a real rain

I didn't get a good sleep, not even close, but that was a storm, a real rain, the mother of all storms. I'm surprised the power didn't go out. It woke me at a little after one and only got stronger after two. Complete with flooded yard.

So, that takes care of that. I'm glad I wasn't tempted to let the cats out last night. Though, one cannot help wishing that this deluge fell in the middle of August instead of October, but better late than never, right?

for my news reel

Shit, I was hoping to find at least a couple of good quotes for my news reel from the Sunday columns, but Dowd writes about yogo, Kristof about raped babies, Douthat abou Steve Jobs, and Friedman about leadership. Dry holes all.

a big, shiny white clump

Finishing up my early morning news and blogging rounds, I look out the office window at the rainy weather, and I see a big, shiny white clump on the yard, and as I look more intently, trying to discern what it is, I realize, "Fuck! I forgot the newspaper!" This is more bitter, because it has resumed raining, and there was a nice calm spot in the weather a little earlier. I have to break out the umbrella.

Sinfest on the Patriarchy.

Bah-humbug!

( Read more... )

chilly

I had to get my T-shirt, since we cannot shut off the ceiling fan and still use its light. Too cool. A little chilly. Isn't it nice!

The rain is still coming down strong.

June 2, 2003, Monday, 1642

Pi asks, "Are you okay, Monk? You seem a little . . . unsteady. It looks like you almost fell down."

Monk shrugs, "I don't know. It feels as though I have sunk to another level with this heavy-headed wooziness." Instead of just suffering bouts of this today, it's been an all day kind of thing. I can hardly even read."

Daimon approaches, "Well, now, that is something of an overstatement. I seem to recall that you were running pretty strong this morning when Simple Tree had left and you sought your . . . sexual release."

Monk smiles sheepishly, "True. I was feeling alright then, as though that little sexual heat was able to raise me out of these dumps." His head drops.

Pi asks, "What's the matter, Monk?"

"I just hate the idea that the only thing that I'm good for these days is getting off. My solitary debauchery. It doesn't afford me a lot of redeeming value for my life."

Pi musses his hair, "Ah, Monk! I think that you are still concerned about what others think, aren't you? You cannot control that, and you shouldn't let that get you down. You're not really in pain or anything. This isn't a medical emergency, right?"

"No, I'm fairly alright. One just grows weary of being useless and helpless. An invalid."

"At least you have your priorities down." She waps him on the shoulder, "You can take care of your sexual needs. Somewhat." She giggles into her fist.

===============

October 9, 2011

Eight years later, in the deep end of my forties, this still has not changed. A daily double is much rarer now, I suppose, but even that still occurs on occasion. At least my reading and writing life have really kicked into gear, and I am quite content with this, particularly with respect to my book-blogging, though I still have to suffer the fact that it remains a wholly personal satisfaction, without any real social recognition, and it certainly does not pay money. But I don't think a better life is possible for me. Bottom line: I feel very good. My profoundest regret is that there have not been friends and lovers in this life, in real life.

June 2, 2003, Monday, 1808

Monk smiles as he stares out his theater window. Ah, sweet, sweet rain! A nice hard little rain. So desperately needed.

The winds started kicking up at around five, and the skies became overcast, and while one wished, Monk didn't hold out much hope. But watch it fall!

The occasional boom of thunder sends Little Bear scurrying away from the windows atremble. The fierceness of the spitz leaves him at such times. He won't confront an animated Zeus.

And the temperature comes down to a lovely 72dgF. The summer shower didn't last much more than half an hour, but it sure was sweet while falling.

*******
(1900)

Taking Little Bear out for their pre-dinner rounds, Monk finds the air cool, and it smells sweet and fresh. Even the songs of the birds sound crisper. The skies have fairly cleared, so that the sun shines forth on its descending arc gilding beautifully these wetted environs.

===============

October 9, 2011

What a happy coincidence that today is much like that day, except the weather is more stormy and the rain harder and much longer-lasting, and we have the cats instead of Bo, of course.

whiskers

Cuddling Ash...

Why do cats have whiskers?

I feel tempted to clip them.

calmed

The weather has calmed. I don't know if it's clearing, though, since we still have a grey curtain of clouds above, as if things might kick off again tonight.

As it is, even if not another drop of rain falls, the cats are going to have to stay inside for another couple of days.

Reading Life

I was thinking about ordering Banks's "Lost Memory of Skin" early, but have decided against it. Once I have it in my hands, I will not be able to resist it and leave it aside unread, and I think I should probably get the "Eisenhower" book out of the way first, or at least be close to wrapping it up. I am enjoying the history, though I am still only in the opening chapters.

Pop

Within a couple of minutes of my lying down for a nap, Pop kicks on the TV in the kitchen for a football game.

At least he didn't chase me out of the big room. He only does that for the Cowboys, and maybe the Spurs. I'm surprised he doesn't take Sundays, for any football game, especially when he doesn't go out on his rounds.

Though, after last night's abbreviated sleep, I could've used an hour-wonder of a nap. Running on a big sleep-deficit.

June 3, 2003, Tuesday, 0739

Monk dreamed about reading some random journals. He came upon one that listed conditions for being a friend. The last condition read something like this: "If you take the side of my boyfriend, then maybe you should create a journal and list HIM as a friend." Part of the understood joke is that the boyfriend doesn't keep a journal.

Pi shakes her head, "You really are hooked on Blurty! Now you are even dreaming it."

Daimon grins, "It's that voyeurism. Feeding off of other peopls's lives. Tsk, tsk!"

Monk shrugs, "What can I say! Other lives are more fascinating than mine. Though, this isn't to say that there isn't some frustration in this. One feels that there is so much more potential in a site like this. If only more people would give a little more!"

Daimon smirks, "Yeah, that would be a real voyeur's dream. Unfortunately for you, Monk, people don't live for your amusement." Daimon holds his hands up smiling, "Maybe you should try to make your own life more interesting. Just a little advice."

Monk smirks, "Fat chance of that happening! I believe that some people are meant to live life, and others are meant to appreciate life. I'm one of the admirers. If God wanted me to live a life, he would have made me better looking, smarter, richer, or at least healthier."

Pi laughs with her hands over her mouth, "Silly monkey!"

Daimon says, "Just don't be so free about trying to make contacts!"

Monk recoils back, "No, Don't worry! I've learned my lesson. Oil and water don't mix."

===============

October 9, 2011

Of course, it won't be long before my e-life really kicks off, and although most of it, especially the best parts, completely fall apart, I still believe it only greatly enriched my life, giving me enough of a rush that I could blog away without any e-life for the rest of my real life. But oil and water probably is an apt metaphor.

June 3, 2003, Tuesday, 2141

As leader of the rebel angels, Satan takes the responsibility upon himself to seek out and explore this new world where humankind has been created. Until their leader returns, the rebel angels are left to amuse themselves as they suffer in the fiery pit of Hell. Some of the angels partake in Homeric games, some take up song, and some even discuss philosophy. With respect to these last, Milton gives us a nice verse on the consolations of philosophy:

"Others apart sat on a hill retired, in thoughts more elevate,
and reasoned high of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will and Fate,
Fixed Fate, Free Will, Foreknowledge Absolute,
and found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
Of good and evil much they argued then,
of happiness and final misery,
passion and apathy, and glory and shame,
vain wisdom all, and false philosophy:
Yet with a pleasing sorcery
could charm pain for a while or anguish,
and excite fallacious hope,
or arm the obdured breast
with stubborn patience as with triple steel."

"Yes, but philosophy is not happiness," Monk sighs.

Pi giggles, "It is no Juliet."

Daimon approaches shaking his head, "You still believe in happiness, old as you are?"

Monk shrugs, "I guess that I'm emotionally stunted that way. Haven't you been reading these journals with me? Everybody wants to be happy, even when it is but a passing and fleeting emotion, if experienced at all. We feel like it is due to us, even if we rarely if ever get it. We feel cheated without it."

Daimon clucks, "And I thought that you mastered the proposition that life isn't about happiness. You're regressing, Monkey-Knight!"

"I don't know. I'm just feeling a little wistful tonight. Can't I be human once in a while?"

"Human, sure, but not an adolescent kid! I think that you need to spend less time reading these kids. You're becoming a mopey teenager before our eyes."

Monk waves him off, "It's only a passing mood. It happens every once in a while."

===============

October, 9, 2011

Funny, I suppose I have gone soft since this entry. I am no longer the cold materialist who believes that happiness and hope are for growing children and stunted adults. Having become very sympathetic to Christianity, even if not a true believer, I suppose I am casting my lot with the idea that we should be happy, and if that cannot be realized in this world, then maybe there is a next world where it will be. Well, I don't smirk it away.

Pop

Judging by the noise coming from the kitchen, Pop must be doing some kind of major kitchen work, reshuffling things here and there. It's rather amazing that he can still feel this kind of restlessness, when he does not go on his rounds. I'm just worrying about what kind of stress I am going to feel when I see what he has done, messing up some little arrangement of mine. I think I might prefer it if he just took over the big room.

June 4, 2003, Wednesday, 2218

Pi steps over towards Monk and bends down to try to see what he is staring so hard at, "Oh, I see! That is a pretty nasty looking spider." One of those grey speckled spiders is caught between the closed window and the screen, crawling around.

Monk's forehead is still furrowed in concentration, "I cannot remember the last time I saw one that big. I suppose that this is the downside to this rain. The last time I was out with Little Bear, I was also bothered for the first time this season with those pests, those mosquitos or something close enough to them. I'm going to have to start putting on sweat pants when I go out in the dusk and twilight hours -- what a pain in the ass!" He works up his resoultion and gets up with a purpose.

Pi asks, "What are you doing?"

Monk takes a deep breath, "Since I've finished my dinner, I'm going to try to kill it."

Daimon hears this and laughs, "Yeah! Sometimes a man has to be a man. Be careful out there, Monk. It's a pretty big spider. You're going without any real back-up."

Monk ignores this, dons his t-shirt, and heads out with the Ortho Home Defense bug spray. Little Bear apparently wants to come out, too. Monk first shoos him away, but ultimately gives in before those longing eyes. Outside, Monk starts dousing the spider. It doesn't look like it's working, and he checks the bottle to see that it does contain a picture of a spider among the pictures of other creepy-crawlies. Monk keeps pouring it on with murder in his heart. Eventually, after spraying perhaps about a half-cup of the supposed poison onto this creepazoid freak of nature, it stops moving.

Back inside, Monk warily opens the window with a wad of paper towels in hands to make a fast grab and crush. He didn't have to worry. Pi says, "So, I guess that spray works."

Monk nods, "Yeah, guess so. Not particularly fast, though. But then I guess there is something to be said for a slow and tortuous kill against such vile foes."

Daimon smirks, "Keep this up, tough guy, and you're going to become a full-blooded Republican before long. It's just a matter of knowing your priorities and being willing to do something about them."

Monk sneers, "Like Andrew Jackson and the Indians?"

Daimon says, "Yes, like Andrew Jackson and the Indians. It's a tough world, Monk! You should understand that by now."

Monk turns away, "I think I do."

Daimon bemoans, "I don't think you do, not really."

==============

October 9, 2011

See what I mean about the writing? And it also feels like I was smarter, at least as a philosophical matter, about the nature of the world. And now here I am thinking about heaven. Remember, I was feeling a little devastated after that drama with Crysling and Gnome, and it seems as though I were really finding myself, making myself stronger.

Pop

And now Pop takes out the vacuum cleaner. I wish he'd just enjoy his game and booze. He is more of an obstruction than a help.

that swampland

Did I say a couple of days?

Looking out the back, it looks more like it will take a couple of weeks for that swampland to be dry enough for the cats. Or at least the better part of a week.

Fun Question

I wonder which would I rather take: a thousand dollars or the loss of forty pounds?

Yeah, I'd probably have to jump at losing the forty pounds. Even at ten thousand dollars, it probably shouldn't be a close contest.

News Reel

( Read more... )

Pop

I was right. When I heard Pop mixing something in bowls, I thought he might be about to bake something, and right when I'm ready to put my dinner in the oven.

He actually gave ground, though. Seriously, is it not utterly unreasonable to pick this time to bake, knowing that I put my dinner in at this very time?

"It's not such a problem that it's worth getting a migraine over."

I know. A little too tetchy. But the problem doesn't have to be there in the first place.

"1984"

Finished watching "1984" and sat through much of the closing credits, and I was surprised to learn that they made a selling point of the fact that the film was shot during the imagined time period of the novel, that is, from April of 1984 to, not sure, maybe May of eighty-four, which made for a fast shoot, but I can believe it. A pretty simple movie.

after-dinner chores

When it's not a shower night, it is actually harder to get up and do the after-dinner chores, perhaps because one does not feel as rushed, and the will to procrastinate freely expands.