Had this dream that Chris and I went to see Attack of the Clones and Natalie Portman was with us. (Still not enough to make me want to see it again. Maybe, if she were on my lap.) There was a drawing before the show, and she won a square bottle of designer perfume, but was disappointed to learn it was fake. I wondered if she'd be offended if and when I burst out laughing during her dialogue with Anakin: "Believe me, I wish I could wish my feelings away... but I can't." Cringe-worthy humor like the Office ftw!

Now and then I throw in a pic between entries to make mine look like a proper blog—though I think I'm still a ways from posting YouTube—but the only one that caught my eye today was this one of "Most Downloaded Woman" Cindy Margolis (a title my giggety-Gigs of Nancy Ho would firmly dispute), because it reminds me a lot of another 40-year-old desperate housewife I used to know. She had much the same rack, but none of the marketing savvy. But as much as I miss being surrounded by horny White women, sigh, that's all in the past. All my penis does nowadays is bleed.

Late to the office again, and tomorrow I'm ditching because of fire alarm & sprinkler maintenance they may or may not show up for. I'd like to think I'm due for a vacation, but I've only just qualified at this job, and it's not as if I let the stress get to me; in fact, where it does, and how it differs from working closer to home, is more in the drive here—the "right turn blocker"? I've since identified yet another class of driver that prefers to jam the other side as well, backing it up so far as to prevent those of us who need to get in to make a left, and always before our signal goes red first. So basically, yes, if it can be said that the highway of life has two lanes, I hate people in both. I.e., everyone.

So where was I? Oh yeah: waking up this morning feeling hungover, even after making it to bed by midnight. No excuse yesterday, staying up until 2am doing Assault with the gang, although this time I did have one of those will-killing dreams where I was reduced to an object of pity, an old man who lived in a converted storefront (a discarded hours sign was in the door window). Two little girls just walked in as I lay asleep on the couch and collected some boxes they left inside to keep them dry in the rain while they waited for the bus. Maybe I could go back to school, I mused. Too late now.

27, but I suck balls at that head count game. The one where you pick out the numbers and some are sliding and pulsing reminds me of The Ring.

Ludicrous theory, but I 설사'd both times I used two packets of Taco Sauce on my Carl's Jr. Bacon & Egg Burrito, and 0/2 with just the one.

…They hear "blue" right, and I'm down to 36.

This new Brain Age "game" tells me mine is functioning at the level of someone in their 80's. I suspect there's some truth in that, if at that age I'm still shouting "blue" at a computer and the speech recognition isn't picking it up, and it's reading my handwriting as actually having entered 3x8=69.

…But not so good as to relieve me of another morning spent in and out of the bathroom. I should just buy these Sausage Egg McMuffins and things, drop them and pour the Coke into the toilet and flush. Or better yet, toss the three or four bucks. Maybe I shouldn't even bother earning it at all!

I did, however, to put together a nice post on my linkshell forum for an ex-member who will otherwise never know of my effort on his behalf. Please, God, reward me for my selfless charity.

In our long history, we have proven ourselves many things: capable, and if not always successful, determined to keep at it; never one to stop growing, despite disheartening departures, or to stop learning from new faces and bold ideas; and a home for friends and family, and though we may have been burned by some, we've still had the heart to forgive others and welcome them back.

So I'll make one last plea to that side of each of you, the side that is less concerned with maintaining our security than it is giving a fellow player a chance to work hard and succeed, the opportunity to grow and learn and above all, a place to call home. It's just a game, you say, but is this not real time you spend with real friends? Don't our experiences together cause you to have real feelings, and won’t they leave you with real lasting memories?

Why am I suddenly Vilu's pro bono defense counsel? Well, (1), I am a lawyer in real life, and corporate work is so boring, so very unfulfilling compared to this, basically fighting for someone's life! Er, freedom. How about his rights? Okay, his case. And (2), I am, in spite of what people may tell you, a human being, too, and I can imagine what it’s like to be left out by the same people you want to be with. Not to mention the lasting impression of being told by them to get lost.

Last night a group of sacks discussed the situation, and while we agreed Vilu was a decent guy and an asset to the LS, I was first to remind us the people seem to have spoken, that any overriding action on our part would only be interpreted as a blow to our democratic principles. But please reconsider how you arrived at your decision, whether by railroad or you walked a mile in his shoes.

This weekend: got a haircut and did a load of laundry, played FFXI, watched Doctor Who and Justice League, had a dream where I was seduced by Nancy Ho in a parking garage, and all I had to eat were two Six Dollar Burger combos. No learning anything new, no broadening of the mind, no discovering an aspect to life's great mystery that makes it all worthwhile. Unless you include the Bacon & Egg Burrito also from Carl's Jr. on the way to work today, which isn't quite as good as the ones at Taco Cabana, but close.

Found this great fansite for The Office with .MP3's of David Brent's "Free Love" (Tim getting Gareth to sing along is probably one of the funniest moments in TV history) and the title track. Now if I can only find my iPod.

Yesterday I put down ten dollars on the FFXI expansion due next week, at a Gamestop I pass by for Panda Express. In their window for months, there's this POP for some unappealing car-fighting thing. But I can't stop looking at that shirt.

It may be no original observation, but ever notice how every news story about an Israeli missile strike against the Palestinians, Syria, [insert Muslim-occupied territory/dwelling here] seems to be immediately followed by an explanation that it was "in response to" a mortar attack, car-bombing or something even more egregious (i.e., the "T" word)? You'd think the objective standard would be at least to raise the chicken-vs.-the egg dilemma. Or does the other side just lack the state-sponsored PR machine? Jewish liberals and neo-Nazi fundamentalists alike, how do they get over their own inner conflicts to take sides against one another? It's like those aliens on Star Trek who were Black and White on different halves.

This assembly-line shot is so much more impressive to me than an army of CGI robots from some forgettable Wil Smith or George Lucas movie.
But $24,500? That's a new car and a Real Doll, you know, to carpool.

…And later last night I get a call, well past the grace period for April Fools, from Ron informing me that E3 is off, due to heightened restrictions on industry qualification. (Was a long time coming. Faxed-in forged W-2's is one thing; a website from the early 90's is another.) Luck-wise, it might as well make up for my savings on underwear—a day off sleeping in isn't much different than one spent walking around miles of convention floor looking for something worth not getting to—but my buddies in Houston with their non-refundable flights, they're due for a lot of the good stuff. Maybe sex?

Ever wonder what makes for a lucky break? For some it could mean getting through the day without being stuck by lightning, a car, or a typo that puts you on a Homeland Security watchlist. I used to curse my misfortune every time I hit a red light, but remind myself of the irony should outbursts like that accelerate a fatal heart condition which had until now gone undetected. Farbeit for the world to have been programmed so unimaginatively that human beings are endowed with so much luck which either manifests in one fell swoop like a lottery win or is expended in microscopic portions over the course of seventy-odd years, but my victory today is certainly demonstrative of the latter; the Guest Services lady at Target was persuaded that my 4-pack of Boxer Briefs, from the description alone, qualified for the advertised sale price, though from a look at the thicker Fruit of the Loom waistband, they were clearly of the more expensive (by $1.61, yet) variety!

Don't want this to sound too much like a standup bit, but if you're ever low on cash for lunch but can't meet the minimum for credit cards and the ATM is occupied by an elderly couple, order dinner, too. They seem to go through the entire menu of options, as if learning the machine's operating system, and for each transaction—I watch them inserting and removing their card several times and receive numerous receipts over the length of their stay—like they have a real-life teller all to themselves and can ask every little thing about their account that comes to mind. The kicker? Ten minutes later they're finished, and they still go into the bank.