Now I'm off for five days.

That's the good news.

The bad news?

Same thing.

When I have nothing else to do, I tend to think. And that's always a bad idea for me.

Especially because I feel like I'm close to something. I mean, I'm right on the verge of something big. Problem is, I don't know what that thing might be.

So I expect, sometime over the next five days, I expect to spend some time thinking and trying to figure out why I've felt so strange lately. And then, once I think I know what that big thing looming on my horizon is, I'll do something.

Whether I do something to prevent it, or to help it along, I can't say just yet. Not until I know what it is.

All I know for sure is that whatever I do, it will be something stupid.

Yes or no? Fast or slow? Stay or go? Hide or show? Force or flow? Now or later?

I know, that breaks the pretty pattern.

So sue me.

These are some of the questions that occupy my mind these days.

There are no answers, only guesses.

And, if I get a single guess wrong, then there won't be any more questions.

Not ever.

It kinda sucks to be me, right about now.

I went once.

I don't know why.

Something to do I suppose.

It's not like I really expected to meet anyone special, even though that's what the brochures kept promising.

After all, anyone smart enough to be there would have been smart enough to stay the fuck away from me.

And so it was.

There were some pretty strange people there though.

Most of them were pretentious assholes.

I guess there wasn't any room left in their heads for social niceties.

I thought I'd already written this entry, months ago. I distinctly remember writing bits and pieces of it. But a search of my old entries finds nothing, and a search of that folder on my desktop where I keep drafts of entries finds nothing, so maybe I'm insane. Again. Still. Whatever.

What I want to write about represents a pretty big divergence from my usual drivel. It's also a pretty big divergence from anything that I'm even remotely qualified to write about.

But, as they say, oh well.

I want to write about writing.

Please stop laughing.

Seriously.

Okay, thanks.

Every now and then I'll write something that I like. I mean really like. Every now and then I manage to impress myself, and if you know me at all then you know that this is a precious and improbable feat. Not only because I'm not easily impressed, but also because I know that I'm capable of much better.

In my head I'm a fucking poet beyond compare.

Anyway, what I wanted to write about was one of the components that those things which I like have in common.

Rhythm.

"But Dave," you might say. "You're white! By definition, you have no rhythm."

And I'd have no argument for that.

Maybe rhythm is the wrong word. Maybe flow would be better. Don't ask me, I just winging all this anyway.

These three sentences, for example, they flow. They dance together. They have rhythm.

These two sentences are boring. They just sit here wishing they weren't so lame.

I used to know a girl. Well, maybe I still know her, and maybe I never knew her at all. Whatever. The point is that everything she ever did had rhythm. Every word she said, every move she made, everything just flowed from her onto my soul like syrup onto pancakes.

See that there? That's why I don't like similes. Because I suck at them.

This girl fancies herself a writer. Or at least she used to, back when I might have known her. Now, I gather, not so much. And that's a shame.

I've never read anything she wrote, the reasons for that are unfortunate and numerous and probably boring to everyone but me. I never got to read a single word. And that's a disaster to me.

But I've gotten sidetracked. This entry is supposed to be about me and some of the things that I write. And that rhythm thing.

My heart, like that of most people I suppose, is possessed of a very short and very specific memory. I know that I've written about this before. It will remember the facts surrounding a series of events, but it will not, cannot, remember what it was actually like to actually feel that way it felt when those events took place.

Did that make any sense?

Probably not.

Okay, example time.

In 1988, my mom died. I was sad. I remember being sad. But what I can't do is just conjure up that sadness from memory, except in an abstract and objective way. What I have to do, if for some reason I want to bring that sadness back and experience it subjectively, is I have to relive it. So I wrote an entry about that night my mom died. And now, now I can relive that night and that pain and that sadness whenever I want to.

That entry, I like. I like it because it not only allows me to do what had been denied for almost 20 years, but also because it flows. It has rhythm. It reminds me of that girl that I maybe used to know.

I can read that entry and, in my head, the words dance together. They glide through my head as I silently mouth them. That entry, and a few others, are a joy to read. Though they tear at my soul, they also lift my spirits.

They do this because they have something special that lets them move effortlessly through me. Not ripping and tearing and bullying, but flowing, caressing, soothing.

Man, I'm really rambling now. Oops.

I think, without really looking back and checking, I think that all of the entries that I've written that I really like have been sad. This is, no doubt, partly because most of the shit I write about is sad, but it's also because I think the sad subjects are the ones that I let my heart write instead of trying to force my brain to write about things that it knows nothing about.

Well, fuck. My Internet connection is down. I think, if it ever comes back, then I'll just post this damn thing and get it over with. I've completely digressed from my original point anyway.

Some of the questions I've been asking myself a lot lately have been those that I never thought I'd have reason to ask again.

Will I be able to tell when enough is enough?

So far, I've bitten my tongue. I've restrained my writings. I've tempered and censored my very thoughts. So far, the need to simply stay afloat has been my driving force.

Will I be able to see that thin line between need and want?

But that will change. It's already started. It's changing right now or I wouldn't be writing this, this drivel. Once the needs are satisfied the wants will take over. The wants will consume me.

Will I see the edge between far enough and too far in time?

It's a funny thing. I know that I cannot fly. But I stand here once again at the edge of this abyss with my arms outstretched. I dream. I crave. I hope.

Will I make the same mistakes all over again?

Just turn away.

I've had enough. I got what I needed. I will never get what I wanted, but there are no brakes on this thing. I cannot stop it. I don't want to stop it.

Turn away. Walk away. Run away.

It's too much. It's always been too much. The smallest gesture sets me aflame.

Yet it's still not enough.

Just go.

Please.

We'll see how well this works. My laptop is broken, and I'm sitting in the New York New York casino, in the shopping area. At a little table with a pizza design painted on top. I'm sitting under a fake tree, surrounded by fake streets. Above the storefronts are the illusions of second and third story windows. It's all fake, but still very convincing. I half expect to get mugged.

What was I getting at?

Oh, yeah.

This place certainly has style, but there's no real substance behind it. Concrete and cold steel. Plaster and paint. Break through these facades and the illusion is revealed.

I had a conversation last night. At least it started out as a conversation. It ended up being more of a sermon, or an impassioned plea for understanding.

The things that you read, the things that I write, they're not fiction. I am not a storyteller. I'm not even much of a writer most of the time.

My writings describe my thoughts and my feelings and my life. Strip away the facades of flowing phrases and you really lose nothing. What you're left with may not be as refined, but it's no less real. Hell, it might even be more real.

The point I need to make is that it's often too easy for people to have a disconnect between the words that they read and the people and events behind those words. I see this reflected all the time in the comments and emails I get. People complimenting me in something I've written.

But the thing is, I'm am not an actor performing in a play. This is my life. These events are real. And beyond that, they're happening right now. This is not an historical account of my life that you're reading. It's a play-by-play description.

So, if I write about pain, then I'm hurting.

If I write about confusion, then I'm confused.

And if I write about being in love, then I'm in love.

Just not with you.

I keep starting this entry and then abandoning it.

I guess I just don't feel like writing anything.

Saturday was a good night. I got to see a lot of people. I didn't get spit on. I got to drink three pints of NABC Artemsia (250). I got to go to White Castle.

Oh yeah, SpikeBoy came in. Nobody had seen him in like nine months. I guilted him into buying a DaveFest shirt.

Stolen from ella.

Okay, I'm home.

My laptop broke Thursday night, but I still wrote some shit in my notebook.

Shit being the operative word in that last sentence.

I might post some of it anyway, as that's probably what people have come to expect from me lately.

The show must go on after all.

It's fucking Thursday night already. I haven't written anything since Tuesday morning. I'm a big slacker.

I'm having fun, I guess. How could I not have fun? It is Las Vegas after all. But what I haven't been doing is relaxing. That would be too much to ask for I suppose.

So, I spent the first three days regretting my decision to come here, and I've spent the last two days dreading my return to Indiana.

To the certain uncertainty.

I can already feel it, the fog creeping into my mind. Clouding my judgment and making everything that was so clear to me, for a brief period two days ago, murky and indistinct.

Decisions shouldn't be this tough. Options should be clear. Advantages and disadvantages should be obvious. Pitfalls should be brilliantly illuminated.

But noooooooooo!

I'm rambling here, and I know it.

You know what would be nice?

You know what would be really cool?

If I would feel like I was actually learning something from all this. Something beyond how to live with pain I mean. I've got that figured out. Time to move on.

Another thing that would be cool would be if all of this would somehow turn out to be worth it in the end. If someday I could look back and laugh, or even smile, or at least not want to cry.

It's amazing to me that I haven't given up. That I haven't just raised my middle finger to the world and stopped even trying to get along with other people. So few are worth any effort whatsoever.

Continue reading "grandeur" »

Monday night, after my nap, I took a cab up to The Riviera. I didn't stay very long though. Just long enough to briefly check for anyone I knew. I didn't see anyone, so I took a cab to The Rio.

I took notes.

8:30
There's something about The Rio that feels like home to me. I love walking into this place - it just energizes me. And that goes double for The Tilted Kilt. Even though they seem to have gone insane with remodeling, it's still my favorite place in Las Vegas.

Anyway, the first thing I noticed was that I didn't know the bartender. I'd been hoping that HenpeckedGuy would be working. The second thing I noticed was that PictureGirl was nowhere to be seen. The third thing was that Rogue Dead Guy Ale was on tap, so I ordered one (194).

Lastly, I noticed that Rogue Chocolate Stout was on tap. Yay! So I guess I know what I'll be drinking for the rest of the night.

8:40
PictureGirl doesn't work here anymore. That's probably for the best. Also, HenpeckedGuy will be working here tomorrow night.

8:45
I'm struck by the realization that this is the first time that I've sat in this bar and felt completely safe. There is zero chance of a surprise visit. It's a pretty nice feeling, or at least it would be if I were sane. For me, it's quite dull. This is probably one of the reasons that I've felt so strange about this entire trip. I've achieved safety via isolation, and isolation is something I've never wanted.

8:56
Some dipshit just ordered a black and tan.

8:59
StupidGirl still works here. She smiled at me. I should ask her what happened to PictureGirl. Scratch that - I should ask her no such thing.

9:07
Rogue Chocolate Stout time (858).

9:10
Problem is, I'm still a bit hung-over from lunch.

9:15
I should have stayed at The Riviera longer. It would have been nice to see some people I know.

9:16
In case nobody has ever noticed, that Sharipova girl is hot.

9:20
I wish I was staying here instead of at The Luxor.

9:24
OMG, this fucker next to me just told the bartender that he's not a lightweight so he drinks Bud and not Bud Light. I'm sitting here biting my tongue to keep from laughing in his face.

9:26
He's noticed me grinning, and now he's glaring at me. I may have to beat the shit out of him.

9:42
So instead of getting into a fight with PussyMan, I've been talking to him. He's a Yankees fan. Seems like a decent guy despite his delusions about beer.

9:44
Another Rogue Chocolate Stout (874).

9:46
I like hot girls.

9:48
Stupid people have arrived.

9:55
StupidGirl just offered to give me PictureGirl's phone number. I told her that I was seeing someone. That was, of course, a big fat lie.

10:05
Okay, I compromised. I gave StupidGirl my number.

10:09
Honesty time. I told StupidGirl that I'm not in a relationship, but that I'm taken nonetheless. This confused her. I fear that her brain may explode now.

10:16
She keeps trying to see what I'm writing, but it's none of her business so I'm using my free hand to hide it.

10:17
I told her about the hiding what I'm writing. She asked if it was about her. I said it was. She asked it if was good. I said it was neutral. Her face fell.

10:20
I could probably have sex with StupidGirl if I wanted to, but I don't want to. That's weird.

10:30
I'm going to the Grand Canyon tomorrow morning, and I don't want to be hung-over, so I'm outta here.

---

So I took a cab to New York New York and had a Diet Coke and talked to PonytailGirl while I waited for my chicken tenders to get ready. Then I walked back to my room at The Luxor and ate then slept.

In an hour or so I leave for the Grand Canyon! Yay!

Monday morning, after I'd won a little bit of money playing video poker, I did some walking around. My plan had been to walk up to The Riviera where there's a pool tournament going on, but I only made it to Caesar's Palace.

I took a bunch of pictures.

Paris Las Vegas is quite photogenic.

I did another zoom test with my camera. Here's the unzoomed view of New York New York.

And here's the zoomed view.

I think this stained glass dome was inside Paris Las Vegas.

I took a lot of pictures of fountains. I like fountains.

I stopped at Planet Hollywood inside Caesar's and this creepy thing was on the wall.

More fountains.

These were cooler in person.

Here's the obligatory strip shot taken from just outside New York New York.

The first time I ever came to Las Vegas these talking statues were probably the coolest things in the city. Now they seem kind of cheesy.

I really wanted to jump into the water in front of Bellagio.

That's the Rio way out there on the right. It was too far to walk though.

A tower.

For lunch, I had three Smithwick's (1004) and then I had a Guinness (1277) for dessert. I'd still like to duplicate this bar in my basement some day.

Then I came back to my room and took a nap.

Ugh.

Let's see, I guess I better start trying to get caught up. If I don't do it now then it'll just be that much tougher later. Sitting here typing is pretty much the last thing I want to be doing right now. Partly because I'm hung-over from lunch, and partly because it's Las Vegas.

Mostly it's the being hung-over thing.

Yesterday I arrived here as scheduled, just before 4:00. After getting my luggage and getting a taxi and getting a room it was just before 7:00. That's right, three hours. Two hours of that time was spent at The Luxor waiting in line to get a room. It was ridiculous. especially for a place that's kind of a shithole compared to the places around it.

Speaking of places around it, once I'd thrown my stuff into my room, I walked over to The ESPN Zone at New York New York and had something to eat. And drink. And trying to get my cell phone to work. It died just after I got here, and it didn't start working again until this morning.

Anyway, to drink, I had three Fat Tires (133) which were very good, and a wheat beer that I hadn't tried before.

Widmer Brothers Hefeweizen (16)

(draft) The bartender didn't know if this was an American or German wheat, so I had a pint to find out. What it is is a very weak American wheat. Very little aroma or flavor. Since I don't like American wheats, this one was actually very tolerable.

The time zone change caught up with me at around midnight, so I walked back to my room and slept until 5:00 this morning.

Departure

What kind of a fucked up moth am I anyway? The flame is down there on the ground, not a zillion miles away. My mind is having a tough time coming to grips with what I'm doing. It's like I'm watching some movie and I just can't believe how stupid the main character is being.

Layover

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm starting to get a little bit excited.

Arrival

Vegas, baby!

Whoo hoooooooo!

8:05
The place is about half full. Or half empty. Whatever. The throne is open but two idiots are sitting on the sofa and eating, so I'm sitting at the island. I order an NABC Artemsia (210).

8:10
This is good though. I can write when I'm sitting here. But not this entry. Something else. I should get started.

8:25
One page so far, and I'm not even halfway to where I want to get. It's too long. Keep it simple stupid. I'm starting over.

8:26
MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl have joined me. Oh well. Maybe I'll write on the plane tomorrow.

8:50
GlassesGirl is ordering a pizza with beer cheese instead of pizza sauce. This was my idea.

9:04
Okay, that's a decent second draft. I'll run it by RockGirl and see what she thinks.

9:20
Another Artemsia (230).

9:40
CoffeeDude is here.

10:12
Piss time.

10:15
Another Artemsia (250).

---

And that's all the notes I took.

I talked with CoffeeDude for a while. I texted DooRagGirl to ask her to come to Rich O's. I had a Diet Coke. I left at 11:00 or so.

Then I went to this place by my house called the Korner Kitchen and had a couple of Newcastles (2316) while I wondered if (a) KittenDamsel was going to show up, and (b) if it was a good idea to be looking for KittenDamsel.

In the end, I drank alone. I did get a text message from GlassesGirl telling me that DooRagGirl was on her way to Rich O's, but it was too late. I'd already written the entire night off as a waste of time.

And now it's 12:15 and I really should be thinking about either sleeping or packing for my flight tomorrow.

Just a quick update for anyone planning to stalk me in Las Vegas.

I arrive at 3:49 tomorrow afternoon on Continental flight 697 from Houston. After landing, I will of course head to the baggage claim area, but at first I'll be outside the doors having a smoke or two.

If any of my stalkers want to give me a ride to The Luxor, just hold up a big sign with my name on it. I'll be on the lookout.

If there's more than one person holding a sign, I'll use a double-blind squeeze test and go with the person with the nicest breasts.

After I check in at The Luxor I'll have some free time for a while, but I need to get over to The Rio at some point so I can go to The Tilted Kilt. I may be meeting my friend Gene from Seattle there. I don't know because I haven't called him yet.

For those of you planning some late-night stalking, please keep in mind that whenever I go to Las Vegas the time change usually wipes me out by midnight on that first night.

I really feel like I should be more excited about this trip than I am. I feel like I'm going in the wrong direction. Probably because I am. Fucking timing is everything.

8:40
Very crowded, but the sofa and the throne are open. I of course grab the throne. I order a bottle of Rogue Chocolate Stout (820) and wave at my friends sitting with some weirdoes at the island.

8:45
That one slut and a couple of her friends have taken over the sofa.

8:50
I've had a bad feeling about tonight. I still have a bad feeling about tonight. I may end up wishing that I'd just stayed home.

8:56
That one slut's friend keeps trying to talk to me. Doesn't she realize that I'm trying to compose myself here? And that I'm failing?

9:09
She just gave me her card. Subtle.

9:10
She keeps telling me her name. Like I care.

9:20
The weirdoes have left the island, so I'm moving up there to sit with MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl. That one slut's friend is devastated.

9:30
Just talked to SassyGirl on the phone. She is weird.

9:40
Piss time.

9:42
Another Rogue (842). Yummy.

10:12
I'm bored.

10:14
I'm also a lightweight.

10:20
Piss time.

10:22
GlassesGirl may be developing an unhealthy fascination with my bodily functions.

10:24
Some woohoos have taken over one of the red room tables.

---

After that I didn't take any more notes.

SassyGirl and JauntyGirl came in for a while. I switched to Diet Coke and we all just sat around and bullshitted.

I came home at around midnight and thought for a while about what a huge fucking mistake I've made.

My muteness has a motive, my restraint a reason, my caution a cause.

All will eventually be revealed. Or not. We'll see.

I stand at the edge of this abyss and I wish for a gust of wind to send me tumbling. Just a tiny push. That's all the justification that I'd need.

My patience has a purpose, my resolve a reward, my determination a destination.

All will eventually be revealed.

Or not.

We'll see.

...but sometimes, no matter how strange a realization it may be and no matter how stupid you may feel when you admit it to yourself, sometimes The Beatles will turn out to have been right all along.

Stolen from gogo.

Generate your own at The Stephen Colbert "On Notice Board" generator page.

I've been working on embedding videos, and I guess it's time to test it in public.

I don't sing, and I don't dance. What I do is shoot pool and drink beer. Since a video of me drinking beer would be quite boring except to my most devout stalkers, here is a video of me shooting pool and almost accomplishing something.

Please let me know if it displays okay. This requires Flash 8 I guess. And probably a broadband connection.

10:30
I'm supposed to be writing something now.

At least that's the excuse I gave the PBDs when I left their little group and moved up here to the island. I've got my notebook open, my pen in hand. Just in case they look, I need to appear to be writing something so they're not offended because I left.

Truth is, though, that I've got nothing.

My mind is so full of shit tonight that it seems to have seized up. Like the proverbial wrench in the works, a certain thought has entered my head and totally jammed everything.

All of my emotions are pitted against each other.

It's a stalemate, so far.

I am so sad that I could sing and dance. I am so happy that I could slit my wrists. I am overflowing with nothingness. I am upside-down, inside-out.

I am Opposite Man.

I curse my blessings while I relish my failings. The silence deafens me and the darkness blinds me. I am dizzy from the stillness. I am calmed by the chaos.

This gray place has erupted in colors, and I am repulsed by the beauty that suddenly surrounds me.

The die has been cast, and its flight is my world. When it lands, when it stops, then so do I.

It will be horribly wonderful.

I will love it.

And I will hate that I love it.

Anyway, tonight Rich O's was only about half-full. This was fantastic, especially after last night. I sat on the loveseat and enjoyed my Piraat (175) and talked with some dude that claimed to know me although I didn't have the foggiest idea who he might be. It sucks getting old.

After a bit, the stranger in the throne left so I moved there. A bunch of PBDs joined me and we spent the next couple of hours talking about nothing much.

My second beer was an NABC Community Dark (220). I had to pace myself, see, after the 10.5% Piraat.

I talked to the PBDs, and I talked to SassyGirl on the phone for a bit. It was a nice and calm and relaxing night.

I hated it.

My third beer was supposed to be a Hoegaarden, but they were out, so I had a yummy Weihenstephaner (1451) instead.

They closed up early. Before 11:00 even. So I went to White Castle and then came home.

Actually, London is not calling, but that wouldn't nearly as clever a subject.

London is not even leaving any comments.

C'mon, London!

I don't bite.

Got up at the butt crack of dawn this morning because either my doorbell rang or I dreamed that it rang. I'm guessing the latter because there was nobody at my door.

Anyway, I'm up and so now I'm logged in to work monitoring the last few remaining backup jobs from last night. Pretty fucking exciting, I know.

Last night Rich O's was crowded as fuck. It was standing room only in the place. It hasn't been that bad for a very long time.

Plus, it was about 90% strangers.

I sat at the kiddie table with one such stranger and ordered a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier (1411) and talked with GlassesGirl and LibertyGirl for a bit. Then the throne opened up so I moved there.

For the longest time I just sat and drank my beer and talked with the strangers sitting around me and texted RockGirl. I don't know where they all came from. One guy suggested that maybe IUS had started back up. That's as good a theory as any I suppose.

My second beer was another Weihenstephaner (1431).

As the night wound down GlassesGirl and MusicalHippieDude and WomanRepellant came and joined me in the living room.

My last beer was an NABC Artemsia (190).

There was something else. What was it?

Oh yeah.

I wasn't going to write about it until I'd talked to MixedSignalGirl. Plus it wasn't really anyone's business. Well I talked to her finally on Thursday and told her what was going on. She didn't seem nearly as excited as I'd hoped. Timing is everything I suppose.

Tonight was a good night.

And I'll tell you why.

Because it made sense.

It's as simple as that.

Tonight was the first night in a very very very very very long time during which everything actually added up to the sum of my demeanor.

Tonight, it wasn't the past's broken promises that determined my mood. It wasn't the future's faded dreams that guided my emotions. Tonight, both the past and the future were irrelevant to the stark reality of the here and the now.

There was no rummaging through the cluttered attic of my mind to find the right excuse to be happy. There were no dates reminding me of arbitrary anniversaries to make me sad. There were no ghosts haunting my every thought and tainting my every emotion.

Tonight, I got to feel the way I was supposed to feel. The way anyone would feel in these same circumstances.

It doesn't matter at all how I actually felt when I came home tonight. Sad, happy, pissed, irritated, melancholy, anxious, blissful - it doesn't matter in the least.

What matters is that tonight, for the first time in a very long time, I got to be an ordinary person. An ordinary person experiencing extraordinary circumstances, and reacting to them in an ordinary way.

Tonight, for the first time in a very long time, I got to be sane.

My life has become an endless séance.

Which is funny, because I'm the one who's dead.

(I want to expand on this, but not right now.)

Okay, this is funny.

Not.

eHarmony is based upon a complex matching system developed through extensive research with married couples. One of the requirements for successful matching is that participants fall within certain defined profiles. If we find that we will not be able to match a user using these profiles, we feel it is only fair to inform them early in the process.

We are so convinced of the importance of creating compatible matches to help people establish happy, lasting relationships that we sometimes choose not to provide service rather than risk an uncertain match.

Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched. This occurs for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply will not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time.

I will end this silence.

If I haven't heard from you by then, tomorrow morning I'm going to call you.

If you don't answer, I'm going to leave a voicemail asking you to call me.

If you haven't called back by the time I leave work, then I'm going to your house.

If you're not home, I'm going to wait for you for as long as it takes.

I need to tell you something.

I will end this silence.

I'm thinking that maybe I should just move to Las Vegas. It might be cheaper.

I'm still, of course, going in less than two weeks. That will be all vacation.

I'm going again in late November for the same conference I always go to.

I already knew about this, but it's official now because I'm all booked.

So, yay!

As always, more detailed stalking information will be provided as it becomes available.

Also, the trip to Colorado in early September is still a go, so far.

I wasn't going to mention this at all.

I almost made it. I almost made it to the point where it would be old news, not worthy of an entry.

Almost.

But then, I figured, you guys have already seen me at my absolute worst, yet still some of you remain unrepulsed.

So a reminder is in order.

A reminder of my stupidity.

Got a new server at work last week. I think it was Wednesday. I do my Solaris installations over the network. It is 2006 after all. Installation CDs are so last century.

Anyway, I ran through all of the steps needed to make sure that the boot/installation server was running properly and that it was ready for the new equipment.

• I added the new MAC address to the NIS ethers database.
• Same thing with the IP address in the NIS hosts database.
• I made sure that all of the Solaris 10 CD images were mounted and shared properly.
• I created the proper TFTP entries.
• I had the network people configure the new server's switch port for auto/auto and had them put in the correct VLAN.

Wrong.

I rackmounted the new server, connected its network and console cabling, opened a terminal to the console port, and fired it up.

Watching the boot/installation server's logfiles and snoop output, I saw the RARPs go out from the new server. I saw the proper responses given. Then I watched the TFTP transfer of the boot image take place.

Everything was going very smoothly.

But then, then the new server installation failed with the message Unable to mount remote filesystem.

WTF?

I logged into another server on the network and verified that the installation CD images were indeed mountable. They were, so that wasn't the problem. So why couldn't the new server mount the fucking things?

I must have tried for four hours to get the new server to install. I even killed the rpc.bootparamd and tftpd and mountd processes and restarted them in debug mode, hoping that would shed some light on the problem.

Well, it did, in a way.

The problem was me.

It wasn't so much the output that I was seeing, it was what I wasn't seeing.

I wasn't seeing the boot/install server even trying to share out those CD images.

Finally, I figured it out.

See, up until a month or so ago, I'd used another server for Solaris installations. Up until about a month ago, another server had possesion of the IP address handed out by the rpc.bootparamd service.

And that other server, because it had access to the same NIS ethers database as the current boot/installation server, that other server was actually the one trying to serve up the Solaris CD images. Problem was, of course, that this other server didn't have access to those images anymore - they'd been migrated over to the new boot/install server along with the IP address used to identify the boot/installation server!

Duh.

So I killed the rpc.bootparamd process on the old server, and everything went as planned from that point on. The new server installed correctly. No thanks to me.

That's four hours out of my life that I'd really like to get back.

(This entry brought to you by Delirium Tremens. Delirium Tremens. Dave's Desert Island Beer. A DaveFest Primary Selection.)

Okay fine. I'll fucking write something relevant.

The pieces of my broken dreams lie at my feet. They've been there for longer than I care to remember. I suppose that I've become used to them, stepping around them, finding a path through them. They've become a part of this life that I live. Such as it is.

These shards do serve a purpose. There's a reason I haven't bothered to clean them up. They remind me that it's useless to yearn, that it's worthless to want, that it's naive to need, that it's dumb to dream.

That it's ludicrous to love.

If I sweep them aside then it's likely that I'll eventually forget the lessons that they represent. I am stupid, after all. I think that's been well-established. Forgetting those lessons would be bad. And these broken dreams remind me, but they also warn me.

There cannot be a second time.

So I tiptoe my way through this life. Such as it is. I watch my step. I pick my path. I go around when I have to. I get used to it. I become a nimble fucker. I should join the circus.

And then, and then she comes along and walks right through everything that I've so carefully avoided. With each passing second there's an audible crunch as another fragment is crushed into dust under her mindless stride.

My dreams, foolish as they were, broken as they are, they deserve better than this.

I deserve better than this.

You know what? Despite what people might think and what people might say - even despite what I might think and what I might say - I'm not a bad person.

My evilness is merely cosmetic.

Most things that I choose to do or choose to not do have at their root a selfless reason.

A reason.

Not an excuse.

Ah, there they are. I'd been wondering when my emotions would show up. Funny, I didn't expect anger to be leading the way.

(continued)

Showing up at 8:00 always means that I've got to really pace myself or I'll end up going home at 10:00 like some old man. I needed to drink only tame beers. So I sat on the sofa and ordered an NABC Artemsia (180) and talked with a couple of regulars. Regulars who will no doubt be disappointed that I haven't given them nicknames.

Anyway, there was some old lady in the throne. I talked with her for a bit. She seemed really nice, which was strange because most old ladies really creep me out.

Once the old lady and the regulars left I grabbed the throne for myself.

I'm pretty sure that some other stuff happened, but I don't know what. It must not have been important, or interesting.

Actually, that brings up a point. I'm woefully unprepared to write this, the second half of my Saturday beer report. I took notes at the BBC, and I had my notebook with me at Rich O's, but I made very little use of it. In fact, here are the only notes I took at Rich O's last night:

Don't forget. Three times a lady.

Weirdoes at 10:00.

PretentiousAsshole

At a little after 10:00 I texted DooRagGirl, telling her to put down the paintbrush and come to Rich O's. About an hour later she came in, but not (she claimed) because I'd asked her to. Didn't matter, it was nice to see her.

My next beer was a Smithwick's (936).

I spent the next hour or so talking with DooRagGirl and MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl. I determined that I haven't managed to completely alienate DooRagGirl. The HatGirl question remains unanswered. Also, I guess MusicalHippyDude is supposed to get his hair cut next week. I probably won't bother giving him a new nickname. We'll see.

They started kicking everyone out at 12:30, so I bought myself a couple of Gulden Draak bottles and came home.

See, I hadn't slept since Friday morning. I gave it a hell of a try, but certain images and events and non-events prevented it. So I devised a plan.

I would drink until I passed out.

Not the healthiest plan I've ever had, but I figured that if I didn't manage to get some sleep then I'd probably end up in the hospital. And that's when the accusations would start flying. I couldn't let that happen.

So I came home, and I sat out on my swing, and I had two bottles of Gulden Draak (204). I was still conscious, so I had a bottle of Delirium Tremens (599).

That did the trick. I woke up at 12:30.

I kinda wish that I could sleep until it's time to leave for Las Vegas. I doubt that the next couple of weeks will be very much fun.

This is me trying to be funny. Not with the content of the entry, more like the theme. Or the lack thereof. Only time will tell if I am successful or not. Well, time and RockGirl, what with RockGirl being the only other person on Earth who might get the joke.

Plus, I'm kinda repeating the same joke from the Friday report, so this time it might fall flat.

Anyway, Ha Ha.

Saturday evening I went out to the BBC brewpub on Shelbyville Road. I'd been craving their Dark Star Porter and I'd been thwarted last weekend when I went downtown. So I this time I went straight to the source.

I sat at a table over by the outdoor area, and the first thing I noticed was that ExoticGirl was sitting outside. The second thing I noticed was that her husband was sitting with her. Oh, well.

I ordered a spicy cheeseburger and fries and a Dark Star (194). The beer was yummy. At least what I had of it was. What happened was this - Out of the corner of my eye I saw ExoticGirl lean forward in her seat and expose some panty material. For some reason I chose that exact moment to reach for my beer, but in my distracted/excited state I didn't so much grab the beer as knock it over. Actually, I didn't so much knock it over as backhand it across the table and onto the floor.

Oops.

So I only had about a half-pint of the Dark Star (184).

My second beer, which arrived at the same time as my food, was a BBC Smoked Porter (54). It was pretty good, but the caution with which I found myself drinking it - that caution neutralized some of the enjoyment for me. I was being very careful because I figured that if I managed to spill two beers in a row they'd probably call the cops just on principle. I'd go directly to jail. I wouldn't pass go. And I most definitely wouldn't collect $200.

The remainder of my time at the BBC passed without incident, and I got to Rich O's at about 8:00.

(to be continued)

...then you're lucky.

My hosting company did some shit last night and the problems caused are continuing.

This site is either completely down or it's unbearably sloooooooooooooow.

This sucks.

Had to work for a while last night, so I didn't get to Rich O's until a little before 10:00.

The parking lot was empty, but inside was the usual Friday night crowding. I sat on the sofa and had a Rogue Chipotle Ale (42), which is on tap for a while. It was decent, but that's all.

Talked to UplandWheatDude and WomanRepellant for a while until I started feeling claustrophobic, then I moved over to the island. There, I had about 10 seconds to myself before a bunch of people joined me. It was okay though. I probably needed the distraction.

My second and third beers were Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbiers (1371). I guess technically that's the last of the DaveFest beers. I'm pretty sure that it's been on tap nonstop since DaveFest started.

Once they started kicking everyone out, I came home and glared at my phone.

This is important.

If I could figure this out, if I could manage to wrap my mind around it, if I could just manage to make fucking sense of what's in my head tonight long enough to put it into words - well then I'd have really accomplished something here.

If I can pull this entry off then I'll garner some credit from my readers. I just know it. I'll be able to write crap and drivel and mundane bullshit for days, maybe even weeks before people start to wander off again.

Way to fucking pressure yourself, Dave.

Now I need a drink.

This idea is important. I don't want to waste it, the way I've wasted so many others, by just spewing words. I want to make people think for a change.

I want them to think about their own justifications and their own excuses for the things that they do. Or don't do. Whatever. I want them to think about how there is a difference between being standing your ground and being paralyzed with fear. Between giving up and moving on. Between desire and desperation, and between love and lust, and between selfishness and selflessness.

I want to make people think about themselves.

Is there a reason for things being the way they are, or is there only an excuse?

I wish I could write what's in my head tonight.

Truth is, I like them all. A lot.

They're all so unusual, so different from what's considered normal.

Normal is boring.

They should have a tour option where you can pee over the edge. I bet that would be very popular. Maybe not so much with the women.

So I guess you can't do a Grand Canyon floor landing unless it's from the West rim. I don't like the West rim. When I tried to go there last year the indians kept pissing me off.

So I've booked a trip to the South rim, to the official part of the park I guess. The canyon floor will have to wait for another time.

It's probably better this way. I've used a lot of symbolism in some of my writings. Stuff about canyons and chasms and such. This way I can stand at the edge of the canyon and reflect on shit. Like how I'm safe for the moment but it wouldn't take much of a misstep (or a push) to send me tumbling back down. The significance of this will no doubt be felt more strongly at the haunted South rim.

Anyway, for those of you planning to stalk me in Las Vegas on August 22nd, I won't be back until probably around 9:00 PM. I recommend the Nine Fine Irishmen at the New York New York casino if you're wondering where to kill some time while you await my return.

They tell me that there's a decent chance that this class will be cancelled, but for now I plan to be in Broomfield Colorado in September.

This should provide a nice backup opportunity for those who won't be able to stalk me in Las Vegas later this month.

I'd arrive on the 6th, attend training on the 7th and the 8th, then leave in the morning of the 9th.

I'm trying not to get too excited about this trip, but it's tough because I haven't been to the Denver area since 1999.

I'll provide more information as it becomes available.

I have this sort of recurring dream. Not the dream itself, really, but the theme of the dream.

It pisses me off.

What happens in these dreams is that I find myself getting back together with a certain person. A certain person who, in my waking life, I hope to never even see again for as long as I live. In fact, I've told my sisters that I don't even want this person coming to my funeral, should that opportunity arise.

But in my fucking dreams, we get back together. And I'm happy. And then she cheats on me. And then I'm miserable.

And then I wake up and I'm pissed at myself for having the dream.

Why I dream about that whore, I'll never know.

For a while there I was thinking that tonight might be one of those nights, one of those nights when I'd be able to write something halfway coherent.

I'm in a contemplative mood. My alcohol level is just right, thanks to this yummy Gulden Draak that's now almost completely gone.

All I needed was a subject. A few things flitted through my head a couple of hours ago, but none of them really caught my attention. I didn't worry though. I had plenty of time. I figured that I'd be able to come up with something before it was time to sit my ass down here and type.

I was wrong.

The only ideas in my head are either stupid, or boring, or they're just rehashes of the same old crap.

I almost forgot. Or I guess I did forget until just now.

There's a new NABC beer at Rich O's. I had a small sample of it on Saturday during the sausage fest, and then yesterday I had a full glass after work while I talked with OddlyFamiliarGirl.

New Albanian Strathpeffer Heather (23)

(draft) Dark gold. There's an unidentifiable (by me at least) aroma and flavor, both reminiscent of evergreen shrubbery. The finish is drying and long-lasting. It kind of reminds me of when I was a kid and I'd chew on Sassafras leaves. The finish is the most notable characteristic. A decent beer.

Today I spent some time trying to find a good Grand Canyon tour thingy that I can do while I'm in Las Vegas.

I'd like to find a package that will fly me from Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon, ideally to the main visitor center on the south rim. The opportunity to actually fly down to the canyon floor would be fantastic as well. I've seen a couple of packages that also offer boat rides.

Problem is, there are a zillion tour packages out there. So what I'm wondering is if any of you lovely readers have any recommendations or warnings regarding any of these tour packages.

Don't bother telling me about any of the various bus tours available from Las Vegas. Those tours would take way too long. Besides, can you imagine the people that ride those buses? I bet it's nothing but old people and their screaming grandkids. No thanks.

Sunday morning KittenDamsel and I had breakfast at McDonalds, then I took a very quick shower. When I got out of the shower my cat Happy had her trapped on top of my bed. He was growling and hissing, but he's too fat to get on the bed himself. It was funny. To me, anyway.

The plan was for me to take KittenDamsel to get her car from the bar, but instead we ended up dicking around my house for a while. I gave her and Happy a proper introduction. I tried to find Nugget for a similar introduction, but that didn't work. That cat is a fuck of a good hider.

So we shot some pool and I showed her some trick shots.

Then we ended up going to this Clark State Forest place. I don't know why. It wasn't my idea. That place is haunted, after all. But we had fun. It was like a million degrees outside though, so even the easy hiking trails set up for wheelchairs and such were pretty strenuous.

It was a good time. I like KittenDamsel. I don't know if it's mutual though. I think I might be more of a big brother or father figure for her. The comic a couple of entries ago illustrates why I think that.

To be honest, I've probably got enough drama in my life already. Adding to it would probably be stupid and maybe even cruel.

Anyway, after we'd hiked about a million miles, we went to Red Lobster and had an early dinner, then I finally got around to taking her back to her car. Then I came home and slept like a dead person.

I took notes Saturday, thinking I'd use them to write a proper entry sometime Sunday. Well that plan sucked, and it's two days later, so I'm just going to try and get caught up.

7:22
Browning's is too fucking crowded. I doubt that there's a beer on Earth worth putting up with this.

7:40
I'm at The Red Star Tavern. My night here has started out just fucking great. The waiter rolled his eyes when I requested no slaw with my burger and fries. So now I'm getting a spitburger. Oh yeah, and a BBC Bourbon Barrel Stout (294).

7:43
They usually have BBC Dark Star Porter here. I hope it comes back.

7:47
I always like it here at Fourth Street Live. There are actual girls all over the place, unlike Rich O's. It's also a little haunted, and that is like Rich O's.

7:51
This beer is yummy.

7:54
I just made them change the TV from some poker documentary to the Reds game. I'm an asshole.

7:55
Food is here. No slaw. No detectable spit.

8:07
Everyone working here is scowling. It's probably my fault somehow.

8:10
I just noticed that on the Milwaukee Brewers' shirts it says "Cerveceros." That's weird.

8:14
Food is gone. I've moved to the bar so they could have their booth back. I also tipped 30%.

8:20
I'm outta here.

8:25
Now I'm at The Pub. I don't see that one bitch working. Good. I order a Newcastle (2260).

8:29
The Pub has also pulled Dark Star Porter for the bourbon stout. What, it would kill them to have two BBC beers on at the same time?

8:30
This Newcastle is yummy. Which backs up what my friends and I have been saying for two months. Either what they sold at Rich O's during DaveFest was old and stale and flat Newcastle, or it wasn't Newcastle at all.

8:40
The Stella Artois drinkers crack me up. They pay a premium price for imported piss when they could drink domestic piss for a much lower cost. And, for the truly cost-conscious, I'd piss in their glasses for free just to watch them drink it.

8:45
Speaking of piss, I have to.

8:52
It's a very quiet crowd here tonight. Not just here at The Pub, but all along the street. It's crowded, but quiet.

8:55
Another Newcastle (2280).

8:59
Some shithead across the bar just ordered a black and tan, took one sip, then paid and left. Maybe he realized how stupid he looked drinking a black and tan.

9:15
The bartender tells me that all the hot girls won't start showing up until after 11:00. That sucks.

9:18
Piss time.

9:20
I'm not really sure what I should think about a certain reader's absence. I'm quite hurt and disturbed by it, but I shouldn't be. I shouldn't care at all, but I do.

9:29
Fuck.

9:31
Some woohoos have sat at a nearby table. I hate them already.

9:32
Except for that one girl. She's smoldering hot. I like her just fine.

9:34
The dingbat next to me just ordered "An ale, but alight ale." I hate her.

9:36
The woohoos suck.

9:40
Okay, the woohoos and the light ale dingbat have run me off. I'm outta here.

9:45
Piss time at the Hard Rock.

9:48
I'm just having a Diet Coke here. This one bartender has awesome hair. It's spiky and purple and pink and black. She's hot.

9:55
This guy next to me has had a shot sitting in front of him since I sat down, but he hasn't drank it. I'd drink the fucking thing myself, but Holly isn't here. I only do shots with Holly. I miss Holly.

9:59
Okay, now the guy is sipping his shot. What a pansy.

10:05
I'm outta here.

10:26
I arrive at Rich O's and take a piss.

10:28
I have a Smithwick's (896).

10:35
I wonder if that pansy has finished his shot yet.

10:36
This place is a sausage fest again. There are two girls out in the loser area, but that's it for all of Rich O's.

10:46
It's boring here. I should go somewhere else.

10:56
I'm outta here.

---

So I went over to another bar, and I ran into a girl I know, and I drove her home because I'm a sucker for damsels in distress. I was a perfect gentleman though. We talked and watched a movie and she fell asleep (passed out) on the couch with her head on my lap. She was like a sleeping kitten, and so I didn't want to wake her so I just reclined the thing back and slept myself.

When I woke up my entire leg was numb from the weight of her head, and I could barely walk.