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uring the night I suffered from a terrible asthma attack. I could feel my lungs filling with garbage with every cough, but it seemed I had to cough to clear that crap out. It was a dilemma, and I didn't know what to do. I decided to meditate and, by sheer power of will, deny myself coughs even though every inhalation caused a tremendous riot of buzzes, rattles and hums in my chest. I kept wondering, though, if I should really call the rescue squad. I don't have an inhaler or anything; I'm not usually asthmatic. Finally, after I'd willed down my coughs for a long time, I granted myself a single cough, and that successfully cleared my lungs. I've always believed that asthma is a disease of the weak-willed, and this experience confirmed my belief.
gain I awoke early and putzed around doing various computer things. Matthew Hart saw me in the morning and wanted to know if I knew how Shira the Dog had managed to escape. She'd been left alone in the house and had somehow gotten out, probably via the back door. She was a big dog in a small house, and she never manifested any loyalty to any particular person, so I wasn't surprised that, once she'd escaped, she'd vanished completely. Easy come, easy go. A movie like Slackers could be built around the theme of her experiences in various human worlds. Red Light, the ISP I use, was having bad authentication problems, and without any weekend staff, it wasn't getting fixed, so I was forced to check my email from UVA, something I haven't had to do in a while. It's good that I'm resourceful enough to know how to get my connectivity when I want it, no matter the crisis. Back at Kappa Mutha Fucka, Deya was cooking crépes and meatless hotdogs, a sort of greasy breakfast sendoff for Jessika and Balled Andy, who would be leaving today. Here's a picture from Kappa Mutha Fucka this morning.
Morgan Anarchy had spent the night, and to cure his delirium tremens, he bought a Schlitz from Deya for a quarter. After watching videotape made yesterday, we said our goodbyes and watched Balled Andy drive Jessika away. In the midst of all this, the neighbor girl, Katherine, had tried to interest me in helping her take in her groceries. Any other time, I would have been easier to convince. Hmmm... why is she being so friendly all of a sudden anyway?
spent the day unwinding from the weekend in various ways, none of them particularly interesting. There was mail to read, web sites to visit, software to install. Today I started using Homesite instead of Wordpad to do my web page editing. Homesite reminds me a lot of BBEdit (what I'd been using when I used to do all my work on a Macintosh), except the Homesite spell checker is terrible. Some of the automation, however, is far superiour, especially the multi-file search and replace and the ease with which the HTML for images can be incorporated on pages. I love drag & drop, it's a perfect interface to what my right brain is thinking. What I like most about Homesite and BBEdit is that they're mostly just text editors that don't muck around and change my HTML. I don't need WYSIWYG, I don't need preview modes. I'm smart enough to drag and drop files on the Netscape icon if I need to. I'm also smart enough to keep good backups. Which brings up another thing... She's back! Yes, Elly Jordaan has returned to the web, armed this time with a beefy 233 MHz Pentium processor, 24X CD ROM, 6 Gigs of hard drive, and 32 K of ROM (what in tarnation is so special about 32 K of ROM? Does she mean 32 Megs of RAM?). The only thing Elly lacks is a copy of her old site. Yessir, her pride and joy, an interlinked creation that had taken a year to build and swollen to 40 megs, has vanished from this earth with nary a trace. You see, first she went on a psychotic deletion binge on the server copy of her site, then she suffered a "computer crash" on her old machine, and after what sounds like a minimal sophomoric recovery attempt, sold her old hard drive to the idiot who screwed up her computer in the first place. All her customized backgrounds, cheery heart-felt essays, and scintillating daily musings have been lost. In such a position, I think I'd kill myself, but she's cheerily starting over. Perhaps she should get a copy of some of the journal entries I thoughtfully archived for her. And if she's really interested, she can probably get everything that existed on her site prior to May 1997 from the Alexa web archive. In the evening, Deya and I wasted an enormous amount of time in my room watching the Sunday Night Fox lineup on television. I doubt they'd control me any better if they broadcasted a morphine drip.
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