That sucks. I just wrote this whole thing about tipping versus intentions (which I deemed to be the same thing, especially in your case Keith), and I had this really good story about towing and Moliere.

Well I just got home from work actually and I tend to fall asleep on my computer a lot. So after about a half hour of typing, my log disappeared. Apparently I closed my eyes and my finger found its way to the "esc" button. When I awoke, my story was gone. I Ctrl Zed forever, but it's gone.

Hey, what can ya do.

Thanks though Keith. Good to run into you again. I hope your car worked out well.

Night all.

(still pretty pissed about losing what I wrote. Or am I pissed about my inability to decide what my body does. I don't want to sleep, but I think the rest of me wants to.)

Fucking dick shit piss fuck - fuck ass

I feel better now.

Well thanks Paul but honestly I think I look a lot better in this pic than I do in person. This picture is of when I had shaved my head and dyed whatever I had left blonde.

Oh and I tried to make myself as strung out as I possibly could. That was a strange month of watching Requiem for a Dream over, and over again.

But Paul, we'll see what people say, or if they say anything. I do know that I get disgusted seeing that picture so inevitably, it will soon change, but isn't having an unrecognizable picture a bit appealing? People's expectations start out so small that I look better just by defaut. I should put my horribly cheesy headshot in, when I was desperately trying to be an actor in New York. I had a David Hasslehoff thing going on. Yeah, no one will see that picture.

So Keith, apparently I know you? Did you tow me? Oh wait, I'm the tow truck driver (unless you are too) Did I tow you? Please tell me I didn't fuck up your car. If I did I apologize. My ratio is about 1:100 cars get a scratch or something like it. 1% error is no all too bad.

It was a blast last night. Got to read a bit, shoot the shite, and then smoke a lot. This morning's light was an abomination.

Physics wasn't even fun today.





BUt this is. Sort of. Well sort of narcissistic but Paul you started it. Okay so, the pic you see to your right or one of these?

pic 1


there's something there I don't trust nor should you

pic 2

the morning after

pic 3

the best place in the world, central park and I guess I look like that because I was leaving that town

pic 4

oh so hopeful. Too bad . . .

pic 5

this can be a good potential here. Changing the quote every week . . . I don't know I still think I look better in the pic on your right.

okay peeps we're in the
pink uh yeah, terry and liz are getting it on, that guy who groped me is
now gone, no thanks to robin who allowed said groping, and paul is
moving his head like he's on lsd, sweet. notes; camping trip, and strip
poker rematch happening soon, I want to get naked goddamnit robin, get
your head outta my chest here. . . uh okay seeya

There's a full moon in the sky
at least as full as it could be to a guy like me
who is pretty much aching for something
something, hm, something what
hope?
no
faith?
not really
just something
not a lot though
jesus christ I sound like Tony
in West side long story, something's coming,
could be
who knows
well open your goddamn ears and eyes
stop being and asshole and loving loathsome
hey it's fun at parties but find something real
wait though, good luck
you made your bed
slept in it too
well don't sleep much anymore
blame physics
never really slept though
never saw the point
my body does
I'm getting thinner
I look okay
but thinner
my hair is curling more
am I going bald
no fooling, my skin on my arms, when I get home
from work feels as though that if I poke it
with a needle
it will explode

hey

interesting

Anyone know anything at all about error propagation and LSQ's?

You know you do. Please don't hide it.

If you do, and I know you do, I have a question.

Thanks.

It's 1:15am and a would be writer is forced to do a Measurement and Error analysis. It's a sick, sick world my friends and I've used up my last barf bag.

I just saw yet another movie (The Day After Tomorrow) which has triggered a paranoia that I am not doing anything to directly save human-(not merely 'man' as I was corrected by my friend)-kind.

On a side note, my dog (I first spelled god which is a strange coincidence) is in fact getting smarter, more bored, and more destructive as the days progress.

dog, god, it's all rhetoric.

As for the movie: it is cookie cutter but I crave cookies every so often. You can, if so desired, dive into the topics the movie brings up, or you can simply leave the theater and bring up the fact that all the coincidences in the movie were entirely predictable. Why is there always the best friend who has to sacrifice himself? Give me a Charlie Kaufmann flick any day. Incidentally Jake Gyllenhall (sp?) plays the same character as he did in Donnie Darko, so that's a plus. Very under-rated actor I have to say.

Boredom. Boredom is my bane. It is the reason for all my troubles and all my inadequacies in life, besides of course my inability to say no when a person sits down and asks the infamous, well I didn't expect to see you here, can I join you? (certain instances excluded)That's guilt, but of course we'll get into that anon.

I can guarantee this: if you are at least somewhat interesting, or at the very least attractive, and you start something only to not finish it or better yet, to have it end on your terms, you will be the most desirable thing in my life at that given moment, hands down. Why? Because you have alleviated me from boredom and despite what happens, I thank you for it.

Boredom is what makes me sit at the bar and write useless words that I will never be able to read the next day on a tiny notepad. 1) I'm bored at home so I go out hoping that I will have that life changing incident happen at the Pink, we've all been there. 2) I go alone, so I talk to the people I know, who usually hang out in my head or my pen (this is not deep, just honest) 3) When I do talk to someone I barely know, and please fellow estrippers, you do know that I'm not regarding you all (I'd love to talk to you, although the situation has not made itself quite plain as of late) eh-hem, when I do talk to someone I barely know, I detest forcing a conversation and would rather swivel back around on my stool and give Mona a wink and a nod.

Moe: Nother Jameson?

Brian: I love you.

Yet it is the guilt that makes me embrace this boredom. Why don't I walk away from this known boredom? Because I'd rather not be an asshole. Instead I look like a dick who's not having fun when really, I'm just bored out of my mind talking to you.

Every day I get home from work or physics, my dog has destroyed something - a roll of toilet paper, the pillow, buttons on my shirt, the wall. I asked him why and he said, I'm paraphrasing: "Well shit, you're gone all day towing people and I get to, well let's see, I can chew on a bone that has no meat on it, play ball with myself which is good for about a minute of pure bliss, I can bury a bone, or, oh yes, I could sleep. Eight hours, and the most exciting thing I can think of doing, after just waking up, asshole, is to sleep. Let's now ponder why I destroy things hmm. oh and while at it, what the heck is this Hamlet chap confused about?"

I'm not looking for excitement, but I am looking for an amazing cup of coffee. A decent conversation over a cup of coffee that does not leave me asking, have I told you this already, or in essence, not bored. I get mussed up in the head when I'm bored, which has lead to my obsession with existentialism. So, what is the answer? A cup of coffee, a new perspective, and Camus. Let's bring up Camus, instead of letting me fall back into it like I do every night.

It's all so tiresome and I'm bored of it.

The very essence of romance is uncertainty

-Oscar Wilde

Passion dies when you know for a fact they won't leave

-BT

Shameless self promotion, take one:

Well I'm writing to tell you of an event happening this weekend. A one-act play I wrote is being produced at the Georgia room on South Transit Rd, at the Jimmy B's Entertainment Complex. The play is entitled, Untitled (and yes it is intentional). The play is a bit on the absurd side, but then, what isn't. Anyway, the information is below. If you have any questions, I'll try to answer, but really, what you see below is what I know.

So hopefully I'll see you there. This is my world debut with real actors reading my play. I'm psyched but well, there's a sickness involved too. Come see me pace back and forth wearing out the carpet in the back of the theater. It'll be a good time.

There is a bit more information in Artvoice about it, but here's the gist.

ONE-ACT PLAY FESTIVAL. 7:30 p.m. next Friday and May 15; 4 p.m. May 16. New plays and dramatic readings by regional playwrights presented by Actors Anonymous Theatre Company. Georgia Room Theatre at Jimmy B.'s, 6856 S. Transit Road,
Lockport. Call to reserve a seat if ya feel like it, 633-4355. $8.50.

Thanks y'all, I hope to see you there.

-brian

accuracy - on the level of something else, as in to say that I was an idiot for leaving a plastic cutting board on the stove whilst turning the burner it was laying upon, on (read below), is accurate. It is not precise. To be accurate is to get in the realm of what's expected, because really people don't expect that much, especially when it comes to flaming cutting boards.

precise - numbers. It's all about numbers, position and mathematics, within reason. It is the obtaining of what you expect, but it must be exact. Like that cutting board was precisely in the wrong place when I turned on that burner because I was accurately an idiot. Although I didn't expect it, it's precisely what would have happened, and did happen because again, to say I was an idiot is accurate.

Or I may be wrong.

That's accurate.