Dreamt about Speedbump. Woke up thinking about ariadnae.

I’m so fuckin’ tired of everybody getting married.

I'm missing all this

________________________________
> From: Speedbump
> Subject: Sorry, I'm too impatient to find the right keys all the time
> on my mom-s computer
> Date: Fri, 2 Dec 2011 22:35:50 -0800
>
>
> > > Siempre ha dicho "casco" en español. Pero "kicking" en inglés.
> >
> > Studies have shown that bilingual children usually go for the easier
> word initially.
>
> Mostly that's been the case for The Baby - pan instead of bread, dog
> instead of perro - but there are a few things where he goes for one or
> the other because he likes the word more. I get the impression he finds
> it more fun to say, or funnier. Or sometimes because he hears it for
> the first time (or notices it more specifically) at a moment when he's
> having lots and lots of fun. So, like, he says "calcet'in" and
> "zapato", even though "sock" and "shoe" are much easier and he can
> actually say them, because he thinks, or thought, before he was saying
> them all the time, that they were funny. (And "calcet'in" is pretty
> funny to say!) And he now says "papilla", whereas before he never even
> tried saying cereal or mush or porridge at all, because the other 
> babies were visiting and he was all gleeful and bouncy and
> wanting to repeat everything everyone said no matter what. Sometimes he
> says both. Half the time,, instead of one or the other, he-ll say
> "come!Ven!Come! Ven!"
>
> He also switched from saying mam'a to saying mommy a month or two back,
> but that was very obviously because he suddenly heard everyone
> referring to me as mommy, whereas in Europe, nobody but me did.
>
> The overriding thing I've noticed with him so far is that if he can-t
> say a word all the way right, he'll take some consonant from the word
> that most grabs his attention, which is definitely not always the first
> letter of the word, and say all the vowels right, but put that one
> consonant in for every consonant sound. So Santa Claus is Kakakaus.
> And, actually, zapato is papapo and calcet'in tatet'in.
>
> Then he gets these really cute solutions sometimes for when he can-t
> say a word. Like he-s been able to say "big" for a long time, but can't
> say "small" or "little", so for when he doesn't want to use a sign,
> he's started saying "baby", for "little".
>
> Perhaps one of the funniest mispronunciation of his is that for
> whatever reason he can't say "white", he says "whitey", with a really
> strong T.
>
> And just yesterday he started being able to make the F sound a little.
> Before he just made a really exaggerated S!
>
> And he still gets really, really happy whenever he hears words he knows
> in songs. It-s like he-s surprised and happy to know that the man or
> woman singing knows that word, too. :) 

> To: Therria
> Subject: I don't know why
>
> naming a pizza "Extravaganzza" makes me think of you.
>
> I miss you.

Exceeds 140 characters

The problem with content creation for the 'Net is that there's always going to be someone almost as clever as you willing to work for free. #racetothebottom #grapesofwrath

And I was getting ready to sit down + write you all those e-mails + I feel like I can’t send ’em now ’cause I honestly don’t wanna pump any sad chemicals into that poor thing’s developing little brain… You’re so relentlessly happy and I never knew how you did it but Dad’s a moody shit, like me, and if you’re going to push out another first-world consumer of the global élite, I at least don’t want them being all fuckin’ pumped full of SSRIs all the time… although that’s probably inevitable these days, isn’t it.

I guess I’ll have to wait another 9 months to hit Send.

> To: Speedbump
> Date: Monday, October 17, 2011 08:38:05 p.m.
>
> I'd be happy/OK if you had a kid with Louie C.K.
>

Three updates in one

This was supposed to be three separate ones but who has the time?

Woke from another Therria dream.

The highlight of my weekend was making Ariadnæ come from fucking.

Woke to new e-mail from Speedbump: She’s pregnant again.

Every time I take a picture of a sunrise
even if it’s not

it’s for you.

Search function

Apparently I repeat myself.

That feeling can’t belong to just you. :/

Another long, protracted dream in which I pled my case and attempted to make amends to Therria, and she wasn’t buyin’ it (or at least she didn’t care).

I don’t know if I ever knew till yesterday that you can hear the church bells from my parents’ house.

Last night, after seeing KBO highlights on some Korean UHF station as my dad was flipping past channels, I dreamt that I was at some luncheon in a big room, like a restaurant, or a cafeteria but in a nice office building, at a table with some people that included Lefty. As it wound down, and I addressed him directly, saying, look, dude, you know, I’m just letting you know ’cause I think you might be interested, and pointed out that in one corner of the room, there was this Korean sign; they were going to be showing whatever the championship of the KBO season is called. And he didn’t even acknowledge me. So I bitched him out, like, COME ON, man, I’m trying to be cool here, and finally he did, and it seemed like there was an uneasy truce, like, sure, yeah, I’ll come see that, and I don’t think Therria was there, but of course she was mentioned.

I don’t have the heart to tell my parents my camera got jacked when I was sleeping in a doorway in Chicago.

You could plan a pretty picnic, but you can’t predict the weather

but you can bring an umbrella. And if that picnic’s planned for rain or shine, then don’t fuckin’ whine if it’s a storm for weeks at a time.

I watched “Princess Bride” tonight

I really don’t think anything else needs to be said.

I’m not any fucking good at this
and I’m not getting any better.

Last night me + my mom were watching a nature show, and there was this monkey who was supposed to be keeping guard while this younger one went to drink from a lake... Well, the other monkey got eaten by the thing that lived in the lake (I think we could all see that coming). The voiceover narrator said, “How does the monkey feel?” We both responded, in unison, “like an asshole.”

If he remembered
I guess he’s OK.

Un montón de correos de Speedbump

It’s OK, I’ve been thinking about you all day, anyway.

*sigh*
She’s fuckin’ annoying, but listening to Eve Ensler, I suddenly feel like The Baby will be OK.

That you’re an economist, though, makes me want to kiss you hard on the mouth right now.
It also makes me sad and disappointed.

I don’t know which I hate more,
work, or myself.

Mountain Time is the dumbest idea ever

It’s really only a buffer between Central and Pacific.

It’s always next week.

The problem is, she’d put up with too much of my shit.
But I can’t tell her that, because she needs to put up with his shit.

So, in addition to going to see a doc about atheism in which someone reads from “the book of the Easter Bunny” (likely a nod to the recent “Simpsons” rerun in which Homer says to Ned, “and did not the Easter Bunny himself say...!”) from a big wood board, in Braille, and then this girl who was kinda cute, but I wasn’t really that attracted to, was talking to me about it, we were hugging and smiling, ’cause I told her flat out, “You’re wrong,” on this one thing, maybe from arguing at that Afghan bread girl at the farmers’ market, and I was raving about Sam Harris’ segment in the film which I’d seen, or seen something similar to parts of on YouTube, and then I was walking down lower Shattuck, like before the fire station and on the way to Berkeley Bowl with Frank B., and the Sikh from the farmers’ market, in fact, come to think of it, had opened up a storefront down there, and there was a sign that said “[Something] and Farmers Market,” and I remember thinking, “someone should tell that Punjabi dude this doesn’t really count as what English-speakers would think of as a farmers’ market.

But, Speedbump was in my dream. In a picture. And The Baby. And The Baby looked so old, like as old as he did in that picture I glanced at—shit, he’s about to turn two!—and I remember saying, “Fuck it, I give up, on getting him anything or even trying to be a part of his life,” but then, somehow, I obviously couldn’t mean it, huh? ’cause in the next scene I’m in some store I’ve been in before, asking the saleslady about developmentally appropriate toys for two-year-olds, and then I was in a bike shop, watching the proprietor’s kid ride a trike around like right before they were about to close. I was going to try and get a new, metal tricycle, instead of a used plastic one. They’re not cheap (at least in the dream).

Why the helling fuck would they do this?

So I see an ad in my Gmail.  “Urdu Speak,” it awkwardly ungrammatically proclaims.  Oh! I think, maybe Rosetta Stone finally got Urdu after so long of just having Hindi.  So, fuck it, I click the link.  It takes me to a page: “Start with our free online demo.”  Included in the list is Spanish (Latin America) (which it defaults to, as if it’s that much different from) Spanish, (Spain), English, French, German, Italian, and… Swedish?

No Urdu.  No Hindi.  No non-European language, none of their other myriad offerings.  Not even a link to check out any other courses for not free.  Why did I even bother to click this?

wtf?

The hurt never really goes away.
You just manage to somehow stop fixating on it.

It’s not that I don’t want anybody else… It’s just that I don’t love anybody else more. And there’s a difference

Another problem with Google Ads

Was having a hot chat over Gmail with my slut about torturing her various ways, including putting mousetraps on various sensitive body parts… so in the sidebar, Google asks, “Problem with rats in the attic??” Eww. No.

I always found it funny how American friends would fail to understand why we had so many strikes over things they felt were trivial but now the web is full of angry voices saying "start the revolution" but dont know how they are started and more importantly how they are put down.

Anna one, anna two, anna…

I’m not a psychopath
I’m just a failure

please see the difference

Another oops-I-lost-therria dream. Only in this one I was thinking about who ariadnae had her eyes on while I was away, too, (her 1st Master?)

Wait, I wasn't actually in jail recently, was I?

Jail, hitchhiking, what's the difference.

Also a dream where I took an elevator up to a highrise hospital room where my mom worked and was being quizzed by her coworker ("I haven''t seen you since you were this big!") and didn't come out looking favourably. ("So,w here'd you go to school? What've you been up to? Your girlfriend?")

’Quake in D.C. Of course it gets me thinking about Llamaril.
And who will I go to the go-gos with?…

I hate this song,
because now I know the answer.

Hiro did not attend Juanita and Da5id’s wedding; he was languishing in jail, into which he had been thrown a few hours before the rehearsal. He had been found in Golden Gate Park, lovesick, wearing nothing but a thong, taking long pulls from a jumbo bottle of Courvoisier and practicing kendo attacks with a genuine samurai sword, floating across the grass on powerfully muscled thighs to slice other picnickers’ hurtling Frisbees and baseballs in twain. Catching a long fly ball with the edge of your blade, neatly halving it like a grapefruit, is not an insignificant feat. The only drawback is that the owners of the baseball may misinterpret your intentions and summon the police.

He got out of it by paying for all the baseballs and Frisbees, but since that episode, he has never even bothered to ask Juanita whether or not she thinks he’s an asshole. Even Hiro knows the answer now.

I wish you knew how hard I tried…
I wish it were enough.

¿Quién me necesita más? But of course it’s not about that… but it’s hard to imagine wanting anything right now.

How I feel/felt about her seems distant, almost like a dream… and maybe that’s how it has to be.

It's really funny 'cause I was wanting to write a post trying to articulate how I felt last summer - even at the time, I realize, it didn't feel... It felt like "now," but it didn't feel like... on the plane of my usual experiences. Like it was still me, but living someone else's life, moment to moment felt like a different state of consciousness somehow. Dammit, I think I had a better way of explaining this before. You know, like sometimes you can look back at when you were younger, and realize that the feeling of experiencing life moment to moment somehow felt different when you were, say, 10, or 3, or 17? Or like how different cities feel, aside from the smell, or weather, or time of day; you're in this different place, and the corresponding consciousness sort of feels different. I guess that was it. It wasn't just the drive up and that different place. EVEN BACK HERE FELT LIKE THERE. I guess maybe that's it. This sort of trasladable consciousness.

And I just realized - I don't know if/why I never made this association before - of course I've been capable of projecting it on her, for some of the blither, perkier, more naïve or idealistic happy pronouncements she's made... but why would I think myself so immune, and cool, and irrational? Just 'cause I'm fucking miserable. Of course my state of consciousness was different. My brain was pumping out a different set of chemicals.

That was some pretty good shit, though.

Memo to myself

If I fail at this it will not be indicative of any larger failing or ineptitude, but simply an unsuitability for this particular thing.

Every time I tell your father your name breaks my heart.

I wonder how many people most people have had tell them “Please don’t contact me again.” I must have some particular talent

Losing someone

Doesn’t matter how it happens

Your pal,

“If you want to call, a blubbering mass of sadness, you can. Anytime.”

Marriage sucks

________________________________
> From: Llamaril
> Subject: Request 
> Date: Fri, 5 Aug 2011 14:12:29 -0400 
>  
> You wrote, in a recent email, about 'nude black and whites.'  Of me,  
> presumably. 
>  
> I don't want to continue a sexual/flirtatious relationship with you,  
> because I think it would hurt my marriage. 
>  
> Please don't email me again. 
>  
>  

And yet I listen to it every day

Randi Rhodes makes me miss you so consistently... Ugh.

For the record

Randi Rhodes predicts Obama is going to push for revenue increases (if not repealing Bush tax cuts, then closing loopholes + corporate welfare) and public works stimulus.

Hm

I guess I have been thinking about la Pingüinita a lot lately

Duh, duh, duh

Could I get paid to tell people this?

There’s no crying in baseball at work

Ughhh, Monday's! - w4m

Date: 2011-07-25, 7:04AM
Ugghhh to Monday's, right?!

Why do the weekends go by so fast? Another start to a wonderful work week! Hehehe. Yet here I am on Craigslist looking for a Monday morning distraction, I could definitely use some good conversation to help get through the day! Anyone else in the same boat, if so drop me a line.

I'm 36 and Hispanic, if it matters at all...

• Location: working
  
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

> A: pers-2511925702@craigslist.org
> Asunto: Ughhh, every day!
> Fecha: lunes, 25 de julio de 2011, 10:29 am
>
> I just called into work today. I was
> all set to be there on time, a little early even... and then
> I was late, and everything went wrong, and I lost my temper,
> and then I had to clean up the result of my temper loss, so
> then I'm even later, and I have this leftover food that I
> don't wanna waste, so I was really excited to make a
> delicious sandwich out of it, but then it's all soggy by the
> time lunchtime rolls around if you make it in the morning,
> and making real food takes TIME! and, really, who has the
> time anymore? which is why this country and many others are
> chronically obese, and I hate that it's cheaper in terms of
> time and materials to just buy some pre-made shit from the
> sandwich place in the stripmall down the block, but then
> there's no sense of creativity or satisfaction, and you're
> buying their pesticide-grown, factory-farmed whatever crap
> you're putting into your body, and becoming one more step
> disconnected from the very substances that keep
>  you alive... just another item to consume.
> 
> I'm so tired of this. I hate feeling like I'm no good at
> anything or the things I am good at have no practical
> application - at least in terms of making me (really someone
> else) any money. I'm so tired of trying so hard to do the
> things that everyone else seems to do effortlessly and
> failing so miserably. I hate that we have to rent out our
> minds for the majority of our waking hours and then at the
> end of those hours we're too exhausted to do anything else.
> I hate that having a job means making a choice between
> taking proper care of yourself and getting enough sleep, or
> having some semblance of a social life. I hate that the
> basic necessities for living have become commodified so I
> have to work just to keep a roof over my head, when living
> spaces stay vacant for months, years on end, but the prices
> are kept artificially inflated to satisfy this vaguely
> defined axiomatic good, "the market."  I hate that
> capitalism makes it so easy to opt in but so
>  difficult to just even try to sidestep it.
> 
> But I know I don't really want to succeed where others do,
> either. My boss is "successful" but she's stressed and
> unhappy and eats lunch every day at her desk when she
> remembers to eat and I remember when I was working shittier
> jobs that paid less but of course were harder (another
> ridiculous, hilarious irony of our system) a boss was
> brought in who was this big, impressive guy, top salesman in
> the district or whatever... but of course his life seemed
> miserable, too. He had heart problems (Western diseases), he
> always worked late and never saw his kids enough.... but he
> was a model citizen and employee, had like boats and a nice
> car or whatever.
> 
> My old girlfriend translated this poem (it was originally
> in Spanish). I don't really like poetry, or even this one
> particularly, but it's what came to mind.
> 
> 
> "Lunes"
> by: Jaime Gil de Biedma
> 
> 
> Pero después de todo, no sabemos
> si las cosas no son mejor así,
> escasas a propósito... Quizá,
> quizá tienen razón los días laborables.
> 
> Tú y yo en este lugar, en esta zona
> de luz apenas, entre la oficina
> y la noche que viene, no sabemos.
> O quizá, simplemente, estamos fatigados.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> I mean... Mondays, right?? Why can't they start on Tuesday!
> lol
> 

(Dream about therria.)
(Wake up thinking about Blondie.)
(Worry about Speed Bump all day...)

Watching 8-bit Mega Man vids on YouTube last night made me dream about Classic Macs with tiny screens.

(Oh, also, I think the screen was in colour (probably about a 2-3" screen!) and I remember one booted into DOS.

I want to juxtapose these two pieces

http://www.slate.com/id/2287146/
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sam-harris/morality-without-free-wil_b_868804.html

Oh, the other part was where we were at a dinner table/restaurant which I think was actually my aunt/Nonni’s house but in fact I think looked more like the bedrooms, but maybe none of them, and I think it must’ve been one, sort of, 'cause there was a closet with drawers, but we were at the table + my brother thought I was being disrespectful (to Dad?) so he went to the closet and I angrily bite/kissed his lower lip/teeth to prevent him from getting out a gun (shotgun) and pointing it at me to lay down the law.

Jesus Christ. It was knocked off the charts by the fucking Black Eyed fucking Peas. I have hit some sort of new, abysmal low.

Jesus

First of all, Wikipedia considers it “trip hop” (a term I fucking despise, and would never call it that, due to its slick production), and apparently it’s her biggest song which I somehow missed until now, even bigger than her “Stan” song.

If it was this song that planted that li’l seed to have that dream, that is rather disturbing.

P.P.S.

OK, going back and listening to the track, in my defence, in hindsight, I think what got me open was the intro, which my first thought was, “This would be awesome to sample!” but now going back and listening to it through decent speakers and not those round, in-hung-ceiling-panel ones, it’s obvious it was meant to sound awesomely sampled in a post-hip-hop world.

or at least another talking-to-therria-to-convince-her-how-much-I-loved-her dream. In it I played her that song I just heard yesterday while getting my dad’s Father’s Day gift, which I just googled and found out is Dido’s “White Flag.” Jesus. I suspected it might be her, when I was thinking of it just now—Jesus. Fucking Dido. I heard that playing over the Muzak and I sort of started paying attention to the lyrics, and then I had to stop what I was doing and listen, and was like, “Oh, shit.” You know, like, omg, these lyrics are so true… omg, I am emo, man; you know you’re gone when supermarket songs are starting to seem deep (again). Like the “Life in Hell” thing about how pop songs seem eerily relevant. Anyway, that song is now going on Addenda.

OK, so also, since I’m writing ’em down, my dreams were also about these three developmentally disabled brothers who looked like the Kool-Aid man descending in size according to age, riding in the back of some car on a windy road, being taken to their destination by a chauffeur, driving around in some parking lot with a British dad and him fucking around and then his car being at the end of this car park and on the edge and there was this steep hill and I can’t remember if he rolled down and hit the car waiting in line in front of him, and also going around this London bazaar street with lots of Hindustani writing that I think was in the Persian alphabet but there was probably also some Nagari that I just didn’t see.

If I can remember any more I’ll add more.

Another making-up-with-therria dream

Rand told her followers to smoke cigarettes because "it symbolizes man's conquest of fire", and that all this stuff about it causing cancer was "communist propaganda to promote socialized medicine"  (i.e. Medicare, which keeps old people from dying if they can't cough up $350 for medicine that costs $3.50 to make.)

She is right about one thing: objective truth always has the last word.  And the truth is that Rand didn't smoke cigarettes for some lofty philosophical reason; she smoked cigarettes because she was addicted to nicotine—a life-destroying weakness.  And she wasn't assassinated by the communists; she died from smoking the noble capitalist cigarettes that the noble Captains of Industry assured her were safe.

That too, pretty well sums up Ayn Rand and her grasp on objective reality.

Faye, Faye, Faye, I still have to much to say to you, but sometimes, like this one, you are RIGHT. ON.