BoldUlysses.com

My opinion of my own coolness got taken down a notch or three (probably a healthy thing?) last night after I compiled a list of possibly the most f-ed up cd collection ever. I think some of those albums are like matter and antimatter–they should merge and annihilate on the shelf where they sit.

In my defense:

A. Some of those albums are swiped from my parents and I just never bothered to give them back.
B. It’s more a chronicle of the development of my musical taste rather than its current state. Though that admittedly doesn’t mean much since you don’t know which albums I bought a long time ago and which I’ve purchased recently.
C. I do have a pretty classy vinyl record collection which I didn’t include on the list.

So yeah. Anybody still want a mix cd? :)

I should’ve known better than to attempt suspension work at 11:30 in hopes of spending a few quiet, easy hours tinkering with the car… It was completely counterproductive, and instead precipitated a colossally terrible mood last night that seems to have perpetuated, albeit overlapping other emotional spheres, into this evening. I didn’t get anything of worth accomplished last night, but struggled with several key bolts and nuts for the better part of an hour before getting sufficiently fed up and reassembling everything. It normally wouldn’t be that hard, but one aspect of the event that fed into my bad mood was the fact that the proper tools for the job seem to have taken a hiatus from my garage, so things weren’t easy, nevermind the lack of daylight and the presence of my already overwhelming tiredness.

So now I’m here at work. Not doing any work. I brought a DVD and watched that, since my computer back at the apartment doesn’t have a DVD player, and sometimes I’d just like to watch movies without interruptions or queries into how much longer the film will last so that another apartment tenant can watch football or some such. I hate coming here on a Sunday… but I don’t know where else I’d go. You know that feeling that arises when you’re overwhelmed–the heavy, pensive stares for minutes on end, alternating with quick glances around the room, the breathing that deepens and is somehow more shallow simultaneously… It feels like it’s almost taken over. I just need to know this is where I’m supposed to be right now. Among other things. Deeper things. Things I never hear but would make a vast difference if I did. Things I can’t say but lie embedded in my outlook like [insert simile here]. I feel emotionally spent, like I did after the run yesterday, but not physically. Jim said it right when he expressed, in reference to the vision for the next few years of my life, that it’s easier to steer a vehicle when it’s moving than when it’s standing still. It’s absolutely true–and the want-to-dos, should-be-doings, and have-to-dos dam up inside me, and I can’t get past them to see the next hour, much less even tomorrow. Am I doing it all wrong? Am I tilting at windmills? Am I expending all my energy only to rise this far above the level of just existing? I can’t close my eyes; I’ll miss a thought, a moment, a chance to plan, to accomplish, to do something I should… And I know, at least partially, why it is, too…but I can’t say. I can’t say.

Wiped OUT. Aaron somehow talked me into a grueling 4 mile run through downtown Cary earlier tonight (we were going to go to Umstead Park, but opted not to). A trip to Quizno’s afterward made it all better, though.

Lots of things going on my head. Politics, philosophy, poetry, the works. The stream of consciousness doesn’t want to arrange itself in a lucid, writeable form, though. Ugh. Need to talk. No one here–all at youth group or elsewhere.

I fixed all the door handles on the Audi today (three of them wouldn’t open their respective doors). I think I’m going to go out there and replace the upper strut mounts on the front suspension. I gotta do something.

Words and expressions running through my head lately:

“a paroxysm of glee”
“désormais”
“maintenant” (mainly because of its contrast with its English equivalent, “now.” I’m just amused that an ungainly three-syllable word is used to describe such an ephemeral moment in time)
“dorénavant” (rhythmic and fun to say)
“shortchange the psyche”
“toaster”
and the ever-popular “prolific,” possibly the most aesthetically-pleasing word in the English language.

I like “Vertigo.” I need to listen to the lyrics more closely, I think–my repeated listens last night mainly centered around absorbing the vibe and the feel of the music and trying to trace a musical progression from their previous album. For what it’s worth, upon first listens to older U2 songs, the lyrics and music immediately held equal footing in my mind–this one not so much. The music is excellent, but the words don’t jump out at me and complete the song; I felt, at least initially, like I was nodding my head to an empty rhythm and hook. We shall see.

I beat my goal last night: 3.5 miles in 26:10, or 5 seconds (overall) better than a 7:30/mi pace. The night was ideal–cool and temperate.

Just got back from a followup visit to the doctor to have some blood work done… Checking my blood sugar level and all that. Fortunately it’s fine. I did have to fast for 12 hours before the visit, though–that’s never fun, although I’m thankful my appointment was early in the morning rather than in the afternoon. I’d have had more difficulty bearing that.

There’s apparently a “Christian DJ” now extending the reach of Christian-themed music into the genre of dance/techno. It’s not like it hasn’t been attempted before, but I believe this is the most concerted effort yet. His website is here. It’s a great site, and while I applaud his ambition and the spirit behind it, the music…is pretty derivative and formulaic. Think mid-’90s Prodigy and Meat Beat Manifesto, only…watered down. Yeah.

I’ve always wondered about a concern brought up recently by the discovery of that artist–why it was that Christian-themed music never seemed to push the artistic envelope, or even stay at the forefront of musical trends, but just seemed to tag along. My theory (and this has been corroborated by people privy to information in the industry) is that it’s mainly due to the distribution network of most Christian music, and the fact that it’s dominated by just a handful of record companies clustered in the Nashville area. The prevailing mindset among these companies seems to be one that stifles creativity in favor of the watered-down, homogenous canned goods they provide. So if an up-and-coming artist/band wants to have their record heard, they have to make their musical creations and image jump through the record company hoops just to secure reasonably widespread distribution. Every once in a while a reasonably creative and distinctive artist/band will slip through (Jars of Clay, Plumb, Switchfoot, etc), but for the most part…yeah. Holy cow. And it’s not even that the music and lyrics are that bad most of the time, it’s just… Where’s the poeticism in the lyrics? If you call yourself a rock band, you need to have songs that really rock. Hard. Why all the cliché? But I suppose in the end it’s just another flavor of the perennial catch-22 of preserving artistic integrity vs. finding an audience.

Okay. End rant. Must work.

I have a physical today. I don’t really want to go. Ugh.

Had a great time last night playing racquetball for the first time since college. With Natalie. She’s pretty good–I only won the second game by a handful of points. I think it’s time to have the where-is-this-going conversation, since we’ve been out for lunch and other things a few times in the past month and a half, and our dialogue after the end of the game, just before she went back up to her apartment, was a little awkward in the sense that I got the slight feeling that she may have been expecting something…though what I can of course only conjecture. And my catastrophic cluelessness with members of the opposite sex is well-known. But no matter how I view the situation, the long-term, closer relationship possibilities just aren’t there. And it’s colossally unfair to her to leave her guessing at my intentions–I have to be clear. It’s just hard to do. Broaching the subject is never easy… and I want to keep her as a friend. Prayers?

J’ai rêvé d’elle ce matin. Je ne m’en souviens pas vraiment de la plupart du rêve, mais de ce qui me revient… Je crois qu’elle m’avait écrit une lettre, ou quelque chose comme ça, dans laquelle elle m’indiquait qu’elle allait me rendre visite ici aux États-Unis. Ensuite j’ai vu une séquence d’images d’elle…dans toutes elle était si belle que c’était difficile parfois de la regarder. Et j’avais tellement envie de lui parler, de tenir, pour une seule moment, une simple échange de quelques mots. Une douzaine suffirait…et le sujet ne serait même pas important–le météo, les affaires politiques, n’importe quoi. Mais maintenant que j’y penses, si je suis vraiment honnête avec moi-même, je voulais, dans mon rêve et maintenant au milieu de la journée, passer beaucoup plus de temps avec elle. Je crois qu’il faudras au moins que je lui écris encore une lettre, cette fois adressée à elle toute seule. Pour ses yeux, et personne d’autre.

Today’s the last day of summer… Bring on the fall.

I really want to see this.

Movies watched this weekend:

Nosferatu (1922)
Cité des Enfants Perdus
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow

Yet to watch:

War of the Worlds (1953)
Proof

Another week. There’s a continental polar (CP) airmass upon us at the moment, and the pressure gradient is rather steep, so the winds are strong and the air is brisk, dry, and fallish. I stepped outside yesterday morning on the way to church, blinked at the absolutely cloudless sky, and said, “Thank You, God, for making the blue this blue.” It would have been a wonderful night to take my star charts, a red flashlight and maybe the telescope, find a clearing, and map out the whole sky. I need to find a place to do that around here. The summer stars are receding quickly, Deneb, Altair, Antares, and the Summer Triangle… The winter stars will be coming up soon: Sirius, all of Orion, Procyon, Capella, Pollux and Castor, among others. Not quite as interesting as their summer counterparts, but they’re always clearer, since less moisture obscures the air.

Finally got rid of the white Supra on Friday. Well, not physically rid of it, since it’s still sitting in the apartment complex, but I’ve been paid for it, title transferred, and it’s not my responsibility anymore to get running. I’ll be able to pay off all my debts and have some left over to put into my savings account. It feels good. I feel…liberated. It will be hard to see it drive away if/when the new owner ever gets it running, since the car and I certainly have some history, but on the other hand, I’ve been through enough cars to know what it feels like when I really have a strong attachment to a particular vehicle (see: Twinkie, red RX-7), and the Supra didn’t really possess that kind of bond with me. It was finicky, sure, and often temperamental, signs that it had a certain personality that would endear it to me when it was running properly, but after driving the Audi to work and around every day for a few months, I’m beginning to see that bulletproof reliability and character aren’t necessarily exclusive qualities in a car. In any case, I’m glad to have that region of my life simplified ever-so-slightly.

Fun site:

http://www.smackbomb.com/famousfonts/

You’ll notice that somehow a disproportionate number of the music fonts seemed to be designed by “Ray Larabie.” My hypothesis is that either he’s the official rock band font designer or some enterprising tycoon who snatched up the rights to the fonts in a mad dash of entrepreneurial ingenuity.

In any case, if you’ve ever wanted to be able to type, say, “Wyld Stallyns Rulz!” with the official Iron Maiden font (Metal Lord), now you can! Huzzah!

Visions of winter come to me today… Don’t know why. All the good things about winter: sweaters, bundling up, the holidays, and the rush of warmth after stepping inside, unwrapping scarves and overcoats, and how much more natural it feels to be greeted by warmer air than colder (as in the summer) when coming in from outside. It’s just the way of the universe.

The year winds down and I think about my place in it. The coming season suspends itself in my mind, above the broad avenue of the next few years I typically think about when placing my future. It walls itself off, becomes its own entity, with emotions that are somehow preserved from one year to the next, magnified as if on cue with the toppling of the next few months. December becomes a tower, each day like a stone; each feeling conjured by the warmth that inhabits it becomes a parapet to protect me from uncertain visions stretching from either side in time. From my vantage point here in September, I see the outside of the tower as it approaches, and perceive the light coming from the interlocking stones, telling of the warmth and light within. I know I can’t stay. I shouldn’t stay. But as respite for a soul weary of the relentless assualt, every waking hour, of things he should do, could do, wants to do, the pause provided by the familiar emotions of an ageless season will be most welcome.

I’ve formally decided that I do NOT like getting up in the morning. In fact, it is an extremely unpleasant experience most days. The only situation in which I do get up of my own accord and volition, willingly, is on a day without a preset time to get up, and with very few planned responsibilities. Oh, and while recovering from jetlag in London (but this can hardly be helped). The rest of the time, even if I’ve had my 8 hours, it’s like I’m being pulled away from blessed sleep by the demands of the day. I just don’t like it. At all, really. Come to think of it, I should probably attempt to get over my disdain for the act of getting up before I get married, since having another warm body in the bed with me will just give me more reason to want to stay there. Maybe consistency will help. One or two nights of sufficient sleep doesn’t satisfy me; this I’ve proven, but perhaps a whole week of 8-hour nights? Hmm. ‘Twould take some organization, that’s for sure.

9:45 — I’m a bit surprised the Eclipse people haven’t contacted me about a batch of sketches I e-mailed them last night. I mean, they were technically accurate and descriptive, but from an artistic standpoint pretty half-baked. Heck, I’d have e-mailed me if that PDF showed up in my inbox.

I’m in my office at the moment working on some freelance stuff. I walked in about a minute ago to find…

…that there are SLUGS in here. Two of them at least. Or something equally slimy. Crawling on the floor. How did they get in here? I’ve no idea.

This is NOT going to work. Nopenopenopenopenopenope. Especially when I accidentally stepped on one, thinking it was just a leaf.

Gaaah. Mind over matter. Must work.

Edit (12:01): Crisis averted. Stand down from Red Alert. I located a dustpan and humanely scooped up the non-squished slug and deposited him outside in the humid night air, where he belongs. Now, more work.

she says
the satellite is coming
I pray
the wrecking ball is waiting
she says
the satellite is coming
it’s come to take us home

Looks like after about 25 hours of sketching over the course of the past week or so, I’ve finally stumbled onto an armrest design the Eclipse people are happy with. I can see working on the overall design of the seat with that degree of fastidiousness, but rehashing a detail like the armrest (or the flipping–pun intended–recline lever) just drives me nuts. And it’s not that I feel like my concepts are substandard, either…but when they decide to completely change the retraction mechanism halfway through the process, it’s cause for a bit of frustration.

I still wish they had gone with the open headrest concept… but at least the seat has more contour to it than the monolithic slabs they were previously. If nothing else, I think it will be a good portfolio piece.

I want cheese, inexplicably.

Watched Donnie Darko earlier this evening. Amazing film. I’ve been moving about in a sort-of trance, pondering the existential/temporal/purpose questions raised. Still sorting through everything. One issue with the movie is that it’s so psychologically engaging that it moves beyond the realm of mere coffee table quantum physics exercise and into more fundamental areas (kind of appropriate I used that adjective, no?).

Weird dream last night. I should have recorded it as soon as I got up (not like I had anything else to do this morning), but I just laid there. I made an effort to recall the dream in a lazy attempt to get the neurons in my head to make the appropriate connections so the memory wouldn’t be swept away but the mental to-do list that assaults my psyche after about 30 seconds. As such, I can only remember the latter part of the dream… I was walking out into a fenced-in parking lot to retrieve my car; but it wouldn’t start, so as a consolation I was offered a loaner. This turned out to be a bright white, completely smooth and badgeless Mercedes. I walked around it a few times in disbelief that it was as clean as it was, and just pondering the contours left behind by the removal of ornamentation. I got in, only to find that there wasn’t a steering wheel, but a wide dashboard that extended to my knees, full of readouts and displays, and two gearshift handles, a large truck-style one, and a small joystick-type right in front of me. I wondered how I was to drive it until I started the car and two handles rotated up and out of the dash. I gripped these, alternately pulling one toward me and pushing one away in order to turn the car. When I had to shift I simply let go of one and shifted with my free hand–the handles were interconnected so I could still steer. I pulled out of the parking lot and up onto the road, still crawling along at a walking pace. Right before the road turned into a bridge, I drove by Colleen (Park scholar I dated briefly–too briefly–freshman year) walking across the street at a leisurely pace, carrying something and wearing a short dress, as she was wont to do when I knew her. This is where it gets murky. After the bridge the car disappeared, and there was a man (it could have been me) in a giant bionic ape suit, either terrorizing people or saving them from another threat (though it couldn’t have been much of one if I don’t remember it). I just remember that after all the commotion was through the suit’s head rotated up and back to reveal the operator inside, and all the mechanism (hydraulic lines and servos and such) was visible.

I repotted Francis and Clarke today. They’re much happier.

I’m really sleepy today.

How do you watch a movie? I’m undeniably curious. Do you have a certain chair or couch you sit in? A particular time or mood to be in? A drink or a snack? Does it depend on the movie? How do you watch an artsy movie? How do you watch a scary movie? Does it differ? I wanna know.

Treehouse, Nobody’s Monkey
Platinum on Black, Vol. III
BT, ESCM
Everything But the Girl, Walking Wounded
Switchfoot, The Legend of Chin
Ivy, Apartment Life
Vertical Horizon, Running on Ice
Portishead, Portishead

= Late nights in freshman design studio, fall ’97. 1997.

All the middle school guys are over here at the moment… Donald’s their small group leader in youth group and I think he wanted to get together with them before the beginning of official youth group weekly meetings this coming Saturday. Fortunately we’ve upped the multimedia capacity of the apartment to Level 3 (similar to the DEFCON system) with the addition of an XBox to Donald’s mini TV, supplementing the PS2 and assorted computers, and with the purchase (by myself) of more cream soda and root beer, they’re quite occupied and happy.

I wouldn’t mind at all except that I’m getting sick and just want a quiet Sunday evening. I went to Borders for a little bit, got a hot chocolate, and read some magazines, then went to Barnes & Noble and almost bought the Daft Punk cd I’ve had my eye on…but it was $18, so I decided to wait on it…

So I bought a book of Rilke poetry instead. Funny thing, shopping for some poetry in a store like that. It’s not easy (for me, at least), since I really feel like poems have to be read aloud to gather their full effect… I think I’ve put off more than one bookstore shopper after coming around the corner of the aisle and stumbling upon me mumbling to myself, book in hand. But that’s what it takes…

Donald got the transmission back in his Bimmer yesterday, with some assistance from me at crucial stages like actually lifting the tranny into the tunnel, and inserting the last of the bellhousing bolts. I was impressed with his diligence in the matter–he started around 11 and had all the grunt work done and the car down off the jackstands at 7. It’s quite a good time considering everything he had to reconnect. It won’t start, though, so I’ve got to go out there tomorrow and diagnose things–it’s likely just a sensor or connector issue. That’s what all the symptoms point to.

If you are the dreamer, I am what you dream.
But when you want to wake, I am your wish,
and I grow strong with all the magnificence
and turn myself into a star’s vast silence
above the strange and distant city, Time.

So sleepy. A midnight viewing of Jaws earlier with friends was just what the doctor ordered for a Saturday night, but now… *huge yawn*

In other news, I got pierced

What is it with the proliferation of George Michael remixes on this internet radio station? I think it’s time to switch it up…

I was up until about 4:30 last night working on sketches for the freelance job. I’ve come into work late twice this week–a precedent I really don’t want to continue. Regardless, I’m dragging today. I think the only things in the cards this evening will be a nap, workout, laundry, and a nice quiet viewing of (long overdue) Metropolis. Somehow State and Main and The Winslow Boy (subtle, theatrical film) got inserted in the queue before it.

Yesterday I finally called the doctor and dentist and made appointments to see both of them, just for routine checkups. It’s long overdue–I mean, I’ve been on my own health plan since February; I could have fielded the $15 or so copay anytime between then and now. I’m not too worried; I’ve been flossing and exercising (not simultaneously).

Lunch.

1. Why is it that my internal radio insists on blaring the same 5 seconds of music for the first two hours that I’m up?

2. It’s hard to be a conservative in a liberal-arts college town. The number of anti-Bush (note I don’t say “Pro-Kerry,” because most of them aren’t) bumper stickers I see every day is overwhelming (slightly facetious). It gives rise to the skewed impression that the race is rather lopsided in favor of Kerry, but when the polls are consulted, it’s much closer than my gut would indicate.

3. The goatee is back and I’m thinking pretty seriously about getting an ear pierced. Tonight. Why? No idea. Probably something subconscious.

4. Contrary to popular belief, we did NOT build this city on rock ‘n’ roll. More like concrete and plywood.

5. Yep, my brother rules. For other reasons besides that, obviously, but it’s still pretty cool and I’m proud of him. My other brother, Paul, rules equally as much for other reasons, too–driving down to Florida on a whim at 1 a.m. to witness Hurricane Charley firsthand would be a start. You should see the video footage he got standing in a restaurant while the roof was being blown off. It’s Weather Channel highlight-reel stuff.

6. Sans toi, les émotions d’aujourd’hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d’autrefois.

The Inside Scoop closed. It was the ice cream parlor in between the laundromat and the packaging store, near Foster’s Market off Airport Rd. Probably had something to do with the fact that the outside tables overlooked a parking lot and the back of the Hunam Market next door, not the most appetizing vista in the world, not to mention a practically invisible location.

Regardless, it was a great little ice cream place, with lots of character (and a photobooth!). It will be missed.

I’ve had Vienna Teng’s “Gravity” going through my head all day today… It’s a song I initially passed over when listening to the album, but on repeated listens it’s grown into my favorite. Amazing, far-ranging, deep-feeling music, especially when she launches into the final verse… It’s just…arresting.

evening thoughts

Raining out. Another tropical system is bearing down on us, looks like… What joy is ours.

State and Main is an absolutely charming film. And interestingly, for all my goings-on about Julia Stiles, her character had little to do in the movie, and what she did do certainly didn’t emphasize the seeming intelligence of her demeanor. On the other hand, Philip Seymour Hoffman (the real star of Almost Famous) and particularly Rebecca Pidgeon stole the film for me. Some of their dialogue was the best I’ve ever heard on screen, bar none. A lot of that probably had to do with the writer/director, David Mamet, being originally a playwright. In my experience playwrights-turned-screenwriters tend to bring a bit more attention and craft to the interchanges between characters, probably because they’re not used to having quite the palette of narrative tools at their disposal that screenwriters and film directors do. In any case, I definitely need to watch The Winslow Boy now. Pidgeon was just (to use a trite film critic’s expression) luminous in State and Main, and…yeah. Wow.

The poster looks terrible, but I finished it. Well, okay, the graphics I made for it look decent, but the handwritten type/font/whatever is terrible. Somewhere along the line I decided it should be a collage, so I ripped up some old magazines and pieced a mosaic together on the posterboard. The downside to this was that it took me considerably longer than I thought it was going to, so after watching the movie and finishing the poster, I conked out at around 6:30 a.m. Brought back memories of design studio… Heh.

’cause laughing lovers
can overcome their closest demons

I had to get out of the apartment last night. Just to drive around for a little while. I ventured up and down Franklin street a few times, weaving my way through Chapel Hill and Carrboro. Franklin street was overrun with all manner of students, walking up and down the sidewalks in clusters, congregating in front of the entrances to bars and clubs and whatnot. Lifted pickup trucks, SUVs, and several pimped-out Impalas pulled up around me at stoplights, subs rumbling. I drove to the video store, not that I wanted to go, but everywhere else I could have driven sounded even less appealing at that point. An episode of ATHF was playing on the in-store TV. I had seen it already. After standing in front of the drama, Shakespeare, British comedy, cult, and sci-fi sections and just staring at the rows and rows of DVDs and tapes, I rented State and Main, since it looked good and it has Julia Stiles in it. There’s an intelligence that she exudes in most of her roles (don’t know whether it’s mirrored in real life) that I find attractive. I’ll probably watch it tomorrow afternoon or Monday.

My consulting job has resumed. They called me earlier in the week wanting me to do more work. Don’t know whether they’ll fly me out west again this time. It would probably be to Phoenix, if anywhere, since that’s where the mockup of the seat is being constructed. They want gobs of sketches by Monday morning, so that’ll occupy my evening tomorrow.

This thing with Natalie isn’t going to work out. I don’t sense any long-term possibilities, and during our outing with the group to go see Garden State last Friday, conversation didn’t come very easily. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her. I’m not sure, and while it would be nice to have someone there, someone to hang out with, open up to, and to watch a movie with, wrapped up underneath a blanket together, I would just feel like…I was using her. It’s one thing to end a relationship because you’ve realized it will never go anywhere; it’s another entirely to enter into a relationship knowing that long-term possibilities don’t exist from the get-go. I was trying to think back to if there was a period in which I thought otherwise, in which I would go out with a girl just to have someone, but there never really was, even freshman year of college (which is a whole other story). I don’t want a relationship of convenience. It’s not to say I’m going to attach overwhelming expectations on the next woman I ask out, playing for keeps, so to speak, but there are certain things I want established as constants. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. All my relationships in the past, to one degree or another, just happened, and the next is going to be an act of volition, where I take the initiative. Yes, it will.

And I hate thinking about that. I hate it. I just want to escape my thoughts, my feelings, my longings, my ambitions and desires, for just a minute or two. I don’t want to worry about it. Talking about it helps, but the irony of the matter is that the person that I would probably most open up to would be a significant other, the object of one of the issues I think about most… Ever feel like you’re just going around in circles?

The church’s ladies’ Bible study wants a poster made for tomorrow morning. Now to make myself some cheese Triscuits and to find some posterboard and markers…

My hair is all flippy in the back this morning. This is what happens when it’s longer than half an inch and I sleep on it. I think there’s a set quantity of unruliness in any given quantity of hair, so as the hair lengthens, the unruliness becomes exponentially greater as more hair is grown and exposed, eventually resulting in the annoying misbehavior it’s displaying today. Yep, that’s it.

The experience with the mechanic a couple of days ago was absolutely stellar. He knew exactly what he was doing when it came to my car, had it completely fixed by mid-afternoon, at which time I hitched a ride out there and picked it up. He did a complete tuneup (the car runs 100% better now), performed a bunch of other little maintenance items, and made recommendations about eventual issues and fixes. The attention to detail was amazing. I think he’s got a repeat customer should I need anything else that would require a real specialist. In any case, I’ve actually got a car that’s in a condition where I can take it to get it’s annual inspection. And perhaps more significantly, I now have a car that I’m not slightly embarassed to be driving down the road (due to noise, smoke, or both). Those are both amazingly rare occurances for me.

At the shop, it was great just to really talk cars for a bit, too. He’s got quite a bit of eye candy sitting out in front of his shop, and we discussed the history and merits of the various vehicles, talked about various grades of stainless, TIG welding, NISMO cylinder heads for Z-cars, the pronunciation of German aftermarket parts, among other things… I decided later on that evening that I had been missing that since John got married and moved out. It’s especially noticed when I get a repair part in the mail and want to show it to somebody and explain how it works, or I’ve seen a cool car that day and I get home from work and I want to tell somebody about it. Maybe it’ll make me get over my reluctance to use the phone and actually call John or Joel to talk about it. Maybe.

I have a tiredness headache this morning… I’m incorrigible, really. Going for a run (yes, it’s really a jog, so sue me) at 10:30, relaxing, then watching Frasier at midnight when I should have been showering and readying for bed, then getting up earlier than usual to take my car to the (reassuringly knowledgable and seemingly competent) mechanic.

Listening to a good internet radio station via iTunes. Is it weird that I like the station breaks almost as much as the selection of music they play? No oh-so-angsty post-grunge pop crap, no R&B shelf-life-of-5-minutes trash, no get-over-it-already emo nonsense, just nice, varied, admittedly synthesizer-biased Europop. It works for me.

Rented Metropolis (the 1927 version) and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari last night, the prototypical sci-fi and horror flicks, respectively. Looks like it’s going to be a silent movie night tonight. I’m really looking forward to watching them. Maybe I should’ve rented a Marx brothers film, to take the edge off. Ah well.

This site is a hoot. Definite Monty Python influences… Saw their TV spots a couple of nights ago during the Olympics.

Took my car to a mechanic this morning. Well, sort of. I showed up at the shop around 10, ride home in tow, and the place was empty and silent, gates chained up. I had made an appointment, and I knew that the owner/mechanic was going to be on vacation last week, so I figured that a two-hour cushion from the time the shop (and most shops) normally open would give him a wide berth to get things up and running on a Monday morning, but… Yeah. Sat around for about 20 minutes then left.

Of course I don’t know exactly what it feels like, but preparing my car to visit the mechanic, I almost felt like I was packing up a little kid to send him off to boarding school or something. For better or worse (usually worse), I try to do all my car work myself, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve taken one of my cars to a shop, usually because I don’t have the right tool, or the time, or out of extreme frustration over a particular condition. In this most recent case, the car’s been suffering from a case of too much fuel being dumped into the system, causing it to spew black smoke on occasion (though it runs well), and rather than replacing various components of the system, doing it piecemeal in hopes that one would solve the problem, I decided to turn it over to someone who’s got 15-odd years of experience dealing with said system. My gut tells me that the set of symptoms the car’s exhibiting indicates a failure or need of adjustment with more than one interrelated system, another argument in favor of an experienced eye looking things over.

It’s still hard, though. I took everything out of the car except for the basics like jumper cables and the like, emptied the glovebox of all the nonsense I had in there, turned the radio off, retracted the antenna, switched off the ventilation controls, and left the factory repair manual on the passenger seat. I had a whole slew of things to ask about, and a precise list of symptoms to describe and my hypotheses about their causes. I wanted to tell him not to smudge the fenders when he’s bending over the engine bay, and that sometimes the instrument cluster needs a swift whack to get the tach working again.

Didn’t get the chance, though, since he was a no-show. Well–I will soon, since I called back and managed to interject a brief exchange about bumping the appointment to tomorrow in between flurries of excuses about travel delays and whatnot. We’ll see how it goes.

In other news, Garden State was very good, and utterly fascinating. The parallels alluded to between it and The Graduate are well-founded, I think, although the more recent film’s themes are advanced in a far less literal fashion. People complain it being a patchwork collection of vignettes and character sketches seemingly translated directly from a fledgling screenwriter’s mind onto film, without regard for dramatic coherency, but there are threads that run through the collage, like photographs pinned to a clothesline, the latter holds them all togther and moves matters along–specifically, the focus on Large’s progressive awakening. There are also moments of dialogue in the movie that I felt paid homage to the Pulp Fiction school of screenwriting–seemingly unnecessary details, clutter, banter, interchanges that don’t serve the plot but richly flesh out the characters. $7.25 well spent.

There was something before that… I don’t remember what it was. Flying, yes, with only a thought, an utterly complete and transcendant ability. Nice, Côte D’Azur, along the beach, land speed record attempt on the beach, skateboarding championships, soaring incredible distances across the constructed apparatus. Search for… Corcoba Medusa/Madonna. Fashion designer, Italian, temperatmental, elusive. Beachfront flyover, with sign initially, but later without, searching for “the world’s fastest man/car/woman,” calling it out. Flying over the airport, slowly, but later picking up speed, all with the easyness and grace as if I had been able to for a long, long time. Rounding more outcroppings, flying through private gardens, seeing three/four politicians standing outside, and giving them my respect, they pose for a photo shoot, and I come across the Lotus group, posed too. Say hello to the two head honchos, whom I’m rather chummy with as well; I’ve met them at a dinner party before. St. Jeannet, cliffs next to the sea, the oceanographic museum; I descend lower and lower until I’m right above the rolling waves, and there she is, standing in a cavernous opening right on the water, with her arms outstretched. She’s experienced some deep loss, perhaps a death of some sort. I know she’s always wanted to be able to fly like me; I don’t speak, but tease her and she tries to catch me; I hover just above the water and just out of reach with my legs crossed, Indian-style, nibbling on two halves of a Nature Valley bar, stacked on top of one another. She laughs, still trying to catch me, and I wake up.

Going to see Garden State tonight at 9:30… Stoked about that, although it’s been hyped up waaay too much already, and I think we just need to go see the thing and end all the conversations that run along the lines of, “Man, that’s gonna be good; I’ve seen the trailers and I can’t WAIT for it to come out…” Etc etc; you get the drift. Of course, those’ll be replaced by conversations that overanalyze every bit of obvious and improbable symbolism, along with every nuance of dialogue, people talking about how, “I can relate to this…” or “I loved that…” But I don’t mind those so much.

I’ve completely given up my faith in my fellow Americans’ ability to drive. Picking up the movie tickets over lunch today, I viewed the unfortunate scenario of not one, but TWO people slowing down in order to merge with traffic… The first was greeted with mild amusement and head-shaking, but at the second I just burst out laughing. It’s ridiculous, really… The bewildered and exasperated look on the driver’s face when they come to the end of the onramp and no one’s slowed down to 15 mph and let them in… Hilarious. And it’s not just that, either–I witnessed several instances of weaving in and out of traffic with nary a blinker, antics on the cell phone behind the wheel… It goes on and on. Makes me glad I drive something a bit more lithe and agile than the average four-wheeled behemoth, all too common in the clusters of yuppie neighborhoods around here.

Sleepy after a heavy lunch. No nap today, though. Must push through…

Random amusing DJ comment of the day, immediately following John Mayer’s song on the radio:

“If my body were a wonderland, like, at the Wonderland Amusement Park, it would be, um, the scary ghost ride or something. Wow, um, that was really strange; I don’t know why I said that.”

That cracked me UP.

It’s a quiet night, and I want. Overwrought? Yes. Melodramatic? Perhaps. Deeply felt? Always. But I don’t really care who knows. Actually, that’s a lie.

Like every other night, I let the warm water wash over me in the shower, turning this way and that, lathering up with the bar of Dial. Tonight, I moved haltingly, sometimes placing my hands against the tiles surrounding me, sometimes leaning my head under the stream of water face first until it flowed down the back of my neck, head turned down. Finished, I pulled back the shower curtain, brow set and a little furrowed, mouth pursed. I stood there, dripping, and then reached for the towel. I dried myself off in the same pattern I always do, dressed, and stepped out into the room, drier air pulling the moisture off my skin with a welcome chill. I moved over to the computer for the last time before really preparing for bed, and here I am, breathing. And breathing. And breathing again. Sometimes my eyes close, and I think. Sometimes my hand reaches up and supports my chin, buried down into my palm, legs crossed, a mobile of self stretching to the floor, balanced, at least outwardly. I turn my head away from the monitor and think. And think. And think some more. Soon, I will rise, floss, brush my teeth, and crawl under the sky blue blanket that covers my bed, holes and all (in the blanket, that is). After setting my alarms, of course. I will read; I will pray; I will turn out the light, fall asleep, and dream of bizarre constructions of events and people on the fringe of my consciousness, all but disappeared until some entity snatches them back into the limelight, if only for a night, since who knows whether I’ll remember them in the morning. My thoughts will return then; nothing’s certain to stay from the night. And the coming-around to this moment will begin again.

I used to chide my parents for not taking enough pictures of our daily lives. It seemed they only unearthed the camera for occasions like birthdays, holidays, and substantial gatherings of friends, but during those summer afternoons and fall evenings that passed far too quickly, it was absent. I can’t quite put into words why that was significant to me, having some semblance of a record of our day-to-day. But I attached value to it; that much I know.

“Good is always the enemy of best.”

– Oswald Chambers

I’m wanting your anger
I only want to see if I can shake you out of sleep
and bring you out under this flooded sky
at any price

I feel the inevitability of things today. I feel like something is going to happen soon…something big, or small, or medium-sized, but…something. I don’t know what. I can feel the anticipation. The premonition… And I want it to happen more quickly, to push through it and process it, deal with it. For all my ranting about the fact that time just seems to slip around me, pass me by much too quickly, I want to accelerate through it for once.

And the strange thing is that I don’t even know what it is, or if it’s even there in the days to come. I just…feel it. I think if I sat down and laid my thoughts out in an orderly fashion, named them aloud, and arranged them in relation to my emotions, I’d have a clearer picture of why I feel the way I do. But how important is knowing? For me, very. Sometimes unnamed feelings well up in me relative to a situation or event, and I make it a point not to act until I know at least exactly what I’m feeling… I may not know why those emotions arise, but labeling a particular emotion is the bare minimum. It’s funny how some I know instinctively, but others… I think it has to do with my familiarity with a particular situation. Having experienced a given situation narrows down the emotional pool from the range of prospects. Yet another argument for developing an affinity for experiencing new things…

I’ve spent time with God the past two nights for the first time in as long as I can remember. Granted, it’s at night, which isn’t the ideal time (it’s hard to retain anything I learn through the stretch of the night), but it’s something. Something I need. Time with Him. No brutal revelations, but some having to do with forgiveness and obedience have come up. It’s reminding me how time with Him is satisfying like nothing else could ever be.

Just started a load of laundry. Donald’s in the living room sleeping on the couch, Olympic coverage still playing on the television. I taped most of the evening’s coverage for Aaron, who’s on his way back from his annual trip to family camp up in Wisconsin. Watching it really makes me want to get back in shape again. Not that I’ve ever really been out of shape, but I haven’t lifted in far too long, and I could be pushing myself more on my runs… Wish I hadn’t misplaced my watch at the wedding a couple of weekends ago–I ran earlier tonight and kept up quite a good pace for 4 miles instead of the usual 3 and a half. I think the cooler, less humid air in the wake of the hurricane helped.

Another 20-odd minutes before the laundry’s done. I’m haphazardly watching episodes of Scrubs, Top Gear, and ATHF that Donald’s downloaded on the computer. Garden State comes out in our area on Friday; we’re going to get a group to go, I think. Looking forward to that.

In other film/music news, just discovered Vienna Teng. Great stuff–beautiful voice, intelligent lyrics, stellar arrangements, and melody. It’s lush, intricate chamber pop. I’m enjoying it greatly–her songs have a depth to them that I admire.

Wow, that went really well. Lunch date at Foster’s with Natalie, and I had a thoroughly good time. Great sandwich, great conversation, and she plays racquetball and tennis. This is huge. I’ve never met a girl who I’ve had chemistry with who was into one sport, let alone both. Wow. It’s amazing to meet someone who shares many of my more arcane interests, like the sports mentioned, or anything else besides the obvious things like movies, music, etc. So it may not sound like much, but from wider perspective being into those things is disproportionately interesting. I’ll admit; I didn’t have huge expectations built up over the meeting, but much to my surprise conversationally it just worked–we had places to go after I’d ask or she’d ask the more mundane questions, and we actually conversed intelligently about diverse subjects. Usually it’s like slamming into a conversational brick wall after they give the obvious response… So I knew that I wanted to befriend her at least on a casual level, but now it’s almost looking like it could be a much closer friendship (not even the romantic kind). I was impressed.

The rains have begun… Won’t be long now before two tropical systems mosey overhead in succession. I’m glad I got my second run of the week in last night, even though I’m dragging today because of it. I really must run some other time than 11 or later. Maybe when it gets colder out I can run just after work, but until then… I can probably still bump it forward a little. I don’t think my stomach needs quite that much of a buffer after a meal. In any event, looks like I’ll have to wait for a cloudbreak during the latter half of the week in order to get my third run in. I only need half an hour, though, and I’m not averse to running through rain–did it several times in St. Augustine, and I ran through hurricane Floyd way back in the day. The only hangup (besides the threat of pneumonia) is that the water adds a few pounds once it soaks into the shirt… But that’s easily remedied–off with the shirt. It’s nice to be a guy sometimes.

I’ve discovered I have a thing for freckles. I can’t decide whether it’s because I used to have them but don’t anymore, and there’s a nostalgic longing for them transferred into quasi-romantic notions, or whether it’s a sign that their skin tone is atypical, like mine (I’m perpetually pinkish) and thus exhibit a similar quality. Who knows. But the girl who was assembling my sweet onion chicken teriyaki sub over lunch today had them, and I felt the old familiar twinge of self-consciousness, you know, the one I can usually just push through, an ability which doesn’t negate its presence, but still… It gets me thinking about my hesitance in general where relationships are concerned. The last thing I’ve had that I would consider a date was in late March, and before that it had been well over a year. But then, time between those sorts of encounters is a fallible means of evaluating my attitude in general–there are so many facets to consider. And…I think about it too much.

It’s later now, and the rain’s falling harder, thunder and lightning, the whole bit. Just got back from a meeting of University Advancement, my overarching department within the school as a whole. One of those boring pat-on-the-back meetings led by the director of said department, Matt Kupec, a former UNC quarterback who evidently comes from the school of speechwriting that holds the belief that the more emphasis you give a simple statement (usually accomplished by saying it louder), the more effective it is. Makes for a particularly bulldog-ish speechgiving experience, but at least I didn’t fall asleep.

Take me home, body…I’ve sat here long enough today.

Spent 15 straight hours on Saturday putting an engine into a car, a ’90 Supra, to be precise.

It’s all part of a deal I arranged late last year in order to get a 1JZ-GTE into my ’88. See, the car I was pulling the 1JZ from had already had the conversion done, but I wanted the engine in my car, so I pulled it and installed it in mine with the understanding that I would drop an engine into the donor vehicle and restore it to saleable status. Lesson no.1: When conducting a transaction that involves labor as part of the deal, be very, very sure of what you’re getting into. I won’t say that cash is always preferable, but in my case at least, I tend to bite off more than I can chew with these deals.

Of course, it wasn’t just the engine that needed to go into the ’90. One of the tie rods was bent, so I swapped steering racks and wheel hubs (easier than popping off the steering knuckle ball joint, trust me). The subframe needed a little prepping, and the engine to go in itself was basically a bare long block, and needed to be dressed and bolted to its transmission before installation. This was the part that I thought was going to be much easier than it actually turned out to be.

I had a spare engine and transmission lying in my garage that would serve as the donor for the needed parts on the long block to go into the ’90. This is where the first major snag came up. The long block didn’t have a pilot bearing for the transmission input shaft, and I didn’t have a pilot bearing puller for the necessary part off the donor engine. After some scrounging around, halfhearted attempt at careful prying, head scratching, and many minutes spent just staring at the rear main seal area and stewing in frustration, it was decided to just cook up a makeshift puller. Took a piece of angle iron, fired up the drill press, found a pair of suitable bolts and one arm off a small puller, and tried out the solution. After a few minutes of wrench turning, the pilot bearing popped out. I don’t have many success stories to tell involving fabrication, so I figured I’d share this one. Picture 1 2 3

The second major snag occurred when I realized I didn’t have a clutch alignment tool either. This was a bit more straightforward and didn’t involve any fabrication, just a lot of elbow grease. Installed the clutch disk and pressure plate, but only barely tightened two bolts opposite one another on either side of the pressure plate, allowing the clutch disk to slide around somewhat. Lifted the tranny, and after several attempts, finally got the thing to slide all the way on and touch the bellhousing to the block. This step completed, my assistant and I (Joel, who was with me the whole time–kudos) slid the tranny off very quickly and carefully, and tightened down the rest of the bellhousing bolts.

So we got it all done and the engine in. About halfway through the experience Joel remarked that I was a very goal-oriented person (as opposed to someone who just gives themselves a time limit for how long they’re work on something), and I couldn’t help but agree, since my one goal was to get that engine in the car, no matter how long it took that day. But through the course of those two experiences (and several others which aren’t coming to mind at the moment), we probably squandered several hours and a lot of patience… Next time I’ll be sure to have everything I need. The right tools are good for the temper, the time, and the knuckles.

Had any experiences involving the absence of the right tool?

Originally posted here.

So… I’m back. I’ve un-privatized a few older entries from the past few weeks, though they’re still friends-only. It’s too much effort to privatize stuff and to come back later and figure out what to show and what not to… What a drama. So I’m just not going to worry about it.

Weeks have been busy, but it’s not an idle busyness… Things are moving forward. I’ll be more specific in future entries; don’t worry. The workday is winding down today, though, and my capacity for recapitulation with it. So this’ll have to suffice as the contents of my generic “I’m back” post.

Hope everyone’s well. I’ve been reading your entries, no worries.

I think somebody keyed my car. It doesn’t have too many, but these little scratches have appeared, some of which look very much like it was keyed. I hate not being able to do anything about that. I want to strangle or beat up or somehow retaliate against the person who did it, but there’s nothing I can do except move the car to a safer place, or into the garage, or underneath a car cover, or something.

I feel like my whole body has been run through a giant shredder. I had an early dinner last night because I knew I was going to work on the car. I helped Daniel out for a little bit, got home, had a snack while watching Friends, and then loaded up the truck and headed home. I got to my parents’ house around 8:30, and by 10:45 the engine in the blue car was completely removed and hanging from the hoist over the driveway. Felt good to have that done, all the more so since I did it all myself, but my body paid the price of my determination. I was just in the zone, as it were, and didn’t notice all the stress I was putting on myself. So I got home, already a mass of soreness, and then decided to run, even though my tank was on empty. I made it about two miles before coming back, returned all the tools and also the truck to their respective locations, did some stretches and my ab exercises, took a hot, hot shower, and headed to bed. I was already in such a state that the feel of the sheets and the pillow was an absolute revelation. I was like I had never laid down in a bed before–amazing. I came into work today around 10, feeling very, very groggy, half-baked, stiff and sore. I’ll take it easy this evening, get some good sleep, and hopefully will be better tomorrow.

Gosh, I hope so. I’m insane; I know.

Looks like I got my wish. It’s been raining, and raining some more, and raining again after that, to the point where I want a completely dry day. It could be hot (though I’d prefer it not), but just to have a day without dodging raindrops. It doesn’t help either that the rain is a compelling sleep-inducing agent as well, certainly not the morning after I’ve gotten two nights in a row of around 5 hours. It’s quite horrid.

Where is my love to hold under the blankets in the small hours of the morning, whispering conversation or just sleeping still? Gosh, how I wish…

I emailed the admissions counselor at PBC today. The process has begun. I’m going to do this. I’m going to SEE THIS THROUGH. I’m going to be focused, and diligent, and cover all my bases. Lord, bless this endeavor. Give me favor; grant me wisdom and perserverance. I’m going to do one thing everyday to further this vision. Yes Lord. No more waiting; no more excuses; no more “when this is done I’ll…” This is going to happen. Father, provide the finances, if it’s in Your will.

I was bad earlier, again… I signed out, took the car to Bolinwood, and had a short nap, for only about half an hour. It was hard to get comfortable in the Audi, since evidently anything besides actually actively driving the car is discouraged, but I found a spot. The public safety guy cruised by about halfway through the nap and I waved and gave him the thumbs up, and he kept on going. I’m terrible; I know.

Good news is that I’m more awake now. I ducked by the grocery store on my way back too and picked up a few odds and ends, and tried to get quarters for laundry, to no avail. I think being awake is more a conscious choice than anything else, especially at this point in the day. If I want to be tired and ready for a nap, I can certainly choose to be that and make myself a little sleepy, and I think it works the other way around too. So now I shall be awake.

John’s wedding was the most fun I’ve ever been to, bar none. To dismiss the more mundane details, it was in Duke Chapel, and the actual ceremony went off without a hitch. George and Andy provided music, and filled the interlude where the bride and groom took communion with the most beautiful rendition of “Be Thou My Vision” imaginable. Lovely. Speaking of, Kristi looked breathtaking in her gown, and John looked great in his tux, too.

Reception was afterwards at the farm in the middle of a hot, sticky Saturday at the end of July. We incinerated in our tuxes, even after having taken off the coat, but that was just something I think we had to resign ourselves to.

The rehearsal and subsequent dinner last night were great fun as well. The dinner was at Maggiano’s, and magnificent. I think that someone in the wedding party, someone with their hand in these things, is trying to set me up with Natalie. Funny thing is, I’m not minding so much. I think part of it is just that it’s been so long since I’ve actually had chemistry with someone that it’s something of a revelation to me when I feel it does occur. We talked about Europe, and our respective travels, and weddings, and our presents and pursuits, and our interests, like movies and dreams and the subconscious. It was nice to express a keen interest in someone and have them reciprocate in kind. Felt very natural. So we’ll see. I doubt anything will happen further than that, but I would like to remain friends.

The funny thing is, there’s a large part of me that would like very much to take advantage of the situation a little bit. Something tells me she wouldn’t decline if I asked her out to see a movie or out to dinner or the like, and given the precedent of our encounters, I think we would hit it off, so afterwards… you know. I mean, I don’t know, but I have a feeling I could probably initiate at least the beginnings of a relationship, and she wouldn’t object. And I shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t use her in that capacity. She deserves so much better, and I don’t want to go that route. But gosh, I do. Do you have any idea how good it would be to have someone? Someone to listen to me? To have an intelligent conversation with? Someone to hold, to embrace? It’s beyond words how wonderful that would be, but I want it to be with the person I’m going to be with, and somehow Natalie just doesn’t fit in that mold. But is my problem with my mold itself? That’s the question…well, a question. I should just ask her out on a date, just to see where it goes.