A co-worker/friend of mine is going to China for three weeks. He told me he’d grab a few things, if there was anything I wanted.

Do you have any suggestions as to what I could ask him to bring back?

There’s a first time for everything, and today was the first time I went out and played paintball. A little tired, sore and bruised, I still think it was a lot of fun. Our rental guns sucked, as compared to those used by “pros” who brought in their own, but a good time was still had by all.

I have two red welts, one on my ribs, one on my pec. I also got hit in the funny-bone once, too, which was weird. But a surprising number of the times I got shot occurred when I got hit in the face mask — so wear your masks, kiddies!

The only complaint I have/had about AG Paintball in Leesburg was the fact that it didn’t matter where you were, in the shop, on the field, walking back, etc., The judges/guides were all young kids who had some sorta strange military-teenager hybrid attitude. But to tell you the truth, I’d rather see them with an attitude out there, with paint guns, than in schools with real ones.

I’m out on the balcony again. Why am I writing in a journal, when I should be sitting here writing the great American novel? haha. That’s what I feel like, with a baja blanket draping my legs and sitting here in a few layers of clothes.

In one respect, tonight’s a lot better, because I’m not knocking stuff over or worrying about trying to find my missing keys, both of which kinda tarnished last night’s sitting.

Tonight, every once in a while, I catch the first seasonal glimpses of my breath, condensing, dispersing, as one might appropriately expect to start occurring. It’s like an angel or some other ethereal spirit — I can’t always see it or make it happen, but I will continually catch it out of the corner of my eyes when I’m not expecting it, teasing, letting me know change is on the way.

Right there! It happened!

Tonight’s music selection is from what has turned out to be a great mix tape, received in the mail today (Thank you!). I hope she made a copy for herself, this is worth cherishing.

I think due to my late posting last night, this will appear as my fourth entry of the day for me. I think that’s some sorta personal record, even if it is unintentional.

…People asking questions lost in confusion,
Well I tell them there’s no problem,
Only solutions… –John Lennon

Again, I don’t usually dig these things, but seeing as much as I love music, I gave it a shot….

corey, your theme song is Born to Be Wild!

You are a mad man and your theme song is “Born to be Wild.” You’re the guy most likely to run out on the baseball diamond during a rain delay or bang on the penalty box at a hockey game. Either way, when your mug comes on the Jumbotron, the crowd goes nuts.

I’m not quite sure how accurate that is. See for yourself.

Decided I needed some fresh air, so I’ve been sitting out here on my balcony for the past 3 hours or so, listening to Time out of Mind and the Wonder Boys soundtrack (ok, more Dylan, so sue me). It’s very nice. At this hour, it’s getting a bit chilly, but earlier it was mid-50s, and clear. Still pretty quiet, with the flights in and out of Dulles still heavily reduced…

Been something of an introspective night. Clear sky, clear mind, clear thoughts.

There’s so much going on these days, and so much more on the horizon. But tonight, at least, all I see is the stars.

Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me.
If I was still the same
If I ever became what you wanted me to be
Did I miss the mark or
Over-step the line
That only you could see?
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me. –B.D., “Shooting Star”

Ugh. I do not need That 70s Show, of all things, telling me “it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all” :-P.

[I'm sure this will keep getting edited]

Last night, when going to bed, I had what I can only describe as a “panic attack”. While that may or may not be the clinical term — I wasn’t “panicky” — I was extremely restless, as the thoughts, frustrations of recent days came to a head — inside my head. I’ve gone to bed with a full head of thoughts before, and have ended up doing a lot of thinking when trying to sleep, but never have I had anything of this magnitude happen.

It was all the things that might lead one to get depressed, but crammed into 10-15 minutes, rather than days, weeks, a month. It was like a typhoon of epidemic proportions in my head. In the end, it all suddenly disappeared, the tide rolled back out to sea. I felt like I’d been hit by a Mack truck, but relieved that it was over. Here, I’m just trying to sort it all out, since it’s all still on my mind. It’s just a lot more benign, several hours later.

It was miserable. It touched upon all the things, my inability to hit it off with any of the women in whom I’m interested; The fact that the intiative I took has, thus far, failed get together some local neigbors for pickup football games, everything… That’s what I felt like. Utter failure. I felt like nothing I would make a difference, would ever succeed.

A few weeks back, I made some reference to disproving my housemate’s theory that young, American males are boring. And I have been working feverishly to prove to her — and myself — that this isn’t the case. I have been taking initiative.

…And it’s failed miserably.

If she were here, she’d just tell me that I have to keep trying. But see. I have been trying. For 25 goddamn years. Yet I don’t want to dwell on that — or at least, I won’t let myself…

But sometimes I think I’m so completely out-of-touch here… probably in both geographic and metaphysical terms.

* I mean, Christ, what kinda neighborhood, filled with relatively young, white male Americans, fails to yield even one indication of interest in playing football? Only one in Northern Virginia, I guess. My friend tells me that I shouldn’t take it personally, that it’s not me they’re ignoring, it’s just an ‘idea’. But the absolute, end result is no different.

I’ve never thrown a party in my life. I never had the confidence that anyone would ever come. Over the years, I came out of that shell.

And then in August, when I invite 12 people to go canoeing, all but two eventually back out. And then in September, I fail to rally support for a basic game of football. For the third-party reader, these things might all seem very minor… but when one finally tries to “seize the day” and ends up in solitude nonetheless, it just doesn’t sit well.

But I don’t have to explain myself to you, dear reader. You either get it or you don’t.

* Some friends of mine tell me that I just need to get laid, that “it’ll give you the confidence you need”. Fuck that. People here are so faceless anyway, why would I want to take arguably the best, most intimate entity in human existance and fuck with it so that it, too, is distorted into another bland, casual, entity that doesn’t mean anything? I encounter “sameness” everywhere I go. Why turn sex into that? Why gain “confidence” — an arguable theory at that — at the expense of individuality, heterogeneity?

If I wanted, sure, I could go out, hook up with some vacuous mannequin from the bar. On the other end of the scale, I could find some poor woman, desparate for human contact, and “fulfill some needs”. Confidence-builder, though? I can’t, and won’t, understand any concept that puts confidence and insignificance hand-in-hand.

If getting laid is the only way to achieve some sort of confidence that will allow me to meet interesting women, I’m in a whole world of hurt.

* At the same time, it’s miserable not being with anyone. I feel like a goddamn social pariah.

Lonely is the room the bed is made / The open window lets the rain in / Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him / My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come / It’s never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder / It’s never over, all my riches for her smiles when I sleep so soft against her… — Jeff Buckley

Who doesn’t want/need that connection?

I’ve gone to your churches, your schools, your social events, I’ve met your angels, your debutantes and your whores.

…But I’ve never met you. Or caught a glimpse of who you might be. Or even seen your shadow… and these days, I’m running out of places to look….

However, you’re probably in the arms of another, by now, anyway. Despite all the permeating pop culture, people have still managed to somehow know when they’ve got a quality product in their hands. They’d be daft to let go.

The irony of it all, is that I don’t feel like I have high standards. I’m not asking for the world, but I’d like her to at least know a few of its wonders.

Sometimes cultures will make excuses. White guys blaming black guys for ‘taking’ all the women. Asians blaming white America for ‘taking’ and treating the women like exotic playthings. Straight women lamenting the fact that all the good-looking guys ‘belong’ to another… good-looking, (gay) guy.

Sometimes I feel like all of the cultured women are ‘taken’ by today’s generation of slick hucksters. But it’s not right to make any of these assumptions, myself, or anyone else.

Let it be known that I’m not looking for sympathy in any of the above statements. I’m just trying to reckon with myself, regarding the thoughts that overtook my head like a whirling dervish last night.

This is, after all, a journal, isn’t it?

community, indeed.

http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=world+trade+center

http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=world+trade+centre

http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=wtc

Hey caithness…

If you’re ever in Waterbury, would you stop by this place and see if they sell t-shirts or other memorabilia?

To have a t-shirt from a pub containing my surname… that would rule

Note to self: http://www.sterlingplumbing.com/consumer/

Act I:
Scene: Last night – sitting at the bar. Drinking my seven-and-seven.
Guy (sitting next to me): Yo man, what’s that?
Me: 7&7.
Guy: That drink tight?
Me: Yeah, it’s pretty good…
Guy: No man… is it strong?

Fast-forward to later that night:

Act II:
Scene: Me, at the bar, with someone who showed up later

Me (to Angie the bartender): Hey Angie, what are those blue drinks that people keep ordering?
Angie: They’re calling it a “loose pussy”. I think they just like saying that.
Me (laughing): Uh, ok, can we order two loose pussies?
Angie (also laughing): Sure thing, hon
Me: …But I’ll tell you what, you can make them as tight as you want.
Much laughter

…I’ve always been one to make use of new vocabulary.

Near where I live, there’s a sign at the intersection of two roads, on a piece of currently undeveloped land. It says something to the effect of “Coming soon… Islamic Community Center”.

Driving around town the day after the events, I saw that sign. There was a white sheet draped over it. There was a gentle breeze outside, and the sheet was fluttering just a bit, as I drove by.

As I passed, I saw black spray paint, presumably racist grafitti, all over it.

Drove by the sign again, yesterday. Some effort had been made to make it readable again; Whether they cleaned it, or pasted new words over the damaged area, I dunno. But in addition, there’s now a big american flag attached to one of the posts, waving prominently above it.

Several years ago, Natalie Cole had a song in heavy airplay, featuring her vocals, laid down over tracks recorded by her dad, years before.

Fast foward a few years, to when hip-hop groups began laying down tracks over top of classic songs. I’m not talking samples, I’m talking stuff like P. Diddy over Sting, or whomever it was over John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Jack and Diane”.

I never really liked any of those. However, today I heard something that just disgusted me.

When getting my haircut this evening, I heard the classic Armstrong tune, “What a Wonderful World”. It was kinda nice, and all things considered, it’s a song that I’m not surprised to hear on the air these days.

And then I heard that telltale saxophone. Hmm… Where have I heard this before?

Oh yeah. The sax that had to be none other than the unmistakable echo of Kenny G, pissing all over Louis Armstrong’s grave.

Blech. I can’t think of many times I’ve been more disappointed at what I’ve heard on the radio

[I came up with this last night. Apologies to Quentin Tarantino]

SCENE: DUBYA and COLIN POWELL DRIVING DOWN THE STREET

“…you know what they call a B2 Bomber in Iraq?”
“They don’t call it a B2 Bomber?”
“Naw, man, they don’t use the Roman alphabet, they wouldn’t know what the fuck a ‘B’ or a ’2′ is”
“What do they call it?”

“Ji-had buster.”
“ji-had buster! What do they call a Tomahawk missile?”
“Tomahawk’s a Tomahawk, but they call it an ‘Imperialist Tomahawk’”
“What do they call a Patriot missile?”
“I dunno, I didn’t go to Israel.”

Going to be a long day. I can’t remember a night in recent existence where I slept — or more accurately, didn’t sleep — so poorly.

In other news, it is gonna be the bachelor pad in full swing at my house for the next three weeks, as my housemate takes off today to go to New Zealand. I think it is time to have a shindig. I’ve never done that before, though.

Cannot keep my eyes open.

What a great song….

Bob Dylan – Things Have Changed

A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me and nothing behind
There’s a woman on my lap and she’s drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin’s eyes
I’m looking up into the sapphire tinted skies
I’m well dressed, waiting on the last train

Bridge #1:
Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose
Any minute now I’m expecting all hell to break loose

Chorus
People are crazy and times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I used to care, but things have changed

This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he’s got anything to prove

Bridge #2
Lot of water under the bridge, Lot of other stuff too
Don’t get up gentlemen, I’m only passing through

(chorus)

I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the bible is right, the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand

Bridge #3
Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet
Putting her in a wheel barrow and wheeling her down the street

(chorus)

I hurt easy, I just don’t show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
I’m in love with a woman who don’t even appeal to me

Bridge #4
Mr. Jinx and Miss Lucy, they jumped in the lake
I’m not that eager to make a mistake

(chorus)

It’s curious. In the past two days, I’ve heard the echoed thoughts of many a soul who have expressed the desire to simply be in love, to be loved, to have someone there. It’s an epidemic.

Normally this is saved for the springtime, I think. Where I went to college, it was infectious. Come late Febuary, you’d see a new engagement announcement every week and a half. On a 550 student campus.

I know the recent events have drawn people together. But I wonder if they have also led people to reach for that certain someone. Or maybe they/we feel isolated?

This isn’t to say that the feelings haven’t been felt before. But I’m thinking the tragedies have led these feelings to boil their way to the surface.

…I’m starting to like bowling!

Turkeys, and the ability to clear spares in the manner of 5/ and 6/. Things are getting good. Now, if I could just get them in the same game…

So many thoughts running through my head.

National moments of prayer: I can’t help but fear that this has alterior motives. No, I am not doubting that Bush is sincere in his prayer, nor am I doubtful about any of the other participants. But I worry that this will be used as a tool to promote solidarity, en route to thoughts of battle.

I took a moment, but by myself.

Then I read this:

* * * * * * * *

(MSNBC)
Sept. 14 — The Senate on Friday authorized “all necessary and appropriate force” against terrorism and approved a $40 billion down payment for recovery and retaliation in a sustained, perhaps years-long war. President Bush, meanwhile, prepared to activate up to 50,000 military reservists and lead a National Day of Prayer by attending a church service and traveling to New York City.

THE HOUSE was expected to quickly follow the unanimous Senate votes. The last time the Senate voted on military action — just before the Persian Gulf War — the vote was a bare majority, 51-47.

. . .

“This is now the focus of my administration … now that war has been declared,” Bush said.

* * * * * * * *

I need to take another moment of silence to pray that level heads prevail.