My DeVry Journal

Wish, Want, Desire List

2010-02-21T21:15:00.002-05:00

Date: February 21, 2010
Time: 21:15
Place: Home

I am going to be 45 years old next week. These are the things I wish I could do on my birthday:

1) Take the day off!

2) Go to Midtown Comics and buy stuff.

3) Go to Jim Hanley's Universe and buy stuff

4) Call DoctorWhoStore.com and buy stuff.

5) Go to a restaurant like Red Lobster and celebrate with a good meal.

6) Kiss a woman I really like, and get kissed back by her.

Unfortunately, with my present job, the first 5 are out, and with my batting record with women, so is #6.

Happy Birthday to me.

I go on

2009-12-30T14:43:00.002-05:00

Time: 14:44
Date: December 30, 2009
Place: Work

I am writing this from the place I can't stand most in the world.

I was put in an awkward position today and it is not the first time.

I am sick and tired of what goes on in this place.

Unfortunately, every time I voice my feelings, I am given the same, monotonous line:
"You should feel lucky you have a job, a lot of people are out of work."

Let me make this very clear right now:

I DON'T BLOODY CARE!

Those people need a job, fine, they can have mine because I have had it with this place! I am disgusted with the long hours, for which I now no longer get paid as the company is in the toilet when it comes to finances, and the little pay I sometimes get, $10 per hour.

I know I've said this before elsewhere, but I can't stipulate or iterate this enough, I am not meant to be doing this job, I still believe I am meant to be doing something else.

I'm just not sure what that is!

2009-12-23T00:19:00.002-05:00

Date: December 23, 2009
Time: 00:19
Place: Home

It's been a really long time since I've made any entries, and after a conversation with a colleague, and a small fit of panic, I've decided to write something.

I am afraid.

That's right, I'm afraid.

"But," I hear you ask, "of what are you afraid?"

Many things.

I am afraid of death, and I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of closing my eyes to sleep for fear of never opening them again. I'm afraid of being rejection. I'm afraid of being rejected by people I want to be friends with. I'm afraid of being rejected by women I want to not only be friends with, but have a relationship with. I'm afraid of anything I submit for publication of being rejected. I'm afraid or being rejected when I apply for a job.

I'm afraid of being left alone and of being alone. Now I'm somewhat used to doing things by myself, but it would be nice to share those things with someone, preferably female.

And I'm afraid I probably wrote about all of this before.

Now, since I have written all of this out, do I feel any better?

No, I do not.

Step 2?

2009-07-05T00:10:00.002-04:00

Date: Sunday, July 5, 2009
Time: 00:15
Place: Home

I have graduated from DeVry. I graduated Cum Laude, I received an award, and I now have a Bachelors' Degree in Business Administration.

Now I need to find a job that pays more than what I am now getting paid, $10 per hour, and will let me be creative, instead of being stifled at a construction contractor's office.

2008-08-26T22:01:00.002-04:00

Date: Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Time: 22:01
Place: Home

Here is a paper I wrote for my Humanities Class. I am putting it here for all those that were unable to read it.

The Diary

Day 3:

Stopped at a freshwater spring I found. I brought more than 3 days worth of water, but when you come upon a spring like this, with clean, fresh water, you have to stop and drink some of it.

Day 15:

Found an area overgrown with flora, took longer than I thought to get through it all. Will rest for a bit and continue on tomorrow.

Day 35:

Found another overgrown area, but this one had edible fruit. Decided to take what I could carry.

Day 48:

Found a village, the first people I’ve seen since I started this, I guess you could call it a “quest”. They wouldn’t take money for the food I would eat. Seems my money wasn’t worth anything here anyway, so we bartered. I gave them some fruit, and told them the story that brought me here.

Day 53:

I’m still in the village, exchanging tall tales with the natives. The village elders told me the story that has been passed down from father to son over the last hundred years. It’s a story about sounds of screaming coming from the sky, and night turning into day. They ask me if I have any stories like that. I tell them the story of “Thirty Days of Night”. Since neither of us believes the other, it’s all in fun.

Day 63:

I left the village 10 days ago and have had to stop for a while. I keep hearing animal noises, but have yet to see any animals. Since I don’t particularly desire to be some beast’s meal, I’ll stay where I am until the noises stop.

Day 70:

The noises finally stopped yesterday afternoon. It was then that I saw what was making the noises, well, one of them at least. It was like no animal I had ever seen. It had a head, feet, tail and a body, but it looked like it had been turned inside out.

Day 95:

I’ve reached my destination. I never thought I’d make it, but as I look at the landmark that tells me I’ve made it, I have to say, that even after a hundred years, now that the low ash levels means the air is breathable again, the Empire State Building is still an impressive site, even with the ivy growing all over it. But I can’t dawdle. I have some more to go before I reach the boat that will take me across the Atlantic River.

2008-08-25T22:30:00.001-04:00

Date: Monday, August 25, 2008
Time: 22:30
Place: Home

sorry, nothing.

2008-08-24T23:56:00.001-04:00

Date: Sunday, August 24, 2008
Time: 23:56
Place: Home

Just had a really good time this evening, and I'm really tired as a result.

2008-08-23T22:15:00.004-04:00

Date: Saturday, August 23, 2008
Time: 22:16
Place: Home

Just in case anyone is interested, that story I wrote in the Threaded Discussion Area was started when Professor Kinsley gave us the topic. That's right, I started writing it in class that very evening. But I didn't use pen and paper, or even pencil and paper, I was writing it in my head.

So by the time I got home, and finished it, it took me a little over an hour, maybe two hours, to write that story.

2008-08-22T17:19:00.003-04:00

Date: Friday, August 22, 2008
Time: 17:20
Place: Work

Okay, I am sick and tired of reading, hearing, and seeing the date, September 11, 2001, being abbreivated as 9/11. I have felt this way ever since the first pundit starting referring to it in that way.

Why do we have to shorten things? Are we in that much of a hurry to say things that we abbreviate them?

I am sick of "Brangelina" "TomKat" and all the other mashed up names people feel they have to use. This is tantamount to "chatspeak", and I am sick and tired of it.

I'm surprised we don't hear newsreaders use 12/7 when talking about Pearl Harbor, or is that off-limits because it led to the United States entering into World War II? And while I'm on that topic, we keep hearing how people want September 11 turned into a national holiday of some sort. Why not "Pearl Harbor Day"? Oh no, can't suggest that. Or what about "Titanic Day"? Hm? Oh, wait, that should be 4/12, or TD.

enuff w/abbreviations!

2008-08-22T12:43:00.003-04:00

Date: Friday, August 22, 2008
Time: 12:44
Place: Work

Yesterday, I found out that I was late with a project for another class, and I had to get it in before next week, or else lose the grade entirely.

By the time I got to it, and finished it, it was almost midnight, and I was so worn out, I just forgot to make an entry.

So here's one to make up for it, and I may, or may not have something for tonight.

2008-08-20T15:18:00.003-04:00

Date: Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Time: 15:19
Place: Work

I'll try and make this quick what with me being at work and all.

I may have stated in a previous post that I like old movies. One of the films I like to watch, especially during the holidays is "March of the Wooden Soldiers" with Laurel and Hardy. The story takes place in Toyland, Stan and Ollie are boarders with the Old Woman who lived in a Shoe, and work at the toy factory making special orders for Santa.

Stan gets an order mixed up, and as a result, 100 6-foot tall wooden soldiers are made.

These come in especially handy later in the film when Toyland is under attack by Silas Barnaby and his army of Boogiemen. For a while Stan and Ollie are able to fight the Boogiemen off by using clubs and darts. While in the toy warehouse, Ollie sends Stan for more darts. He sees the wooden soldiers and gets an idea.

When he comes back to Ollie he says "You know what?" To which Ollie replies, "What?" "The Wooden Soldiers"

Some years ago, when I worked at Prudential Financial, one of the guys on the day shift had also seen this movie more than a few times. When we discussed the hilarity of some scenes over others, we developed a method to test the other to see how alert each of us was at any given moment. One of us would say to the other "You know what?" to which the other one was to reply, "The Wooden Soldiers", we would then smile at each other, content with our cleverness, and continue working. If the proper reply was not given, doubts about that person's mental acuity were cast, and at volumes loud enough for those nearby to hear.

2008-08-19T22:53:00.003-04:00

Date: Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Time: 22:53
Place: Home

I will now quote from a song by Jo Dee Messina.

"My Give A Damn's Busted"

Which is how I feel right now, so that's all you're gonna get out of me.

2008-08-18T23:49:00.002-04:00

Date: Monday, August 18, 2008
Time: 23:50
Place: Home

Sorry, almost had something for a minute.

But now it's gone.

2008-08-18T00:44:00.003-04:00

Date: Monday, August 18, 2008
Time: 00:44
Place: Home

I've had a lot on my mind lately and that's why this post is so late. I had meant to do this earlier, but got distracted.

Unfortunately, this is where it ends.

2008-08-16T23:11:00.004-04:00

Date: Saturday, August 16, 2008
Time: 23:11
Place: Home

When I have had the occasion to be in a relationship, invariably, it ends. When that happens I proceed to eliminate everything that connects me to that person. I get rid of phone numbers, addresses, any gifts I might have been given. I keep the memories because I can't help but remember things, but everything else, gone.

It's sort of like cleaning a crime scene before the police show up.

I was once admonished for doing that, but I explained that there was no need for me to hang on to any keepsakes. Once a relationship is over, it's done, finito, gone with the wind. No need for any physical reminders.

Therefore, once I am sure that I will not need any of the links, or folders, or any files that I have created during my time at DeVry, I will get rid of them. This goes for any books I feel I can get rid of as well.

True, this might be considered burning bridges, but like I said, "No need for physical reminders." That goes for files and folders, as well as books and notes.

2008-08-15T23:25:00.002-04:00

Date: Friday, August 15, 2008
Time: 23:25
Place: Home

Sorry, just not into it.

2008-08-14T23:45:00.003-04:00

Date: Thursday, August 14, 2008
Time: 23:46
Place: Home

I don't know what it is, but I don't feel like making much of an entry. Again.

Sorry.

2008-08-13T23:04:00.003-04:00

Date: Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Time: 23:04
Place: Home

I was going to write something about my brother, what with this being his birthday and all, but now I don't feel like it.

Right now I feel as though I've wasted my life with jobs I don't like, schools I never wanted to attend, and women who were all wrong for me, but never wanted to admit that they were.

I know I've said it before, and quite frankly, I don't care, but I don't belong here. Not just at DeVry, not just where I'm working, but I don't belong in this world, and I mean this planet.

I'm beginning to believe that the mind that is inhabiting this particular body belongs somewhere else. I don't know where, I don't even know when, but not here, not now, and not to this being that's typing this garbage.

2008-08-12T22:56:00.002-04:00

Date: Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Time: 22:56
Place: Home

Once again, I can't really think of anything to write. My head is too jammed up with schoolwork.

I might come up with something better tomorrow.

2008-08-11T22:42:00.003-04:00

Date: Monday, August 11, 2008
Time: 22:42
Place: Home

Earlier today, I had an idea or two for what I would post this evening. Unfortunately, those ideas faded.

So once again, I have nothing of any relevance to say.

Maybe tomorrow.

But I'm not promising anything.

2008-08-10T23:48:00.002-04:00

Date: Sunday, August 10, 2008
Time: 23:49
Place: Home

Sorry, no witty title, nothing humorous in the body of the post.

I don't feel like it today.

Just posting so I'm not the reason the class doesn't get the privilege we earn if everyone posts.

I don't even feel like changing the font.

2008-08-09T21:51:00.003-04:00

Date: Saturday, August 9, 2008
Time: 21:52
Place: Home

Change. The owner of an Army-Navy Store once said to me, "Change, Don't like it in my life, or my pocket." It might sund fairly humorous, but I doubt if anyone really likes when things change. It's different, it's something new, or a re-hash of something we've seen before. In either case, I'm not fond of it. I approach change the same way I approached my entrance into this world, kicking and screaming. Ironically, it's how I plan on approaching my exit as well.

I accept it after a while, but I fight it as long as I am able. Yeah, I know, it's a losing battle, with me on the losing side, but by jing, change will know it's been in a fight if it dares cross my path!

So there. :-Þ

Gang Aft Agley

2008-08-08T23:16:00.004-04:00

Date: Friday, August 8, 2008
Time: 23:17
Place: Home

The title of this entry is from a poem by Robert Burns. It's called "To A Mouse". It is often misquoted as "The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray".

Anyway, some plans I've been making lately have been gang aft agley. In fact, I've been reluctant to not only make any plans, but I've been reluctant to talk about them if I've made any at all.

Take last week, I planned to go to this park I like and sit and read, and then sit and watch the world go by. By the time I made ready to leave, it started raining. By the time it stopped, I felt it was too late to be going down to the park.

Then there was this past week, I'd wanted something for dinner, the place I went to didn't have what I wanted, so I went somewhere else.

Then today, I'd made some sandwiches for my lunch, and I forgot to bring them.

No more planning for a while.

At least, that's the plan.

2008-08-07T23:40:00.003-04:00

Date: Thursday, August 7, 2008
Time: 23:41
Place: Home

I was going to put this as the title, but felt it would have been trite. It was this, "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."

I had mentioned a while back that there was something going on at work that involved attorneys. Well, recently, it looked as though what I was doing was over, but now I find that it isn't. There's some technical stuff that has to be done before it's over with.

So maybe the title could have been "Technology, Take It or Leave It" and believe me, there are times when I want to leave it. Except for maybe electric lights, record players, radios, and the electric typewriter. I can honestly do without television, but if the episodes of certain shows I like were available as film reels, I wouldn't say no.

I bring up the foibles of technology because I got another statement from an educational institution we all know, stating I owe money. After a lengthy time on "Hold", I was informed, again, that their new finance system was experiencing teething pains, and I was to ignore the notice. I thought to myself "Ain't technology grand?" This is something I say at times when technology, computer technology to be precise, fails in some way.

That's all I have time for right now. I'm very hungry and I don't want my hot dogs to get cold.

Is There REALLY Such A Thing As "Good" Grief?

2008-08-06T23:32:00.004-04:00

Date: Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Time: 23:33
Place: Home

We were given an assignment in class today. We were told to write what we would do if the world as we, ourselves knew it, was going to end. What I wrote was rather short, maybe two sentences, so I will elaborate on it a bit here.

So, I have been given the news that my world, or the world, will end.

It is very likely that, like everyone else, I will experience, and go through, the Stages of Grief.

There are usually five of them:

Denial:
Example - "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening."

Anger:
Example - "Why me? It's not fair!" "NO! NO! How can you accept this!"

Bargaining:
Example - "Just let me live to see my children graduate."; "I'll do anything, can't you stretch it out? A few more years."

Depression:
Example - "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die . . . What's the point?"

Acceptance:
Example - "It's going to be OK."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."

And some believe there are seven stages, with the addition of Shock and Guilt. Although, if the reason the world is ending is an act of nature, I can't see feeling guilty, unless it's as a result of this so-called "global warming", and something I, or everyone else did contributed to it, then I can see it.

After going through several of those stages, I would then pack as much as I knew I would need, and go down to Florida to spend the remaining time with my father, who is the only family I have left.

2008-08-05T22:48:00.002-04:00

Date: Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Time: 22:48
Place: Home

In my last entry, I began asking nonsensical questions, and making nonsensical statements. This put me in mind of a speech that is supposed to be a parody of a normal speech. Unfortunately, I can't recall who wrote it, who said it, where I heard it, where I read it, or what the contents speech are.

There., don't you feel well-informed?

Unluckily for you, I plan on finding that speech if it kills you, especially after you've read it.

But, rather than leave you feeling empty, as though you've read this blog for nothing, I will share with you some differences in language, the English language.

If you were to walk into a store, or shop as they call it over in England, and ask for a pair of suspenders, depending on your gender, you might get a funny look. Well, it also depends on where the shop is located. You see, over there, what we call suspenders are referred to as braces, what they refer to as suspenders are what we call a garter belt.

A truck is a lorry.

A bus is a coach.

The Underground is what we call a Subway, and to them, a Subway is a walkway under the street.

A crosswalk is a zebra crossing (and they pronounce "zebra" with a short e as in the word "get")

An elevator is a lift.

And, in order to be considered a true "cockney" you must be born "within the sound of Bow's Bells". In other words, if you were born in the vicinity of Bow Church, meaning that when the bells were rung, they could be heard in the area you were born in.

In short, Dick Van Dyke is not a true cockney, and still has a price on his head if he were to ever wander into the East End.

Or so I've been told.

2008-08-04T23:19:00.003-04:00

Date: August 4, 2008
Time: 23:21
Place: Home

Once again, there is no title for the entry I'm making. Reason being, I'm not feeling very creative lately. I'm not even sure if I can write for 10 minutes this evening. I'm only making this entry because I don't want to be the one that caused the class to experience a punishment set down by our professor.

While a deal didn't really need to be struck to get me to write in this blog, in fact, a deal didn't have to be made to get me to write in this blog every day. But what must be understood is that as creative as I imagine myself, and as talented a writer as I purport myself to be, I am a human being and therefore subject to faults and foibles.

Among these faults and foibles are the suffering of writers block, incoherency, and just plain falling asleep and forgetting to make an entry. For instance, I can't think of what I should write next. Okay, here's something, and it may sound like Andy Rooney, but, ever notice how people spend so much time telling you how speechless they are about something?

How about this? "Patience is a virtue". If this is true, I don't feel very virtuous. If Silence is Golden, what is noisy, all that gold hitting the ground? Or how about this one? "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" What kind of BS is that? "If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it swear because it tripped?"

I have a question: What the hell is so fantastic about Cilantro? Every cooking show in existence seems to swear by it. Now that's where people should invest, cilantro farms.

2008-08-03T23:48:00.003-04:00

Date: August 3, 2008
Time: 23:49
Place: Home

My mood right now is less than stellar. It's usually less than stellar but right now, it's worse.

In the other class I'm taking, Critical Thinking, I had to answer a Threaded Discussion about DeVry's Mission Statement. Two of my classmates did not take kindly to my negative outlook regarding DeVry. They questioned why I was spending all this time and money going to a school I do not particularly like.

I informed them that I came to DeVry because I thought it was what I was supposed to do since I have a background in working in a data center.

What I did not tell them, and quite frankly this is none of their damn business, that sometimes a decision is made in haste. In other words, I'm an idiot.

I enrolled in DeVry because I thought I had to, I thought it was the only option I could take.

Yes, I don't like a lot of the classes, I don't like what DeVry Inc. has done in regards to firing 145 people nationwide, I don't like the fact that many classes are only 8 weeks in length, when some should have remained at 15, I don't like a lot of things about DeVry, especially the tuition, but now that I'm here, now that I've been here for this long, and even when I could have dropped out clean, there's one thing that people should know about me:

I DON'T QUIT!

Wouldn't Wish This On My Worst Enemy... Besides, I Have Something Else Planned For Him

2008-08-02T11:10:00.003-04:00

Date: August 2, 2008
Time: 11:11
Place: Home

Yesterday, while I was at work, I suddenly became very angry, and I couldn't understand why. I had no idea what was making me angry, or if anything actually made me angry, I was just angry.

And then I figured it out, it's August. August is when my brother was born, it's also when he died.

My brother Joel was born on August 13, 1961. There were times, and that was most of the time, when he was the biggest pain in the ass you never wanted to meet. Whenever he made plans with me to have lunch somewhere, he was never on time, he was always late. Then, when he would finally show up, lunch was never simple, we would go to someplace to eat, we'd have an appetizer, and then he'd want to go somewhere else! Drove me nuts. Although when he adopted a Kosher lifestyle, we'd only eat at one place as there aren't many Kosher restaurants he wanted to eat at, or could find.

Let me give you a better example of his, let's call it "tardiness".

Many years ago, he decided he wanted to go live in Israel. On the day he was supposed to fly, he goes and tells my father that he has no one to drive him to the airport. The friend that was supposed to do it, bailed at the last minute. My brother imparts this information at 9:30 that morning. The flight was at 10:00 am! And worse, he wasn't even packed!

Another way he was late was when we would go out somewhere as a family. This didn't happen often, but this is what would occur when it did.

We'd be all ready to go, the taxi was called, and no sooner do I put my hand on the doorknob than Joel cries out "Wait! I have to go to the bathroom!" And it didn't matter where we were going. We could have had tickets to the Inaugural Ball, the President's limo could have been waiting downstairs, and we're stuck waiting for my brother. One of the times this happened, I just left the apartment. I figured I'd rather wait downstairs in the fresh air than in the apartment while my mother comes to a boil and starts yelling at him, at my father, and anyone else in range of her mouth.

It was this particular annoying habit that prompted the following conversation between me and my mother. My brother had contracted HIV, and when I had gotten back from London, he was in the hospital. After visiting him one day, I called my mother to vent, well actually I called my parents but my mother was the one who usually answered the phone. So we're talking, and I said "Y'know ma, it would be just like Joel. The Angel of Death comes for him, Joel looks up at him and says "Wait, I have to go to the bathroom first!"" My mother burst out laughing for a good five or ten minutes. She told the leader of the PWA group they belong to (Persons With AIDS), and the leader says "That's good, he's using humor as a defense mechanism."

My brother died on August 2, 1995, 13 years ago today.

When we got to the cemetery, his coffin was already there. It was the only time he was ever early.

Auntie Pandora

2008-08-01T19:44:00.003-04:00

Date: Friday, August 1, 2008
Time: 19:45
Place: Home

I am a pessimist. For those that know me, this should come as no surprise, what they will be surprised at is the fact that I am admitting it. Although, I've never made a secret of being less than upbeat, or positive about a lot of things.

For instance, the recent goings on at my job. One day my boss calls me and says that "there's a light at the end of the tunnel." I replied, "Yeah, it's the headlights of an oncoming train." You know the old saw about the glass being half empty/half full? Well, in my world, the glass is half empty, the glass is cracked, and it's leaking, which is why it's half empty, the glass is dirty, and there's a film of some kind on the surface of the water. And, it's all the fault of the government.

Oh, and lately, there's some sort of bug floating in it.

Now, most people would tell me that all I have to do is hope for the best. That's fine, that's great advice, and it would work quite well, if I had any hope.

You all should know the story of Pandora, how she opened a box that contained all the evils of mankind, but that it also contained hope, and it was hope that got saved once she finally closed the box after opening it when she shouldn't have.

In my case, I don't know if I ever had any hope. I'm not sure if I had it, and then lost it along the way, or if I never had it in the first place, and falsely believed I had it, but then realized that I was wrong. All I do know is a lot of what has happened to me over the years is my own fault, I admit this freely and without reservation, but I need to find my way to where I belong.

Yeah, I know, you've heard this before, but face it, I don't care. I don't feel as if I fit in anywhere and now that I'm not sure if I ever had any hope of fitting in, or belonging, I need some help.

And all of the therapists in the world aren't going to do it either.

Yes, No, Maybe, Sometimes, Never In A Million Years

2008-07-31T14:05:00.004-04:00

Date: Thursday, July 31, 2008
Time: 14:06
Place: Work

I know what I'm doing right now will probably be against policy, but I can't wait any longer.

I am sick and tired of polls. There are times when the subject just riles me, like a CNN poll, "Should Miley Cyrus give up being "Hannah Montana?" and the only choices you aer given are "Yes" or "No".

What about "Don't Care", or "Don't Give A Rat's Ass?" I know, I know, if you don't care, then don't answer, but what about my right to free speech, my right to voice my opinion? They never take that into account.

Look, all I know is that these pollsters need to start re-thinking the audience they're playing to. This is a general suggestion, not just in regards to "celebrity" garbage. And just who are these "celebrities"? These people who are famous, simply for being famous, or infamous as the case may be. Socialites who get into traffic accidents, "supermodels" who throw tantrums, seriously, does anyone really care about these people?

Once, just once, I would love to see a newsreader pull a "Howard Beale". Just once, I'd love to see an anchorperson look at the teleprompter, or look at the papers in their hand, get a look of disgust on their face, look at the camera and say, "I'm sorry, Ladies and Gentlemen, all those who viewing this right now, I'm sorry, I just can't bring myself to read yet another so-called story about what (insert celebrity name here) did, or didn't do." The anchorperson would then take off the microphone, stand up, and walk out of the studio.

But they wouldn't kill themselves over it, let's make that clear right now, they would just leave.

But that would never happen. The minute that anchorperson began to deviate from what was expected, the director and the producer would cut to a commercial.

Oopsie

2008-07-30T20:07:00.003-04:00

Date: Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Time: 20:08
Place: Home

I have missed making some entries in this blog.

A few times, I either had writer's block, or suffered from Incoherency, which I wrote about in an entry. The other times I missed making an entry was because I was exhausted from what's been going on at my job.

Some weeks ago, we got subpoenaed. We're not getting sued, but we have to produce a truckload or three of paperwork regarding past and present projects. What's somewhat helpful is that most of the data has been saved as digital information.

What isn't helpful is that one of the projects was never scanned in, and guess who gets that little task? Correct! You got it in one! And then there's stuff that has to be edited, or to use the legal term, "redacted".

Now, before someone starts saying "But if you've been subpoenaed, doesn't that mean you can't talk about it?" It probably does, but I haven't said what company I work for, who subpoenaed us, or what projects we've done and/or are doing. All I've done is kvetch about it. :-P

Okay, So I'm A Slow Genius

2008-07-28T22:30:00.003-04:00

Date: Monday, July 28, 2008
Time: 22:31
Place: Home

I think I finally figured it out. I think I know where I belong.

I belong in a world where there are domed cities on the surface of the Moon, and a colony on Mars.

I belong in a world where space travel is an everyday occurrence, and racism and hatred are things of the past.

The world I belong in has mankind getting along with all races, terrestrial and not.

I do not belong in what most people refer to as "reality", I belong in fantasy.

Fantasy is what I know best, it is where I am most comfortable, it is where I truly fit in.

Worth The Wait

2008-07-27T22:05:00.003-04:00

Date: Sunday, July 27, 2008
Time: 22:05
Place: Home

I completely missed making an entry yesterday, but I believe it was worth it. You see, I took yesterday, Saturday, July 26, 2008, off. I took the day for me, to have some time for me, so I could clear my head after all of the crap I've dealt with for the last 3 weeks, including working on Saturday 2 weeks in a row.

I went out yesterday and I went comic book shopping. After that, I went to this Japanese Buffet restaurant I like, but haven't been able to go to for quite some time. It's an all-you-can-eat buffet that includes their dual-sided dessert bar. The only thing I'm not too thrilled with is they only serve the gyoza dumplings at lunchtime, not at dinner. At dinner they serve the shrimp shumai, which is okay, but I prefer gyoza.

But I had a day for me, and that's all that matters.

Exotic Dish

2008-07-25T23:34:00.003-04:00

Date: Friday, July 25, 2008
Time: 23:34
Place: Home

Sometimes, I like to watch Food Network. I watch almost anything with Rachael Ray, I watch "Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives", I watch "Iron Chef America" if the secret ingredient is something I like, and sometimes I'll watch shows with Alton Brown.

One program Alton Brown usually hosts is called "Good Eats". Most of the time he'll feature some food or food product that I like, but at the same time he gives an education on the topic. Another program he hosted had him traveling cross-country and trying local cuisine in different places. One such place he tried had, as a local delicacy, Fried Pig Brain Sandwich.

He appeared to enjoy it, while I would be hard-pressed to try such a thing, especially if I knew what it was, I have made another roundabout route of making a point.

My point is, my brain is fried, not like the sandwich, but I'm still having a bit of trouble forming coherent thought. The only way I am able to write this entry is through sheer force of will, and remembering things like shows on Food Network.

Running On Empty

2008-07-25T00:21:00.003-04:00

Date: Friday, July 25, 2008
Time: 00:22
Place: Home

Once again, I'm at a loss of what to write about. Between the stress I'm dealing with at work, and all of what I have to write for at school, I don't know if I even have anything to spare for this entry.

I was going to write something last night, but I dozed off. I was going to write earlier, but I couldn't think of anything. My creativity is fading again, and I'm not sure if it will come back this time.

And sometimes, I'm not sure I deserve to have it.

That's it, that's all I can deal with right now.

"Inconceivable!"

2008-07-22T22:40:00.004-04:00

Date: Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Time: 22:41
Place: Home

While I have yet to have any of my stories published, I like to think that I have some talent as a writer, or as I like to call it, a story-teller.

Up until yesterday I have never hated anything I have ever written.

Until yesterday.

Last week, I was given an assignment for my Critical Thinking class. I was to write a short essay on what one learns at DeVry, but while using a collection of 5 bullet points. These 5 points were to be compiled from the bullet points in the DeVry Student Catalog, and from the list entitled "Program Outcomes of General Education".

Between Thursday evening, the day I got the assignment, and Sunday night, I was unable to write a thing. I just couldn't figure out how to get started and how to incorporate those five statements. But yesterday, Monday, I thought I had it.

Never before have I been so wrong about something. When I finished it, I looked it over, and said, out loud, "This is bulls**t!" It was so awful to read. It felt forced, it felt fake, which is what it was really, and I'm ashamed to put my name on it.

I'll try to work on it, but I don't know if it's fixable.

Huh?

2008-07-21T23:35:00.003-04:00

Date: Monday, July 21, 2008
Time: 23:35
Place: Home

There's a new television series that I like watching now. It's called "The Middleman". When it first came on, I checked it out, but was able to take it or leave it. Now I find myself watching it every week.

The thing is, not only do they use present day music in the background, but they also credit the artists at the end of the episode. Tonight's episode had me repeating the following phrase over and over each time an artist was credited, "Never heard of them."

But then, why would I? Although I like to think I have an eclectic taste when it comes to music, unless the group is played on a radio station I listen to, I don't know them.

Take for instance, the music I'm listening to now, it runs the gamut of eras, from the '60s to Today. Maybe one day I'll tell you what songs they were.

No Pony

2008-07-21T00:14:00.003-04:00

Date: Monday, July 21, 2008
Time: 00:14
Place: Home

I was once told this story about two little boys, one who was a pessimist, and the other was an optimist.

Their mother was worried aboout the boys because each took their outlook on life to the extreme. So one day, she took them to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist questioned each boy in turn, and then he spoke with the mother. He said, "Bring them both back here in one week, I want to try an experiment."

So the next week the mother brought the two boys back to the psychiatrist. The psychiatrist put each boy in a different room.

He put the pessimist in room filled with toys, games, bowls of candy, cakes, and it even had a soda fountain so he could have ice cream and milkshakes.

Then the psychiatrist put the optimist in a room filled with horse manure as high as the boy's knees.

After an hour, the psychiatrist went to check on them.

He found the pessimist standing just as he had been left in the middle of the room. When the psychiatrist asked why he wasn't taking advantage of all the room had to offer, the boy replied "Well, if I play with the toys, I might break them or get hurt, and if I eat the candy and the cakes and the ice cream, I might eat too much and get a tummy-ache."

Then the psychiatrist checked on the optimist, and boy was there a difference. The optimist was having a ball! He was covered from head to foot in manure. He had been tossing balls of manure against the walls, he had made little "manure-men", and at the moment the psychiatrist walked in the room, he was in the process of making a manure fort. The psychiatrist was shocked, he said to the boy, "What in the world are you doing?" So the little boy replied, "Hey, with all this manure, there's gotta be a pony!"

It's a long way to make a point, but here it is, with all the crap I've been putting up with lately, where the hell is my pony?

Ferrous

2008-07-20T01:48:00.004-04:00

Date: Sunday, July 20, 2008
Time: 01:49
Place: Home

I believe irony is a prevailing force in my life.

For instance, many years ago, my father lived in Manhattan on 10th Street and Avenue D. Some years later, during one of the many times I was "misbehaving", he took me and my brother to visit his old neighborhood. The building he have lived in was long since torn down to make way for a tenement. He told both of us, but me mainly, that if we screwed up enough, we would find ourselves living down there.

Cut to a few years later, maybe 1 or 2, and I'm in a group home on St. Marks Place (East 8th Street after 3rd Avenue), between 1st and 2nd Avenue. That's right, not too far from where my father grew up.

The group home had something resembling a library on the 5th Floor. Most guys who lived in the home used the books as doorstops or to hit people whenever a blanket party was being held.

For anyone who does not know, a "Blanket Party" is what is thrown for a person nobody likes. The "guest of dishonor" is covered with a blanket, which is then held down by 2 or more people. Then, the rest of the house take turns hitting the poor slob while he struggles to free himself. Thankfully, I have never been a recipient of a Blanket Party.

Anyway, one day, I was feeling bored, so I went to the shelves to see what was there.

I found an entire trilogy by Michael Moorcock (His "Dancers at the End of Time" series), 2 books by Robert Heinlein (Farnham's Freehold and Glory Road), a book entitled "Twenty Years of Fantasy & Science Fiction (a collection of stories from the magazine, one of which was called "We Can Remember It For You Wholesale", which is what "Total Recall" was based on.), a book entitled "Star of Stars" (which had the story "It's A Good Life" which was turned into a famous episode of "The Twilight Zone"), several other science-fiction novels, and a book of poetry.

The book of poetry was a school textbook. The school in question was Seward Park High School, which my father attended, and it's copyright date was 1934, a year after my father was born, but also the same year my mother was born.

One of the poems is called "Sea-Fever", and it is the favorite poem of Captain Kirk on Star Trek.

I count 5 points of Irony. How many did you get?

Enough Is Too Much!

2008-07-19T00:58:00.003-04:00

Date: July 19, 2008
Time: 00:59
Place: Home

The title of this entry is derived from an old Warner Bros. cartoon called I Love to Singa (1936). In this cartoon, there is a family of owls whose children are all classical musicians. However, the youngest hatchling is not, he's into jazz. So the father throws him and he goes to seek his fortune on a radio amateur hour show.

The line is apropos of how I've been feeling about my job lately. In truth, it's always how I feel about my job, but lately it's been worse. I know I'm probably not supposed to be talking about this, but the company I work for was subpoenaed. We have to produce paperwork for the projects we have been involved in for the Port Authority. Now, even though a great deal of our files are in a digital format, one project is not. I have spent the last week or so scanning hard copies of files and saving them in a digital format.

Today, or rather, Friday was one of those days where I wanted to quit. I was trying to work, getting into a rhythm of scanning and filing, when my boss calls. Then I have to get back into the rhythm, and she calls again. I got to the point where the words, "I quit!" wanted to spew forth from my mouth.

But I can't quit. Not just because I need the money, pittance though it is, I don't quit. I don't give up. I may issue a formal notice of surrender, but I do not give up.

Minow Was Right

2008-07-17T23:41:00.004-04:00

Date: July 17, 2008
Time: 23:48
Place: Home

In 1961, the Federal Communications Commission elected a new chairman. The man's name was Newton N. Minow (b. 1926).

On May 9, 1961, he addressed the National Association of Broadcasters. The speech was entitled, "Television and the Public Interest". A famous line that has been attributed to that speech was "Television is a vast wasteland." Unfortunately, it is a misquotation. The actual line is in the following excerpt.

When television is good, nothing -- not the theater, not the magazines or newspapers -- nothing is better.

But when television is bad, nothing is worse. I invite each of you to sit down in front of your television set when your station goes on the air and stay there, for a day, without a book, without a magazine, without a newspaper, without a profit and loss sheet or a rating book to distract you. Keep your eyes glued to that set until the station signs off. I can assure you that what you will observe is a vast wasteland.

In this day and age of instant communication and cable television, television stations don't "sign off" anymore. Or at least, not the way they used to. These days, when a particular station is done with their scheduled programming, they turn to what is referred to as "Paid Programming" or as we call it, "infomercials".

But what's worse these days, is what network executives are passing for programming, "reality shows". A 30- to 60-minute melange of insanity, stupidity, and incessant howling.

And that's just the studio audience.

But now, things have gotten completely out of hand. The television network known as TVLand, an offshoot of Nick-At-Nite, is not only airing episodes of "Extreme Home Makeover", but they are now coming out with "original" programs of their own. I'm not going to name them as that would be giving them publicity. Yes, I know I named that other one, but I figured by now, most people have heard of it.

Minow did not foresee the future of television, he was simply stating what he believed to be factual, and at the time he said it. He's still alive, but I doubt very much if he watches television anymore, but if he does, even if it's just the news, I wonder about one thing, does he smile every time he hears the announcer tell what's coming up later, especially when it's a "Special Extended Edition" of "American Idol".

Worse Than That

2008-07-16T21:13:00.004-04:00

Date: July 16, 2008
Time: 21:14
Place: Home

Last night I was supposed to make an entry in my blog, but I didn't, I couldn't. I was suffering from a malady worse than Writer's Block.

I was suffering from Incoherency. I couldn't form a coherent thought.

I believe this to be worse than Wrtier's Block for the simple reason that with Writer's Block, you can't think of anything to write, your inspiration is down for the count. Incoherency is worse because your brain can't slow down enough for your thoughts and ideas to latch onto the words you have in your head so they can grow beyond being mere thougths and ideas.

So there I was, with all manner of thoughts and ideas, and I couldn't get them to settle down. I told them stories, I gave them candy, nothing. They just kept running around in my head. So I figured I'd get some sleep and maybe try it again this morning.

Wasn't happening. Sleep, nor settled thoughts were happening.

Therefore, don't let anyone tell you different, Incoherency, while not as well known (or even known as it's an illness I think I just made up) as Writer's Block is worse than Writer's Block.

You Live Where?

2008-07-15T01:07:00.002-04:00

Date: Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Time: 01:08:34
Place: Home

Today’s entry is going to be a little different. Today I’m going to list towns and cities in the US with strange names. :-D

Skullbone, TN
Bugscuffle, TN
Bugscuttle, TN
Eighty-eight, WY
Intercourse, PA
Truth or Consequences, NM
Fond du Lac, WI
French Lick, IN
Herkimer, NY
Walla Walla, WA
Defiance, OH
Independence, OH
Cannon, TN

There's a lot more, but these are some of my favorites.

A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma

2008-07-13T23:47:00.004-04:00

Date: Sunday, July 13, 2008
Time: 23:31:38
Place: Home

Every once in a while (read that as “every waking moment”), I ask a question, “Where do I fit in?” What is it that I am meant to do with my life? But sometimes I wonder if I am meant to do anything with my life. Why can’t I figure out what I want to do for a living?
I think it may have something to do with the choices I make. I have a tendency to make the wrong ones more often than I make the right ones. The only trouble with making a right choice is I don’t think I’ve ever really made one. I’ve come to decisions, I’ve voiced ideas, and while it appears to be simple for me to choose what clothes to buy and wear, these are not life-altering choices.

I may have mentioned all of this in an earlier entry, but I think it bears repeating, and if the reader of this entry doesn’t think so, I don’t care.

When I was in Junior High, or, more specifically, Intermediate School, I was asked what I wanted to be after graduating high school. Simple enough question, but I had no simple answer. I didn’t know what I wanted to be, or to do. I had to put something, so I stupidly answered “Physicist”. My mother took one look at it, thought I was serious, and launched into a tirade as to how unlikely that career choice was. Stupid woman. Anyway, back to my fitting in. Just where is it, in the grand scheme of things, do I belong?

The only answer I have is, "I don't know."

I always feel as if I don't belong anywhere. I do a good job where I work, but I don't belong there, I feel I should be doing something else. I do well at school, but I don't belong there either.

I really wish someone could tell me where I'm supposed to be and what I am supposed to be doing. I am sick and tired of these tests with ridiculous answer choices, like you're asked a question, and of the two answers you have to pick either the one you would like to do the most or the one you would like to do the least, and the choices are so moronic as to be pitiful.

Why can't someone create a test that asks about a person's level of creativity?

Maybe they can't, they're probably too busy asking each other what they want to do least, stick with test that tells people nothing, or try something new.

No More

2008-07-13T00:18:00.004-04:00

Date: Sunday, July 13, 2008
Time: 00:18
Place: Home

That's it! I'm not going to write about that moron anymore. It's tantamount to the negative press "The Last Temptation of Christ" was given. All of the protests, all of the negative reviews (if any), only served to increase the popularity of the film.

All I've done by giving this so-called pastor recognition is get asked if he's starting workshops or classes.

If he is, I am not part of them, nor would I want to be part of them.

I did not pay for his book, nor did I have it delivered as I do not want to be on his mailing list.

I will continue to write in this blog, but not about him or his works.

Keep Digging

2008-07-11T22:26:00.002-04:00

Date: Friday, July 11, 2008
Time: 22:23:23
Place: Home

So I wrote about reading “2008 – G-d’s Final Witness”, and I got a response to my entry. The fellow blogger informed me that the other witness is Weinland’s wife. Quelle surprise! The blogger also gave me a list of websites that debunk Mr. Weinland.
http://ironwolf.dangerousgames.com/forum/index.php http://www.shadowsofwcg.com/weinlandforum/index.php http://ambassadorwatch.blogspot.com/ http://asbereansdid.blogspot.com/ http://www.cogwriter.com/news/ http://dontdrinktheflavoraid.blogspot.com/ http://isitreallytheendtimes.blogspot.com/ http://shadowsofwcg.blogspot.com/ http://weinlandwatch.wordpress.com/

You know what gets me so angry at people like this? It’s how they play on people’s fears. Now, I am the first to admit how afraid I am at the thought of dying. It is a thought I am not overly fond of, in fact, I believe myself to be thanatophobic. The really odd thing about that is there was a time when I contemplated suicide. This is something I don’t normally tell people, but I did consider a couple of times.

I thought that I would fall out of my bedroom window. When you consider that at the time, we lived in a 33-story building, and we lived on the 31st Floor, taking a header out of the window sounds like a workable thing. But I have a tendency not to do anything impulsively. That being the case, I wondered how long it would take to fall. At that time, my brother, who was very good at drawing and painting, used to make paperweights out of rocks. He would draw a picture on a rock, paint it, spray shellac on it, and sell it. So I took the biggest rock I could find in his “collection”, and I weighed it. Then, after making sure nobody was around, I dropped the rock out of the window. Yeah, pretty stupid, but I was doing it for a reason. So I dropped it out the window, and I timed it. I found that it took 15 seconds for it to hit the ground.

What happened next is one of the things that prevented me from going ahead with it. I made a series of calculations, and discovered that it would take me 1.5 seconds to the hit the ground. 1.5 seconds, just did not seem like enough time to pray. The other thing that stopped me from killing myself was the thought of someone being happy when they learned of my passing. I thought that if they were happy, then that meant they didn’t like me, and if they didn’t like me then it was a safe bet that I didn’t like them. All of which meant, if my death would make someone who didn’t like me happy that I was gone, then I would keep living to spite them. Therefore, if my death made them happy, then my continued existence would really make them peeved.

So, what does all of that have to do with Weinland’s so-called “prophecy”? Simple really, mankind just has to keep going past the time he has figured for the end. If we do that and show how wrong he is, imagine how upset he will be. :-D

Unbelievable!

2008-07-10T21:59:00.002-04:00

Date: Thursday, July 10, 2008
Time: 22:00:51
Place: Home

I don’t know about anyone else in the class, but I started reading “2008 G-d’s Final Witness” by Ronald Weinland last night, and while I only got as far as page 7, I gotta tell ya, the man is nuts! He purports himself to be one of the two people that G-d is allegedly supposed to allow to witness the end of the world. So far, he doesn’t say who the other person is supposed to be, I gather that he’ll get into that later on.

Now, I love reading, I’ve even bought the New York Post when I was stuck for something to read. But this rhetorical nonsense, I wouldn’t read on a dare, a bet, or with a gun to my head or a combination of any or all three at once. Yes, I know, I only got as far as page 7, but then, I did a little research on Mr. Weinland. I found out that he is a pastor for “G-d’s Church on Earth”, and not only that, but its full name is “G-d’s Church on Earth – Preparing for the Kingdom of G-d. (For those of you reading this that may not know, I am of the Jewish faith, and while I’m not a practicing Jew, I still write G-d’s name the way I’ve been taught and the way my grandmother always wrote it.)

In any event, here are two websites for the man: http://www.cog-pkg.org/ and http://www.ronaldweinland.com/

Make no mistake, even though I think it's simply more of the same tripe we've heard before, I’ll continue to read the thing, but only because it was assigned, and that beats a dare, a bet and a gun to my head.

End of the World

2008-07-09T18:46:00.002-04:00

Date: July 9, 2008
Time: 18:47
Place: DeVry Lab

Most people, when they talk about “The End of the World”, they usually think about no more life on the planet, with the exception of maybe just the cockroaches.

When I think about the end of the world, I think about Dystopia. For those who may not know what a Dystopia is, Merriam Webster refers to it as “an imaginary place where people lead dehumanized lives”. Literature, and therefore film, is littered with stories about dystopian societies and worlds.

Take for example, “Fahrenheit 451”, a somewhat futuristic society where books, and reading is outlawed, firemen are charged with burning books that they find, and people do much of nothing else all day except watch television and take drugs to keep them happy.

Then you have the 1927 classic film “Metropolis” by Fritz Lang. Society is divided right down the middle, the workers, and the city planners. The video by the rock group Queen uses many images and scenes from that film in their video to the song, “Radio Ga-Ga”. There is one almost iconic scene showing the workers going off one shift, and another group going on. Their faces are blank, their movements are almost robotic.

But, if you really want to talk about dehumanization, then you have to talk about the film version of “Planet of the Apes” (1968). The screenplay was written by Rod Serling of “Twilight Zone” fame, which is why there is the twist of the astronaut Taylor, played by the late Charlton Heston, finding the Statue of Liberty half-buried in the sand. In the film, for those that may not remember, human beings were treated like animals, herded and hunted for sport and for experimentation.

Dystopia, maybe it is an imaginary place, but then again, maybe not.

Journal Entry #49: Is That All There Is?

2007-12-17T21:52:00.000-05:00

Date: December 17, 2007
Time: 21:53

I don't normally write about school in these entries, except to whinge about it, but this time is different. Tomorrow is the last day of this particular session, and the last day of the english class for which I signed on to do this blog.

I tried starting a blog on another site, but not much came of it. I know this was an assignment of sorts, but it was an assignment I actually enjoyed as it gave me a chance to show others my writing.

So, now that the class is over, that means this assignment is over, but does that mean I have to stop making entries? Not if I don't want to. It just means I don't have to make an entry every single night. Unless of course I feel like making an entry every single night. Decisions, decisions, what to do, what to do.

There are times when I have trouble making up my mind, it usually happens when I'm hungry, and there's nothing to eat at home, and I have no idea what I want, and I live in a neighborhood where almost any type of food is available. It's worse than the first time I ever stepped into a Baskin-Robbins®.

Before I did that, all I knew of ice cream was chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry, and all the "Mr. Softee" truck ever had was chocolate or vanilla soft-serve. So imagine being about 6 or 7 years old, all you know of ice cream, really know of it is two flavors, maybe three, and you walk into a place where they have Thirty-One Different Flavors. And I mean flavors you've never heard of before, flavors like "Cherries Jubilee", or "Rocky Road".

And then, you stand on your tip-toes, and you see them, the tubs of ice cream. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't clutch the sides of my head and fall to the floor screaming in pain (Culture shock).

So where was I? Oh yeah, to blog, or not, to blog. Very good question.

I'll think I'll think about it for a while. :-þ

Journal Entry #48: Past Prologue

2007-12-16T22:09:00.000-05:00

Date: December 16, 2007
Time: 22:09

Okay, let me get this straight. We orbited the Earth, then we went to the Moon a few times, and we've sent out some satellites, landed a few roving robots on Mars, and keep trying to fix a space station that has maybe two, or at most, a half-dozen occupants at any one time.

Is that all we've done in regards to space exploration? As far as I'm concerned, that's pitiful.

Y'know, there was a time, when there was so much promise. There was a time when the year 2000, and all of the years after, there was time when that meant "The Future". And here we are, we are in what we considered to be our future, and we have done nothing. Okay, maybe not nothing. I mean, we have polluted the planet to the point where winters aren't what they used to be, and I'm not leaving myself out, I've certainly contributed to the pollution rate.

We're still fighting with each other over a viscous sludge that is running out. We're still fighting with each other over whose belief system is better. (Psst, none of them, they're all open to interpretation.) The point is, we're still fighting, and I've had enough of it.

But beyond the fighting, and all the political rhetoric that is repeatedly bandied about, I'm still disappointed that we haven't gotten any further than our own galaxy. Yes, I could have said "solar system", but we have had one or two satellites go beyond Pluto. And don't even get me started on that! I mean, it's bad enough that Pluto has aways been the runt of the Solar System. It's orbit is completely different from the other planets, it's smaller even than Mercury, and because it's so far from the sun, it's pretty much a ball of ice. But now they go and tell us that it doesn't qualify as a planet, that's just wrong.

I keep reading these articles about studies that have been performed for experiments that, to me, are just about the dumbest things I've ever heard of. I would like to know which moron was kept awake nights wondering "Gee, what if mice weren't afraid of cats?" Is that what science has come to now, breeding a mouse that can kick a cat's ass?

I'm sorry, all I know is, I want my jet pack. I want my flying car, and my apartment above the clouds. I want to work in an office that has 3-hour workdays and is run by pushing a few buttons. I want to come home and make dinner by pushing some more buttons, and I don't mean the ones on the phone to order take-out, or even by logging onto a website and placing an order.

I want the future that was written about in magazines, and I want it right now.

Journal Entry #47: Imagery

2007-12-15T21:31:00.001-05:00

Date: December 15, 2007
Time: 21:31

If you have a good enough imagination, and a decent enough memory, your head becomes a movie projector. You can remember cartoons and play them back in your head. Or you can read a book, and if it's based on a film, you can remember what the actors sounded like and put their voices to the words in the book. Now I'm not talking about hearing voices that aren't there, they are there, they're in your memory.

But every once in a while, if you allow yourself to let your mind focus on what it wants, then you can visualize almost anything. For instance, you can listen to a particular song, and visualize a music video to go along with it.

Okay, I admit it, I've found myself doing that very thing lately. But it seems to be to only one particular song. It's "Feliz Navidad" by Jose Feliciano. It doesn't happen all the time, just once in a while, I'll hear the song, and for some strange reason, something of a montage of Christmas-themed cartoons play along with the music.

Either it's one of the many wonders that is the human brain, or I'm just plain nuts.

Journal Entry #46: Ignorance

2007-12-15T01:44:00.000-05:00

Date: December 15, 2007
Time: 01:44

Man! Between not getting enough sleep this week and having system problems tonight, I think this is the latest I've done this. Oh Well.

Onward!

For all of the information I've stored in my head, there are some subjects which I admit to being if not partially, at least totally ignorant of. Sports is one subject I can claim I have partial ignorance of. I know there are different types, I've at least heard of the Olympics, but I really don't care much for them. Oh sure, I'll show a little interest in the World Series, or the Super Bowl, but only if a New York team is involved.

I do remember watching a Super Bowl that had no New York team playing in it. I'm just not sure of which one though. I used to think it was a Bears game, but now that I've been looking, it doesn't appear to have been. The biggest thing I remember about it was that the final score was so lopsided, I wondered why the losing team ever showed up.

I believe the last Super Bowl I watched any part of was back in 1991, when we were in the Gulf the first of several hundred times around. That was the one that had the big controversy over whether Whitney Houston lip-synched to "The Star-Spangled Banner". This argument begged many to ask the question "Who cares?" I, at least, felt it necessary to ask these people the question, "Are you stupid or something? Haven't you morons realized by now how difficult it is to sing that song?" I found out, through a short film broadcast on Turner Classic Movies, that the tune that was slapped onto the original poem, is not only a British drinking song, but it apparently only sounds good if sung in four-part harmony, preferably by a barbershop quartet.

But we won't even bring up the fact that there's really 4 Verses!

But the title of this entry is called "Ignorance", and I kind of got off the subject of why.

I have read a lot of comic books over the years, and read a lot about comic books over the years, but as with anything else, I admit to not knowing everything about comics books and the characters that inhabit them. But this does not prevent me from expounding on theories about them when confronted with a question about a particular subject.

I've mentioned my friend Ray in some earlier entries, and how he and I discuss comic books. every once in a while, he'll have a question about something, either from the distant past (before he was born. I'm a bit older than he is.), or from something the relative present. Now what I tell him could be complete and total BS, but I present it in such a way, that even if it is BS, it sounds plausible enough to be true. I've even admitted to saying something that might not be true, and I've even said "But it sounds good, doesn't it?" And he agrees.

So, I admit to being ignorant about many things, but as someone once said, "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullsh*t."

Journal Entry #45: Location, Location, Location

2007-12-13T22:42:00.000-05:00

Date: December 13, 2007
Time: 22:42

As I mentioned in an earlier entry, I've visited London 3 times, and the last time I was there I started feeling very comfortable.

Now, every once in a while, when I look at my mousepad, (which is a map of the London Underground), I get a feeling of homesickness, or it could just mean I want to go back (or so the would-be psychologists would try and have me believe. You know who you are.).

There is a website I used to visit called "Camvista.com". They have webcams all over Europe, and of course, many situated in and around London. Sometimes viewing those cams would only make things worse.

Lately, however, I don't feel as "homesick" as I used to, but I have been feeling something. What I've been feeling, and it came to me about a half an hour ago when I was looking at Google Earth. I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't be living in a different city. Which one? I don't know!

Look, all I know is, I'm trying to figure out where I belong, where I fit in, and I've been trying to figure that out for more years than I care to name, and I've been doing it in New York City. I haven't figured it out, so maybe I need to go somewhere else, maybe I need a different perspective on things and the only way I'm going to get that is if I go somewhere else.

So, of course, now I have a new problem. I have to try and figure out where I can go that can help me figure out where I belong. Well, if there's at least one thing I know how to do well, it's how to make things more complicated than they need to be.

Journal Entry #44: Ambition

2007-12-12T23:56:00.001-05:00

Date: December 12, 2007
Time: 23:57

People are always making mistakes when they attempt to figure me out.

For instance, the biggest mistake people make is assuming that because I am fat, I eat everything. I don't. I eat a lot of certain foods, and not all of them are very healthy.

Another mistake they make is thinking that I know everything. Wrong again. I know a little bit about a lot of different subjects. What aids me in this gathering of knowledge is my ability to remember a great deal of that information.

But I think the biggest mistake people have made is their thinking I have no ambition.

I believe I do have ambition, it just doesn't apply to what I am doing now. For example, my boss would like for me to get more involved in the day-to-day goings on at a construction contractor. Such as, like today, going to a jobsite and watching concrete getting poured. Fascinating, for about 3 nanoseconds. In fact, just the other day, she pointed out that I don't have much in the way of ambition. Of course, I disagreed. I said, "I have ambition, just not for this."

So I have ambition, I just don't what for, so I feel like I'm doing 90 in a car with rear-wheel drive, and the back wheels are up in the air.

Journal Entry #43: Excerpts

2007-12-11T22:45:00.000-05:00

Date: December 11, 2007
Time: 22:45

I'm taking a big risk here. I'm going to share a couple of excerpts from some of the stories I've written.

This is an excerpt from one of my detective stories:

Regina Caldwell is why men become poets. Her beauty is why sonnets are written and why birds find it necessary to sing. Her voice is why the sun rises and the moon sets. Her eyes could melt the heart of Ebenezer Scrooge before the ghosts show up. And if my wife ever knew that I thought things like that she’d kill me. Come to think of it, so would Regina.

This next bit is the opening paragraph from the first original story I wrote:

Childhood was dying. It lay in its bed, looking to all the world like a wizened old man. Those that were gathered at the bedside grew more frightened with each gasping breath. The de facto leader of the group removed Time from the room. Time was never any help in situations such as these. With her inherent arrogance, She would do naught but admonish they who lay dying. She would berate whoever they were for not making the most of the time they were given. Under most circumstances, She’d be allowed to rant and rave as much as She pleased. But this was different, this was Childhood.

This next one is the opening paragraph of what I refer to as my "Magnum Opus", the story it took me six months to write, the story that was inspired by a series of automobile commercials:

On a speck that the Universe would come to know as “Earth”, three beings that may be described as neither male nor female, stood atop a mountain, and in a language that is now long dead and forgotten, spoke amongst themselves. They stood facing each other. “Are they set?” asked the First. “Yes, they are set.” replied the Second. “Good, now we may leave.” said the Third. And with no further discussion, they left. What they left behind, however, they hoped no one would ever have to find.

And if I can ever get a literary agent and get that story published, you'll get to find out what that is, or was.

And now, these last two are from the Doctor Who/Quantum Leap crossover story that I've been working on, and someday, I'll find a way to put all of the sections I've written together in one big story.

Deep within the Milky Way, a mere thirty-thousand light years from the center, there sits an unassuming star system. It is called “The Constellation of Kasterborous”, although who or what Kasterborous is, or even was, has been lost to memory. But we are not concerned with the name of the star system. We are, however, concerned with the fourth planet. It is home to a most wondrous and unique race of people, a group of beings who claim mastery over time and space, “The Time Lords”. The planet, and the main city complex the Time Lords inhabit, are both called “Gallifrey”.

And this:

From the moment he stepped from the Imaging Chamber, Al sensed something was different. Not “wrong”, just, “different”. The thing that was wrong was that he’d just left his friend in an unusual situation, and he didn’t see anyway out of it. Sam’s body had disappeared from the Waiting Room, and it had taken Al and Gooshie several hours to find him. When he finally found him, he was sitting outside a bar, and babbling something about meeting Al’s Uncle Steve. And then, as if that weren’t enough, Sam began laughing for no apparent reason. With a look of confusion on his face, and a quick word of assurance that he’d be all right, Al stepped back through the door, and back into the control room. He’d taken a moment to collect his thoughts, and that’s when it hit him, the feeling that something was different. He checked everything in the control room. Nothing unusual there, except maybe Gooshie and Tina making goo-goo eyes at each other as they tried to keep track of Sam’s whereabouts. That was not only not unusual, it was downright disgusting. But he really shouldn’t complain. It wasn’t the first time he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber and found the two of them in a relationship. Once, they were even married! No, there was something else going on and he meant to find out what it was.

Journal Entry #42: Let's Pretend

2007-12-10T22:57:00.000-05:00

Date: December 10, 2007
Time: 22:58

"Let's Pretend", "Let's Make-Believe", Now I know I'm not the only one who ever played that as a child. And no, I'm not talking about "The Land of Make-Believe" from "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood", although there was one part of the show that I actually liked. It was whenever they showed those little model buildings. I'm talking about the ones that you saw at the opening of every episode, and you would see them again whenever he went out of his house. Yes, those!

But getting back to what I was originally talking about, "pretending". Not to sound egotistical or anything, but I learned a long time ago how powerful an imagination could be. Sometimes, it was all I had.

I mentioned before how there were times when all I was allowed to do for entertainment was to listen to this dinky (read crappy), little AM radio. But when certain songs played, my bedroom window became my orchestra. It was pretty easy to imagine something where there was nothing because at the time, we were 31 floors up. At that height, the only mammals that could have poked fun at me were the seagulls, or the pigeons, and who were they to talk?

There were times though, when my pretend orchestra did not follow the arrangement I had seen in an encyclopedia. But since I was the conductor of this particular pretend orchestra, I could pretty much do what I wanted, and if I wanted the piano next to me as I conducted my pretend orchestra, then that's where the piano was going to be. :-þ

Journal Entry #41: Pandora's Box

2007-12-09T22:18:00.001-05:00

Date: December 9, 2007
Time: 22:18

Way back in the mists of time, CBS Television used to run programming late at night. This was around midnight to maybe two o'clock in the morning, and as I worked nights, and would invariably stay awake until all hours of the night on my days off, I had the opportunity to watch some of these programs.

They all seemed to be produced in Canada, and the two I remember well were "Night Heat" and "Adderly". But the important thing to know is after these shows were on, CBS ran reruns of a program that was originally aired on that network in 1968, that program was called "The Prisoner", and it starred Patrick McGoohan in the lead role.

I got hooked on this show big time, I went looking for books about it, and I found two very important books. One was "The Official Prisoner Companion", a behind the scenes sort of book that also had the entire episode guide and a breakdown of each episode. It even had the address and phone number of where I could buy the videotapes. Which I soon did.

The other book I bought listed the "25 Best and Worst Science-Fiction Television". It was the 15 Best, and 10 Worst. Of course, "Star Trek" was #1, Twilight Zone was 2, and Outer Limits was 3. The Prisoner was 10, and this rather interesting little show called "Doctor Who" was #5.

So I read what there was about it in the book, and I saw there were a few videos to rent in Blockbuster®, and I watched them. I saw "The Five Doctors", a 20th Anniversary Special, "Deadly Assassin", and two theatrically-released movies based on two previously aired episodes. These movies starred Peter Cushing. Although, in the films, he was called "Doctor Who", and his travel machine, the TARDIS was something he had built himself.

But even as I watched the television episodes, and even the movies, the wheels in my head began to turn. And yet, it wasn't until much later that I became a fan. It was shortly after my brother had been diagnosed with HIV, that I subconsciously needed an outlet for the nervous energy that was building up inside me.

One day, I happened to be talking with one of the people in the VAX area of Network Operations, his name was Mike. Mike and I soon got into a discussion about Doctor Who, and he lent me some of the tapes that he owned, and once again I saw "The Five Doctors", "Deadly Assassin", but this time I also got to see a program called "Day of the Daleks", and I also saw all of these tapes with a different perspective. You see, before, when I saw the tapes, I watched them as a fan of science-fiction. This time, I was watching them as a science-fiction fan, there's a difference. You see, this time, I was watching tapes that belonged to fan of the program, that gave them a vibe that the other tapes, the rentals, did not have. And then the wheels in my head started to spin more rapidly.

And then, I was in a store called "Coconuts". They sold music and videotapes. I'm browsing through their videos, and there it is, a Doctor Who video that I have not seen. Well sure, there are a lot of them that I haven't seen, but this one was different. This one featured the Seventh incarnation of the being called "The Doctor", and this particular tape had extra footage that the previous release, which I had long since missed, did not.

So I bought it, finally, and I watched it. And I became hooked!

There was a moment in this episode, one tiny moment, that made me think. There was this bit of business where the Doctor is talking with a soldier on guard duty, and it was at that moment that I saw his eyes. The actor protraying the Doctor at this point is named Sylvester McCoy and his companion is Ace, played by Sophie Aldred. I looked at the Doctor's eyes and saw something, I felt there was something else there, something more than simply being a Time Lord.

Now this was long before I knew anything about the missing footage from a prior story called "Remembrance of the Daleks", and way before I even read the novelization of the final story, "Survival". So the Seventh Doctor, became "My Doctor", and his companion Ace, became my favorite companion.

In 1996, some months after my brother died from AIDS, and I took possession of his typewriter, I wrote a Doctor Who story, featuring the 8th incarnation of the Doctor, and his companion of the moment was a friend of mine who comes back after his travels and tells me the story that I may write it. I dedicated the story to my friend Mike, the guy who let me the tapes, which led to my becoming a Doctor Who Fan.

I wrote "Dedicated to Michael Taylor, who no idea of the Pandora's Box he was opening when he decided to lend me those tapes.", and I gave him a copy of the story.

I just wish I could that one published more than anything, but I can't. Y'see, that's the story that goes against all of the rules set down by the BBC for all authors that wish to write Doctor Who stories. Well, it's the first story that does that. ;-)

Journal Entry #40: Vagaries of Time

2007-12-08T23:57:00.000-05:00

Date: December 8, 2007

Time: 23:57

Almost slipped my mind this time.

In Journal Entry #11, I made mention of using Google Earth to go flying through space. I mention that because I had an idea of what to write and I wanted to see if I had written it before. I also spoke of one of the actors from Doctor Who being part of what inspired my first story.

The actresses' name is Sophie Aldred, she portrayed the character known as "Ace". In the interview she said that if a big blue police box, which is what The Doctor's travel machine looks like, were to appear in her sitting room, and a man stepped out and said "You can sit here and drink cups of tea and go to work and live your life, or I can take you on a trip through time and space." She said that she would go. My story added one little phrase, "And have you back before anyone knows you've been gone." This is something I'd always thought about long before I ever knew the series existed.

Many science-fiction television series, books, comic books, and even a play or two, have dealt with the subject of time travel, and I've always felt that if you were to go into the future, or to the past, you should be able to come back to when you left so no one would know you'd been gone, and would therefore not miss you, or give your apartment to someone else.

But in some ways, there is a drawback to traveling into the future. What you see there, isn't necessarily going to stay there. In other words, "The future has not been written. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves." Cliched? Sure! But it's still true.

And don't go thinking that past can be changed, either, there are laws against that. Not the kind of laws you think, but let's say you go back and kill a dictator before they are born, or come to power, history says that there was a dictator at a certain time in a certain place, and if you get rid of the one eveyone remembers, history will put another in his place, maybe a worse one.

Journal Entry #39: Fairy Tales

2007-12-07T23:40:00.000-05:00

Date: December 7, 2007
Time: 23:41

I think I may have mentioned a few times, either on here or out in what is called "Real Life", that I read a great deal when I was growing up. As I was a child at one point, it was sort of expected of me to read fairy tales.

But I found out something a long time ago that people are only finding out about today, the Grimm Brothers, Hans Christian Andersen, and even Aesop, have a lot to answer for. I won't get on the case of Carlo Collodi, the creator of Pinocchio, he has enough problems.

But those other three, fairy tales were never meant to be told to children, or at least, should have come with a PG label on the book. Why, in one story alone, entitle "Great Claus and Little Claus" (no relation to Santa), you have moments of fraud, con artistry, blackmail, suicide, and even murder, all cleverly disguised. http://hca.gilead.org.il/li_claus.html

There were few, if any "happy endings" in any of Andersen's tales, people died, were transformed, or as in the case of "The Little Mermaid", well, I'll let you read that for yourself. http://hca.gilead.org.il/li_merma.html

Speaking of unhappy endings, I will give you one more link to "The Steadfast Tin Soldier". http://hca.gilead.org.il/tin_sold.html Okay, this site calls it "The Brave Tin Soldier", but the story's the same. There is really only one part of the entire story I happen to like, but as I don't want to ruin any of it for you, I will just say this "curbside stream", and maybe one day, I'll tell you more.

Journal Entry #38: The Funnies

2007-12-06T22:41:00.000-05:00

Date: December 6, 2007
Time: 22:41

I finally figured out what to write about this evening. I admit it, there have been more than a few times when I have had idea zero as to what to write here, but now I have a subject: Comic Strips.

Now, now, I'm not going to into the history of comic strips, talking about one of the first political cartoons, or anything like that, I'm going to write about some of my favorites, and some of them are not in the newspaper, at least not in any New York paper I've seen.

I read Online Comic Strips.

One of the funniest I've read so far is called "Sheldon" by Dave Kellett.

Sheldon concerns a 10-year old boy, who is not only a genius, but he owns his very own multi-billion dollar software company. He lives with his grandfather, a duck named "Arthur", into whom young Sheldon implanted a dictionary, and voice-recognition software, and now Arthur can talk. He recently got a Pug dog named "Oso", Arthur hatched an egg that turned out to have lizard in it, who was soon named "Flaco", and Sheldon has a best friend named "Dante".

I discovered the existence of this strip many years ago when I was using the internet for something other than work. I later had the opportunity to meet the creator of this strip at the New York Comic-Con in 2006, and I bought the first book of collected strips from him and got it autographed.

I had to put the book down after a few minutes because I couldn't stop laughing.

http://www.sheldoncomics.com/

Yahoo.com has a great many online only strips, as does Comics.com, and Ucomics.com

There is one newspaper's website I've found that not only has some online only strips, but one comic strip in particular that you probably wouldn't get to see otherwise. The newspaper is the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and the strip is "The Phantom" by Lee Falk.

What I like most about this particular strip is you get two stories for the same price. There is one storyline that runs Monday to Saturday, and another that is Sunday only. http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/fun/phantom.asp

Now I have to warn you, the storyline that that link takes you to has been going on for over a month. It concerns a little girl who has been going around her city, painting pictures of an heroic figure of a man she believes she made up, but in "reality", it's The Phantom, and he's been going around trying to cover up the paintings so no one asks too many questions. Her parents tried taking her to a psychiatrist because they found pictures she had drawn of this "Hero" and thought she was obsessed with "him", and had in fact, copied the figure from the graffiti.

There's more to the story, but I'll let you find it out for yourself.

Be advised though, a lot of these strips that have ongoing stories only go back a set number of days, so if you've missed the beginning, like with this one, you're pretty much stuck.

Unless of course, they find a way to reprint them.

Journal Entry #37: Other Abilities

2007-12-05T23:47:00.000-05:00

Date: December 5, 2007
Time: 23:48

So let's review, I am a fair to middling writer, or so I've been told, and I have been informed that I take a pretty good picture, and that's not to say that I'm photogenic, I'm rather talented when it comes to using a camera. And as I've said on many occasions, I have a very good memory, if my brain is allowed to work properly.

But if the truth be known, there are times when I wish I was gifted in other ways.

I wish I could read music and play a musical instrument, and maybe even sing a little.

Of the instruments that are available, if I were talented enough to play one, I think I would like to be able to play either the piano, or the saxophone. I don't care if I wasn't good enough to play with a group or an orchestra, I just wish I could play.

Okay, I hear it, "So why don't you take lessons?" Time, patience, money. I don't have much of any of them at this point in my life. So all I can do at this time is wish.

Journal Entry #36: Favorites

2007-12-05T00:28:00.001-05:00

Date: December 5, 2007
Time: 00:28

*Yawn!* Dozed off for a few hours.

Tuesday evening I was asked what my favorite scary movie was. I had to admit that I didn't really have one. I did have a scene from one that still gives me the jumps. It's from the film "Poltergeist", when the clown doll appears from under the bed and wraps its arm around the kid's neck. Just the doll's appearance makes me jump, even though I know it's coming, I still flinch a great deal when it happens.

I guess that's why I don't watch that movie anymore.

But that led me to think of the fact that I don't really have a favorite movie, I say that I have a few favorites, but it's due mostly to the fact that what I call my "favorites" are actually made of a lot of scenes that I especially like.

Take for example "People Will Talk" (1951) Starring Cary Grant. In this film, Cary Grant plays Dr. Noah Praetorius. He teaches at a medical school and is the head of his own medical clinic. As the main character, he of course has some of the best lines, but it's the following scenes that I love most. 1) Around the beginning of the film when he steps in to take over the lecture of another professor at the college. 2) When he's on rounds in the clinic. 3) When he visits the father of this one female patient of his. 4) When he appears before a board of inquiry to tell the story of his past, and especially about the man who never leaves his side, 'the man called Shunderson'. 5) Even though he doesn't tell most of the story of Mr. Shunderson, the care that Praetorius feels for this apparently simple man is easily seen and felt.

And finally, 6) Which even though is a bit of what is called "A Spoiler", it occurs at the end of the film, when Dr. Pratorius is conducting the school orchestra and chorus. I won't give away what muisc is being performed, you'll have to watch it yourself.

Journal Entry #35: Saturday Mornings

2007-12-03T22:40:00.000-05:00

Date: December 3, 2007
Time: 22:50

When I was growing up, Saturday mornings were something special. Especially when I was allowed to watch television. Saturday mornings when I was a kid meant cartoons. Real cartoons, not these 22 minute, not counting the commercials, ads for toys and such. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there's a use for them.

In fact, when they brought back "G.I. Joe" action figures, albeit at 5" tall, I saw the commercials for them and immediately said "There gonna make a cartoon series." Okay, I was about 16 years old when I said it, but I was right.

But cartoons when I was young were different, they were populated by Bugs' Bunny, Daffy Duck, The Road Runner and the Coyote. You had the Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm Show, a spin-off of "The Flinstones" and yet, a carbon copy, to an extent, of "The Archies". You see, back in the 1970s, whatever your characters did in your cartoon, usually hunting down fake ghosts or international spies, you had to have them appear as a musical group at least once during the program. The only cartoon characters that were allowed to appear as a musical group more than once were the only ones that were a musical group in the first place, "Josie and the Pussycats".

"The Archies" were a close second, but they would only appear as a group if the script called for it. I have to admit that there was one cartoon series I watched that, looking back, was pretty much the worst of the lot. That series was called "The Brady Kids". Yeah, them.

I think what made it so bad was, oh let me see, there was the talking bird, the two pandas, and the fact after the first year, the voices for Greg, Marcia, and Peter were performed by other actors. Oh, and we cannot forget "Jabberjaw", the undersea music group with a pet shark that played the drums, and sounded like Curly from The 3 Stooges.

But I have to say, my favorite program out of all of them was "The Banana Splits Show". It featured 4 people dressed in these fuzzy costumes, and they "hosted" a variety of cartoon shows and one live action series called "Danger Island" that co-starred an actor by the name of Jan-Michael Vincent. The one thing I always wished for was to be able to ride in the little six-wheeled carts they rode around an amusement park in.

Still do.

Journal Entry #34: Believability

2007-12-02T22:23:00.000-05:00

Date: December 2, 2007
Time: 22:24

"He was hoist by his own petard."

I learned this expression while reading one of my science-fiction, or possibly it was a fantasy book, but in any event, this expression applies to me in a couple of ways.

I have been attending DeVry since April 2005, and all during that time, I have told many people how lousy I am in math. Unfortunately, with the grades I have gotten, no one believes me. Especially after getting a B in Statistics the first time out. I have been told that I have this tendency to needlessly worry over whether or not I'll pass a class, and lo and behold, I pass. So people tell me I worry over nothing.

If they only knew that it's my constant worrying that gives me the impetus to work my ass off.

Now, it is highly possible that anyone who has read that last line might have found it funny, or at the very least, somewhat humorous. This is another instance in which I find myself "hoist".

I use humor as a defence mechanism. It's not really much of a conscious thing, but I've used it so often, that even when I'm serious about something, people think I'm joking, or I'm trying to be funny. Even when I tell them that I'm not joking, or that I'm not kidding, they still have this inkling that maybe I am trying to be funny. Sadly, I'm not.

Through my writing, I have learned that I have a certain cadence to my speech, and I have a tendency to use that cadence when I write. It is as a result of this speech cadence that no matter what I say, it seems to come out as a joke. I've tried changing it, I've tried to not be funny, but nothing seems to work.

So my only recourse is to say nothing as much as I possibly can.

And I bet that to you, that sounded like a joke.

Journal Entry #33: Bit Of A Rant

2007-12-02T00:11:00.001-05:00

Date: December 2, 2007
Time: 00:11

Yes, I know, I'm writing this past Midnight. I had a bit of trouble with a possible virus. It happened while I was taking my Economics midterm. I was trying to find the answer to something and wound up accidentally downloading some software that looks for something called "Malware".

There are times, like now, when technology is more trouble than its worth. For every program or website that's helpful or informative, there's another that's of no use, or it's there simply to trap you into releasing a virus into your system, and thereby infect the systems of your friends and relations through your address book.

I've said this on many occasions to many different people and I'm saying it here:

If I had even half the talent and skill as even some of these hackers have, I would find a way to legitimately make money off of it. I would lease my services to whomever would pay me the most at any given time. Yeah, I know there would be people out there with better skills than I have, but who's to say I'm not that good?

You see, what galls me the most about these hackers is what they do with their skills and talents. They use them to annoy the rest of the world with their idiocy. They send out viruses and all manner of programs that will do nothing for anyone except ruin their computer systems and thereby cause them to lose their files, personal and otherwise.

The reason they do this is for the attention it brings to their sad, lonely little lives. They have nothing to do all day except be a pest to the rest of the world. Any, and every time I hear of a hacker, or spam artist, that gets their comeuppance, or better yet, time in jail, it brings a smile to my face. But, at the same time, it makes me sad that such a talented person had to screw themselves so badly.

Journal Entry #32: MY Song

2007-11-30T22:11:00.000-05:00

Date: November 30, 2007
Time: 22:12

Back around 1977 or 1978, I was listening to the radio, during one of those time when I was allowed to do so, and back when AM Radio played music. It was the time of 77WABC and 66WNBC. This was a good thing as the radio I had at the time only received AM signals.

It was early one evening and this song came on. It was a purely instrumental piece, and it sounded so beautiful, I actually began to waltz around my bedroom. Unfortunately, the DJ never told what the title, or who the artist was. All I know is, that song made me feel so good, I was honestly happy, and even relaxed while it was on. But then, to make matters worse, it would be years before I ever heard it again.

Fast forward to 1983, and I'm living in Cottage 12 in Hawthorne Cedar Knolls School. My roommate is at home for the weekend, so I decided to listen to his radio. Yes, this one had FM, and this was back when WPAT was playing what they used to call "dentist office music". And yes, that song played again, and once again, I felt happy. Until the station broke for a commercial, and the DJ never mentioned the title or artist.

Cut to: My Grandmother's livingroom. I'm sitting, watching TV, and a commercial comes on, "Eric Roberts Plays the Piano Greats". Now this was not the Eric Roberts who is an actor and brother to Julia. This was a different Eric Roberts, who played the piano. (I know you can see where this is going, but let me get there in my own way.) So, I'm watching this commercial, well, staring at it really, and the announcer says "Eric Roberts plays 'Musicbox Dancer'", and I hear the strains of the one song in the entire world that can make me feel good, and I sprung up from the chair. I pointed at the screen and shouted "That's it! That's the song!"

But it would a few more years until I found out the name of the artist, Frank Mills, and it would be some time before I was able to get my hands on a copy.

But now, I have a 45 record that I was able to get through a co-worker, I have a cassette tape that has quite a few other tunes by the same artist, I have a CD with a newer version, and I have the CD edition of the cassette. I think I'm covered now.

And now I'm going to feel happy for while.

Bye now.

Journal Entry #31: More Than "Funny Books"

2007-11-29T22:51:00.000-05:00

Date: November 29, 2007
Time: 22:51

Sometime ago, a friend recommended I read the graphic novel version of a series called "Sandman". He claimed I wouldn't be disappointed. I wasn't.

It was just about the most interesting series I'd ever read. It also introduced me to one of the finest authors I ever read, Neil Gaiman. He's written many short stories and a great many novels. There are two that are my absolute favorites, they are "Good Omens" and "Neverwhere".

"Good Omens" is best described like this, imagine 'Damien' from "The Omen", accidentally winding up the son of accountants, while an otherwise normal little boy, ends up in the hands of Satanists.

While "Neverwhere" takes you on a trip through a London no one usually sees.

But while the storylines that involved "Sandman" directly were interesting, there was one one story that I've since learned was, in part, true. Although I have to point out this little aside. There was a scene where the caretaker of the Sandman's castle, one Merv Pumkinhead, was asked to install a new wing in the library. He came in, placed a ladder against a wall, and, like a paperhanger putting up wallpaper, installed a new wing of the library.

But back to the somewhat true story.

I thought it had been made up as it was appearing in a comic book. But I did a little research, and I found out it was true. It's the story of the first, and only Emperor of the United States.

On September 17, 1859, Joshua A. Norton lost everything he had in an attempt to corner the rice market. It was also on that day that he declared himself, Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Mexico.

And while a good deal of information, including the bit I'm about to include here, can be found at this site, http://www.sfmuseum.org/hist1/norton.html I have to mention this bit because I find it to be extremely funny:

January 21, 1867 – An overzealous Patrol Special Officer, Armand Barbier, arrested His Majesty Norton I for involuntary treatment of a mental disorder and thereby created a major civic uproar. Police Chief Patrick Crowley apologized to His Majesty and ordered him released. Several scathing newspaper editorials followed the arrest. All police officers began to salute His Majesty when he passed them on the street.

Journal Entry #30: Fear

2007-11-28T23:32:00.000-05:00

Date: November 28, 2007
Time: 23:33

I'm not a fan of Woody Allen, but he said something once that I tend to agree with. He said, "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work, I want to achieve it by not dying."

Some semesters ago, I had to write a research paper for ENGL135. I got it written, and I used myself as a couple of examples. Oh, I wrote about fears and phobias.

I fear rejection, in fact, I have an almost paralyzing fear of it. I say "almost paralyzing fear" because up until I submitted one of my stories for publication, I had a "paralyzing fear" of rejection. There is a phrase people tend to throw about whenever someone is afraid to say something to someone else, for instance, asking your boss for a raise. The phrase is "What's the worst that could happen? So they say 'No'."

Um, excuse me, but, for someone who fears rejection to the extent that I do, being told 'No', is the worst that could happen. Being told 'No' is devastating to me. Even when I submitted my stories to be copyrighted, there was always the possibility that someone else could have written something similar enough for me to be rejected. Like my story entitled "The Family of Man", all while I was writing it, I kept thinking and saying to myself, "I've read this before." or "I know I've read this", or "I know I've seen this before."

And then, one day, I got an envelope from the US Copyright Office. It was thin enough for them to have mailed that story back to me. But when I opened it up, it turned out there was a slight problem with another submission. It seems I had gotten too technical when I listed what I had written and/or created in regards to the story.

I can hear you saying, "See? You were worried over nothing." It is not nothing, to me, it is everything. Now, sooner or later, I'll probably submit another story for publication, but it's going to take a while.

For anyone who might be interested in reading my research paper, here is the link,

http://www.geocities.com/lyoskowitz/My_Research_Paper.html

It is within that paper where you can read of my other fear.

Journal Entry #29: Television

2007-11-27T23:46:00.000-05:00

Date: November 27, 2007
Time: 23:46

I didn't almost forget this time, I was kind of putting it off. For once, not only was I unsure of what to write, I wasn't too sure I wanted to write at all.

Like I said a couple of times already, I get really emotional around the holidays, and as such, I tend to feel what I call the “Woman get away from me ‘cause I can’t stand the sight of you” Blues. But I'm going to try and talk about something else in this entry.

I would like to talk about Television, and of the many programs that are my favorites.

There are comedies, dramas, which I guess you could ascribe to almost any program. It's the "sub-genre" that...

Oh forget it. I'll just talk about one show in particular right now, "The West Wing".

When I first heard that there was going to be a television series that took place in the White House, I thought to myself "A show about the White House? Aw man, it's gonna be crap!" And then, I found out that Martin Sheen was going to be playing the President, and I thought to myself, "Aw man, Martin Sheen as the President? It's gonna be full of political rhetoric!"

And then I caught a rerun of an episode on Bravo, and then I caught another episode. It was the second episode that got me hooked. Here's the scenario:

Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn (Rob Lowe) is appearing on an early morning talk show. As he is presenting the view of the Democrat, or the Liberal side, there must be equal time given to the Republicans, or the Conservative side. This is represented by a vivacious young woman named Ainsley Hayes (Emily Procter).

The discussion begins and Sam is on a roll, but then the host, played by Ted McGinley asks Ms. Hayes for her opinion. She begins speaking and follows through by basically reading Sam the riot act. She then corrects him on an error in geography, he stated a town as being in Oregon when it was really in California. When they break for a commercial, Sam says, under his breath, "Please don't let anyone be watching." The scene then cuts to the interior of the White House and Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman comes barreling into Communications Director Toby Ziegler's office and says, "Toby, come quick, Sam's getting his ass kicked by a girl.", to which Toby turns to his assistant, Ginger, and says, "Ginger, get the popcorn." Cut to opening titles.

That scene, the little bit between Josh and Toby made me laugh, and was what got me hooked on the series.

When a character was killed in Season 3, I too, wanted to cry. When they recovered the President's youngest daughter at the beginning of Season 4, I was choked up, but cheering. But when John Spencer, who played White House Chief of Staff Leo McGarry, died of a heart attack in real life, I almost did cry. John Spencer made a lot of his career out of playing character roles, but as Leo, he shined.

There is moment between Josh and Leo from Season 2 that I would like to share. At the end of Season 1, shots were fired at the President and his staff as they left a "Town Hall" meeting. The President and Josh were hit, and Josh almost died. In the Christmas episode of Season 2, we learn that Josh is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and talks with a psychiatrist, played by Adam Arkin. Leo brings him in when Josh yells at the President, IN THE OVAL OFFICE.

Later, after the session is over, Josh sees that Leo had been waiting for him. When Josh suggests that he go and apologize to the President, in hopes of keeping his job, Leo tells him a story.

This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, "Hey, you, can you help me out?" The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up, "Father, I'm down in this hole. Can you help me out?" The priest writes a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by. "Hey, Joe, it's me. Can you help me Out" And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, "Are you nuts? Now we're both down here." The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before - and I know the way out."

Leo then tells Josh, "As long as I have a job, you have a job."

Looking back, I don't think anyone else could have delivered those lines in quite the same way as John Spencer.

Journal Entry #28: Sentimentality

2007-11-26T22:45:00.000-05:00

Date: November 26, 2007
Time: 22:45

I mentioned in an earlier post that holidays tend to make me a bit more emotional than usual. So I signed on to make an entry tonight, and there was something on the first page about uploading videos from YouTube. Hmm, let’s see, I’m a bit of an emotional wreck during the holidays, and YouTube has all manner of videos that are likely to set me off. Oh golly, whatever shall I do?

I’ve so far bookmarked “Do They Know It’s Christmas”, “We Are The World”, “Tears Are Not Enough”, which is by a group of Canadian singers, and just now, “Sun City” by Artists United Against Apartheid. Sometimes, you get a wave of nostalgia when you see videos from over 20 years ago, but what’s really interesting about these videos is who you see taking part and singing. People like Daryl Hannah, but when you realize she was going with Jackson Browne at the time then it’s not so difficult to see.

But the really interesting bit, the really, really bizarre moment occurred when I got more choked up watching and listening to the “Sun City” video, than I did from watching the other three. It just goes to show you, the least little thing can affect you in ways you never dream of.

Journal Entry #27: Super Powers

2007-11-25T23:12:00.000-05:00

Date: November 25, 2007
Time: 23:12

When I was growing up, on the rare occasion I was allowed to go out and play, one of the games we played was “Superheroes”, and no matter what, everyone got angry with me when I wanted to play “Superman”. One of the reasons they got so peeved is they didn’t think of it first. And the other reason? There was nothing the “bad guys” could do to him to hurt him. Thinking back on it, I was amazed that no one ever thought to use Kryptonite. Could it have been sheer forgetfulness on their part, or did they think “I” would find some way to get away from it too soon to make the game fun?

In any event, long after that, I’d always wanted Superman’s powers. To be able to fly, and not only to anywhere on Earth, but to anywhere in the galaxy, or even the universe. To be able to look up at the stars, and see planets orbiting those stars. Yeah, I know, “X-Ray Vision”, woo-hoo. But, believe it or not, that novelty would wear off pretty quickly, because look at everything else there is to see, especially when you have microscopic vision. You could see the building blocks of the universe, and then, back to telescopic vision, and see what they built.

Now, there are times, like even now while I’m writing this, that I would like to have certain kinds of powers. For instance, as much as I dislike Marvel Comics, they used to have a character that had a rather unique power. His name was Cypher, and he could read, write, and understand, any written language that ever existed. His ability to do that stemmed from the fact that he was part of that group that most of the world (in Marvel) knows as a mutant. But, as that was the only mutant ability he had, and as he was only a “fair” hand-to-hand combatant, he lost his life during an adventure with a group that called themselves, “The New Mutants”. Clever name, huh? Regardless, of that, there are times, when I think it would be nice to have that particular little power.
But then, a thought occurs to me. I think about what my life was like when I was growing up. I was extremely short, in comparison to everyone else, and I knew sod all about defending myself. Throughout my life, my mother instilled one main idea into our heads, “Speak your mind. Never be afraid to speak your mind.” This from a woman, who, upon being told she had no talent for embroidery, stopped doing it for something like 30 years. Unfortunately, she never said anything about tact, or diplomacy.

For a long while, we lived in a not-so-nice neighborhood. We lived in one of the many city projects that dot the borough of Brooklyn. If it was too cold for my mother to sit outside, I couldn’t go out and play. So on those days, I was stuck in the house. To this day, I hate Sundays for the simple reason that there is absolutely NOTHING on television. So on the Sundays I was stuck in the house, all I was left with was reading. Therefore, it’s my mother’s fault for me having an Eighth grade reading average in the Fourth grade. Well, that, and the fact I have a very good memory.

Speaking of my very good memory, I remember a great deal of wrong that was dealt to me while I was growing up. Being picked on for no other reason than to get a reaction from me, or just because the other guy was bigger. With that in mind, and with my mother’s side of the family’s penchant for holding a grudge, I came up with a nifty little power of my own. I would be able to make someone else feel everything I have ever gone through in my entire life so far, in the space of thirty seconds. Think about it, at this moment, I am 42 years old, and I would make another person feel everything emotion, every feeling I have had every moment of my life, from birth until now, and all in a time span of 30 seconds.

There would, of course, be one or two drawbacks. One, would be that I would have to be a short distance from them, say a maximum of 30 feet, and there is the possibility of being recognized by someone from my past, of indeed that’s who I was going after, but experience with friends, or at least one friend, has shown me that people I knew from more than 20 years ago are hard-pressed to remember me at first glance. But of course, I would never let them try and recognize me in the first place, so I’m probably pretty safe in that regard.

What’s that you say? “What’s the other drawback?” Well, it is very likely, that such an onslaught of emotions, in that space of time, with no real defense either against it, or in dealing with it, the person the force was aimed at would most likely die. Or, at the very least, turn into either a catatonic vegetable, or a gibbering idiot. Now I’d vote for gibbering idiot, but with some of the morons who picked on me, who’d know the difference?

Journal Entry #26: Pointlessness

2007-11-24T23:44:00.000-05:00

Date: November 24, 2007
Time: 23:45

Sometimes I wonder, “What’s the point of it all?” I mean really, what is the point? What’s it all for? Why am I spending thousands of dollars that I’ll be paying off for the rest of eternity? What’s at the end of all this, really, seriously? The big problem I have with a lot of this, as I explained before is, I don’t know what I want to do!

I only seem to know what I don’t want. I don’t want to own, operate, start, or manage a business. I don’t want to be an accountant, or a financial analyst. I don’t want to be a programmer; I don’t want to be a computer system troubleshooter, if there is such a thing. In short, what the hell am I doing here if I don’t like a great deal of the classes I have to take for a degree that will probably do me no good if I have to take yet another job I DON’T WANT?!?

Do I have to beg? Really, do I have to beg and plead for someone to give me some sort of a test that will finally tap into my creative side? None of this crap about two trains traveling at different speeds, no math questions, nothing to do with “the purest form of logic”. Show me some pictures and ask me to write a story, or give me an idea for a story. In other words, let me write, it seems to be the only thing I’m happy with doing. But no, none of these people will let me.

So I ask again, what's the point?

Journal Entry #25: Holiday Funk

2007-11-23T22:17:00.000-05:00

Date: November 23, 2007

Time: 22:18

Before the “experts” came up with a fancy-sounding name for it, “Seasonal Affective Disorder” or “SAD”, people got the blues around the holidays. Sometime they would go into a deep funk that in some instances, they don’t get out of until around 2 weeks after the start of Spring.

I get out of it just in time for the beginning of Summer.

Now, it’s easy to understand if someone gets misty-eyed, or choked up when they hear an emotionally charged Christmas song, say “Little Drummer Boy”, or “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”, but can anyone explain to me why someone would get teary-eyed when they hear “Step Into Christmas” by Elton John? I mean, just look at the lyrics.

Welcome to my Christmas song
I'd like to thank you for the year
So I'm sending you this Christmas card
To say it's nice to have you here
I'd like to sing about all the things
Your eyes and mind can see
So hop aboard the turntable
Oh step into Christmas with me

Step into Christmas
Let's join together
We can watch the snow fall forever and ever
Eat, drink and be merry
Come along with me
Step into Christmas
The admission's free

Take care in all you do next year
And keep smiling through the days
If we can help to entertain you
Oh we will find the ways
So merry Christmas one and all
There's no place I'd rather be
Than asking you if you'd oblige
Stepping into Christmas with me

Now, do you see anything in those lyrics that could evoke a wave of sadness? Neither do I, and yet, this morning, that’s exactly what happened to me. The song came on, and I started getting all choked up. The last time that that happened was Christmastime 2001. So okay, maybe at that time, when it didn’t really feel like Christmas, a cheery song like that one isn’t going to make things feel any better, it might just makes things worse by trying to evoke happiness where there is only sadness and misery.

However, after that, any time I heard the song, I had no problem. There were no tears, no choking up, nothing. Why now? Why after all that time am I affected this way? Maybe if I wasn’t so stressed by my having to have gone back to school, or if I had a job that I tolerated more than the one I have now, or even the one I had before.

Maybe if I knew what it was like to be honestly and truly happy, and to have that feeling last for more than a few minutes. To be able to sustain feeling happy for a lot longer than I have been feeling it lately, which, to tell the truth, is never.

Journal Entry #24: Time Out/Time Off

2007-11-22T21:37:00.000-05:00

Date: November 22, 2007
Time: 21:38

I’ll get back to “If We Ran Marvel” another time, right now, I need a break. I need time off from my job; I need time off from DeVry. I need to not only get away from both places, but I need time to clear my head. What I believe I need is about a month away. Yes, I know, I have to come back, but it’s still a whole month, give or take a few hours, away from that which makes me crazy.

What I need is to have two weeks out of the city, out of the state, and maybe even out of the 48 continuous United States, and both Alaska and Hawaii are out, and stay in some cabin somewhere. Just me, a cabin, a bunch of books to read, and NOTHING ELSE! Someone will drop me off with enough supplies to keep me from starving for two weeks, and at the end of two weeks, that person will pick me up and drop me off at the airport, or bus station, or train station, whichever one is available. Then, for the next two weeks, I will spend that time re-acclimating myself to the city.

But just think about the first two weeks. No people, no worries about sub-contractors not doing their job, not having to deal with any “Authority”, whether it’s the Port Authority or the School Construction Authority. Not getting swamped with enough work to keep 5 accounting clerks happier than a pig in a waller. Imagine, no worries about tests, or mid-terms, or finals. No worries about whether you should take more classes for the “B” Session, or any sessions for that matter. To just be alone and not having to deal with anything for two whole weeks.

To me, that sounds like sheer heavenly bliss.

Journal Entry #23: Ramblings

2007-11-21T23:27:00.000-05:00

Date: November 21, 2007
Time: 23:28

Oops, this is the second time I almost forgot about this. Well, I have said I’ve been a bit addled lately. The holidays tend to do that to me, along with all the rest that’s going on in my head at the moment. Being that tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I’m feeling very unhappy over the fact that I can’t be in Chicago. As I said before, I’m a Doctor Who fan and there’s a Doctor Who convention in that takes place over the Thanksgiving weekend in Chicago. Back in the 90s, it was a science-fiction convention, with actors and people who were connected with Doctor Who at the forefront of the convention.

The convention was called “Visions” and it was run by an organization that called itself “Her Majesty’s Entertainment”. They ran from 1990, until 1998. Then, in 2000, a man named Gene Smith, who owns a store called Alien Entertainment, picked up the torch and began staging conventions. However, these conventions narrowed the guest list and stayed with Doctor Who actors, actresses, and other production related people.

I had the opportunity to attend the 2003 convention, which held great significance for me for a few reasons. Reason 1 was that it was the 40th Anniversary of the start of the programme. Reason 2, was that after I attended that convention, I wouldn’t be able to attend any more until I found a job that would pay me enough to be able to afford to go, and give me enough vacation time to go. Reason 3, was that it gave me a chance to meet another actor who had portrayed the Doctor a second time, Reason 4, one of the guests, character actor Michael Sheard, died a few months later, but I not only got a chance to meet and talk with him, but I have all of his books personally autographed, and finally, Reason number 5.

All of the actors/guests laughed at something I said.

The night before the convention actually starts; there is a little gathering for all attendees who spend a little extra to attend this little party. So, I get to the room where the party is being held, and I find a table and sit down, and they all come over and sit at my table. I look up at Michael Sheard and I sort of recognize him. I mention that I think I know him from somewhere, and he tells me one of the Doctor Who stories he was featured in. It is then that I remember him from an episode called “Remembrance of the Daleks”. He portrayed the headmaster of the Coal Hill School, and the unwitting tool of the Imperial Dalek faction. He attacked my favorite companion Ace, by jamming his knee into her stomach. She then retaliated by kneeing him in the happy sack.

As we discussed this, he mentioned that he had spoken with the actress who portrayed Ace, Sophie Aldred, and he made note of the fact that “she sounded rather subdued.” to which Frazer Hines, who use to portray companion Jamie McCrimmon asked how many children Ms. Aldred has at present, to which the answer was two. To which I replied, “That’s enough to subdue anybody!”

And everyone laughed at my little joke.

I smiled.

Journal Entry #22: If We Ran Marvel Part II

2007-11-20T22:08:00.000-05:00

Date: November 20, 2007
Time: 22:08

One of the biggest changes in the Marvel Universe that I foresee causing all sorts of arguments, besides what we have planned for the X-Men, is what to do with what can be considered the premiere group of the Marvel Universe, “The Fantastic Four”.

As most readers are aware, the Fantastic Four was created when an experimental rocket ship, built by Reed Richards, piloted by Benjamin Grimm, and crewed by siblings Susan and Johnny Storm, flew through the Van Allen radiation belt, and the passengers of the rocket were bombarded by cosmic radiation. The ship crashed, and all four were found to possess strange powers. Reed Richards had the ability to stretch himself in a variety of ways; Susan Storm gained the ability to turn invisible, project invisible shields and invisible projectiles, Susan’s brother Johnny gained the ability to turn into a “human torch”, and Ben Grimm became super strong when his body was transformed and became covered with a coating of orange rocks.

Okay, most of that is not going to be changed. What will be changed, however, are two aspects of their origin, and where their headquarters are located. Okay, first thing: Instead of trying to “beat the Russians”, which was the “in” thing to do at the time (It was the early ‘60s), we propose that Reed Richards has developed a new kind of radiation shield, and wanted to test it. He even went as far as to design and build his own craft with which to do this.

The second thing we would change is the reason the ship got hit by so much radiation in the first place. We decided on this: Reed and Ben are all set to go into space, everything that can possibly be accounted for has been accounted, but there is one thing that Reed never planned on occurring. The night before the launch, Susan and Johnny stow away. The added weight causes the ship to veer off-course, and enter a part of the Van Allen belt that has a higher level of radiation than where they were supposed to go. Now, you might ask, “But why didn’t Reed install a stronger shield?”, and the answer to that is, “As this was a test, Reed decided on a lower level shield as they were supposed to be traveling through an area of lower level radiation.” And now, for the other thing to be changed: The location of their headquarters. Instead of putting them in this enormous building in midtown Manhattan, and thereby be a target for every invading Galactus, Skrull, and Annihilus, I propose to put them in Brooklyn. The reason for Brooklyn instead of possibly Queens, or even Staten Island or the Bronx, is because Peter Parker has Queens covered. The Bronx does not have the access I wish to give them, and Staten Island is just out of the question.

Anyway, where I would like for them to be located is in Brooklyn Heights, as close to the docks on the East River as possible. The reason for that is their lab, storage areas, and launch bays can be in and under a large warehouse on the docks themselves. This will allow the “Pogo Plane”, the “FantastiCar”, and whatever other vehicles they use to have a subterranean and/or submerged launch. But the main reason to put them in Brooklyn Heights is that it is a really nice area. It is close to many forms of transportation, and Ben Grimm would feel a little at home seeing as Fulton Street is a short walk from where their house would be. By the way, the house would be specially designed by Reed Richards, with a special transport tube to allow them to travel to and from their “warehouse” with ease.

The transport tube uses magnetism in such a way that the vehicle that travels along the tube reaches extremely high speeds. This travel tube is one of Reed’s inventions. It is used by the Fantastic Four themselves, Captain America and the Avengers, and the X-Men. Since Captain America uses it, it is safe to assume that it has been purchased, or at least leased by the U.S. government. However, although it was bought or leased by the government, Reed, Ben, Johnny, and Sue are the only ones who are qualified to repair it if anything goes wrong. This goes for all of Reed’s inventions that are purchased, and/or leased by governments and businesses. This is because the technology is proprietary, and as such, will self-destruct if anyone but the members of the Fantastic Four tampers with it.

The character of Iron Man will be next.

Journal Entry #21: If We Ran Marvel

2007-11-19T23:15:00.000-05:00

Date: November 19, 2007
Time: 23:16

Whenever me and my friend Ray get together, either on the phone or in person, our conversation usually turns to comic books, and then, invariably turns to what we would do to MARVEL Comics to make it better. You see, over the years, the powers-that-be at Marvel have been slowly and systematically ruining all of their titles.

So what Ray and I came up with was something of a DC Comics-like “Crisis on Infinite Earths” type of storyline, and then, we clean house. What follows is a bit of that housecleaning.

The first thing to be done is to separate all of the heroes. There are just too damn many of them operating in New York City. It has been reported that the basic reason for all of the heroes being in New York City is because many, if not most, of the writers and creators lived in New York City. All right, even though Steve Rogers, who would one day, grow up to be the man the world knows as Captain America, is alleged to come from New York City’s Lower East Side, or possibly even the area known as Hell’s Kitchen, we will let him remain to have come from either of those areas. It gives him character. However, we propose that his base of operations is to be Washington, D.C. He is headquartered at what is known as the “Old Executive Office Building”, or, as it is known by others, the “OEOB”. He is answerable to the White House Chief of Staff, and to the President of the United States.

With the previous paragraph in mind, let us briefly move on to The Avengers. One of the many things that are wrong with the Avengers is the same thing that is wrong with the X-Men; there are too many of them. While some may feel that having a large team with which to work is fine thing, sometimes less is more. But what we propose here is that there is to be one leader, and that is Captain America. The way it would work is like this.

The Avengers are now brought together by need. There are to be no regular members. As there are no regular members, there is no longer any need for meetings, and because there are no meetings, there is no need for a headquarters. Allow me to explain. An incident occurs that requires more than one hero; Captain America goes from his office in the OEOB to a special room in the Pentagon. He travels by means of a superspeed underground rail system. He then enters the situation into a computer. The computer analyzes the situation and calls up the names of those heroes, and heroines, which are the best ones suited for the job at hand. Now, one might ask “What if that person isn’t available?” Well, the answer is, “Cap will just have to find someone else.” This opens up all sorts of possibilities in that the available person just might not like Captain America.

Take for instance, the resident archer extraordinaire Hawkeye, aka Clint Barton. It could be that Hawkeye was on a previous mission with Cap and the rest of whomever was called, and something happened that Hawkeye did not like, and for which, Cap was ultimately responsible, or vice versa. So say another occasion arises that calls for an expert in archery. Hawkeye could say he does not want to get into another situation like before, but naturally, Cap will appeal to Hawkeye’s sense of duty, and thereby make him join up. Which of course means it may not work the next time he gets called. Did I make that clear enough? I sure hope so, because I don’t think I could go through it again.

So, getting back to what I was saying at the beginning of all this, The Avengers, being that they have a rotating membership, might not always come back with the same people they left with. In short, one, or several members of the team, may die. And they will stay dead.

Now that’s not to say that every month a major character is in danger of being killed, there are some B-Level heroes that aren’t always used, and they seem to be more resilient than cockroaches. In any event, this new Avengers can be considered almost a duplicate of DC Comics’ Suicide Squad, but without the exploding bracelets.

More to Come

Journal Entry #20: Being Me

2007-11-18T21:29:00.000-05:00

Date: November 18, 2007
Time: 21:31

Every once in a while, and it hasn’t happened for quite some time now, I get this feeling where I’m tired of being me. I’m tired of everything that’s going on around me; I’m tired of putting up with everything that’s going on around me. I’m tired of my job, and even when I was having difficulty in finding one, I was tired of that. I’m just tired with being me, and I feel that it’s someone else’s turn.

I mentioned this to a friend of mine once. He gave me a fantastic answer, “You need a vacation.” Y’know, if I ever decided to get talked out of suicide, he’s the one I would call last. He didn’t stop to think that even if I were to go anywhere, I’d have to come back, and if I went anywhere and came back, I’d Still Be Me.

So even after deciding that maybe someone else should have the privilege of being me, after all, I shouldn’t be the only one to have this much misery, I figured out why I’m stuck with the job; no one else wants it. And I don’t blame them one bit.

But regardless of all that, I do need a break. I think I may have mentioned this in an earlier post, but my brain has been so addled lately that I’m not sure I remember exactly when. But I need a break. I need to get out of town, possibly out of the state, maybe even out of the country. I need to maybe go to London for two weeks instead of the usual one week, and then spend about two or three weeks just resting. But if that were to happen, there would have to be one proviso that would guarantee my returning. Things would have to change.

My job, for the most part, that would have to go. I am sick and tired of working for a construction contractor. I don’t belong there, I’ve never been comfortable there, and I don’t like it there.

The next thing that would have to change is being at school. I don’t feel I belong at DeVry either. I don’t know what school I’m meant to be attending, or even if I'm meant to go to school, but wherever it is, or is not, I know it’s not where politics and profit margins rule the day.

And finally, as much as I like living where I do, being close to everything I need, I wouldn’t mind living above ground for a change. It has been over twenty years since I moved into this basement apartment.

But none this is going to happen. Why? Simple answer: Because I can’t go anywhere in the first place. I don’t have the time, nor do I have the money. So, what else ya got?

I look forward to an answer.

Journal Entry #19: Fitting In

2007-11-17T21:52:00.000-05:00

Date: November 17, 2007
Time: 21:53

I guess you would refer to this entry as something of a follow-up to “Acceptance”. The reason is I still don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. This isn’t some once in a while feeling, okay, maybe it rises to the surface every so often, but the feeling is always there.

I’m not really sure what it is exactly. Sometimes I feel like I was born at the wrong time, and I don’t mean night or day. I mean the year, the decade, sometimes even the century. Sometimes it’s a matter of geography. Was I really meant to be born in Brooklyn, or was it somewhere else in New York? Come to think of it, who says it had to have been in New York at all? Hell, come to that, who says it has to have been anywhere on the East Coast? There are even times when I wonder if I was really meant to be born in the United States.

And then, there’s that once in a while moment, when I’m laying in bed, the lights are off because I’m trying for some sleep, that little feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to either have been born, or have yet to be born, on another planet. And no, I don’t think it’s one of the planets in this particular solar system.

I just don’t know.

Journal Entry #18: Part III

2007-11-16T22:09:00.000-05:00

Date: November 16, 2007
Time: 22:10

The final dream I remember with vivid clarity took place in a park. Sort of.

The grass was a very dark green, and the trees were filled with green leaves. This would say to most people that it was either spring or summer. It was a cloudy day, and I was with some friends. We were tossing a large ball around and on this one toss to me, I missed it. No surprise there as I am lousy when it comes to sports.

The ball got past me and bounced onto this patio. Or at least it looked like a patio from where I was standing. When I got closer, I found out it was an upper deck of a ship. There were lounge chairs and tables for card playing, and these oddly shaped trees in these odd-looking pots. The trees were small, but their trunks twisted and curved themselves in strange ways. But what really made them look odd was the shelf that stood between the top of the pot and the middle of the tree. It was like something out of “The Jetson’s”.

There were a great many elderly people lounging about, and I excused myself and “begged pardon” on a grand scale. I couldn’t understand why at the time, but I felt as though I didn’t belong there, and I should be as polite as I could until I could find a way to get out of there. I remember I was holding the ball, and as I was being complimented on how polite I was I was invited to stay a while until the ship was ready to leave. And I said “I don’t think I belong here.” But some of them were insistent that I stay, and I kept telling them that I didn’t belong there.

I remember I kept on say that until I woke up.

My relating these dreams has been somewhat difficult for me in some ways as it dredges up a lot of memories associated with the dream. In point of fact, it dredges up the dream. I mean, yeah, I remember it and all, but I'm not in the habit of talking about it.

Journal Entry #17: Dreams, Part II

2007-11-15T22:35:00.000-05:00

Date: November 15, 2007

Time: 22:35

There were two dreams I had that were so vivid; I didn’t wake up when I started talking. You see, I have found that if I talk in a dream, I wake myself up. It’s as though my silence gives the dream a chance to finish. I wonder if by talking, I’m introducing a form of logic into a moment that is supposed to have no logic at all.

In any event, this one particularly vivid dream had me in a cemetery.

No idea how I got there, or why I was there, except I think I was walking through as a form of a short cut to somewhere else. Well, whatever the reason I was there, I remember walking off to the right, and I got to what was the top of a small hill. At the top of this hill was a small red brick building, probably a mausoleum. To the right of that was a large blackish-gray headstone. It was large enough to have a large enough base that would allow a person to sit on the base comfortably enough and be able to lean their back against the upright portion of the stone.

Sure enough, on the side of the stone that faced towards the bottom of the hill sat an old woman. She was dressed rather nicely, even wearing one of those old-fashioned hats with a knit veil on it. Even though it was a dream, the say this was happening on was bright and sunny. The woman appeared to be watching a funeral. I could tell from the expression on her face that it was hers. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief a few times and I thought it rude of me to just stand there. So I went over and asked if anything was wrong.

Yeah, I know, dumb question, but I figured it would break the ice a little. She said how sad she was that her family had to go through this, what with her being ill and then dying. I looked down toward the burial site and saw how many people were gathered. All the seats were taken, a few more had been brought out from the chapel, and still there were a lot of people standing. I pointed out to her that with all that many people gathered to say goodbye that her family must have loved her dearly, regardless of having to deal with whatever illness she had. She looked back at the crowd that had lined up to throw flowers on the coffin, and she smiled, and then she said to me “You are a very astute young man. Thank you.” And she vanished.

Shortly after that, I woke up.

~Part 3 tomorrow~

Journal Entry #16: Dreams

2007-11-14T21:30:00.000-05:00

Date: November 14, 2007
Time: 21:31

I don’t know where I read this, or even heard this, but someone once said that we dream in black and white. I don’t know what that guy was on, but I’ve always dreamt in color. And I have had a few dreams that have stuck in my mind. I even had a dream repeat itself. What I mean by that is this; I had a particular dream twice.

Let me explain.

When I was about five years old, I dreamed I was walking along a concrete walkway. I remember my father and brother were with me, and we were mingled with a lot of other people. And we all were walking along this pathway.

Soon, and this was still within the dream, we walked through this gate, and onto this enormous platform. It was situated above this gigantic waterfall. I remember looking out past the edge and seeing the water, but we were so high up, and the waterfall was so large and powerful, the mist prevented you from seeing any further than a few feet. I suddenly felt a little dizzy, so I sank slowly to the floor. I reached out my right hand, and with my thumb, forefinger, and middle finger, touched the floor. I remember feeling the cold of the concrete, and the roughness of it, and then I woke up.

About 13 years later, I was about to graduate high school, and one evening, I had that dream again. Everything was exactly the same as it was when I had the dream when I was five. Even down to waking up when I felt the cold and rough surface of the platform.

When my parents and I lived up in Co-Op City in the Bronx, we lived in the part of Co-Op City they called “Section 5”. There were five sections and we lived in the fifth. They had 3 main configurations of apartment buildings in Co-Op, as we called it. There was the Tower Building, which was 33 stories high and looked like a large ‘X’ in a small box. Then there was the “Triple Core”, which not only had 26 stories, but was in 3 sections, and then there was the Chevron, so named because that was the shape. That had 24 floors and was in two sections.

They also had what was referred to as “Townhouses”. They were a series of two-story structures, and each level had one apartment. The top apartment had a balcony, while the bottom apartment had a backyard. Oh, and in case you were wondering, and even if you weren’t, the Tower had 384 apartments, the Triple-Core had 500, and the Chevron had 414. I used to deliver this weekend supplement and I had to count how many apartments in each building I delivered to so I would be sure to have enough.

Now, Section 5 had two sets of Triple-Core apartment buildings, and in the center of each set was a very large sandbox. In each sandbox was a series of structures and playsets made of wood.

One night, long after I had moved out of my parents’ house, I dreamed I was walking into Section 5. I was coming in from Section 4, via “Killer Curve”. Coming into Section 5 that way let’s you into where one of the sets of Triple-Cores are located, along with the sandbox. One of the things that clued me in on this being a dream is that I was wearing nothing but my underwear and a t-shirt. I then got caught in this small wooden house like structure in the sandbox. I remember saying, out loud mind you, “This is a dream. I’ll wake up, get out of this, and then, when I close my eyes again, I’ll be out.”

And that’s exactly what I did, and that’s exactly what happened.

~To be continued~

Journal Entry #15: Good For..?

2007-11-13T22:37:00.000-05:00

Date: November 13, 2007
Time: 22:38

I have asked this question, I’ve posed it, and I’ve posited it, I’ve even begged it, “What am I good for?” And no one seems to know the answer. So I attempt to elaborate. I say “I know what I’m good at; I want to know what I’m good for.” Still no luck, still no answer, just quizzical looks. So I have to really get technical about it, I have to list all that I know how to do, all that I’ve learned so far, and then, just for kicks, I throw in the natural talents I bring when I walk in the door. I have this innate gift for remembering things.

When I was younger, we never needed a TV Guide in our house. I’d read through it, and then all anyone needed to do was give me the day and time and I would rattle off all of the programs that were on that night. To this day, I can remember the phone number we had when we lived in Brooklyn; I can also remember the phone number of this girl from my second grade class. Of course I can’t recall her last name for the life of me, but I can remember her phone number. I can remember almost anything I’ve ever read, heard, or seen in my entire life. I can go up to my bookcase, look at the title of a book, and start remembering words and sentences and plot points, all without looking at the back of the book, or cracking it open to refresh my memory with the first few sentences.

So I have a fantastic memory, when my brain is allowed to function normally, which it hasn’t been doing for quite some time now, I have a talent for writing, which I haven’t been able to seriously get to lately, and I have a pretty good imagination, which sort of lends itself to the writing aspect, but like that, my imagination has been losing its spark these days.

I need some time off from everything that I’m doing. I need for someone to give me a test that will show, once and for all, what I am good for. Every time I’m given some sort of aptitude test or, I don’t know, a functionality quiz, the answers always come out the same, “Best suited to work in an office.” or “Best suited to work in business surroundings.” And so and so on.

The reason why this happens each and every time is because of the content of the exam; they ask questions that, once the logical side of my brain takes over, there’s little hope in getting it to relinquish control. This is when my tunnel vision becomes a hindrance more than a help.

I want to know what I’m good for, I want to know where I fit in, and so far this place, DeVry, and my job, Office Administrator for a Construction Contractor, isn’t helping any.

Journal Entry #14: Dread

2007-11-12T22:07:00.000-05:00

Date: November 12, 2007
Time: 22:18

Main Entry: 1dread
Function: verbPronunciation: 'dred
Etymology: Middle English dreden, from Old English dr[AE]dan
transitive senses
1 a: to fear greatly b archaic: to regard with awe
2: to feel extreme reluctance to meet or face intransitive senses: to be apprehensive or fearful

This is the first of three definitions of the word “dread”, and I think the second of these two fits well with how I feel every single morning.

I wake up, if I’ve even gotten any sleep, and I see what the time is, and the first thought in my head is “Oh G-d, I gotta get going.” This is repeated several times until I actually get out of bed. Then I have to figure out what I want wear, which is rather easy as I only have slacks in three colors, black, blue, and gray. But then I have to figure out what sort of mood I’m in, although if it’s Monday, like today, then I wear black. I always wear black when I have a class scheduled where some form of mathematics is involved.

But still there’s that feeling of dread that comes with each piece of clothing I have to put on. Because it means that with each piece I put on, then it’s that much closer to where I have to leave to go to work. Now you’ve probably heard it from a lot of people “I hate my job”, and for one reason or another they probably do, and their reasons are somehow justified in their minds. But do they feel what I feel every single morning for over a year? Do these people dream they’re at work? Or worse, dream they’re at work doing something, they wake up, go back to sleep, and dream they’re at work doing something else?!?

Welcome to my world. Strap in, the horrors are just beginning.

Journal Entry #13: Storytelling

2007-11-11T21:41:00.000-05:00

Date: November 11, 2007
Time: 21:42

When I write, I don’t set out to write a book. I set out to tell a story. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that, but it always needs to be repeated. You see, a book is limited by the number of pages. A book, in order to be classified as such, has to have a minimum number of pages to a maximum number of pages.

A story, on the other hand, can be as long or as short as you like. I heard tell of an author, his name is Fredric Brown, and he wrote a book called “Martians, Go Home!” that was made into a not very good movie starring Randy Quaid. Fredric Brown was purported to have written what is considered the shortest horror story in the world. Here it is. "The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door."

Now I haven’t written anything as short as that, but I never wrote anything as long as “War and Peace” either. I did write something that, when turned into double-sided pages, adds up to about 125, which is about the size of what is referred to as a “novella”, the basic definition of which is “a story with a compact and pointed plot.”

I will admit one thing though; I am technically working on a book. I am writing a series of short stories featuring a detective who specializes in the paranormal. I mentioned him in an earlier post. I think that I’m setting my sights so high is one of the reasons I’m having trouble with one of the stories. It also might be that in a sense, I’m attempting to re-write the history of characters of fantasy. But then again, I’m my own worst critic.

Journal Entry #12: The Day It All Went Wrong

2007-11-10T21:51:00.000-05:00

Date: November 10, 2007
Time: 21:51

Have you ever felt like your life has gone totally wrong, but you’re able to trace back to this one moment that you felt, if you changed it, everything might be better? I feel that way all the time. I feel that way when I go to work in the morning, when I leave work in the evening, when I go to school and when I leave to go home.

For years, I was able to trace back all the problems I believed I had, to this one moment in high school. I was walking down the corridor when my 12th Grade Geometry teacher beckons to me. I go over to see what he wants and he tells me that he’s starting a computer literacy class, and asks if I would like to join. I said, “Sure. Why not?” The one drawback was that the only time he could schedule it was around lunchtime. Should’ve taken that as a warning.

We walk into this little shack near the shop building. As we enter, off to the left, there’s what appears to be a control room like you see in a film or television studio. We walk into this little, gray-colored, windowless room, and I take a good, long look around. By the door are two computer screens with keyboards; behind them at the far wall are 5 more screens and keyboards. If you were to face the far wall, then to your left would be a dot-matrix printer, and a floppy drive. Oh, each computer screen had a cassette deck hooked up to it.

I looked around the room and decided right there and then “This is what I want to do.” So we started the class and I did rather well, I believe, and some months later, I graduated high school. I then went to The Office of Vocational Rehabilitation, or OVR, to get funding for vocational training. The counselor asks me, “What do you want to do?” “I want to work with computers.” I replied. “Good,” she said, “What do you want to do with them?”
I had no idea. And I told her as much. I said “I don’t know.” So she said “Well, think about it for a bit.” So I did. And then she asked me again, “What would you like to do?” “Work with computers.” What do you want to do with them?” “I don’t know.”

And here I am, more than twenty years later, and I still don’t know what it is I want to do. I keep finding out what I don’t want to do, but I can never find out what I want to do. And for all of those twenty-odd years, I’ve been blaming that moment in high school as the start of it all. But within the last six months or so, I realized that it goes back a little further than that. My problems really stem from the day I saw this commercial on television.

Years ago there was this commercial that featured a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk, and in front of the desk is the stereotypical nerd. The man behind the desk is reading off a list of video games and their accompanying high-scores, and every time the man ticks one off the list, the nerd nods his head while wearing a goofy grin. The plot is, the middle-aged man is an interviewer, and the nerd is the interviewee, when the interviewer reaches the end of the list he says "So, Mr. Johnson, you seem to know an awful lot about computer games... But what do you know about computers?"

And then the look of sheer horror washes over the guy's face.

So after seeing that, I thought that it might be a good idea to get some education in the field of computers. So I filed that nugget of an idea away until a moment presented itself that would allow me to utilize that idea, and now we’ve come back to that day in high school. But I think, if I really had to pick a moment when all of my troubles truly started, I think it would have to be this moment in June of 1964, the day I was conceived.

It’s been downhill at breakneck speed ever since.

Journal Entry #11: Imagination

2007-11-09T21:47:00.000-05:00

Date: November 9, 2007
Time: 22:45

Flushing-Meadows Corona Park, the official name of the park everyone calls “Flushing Meadows”. Long before there was a movie called “Men in Black”, and even a longer time before there was a comic book by that name, there was Flushing Meadows. The site of not one, but two Worlds’ Fairs.

The first was held in the years 1939 - 1940, and among the scientific marvels that could be seen were a working robot, and a new-fangled invention called “television”. The second Worlds’ Fair to be held on that site was in 1964. That was when they constructed these towers. They put them right next to the New York Pavilion. The tallest of these towers was a fancy restaurant.

Many years later, the restaurant, and the cafeteria situated beneath it, stopped doing business, and the towers fell into disrepair. But they were never torn down. This left people with the ability to view a bit of history as they walked around the park, or viewed it from the highway.

When I was going to a summer day camp, there were many times I had the opportunity to see the towers from the highway. The very first time I saw them, I thought that the tops of the towers looked like flying saucers. I thought that way for years, and then “Men in Black” was released, and the writers of that movie decided that they were indeed, alien spacecraft, camouflaged as a tourist attraction.

Some years after that, I finally had the chance to go to the park and take a good look around. It was then that I found out what those towers really were. But even after getting a close look at them, or as close as I could get what with them closed to the public, even after reading the placard that is posted on the board fence surrounding the towers explaining what they are, what they were, and why they were built, even after all that, I still think the tops of those towers look like flying saucers.

See, that’s imagination, and that’s something I hope I never lose. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use Google Earth to fly through space for a little while.

Journal Entry #10: Pictures

2007-11-08T21:26:00.000-05:00

Date: November 8, 2007
Time: 21:26

Many years ago, I lived in a group home in the East Village, Every week we had what we referred to as a “house meeting”. One week, after one such meeting, this guy with grey, curly hair shoves a camera into my hands and says, “Shoot a roll.”

We then go outside, at about 8:00 PM, and I start taking pictures. Now remember, it’s not only night time, but it’s also around winter, and it just happened to start snowing a little while we were out. So I took pictures of some pigeons, of a lamppost, especially one where you could see the snow falling through the light, and whatever else I could at that hour.

We then went back inside and up to the darkroom to develop that roll of film. All we had, and could possible afford for use by the residents was black and white film, chemistry for developing black and white film, and photographic paper. I had very little patience when it came to the mixing of the chemistry, especially when we had to make up a new bottle or two. The water temperature had to be just right, not too hot, and not too cool, or the whole batch was ruined and we had to start over. But once I got some practice in, I turned out to be a pretty good photographer. I was even given the job of being the official photographer for the basketball team we had.

But then he got very serious, and I was told three things, that I have remembered to this day.

First, “Always look at the world as if you had a camera in your hands. Think to yourself “What would make a good picture?””

Second, “Always try to take picture of things that other people wouldn’t. If you see something that you find to be interesting, take a picture of it.”

And the third thing he said to me, and which was the most important, was this, “If you were to tell me right here and now that you wanted to do this (photography) for a living, I would do everything that I can to stop you. The reason for that is this, professional photography is a cutthroat business. You have to be better than everyone else just to get the job, and then, when you have the job, you have to be better than you were to have gotten the job in the first place.”

So I have contented myself to being able to take good pictures. But I can look at a picture, and see where certain aspects can be brought out to accentuate the picture. What makes that even more fun is I know how to do it. Even if the picture is “only” black and white.

Journal Entry #9: Accomplishments

2007-11-07T23:27:00.000-05:00

Date: November 7, 2007
Time: 23:28

Ever accomplish anything? Before you answer, let me explain what I mean.

When I wrote my first story, the Doctor Who story where my friend meets the Doctor, I was so proud when I finished it. Not only was I proud of the fact that I wrote it, but that it took me such a short time in which to write it. I was so proud of it, I found a Kinko’s®, had them make up twenty copies, and had them bound. And none of that spiral binding, or that weird plastic wannabe spiral binding garbage either. No, I went with what they referred to as “Vellum Binding”. It features a clear plastic cover, a vinyl backing, and the pages and covers are riveted together. At the time, it cost $120.00, but at that time I didn’t care much about the price. Well, I did, but I figured it was worth it.

It was. I was thrilled when I got the copies. I gave a few of them away to friends, and I still have a few of them in a drawer. Of course, as I said in a previous post, it will never get published, but that doesn’t matter, it was the first story I ever wrote.

I got pretty much the same feeling when I wrote my first Original Story, but got an even better feeling when I got the notice that it was copyrighted.

So, each time I complete a story, or write a few lines or even a few pages, I feel as though I’ve accomplished something. That’s the thing with me. I have to feel I’ve accomplished something. I have to have the sense of it, I have to know it in my heart and mind and soul that I have done something.

Do you see? This is what I meant. Have you ever gotten that feeling that you’ve actually, honestly, truly accomplished something? If you have, great! If you haven’t, don’t despair, you’ll get that feeling sooner or later.

But I don’t have that feeling right now. I didn’t have it last week either. In fact, unless it has to do with something I’ve written, I’m not getting that feeling. Oh, and before you think you’ve got me trapped by my own words, you don’t. I’m not getting that feeling from doing this blog. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an interesting concept and all, but, like I said, I’m not getting that feeling, that sense, that I’ve accomplished something. And maybe I’m not supposed to get that with this, but I’m definitely not getting that feeling with the job I have, and I most assuredly did not feel it at all in my last job.

Oh sure, one of the managers I had told me how much I had accomplished by learning something we called the “Branch Office Support System”, and another manager told me that I learned it faster than anyone he’s ever seen get trained in it, but I just didn’t feel like I accomplished anything.

I don’t know, maybe I can’t really explain it.

Journal Entry #8: Acceptance

2007-11-06T21:17:00.001-05:00

Date: November 6, 2007
Time: 21:17

I am a science-fiction fan, a fan of fantasy novels and movies, and a comic book fan. This means that I do not fit. It means that I find it difficult to find acceptance among those who are supposed to be my peers.

The problem was, when I was growing up, among other things that I had problems with at that time, was growing up. When other guys my age were starting to turn to playing baseball, or basketball, I still wanted to play cops and robbers. Still do.

I don’t think it’s a longing for simpler times, or any other piece of psychoanalytical hoohaw you want to throw at me, it’s just that sometimes, I feel that I never got much of a chance to be a kid, and I’d like to be one again. Or still.

But regardless of all of that, I still love to read comic books. I buy mostly titles published by DC Comics, and some from a little known label called “Moonstone Comics”. I watch cartoons whenever I get the chance, but I try to watch what made me happy growing up. Although I cannot understand how I used to watch “Scooby-Doo” every week. I can almost see people starting to read this blog entry, thinking it’s going to go somewhere else, but, upon realizing it’s not, they’re turning away.

This means, that once again, I have to go elsewhere to be accepted, but that’s okay, I know where those places are, I’ve been there before and I had a good time. The trouble with at least one of them is I can’t get to it, and in another few years, it’s going to go away. That one particular place is a Doctor Who convention in Chicago. At this time in my life, I can’t afford to go, and I don’t have the time to take off. But there is a fan club I belong to, and if I can ever get my schedule and theirs to mesh, I’ll be able to go to the monthly meeting, and there is still the Video Meet near the end of the month that I can attend, as long as it isn’t in upstate New York.

As for the comic book thing, there’s always my friends, and beyond that, there’s the New York Comic-Con to look forward to next April.

Journal Entry #7: Video Games

2007-11-05T20:35:00.000-05:00

Date: November 5, 2007
Time: 20:37

There was a time, many centuries ago, when if you wanted to play a video game, you HAD TO LEAVE THE HOUSE!

You could go to a pizza parlor, a stationery store, a discount department store, and at least one instance, a pet shop.

The simplest video game was the auto or motorcycle racing game. The car or motorcycle was a flat piece of plastic that was situated above a screen, then after you put in your quarter, the screen came on and so was the race. It was basically a type of movie that you participated in.

Over the years, video games got more and more sophisticated. What follows is a list of some of my favorites.

NARC – You’re a narcotics agent shooting or arresting members of a gang dealing and selling drugs. You also have to collect any evidence you find to gain points. At the end, you have to destroy the big boss who just happens to be a giant head. After it’s all over, and you’ve won, the game congratulates you and tells you to report to your local D.E.A. office.

R-Type – You are flying a ship through space. You have to collect different kinds of weapons to defeat all the enemy ships you see. One of the best weapons, even though it was futile against this one section where you really needed a powerful blaster, was the rebounding lasers.

Midnight Resistance - You are one of two soldiers infiltrating an enemy base. As you fight, you find keys that let you get different weapons. The value of the weapon depends on how many keys it takes to open the case it is in. When you near the end of the game, it is imperative that you have six (6) keys. These are to let your family members out of their cases. If you are unable to let out all six, when you have finished the game, you will see shooting stars that correspond to a family member that could not be saved. I don’t believe I’ve ever finished this game in the arcade, although I have completed it in the SEGA home version.

Heavy Barrel – You are one of two soldiers fighting against hostile forces. Along the way, you collect pieces of a super-weapon. Once you collect all the pieces, a deep voice calls out “Heavy Barrel”, and the weapon puts itself together in your hands. Unfortunately, this super-weapon has a short life span. This game is like “Midnight Resistance”, except “Midnight Resistance” is what is known as a “side-shooter”, and this is a “top-shooter”.

Quartet - You are one of a group of four mercenaries. You blaze through level after level of all sorts of bad guys and assorted weird creatures. However, you cannot linger in one spot for too long as a stylized figure of Death flies down and zaps you with his spinning two-headed scythe. It’s sort of a “side-shooter” version of “Gauntlet”.

Psycho Soldier – You are one of two characters, one male, and one female. Although in a single player game, you are the female. You go through a ruined city, zapping mutant insects that start as caterpillar-like creatures, and then grow to giant proportions. All the while, your power scale is increasing. If you get the “power-egg”, you turn into either a dragon, or a phoenix. If you are playing with someone, the other character can ride the dragon or phoenix. But be careful when you shoot the egg, you might hit the one that will explode into little caterpillars.

Xenophobe - This game is interesting in that as there are three control sticks, the screen is split into three horizontal parts. The object of this game is to clear spacecraft, space stations, and colonies of alien creatures. The cool part of this game is that all the characters are dressed in “Starfleet” styled uniforms. Note: The best weapon in this game is the laser pistol. But be careful when you throw any of your weapons away, they could explode.

Ikari Warriors - I don’t remember much about this game, or its sequels, except that it was fun to play, even though I never finished it.

Rampage - You’re one of three giant monsters, an ape, a lizard, a werewolf. Your goal: Destroy buildings and other objects, eat food and people, and try not to get killed. If you’re playing with someone else, and their monsters loses all its power it will turn human again and try to sneak off-screen. If you’re fast enough, you can grab them and eat them for more points.

Gauntlet – It’s a kind of a role-playing game wherein you choose to be one of four characters, a wizard, a warrior, a Valkyrie, or an elf. You collect treasures and potions, eat food for health points, but you must kill all the demons, ghosts, and other assorted baddies you find throughout the game.

Revolution X – This is a game that is rather unique in that it features famous people. It has to do with the rock group Aerosmith, and an organization called New Order Nation. It seems that NON wishes to abolish music in all its forms, starting with rock, and take over the world. To that end, they kidnap all the members of Aerosmith. It’s your job to first, find their car and play the message. Once you do, you have to choose one of three places to go to next. It’s like one of those shooting gallery type games, except instead of grenades, you fire CDs at the bad guys.

P-38 – You’re the pilot of a plane in what I think was World War II. You destroyed troops and other planes and assorted weapons. All the while, you’re picking up points and power-ups to help you on your way.

RYGAR – This was an interesting game. You are a warrior with a kind of a yo-yo weapon. You used it to vanquish the bad guys, and foil any traps. As with most games, there were “power-ups” and treasures to find. The “power-ups” in this game would give the yo-yo weapon different abilities.

KLAXX - This was an interesting variation of a “Tetris” style game. The player has to make stacks of blocks, all the same color, to get points. The difficult part comes in that the blocks are flying at you, and if the blocks reach a certain height before you can get rid of them, you lose.

Gyruss - A game that takes place in outer space, way, way, out in outer space. The ship you are piloting can move around the entire screen in a circle. Your ultimate goal is to reach each and every planet in our solar system, and each planet has other levels.

Forgotten Worlds - You are one of two warriors fighting your way through strange enemies. You pick up coins of varied sizes and worth for use later when you want to upgrade your weapons when you enter the “shop”. This was one of the few games that I have completed.

Truth be told, with the exception of a few, NARC in particular, I have never finished any of the games I’ve listed here. Hey, it took me $15.00 in quarters to finish that one. I got pretty far with some of them, and others I didn’t do too well at. Regardless of the outcome, completed them, didn’t complete them, it wasn’t important. I just had fun playing them.

There are others, whose names escape me at the moment. There was this one game, and it was a shooting gallery kind of game, where the object was to invade enemy camps, while firing a machine gun and tossing grenades, and rescue hostages. (I have since remembered the name of this game as “Operation: Wolf”.) The next one was another shooting game, but this one involved the destroying of aliens. However, you collected different kinds of grenades, such as one that froze everything. It even had a pedal you could press to back up. The third game was what is called a “top-view shooter”. In this game, you had to kill these blob-like alien creatures. (I remembered the name of this game as well, “Alien Syndrome”) The fourth game, whose name I can’t remember involved firing this really cool laser gun. Well, the character you controlled was doing the firing; all the player really did was press the fire button. The character I always played had a green laser weapon. This was not through choice; it was just that in a single-player game, that was the player I was given. When you collected the “power-ups”, your weapon increased in strength, and range. What was meant by “range” was that the “beam” was a little bit longer and the field of firing was wider as the beam was fired from the gun. There was a fifth game which I took to be a sequel to “Ikari Warriors”.

Journal Entry #6: Books

2007-11-04T20:05:00.000-05:00

Date: November 4, 2007
Time: 20:06

As much as I love to write, I probably love to read even more. There were times, when I was growing, when that’s all I was allowed to do. When I was old enough to start getting real textbooks for English classes, I was always baffled by one thing; the books would weigh about 4 or 5 pounds, and course they were very thick, but we would only read maybe 1 or 2 short stories, at most, a single play, and then get swamped with homework.

Ironically, I never liked the reading assignments, I guess it’s because it was assigned. I did, however, read a lot of the rest of the book on my own. There was one textbook where I read the play, “The Miracle Worker”, the story of Helen Keller. There was another where I read the original play of “Visit to a Small Planet”, which was later turned into a film starring Jerry Lewis.

Some of the short stories I read were so obscure, that I’d never heard of the author before, or since, except maybe for one. The story was entitled “The Letter ‘A’”, and the author was Christy Brown. Now, some of you reading this might not know who Christy Brown is, or was, but if you ever heard of a little film called “My Left Foot” starring Daniel-Day Lewis, then you have most certainly heard of Christy Brown. There were others whose titles and authors’ names escape me at the moment, but I intend to find them someday.

Of the kinds of books I like to read, my tastes vary. I mostly read science-fiction and fantasy, some mysteries, some suspense, and I’m now reading re-prints of what used to be called “Pulp Fiction”, and I don’t mean that movie by whatsisname. These were books that sold for 10¢, or as much as 20¢ at the time, and considering that time was the late 30s, early 40s, ten and twenty cents was a lot of money. The books usually featured the adventures of characters known as “The Shadow” or “Doc Savage”. Sometimes, they would be a series of short, little, detective stories.

The suspense author I read most is named Clive Cussler. His most famous novel is called “Raise the Titanic”. In the fantasy vein, I read a series of books that takes place in a world called “Xanth”, written by an author named Piers Anthony. Xanth is a place where magic not only exists, but almost everyone who lives there has at least one magical talent. For instance, one of the characters can transform a person into a tree, or any other object for that matter.

There is this one detective series that I like to read whose lead character is a young woman named Mary Russell. The author is Laurie R. King. Now, while there may be some of you out there thinking “So what, a woman detective.” I should tell you that the stories take place in the mid-1920s, and her partner in her adventures is this guy named Sherlock Holmes.

I’ll talk more about books later on, for now, I think I’m going to get some dinner.

Journal Entry #5: The Stories So Far

2007-11-03T22:57:00.000-04:00

Date: November 3, 2007
Time: 22:58

In one of the Online Discussions, I mentioned that I’ve copyrighted 3 original stories, and in one of my blog entries, I mentioned writing a Doctor Who story. Since I’ve hopefully piqued the interest of some people who would like to know, not only what I’ve written, but what I’m also working on at present. Here goes.

The first Doctor Who story I wrote is called “An Impossible Adventure.” In it, a friend of mine meets up with a man who calls himself “The Doctor”. They travel in time and space, and then my friend comes back to tell me the story. It was inspired partly by something one of the actors from the program had said in an interview, and partly from an idea of my own.

The second Doctor Who story I wrote deals with The Doctor, and how he handles the death of a close friend. His companion at this time is his great granddaughter. He also meets up with the physical representation of Time, and Death.

I’m working on a third story right now. It’s a crossover between Doctor Who, and the American science-fiction drama, “Quantum Leap.” When the show Quantum Leap ended, I hated the way it ended. I had never been so angry with a television series’ producer in my life. So, I hate the ending, and I always had the idea that maybe I could’ve done it better. Now, for those of you who don’t know a great deal about the program Doctor Who, I’ll explain a little something. The being known as “The Doctor” comes from a planet called “Gallifrey”, and on this planet lives a race of beings called “The Time Lords”. Now the Time Lords feel that no other race in the universe is capable of possessing the knowledge of traveling through time. The reason they feel this way is because while all of the other races would get it into their heads to go back in time to change things, or forward to find out things that will benefit themselves in the present, all the Time Lords want to do is observe past and future events. That said, I’d always wondered what the Time Lords would have thought of Project: Quantum Leap.

This gave me the opportunity to not only end Quantum Leap the way I thought it should end, more or less, but it would also give me a chance to not only tie up some loose ends that were created by the series, but it gave me a chance to give an origin to that loose end in the first place. You see, during the show’s five-year run, we get introduced to a rival project. Only, it’s not so much a rival as it is an “anti-project”. While the character of Sam Beckett is leaping around, trying to fix things, the other project is doing their level best to foul things up.

I haven’t quite finished it yet as I’ve been working on it in sections, and I’m not quite sure how to link all of the sections up. The one bad thing is, I already have the ending in mind. Now, while some of you might think that that’s a good thing, I don’t. Well, if I have the ending, then I have to lead up to it, but the difficulty lies in not leading up to it so quickly.

The first of the three original stories are, “The Death of Childhood”. It tells the story of the physical embodiment of Childhood, and how it is dying, and of some of the people who have gone to Childhood’s Domain to pay their respects and say good-bye.

The second one is titled “The Beginning of the World”. It’s the story of an archaeology professor, who, when he goes on an expedition, finds a tablet that bears a riddle, and if he solves it, the world would benefit greatly from his findings.

The third story I had copyrighted is called “The Family of Man”. It’s the story of a newspaper reporter who finds more than he bargained for when he went to a zoo to do a “fluff piece” on the birth of a baby gorilla. It’s told in a first-person narrative, and it has a bit of a Twilight-Zone style twist at the end.

The stories I’m presently working on, when I have more than three seconds to breathe, when I am inspired to write, and when I feel like, are as follows:

The Doctor Who/Quantum Leap crossover, a series of detective stories featuring a detective who specializes in the paranormal, while still carrying out regular investigations, my autobiography, which I’ve entitled “Thursday’s Child”. I call it that because that’s the day I was born. And I just started a new story to give me a break from one of the detective stories. It’s about man who wakes up one day and is told by the person who woke him that he is that person’s imaginary friend. I’ve gotten to about 3 or 4 pages with that one.

And that’s how things stand with me and my writing at this point.

Journal Entry #4: The Blank Page

2007-11-02T21:37:00.000-04:00

Date: Friday, November 02, 2007
Time: 21:36

I have read this and heard this from different professional writers and authors and now you get to hear it from me. The hardest part of writing is that blank page.

The blank page doesn’t care who you are, or who your mother is, or was. It doesn’t care what kind of a day you’ve had; it doesn’t even care if you’re depressed that it’s raining out. All it cares about is sitting there and mocking you. The blank page will sit there and mock you and taunt you and draw a line in the dirt, double-dog dare you to write something on it. And it will do that until you screw up your courage and put a letter or a word or a sentence on that page.

But the blank page isn’t finished with you yet. It looks at what you’ve written and it scoffs at you. “You wrote that?” it says sneeringly. “I could do better than that and I’m only a piece of paper.” it says before you can answer. So you grab it out of the typewriter and crumple it into a ball, all the while you hear it laughing at you.

And then you look at the wad of paper, and you see the power you have over it, and see nothing of the power you thought it had over you.

And then you begin to write.

Journal Entry #3: Writing

2007-11-01T20:45:00.000-04:00

Date: November 1, 2007
Time: 20:45

Typewriter vs. Computer/Word Processor

Back in 1995, I came into possession of an electric typewriter.
One day, I started writing with it. I wrote a story based on the world of the British science-fiction series "Doctor Who". At the time, I was working a 3-day work week, and the schedule was Monday through Wednesday. I mention that so I can explain why I only wrote on the weekend, I wrote the story on my days off.

The story was about a friend of mine who meets this person called "The Doctor". They go off on an adventure and my friend comes back and tells me about it.

I was so proud of it, I went to Kinko's and had twenty copies printed up and bound. Unfortunately, it can never be published as it breaks many rules that have been set down by the BBC.

But the title of this blog is "Typewriter vs. Computer/Word Processor", and this is why it's titled that way.

I don't know how many of you have ever tried writing on a typewriter before, but I can honestly say that it's a feeling that can never be duplicated. You're sitting there, pounding on the keys, and the words are coming to life before your eyes. Right there, on the paper that's unrolling before you are the words that came out of your head, through your fingers, and onto the page.

Words that you write on a PC, or a word-processor? To me, they're dead. Dead words on a dead screen. But what's that you say? "You can print them onto the paper." Yes, you can, but it's dead words on the paper.

You see, when you see the words appear on the paper as you write them in "real time" as opposed to printing them later, it gives you a sense of power, and then, if you make a mistake and have gone too far to correct it with the correction ribbon, or some form of white-out, that is the moment when you can play G-d.

You take the paper out of the typewriter and look at it. You see the mistake you made. You take another, clean sheet of paper and put it into the typewriter, and then you start to copy what you wrote up until the mistake.

But then, you suddenly realize, maybe a different word would be better, or a different phrase, or better still, a completely different scenario. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the moment I spoke of, the moment when you can play G-d. You make the decision to do one of those three things, or not.

It just can't be done with a PC or a word-processor. Or, it's not the same with a PC or a word-processor. To change anything with a PC or word-processor, all you do is delete the word, replace the word, or highlight all that needs changing and you change it. And what you've changed from is gone forever, but with the typewriter, even if you've torn it up or shredded it, those words are still there, and they can taunt you into thinking what you did was wrong, but remember, it's your story, your characters, and you do with it what you will.

Journal Entry #2

2007-10-31T23:19:00.001-04:00

Date: October 31, 2007
Time: 23:19

Wow, I almost forgot! So much on my mind lately.

Down to business.

In the Wrap-Up Forum Thread I was asked about the process of being copyrighted and of course, I told what it was.

It then got me to thinking about the stories I submitted over two years ago. So, of course, I went to the website and looked for my submissions. It was the first time in I don't know how long that I smiled out of pure joy.

Of course I'd be more joyful if I were a published author, but for me, being copyrighted is fine for right now.

To see my name on file, to know that what I did, that the words I strung together are rightfully, and most importantly, legally, mine, is a feeling I can't really describe. Okay, I probably could, but I don't know how many people could really understand what I'm feeling unless they experience it for themselves.

It's like when I was writing my second original story, "The Beginning of the World", I would get so wrapped up in what I was doing, I knew of nothing else in the world. To me, at that moment, the words were everything and everything else was so secondary, it was to be non-existent. I'd even come close to forgetting a reading assignment for my business class at the time.

But even then, I was thinking about the story, and what would happen next.

Journal Entry #0: Halloween Costumes

2007-10-30T22:13:00.000-04:00

Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe, LLP

To: All Employees

From Lou J. Yoskowitz, Office Manager

Re: Wearing Costumes on Halloween

Ladies and Gentlemen:

Tomorrow is Halloween, and it has come to the attention of management that some of you wish to wear costumes in the workplace.

As this is a law firm, and we endeavor to present a professional atmosphere at all times, the wearing of costumes during office hours is prohibited.

However, at close of business, 6:00 PM, there will be a Halloween party in the executive dining room for those who wish to attend, costumes may be worn then and only during the party.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Journal Entry #1

2007-10-30T20:36:00.000-04:00

Date: Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Time: 20:36

For those of you who may have read my post to the biographical thread in eCollege, I stated that I like writing.

But, I do not call myself a writer, or an author.

I've never been happy with the way those words sounded in describing what I do, so I call myself "A Story-Teller", or, if I want to sound really whimsical, I say that I am "A Weaver of Tales". Which, if you think about it, is not so far off.

The way I tell a story, or write a paper, if you were to change, or even remove one word, not only can the whole paragraph come unraveled, but the entire idea might become useless.

I also stated that I haven't had much nerve lately in attempting to get one of my stories published . There's a reason for that, I have an almost paralyzing fear of rejection. One of our classmates responded to my post and said "What's the worst that can happen? So they say "No"."

But that's just it, that is the worst thing that can happen to someone like me. For me to be told "No, that's not good enough." or "No, I don't want you." or anything in that vein, can be as devastating as being told I have incurable disease and only twenty-four hours to live, and that the doctor was trying to get hold of me since the day before.

I'm even a little fearful of submitting this post.