I'd mentioned a sensitive subject that I normally avoid mentioning. I'd seen it as crucial to the telling of the New York story.
uring today's shift at Comet, Matthew Hart came over to talk "business." He wanted me to edit the contents of the musings entries for the New York trip. I'd mentioned a sensitive subject that I normally avoid mentioning. I'd seen it as crucial to the telling of the New York story.
So now I've put up links to an explanation and have rendered the content unreadable on the relevant pages while I consider what the best solution to this situation is. I don't regret saying what I said. If nothing else it was important for Matthew to know my perceptions about what I regard as a problem. In my perhaps warped opinion, if you're doing something and inflicting that behaviour on your friends but aren't prepared to tell the world, you shouldn't be doing it. The only exception to this rule is when you fear legal ramifications, which wasn't a factor in this case.
But unlike the situation with the thugs yesterday, I actually do care about Matthew's opinion and I want him to be reasonably happy with what I do. We share a house after all. So if he tells me to edit the musings, I edit the musings. He and only a few others have been so privileged. The original entries still exist, but they're not on the web in the normal sense.
I felt kind of miserable about the situation after Matthew Hart left. I felt unusually tense. Sometimes I have feelings in my viscera I've never had before. This was one such time. Perhaps this was a feeling of divided loyalty, between my Matthew Hart and my web page.
Sometimes I have feelings in my viscera I've never had before. This was one such time.
A woman came to Comet and, per a prior arrangement, I taught her all about search engines. I know a great deal about search engines as a result of all my interactions with them, and it would probably be safe to say I know as much about how they operate as anyone in (I don't know) "the .net domain." My unusual knowledge came at a very reasonable price.
he evening was a bust for a Saturday night. I felt an oppressive despair as I hung out alone with Deya, so I drove the Dodge Dart on a mission to get a litre of vodka, which I mixed with iced coffee on the Corner. I sat on a bench in front of the Espresso Corner, watching the cars negotiating the intersection of Main, University and 14th Street under the railroad bridge. I thought that if some group of thugs wanted to jump me and beat the hell out of me, they might as well come and get it over with. Alienated from my housemates and, much less importantly, from the trendy street urchin punks, both because of my musings, I wondered if it was all worth it. It's a monkey on my back. But you know, I have to do it. Anything bad that results just adds interest to the story.
Yet I didn't even have that kind of luck tonight.
Back at the house, I talked for quite a while on the phone with Rory about the situation with Matthew. It was therapy more than anything else; I hadn't had a chance to talk with anyone about any of this. The musings had been, up until that point, my only patient listener. Rory agreed that me saying what I'd said about the New York trip was probably what needed to happen, and that it hadn't in any case painted an entirely negative picture of Matthew Hart. One has to understand, I usually treat Matthew with the utmost respect and understanding. I almost always put the best spin on his failures as well as his triumphs.
I almost always put the best spin on his failures as well as his triumphs.
Later on, I went on a drunken drive around town. There was a feeling of emptiness that the promise of driving had a hand in tempering.
Later on, as I played my guitar chaotically in my room, hands came over my eyes from behind. They smelled of cigarettes, not a usual thing in my house. It was Angela, Theresa's 18 year old younger sister. Angela is having trouble with the boyfriend again and has decided to again (for the time being) liberate herself. We hadn't seen her since Space Party II. Being that Angela, like us, is a big fan of "the sauce," she drank some booze with Deya and me while smoking cigarettes and chatting about things on the front porch. But the Dr. Pepper and vodka mix she prepared for herself unhinged her stomach just a bit.
Matthew came home and we all watched teevee just like the old days. Meanwhile Leah was off hanging out with Sarah "Rosy" Rosenthal.