06.27.01: All the recoverable HTML is back to the users on SDF. My directory was empty. Although, my Academic page was recovered, which should save me some time. However, I would gladly recode my academic page if I could recover the hours of ranting which I have done: all for naught.

But, why change this long-standing tradition that I have in my life: all for naught. So, I get a PhD in philosophy; I'll be the most educated big-rigger at the Flying J. All for naught. So, I write my rantings here; few listen and even fewer hear. All for naught. So I spend a night at the bar trying to forget how pathetic my life actually is; I'll still wake up sober. All for naught. So, I get a number from a cute girl some night; if it is in fact a real number, she'll "just want to be friends". All for naught.

I have gotten three positive replies to my rantings thus far: All of them are listed in the NY Friends section. In no particular order: Jay, Tanya, and Wendy. These are (ostensively) the three most important people in my life right now because they do what nobody else can (or wants to) do, and that is to listen. Communication is not monologue: it is responding in turn, comprehension of the other person and the other person's feelings, and reaction to those feelings. This is a skill that Floridians lack (generally). Most I have met here are interested in exchanging monologues; talking past one another. "Gee, how 'bout that there weather, huh?" or if you prefer, "How 'bout them Bucs?" No real communication. There are exceptions, before you begin sending the hate mail. Ellen comes to mind.

The other thing I have found is Floridians call almost only when they need something. "Help me update my website." "Teach me how to play the guitar," are common ones heard on my voicemail. Perhaps that is why I have been turning the ringer off on my phone; because none of the calls are for me, merely for my skills. So, if you read this and are planning on calling, make sure the call is for me and not because you need a paper edited or help on a messy integral. Meanwhile, fuck the world. Excepting of course the handful of people who are lost and alone in the population of 6.1 billion upright shaved apes. It is to them that I toast: I understand your plight brothers and sisters. And I am here for you if you need me.

06.25.01: Why am I cursed with people who refuse to listen? My father always used to get upset when I interjected when he was yelling at me, and then would cut me off when he felt. A simple hippocracy, if you are promoting the value of listening. Of course, he was never one for listening; he was a talker.

I found myself defending Jay today as he posted a hyperbole on his website. I asked a friend to read it, as I felt it was important. She dismissed the entire point (and, indeed, the writer as well) for one sentence which she found objectionable. Granted if the sentence were out of context I as well would have found the phrase also objectionable. But, within a context meaning is changed.

This same person that has never taken an attempt to understand me. I do not find myself impossible to understand; my mental processes are rather simple: food, beer, sleep, TV. You can get a good grasp of my thought by a quick read through Steppenwolf or a good long conversation. The person in question left Steppenwolf unread on her table for weeks. She never attempts to understand why I am morose when I am so, she just criticizes me for being upset. She assumes that I mean things I do not say and say things I do not mean. And she insults me and antagonizes me, and then says that I am the one who is being cruel to her.

Random thought: Ordinarily, I would feel guilty speaking of someone so specifically, but I feel safe that she never has and never will read this site, mostly because (as previously mentioned) she has never taken the time to understand me.

Is it that people are (generally) too self-obsessed to even try to lend an empathetic hand? Or is it that I am just generally that different from this world? Perhaps I need to stop hanging out with people who remind me of my father. Holy Freud, Batman.

P.S. Read Jay's posts for 22-24 June, 2001. If you don't like what he has to say, you haven't read closely enough.

06.23.01: Received news today from the admin over at SDF that there is a strong possibility that my HTML directory was recovered. That is good news, methinks, but I will still retain the new look and feel. I have noticed that some copies of Internet Exploder that the CSS is not working, specifically the "text-indent" code. If you are not viewing the left hand nav indented by sub-section, please inform me. I will try to find an attribute which works better.

I got a sobering email from Tanya (Tool pun, get it?) today which reminds me that generalizations of the type that I have made over the past week do indeed have exceptions. But I believe that it is the exceptions which prove the rule. Yes, indeed, there are certain specific females whom do look for intelligence and non-preppiness (for lack of a better adjective) in their potential mates, but most do. The problem I have is two-fold:

1. I generally go for the cute brainless type who do not appreciate intelligence and non-preppiness, but instead go for wife-beating wastes of skin, or Limp Bizkit fans. This is a problem, and I am aware of it. It is of these people whom I speak, not all women as a rule. Besides, it is not my fault, I suffer from the "philosopher-groupie syndrome."

2. I do have a pattern of destroying relationships too early. This is an entirely subconscious problem, but relates to this pattern of rejection (of women not finding me "attractive" because they look for idiots, or in fact leaving me for idiots) as well as assuming myself unattractive because most women go for idiots.

I understand these things, and most who know me also understands these things. Perhaps I will let Ms. Tanya speak for herself:

As far as your whole 'chick' scene, you're dealing with some lame-ass babes. Period. Any woman who knows shit about anything is going to hold onto [sic] the Tom and let all of these bastard-jock-poster-boy Americana fuckers fall by the wayside where they belong.

Sorry for the personal crap, but I have always believed in full disclosure. As far as the weekend, I hit Orlando with Tampa Jay and a bunch of his friends. It was a rather large and eclectic club that included four full bars, an outside concert stage, and several dance floors each sporting a different type of music. Barbarillas, it is called, in case you are ever in Orlando, FL (the center of commercialism and Beaudrillard-esque unreality). That town is still recovering, from the Tampa metal contingent taking over, no doubt. Babalouies tonight for karaoke, and FOX lineup tomorrow, as well as finishing up Neil's site tomorrow morning after I wake up. I am home all weekend, but my phone will be turned off, but I will return any message worth returning.

End transmission.

06.19.01: I got an email from Jay this morning. He and I have been, for some time now, writing almost from the same mind on our respective websites. Although he is living the absurdity of life in New York City, I am doing it in Tampa, Florida. Our respective lives have been thus far both loveless, nearly friendless, full of fine literature, and full of drinking, smoking and coffee consumption. I can only speak for myself when I say that life constantly leaves me grasping for that level of happiness which Mrs. Smith said in the third grade everybody would have when "you grow up."

Well, where is my fucking happiness? Where is the girl who is "right" for me? Where is this job that one does not feel incessantly afraid of getting fired? The piece of the pie I received was a chunk of apple pie made from poison apples by one of those witches from the fairy tales. As American as apple pie, as American as fairy tales, as American as poison.

My favorite fairy tale was always Atlas Shrugged, where people whom have all of the fucking positive talents get rewarded. Instead who gets rewarded? The basketball player, the rapper, the frat boy. It is things that were promised me which go to them. Perhaps I should begin a pot-smoking habit, and fry away any shred of intelligence I might have left. Ignorance is bliss: not because one is unaware of the world, but because ignorance is what women want, employers want, and our government wants. Life is just easier for the stupid. Ask any of the girls who reject my advances: whom does she leave the bar with? The frat boy, the rapper, or the basketball player. If you don't believe my success = stupidity connection, I dare you to watch celebrity Jeopardy. QED.

06.18.01: Spent the weekend drunk. Went to the bar Friday and Saturday; kept drinking with friends after closing on Saturday. Last night I had dinner with Cat and then I went to Jenn's house for more drinking last night. 'Twas fun. Almost finished Neil's website. Just a bit more to do. Didn't go to Latin today. I have decided to drop regardless what I pull for a final grade. Need to finish up that Korsgaard paper. Things never change but the day.

Perhaps I should go home and sleep.

06.15.01: I want to stop feeling. I want to crawl away to a small cabin somewhere and live in a Thoreauvian fashion. For a change, I want:

to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Fuck romantic interests; they always leave. Fuck friends; they're never there. Fuck alcohol; it is only a quick fix. Fuck TV; it only gives the appearance of social interaction. As Sartre so eloquently put it (and I paraphrase) I am condemned to draw my existence from the other. I must live with the other incessantly present. But, still I can't get used to relying on the other. But, I guess the only reason any of us is alive is that we don't have the courage for suicide. So, let's "toast to the Extras," and try to live in this world so inhospitable.

Singing and drinking tonight (not necessarily in that order). Same thing tomorrow. If you know me, you probably know where to find me if you need me. I don't expect you will.

06.12.01: Got a lovely shout out from Jay yesterday on his site. Although, I must confess that the minimalism which he finds so appealing was more due to laziness in re-coding this fucking thing than any volitional effort. I am not an artist; I am a nerd. I have no aesthetic sense outside of the adjectival forms of "cool" and "not as cool". It is good to be proclaimed as a visionary without even trying, though; worship me.

I have decided today to drop Latin II if a grade less than "B" comes in for Latin I. I may also drop Latin II if by next Monday I decide that I've had enough with this infernal language thus far and/or I decide that I will have to live without beer over the summer if I do not. I have the book for Latin II still, so nothing is stopping me from learning it on my own. I think I may like reading Descartes in the original better than rehashing the Trojan war in the few simple words we have thus far learned.

I've decided that I'd be much more appealing to the opposite sex if I were born one of the people who wait in Times Square trying to get Fred Durst's attention when he appears on TRL. I know that's the kind of guy that Michele goes for.

Death Metal karaoke tonight. Drinking, singing, who knows what'll happen . . .

06.11.01: I guess I'm back online and (I guess) active again. This page is viewable from the old link, http://faith.freeshell.org. Although I'm coding on a completely new server, this will be active here until SDF is in the condition to accept my code again. Anyone who access this from http://faith.freeshell.org will be redirected here automatically.

I have to make some tough decisions soon about whether or not I am going to take the second semester of Latin this summer. This depends on two factors: first, if I make the "B" I need for graduate credit. I know I should be able to get a "B" in a fucking undergrad Latin class, but not showing up half the time is taking its toll on my grade. Secondly, I may have just enough money to scrape by with the necessities (food, rent, beer). If I drop the Latin class, that will drop a chunk of change in my lap for some of the less-necessary things (books, CDs, prostitutes). I want to take the second semester if I can, after all if I wasn't taking the class, I doubt if I'd ever leave the house.

Got a call from Nydia reeaaallly late last night. She may/may not be in Tampa this summer. But, if you know Nydia she makes ornate plans, but rarely follows them.

Friday night plans went well. Jenn, Kurt, Craig and I all watched films (Road Trip, Boogie Nights, Straight No Chaser). After Jenn and Kurt left, I was privy to some home footage of the Vandals playing South Dakota in 1989. In the crowd was a young "punk on the weekends" Craig. Funny stuff. Spent the balance of the weekend watching Twin Peaks episodes, when I should have been learning my Latin. I had more fun inside the demented mind of David Lynch, anyway.

Got stumbling-home-and-calling-ex-girlfriends drunk on Saturday. Michele's visit spurned the impulse to go out, but after that I pretty much found the strength in myself to keep drinking. I'm going to die alone and unfulfilled.

Time out: Click here to read the new H-Dog article!

Hope all is well out there in the land of the wanted. Send postcards to the unwanted periodically.

06.08.01: www.freeshell.org is back up, or at least Apache is, anyway. There is a slim chance that my old site may have been backed up. I'm not sure how old the backup is, but I have decided that even if my source was backed up, I will continue using my new look and feel anyway. I built the template of my old site in the summer of 1994, and I feel perhaps I have outgrown it.

Spent last night drinking. I'm to spend tonight with Jenn, Kurt and Craig watching films all night. I've been spending a good deal of time with Michele, which is odd, I agree. You can cut the tension with a knife when we are together. I hope that this nasty page can be turned, and I can settle into a comfortable friendship with her. Most of my unrequited deny to have anything to do with me, even friendship; that kind of space allows time to heal. I am having a tough time with this one most likely because I have no space, and no time.

There is a new addition to the literary section under work.

Hope all is well out there. Email me.

06.04.01: I spent the weekend drunk, and learning Latin. Yesterday I went to see Poison in concert. It was amazing, as always. If you intend to laugh at my pro-glam stance, don't. We all have things we are or should be embarrassed to enjoy, mine is much more upstanding than beastiality or kiddie porn, right? And besides, it's nostalgic.

Today I almost finished Neil's site. Few more finishing touches, and I'll be there.

I realize that nobody can see this yet, because my link from freeshell.org has been severed. As soon as the server is back up, this will be readable to all from the old link at freeshell. Drop me a line when it becomes visible.

06.01.01: The entirety of my website was erased in a server accident recently. Thus, I must begin again with almost all of my site. I did have a backup, but that was from nearly a year ago. Thus, all of my scribblings for the past two years have gone down the virtual tubes. Keep checking back for more updates.

I spent the day coding, both this site and for one of my clients. Things are still doing poorly on the sanity front. Of course, it doesn't hurt when nobody calls or writes *hint hint*