So another Anonymous friend of mine requested an ascii signature for some bulletin board. He showed me another user’s signature, and yeah, there’s limitations whenever making an ascii signature these days. Formating, font type, etc, all tend to make an oldschool thing turn into a hunking pile of doo. This is what I drew for him:
And this is the result of the webification:
Just another in a long line of ascii art related examples of why progress sucks. 
In an earlier post, which can now be found in WordPress’s “classic posts hall of fame”, I discussed Cod - capital C. The fish, not the Cape. For Capes, I refer the reader to “Capes, Superman”, an excellent Wikipedia article on the subject. No, no, the cod, the fish, the bland yet aromatic hunk of flakes and breading that recently seduced my wife and me, and entered us into a Menage A Trois. Menage A Trout? I can barely manage my own mental stability! HAHAHA.
The title of that, and this post, referred to Chuck Klosterman. He of many hats. Stoner sportsman. Expositive non-fiction/fiction mashup writer. A Burroughs who writes about Britney Spears’s vagina, and her place on Gene Simmon’s “To-do list” of cunniliguist conquests. Compelling stuff.
Was titling these posts merely a grab for more pageviews. A spamming of the tag system? A disgusting attempt to trick and draw in ignorant readers to my web of jarbarfing? Partially. But it was admittedly not as flagrant as tagging my post “naked girls”. I have, and will continue, to do this. Houston rap forever!
You see kids, when I’m eating baked cod, I like to read the works of a baked cad. Klosterman fits the bill. And as such, I just finished reading his book ”Killing Yourself To Live”, which is by his own admission 85 percent true, and 85 percent padding. I’m worn out and not motivated enough to give a scene by scene rundown of the book. In fact, I enjoyed his first book “Fargo Rock City” much more. I found it in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble. The bargain bin continues to be one of the greatest sources of inspiration in my life. My furniture is exclusively from the “dumpster collection”.
“Fargo Rock City”, a collection of essays about heavy metal, its legitimacy as bastard heir to the 1980’s Kingdom of Rock, and the Knights in Simple Service of loving that Kingdom is a fun read. It was my introduction to Chuckie K and his apparently world-famous take on pop culture. I immediately ordered his other three books and cherished the thought of flying through them. Unfortunately, “Killing Yourself To Live” kind of… hangs itself. It’s not a bad book, and it may very well be better written than his first. But the subject matter is more personal, less “tongue in cheek”, more “hand on chin”. I put the book down after thoroughly not really enjoying the first half. Recently I finished it. Between those two periods of time, I’ve moved, bought a new car, and done a whole lot of growing. I wouldn’t say I’ve done any incredible emotional maturity in the interim. I haven’t tripped on mushrooms or discovered a whole new worldview. But for some reason, the second time around this book was more palpable. I may re-read it just because I do sincerely enjoy and admire Klosterman’s writing, even if sometimes he throws in a few too many asides. Asides always punctuated by “ANYWAY”.
So that’s out of the way. The book is off the porch, and in its stead is Philip Lapote’s “Totally, Tenderly, Tragically”, a book that appears to be a pretty damn serious collection of film criticism. I’m only a few essays in, but thus far Lapote’s juvenalia (Is the book arranged chronologically? Shouldn’t have skipped the introduction!) alone makes me realize just how out of my league. Not only in knowledge of cinema, which is heart-breakingly apparent, but essaying in general. Composition. Clarity of thought. Coherence.
It’s going to be a long night…
It had been close to ten years since my wife or I had eaten any meat. And that had meant absolute nothing. No rennet, no steak, no burgers, no tacos. As much as my some people were amazed that meant no shrimp, no lobster, no steak tartare, no caviar, no sushi and no corned beef. For some reason people would think the more exotic an animal dish, the more likely it didn’t conform to our “Rules of Vegetarianism”. At times it meant no dairy, but honestly, that was brief and laughably failed experiment.
Our vegetarianism wasn’t an ethical decision. We didn’t choose to give up beef because of the ridiculous inefficiencies of the cattle industry (though later that would offer us warm solace over bowls of bland rice and broccoli). It had nothing to do chickens going beakless, seals being clubbed or pandas getting sprayed with prototype chemical weapons. I even think hunting’s probably pretty fun, and bunny rabbits wearing mascara have always held a certain appeal to me. Long story, but it involves a tawdry Easter holiday in my adolescence. No homo.
Nor was it a health decision. In fact, I originally probably gained 60 pounds in the year after I stopped eating meat. Cheese and bean burritos and personal pan cheese pizzas aren’t what fuels Olympians. They fuel drunken college dropouts, the poor, and the alcoholic. I would never be pregnant, but in this sense I was “eating for three”. I’m not sure how all this works, but I’m sure I suffered some negative effects of my poor eating habits during my early vegetarian years. Dementia, schizophrenia, logorrhea. Delusions of grandeur. Partying in warehouses, etc. It may have even contributed to my development of diabetes. What’s done is done.
Vegetarianism was a fad that went on too long. A lifestyle like that has it’s own twisted inertia. People start to expect certain vegetarian behaviour out of you. You don’t eat at certain restaurants. Cooking takes on a new strategic aspect. And it’s just generally a pain in the ass. It’s a pain in the ass I think people like though. For instance, it’s better than being the loutish, drunken uncle who comes over at Christmas and breaks the coffee table. It’s less inconvenient than the wayward brother-in-law who always needs a couch to sleep on, or bail money. Still, it was a tic that was hard to shake. Basically, it boils down to accepting the eating of living, bleeding things. There’s a psychological barrier to doing that after you haven’t in so long. But with diet becoming more of an issue in my diabetes control my wife and I have been steeling ourselves for the inevitable return to omnivorism.
This is a big deal. It’s been a long time coming, but we finally bought about a pound of sea bass, and some breaded cutlets of cod. The sea bass, because well, we assumed at nearly twenty dollars a pound, that had to be a hell of a fucking fish. The cod cutlets because, honestly, breading makes almost everything taste better. We were realistic in this regard. And it’s almost a week later, the sea bass in still sitting in the refrigerator (is that healthy?) but that cod cutlets have been baked (see title) and consumed. Mostly.
Even as a meat eater, way back when… in the glory days, I never really ate much fish. I just wasn’t raised in a family of sophisticated diners. Peanut butter sandwiches were the norm. Sans jelly usually, as it was too messy to justify it’s wonderful and undoubtedly sinful, taste. As a result, I’ve a modest palate. At times this is a blessing because I can shovel mounds of even the blandest food into my gullet. It’s helpful for powering through steamed vegetables, wheat germ, or unsweetened yogurt. For the most part, the cod seems to be a pretty bland fish. I think I can get down with that in the long run, but for now it’s taken me three days to eat what is, essentially, the size of a McFishen Sandwich. Baby steps, baby.
The good news here is that we made the first step. But it’s not nearly a full victory. The cod is too plain to really count as “meat”. I still consider myself a recovering meat-virgin, and fear the day my tastebuds get ravaged by a gamier source of protein. No homo.
Time to renew my expired free subscription to Spin. As much as I should dislike this magazine, I usually enjoy it. Surprisingly, I like Blender too. I’m not much on the majority of the music either reviews, but it’s always a good barometer for possible “downloads”. Say what?
Yesterday I watched a swarm of roaches, beetles and tick congregate on the window to our break room. They were abuzz, and dirty. Two toads came, and thirty minutes later all the bugs were gone.
Turns out the economy is struggling. At least that was the word at my company’s quarterly meeting today. So bonuses are a no-go, which is kind of disappointing, but overall OK.
Working overnight, I usually don’t attend the company meetings and functions. They just don’t fit into my schedule very well. For instance, I went today, and now I’m completely and utterly exhausted while at work. But, on occasion, it’s worth the price. It’s pretty obvious that these meetings, get togethers, lunches and ping pong sessions mold the microcosm that is my corporate environment. Being outside of this has it’s benefits: freedom of work schedule, independance to focus on my workload as I see fit, etc. However, it obviously has its drawbacks: not knowing what the heck is really going on with the rest of the team. You know, the whole company minus me, that is working during the daylight hours and stuff. So, every so often it’s nice to bite the bullet, skip the luxurious post-work bubblebath, and come in to see how everyone in the team is doing.
We have a pretty awesome team and that’s cool. I work for a really good, “family” oriented company. In that regard I’m very lucky. Our top leaders are excellent, and have recruited a solid core of individuals to make things happen. The economy is struggling, but our business is doing well. And next quarter’s reports should bear that out nicely. I’m happy, even though I’m awaiting moving to day time either when school’s done, or they decide they want to woo me away with the big GREEN.
Another thing adds to my weariness, oh traveler of the seas. Yarr! (What?)
My mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and niece stopped by to use our swimming pool 6pm, which is roughly my 3am. It was disruptive, but it’s alright this time. My niece is an absolutely beautiful two year old little girl, and it’s really magical to get to see her learning about all the little things in the world. Like swimming, and splashing, and watching in wonder as some little boys did cannonballs for her. It was neat, even though it’s made me completely exhausted. Tonight I’ll take it easy.
Haven’t been very motivated to write lately. Have also been extremely busy, but that seems to always be the case.
I’m working on getting registered for next semester at school, although I’ve reached a “bottleneck” of sorts in my scheduling. There’s two classes I absolutely must take before I can finish up with my upper level courses. That’s crappy in that it’s slowing me down. It’s good in that I’m getting close to getting my degree (Finance).
Also, trying to get furniture. Sofas and stuff. It’s a pain in the ass, just like buying a car was. I hear horror stories of tremendous magnitude. Shipping that takes months. Damaged furniture. Exorbinant markups, crooked dealers, and little room for the average consumer to not get fleeced. I’m doing my best to counter these things, but again… the working overnight makes it more difficult. Patience.
Started writing a poem/rap. Opening line was something along the lines of:
“from holocaust to pentecost
I bend a cross, I’m Uri Geller
All’s fair in love and weather
when you’re the boss like Rockefeller”
But it was just a freestyle. Ephemeral, and laced in a 99 Altima to left-end FM transmissions.
My mind’s playing mixtapes on me.
ZZZ
Edit: Apparently spellcheck isn’t working here. CES L’V
GHOSTROACH 2008-2008 KILLED BY THE SPRINKLER SYSTEM
REST IN PEACE LIL’ HOMEY
GHOSTROACH KNOWS FASHION. GHOSTROACH KNOWS LIVING THE HIGH LIFE BUT ALSO ENJOYS A RELAXING SOAK IN THE HOTTUB. GHOSTROACH DRINKS THE FINEST OF WINES AND EATS THE FINEST OF CAVIARS. GHOSTROACH!!!
It’s crazy. I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since I last wrote on here. Life’s obviously been pretty busy, stressful, rewarding, and melancholy. It always is.
I got a new car. A new used car. Finally, after weeks of hustling, lining up loans, staying up til all hours of the afternoon, calling sellers punks, smashing my fist into doors and meeting people at Panera breads. It’s a 2000 Nissan Maxima. Average mileage. Luxurious air conditioning, leather seats, moonroof aka “bird window” and a blown subwoofer. The price was right, and the loan is manageable and will further build my credit. This is all good stuff. We already put 600 miles on it. That’s a bit extreme, but happy times call for long drives and cool night air. Baby baby.
Other things I’m trying to build: my apartment’s furniture. Status: standstill. I’m having a really hard justifying dropping a couple grand on a nice living room set from a major retailer. On the other hand finding a truck, searching Craigslist, and arranging pick-up with my schedule is near impossible. If it wasn’t so perplexing to not have furniture to relax in this wouldn’t be that important. I’m sitting in folding beach chairs. Something obviously needs to be done, but when? And what?
I’ve been trying to find good information online about haggling for furniture. I particularly enjoy haggling, especially on things that I feel I should be getting for about a fourth of the retail price. I.e. Furniture. Too expensive really. But there seems to be a dearth of information about this lost art, and all the google searches I’ve done for local furniture stores (supposedly better to deal with!) have yielded nothing but high-end furniture boutiques. That’s not to rule those out but… I think I’d rather have an actual house before magnificent furniture.
I found a futon in the dumpster at my apartment complex. It’s really ironic. I kept it and will be getting the mattress dry-cleaned (hopefully!) before use. There’s approximately 800 dollars saved on an office couch. Karma++
In related “finding stuff in the dumpster news” (wait for it…) my new computer build has gone critical. At this point I assume it’s a failed motherboard. That is a bitch and a half. I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to stabilize the system, port my applications - which there are a lot! - over to 64bit Vista, downgrading to 32bit Vista, messing with my laptop, blah blah, everything. It’s been a nightmare. On top of that I have a friend’s PC to fix, this PC I found in the dumpster that I have to password crack, an idling server, my old network storage box, my out of work HTPC, my laptop, and my old PC to take care of. Hahaha. Jesus. That’s a lot of spicy computers!!!
Three servers died tonight at work. Cause of death failed redundancy at the UPS level. We can save them.
It’s, been :]]~ crazy on the streets. ^_^
I just turned 30. I thought my birthday was tomorrow, but it’s today. Subconciously I was probably trying to put it off until forever. I sort of feel like a failure, and I’m probably already past the halfway point of my life. My mom turned 30 when I was 7. I remember her surprise party vividly. That makes me sort of sad.
When I got to work, I was greeted by the following scene:
There’s more pictures, but I’m too lazy to post them. Do these people work? I guess it’s kind of cool, but it was a huge mess. I appreciate the thought. What I don’t appreciate was that the weekend guy left me with close to ten broken databases, and two broken ftp servers. Happy Birthday!
I went to the coffee shop, the girls gave me a free brownie and said it was because I was hot. I didn’t mention my birthday. Becoming a 30 year old dirty old man has it’s advantages. Run from Daddy, into my arms, but bring me some brownies.
