a system of rewards - Wednesday November 25 1998    

The combination of various server troubles and the laid-back attitude of the impending holiday created a sort of end-times feel in the workplace. I did some last minute automation before I headed home somewhat early for the Thanksgiving weekend.
Kim had a quiet day at the Victoria Rose, since people don't traditionally go get massages on the day before Thanksgiving. While she was gone in the evening, I smoked some pot and took Sophie for a walk down to the festive atmosphere of Newport Street. Some gutterpunks asked me for dough and I politely refused, but I allowed Sophie to sniff their dogs' butts.
The surf was as high as I've ever seen it, almost to the sea wall. It felt like the end of the world. I would have liked to sit there for hours and gaze at the waves crashing in the darkness, but Sophie had other things she wanted to do.
Kim put Sophie on some new "senior dog" diet, the main effect of which has been prodigious fecal production. Sophie poops twice on every walk now. And they're good solid dry massive poops, exactly the same colour as the food she eats. She extracts her twenty watts of power from it and hands it back to the world.

I was kind of bored so I sent some email to my mailing list (and a copy to an extremely busy diary-l; they were arguing about something, but I wasn't interested enough to find out what it was). What follows is based on that drunken, stoned email:

I can't help but think about Matt Rogers and the total constructs that issue from him. He's crossing this big ass continent on a slow Amtrak train, looking about him for love and dope and concepts, oh the concepts! I can just see concepts spinning around his head, being authoritative one moment and lapsing into I don't know why I thought that the next. He's a good kid, in the way that good kids should be good (as opposed to the way we normally think good boys should be good), but there's still something that will always hold him back, and that thing is what makes me think of him so often.

I was thinking about girls tonight, I think.

It's Thanksgiving Eve and I just ran out of vodka, though I've got most of a quarter of marijuana. Schwaggy Ocean Beach marijuana, but there it is in the tin my girlfriend uses to store her marijuana. So I smoked a little and took a bath and played with my asshole among other things.

At work there is a whole system of rewards that I've set up for myself. I don't give myself a reward until I achieve something, and the reward I give myself depends on the accomplishment. Here are the rewards, from least to greatest:

check my local email
interaction with others
check my spies email or do something related to my spies site
get myself a new cup of tea
go to the bathroom and urinate
go take a big nasty shit
go out and get myself lunch
go home for the day
quit my job

(to which Nancy Firedrake responded:)

your reward system isn't as impressive as some industrial revolution kid's:

scratch itch
pick nose
stand up/sit down [as the case may be] for a second or two
get killed slowly in a factory fire
get killed quickly by mangling

but it's almost as depressing.

There's a great bathroom for big nasty shits down on the 2nd floor. I never run across co-workers there, and the encounters with others I actually have there are few and far between.

Happy Thanksgiving, now I'll get that half gallon of vodka.

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