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pathetic for the cause
Saturday, January 9 1999
Fostering an online collegiate community is difficult under the best of circumstances, but in the place where I work, many things unrelated to the task at hand contribute to the difficulty. One such thing is the frantic pacing, which leads to shoddy construction and the adoption of poorly-considered models. The frantic pacing is exacerbated by a bonus system. Because of this bonus system, I've become a player in the game, not content to shrug it off and do the rational 9-5ish sort of thing, I've been putting extra time into projects. Today, on a Saturday mind you, I had Kim drop me off at work so I could put in a solid day further attacking the mounds of work assigned to me.
But wouldn't you know, Engineering decided to rewire the company network at this same time. The result was a bunch of bored engineers sitting around the central meeting room itching to write some code. When I'm bored, I often react artistically. So I drew a rooster on the dry erase board. All who saw it thought it was a genuine piece of art. I have a feeling it's going to be next to an awful lot of presentations.
Today the hot water heater was hissing so loudly and continuously that I couldn't do anything creative at all.
In the evening I sat alone with Sophie the Schnauzer watching Silence of the Lambs on cable teevee. I'd seen it before. My only memory of the movie was that, like many other movies, I was dragged to it in sexual frustration. I miss my sexual frustration. I miss the possibilities inherent in sleeping alone. But it's also very nice having quality trim on tap. I've jumped through all kinds of hoops to have sex with some pretty nasty women, you know. It's amazing how sexual frustration colours my memories. There they are, like fading dirty pages of a book, some dogeared, some blurred, some ripped, some spattered with blood and cum and nasal pickings and acne-inducing grease full of teaming seas of germs that bite and gnaw and claw and tear and lead to the demolition of everything that holds us high and gives us credit for being the pinnacle of all from which future will lead. But the sexual frustration will be like a characteristic dog ear or crease pattern on the page, only one more powerful, the kind that had the power to inflect the text written over them.
Later, there was a movie about some medieval dudes who dig completely through the flat Earth to another land in another time and place: our modern world with our freeways and industries. The plot went something along the lines of J.R.R.R Tolkien by way of Back to the Future. It was an intriguing idea, but I thought the freeway scene went on entirely too long.
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