I'm feeling kinda down today, about my present and my future. In terms of the present, all of the work I need to do (and have not done) due to my recent depression and subsequent recovery from love. To my future: as to where I will be, and what I will do, what I need to do to get there, and if there will ever be love in my life again (or, perhaps, if I want there to be). The two are interrelated. I cannot prepare for my future without fixing my present, but my future fills me with such anxiety, I cannot focus upon my current state of affairs.

And it's not Thena: hell, I think I'm almost over her. It's the isolation, the lonliness, the lack. Would if I could find someone who doesn't lie, cheat and steal (what a novel idea!), and could see some value in this punk rock philosopher. Or, if I could find someone that I could be with without having to compromise myself, just to have it thrown back in my face in the end. Would if I could . . .

"All my friends are married
every Tom and Dick and Harry.
You must be strong
to go it alone.
Here's to the bachelors
and the bowery bums
and those who feel that they're the ones
who are better off without a wife."

"A commodity appears, at first sight, a very trivial thing, and easily understood. Its analysis shows that it is, in reality, a very queer thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties. So far as it is a value in use, there is nothing mysterious about it, whether we consider it from the point of view that by its properties it is capable of satisfying human wants, or from the point that those properties are the product of human labour. It is as clear as noon-day, that man, by his industry, changes the forms of the materials furnished by Nature, in such a way as to make them useful to him. The form of wood, for instance, is altered, by making a table out of it. Yet, for all that, the table continues to be that common, every-day thing, wood. But, so soon as it steps forth as a commodity, it is changed into something transcendent. It not only stands with its feet on the ground, but, in relation to all other commodities, it stands on its head, and evolves out of its wooden brain grotesque ideas, far more wonderful than if it were to begin dancing of its own free will."

I've been so wrapped up the past few days, I just now heard that Don Knotts died. R.I.P., we'll miss you Mr. Furley.

Barney who?

I get to chat about Marxist Economic Theory this week. All week. That'll be great fun, and I think I'm already over-preparing my lectures (can I do this in two and a half hours?). I still haven't finished the second papers yet, so between the two, I'll be busy for the next few days. Add to that the fact that UT's spring break is next week, nobody will show up on Thursday. (I'm actually just thinking about cancelling). That means I need to get to business on Tuesday. I will indeed be very busy for the next few days, so don't be offended if I don't pick up the phone.

After that I'll want to go drinking one night this weekend, right and proper. Any takers? Look for me in an alley somewhere--and for God's sake: get me home.

I signed up for another summer class at UT. I need to start writing soon. I won't have that nice little block of time now in May/June. But, gotta feed the CEO's somehow. But, at least I get to talk about Marxist economic theory all week.

Went on a date Saturday. She was very cool, and showed enormous compassion by dealing with me for a few hours, but on my part it was just fucking embarrassing. I got an email last night that read like a rejection letter: you're nice and sweet and intelligent, but . . .

How can I be a catch, when I can't find someone who's fishing for me?

Is it so hard to think that a woman would be interested in a thoughtful, dynamic individual who can justify his worth by something more than just pointing to his big-screen TV? Sure, all women say that they're interested in someone who's intelligent, but it seems that most have a compromised version in mind. I guess too much of anything is a curse . . .

I am living the eternal recurrence. "In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo."

An academic's life is lonely; and indeed, I'm gonna die alone.

"Follow the path of no one else
It's all about being true to myself
I'll speak my mind, I won't keep it inside
The years pass and people change
But I'm stayin' true to my ways
Hardcore is my life, I'll carry the name"

Madball is coming to the State Theater (St. Pete, FL) in April. For those who may not know, when Roger Miret was in jail and there was no Agnostic Front, Madball filled that void. With Freddy Cricien and (formerly) Vinnie Stigma, Madball is the spirit, if not the person, of AF and New York Hardcore in general. I've seen them a whole bunch of times in NYC, but this will be the first time I will see them live since I moved down here. It's just what I need to ground myself.

Go! . . .

Alright, so I've had the uber-cable for a while now. 200-something channels, with the Tivo, which allows me to be very partial in when I watch TV. I can set things to record, and watch them at my leisure: commerical-free.

Well, the recorder box is on the fritz now. I had some problems with it earlier this week, and the technician at Brighthouse (ex-Time Warner) told me how to reformat the hard drive. I did so. I lost all my recorded programs, but such is life.

Now it's acting up again. I called, and this guy told me to reformat. No such luck.

Oh, woe! Couldn't it have happened on the sucktastic Wendesday night prime time lineup? Not on Simpsons night!

Tomorrow I've got to take it in and swap it for another box. That would be easier than waiting for a technician to stop by (are you free between 9-5 on Tuesday?)

It's amazing how technology has a strangle hold on our lives. My biggest concern is how to watch both 60 Minutes and King of the Hill tonight . . .

Comments on the new look? I have no taste for these things. Also, report any monitor problems (be sure to include your resolution settings, etc.)

I often have the tendency to demonize myself, especially after the whole lying-cheating-deception trifecta I endured when the person I called "the love of my life" dumped me for some fast-talking used car salesman type. But, it's often nice to know that you've actually made an impression, you've changed someone, a person is different (and indeed) better for having known you.

I got an email from an old friend. I haven't talked to her in six years, aside from the email every two years or so updating each other, often very factual and polite. But, she not only emailed me, but also took the time to write about me recently. I quote:

"Today I stumbled across the blog of an old acquaintance, someone who used to challenge me, who made me watch (and bade me love) Heathers and read Ayn Rand, who was always full of questions, who probably thought I never had answers. Someone who challenged me by making me feel insecure, who brought out the worst of my introversion."

First, it's very cool that she prominently uses one of my favorite Eliot poems. Prufrock is an implicitly nostalgic poem, full or dread and trepidation. But, still there is hope, an ascending of the staircase, towards better things implicit in the process of suffering.

Times like this make me nostalgic. I think about the things that were said and unsaid in my current situation with "Amy" (apparently Thena's new pet name), and the endings always make me think of the beginnings, the good times I had with people whom were there for me before I could point out Tampa on a map, and indeed have greatly shaped what I have become. I owe a debt of a thousand "thank you"-s to many people, which I have so far neglected to repay.

I had a great time with her, and I was probably not the most caring or affectionate person back in those days. Hell, I'm still not. We didn't part on the best of terms. I feel deep remorse for the way I have treated a lot of people at times now past, Miashell included.

But, it strikes me. At times like these, I'm glad to hear a voice pointing to my (many) character flaws as a reason to enjoy my presence, not a reason to leave it for another. But put quite frankly: I needed to hear something like that right about now. Now, I've had plenty of people around recently trying to cheer me up, and I'm not trying to downplay them. But, for someone who has no explicit reason to track me down, and to do so, means something more valuable than all the idle praise I might receive from my parents, or my students, or my colleagues, or my friends.

Not the least of which is the prominence of the source. She is, as she notes, also pursuing a Ph.D., and all the while encouraging the minds of young feminists and radicals, scholars and activists, friends and lovers, rekindling the same lessons we both learned from Sr. Meg Causey and Michela Walsh).

Thank you, Miashell. I miss you.

It's all just very simple.

The weekend is approaching and I, for one, could not be happier. I spent the better part of the first half of the week finishing grading the first paper for Social. I had a talk Monday, and several meetings Monday and Tuesday, followed by the obligatory depression on Tuesday night. I had a dissertation meeting yesterday, and had to prepare my Marx lectures for this week. This weekend it will be just me and Wittgenstein; I will find semantic normativity in the Philosophical Investigations, if it kills me (and it just might). I have a meeting this afternoon, and then it's off to Logic. First quiz. Grading. Talk tomorrow, and a faculty meeting. Then beers, tomorrow night. And all weekend it'll be Marx and Wittgenstein (not necessarily in that order).

My work is now my first priority. Anything which becomes destructive to that end must be eliminated. "Simplify, simplify, simplify," Thoreau tells us. With new streamlined haircut, and a dumpster slowly filling with extraneous stuff, I am following this oracular advice. From now on, I'm llimiting myself to only going to go out once a week, and hopefully it will be with someone cute and brilliant (read: not Moose). BTW: I am now accepting applications, but more on that later.

I'm having fun with my new toy. As you may or may not know, I always buy myself a breakup present when I'm feeling down about a past relationship. With Kat it was my bass, a 5-string B.C. Rich Innovator. This Sunday, I bought a new computer. Part of the reason is practical: I need to take my laptop in for service, and I need something while it's gone. But moreso, I can put it on my BestBuy card and pay it off gradually.

I was planning to buy a computer for Athena early this year. Now that she's gone, it serves me well as a pick-me-up, a new addition to my steadily improving life. I'm just glad I didn't buy it earlier, she would have tried to take it with her . . .

Some thoughts, for those like me on this craptacular of all Hallmark holidays, who remain lonely and bitter. It is from our friend Steve Martin, who was one of the pioneers of the philosopher to comedian transition (If you don't count Derrida, that is):

"After she left, in my travels I would sit in hotel lobbies expecting her to appear, telling me what a mistake she'd made. I would land at airports, thinking she got my flight number and would be waiting for me. When I went to a show, I would buy two tickets in case she had found out where I was and quietly joined me, nothing having to be said. I never figured out why she went away, but I did figure this out: love is a promise delivered already broken."

What our friend here emphasizes the "phantom limb" phenomenon that has resonated through my llife in the last few weeks.

Sometimes I think my friend Bonnie has the right idea: it's just going to end, so why even try? She has been in a self-imposed prohibition from love for over a year. But: she has a kid, so at least she knows love in at least some form in her life.

By the by: Athena emailed me yesterday, attempting to pick up some things. She said she was off today, and said it would be a "good day." Right. I'd like to think she's just being insensitive, and not willfully trying to fuck with my head. I would write her a nasty response, except I've put myself in a self-imposed isolation from her for the next few weeks. No calls, no email, no looking at her website (or, at least not as often). I'm going to get my shit back together, get over her and her bullshit, and have a lot of fun . . . without her. And then, by the time she realizes her mistake (and she will) it will be too late.

Happy Valentines Day, all. I'm gonna read some Marx. He always makes me smile.

This Tuesday I will be getting violently drunk and cursing all of my ex-girlfriends, especially the most recent one. If you want to join me and you happen to be in the Tampa-Bay area, drop me a line. If you don't live in Florida, you can join me in spirit at your local tavern. And if you happen to be cute and available . . . oops!

Spited? Yes. Bitter? Fuck yeah! But at least I've got the good sense to funnel my aggression into more productive things than double murder.

Well, she fucked me again. She played nice just long enough for me to pay the car insurance, and then she says that she does not want to talk to me anymore.

I'm a fucking idiot. Against my better judgment, I trusted her again. I thought she was making an actual attempt to remain friends. I thought her apology was sincere. I took her at her word that she still loved me. But, as soon as she could, she took the opportunity to fuck me over.

I shoudn't have paid it. I should have just let it expire. I should have played her before she had a change to play me. Gullible? I guess. I fulfilled my end of the bargain and she took me for a ride. Again.

It's not enough that she left me with substantial bills. It's not enough that she shattered me. She's shown her true stripes.

I hope next time I see her it'll be in court.

[Ed: I removed this post when she "changed her decision" not to talk to me. It appears she has changed her mind back again. She claimed that she was not making this decision based on the car insurance. I sent her an apology for the action she claimed what was what pissed her off. It seems, once again, she is reluctant to answer any calls or email. In other words, I am to accept her apology when she will not accept mine. Why is this? I think I was right the first time. I think she has stopped talking to me for financial reasons. Therein, I am re-activating this post.]

I have lost my center. I have lost myself.

"In the universe suddenly restored to its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious, secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eage r to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling."

-Albert Camus

"Let man fear woman when she loves: then she makes any sacrifice, and everything else she considers worthless.

"Let man fear woman when she hates: for at the bottom of his soul man is merely angry; woman, however, is downright mean.

"Whom does woman hate the most? — Thus said the iron to the magnet: 'I hate you the most, because you attract me but are not strong enough to draw me to you.'

"The happiness of man is: I will. The happiness of woman is: he wills.

"'Behold, just now the world has become perfect!' — thus thinks every woman when she obeys out of complete love.

"And woman must obey and find a depth for her surface. Surface is woman’s nature, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.

"Man’s nature, however, is deep: his torrent roars in subterranean caves; woman senses his strength but can make no sense of it. —

"Then the little old lady replied to me: 'Many charming things Zarathustra has said, especially for those who are young enough for them. It is strange: Zarathustra knows little about women, and yet he is right about them! Is that because nothing is impossible with woman? And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it, anyway! Bundle it up and keep its mouth shut: otherwise it will cry loudly, this little truth.'

“'Give me, woman, your little truth!' I said. And thus spake the little old lady:

“'You go to women? Do not forget the whip!'—

"Thus spake Zarathustra."

[Ed.: She did actually come through with the money, only a month late and $100 short. It's perhaps the first promise she has kept in the past few months.]

It's raining today. Not raining, pouring. Severe weather is gliding through central Florida. My lights have flickered, but they have not yet extinguished. Fortunately.

I planned to go to the library today, but I think I'm just going to stay inside and read. I want to read the Medina book, to get some insight into normativity in the PI (From where does it come? Language games? Family resemblance? Rule-following? The so-called "use theory of meaning?"). I intend to read that Wikforss paper to get more insight into semantic normativity in general (she identifies five types . . . neato!). I intend to write on Wittgenstein and finish that book review, both today and tomorrow.

Lunch, or perhaps dinner with Michele on Saturday (she always makes me happy; she's so cheerful, and always makes me smile) and a Superbowl-Divorce (and/or Breakup)-Housewarming party on Sunday with the other Michele and the usual suspects from the department.

It's time. She doesn't know what she's missed, or what she will miss. And I will overcome: it's my world, she just lives here. Indeed, there will be time.

"And indeed there will be time
To wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!']
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: 'But how his arms and legs are thin!']
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."
- T. S. Eliot

When I was in New York in August, I saw a dear friend, Michaela Walsh. She is a very particular person, as wise as she is honest, smart and especially poltically savvy, but more than anything a true New Yorker: she will say what is on her mind no matter what the consequences. One of the first things she asked me was, "Are you in love?"

Initially shocked by the question, I answered an ambiguous "yes," and moved on. Later in our conversation she brought back up the topic. I told her a bit about Thena, and at the end of my description, she asked what I like about her. I told her, I remember, "She puts up with me." Michaela turned to someone next to her and said something to the effect of "see how much he's learned."

I think about marriage. I think about it as an institution, its history and current applications (not to mention prohibitions!) make me fucking insane. Love is love, law is law; why you would want to make one more like the other is sheer absurdity. (I will come back to that point.)

So, naturally, I'm politically opposed to marriage. But there seems to be this drive, this compulstion within our collective unconsciousness that drives us towards ceremonially or legally endorsing a coupling between two people. Marriage is death, giving up.

The most probable source of this is the Judeo-Christian climate of our America. Marriage is historically a union made in front of God. But for us heathen secular humanists, is marriage really anything then? Is it no different than a contract? A legal agreement not to leave the other person? Do we really need these shackles? Take away God, and marriage just seems trivial.

But, more to the point: as Christie pointed out to me the other day, this urge toward marriage is really just a female thing (you may read "traditional feminine role" here if you're so politically inclined). I've heard countless guys tell me that they got married because either they married, or she would leave. There is this drive for women to nest, and marriage becomes associated with this phenomenon. And it's all or nothing. Nobody likes an ultimatum, and this particular one really has all the charm of Yoko Ono covering an Eagles song. "Hotel California."

But more than that it is absurdity, in the Kirkegaardian sense. It's a genuine leap into the absurd It is a commitment to the other person that I will be with you forever. FOREVER. "For Richer or for Poorer." "In Sickness and Health." "Until Death do we part." There's not a lot of wiggle room here. Taken on that regard, it's kinda scary.

I reflect on marriage, because one of Thena's main contentions in her justification for ending the fun, sordid little thing we had was that I wouldn't marry her. But that wasn't true. I refused to promise when I was unsure that I could provide for her, unsure of what the future would bring. But I intended to. And I used 2 years as a benchmark. I picked that figure since no relationship I have ever had has surpassed 2.5 of your human earth years.

If I could get past two years, I could feel good about saying "forever." For promising. I'm not the kinda guy to make a promise I can't keep. Even Nietzche believed that promises should be kept, despite his general dismantling of the spirit of Judeo-Christian ethics.

But now I wonder if two years is the maximum, not the minimum. After two years you marry or move on. Here's a home version of the game, good luck getting back in touch with all the friends you stopped hanging out with since you were in a serious relationship.

And it's not that I wouldn't marry her. I couldn't. I couldn't promise that I will be able to provide the type of life she deserved. So I tried to work as hard as possible to secure that future. I worked two, thre jobs. Buying her clothes . . . her makeup . . . her food . . . her rent . . . her beer. And, in more eggregious cases, her drugs. Aside from some of her more frivolous spending habits, I was happy to provide. I wanted to give her the type of life she deserved.

But, then I wonder if that isn't the true spirit of marriage; that I was already married in an very specific, more authentic sense, while she could understand marriage as nothing more than the big ceremony . . .a paper . . .a ring . . . cake . . . Uncle Peter drunk. In this sense she refused to marry me. She bailed. She went and shacked up with an ex-aquaintance from the bar (after dating two other friends of mine. Yes, that is one every ten days if you're counting). And in this sense it's not me who can't bear to be alone. It's her.

Yeah, I still hurt. I'm angry. It sucks. I would have had her back a week ago. But I'm fine alone. And although I did not intend to be alone, now I want to be alone. She intended to be alone, and ended up with her toothbrush at someone else's apartment.

And this makes me think about marriage, on this one month anniversary of Thena walking out unexpectantly. And also, about how I was right all along. And so was Michaela.