he article at right appeared today in the local newspaper, the Daily Progress. I hadn't known that Rory had actually hit two cars. Another thing I hadn't known was that the police had to use a K-9 unit (dogs) to find Rory hiding in the bushes. Leah says that the police completely made up the part about John Fulmer (aka Ocean) hiding a piece of the Volvo.
This whole thing is turning very bad. That the police are milking two different felony suspects out of it is profoundly unsettling. Didn't I say just a few days ago that the American justice system is an "unfriendly jungle"? Leah says that this experience has renewed all her anti-cop feelings. She says she saw a cop today and felt the urge to tell him off.
But, you know, she (and our household) came off easy. Her fine for public intoxication will be about $40. Just think if I had gone on that ill-fated ride. I'm sure I'd be looking at a felony charge too. I'd have to kiss my sweet bank account good bye.
I found the experience of disconnection from my mail and web server most unsettling, like being blind or deaf or having a broken back. It seems that my body has come to regard the Internet as an extension of itself.
Of course, I did have coping mechanisms. I could send mail using UVA's machines. The experience made me want to have a ready backup site of some of my most important web pages. It's important to understand that I use my web pages as a portable "environment," a context from which I reach other places on the web. I hardly ever use bookmarks, since I use such a wide variety of machines. My pages are the only real constant.
Later he showed me a polaroid picture of the flounder. He accidentally marred it with his thumb print.
I rode my bike to the Fontaine Avenue Amoco and ate some batter-fried potato wedges there. The Amoco folks have their own special way of making them that has made me into an addict.
Though it is an aggravation and cause for uncomfortable feelings of paranoia, I kind of like the excitement of low-budget death squads wanting to silence my writing. My feeling is that American authors have it too easy and have become soft. There's not enough repression here, and hasn't been since the McCarthy Era. To write well, you need to live on the edge, to experience pain, paranoia and fear. I've found that if you play your cards right, you can have all the artistic benefits of East German repression here among the malls and McDonalds of America.
Still, anyone who drives a shiny pickup truck has their own set of vulnerabilities. Along that line, I was impressed to note that Eric drives carefully, conscientiously, far more so than I would have had I been in his situation.
The others by this point had become drunk and goofy. Monster Boy talks loudly and does obsessive things when he's drunk. Best of all, he reveals secrets, things we all want to know but are too embarrassed to ask. Matthew, on the other hand, tends to take special care to enunciate his words after he's had a few too many. The others had mostly gone to bed.
And Rory continued to rot in his jail cell.
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