorilla it was obvious to everyone that I was insane.

This entry is late because I had to work all day. It sucked, but it doesn't happen very often that I have to work on a Sunday, so I guess I'll live with it.

The entry is boring because all of the passion has either been sucked out of me or bottled up inside me. I'm not really sure which is the case, and it probably doesn't matter very much at the moment. The end-result is the same - a boring entry.

You have been warned. I suggest that, instead of bothering with this entry, you go read PassionateKisses instead. She's funny as fuck.

I feel like a visual is needed here.

Last night, when I got to Rich O's, I was sitting in the chair, which we all call the throne. NotGeorge was on my right, and WomanRepellant was on my left, and there were a couple of other guys that I don't know all that were sitting around as well.

I had myself a Delirium Tremens (357), and the group of us bullshitted about various fluff. I was already feeling a little bit claustrophobic because WomanRepellant was sitting just about as closely to me as he could while still maintaining some ass-sofa contact. I have no idea what that was all about.

Anyway.

To my immediate right is the kiddie table. This dude comes up and grabs a chair from the kiddie table and turns it towards our group so he can talk with us. Mainly he was just talking with WomanRepellant.

So I found myself stuck in the middle of a conversation between two people who were way into my personal comfort zone. I put up with this for about 10 seconds, but that was all I could stand. I grabbed my shit and went and sat at the end of the bar next to the idiots that had been there Wednesday.

I ordered one of these:

Upland Wheat (3)

(draft) Very fizzy. Too damn fizzy. There was too much citrus and it was a little sour tasting. I didn't care for it at all.

At one point WomanRepellant came up and stood at the bar. He'd apparently gotten sick of all the football talk that was going on, and he knew that football was the last thing I'd want to talk about. So we talked for a while about anything but football.

Next I had a Weihenstephaner Dunkel (140).

At one point I returned from taking a piss and my seat had been taken. So I grabbed my shit again and moved over to the other end of the bar since the idiots from Wednesday had left.

At about this time I noticed that there was a Smithwick's handle attached to one of the taps behind the bar. After confirming that they did indeed have Smithwick's on tap I found some chalk and went out and wrote it on the board.

So finally, I've been able to leave my mark in this world. I've always wondered what form it would take.

Once my Weihenstephaner was gone I ordered a Smithwick's (500).

I guess that's about it. I had a fairly enjoyable night, probably because I was irritated for having to pick up my shit and move not just once but twice. Irritated is close to being an actual feeling, and feelings have been hard to come by lately.

As long as I'm trying to break my own record for the most boring entry ever posted, I'll include a couple more pictures:

I'm so going to steal this Mad Bitch poster some night.

This was a picture I took of the taps at the BBC when I went there recently.

Finally, here's an awkward ending to a pointless entry.

Got a PM, after that last brief entry, asking me what was wrong.

What's wrong is that there's nothing wrong. I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.

I'm out of the water, but I'm certainly not soaring. Just drifting along. Again. Caring about nothing. Again. Forcing myself to write something. Again.

Last night, a little after 6:00, MisunderstoodGirl called me and asked me to join her at the bar. I declined, saying that I needed to take a nap before I went out. I told the truth. I always take a nap after work on Fridays. But just because I always do something doesn't mean it's mandatory. I should have gone to see MisunderstoodGirl. She's been working these screwed up hours and I think I've only seen her a couple of times in the last six months. I should have said "fuck the nap" and just gone.

But I didn't, and I felt bad about that. Still do actually.

Once I finally got my lazy and selfish ass off the couch I headed out the door a little after 9:00. I stopped to see VigilanteGirl who, true to form, took the opportunity to bail on seeing the exorcism movie with me this weekend. Maybe next weekend I'm told. Once again, I'll believe it when I see it.

So I went to Rich O's. Nothing but guys there as usual. I ordered a Spezial but the keg blew while it was being poured. It ended up looking like coffee in my glass. It tasted okay, but it was creeping me out a little so I only drank half the glass (720).

Spezial was blown, Baltika was gone, the place was a sausage fest again. There was just nothing for me at Rich O's. I did what I should have done hours earlier. I called MisunderstoodGirl to see where she was, and went to see her.

It was this Mac's place that I don't care for very much, but at least they didn't have live music last night. Just karaoke, and I can stand that. MisunderstoodGirl and I sat at the bar and bullshitted and caught up for a while. I had a couple Newcastles (1664).

After a couple of hours MisunderstoodGirl was ready to leave so I had no reason to stay there either. I went back to Rich O's and had a Guinness (861). The place was winding down, but there was still no place to sit. I just stood at the bar for a while and wondered what I was doing there. MisunderstoodGirl actually came into Rich O's - I guess great minds think alike - but she was, being a girl, able to squeeze into a spot on the loveseat. I had to stand at the bar until some idiots left the sofa. Once they'd left I sat over there and talked with MisunderstoodGirl and DooRagGirl for a few minutes before they started closing the place up.

Came home and watched The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I was afraid this might happen.

I've got nothing for you people.

Maybe later.

So I was talking with this girl today and she started babbling about something or another.

I don't know this girl's name. She's only been here for a few weeks. I haven't quite decided if she's pretty or not, but she does wear glasses and have brown hair, so that's a big plus. Like I said, I don't know her name, and we've never talked before. She probably knows who I am because I'm like famous and shit.

Anyway.

She's talking about some crap and how she was supposed to go out drinking last night with her friends but she didn't feel like it because she had to work today and because she's still upset about the situation with dad and her dog and...

Huh?

Filthy-minded degenerate that I am, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that she'd caught her dad and her dog in a compromising position.

I really think something like that would pretty much guarantee that I'd go out drinking.

Well, everyone can relax and get on with their lives now.

I found my book.

Where was it?

Why in my Intrepid of course, buried under some mail that I took out of the mailbox last week but never bothered to bring into the house.

How did it get there?

This is clearly the work of the liberal media. Or maybe it was part of some vast right-wing conspiracy. I guess it could be gnomes that sneak into my house every night to hide stuff.

It's most certainly not because I'm going senile..

I wonder what she's doing right now.

Is she sitting alone, trying to imagine me? Is she wondering who I am, what I'm like, and if she'll ever find me? Maybe she's looking at the stars and imagining that I'm looking at the same stars? If I went outside right now, would we share the moon?

I wonder what she looks like.

What color is her hair? Does she wear glasses? Is she tall or is she short? Do her eyes twinkle, and do they seem to change color with her moods? Does her face light up when she sees someone she loves? Does her hair swing and sway when she turns her head? Does that one strand keep landing in her mouth?

I wonder how we'll meet.

Will it just be one of those chance encounters? Will we be introduced by a mutual friend? Will we just know right away, or will it take time?

I wonder how she'll treat me.

Will she laugh at my jokes? Will she even understand my jokes? Will she mend my heart, or will the pieces slip like sand through her fingers? Will she be understanding of my moods, as I'll try to be understanding of hers? Will she be faithful? Will she learn my weaknesses and use them against me when we fight? Will she lay on the couch with her head in my lap while we watch a movie?

I wonder how it will end.

Well, that was exciting.

Stopped by to see VigilanteGirl on the way to the bar. She wanted me to stay but I'm afraid of getting her into trouble at work again, so I didn't stick around very long.

Rich O's was pretty dead. I sat on the sofa and a couple of strangers, who came in at the same time I did, sat on the loveseat. I didn't talk to them because I'm pretty sure that they were idiots. The girl drank coffee and the guy asked for something lighter than Upland Wheat. What a pussy.

Rich O's is out of Baltika 6 Porter. Waaaaaaaaaaaah! Why does everything I love go away? Waaaaaaaah!

So I had a Spezial Rauchbier (710) and then a Young's Double Chocolate Stout (166).

It was pretty boring there, so I left after the two beers and went to Wal-Mart to buy The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I also picked up a new computer game and a CD. I can't remember the name of the guy on the CD, and it's all the way in the kitchen so it's too far to go look. It's got that song Beautiful Soul on it. I love that song. If I ever do karaoke again it'll probably be that song.

There was a yellow tabby kitty in the parking lot when I left the store. I followed it around for a few minutes calling "Here kitty kitty kitty!" but it was too timid to let me get too close. I really should carry cat treats in my pockets for occasions like this.

Dewrinkling a shirt, letting it run through the dryer, and I have a little bit of time to kill. Figured I'd pass some of this boredom on to you readers.

Anyway.

One of my friends - I call her my lesbian girlfriend actually - seems to think that I'm gay. She seems obsessed with the idea actually. At first I thought she was just trying to break me out of this funk by getting me all riled up. Now I'm not so sure. Perhaps she actually thinks that I am the gay. This is the kind of thing that would have really bothered be back when I was younger and more closed-minded. Now I'd just kind of like to prove her wrong. So I'll be taking volunteers to help me demonstrate my non-gayness at Rich O's this weekend. Please, ladies, no pushing and shoving. Everyone will get their turn.

Tomorrow I get to re-register all of my cars and get them emission tested. As an added bonus, I get to run by the courthouse and pay some of my property tax bill. Woo Hoo!

I'm driving to Cincy Friday for this vendor demo thingy. It would be even better if I didn't have to drive back to Louisville and work afterwards. I could have probably used a night in Cincy.

The people at work are all into this fantasy football stuff, and I have to listen to them yack and yammer about it all day long. One of the few things I hate worse than actual football is fantasy football.

I had this incredibly stupid idea for an entry this morning. I actually wrote quite a bit of it before I realized just how stupid it was. Then I came up with slightly less stupid idea, and started writing it out, until I realized that it was mostly about the shit that I'm supposed to be bottling up. Now I kind of have this idea for a new series of entries, but I haven't gotten passed the initial idea stage yet.

They seem to have stopped making Diet Vanilla Coke. This makes me very sad. Now I have to choke down Diet Vanilla Pepsi or *gasp* regular non-vanilla Diet Coke.

It's almost Fall. I've got several anniversaries coming up. People dying. People leaving. A few birthdays too, but mostly sad stuff.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Well, that's my dryer signaling the end of its cycle. Time to take my wrinkle-free self to the bar.

I wrote this as several different entries, over the course of several months, in reaction to some things that were happening in my life. I kind of like it except for the ending. The ending sucks. I've since realized that the ending was nothing but an illusion.

It's all a metaphor, of course. I like metaphors. You can hide behind them and still get your point across.

I'm not really sure why I'm combining them into a single entry like this. Probably just boredom.

--------------------------------------

(January 25)

Chest heaving and heart pounding, he fills his lungs with sweet, sweet air. All of his senses activate at once. He relishes the sight, sound, and smell of his brief surfacing into the world of light. Before going under once again, he uses the last of his precious air to scream out a name. The depths are peaceful, but he knows they will kill him eventually. He begins to sink, smiling.

(January 29)

As his feet touch bottom, he instinctively jumps. He is surprised - these waters had seemed a lot deeper the last time. His head and shoulders break the surface, and once again he gasps for air. A quick turn of his head reveals land, perhaps a small island, off in the distance. He dares to have hope, and once again begins to sink.

(February 1)

As he nears the beach, he feels the rip tide beneath him, trying to pull him back into the depths. He struggles frantically, and finally, miraculously, feels solid ground beneath his feet. The waters, losing their grip, switch tactics. They send monstrous waves into his back, threatening to smash him into the rocks. He continues undaunted. His salvation is in sight, he will not die here. Not on this day.

He scrambles through the water that is neck-deep, then waist-deep, then suddenly he is free. He collapses onto the wet sand and crawls his way to safety.

From the jungle, glowing eyes watch.

(February 7)

The jungle envelopes him, claws at him. He doesn't know where he's going anymore. There is no sense of direction. There is - nothing at all except the sound of the twigs snapping under his feet and the rustling as his trail heals itself behind him. Even the sound of the ocean has become lost in the past.

He runs, as well as he can through the thick brush. Something is following him, some thing has been following him since he left the beach. And it's gaining on him.

(February 18)

Once again a claw rakes his skin, and he cries out. His refuge is not solid - there are small openings everywhere, and it is taking full advantage of them. Sharp talons reach in and grab at him, not able to get a firm grip but doing plenty of damage anyway. He tries to steel himself against the pain, but it always comes without warning. He begins to contemplate the impossible. He doesn't want to die like this, bleeding and cowering in the dark.

(March 1)

The dawn light snakes its way into his refuge, and he opens his eyes to the new day that he thought he'd never see. It is gone, but the deep gashes covering his body tell him that this was no dream - no terrible nightmare from which he has mercifully awakened. Cautiously, carefully, he picks himself up off the ground, pries himself loose from the sticky grasp of his own coagulating blood. The pain is nearly overwhelming, but he does not cry out. He emerges from his hiding place and warily surveys his surroundings.

He is alone, and, to his astonishment, he is no longer afraid.

(April 8)

His strength has been slow in returning. His wounds are healed, but he knows that the scars will last a long time. He wanders aimlessly about this, his island, and reflects constantly how lucky he is to at least be alive - to at least be safe.

He doesn't see it coming.

The tsunami roars in from the West, and sweeps him back out to sea. Back to where he'd started.

The depths welcome his return. The depths are so beautiful.

He opens his mouth to laugh, and his lungs fill with water.

(April 18)

There is...Nothing.

Blackness and silence surround him, seep into him.

He wonders how long it has been. A minute? A day? A million years?

Even the familiar thump thump of his heart has stopped. He ponders this, and reaches his hand to his chest, but he finds that he has no hand, and that he has no chest.

He simply exists, seeing, hearing, feeling nothing.

He waits for something to happen, and wonders if he is dead.

(June 5)

It starts as a tickle. An itch. An inkling of a sensation so faint that he hardly recognizes it. When he finally notices it, this faint ghost of a feeling, it explodes. He suddenly feels his body again, and it is on fire. For a million eternities he has felt nothing, and now he relishes in the pain.

For the pain tells him that he lives. That he exists.

Through the pain, he feels his body rise.

(July 6)

His reawakening complete, his body restored, his pain faded, he begins kicking furiously, driving himself upward. His head breaks the surface, followed by his torso, his legs, and finally his feet.

He continues to rise.

Looking in wonder at the waters below him, he realizes that he is finally free of their grip. He soars, free and safe.

But only for a moment.

For he died in the depths, and he was reborn in the depths. Without their cold embrace he cannot exist.

He is smiling when he evaporates.

It was so worth it.

The end.

(July 7 - Epilogue)

Yeah, I know. I don't really like it either. The ending sucks, and so does the writing.

I just couldn't leave the poor guy in pain forever, so I had to end it somehow.

A happy ending was not an option. Never was, really.

I could have done a better job of wrapping things up, but I decided that it would be better to just get it over with.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

---------------------------------------------

As it turned out, I could have let the guy live, but the metaphor would have broken completely down before too long anyway.

You ever just know something, even when there's nothing to support your theory?

Maybe you even get some new evidence, and it completely contradicts what you believe. But you still know that you're right.

I think that the faithful would call this, um, faith.

Dammit, I'm right about this, and there's not a thing that you can tell me or show me to convince me otherwise.

"But what about all this evidence to the contrary?" you might ask. Probably planted. All of it. Or maybe just imagined. Either way, it's not real.

I find myself faced with two choices. One, I'm insane. Two, somebody is fucking with my head by planting conflicting evidence.

I think Occams's Razor would apply to this situation.

Meanwhile, back in the outskirts of Normalville...

I broke the electric window switch on my Monte Carlo today. The part will cost me over $100. For a little plastic switch with chrome paint on it. Good thing I've got all this spare money laying around and burning holes in my pockets. Not.

I've got to burn a day of vacation on Thursday so I can take all three cars to get emission tested and get new stickers for my license plates. I'm so not looking forward to it, but at least I'll be able to go out on Wednesday night.

I've heard from several people that the new exorcism movie sucks. I kind of still want to see it, but that's mainly just to spend some time with VigilanteGirl. She hasn't bailed on me yet, but the week is still fairly young.

I got halfway through this Dead Lines book and now I've lost the damn thing. I really hate losing stuff. It's even tougher when I consider that I live alone, so it's all my fault.

Well, guess I've killed enough time. Going to go watch Big Brother now.

I've been struggling with how to respond to these accusations. Not just how, but if I should respond at all.

It's just so absurd. Nobody who knows me at all would think me capable of this.

You know what, I'm not going to bother crafting a long response. She and I both know that it's not happening that way, and that should be enough.

I'll just say one thing - She calls me.

Not that I don't understand at least some of this feedback, but for the most part it's based on a misunderstanding.

If I'm still pissed later on, and if I feel like an explanation is warranted, I'll try to clear things up.

Otherwise, I'll just let things slide, and people can think whatever they want. I expect that most people will continue to do that anyway.

I got this idea from jewels9445.

So, say you were meeting a new person - blind date, new friend, who knows. And you wanted them to have some idea of what kind of person you are, and who you are. But you can't actually tell them in so many words. Instead, you have to give them a box, with a dozen things in it for them to ponder over.

1. A bottle of Delirium Tremens (It's a beer)
2. A kitten (or maybe just a cute picture of one)
3. A cueball
4. A Rubik's Cube
5. One of my CGI landscapes
6. A Kelly Clarkson CD
7. A book: probably something by Heinlein
8. A road atlas of the United States
9. A red rose
10. A smaller box that's empty
11. A printout of some of my 'blog ramblings (EDIT: Replaced with a snow globe with an Alaskan scene.)
12. A pair of jeans

People, friends of mine, 'blog readers, whatever, keep telling me to stop bottling things up. They tell me to just let it out. That I'll feel better afterwards.

Well I've tried letting it out. Too many times. When, exactly, do I get to feel better? The most I've managed to do is empty myself completely. I then spend a few days waiting for something to fill that void and - surprise! - it's pain again! Sometimes I can conjure up something else, like anger or shock or disappointment. But none of those quite fit this hole in me. Nope, it's a pain-shaped hole, and pain seems to be all that can fill it.

People tell me that time heals all wounds.

How much time should it take? Does the passage of time even matter when the wound is constantly being reopened? When I continue to be drawn, day after day, week after week, back to the scene of the crime? Am I just supposed to feel a little bit better every day until I eventually wake up and I feel fine? Will I then say to myself "Wow, that was kind of fucked up," and then I'll get on with my life? Or will I just all of a sudden not hurt, like somebody flipped a switch? Wouldn't the shock be too much for me?

People tell me that I will get better. That things will work out.

How can anyone know for sure? How can anyone tell me, with any kind of certainty, that I won't be laying on my deathbed in forty years thinking "I wonder if she'll come to my funeral?" Every answer to every question I've asked has only unearthed more questions. There's no end in sight. This beast just continues to feed on itself.

People tell me what a good person I am. How lucky any girl would be to have me in their life.

I had lunch yesterday with a girl that's not feeling very lucky, I guarantee it. She's told me that she waited her whole life to meet me, but that she met me three months too late. She says that she's just as trapped as I am, but she started out as an innocent bystander. She says that she wants out but she can't find the right door. She says that her life is like a nightmare where all of the hallways twist around and keep leading back to the same place. Back to me. No, I don't think she feels particularly lucky to have me in her life.

People tell me that I'm blowing this all out of proportion. That it just doesn't make sense for this to have affected me this much.

I know it's absurd. It's stupid. It's beyond ridiculous. That doesn't make it any less real. Telling me that there's no good reason for these feelings only makes me feel worse. Trying to reason with me is the worst thing you can do. Because I already know all that shit.

People try to help. They really do. And I appreciate it. It's just not doing any good, and I kind of wish they'd stop.

Hey, I know! Let's play a game. I'll go back to my old ways. I'll bottle all this up, and you won't have to see it anymore. I'll pretend that everything is fine, and you can play along. It'll be just like old times! What the Hell, I'll even give MixedSignalGirl what she's been wanting. We'll probably get married and maybe even have a couple of kids before I get too old to appreciate them.

You'll all be so relieved that I'm finally okay again, and that I'm actually happy. "See?" you'll tell me. "Everything worked out in the end."

And I'll nod and tell you how you were right all along, that I just needed time to heal, and then one day I'll explode into a million pieces.

My sleep schedule was all messed up, so I didn't even get to Rich O's until after 10:00. Accordingly, I only had two beers; a Delirium Tremens (347) and then a Guinness (841).

The place was pretty empty, at least of people that I felt like talking to, so I just sat at the bar and pretended that I was happy.

Since this is such a short entry, I'll add some shit.

1. I didn't go to the Lanesville Heritage thingy again this year. My sleep schedule was just too messed up, so I ended up napping during the time I'd planned to go.

2. The new Applebee's in New Albany sucks donkey dicks. Maybe they all do. I wouldn't know - this is the first one I've ever been to. They did have bottles of Guinness (821) though, so I had two.

3. I drove the Monte Carlo around today. With Fall and Winter approaching, I won't have as many opportunities to drive it. So I'm taking advantage of what I've got.

4. Today, VigilanteGirl was wearing one of the Hard Rock shirts I bought her. She looks quite fetching in it. Dare I say yummy? Yes I do dare it. Yummy!

5. VigilanteGirl has tentatively agreed to go see that exorcism movie with me next weekend. I'll believe it when I see it.

6. I think that the hot girl from last weekend may have been an Internet stalker. That would be cool I think.

7. MixedSignalGirl used the "L" word with me today, then quickly retracted it and denied ever saying it. This is the type of thing from which nicknames are born.

8. RealTrainGirl is trying to expand the holes in her ears. I expect that in a year or so she'll have dinner plates instead of earrings.

9. My barenada.com readers seem to be pissed at me. Since I started duplicating everything at journalspace.com the number of daily messages I've received at my original site has dropped by about half.

10. I was going to make this an even 10, but I can't think of anything right now.

I don't think I mentioned ButterFace and Nerdlinger the other day. They were at Rich O's again last night. ButterFace reminds me of someone but I don't know who. With the body she's got, she could definitely do better than Nerdlinger.

Anyway, when I got to Rich O's, the place only had a half-dozen people in it. I mean in Rich O's proper - there were a bunch of people out front and in the loser area.

The problem was, the half-dozen people were so scattered about the place. Nowhere were there three seats where my friends and I could sit without invading somebody's territory.

So that's what we did. We grabbed some seats at the island next to some people that I don't know.

It was quite cool to see MisunderstoodGirl again. She was her usual bubbly and outgoing self. Not. Still cool though.

Let's see, I started off with a Spezial Rauchbier (680), and I pretty much had that finished by the time the girls arrived. Next I had a Baltika "6" (158) so I could continue my ongoing love affair with that lovely beer.

Oh yeah, I did buy the girls their first beers as payment for being so good at pretending.

RealTrainGirl keeps bugging me to go to this Oktoberfest thingy. When I hear the word Oktoberfest I figure it's all about lagers, and since I don't like lagers I don't want to go.

Lanesville, my first hometown, is having this heritage festival this weekend. Every year I tell myself that I should go and check it out, and every year I end up not going. I imagine that this year will be no different, but as of this writing I'm still planning to head down there later today. We'll see.

Once my Baltika was gone I had a half-glass of Spezial (690).

It was one of those nice and pleasant evening that I've come to loathe, but it was much better than the last few boring nights at Rich O's have been. I enjoyed myself.

On the way home I was feeling nostalgic so I went into this bar near my home that had been my Dad's old hangout. I was going to have a Falls City in his honor but they no longer carry it. That fact, more than anything else, told me that times have indeed changed. I was, however, pleasantly surprised to see Newcastle so I had a bottle of that (1632).

Then when I got home I was going to read some 'blogs but InsightBB decided to crap out again so I just went to bed.

Got off work a couple of hours ago. At least I got off my day job.

The real work begins in about an hour.

I just got out of the shower. My clothes for the night are dewrinkling in the dryer. My hair is still damp but I don't have much so it'll dry soon enough.

Before too long, it'll be time to really go to work.

Don't try to tell me that pretending to be a person all night isn't work, 'cause it is. Hard work.

Now I know why all those actors and actresses in the movies get paid so much. They get paid for pretending to be somebody they're not, and they do it well.

Now me, I don't usually do such a good job. I don't fool many people, I don't think. My performances are just too wooden - too obviously choreographed.

Because of my lackluster performances, I don't get paid all that much. Every now and then somebody will buy me a beer or something, but that's about it.

RealTrainGirl called me this evening to see if I wanted to meet her and MisunderstoodGirl at Rich O's. Duh. Of course I do. Those two are good at pretending that I'm giving a realistic portrayal of a person. Actually, they're better at pretending than I am. Maybe I should buy them beers.

You know how every time you run water you start thinking that the phone's ringing?

:cricket chirping:

Okay, fellow crazy people only: You know how every time you run water you start thinking that the phone's ringing?

:pin dropping, coyote howling:

Well maybe it's just me. Every time I get in the shower I start imagining that the phone's ringing. So I turn off the faucet and it's nothing. Then when I stand at the sink shaving I start imagining that the phone's ringing. So I, once again, turn off the faucet and it's, once again, nothing.

Except for tonight. Tonight when I was shaving, and I imagined that the phone was ringing, it really was ringing. It was my friend Eric.

So I guess I'm only crazy 99% of the time.

The moral of this story is that I'm bored, and I don't really want to go to work tonight.

I don't really know if I'm going anywhere with this entry. I'll probably decide that it's too stupid to post. If you're reading this, then I suppose that I decided otherwise.

The other day I was clicking around JournalSpace. I don't remember if I'd hit "Random Journal" from the front page or just followed a favorites link from another 'blog. Doesn't matter.

At one point I landed on a journal I hadn't seen before. This journal, like so many, had a profile photo displayed at the top. This wasn't much of a photo, as photos go. You couldn't even see her face. Just the top of her head behind knees and folded arms.

But still, the resemblance was uncanny. My heart actually skipped a beat or three. Was this actually her? I quickly clicked over to her profile.

Hmmm, nothing identifiable there, so back to the journal.

I read entry after entry, moving backwards through time, and with each entry that I read I became more and more convinced. Convinced that I'd chanced upon her journal.

I also became convinced that I'd been right all along. She was brilliant, and passionate. She did have actual feelings, and she was able to express them with an eloquence that surpassed even my inflated expectations.

This girl, who'd always seemed so guarded when it came to her own life and her own feelings - this girl had found a place to express herself, and I had stumbled upon it.

I wouldn't have thought it possible, but while reading those entries, my feelings for her grew stronger than they'd ever been.

Of course all good things must come to an end, and this was no exception.

About a dozen entries into this girl's mind I read something that shattered the illusion I'd thrown together so quickly. A reference to an area of the country. The wrong area of the country.

It wasn't her.

I must have reread that sentence a dozen times, hoping that, like in a dream, the words would change with each reading. That they would change to something that would allow my illusion to continue.

The words never changed. It really wasn't her, and it never had been.

I've got that journal open right now as I write this entry. Maybe it'll inspire me or something. That photograph is burned into my brain. I was just so sure!

I'm having a tough time, right now, coming up with the proper words to express the disappointment I felt. In fact, I've given up, and I'll just list two choices. You see if you can choose the correct one:

I was disappointed because, as it turned out:

• The girl who writes the journal is not the girl I know.


• The girl who I know is not the girl who writes the journal.

The voicemail message was not encouraging. There was no real news, but this was one of those situations where no news wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Something bad was happening. Something terrible was potentially happening - may have already happened during the time between when the message was left and when I finally noticed my blinking phone.

Before I returned the call, I took a few minutes to start preparing for the worst. Planning my reaction. Rehearsing my lines. The show must go on and all that crap.

It was, as it turned out, a false alarm. As false as it could have been I suppose. I felt myself exhale, finally, mercifully.

I would not have to feign humanity tonight.

So Rich O's is selling this Abita Purple Haze for $10.00 a glass, and sending the money to Katrina victims.

Yes, I though it was a nice gesture as well, until I drank the beer.

Abita Purple Haze (5)

(draft) A cloudy beer with a slightly pinkish tint. If it had any actual flavor I'd decribe it here, but alas, there was none. A waste of time.

I could have finished the glass, but why on Earth would I want to? So I had a Spezial Rauchbier (640) to remind myself what a good beer tastes like.

When somebody comes into my house to clean it and leaves the thermostat set at minus 61 degrees when they leave.

Well, my muse has been nagging me once again to write something. I've tried to explain that feeling nothing is often quickly followed by thinking nothing, and that thinking nothing is inevitably followed by writing nothing. But she'll have none of that nonsense apparently, so I'm going to write.

I'm going to write about this dream I had last night.

I tell you this now so, if you're like me and hate reading about other peoples' dreams, you can leave now before it's too late.

Still here? Well don't say I didn't warn you.

I was at a party at ElPresidente's house. Just about everyone I knew from Rich O's was there, including a certain girl that I may have mentioned from time to time in this 'blog.

I was sitting on a couch, talking with this certain girl about something or another - I don't remember what exactly. What I do remember is that, in a single sentence, she said the word "kiss" four times. There was just something about the way she said the word. The way she drew it out and added syllables.

She wanted me to kiss her.

My dream self is quite a bit more brave than my awake self. I leaned over to her and gave her the softest kiss I could manage.

I was instantly hard, and so I instantly regretted the kiss. I'd tried to do something sweet, to be a good guy, and my body was trying to turn it into something completely different. I pulled away and started to stammer out an apology.

But she, she would have none of that nonsense apparently, because she followed me as I pulled away, and she followed me as I leaned back as far as I could. She kissed me several times, then we kissed each other several times. Tentatively at first, like we were both just feeling things out, but after a bit our lips parted in unison.

I got to first base with her, and I was nearly weeping from the relief and the happiness - the joy of it. She was crying openly, and telling me that I had no idea how long she'd been hoping that this would happen.

So at that point, we both knew that things were going to progress beyond the point where the middle of ElPresidente's living room would be the appropriate setting. Luckily for us, the FirstCouple had planned ahead, and were taking reservations for the numerous bedrooms in the house.

Unluckily for us, we were told that we had at least a two-hour wait. Must have been a randy bunch at the party.

We spent the next two hours waiting, cuddling on the couch, sneaking kisses when we thought nobody would be looking. It was both the happiest, and the most frustrating, period of my life. I got some under the blouse second-base action, but I wanted to SEE.

Eventually, FINALLY, one of the bedrooms opened up. RealTrainGirl and MusicalHippeeDude came down the stairs looking disheveled and holding hands (WTF?!?) and ElPresidente told us that it was our turn.

We stood up...

...and I woke up.

Now this damn dream kept me awake for the rest of the night. I could (and still can) remember every touch, every smell, every taste, every emotion. I've had very few dreams in my life that were this vivid and that had so much feeling in them.

I think what got to me though was not so much the specific content of the dream as the fact that I'd never had that type of dream about her before. Only a handful of times has my dream self ever even encountered her, and those times had never included anything romantic or sexual at all. Unless you count the time that I was seven and she was five or six.

Now, if I believed in this shit at all, I'd figure that maybe the girl in my dream was nothing more than a metaphor. A metaphor for the girl that even now continues to scale the walls of my fortress.

The girl that told me I had to write something.

My lovely muse, who is always forced to take a back seat. Even in my dreams.

But I don't believe in this shit, so I'm interpreting the dream as a true representation of what my heart wants.

I wish things were different. I really do. For her sake and mine.

One of my little weekly rituals as a 'blogger is to read back through the previous week's entries and see if there's anything worth putting into my quotes file.

There are usually a few things that manage to catch my eye as being funny or moving or insightful or ludicrous, so I add them to the file and they go into the random rotation on my main page.

Today I went through last week's stuff, and I selected a few things that I deemed quote-worthy. I put them into the file, and then I view them all in a browser to make sure everything still displays okay.

Viewing the page with all the quotes, it's kind of neat for me. I remember how I felt, what was going on with my life, when I wrote all of those things, so just viewing those little snippets never fails to bring it all back. I get kind of a 10,000 foot view of my own life and my own feelings and how they've progress (or not) since I started doing this 'blog stuff. Like I said, kind of neat.

I got to thinking this morning, wondering actually - What will this quotes file look like in 10 years? Will 'blogs still exist in 10 years? Will I still exist in 10 years? Will I still be fucked up? What will my life be like?

Of course I don't know the answers to any of those questions, but I know what I'd like to see in that quotes file, 10 years from now.

I turned 50 this year, but that's the physical me. I often feel like I'm just 10 years old. I remember being born a decade ago, and it was more painful than I could imagine. But if that's what it took to get me where I am today, with this beautiful person next to me, sharing my life with me, if that's what it took, then it was all worth it.

Last week I tried this new BBC beer. I promised to try it again, and tonight I kept that promise:

Bluegrass Smoked Porter (34)

(draft) The first time I saw this, they were calling it "Smokey the Beer." What a stupid name. This beer tasted terrible for the first few ounces, then once my palate had been beaten into submission, it tasted pretty damn good. A lot like their regular, non-smoked porter. It's probably the same beer. Just a touch of smoked malt, a little chocolate. I liked it.

But I did end up driving back to the world after just the two glasses, and I went to Rich O's, where something strange happened.

When I first walked in, there was this incredibly hot girl sitting with a bunch of people in the loser area. She locked eyes with me and licked her eyebrows. Or maybe she just smiled. Doesn't matter which - the result was the same. I got weak in the knees and transformed into a shy schoolgirl. As my powers do not normally work inside that building I just smiled at her and then went into Rich O's proper.

NotGeorge was there at the bar, so I sat and had myself a Spezial Rauchbier (620). I bullshitted with him a for a while, pausing about 10 times to go to the bathroom so I could lock eyes with the hot girl again.

I still wanted to do something with my Saturday, and the living room area was full of loud people, and there seemed to be no chance that they'd be clearing out anytime soon, and NotGeorge was leaving, and I was obviously incapable of actually approaching the hot girl in the loser area. I remembered that DooRagGirl's ex-husband's band was playing at this Mac's place, so I decided to go there.

Oh yeah, while NotGeorge and I were sitting at the bar this dude came and sat with us. It was one of the guys that had blown me off at the BBC earlier! He swore that he wasn't stalking me, but I couldn't be sure.

As I was leaving Rich O's, the hot girl smiled at me and said "Bye, Dave." I managed to sputter out that I was going to Mac's Hideaway if her and her friends wanted to come, then I left.

I have no idea where this girl knows me from.

So I went to this Mac's place and ordered a Newcastle (1620) in a non-frosted glass. There was a wedding reception going on (how classy is that?) and so there were a half-dozen pretty girls in their bridesmaids dresses. It was fun watching them all dance, and I had a couple Diet Cokes to finish out the night.

Taken from faymow.

7 things I plan to do before I die:
1. Visit all 50 U.S. States.
2. Visit Europe.
3. Find a two-sided relationship and nurture it.
4. Grow a spine.
5. Be understood by at least one person.
6. Explore Alaska some more.
7. Get some fucking closure.

7 things I can do:
1. Play pool.
2. Juggle.
3. Solve a Rubik's Cube in under two minutes.
4. Carry a conversation with just about anyone.
5. Win at Blackjack.
6. Enjoy my own company.
7. Hold a grudge.

7 things I cannot do:
1. Handle rejection.
2. Wait.
3. Take a hint.
4. Be cruel, even when it's necessary.
5. Dunk a basketball.
6. Eat hot peppers.
7. Read minds.

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Sense of humor.
2. Friendliness.
3. Intelligence.
4. Eyes.
5. Smiles.
6. Soft touches.
7. Empathy.

7 things I say most often:
1. Who are these fuckers?
2. I have no plans.
3. Yummy.
4. Yay!
5. That's a brilliant idea. Not. (I say this to myself)
6. Buddy, stop shitting on my floor!
7. Anyway...

7 celebrity crushes:
1. Piper Perabo.
2. Elisa Dushku.
3. Evangeline Lilly.
4. Liv Tyler.
5. Amy Lee.
6. Patricia Velasquez.
7. Kate Beckinsale.

7 people I want to do this:
I don't care.

You know, I'm sitting here, beginning another double-venue entry, and I just don't see the point. This will be very brief and it will still be too long.

Yesterday afternoon we had lunch at The Red Star. I had a Goose Island Honker's Ale (84). Seemed a little more bitter than it was in Chicago, but that may have just been my mood.

Next I had a draft Bluegrass Dark Star Porter (110). Pretty good I guess, but I'm starting to think that this beer is nothing but burnt malt, with a little burnt chocolate in it.

Last night, Rich O's was completely full of idiots. I grabbed a seat on the sofa where I was treated to some words of wisdom from this old lady who was there with her grandkids or great great great grandkids or something.

I bet that 90% of the people that stayed in New Orleans only stayed so they could rob the houses of the people that had evacuated.

I almost spit out some of my precious Delirium Tremens (337) when I heard that one.

The next vomit to leave this woman's mouth was this, about 'blogging:

What happens is, these 'bloggers get a consensus about some current event, then they write about it, and there's a discussion about it.

This is pretty much the exact opposite of what 'bloggers do.

At about this time I got shit from one of my friends for not wanting to drive eleven zillion miles to sit around and do nothing but drink. I can sit around and do nothing but drink at Rich O's (much closer to my home) and there's always a chance that somebody that's not retarded may come in and make an interesting evening of it.

Also at about this time I ordered a Baltika "6" Porter (142). Yummy.

But my favorite idiocy of the night came from one of the great great great great grandkids. He was sitting on the loveseat, reading a food menu, and he stopped the bartender and asked:

Hey, Chief, can we get food here?

When these people finally left (off to a Mensa meeting no doubt) the old lady dug out some Mardi Gras necklaces for me. That was nice of her, but she's still not getting any. I gave the red necklace to TallLady, and after a while Bubbles came in so she got the purple necklace. I'm saving the green one for VigilanteGirl.

The Tremens had, as I'd known it would, screwed up my drinking schedule, so I only had the two beers. I got home a little after 10:00 and watched The Blues Brothers.

Wow, this entry turned out to be a lot longer than I'd expected. Still boring though.

One of the nice things about my company is that we get a four-day weekend for Labor Day.

So that made Thursday a virtual Friday. So I went to Rich O's.

The place was pretty dead. Only a few semi-regulars, and nobody that I'd consider a friend. WomanRepellant was there so that may have had something to do with it.

To drink, I first had a Baltika "6" Porter (125). Yummy as always. Next I had a Young's Double Chocolate Stout (135). This craving for chocolatey beers has been going on for quite a while now. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I do find it surprising to be craving anything that's not a smoked porter or a Belgian.

It was a fairly boring night. Once CrewCutGirl and her friend left I sat alone in the living room area for a while, then I went to White Castle and came home.

So there's this one chick, a semi-regular at Rich O's, who is perhaps the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Note, please, that I said seen and not known. Or even met.

She's maybe little too stocky. She's perhaps little bit on the "cuddly" side of slender. She's possibly a little bit bottom-heavy. Her hairstyle is a crew-cut, of all things. A girl that you might not notice at all, and if you did you'd probably figure she was a carpet muncher. In other words, a completely normal person for Rich O's. You probably wouldn't give her a second glance if you weren't a lesbian yourself.

Unless you got lucky, as I did when I first saw her. Unless you got lucky enough to see her smile.

This girl is possessed of what TallLady once called "Good bone structure." That's how she pulls off the crew-cut. So she is pretty, in a generic and unremarkable way.

Until she smiles.

When she smiles, angels in heaven claw their own eyes out because they cannot bear the beauty that's revealed.

When she smiles, flowers close their petals, and butterflies ground themselves, and sunsets halt their progress. They all know that they cannot compete, so they do not even try.

Her smile lights up a gloomy room the way a lighthouse does a rocky coast. It shows everyone that there is an unthreatening path, that there is a safe harbor, that there is something worthwhile at the end of the voyage. Whatever that voyage may be.

I don't know this girl at all. I talked to her for the first time tonight. I said something funny, and I made her smile.

That right there, that I could, if only for a moment, bring such beauty into the world, that should be enough to carry me for quite a while.

Okay, I'm going to go ahead and make some predictions regarding the outcome of this show.

These predictions should prove, once and for all, that I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. Especially when it comes to music.

I mean, a half-hour ago I was talking with my sister about INXS (the olden days' version) and I actually found myself disagreeing with her.

I'm the guy that, two months ago, wouldn't have recognized an INXS song or a band member if, as Jack Nicholson so famously said, I were pissing on one. My sister, meanwhile, probably knows all of that old stuff by heart.

Anyway, like I said, I'm going to make some predictions. Here they are:

Suzie: I just can't see INXS picking a woman to sing for them. I'm not really saying that I think that they're a bunch of chauvinistic pigs. Okay, maybe I am saying that a little, but the main reason that I don't think Suzie will win is that she's just not good enough, or possessing of range enough, to carry an entire album or concert appearance.

Jordis: I've already said this, but I really hope hat Jordis doesn't win the thing. I don't think that she will, both because she's a woman, but also because I don't think the INXS members are idiots. They have to realize that any band with Jordis doing the fronting is going to become The Jordis Band and every other member will become irrelevant. I don't think these guys want to become (any more) irrelevant, so I don't think they'll choose Jordis.

Mig: Mig is my sister's pick to win the thing. I guess I can picture it happening, but I'm still a little concerned about Mig's range. He can definitely sing some songs really well, but he can also suck if the song doesn't suit his voice and style.

Marty: I like Marty's singing a little better than Mig's, but I think he's got the same set of problems. If he wins I don't expect INXS keep him past that first album and tour. Marty is the one I'd like to see win.

JD: JD is my prediction for winning this thing. Not not not not because I think he can sing. Also not because I think he's cute, though my female friends seem to think so. Nope, I think he will win because he's the performer most likely to sloppily lap away at the 15-year-old genitalia of the band's rock stardom. I think that's what the band is looking for - someone to kiss their asses and tell them how great they are.

Those are my predictions. We'll find out in a few weeks just how much of a dumbass I am.

I know, I know. I'm two days late with this entry. Blame my TiVo for making it so easy to watch Tuesday's episode whenever I want.

I also didn't take notes, so I've probably got the order all fucked up here.

JD: I hate this guy. (30 points)

Ty: Moved away from the R&B thing he's been doing and now he's doing gospel. I really really like his voice, but he seems to be trying to differentiate himself too much. I don't think he's right for INXS. (60 points)

Marty: Wow. That was fucking awesome. The best I've ever heard anyone sing that song. (100 points)

Jordis: Hate the song, but her performance was just amazing. She's also got one of the prettiest faces, and one of the most beautiful voices, that I've ever run across. (100 points)

Suzie: Hate the song, or at least parts of the song. She did well though. Plus, she's quite hot. (85 points)

Mig: I really don't remember his performance, so it must have been just average. (50 points)