12:20 p.m.||||2001-11-14
It's as if I'm a nervous dog circling my own site, sniffing to make sure I like it, it's a good choice, lift a leg. Diaryland is like having cable television..too many choices...dland is full of better choices, but too many. Cable television doesn't send you e-mails or sign your guestbook. Thank God (big brother). Dland doesn't provide for a good, multi-levelled, balanced, well-timed SURF. In both arenas, my concern is committment. It's not possible to read more than twenty journals at a time without narrowing the focus, at which point, one must make selections...and that's hard. I will look back on this phase of J's childhood as the diaryland years. There will be a time, perhaps, when I think of it as one more compulsion I lived to conquer.
All right, that's hard. I mean, I started my journal mainly to justify reading others - to give some thing back in order to not feel like a voyeur. In no way do I minimize ANYTHING I read here; I'm saying, crazy student of culture and human nature that I am, that I could dedicate my life to understanding the phenomenon that it really is. Perhaps it will restore a literacy un-experienced in this country since it's Puritan beginnings. (Neil Post-man?)(Post or Postman....that the name came at all is a bloody miracle...miss paces with knives...what am I forgetting?)
No, Las Vegas, no!
Ummmm...I realized today in the bathroom - where all the real revelations happen - that my father probably would have disdain for my online involvedness. He prefers a more "active lifestyle". Long walks in the park by their home...motorcycling across this great country. I would love to read an online journal of his.
Once, when I was little, I stumbled across a manuscript of a novel that one of my parents was writing...I've never inquired.
I can still smell the tobbacco on a metal keychain gadget I found in a dresser drawer.
I remember bullets that went to a rifle he used to shoot quail.
I remember peeing behind a dresser once in defiance. And worrying that I was neurotic - I was maybe four.
There were chapel bells that chimed every day at noon in the tiny town in Iowa where we lived when I was two or three. For some reason that sound has been haunting to me ever since.
I used to think that the stretch marks I had on my hips (that have been there since I was very young)were scratches given me by the devil. For real.
My father always accused me of living in a fantasy land...he would say that now, probably, also. Ever seen "Closetland"? That movie first suggested to me that our ability to fantasize is directly correlate to our capacity to escape.
It is autumn, and I live near the suburb where we lived, for two years, when I was around nine. It was a fucking nightmare, full of bullies and Ouija boards, and Simon and Garfunkel, and getting beaten up regularly, and having friends that my parents told me would always identify me as an underdog. It was the year I discovered racism and homosexualtiy. And the only times I defended myself were when someone else's honor was involved. Oh, the fury of the fourth grade. I have never been as moralistic as I was in the fourth grade. O.K....one other time...when I was a freshman in college in my firt comp II class. ( Let's be honest. Re-reading my early essays makes me blush )
Hey, you haven't asked me yet. So, the answers, at any rate, are that 1. I cleaned the lving room. 2. I took a shower. 3. I did do laundry, at Julio's; we made a brief sojourn to the christian bookstore so that he could pick up a c.d., I bought the baby a chewable book about Noah's ark. I'm hoping for salvation by association. O.K. That's a little tart. Forgive me. I do know that all of these very fine things happen for a reason but as I've said before, "kicking and screaming I will always go."
I had some of Julio's "three alarm" chili, I did all of our hideous laundry, in stages, between distractions. We watched NYPD Blue...my personal jury is still out, though it's one of his faves. Then, "Philly". Again, I dunno. Not as bad as "Crossing Jordan", which D described in the following way, speaking primarily of her one constant facial expression: "I know something you don't know and it is SO INTENSE!" Ha, ha.
The next two items on the agenda are - try this cereal thing again - baby makes chewing faces, but the truth is, he's unconvinced. Give this baby a bath. Dishes. That's three. Post a link to bad gap. Whatever. I have a movie about ghetto gangstas I could watch. Out.
I am 57% EMO.
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Emo Kid.
Take the EMO Test at Fuali.com!
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Well, what in hell does this mean?
Something I've noticed is you can't hit next and wind up on the next page in any of these pages. Is this because I've been doing double entries? Crap. I am going to try something. It probably won't work.Apparently it did. But I only fixed one double entry...this will stand as one too...what a mess.I'm going hunting for more Fuali tests. I'll be back.
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I am 81% Grunge. |
| I need to go take a bath, man! And I might wanna toss that shirt of mine in the wash? Any grungier and I would be mistaken for mildew, dude. |
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I am 22% Raver. |
| Have I even been to a rave? I'll go home. Loser. I suck. Actually, I am probably just a normal person taking this test and don't know why. |
Well, I may know what punk is, but... Okay maybe some people think I am punk, but is that enough? Nope.
Take the PUNK/POSER Test at Fuali.com!
I didn't think emo and grunge were compatible. According to this I'm kind've a nightmare. Whatever happened to the test for being an intellectual, ha ha.
Hey, have you noticed that Bowie went on vacation? Where'd he go? It occurred to me that I'm starting to feel hedgy around all this orange. Does this site make you feel like eating ketchup? All that exciter color, speeding up your eating habits, ecnouraging you to consume salt and sugar you don't really want? Would blue, or lilac, or white, or grey be better, more soothing? Before I became totally bored with it, my chief goal at geocities was to make the page, designed fresh daily for your consumption, pleasing to the eye. I think I was on the tip until I got exhausted trying. And so much network traffic, shit, who cares, really. I'm still longing.