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I feel like I can do
Friday, September 8 2000
This morning those of us on the Community Team had breakfast at a fancy Santa Monica restaurant with our company's new CTO, an oily-friendly guy transplanted from Manhattan. We're an unusually jaded & cynical bunch, so we made for a rather tough audience. My first impression wasn't helped much by the CTO's irrational criticism of Napster and the technology helping information be the way that it loves to be, free, but for the balance of the meeting he actually made a fair amount of sense. Still, the parts of the meeting creeped me out. For awhile there it seemed like any moment it was going to be revealed that half of us were about to be laid off. (Not that this would affect me in any way except positively, considering what I will probably earn at my next job.)
Ants continue to march in multiple columns into and out of my house, but now even my housemate John is resigned to them. After he saw the way their masses darken the side of our under-sink trash bin, he rationalized their presence with benign analysis, saying, "They actually make it easier on us; they're carrying away our garbage!"
But since last night's sunset there's been a change in the weather (and with it, the arthropoidal fauna). Suddenly the air has taken on a slight chill and some sort of tiny biting insect seems to be attacking me right here in front of my computer. Normally one doesn't even need screens in Los Angeles, so I have no idea how to cope with this development.
The sore in the floor of my mouth widened further today, causing me unexpected amounts of distraction and annoyance. I've been carrying around a little container of Zilactin® (active ingredient: benzyl alcohol), but that crap is only effective for about 15 minutes per dose. Still, at least it's something. When I apply it, my mouth celebrates with a fireworks display of ejaculating salivary glands.
You missed out on how I looked before I gave myself a haircut over the course of the past few days. (People would ask me about it and I'd say "It's a work in progress.") If I were to describe how I looked before the multi-day haircut began, well, I fear I might have to resort to using the word mullet. Mullets, as it turns out, can form naturally without assistance as hair grows out from a perfectly hip & happening early-00s non-mullet. You see, since the hair at the base of the neck grows just as fast as hair elsewhere on the head, any distance it can survive on its treacherous course down the neck brings you that much closer to having a mullet. In my case, that hair had been growing unchecked ever since February.
Despite what feels like a fishing wound in the floor of my mouth, I've been feeling unusually powerful lately. At work, for example, the slightest attention to work-related business results in seemingly effortless solutions. Then, on the ride to and from work, the alley gods continue to bless me with all sorts of loot (though all I got today was a middle school literature book). At home, my relationship with my housemate is nearly ideal. I've even been getting along with Kim. Still, it's been unusually difficult for me to focus on some interesting ideas floating around in my head. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe when the hole closes in the floor of my mouth.
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