My friend Sara is here from San Diego with her 4 year old. It is just about his first exerience with snow. Yesterday we went sledding at Chestnut Ridge. It was Thursday so there weren't too many people. It was great fun, I was somehow so enthused that I actually ran up the hill, crazy. Today we are going to Olean to build snowmen and whatever else you do with a 4 year old in the snow. It should be fun. Then we come back for catfish. Yummy!

Whether I am going to start reading again. I can't decide. It's kind of defeatist because I want to do something. Of my own creation instead of absorbing the work of others. I keep feeling smarter, or more creative, or developed in a particular manner. It needs some release. Something to make it more than a tiny portion of me trapped forever in my mind. When I make thoughts appear in other media they become more real to me, more substantial and believable. I can't retain every detail of my own thoughts; I need to make the specifics have a life of their own without my capacital boundaries. So probably anyways I will start to read something otherworldy. I am so lazy. Schade.

I am very tired of getting movies just because hot stars are in them and then they don't even do me the favor of getting naked. Seriously. The last two movies (discounting that horrible BBC thing) that I watched were The Bourne Identity and Igby goes down. Both featured rather talentless actors, Matt Damon and Ryan Philippe, who would have made their presence on my televsion like a million times better if they just would've showed a little ass. C'mon, who's pretending that they like these hacks for anything besides their studly hotness? Everytime fucking Philippe got on the screen I started yelling "shut up and get naked for Christ's sake"!!! At least in that other stupid movie about rich people and drugs he showed his cute ass. It is a shame that the Culkin brother in the film actually showed him up in Igby. I can't believe I am writing about movies. What has my life come to? Where am I? For flyin' fuck's sake, I mean it. I am trying not to let my current bout of semi-depression affect my journal too much, but it tends to seep in anyway. At least my father hasn't come out to me as a closet born again christian like poor Trisha's has. I feel for you baby. I hope I am allowed to say that in the journal. You're probably not reading though, so... Going now. Whatch a movie and feel sad for me please.

This one's close to home for me since I'm from Las Vegas, but should get everyone's hackles up. Here's the story from the LV local the Review Journal .

The FBI was granted special investigative powers in Las Vegas following the elevated "orange" terrorist alert level around the holidays. It is estimated that as many as 300,000 people had their personal information handed over to authorities, including names, addresses, phone #s, credit card information, etc. The information was gathered from hotels, casinos, and the airport. A disturbing point is that no effort was made to deaggregate the information, which means that all info was handed over whether required or not, no time was taken to make sure only info requested in the individual requests was submitted (they basically gave everything they had on every guest). The FBI also has the power to make follow-up requests for individual guests and to start investigations with any part of the data mined. Ironically this flies fat in the face of Las Vegas' new slogan, `What you do here stays here' Maybe it should be amended, `What you do here stays here, unless the FBI says differently.'

This morning I awoke to a mysterious sound, the result of which eminated from below my peripheral undersight. The rythym varied but the pulse was never satisfied. A bit of both pleasure and elastic, manueverings allowing perfect moment to ensue. The story at this point must undergo a wendung (d.). An underlying cause must be found. Language must not be used frivolously, to the benefit of only one, who's typing. Vietnafood is good especially twice. The third time in reverse makes much less sense though it titilates aural nerves. Isn't it ironic, don't you think, a little too ironic, and yeah i really do think. But it somehow manages to figur. Life, such a funny place. Helping you out. I feel that way when I go to Olean. Sometimes. I love to attach some- to my words. It is satisfying, for vanilla white bread. Or Swede. We feel it, really, on the inside. You couldn't tell on the outside. I wish you could more. I wish I could.

An entry whose stimulation derives from digesting <ahem> matthew's excellent Poopeye dissertation:
I think one can liken the process of cognitive thinking to the progression of thoughts on farts. Far-fetched, say you? I start with the memory of parents telling you, especially after particularlly pungent episodes, that farting is bad and not to be done in public. In high school and college you come, through experimentation and practice, to the realization that farting is a normal thing-everybody does it. So you start farting in public, you and your friends do it and even have commentary and contests. Eventually, you have the experiment with lighters which ends in pure frivolity. That's stage one. Eventually you have a partner and such, and you know what? You don't want to smell their farts anymore. You realize they do it, know it's normal and that the whole world farts, yet somehow it's better if they do it somewhere else. Hence, you come to this ethical realization that though it's a normal process that everyone partakes in, somehow it should remain a personal and private thing; for very pragmatic reasons. We can all grow to become individuals that recognize the needs of others. Selfless acts, such as retreating to a private place to flatulate, are examples of altruism reserved for sapient beings. Isn't it nice to be evolved?

I wanted to say something but not too much because my star will only last for a couple hours and then no one will read it. We went to Vietnamese food today where we finally learned how to order the appetizer we like the best. We had on the last two occasions gotten it wrong and received other, albeit equally delicious, tasties. The difference lay in the season. We were ordering spring rolls and what we really wanted were summer rolls. The cute little waiter was kind enough to tell us of the differences in the vietnamese food lexicon. Thank you cute little waiter. The water there is spiked with lime. Tasty. I almost started writing an essay today. Hopefully soon I will really do it. It is about morals. I can't decide if it's really useful to tell my truths in a format only accessible to erudite readers. Probably just an excuse to sit on my ass longer. K, nuff fo now.

• here is a new link i've added to my sidebar . Apears funny on first glance.

I don't really want to talk about extraneous whatevers right now, and maybe never again, I think it might lead to a bad place. Also coonskin caps are neat except for the coon part of them...

I watched TV three nights in a row now. All-told maybe 5 hours. Something needs to change. Most likely me. I really want to be a farmer. Really though, not just in a dreamy hippy way. I want to grow a good deal of my food (at least the majority of the veggies) and then maybe grow some alternative drug/supplement as a "cash crop". Maybe I could open up my own greenhouse with exotic plants. Something though. I keep trying to think of satisfying career choices and find almost nothing appealing. I just want out of everything. I sound like a teenager, I know. I don't feel like I've been broken enough to just keel over and take the money-making job though. What to do? I think I'll read a book about a magical land. Escape. Bye.

I'm doing it again where I have a cool idea but am too busy to talk about it enough right now. It deals with limited space for storage through memory in the brain. Knowledge is infinite but space is limited. Selection is required. Perhaps if choices are refined through elimination of extraneous thought can we reach new peaks of understanding. We'll probably all become fascists though. More?...

two unrelated topics I want to comment on.
Well first off, both Emliy and Mike have been posting about so-called perfect couples (100% compatible or whatever), and while I like the short story Emily posted I have to disagree with the whole assumption. Perfection is a limit. Like in calculus, it is something to be desired and pursued but never captured. I liken it to evoltution (and really to any complex adaptive system, read The Quark and the Jaguar by Gell-Mann for some intense theory behind this) in that perfection is defined by its environment. In evolutionary terms, the struggle for perfection is a struggle towards perfect fitness in any given environment, and since environments are constantly shifting, that which defines perfection must shift likewise. To me, this means that any relationship is a constant learning experience. I don't believe that people meet on the street and realize whoah, we are perfect for each other, rather they meet and decide that they have some things in common, that they find one another decent to look at, and that they want to give a relationship a go. From this point on we are dealing with a relationship that will endure a changing environment and different selection pressures. What seemed so perfect may rapidly deteriorate under these pressures if the parties involved aren't able to adapt to these situations.
Basically what I am getting at is there exist no people who are automatically made for each other; relationships are based on compromise. Those involved don't start out perfect, they slwoly intertwine their hopes, needs, and even identities until... that's the point there is no until. The beauty is in the process and not the final result. A relationship is a constantly evolving codependancy that leads nowhere except itself. I personally believe, and have witnessed, how relationships die when this is not realized. When the people involved focus on everything that is not-so-perfect about their relationship (again staring at the endpoint instead of the progress they've made towards it) they despair that they will never be perfect with who they are with and move on, only to start over with another stranger. It's hard to look at things this way, to realize that there is no perfection to be found. But, I think it's also liberating to rid yourselves of doubt that you're not perfect, you never will be, but neither will they. Getting rid of impossible expectations from them lets you free of those imposed on you, and lets everyone involved move closer to the perfection they've spent so long inventing.

I also wanted to comment on poverty a bit, but have decided to leave it to a whole 'nother entry since I have already typed your ear off. Till then.

• this just in: apparently the workers of Wild 101 are on strike right now. Whatever, but they are now playing ads on the radio that go something like this: Due to negotiation difficulties between management and staff new positions are available to talented individuals willing to cross the picket line... Haven't heard such blatant labor-busting talk in a while, but obviously it goes on all the time.