Portal Song

This was a triumph.
I'm making a note here: HUGE SUCCESS.
It's hard to overstate my satisfaction.
Aperture Science
We do what we must
because we can.
For the good of all of us.
Except the ones who are dead.
But there's no sense crying over every mistake.
You just keep on trying till you run out of cake.
And the Science gets done.
And you make a neat gun.
For the people who are still alive.
I'm not even angry.
I'm being so sincere right now.
Even though you broke my heart.
And killed me.
And tore me to pieces.
And threw every piece into a fire.
As they burned it hurt because I was so happy for you!
Now these points of data make a beautiful line.
And we're out of beta.
We're releasing on time.
So I'm GLaD. I got burned.
Think of all the things we learned
for the people who are still alive.
Go ahead and leave me.
I think I prefer to stay inside.
Maybe you'll find someone else to help you.
Maybe Black Mesa
THAT WAS A JOKE.
HAHA. FAT CHANCE.
Anyway, this cake is great.
It's so delicious and moist.
Look at me still talking
when there's Science to do.
When I look out there, it makes me GLaD I'm not you.
I've experiments to run.
There is research to be done.
On the people who are still alive.
And believe me I am still alive.
I'm doing Science and I'm still alive.
I feel FANTASTIC and I'm still alive.
While you're dying I'll be still alive.
And when you're dead I will be still alive.
STILL ALIVE (x2)

Duffy

So I work with Duffy. She is one of the supervisors. I can't tell, but I'm pretty sure we've been flirting.

I didn't like her a whole lot while I was a customer, honestly. I mean, I didn't DISlike her, but she wasn't my favorite girl there.

I think that she secretly loves our manager Todd. This used to worry me, but then I remembered how many people I secretly love, so I don't hold it against her anymore.

Is it weird to date someone you work with? Leave comments

“Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking,
Loving might be a mistake but it's worth making.”

-Leanne Womack

I H8 Louis

Louis just broke the internetz. I'm stealing the neighbor's. I h8 Louis.

Erin

Where to begin?

First love of life, most likely. Advent of love, in fact. 2nd grade introduction to wonder and appreciation. I remember new emotions, like jealousy and desire. I hated Andy because I thought he had her. Turns out he didn't, though I still think that he could have. I turned to art for the first time ever. I drew the thing that I couldn't imagine and that I would have hated to have known (Andy and Erin having sex, though they both had penises, and one of them was floating above the other. It didn't really make sense, but it was the thought that mattered; and it got me in trouble, just like a grown up artist). It occurs to me that this really WAS the first time I had done this thing, and that it is something that I now do often. I find catharsis in facing fear or hatred or ugly evil, even if I have to create it first. That is, I might have to draw or paint or write this thing that I'm afraid of before I really realize that I'm actually afraid of it. So Erin may have introduced me to art as well. She has been my apparent host here. The person who announces my arrival. I didn't know that until just now, which is another example of her influence.

In 2nd grade I went to Las Vegas with my family. I think that I've told this story before. We were on a people mover or a conveyor belt or just walking next to a long picture window that opened up onto a man made lake with a volcano in it. This must have been at the Mirage where they have a volcano show with fire on the water. At some point I was able apparently to throw a coin in. The coin contained all of my love, and everything that I knew of prayer. I sincerely begged the volcano god to put me and Erin in the same class every year from then all the way through college, and then I secretly (even more secretly than this silent wish already) wished that we'd get married.

I still love her, and I'm sure that I'd do anything she asked me to do. She has experienced shit, and her life is so empty, that it almost makes me angry. Paul died, and killed a large portion of her. The bags under her eyes are my monument to him, and they will seemingly never let me forget him or his impact on her. If I were to want her to love me, I am not sure that I'd ever be convinced that I had 100% of her. She belongs to him still, and I do not know how to help her let go; I'm not sure if she's ready to yet.

It was always understood (by her and I) that she and Paul would end up together after he cleaned up.

Erin became the watermark for beauty, and my standard. She had a lean physique, like a drawing in my mind. She had jutting hips and long sinews of limbs that complimented her features and her hair, which appeared to be of a greenish tint. I know now that it was not green, but I seem to always see the hair of girls that I like as colors that it is not. That is extremely difficult to explain, but basically when I think of Erin, I picture her from eighth grade in front of a classroom that never existed, and her hair is light brown, but my brain looks at it and says "Green." I mean, it knows that it is light brown, but my brain SAYS "green." It's weird. Same thing happens when I picture Julee, only sometimes it's green and sometimes it's auburn.

On to 3rd grade, I don't remember Erin here, because Ms. Loyola was so hot that my memory was wiped clean. Okay, now 4th grade. Erin got me in trouble once, and I got detention. During recess she sat with me on the bench, which actually got her in trouble. I don't even think we spoke during that time we shared on the wooden bench. Okay, now on to 5th grade.

In 5th grade, I was sort of born. I decided that, for reals, I liked girls, and that was okay. At some point, I dated Laura. Maybe more about that later, I'm not sure yet. Also though, this is when Erin became the most sought after girl in our class. Every guy sort of simultaneously decided that Erin had it, and that we all wanted it. That sounds gross, but that's how it was; we didn't even know what it was, frankly. We just all sort of realized that she was hot and cool, and that we'd be hotter and cooler for being closer to her.

At some point, I wrote a note to Erin. It was neon green on one side, and white on the other. On the white side, I drew a skull that I largely lifted from a shirt I saw at Miller's Outpost, and I wrote "ERIN" in crappy Olde English lettering. I wrote something like, "Will you go out with me?" and then, "Yes/No Why/Why not?" and THEN "PS I really like you alot" (and the whole PS part was circled). I'm mostly excited that I asked "Why?" as in, "Yes? You WILL go out me? WHY?! What the hell's wrong with you?" Oh, and I wrote my name on the bottom, too. So yeah, I was a pretty smooth operator. I gave this note to Daniel to give to Erin (side note: Daniel was Erin's first kiss), which he did. Erin claims NOW that she wrote a note back that said "Yes," but I certainly didn't receive it. Her postulation is that Daniel didn't give me the note because of his jealousy (Daniel also liked Erin). I don't know, though, that's pretty convenient. So in the end, we never went out. Her loss. No, that's not true. My loss.

In sixth grade, I was completely smitten and in love with her. I called her all the time; enough even to be banned from calling by her mother. She dated Adam, one of my two best friends at the time, which actually really made me angry, but I didn't let anyone know. This was the height of my frustration.

In seventh and eighth grade I became more friendly with Elizabeth, and less with Erin. Those two did not like each other very much. I still secretly loved Erin, and wrote notes to her and stuff, but I was not as close to her as I used to be. Had she asked, I'm sure that I would have dropped everyone else for her.

High school was black days. We spoke rarely. She went to the all girl school across town. We grew apart. We came back together senior year, when we both worked at the rectory at St. Francis Xavier. We didn't like completely "rekindle," because she was with George, and I was with Julee, and we didn't always work together, but we became friends again.

We've sort of stayed friendly since then, and have recently (the past year or so, especially since Julee and I broke up) become very close. Inextricably close; perhaps symbiotically, at least on my end. My well-being these days involves her, even though we don't talk EVERY day anymore. I still love her as much as I did in 2nd grade, and in the same confusing way. I am perpetually secretly in love with her, though I am willing to hide that away for her benefit. It may be better for her that I am only her friend. I am okay with that, if that is what is truly best for her. I have only her best interest in mind.

to be continued...

The Ashy Ashleez

Ashlee wanted to leave, so I told her she could come here. We played massage and layabout and dinner. I had work the next morning, so I left her creamy corpse on someone else's bed and slung beans. She stuck around and "cleaned" my house (aka picked up a single piece of usable ware and made it into trash). Then after work we Chil[l]i[ed] for lunch. We also grabbed some iced gut death, and she bought Guitar Hero III (GHIII) for [louis and] I, but mostly less of the []. She loves me. I found out later that Erin had also bought GHIII for L&I, and was thusly very angered by this. But that's not what this is about.

My homage to Ashlee'z kindness was that I named my career after her: "The Ashy Ashleez". Louis did the same thing: "Baseline Rapi$t", I think because Ashlee'z buxom proportions inspire intense almost uncontrollable lust and desire. L&I also started a co-op career as "2 Crude Beez," which is code for "Two C-Cup Boobs," aNOTHER reference to Ashlee. Actually, I made that last one up. 2 Crude Beez doesn't mean anything.


“Gaily the Troubadour
Touched his guitar.”

Thomas Haynes Bayly

Time is [not] on my side

I manage always to pull things off. I am a master of bullshitting without lying, and a keeper of time. I have written papers in one hour that took others days. I cannot, however, account for the vengeance of deities; those who hate my arrogance. I cannot say no to a friend who has nothing left but death. I cannot say no to a friend who needs an escape that I can offer. I cannot say no to Guitar Hero III (I might have an addiction). What am I doing now? I'm not working on papers. I'm not studying what I missed because I didn't go to class. I'm watching reds and yellows and feeling the cancerous insurgence. Guilt seems appropriate for one who thinks that maybe there really IS nothing left for some. Does it matter that they are victims of their own designs? I don't think so. Pity. Mercy is for all. I wonder how much I have left. Suffering for the sake of a definition? I hope it's more than that. Someday I'll be rich and I'll just buy my clarity and clear my mind with deluges of shiny shiny things. Can't we just be in a place because someone would like us to be in that place? Buildings are imposing, frightening, we feel them. We are all buildings, and we are all immovable. Let the people in our lives find their way to our giant mirrored windows. All we have to do is not fall down.



"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”

Mahatma Gandhi

Challenge and Defeat

(I'll update about Ashlee a little later).

I find that in my life I seek out defeat. I don't mean that I like to lose, or that I have a defeatist personality. I mean that when it comes to athletics and exercise and sports and such, I like difficulty. Of course. Therein lies the point of the activity I suppose. I've always found that I'm an above average athlete. With a sort of minimal exertion I can usually exceed the average standard. For this reason, certain sports can become sort of "boring" for me, and I seem to be drawn to those at which I do not immediately excel. Case in point: running.

I am not a very good runner, nor have I ever been. Even when I only weighed 150, I still was not very quick or particularly blessed for distance. The quickest mile that I ever ran was about 7:30 or so, and the longest distance that I ran completely (without large stretches of walking) was 10k (6.2 miles), and that still took me about an hour and 20 minutes. Now that I am 60-75 pounds heavier, running has become even harder for me. I can run a maxed out mile in about 9:56 or so now, and i can only run an outright two miles without stopping for a walk break. I have decent biomechanics, I think, and above average cardiovascular conditioning (this may be a genetic thing, as I have good conditioning even when I'm very out of shape). The problem now is just moving this much weight for a long period of time. I ran/walked a 10k last May with my brother in about 1:40 or so, which is crazy slow. I just did 7.05 miles or so last week, but it took me about 1:50.

Athletes are interesting. They are very aware of the aging process, as they can see on paper how much they have slowed down. A runner can see exactly how much they have aged by seeing how much their mile time has dropped. They may see exactly how much older they have become by examining their pain levels in the 22nd mile of the marathon. It must be an odd sensation, knowing precisely how much less you are than you were, or at least how different you are. In his new book, "Again to Carthage," the sequel to his cult classic, "Once a Runner," John L. Parker's character Denton explains it to the protagonist Cassidy this way:

"...Your average citizen isn't that connected to the physical realm. Builders, farmers, your grandfather probably was more
than most, In an older time, with say manual agriculture or hunting-gathering, you always knew how much less you could
carry than a year ago. Believe me, when dinner depends on running game to the ground, you notice pretty quick when it
starts to get harder."
"You've done some thinking about this."
"You will, too. Modern civilian though, things happen too slowly to notice. Jeeminy, when did the basement steps get me
wheezing? Am I old or just out of shape? And if you were never IN shape, is there any difference?"
"Whereas we can just watch ourselves slowing down like there's a gauge on the dashboard."

This sounds scary and sad, but isn't NOT knowing even more frightening? The phrase "Am I old or just out of shape? And if you were never IN shape, is there any difference?" is particularly en pointe. I think that I'd like to experience life, and experience the slow decline thereof as well.

Running also has an interesting dynamic. It takes me at least two miles before my body really wakes up and decides that it wants to keep moving. This isn't the second wind. The second wind usually hits me at around mile 6 or so, which is unfortunately also about the time that my feet are hurting too much for me to keep moving forward, and I'm already largely on my way home. I am excited though that one day this won't happen until mile ten or more, and so I will be able to enjoy the second wind. For those who don't know, there is a discernible point during the run at which you are exhausted and then seemingly become re-energized or reinvigorated or something. You are still tired, but it seems like a switch was flipped and you are now running on new fuel. It's enjoyable, and I've only experience it with running. With cycling it seems like you have one peak right before the halfway point in the ride and then it is a slow decline into painful hell until you stop. Running has that double peak that I yearn for.

I have only enjoyed a runner's high two or three times in my life. The first two were back in the 160 pound days while I was running around Piestewa (read: Squaw) Peak. It was a 3-4 mile loop, or a 5 mile wandering trail that I liked to do, I don't remember which. Anyways, I became euphoric and exhilarated and felt like I could not run fast enough to match this feeling. It was amazing. The latest time actually happened on a treadmill during a 1.5 mile tempo run at 24Hour Fitness. At 1 mile in, with .5 mile to go, running at about 90% effort (7 mph, I think), I experienced a distinctly physical high. I noticed that my respiratory muscles began to burn, and I was expecting that painful near-cramping, vomit-inducing pain that accompanies high exertion. On the contrary, I felt a blood rush like what I used to get form powerlifting, and my entire upper torso and shoulders (diaphragm, intercostals, pecs, all neck muscles, anterior delts, and lats) felt amazing. It was not the mind altering high of the trail runs, but an almost orgasmic physical sensation. I felt like I never wanted to stop, but unfortunately had to get back home to shower and go to class, so I had to. I have had trouble recapturing that same feeling, but I am certainly trying.

I'm not sure where I intended to go with this entry, and I seem to be just rambling and jumping around randomly. My point is that running is not natural for me, and I seek out it's defeats as they keep me hungry. This is necessary for me, though other people get discouraged easily by those things, and should then find easier forms of exercise. I'll end this entry with another excerpt from "Again to Carthage," this one being thoughts coming to Cassidy as he does a tempo run through wooded trails:

"Picking his way carefully along the trail, he thought about something he had read about the great alpine climbers. As
children, they grew up surrounded by a vast landscape of unattainable peaks. As they grew older, stronger, and more
skillful, when they looked up, they saw more and more places they had been to and to which they could not return at will.
That zone of accessibility would grow and grow over the years until the very best of the guides could stand in the village
squares and turn full circle, searching the horizon in vain for some tiny forbidden aerie they had not conquered, some
remote crag beyond their powers.

It would have to be a wonderful and prideful thing, to feel so thoroughly at home in such a daunting and beautiful
landscape. But as they grew older, the climbers who survived would find that some peaks were difficult again, some climbs
strangely taxing, some routes quite impossible. They would realize, to their surprise, that the process was reversible;
that it was, in fact, reversing.

You could see them, the aged former heroes sitting sadly in the village square, turning full circle to gaze at a frozen world
once again inaccessible to them."

Oh, and this quote from Plato would be good here as well, just as a self-caution:

"The mere athlete becomes too much of a savage, the musician is melted and softened beyond what is good for him. The two should therefore be blended in the right proportion."

Danette

Danette was Korey's friend. Korey owned the house at which my then band practiced (her parents/neighbors were pretty understanding). Korey was friends with AJ and Vic who were the guitarist and singer, respectively, in this band (The Virgin Yard, by the way). So anyways, this was during my freshman year of college during the portion of time that I Julee and I were broken up. Danette was very charming, and still rather young; she was naive, but not stupid. I liked that she hoped for the best from people, but already knew that most guys were generally shit, and would treat her poorly. She was busty and cute, though like with many of the girls that I call "cute," I was apparently the only guy who thought so. High school and college aged people generally have very underdeveloped appreciation for beauty, especially that which is steeped in nuance. Danette was this type: full of promise and defined by her subtlety.

We sort of flirted a little while the band played, and we would continue said flirting during band breaks. Eventually, Korey told me that I should ask Danette to her prom (reminder: at this point, I'm a freshman in college, Danette is a Junior at my old high school, where Julee is a senior). I instead take Danette out a few times. I don't really remember exactly all of what we did, but I know that we drove quite a bit. I loved driving at the time, and I would take her to places that she hadn't seen before, or places that were really dark, which is always exciting. I remember driving through a neighborhood full of gardens. We had the windows down so that we could smell the sweet aromas drift lazily through the desert development. I saw a large stand of bougainvillea that stood out among the low lying daisies and roses. I stopped my truck abruptly, jumped out and broke off a decent sized little branch covered with lush purple petals and got back into the truck, where I presented it to Danette. This was, obviously, the sweetest thing ever. A few of the petals fell off in my truck, where they stayed until my father unwittingly threw them away one day weeks later.

One day Danette for some reason or another had driven to the townhouse which I lived in with Louis. Frankly, I don't really remember why, but it ended up with us at my back gate in front of her car. I was holding her by the waist, and she had her hands around my shoulders. I leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back. I did it once more, same thing. Then I attempted the third, and probably more involved (read: open mouthed) kiss, and she backed off. I let her go sort of gracefully, and with the least amount of embarrassment or awkwardness possible. We said goodnight, and she left.

After that, we sort of cooled off. I still don't entirely understand why, honestly. She says that I backed off after that, and that she assumed it was because of the kissing thing. I said that SHE backed off, and I assumed that it was because I was either a terrible kisser, or I was somehow moving too quick for her. Didn't matter really, we still remained friends, and I still planned on going to the prom with her (oh yeah, I had asked her at some point between the dates).

Before I asked her, I checked with Julee. I didn't want to cause any trouble, and I figured that the best way to do that would be to ask Julee if she was okay with me going to her prom with Danette. Julee told me that she didn't care, so I went ahead and asked Danette.

Danette, Korey, AJ, and myself went all together in my dad's 72 Caprice. I remember that I let my then hair stylist (Hope) do my eyebrows. She did a terrible job, and I looked ridiculous, but I'm over it now.

Once at the actual prom, it became pretty clear to everyone that Julee was really NOT alright with me being there. This coupled with the fact that Julee wore the exact same dress as Julia (she gets a tag, now). So after talking a little bit, a massively offensive date swap was worked out, and I swapped dates with Josh who had come with Julee. He agreed to take care of Danette, who didn't seem too offended to be swapping. Now, this was in my earlier days, before I could really read people all that well, so don't blame me for my idiocy. Of course Julee wasn't okay with me going to her senior prom, even if she said that she was okay with it. Of course Danette wouldn't be okay with me dumping her at prom to go back with my ex girlfriend, and then pawning her off to the guy that said ex had come with.

I honestly feel pretty bad about the whole thing now. I wonder though if Julee and I would have gotten back together if it weren't for that prom. At the same time though, would Danette and I have persevered if I hadn't gone? Maybe. Weird.

Danette is one of those girls that I sort of wish I had a second shot with. I still think that she is gorgeous, and she was so nice that I think I would have really liked a better chance to get to know her. I guess that timing just doomed us. I think that she is in a pretty serious relationship with some guy that she met in college. Too bad. She falls in with Marissa and a few others on my "Would like a second/better shot."

"Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools."

William Faulkner - The Sound and the Fury

Bedrock

Is it better to have a relationship based on mutual reflection and examination of each other's pasts, or on hopeful anticipation of your combined futures? Or is it better to focus on the precise present; to have no recollection nor foresight?

Commitment

Can you really commit to more than one thing? As I was thinking more about previous weights and shapes lifted and carried, it occurred to me that it's about not much more than commitment. When I was at my strongest, it was because I was totally committed to being strong. When I was at my leanest, it was because I was totally committed to beinglean. Now that I am doing better in school than I ever have before, it is because I am foremost concerned with my school performance, above other things. Is this how it has to be? Can I only be successful in one thing at a time? Or is this only a consequence of a strained schedule? If that is true, it is not comforting, as I have another 5-10 years of fairly intensive schooling and such.

There are many things that i'd like to be associated with; a successful student, a long distance runner, an effective powerlifter, a size 32 waist, for example. I don't like the idea of any of these things defining me, though. I do not want to be A long distance runner any more than I want to be A successful student. I want them both. I want to be defined by the tremendous breadth of my talents, and the degree to which I have mastered them, but it seems increasingly hard. To be a successful student, I need to devote a large portion of my time to studying and homework, which cuts back on available time for running and working out. To be a successful powerlifter or bodybuilder, I need to spend a large portion of my time cooking and eating and resting. To be whatever else, I need time to do whatever. It comes down to time, I guess. Time management? I don't know. I don't think that I want to live on a schedule again. It worked well for me at the time, but I also had a steady girlfriend, so I didn't need to really have any time for generic socializing. I sort of just scheduled her in when we both had a block open. This worked, but only because we both were sort of strained for time, and it was the only time that we were both available anyways.

Do I live on a grid? Do I want to? It's harder now, since my work schedule changes a bit every week, and it is going to change drastically into this Holiday season. So do I use that excuse to spend the rest of this semester retaining time and focus on school, and start a new focus during December? Who knows? I think that I'm going to open Excel now.

"There are only two options regarding commitment. You're either in or out. There's no such thing as a life in-between."
-Pat Riley