by Greg
 

February 10, 1999.

For  starters, it was a sunny day today.  Not too chilly.  Of course, I've been inside for most of it.  It's always depressing when you get up before the sun is up and go home when the sun is setting.  Daylight can really make all the difference. I don't know how the Alaskans do it, not seeing the sun at all for days at a time during the winter.  If I lived there, I'd probably kill myself.
But the long walk to the office is just the beginning of the beat-down process.  Then there's the long, narrow hallway where only two single-file lines fit through.  It really prepares you for the mind-numbing existence of the next 9 hours.  I feel like I'm in some sort of commercial for a Caribbean cruise line.  You know, the mindless prole shuffling in the dreary gray office, then cut to a scene of shuffleboard and bikinis and guffawing Jamaican men.
I wish there were Jamaican men here, doing that Jamaican laugh they do.
it'd sure make it a heck of a whole lot more interesting.

well, as interesting as this is, it's time to punch out and rejoin the real world.  Or, "meat space," as
the Gus calls it.

mmmm... meat...

    It's rather sunny outside again today.  I find that i have very little to write about when I don't really do anything.
 I guess that's something I'll just have to work on over the weekend.  So... All that i can really say right now is that i think i broke my toe last night, or at the very least seriously fucked it up. i think i hit it so hard that it went sorta numb, because when i looked at it this morning I thought i shoulda been in a lot more pain last night.  It's been officially upgraded from cut status to "gash." I suppose I should have expected it to be a deep, messy wound, since it was cut on an especially blunt bed frame.  anything that blunt's gonna be messy.  That's a rule to live by, kids. I'm amazed by how long I can go on about my toe. So amazed, in fact, that I am going to now attempt to recall a poem that I wrote in Miss Fichtorn's 9th grade English class about my big toe.  Or at least a portion of it ( the poem, that is).

*ahem*

"Ode to My Toe"
by greg

Would that I cold have 10 big toes.
How I would cherish them, no one knows
Sheer beauty is what it says to me,
That gem 20 inches below my knee.

While I cherish them both, the right one is flawed.
Broken, shattered in a terrible fall
The left, pristine and elegant as ever before,
You are the one I truly adore.

Its  importance  to me is like no other.
'tis sacred like mother, father, sister, or brother
Like in India- the rivers Tigres, Euphrates, and Ganges
How I adore, the largest of my phalanges.

Away with you others, Big Lefty's all I require
But sadness-- there's no offspring to sire.
But it'll still be here when my days start getting hazy,
When i'm old, smelly, and bat-shit crazy.
 

Admittedly, i made most of that up just now, except for the two lines about Tigres and Euphrates, which are the only lines i could remember.  that is all
 
 

It's now 3:45, and I'm eagerly waiting to go home.  I'm also suffering from something of a headache.  I tell ya, every day's a struggle.  I just witnessed the 100th hit to my nubile site, by me.  It's really the little things that keep me going.
 

So my toe situation is really preoccupying right now.  The pain has spread into most of my foot.  It may be due to the fact that i have to walk with my toes curled up, so as to prevent further pain in the toe. So i guess the whole foot has to suffer mild discomfort to save the toe from extreme displeasure.  oh well, we'll see.
    I had a rather strange dream last night. The cast included many people from my college and high school days.  I suppose the main reason that it's noteworthy is because it's the first not unpleasant dream i've had in a while that i remember.  It was actually rather quite comforting, i guess due to the familiar faces of people I never see anymore.  There was also some old, ancient guy, Kind of the cheesy Asian master with a long beard you'd see in any horrible action-adventure movie.  For some reason, we all met up in a dirt clearing in some wooded area.  We went into a well lit, artificial looking tunnel with white walls and mounted lamps, but the floor was still dirt. more like mulch.  At one point, i became two people.  because i spent a good portion of the dream sitting on some spiral stairs above myself, watching myself.  I was watching myself talking to these two girls that i knew from high school, one of which i kinda liked in the fifth grade.  I thought i looked kinda dumb. The weird thing was, my out-of-body experience didn't disturb me as much as this funny thing my hair was doing as i watched me.  No wonder they didn't like me.  Well, they did, but they didn't like like me. So basically it was like elementary and high school again. Too bad my fantasy world is so much like real life. except for the leaving-my-body-and-having-it-work-independently thing. That was pretty cool.

and now, a poetic interlude:

Greg was a nice humble kid
But succeeded in nothing he did
He coulda succeeded,
and all that he needed
was control of his over-active id
 

So now it's 1:53.  Just about that time... Quittin' time, that is.  I don't know about you, but my weekend planz include: sleeping
laundry
watching tv
doing stuff
Nintendo
More TV
eating
And maybe seeing some miscellaneous friends.

We'll see how it goes.  I don't know why I'm putting all this here, seeing as how the only  people likely to see it are people who I'd rather didn't.  Ah well.

Last night I drove with my roomate so that she could drop off a check for a painting that she just bought.  The check's value?  A big 500 smackers.  Worse even yet?  It was only a  down payment.  Apparently, the painting is by the prodigy of child prodigies.  A seven-year old who's style is apparently quite evocative of Picasso.  This child is apparently currently painting a picture for soon-to-be acquitted President Clinton.  So in nine months, Berry gets her painting, where she has to cough up another 21HUNDRED dollars.  I don't think I've ever paid even 21 dollars to hang something on my wall.  But she is convinced that these paintings are the surest thing since the invention of fire.  The supposed appreciation is expected to be $10,000 in no time.  But the sick part is that even if it gets to be that much. she wouldn't even think about selling it.  I may have to steal it.  After all, I've seen The Great Muppet Caper, I know how to steal art and whatnot.  And if that infernal Fozzy Bear gets in my way, I'll squish him like one of his cursed tomatoes!
a question:  what the fuck?

And now, witness my entire motional ra(n)ge!

   A clown, yes... but the cryin on the inside type.
 

February 18th, 1999.
This may be the longest day in recorded history.  Anyway, it's now 10:59 AM, and i'm killin time before lunch.  I got a much needed haircut yesterday, and am now suffering the consequences.  it may very well be the worst haircut i've ever received.  by a professional, anyway. I take that back, definitely not the worst, but it's down there.  anywho, i got about 2 hours sleep last night.  Kinda tired.
    The longest day EVER.

2:15pm. I've been in a classroom-esque daze for a few hours now.  Reminiscent of Economics class.  Trying to read stuff and pay attention to people talking, but just having things go blurry and having my head fall back, uncontrollably, in half-second fits of unconsciousness.  It's really annoying. But kinda cool in a nostalgic way.  I've never really felt like that outside of a classroom setting. It's weird to have the urge to just collapse from sheer exhaustion and being able to do so without suffering too many consequences or embarrassment.
 

Today's Sellout-ometer rating :  8

getting dangerously high.  Feeling strange. Like... Like I... Must...buy...briefcase.....update...resume.... No! must fight! FIGHT, I SAY!!!

February 19th, 1999. 9:25am.  Good god, am i tired.  But not too much brewing here at work today.  And at least i can dispense with that silly tie.  I don't really understand this whole neck-tie concept.  It's not like it makes me any better at my job.  I don't suddenly feel more "professional" or whatever.  I feel more like a prisoner.  it's kinda degrading, like a leash.  The thing is, this policy was only imposed about 2 weeks ago.  Coincidentally, that's about the same time that this job became offically intolerable.  In short, I hate wearing ties.  if you like them, that's fine by me.  Sometimes they even look pretty damn good.  But for me, I'd rather not. They're uncomforatble, awkward, and in my opinion, a little effeminate.  Not that that's an entirely bad thing. I mean, I'ng m as prone to dressiup in women's clothes as the next guy, but wearing a colorful piece of cloth around your neck just to look "good"  doesn't make much sense to me, unless you're Fred from Scooby-Doo, whose colorful, vivacious scarf added some real flair to an otherwise drab ensemble.
  And now , some pictures of the new, "corporate" Greg...
 

  I blinked, but i'm too lazy to take another picture.  Just imagine me asleep next to you...
Yo baby, I got what you need...

The hair's looking better than yesterday. Well, better to me, at least.  It's the best I can do, ok? So, add in the lack of a tie and we get::
Sellout-ometer rating: 6
still high, but looking less successful. Promising.

I've decided that I can't really consider this an online journal since i don't really use it in that capacity.  I don't really have a desire to air out my personal problems in a public (at least in theory if not actually) forum. Not that I ever claimed it to be.  But just thought I needed to state that somewhere.

By the way, I decided to coordinate today, and so with my black tie I am wearing a pair of not-too-comfortable balck shoes.  Which means an increased
Sellout-ometer rating:7
Damn.
I'll tell ya, this ugly, cheap-ass tie is the only thing that keeps me going.  It's respectable. It's not wacky or crazy. Just a cheap looking plain black tie.  Oh, I'll play their game. But of course like most things I do, I won't play it well.
 

Work problem:  So I was just doing my job, and I guess it turns out I was just arguing with some sort of big-wig who seemed rather annoyed that some punk kid with a bad tie was questioning his assertive, see-how-big-my-penis-is authority.  One of my only tasks is to schedule who uses what rooms around here.  So is it MY fault that he has to come through me?  Is it MY fault that I gave the room to someone who did what she was supposed to do?  I tell ya, these big egos coming through here really make my life a lot harder than it should be.  I can't believe that I'm even worrying about this.  He said in a dissmissive but still threatening tone that he'd "talk to me later."  Oooooo!  I'm quakin' in my boots.  I'm so afraid that he'll come over here and assert himself and I'll have to show him the goddam book where his name is nowhere to be found.  That would suck.  I'd hate to have to do that.  hee-hee...  But I did feel like something of a dumbass for walking in on him with my little book and telling him that he wasn't in there.  He was all "It's been in there for about the last five months."  And i'm like, no, it hasn't.  But then the lady who dragged me over there in the first place physically pulled me away by my arm and said he says sorry very diplomatically and that was it. It kinda burned me that she was so adamant about it in here but once i got over to the room she folded like a house of cards.  She then informed me of the supposed gravity of the situation, telling me he's like one of the biggest guys here.  She said she was sorry for putting me in that situation, which i appreciated, but I wish she hadn't done that in the first place.  But as far as this guy goes, PUH-LEASE!  Do i even give a shit what this guy does, let alone what he says to ME?  Christ no.  I've got more important things to think about. Bigger fish to fry.  Like lunch.  Hmmm... fish would be good...
 

I'm alone here at work today.  Two flat tires and the flu were enough to keep my co-workers out.  Understandable, of course.  Actaully, I kinda like being here by myself. Except that i have to answer the phone constantly, and the fact that my ignorance is completely obvious at multiple points through the day.  Anyway, as for my ever-growing list of ailments, my left foot continues to cause me all sorts of pain.  And now, for some reason, i'm suffering extreme back pains.  i used to get them all the time, but not in the last few years.  But it seems my old familiar friend, Mr. Excrutiating Pain, has come back for a visit.
    In other news, the new Underpants Cowboy page is up and running. Well, not quite "running," but it's there.  i spent the better part of yesterday afternoon on it, mostly drawing a picture with the Microsoft Paint program to compensate for a lack of a scanner.  I must say, I think i drew a pretty nifty, and accurate, depiction of a Fender Stratocaster.  And the picture of Matt O'Brien (Demon Boy) is priceless.  I had a hearty chuckle at that one.
    I've also been trying to figure out who's been visiting my page and from where.  I emailed The Gus, and he got back to me, but the only method he had was one that i've been using unsuccessfully. I suppose i could try to figure out what i'm doing wrong.  Nah.
    I think I'm also suffering from some sort of insomnia, as sleeping has been quite a chore as of late.  I'm not certain it's insomnia though. Probably just a result of the 2 hour naps that i take when i get home before eating dinner.  i suppose i can't expect to fall asleep 3 hours after waking from a refreshing nap.  I woke up feeling rather good this morning, after a particularly pleasant dream that i don't remember.  But by "feeling good"  i mean that feeling you get when you wake up on a Saturday morning and it's still dark out and you go right back to sleep.  It felt great.  Until i realized that is was actaully Tuesday morning and that I overslept a few minutes.  Honestly, haven't i suffered enough!?
    After a conversation with my roomate Berry, I'm a little concerned about my grad school prospects.  Even if a get in, I'm a little scared that I'll be completely out of my league.  Her sister went to talk to an English professor at her school yesterday, because the prof's daughter has a job at PBS.  Apparently Brooke went into talk to this English person, and the Professor was very friendly and enthusiastic about helping Brook out.  Then Brook said something like "Yeah, well, hopefully things will work out..." Or something like that.  So then this teacher looks at her and hesitantly says "um... i don' think this is gonna work out,"  and start writing on the blackboard.  She was writing the last sentence that Brook had said.  she proceeded to tell brook that she had the worst grammar of anyone she'd ever met.  She told her to go get this $40 grammar book, read it, then come back and talk to her.  While i'm not one to judge (tee-hee), I gotta say, "Dude, that... SUCKS!"  I suppose it was the "hopefully" that did it.  The only reason i even know about that is the nit-picky grammar bestowed upon one Nora Marie Mustafa Zwehl-Burke.  Supposedly "hopefully" is one of the most misused words since men stomped commincating by grunts and bashes over the head.  But it's so entrenched in the vernacular that I really don't see no problem wit it.  Can't it just be considered acceptable slang?  Whoever these Grammar Powers That Be are should really step up here.  I mean, my god, it took them HOW LONG to finally realize that you won't go to hell for splitting infinitives?  Basically, I'm just waiting for them to overturn all these tricky grammar rules that make me sound like a dim-witted retard.  Is that redundant?  i suppose not.   Anyway, point is, my grammar is probably the weakestpart of my supposed verbal "abilities."  Then again, judging by this entirely too-long paragraph, i also seem to be a tad too verbose.

2:50pm-  I've decided, officially, that i hate the slow. I've known this for a long time, but lately everything confirms it and i just want to state it for the record.  If you're gonna be a dawdling, crawling, SLOW sunuvabitch, fine.  Just don't do it in front of me.  It's not even the slow part that gets me. It's the fact that they get in my way. If you're gonna plod down the hall like you're carrying 400 pounds, don't waddle down the middle of a thin hallway.  I swear to god, yesterday I was on my way out of the building, and this woman putting her scarf on was in front of me heading for two sets of double doors. One set on the right, one on the left.  She starts on the right.  Over a course of about 15 feet, she slowly makes her way left.  I'm following so close behind her slow-moving ass, that i can't just speed by her without being really awkward. So i do the polite thing.  I wait till she's outta the way, then start to speed up. For no apparent reason other than to make me want to murder her, she cuts quickly back to the right, right in front of me.  AARRGGHH!!!   Road Rage, i've heard of.  but WALK rage? !  what the fuck?  who does this?  Was there something wrong with the other doors?
In closing, if you're slow, or on crutches, please, please  stay the hell out of my way.
this shit happens way too often.

well, i'm now about to head home. and i expect to get into some sort of accident for my speediness. Peace out.

So yesterday, February 23rd, was, according to my horoscope, supposed to be a big day for me.  Especially romantically.  Now, while I am for most parts a pretty logica person, for some reason I really like to try to believe in things like Astrology.  It just makes my life a lot easier.  feeling lazy?  Must be the stars.  Had a tough day?  Saturn's probably moving through my sign.  Love life going to shit?  It was destined to happen.  It really justifies my inaction, resignation, and depression.  However, I must say that the only particularly noteworthy thing about yesterday was that it was an especially unremarkable day.  I didn't do anything, and nothing happened to me.  But then I got thinking, maybe it was still a big day for me.  Maybe things didn't necessarily have to happen to me.  Maybe somewhere somebody was doing something yesterday that will drastically affect my life.  Maybe my future wife just dumped her current boyfriend.  Maybe my girlfriend (for lack of a better term) did something that will signifcantly affect my life.  Even if it seems bad, it could end up being good.  Or maybe some paper-pusher at the IRS just put a period in the wrong place and gave me $100,000 dollars.  That's the best thing about Astrology.  It's so easy to be right, or at least to not be wrong, when your predictions are really just possible conditions that might be over a period of a few days.  being more and more vague really helps your chances too. But of course, i eat that shit up.

It's snowing here in our nation's capital.  And it's far too cold.
 

9:53 AM.  Here's how bored I am:  I just held my breath for a minute at fifteen seconds.  And I'm really proud of myself.

    And now, an actual Daily Aggravation:  The elevator.  This is a rather large source of stress everday.  I work way up on the tenth floor, and I would say that about 80 percent of the people on the elevator work on floors below me.  Of course, I'm about the most impatient person I've ever know, so I can't get where I'm going fast enough, especially when i'm habitually late for work.  So I rush from my car , down the hall, to the four working elevators. There's actually six, but one is the freight elevator and another is mysteriously blocked by a velvet rope, only allowing access to a certain few.  I'm not sure who these people are or where the elevator goes.  I tell ya, this place is shrouded in secrecy. Anyway, getting back to the point, the first goal is to get on an elevator with the fewest amount of people on board, lessening the chance that I'll have to wait those interminable 6 seconds stopping at every floor. This usually requires a little sneakiness and guile.  When there's a crowd, and the first elevator arrives, everyone naturally pils into that one.  But not me.  I wait.  The cars usually come in groups, rarely travelling alone. So i take the 2nd or 3rd elevator, hit "10," andpound on the "close door" button like crazy.  Of course this rarely works.  So i get stuck on the elevator with some schlep talking about the weather.  Which brings me to my next point.  I can't believe how many conversations i hear about the weather.  I'd say at least 3/4 of talk is about the weather.  "Hey, cold enough for ya?"  "Say, there's a warm front moving in.  Better break out those jams!"  Even when the weather has been relatively stable and unnoteworthy, they say things like "Boy, some weather, huh?" "Yeah, I just hope it keeps up."  AARRGGH!!  Then again, i suppose it's still better than this redneck conversation i heard about some hunting banquet and cooking your own rabbit and making you own wine.  Goddam...
    But wait, there's more.  Waiting for the elevator is can be an extremely aggravating experience.  because somebody's always gotta be that guy. You know that guy. The one who just can't stop pressing the damn button.  I know it's a cliched complaint, but the fact that it's a tired stand-up comedian act just makes it all the worse.  Who actually still thinks that repeated pressings of the button will make it come faster?  yet they stand there, nervously pressing the button.  It makes me wanna poke 'em in the eye.  Then, once they finally get on the elevator, they look at the floor buttons, and repeated press "9,"  even though it's alreay lit up.  I seriously think these people have some sort of psychological problem.  Like if their pattern of daily compulsiveness and routine is broken, they'll go nuts, a la Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man."Gotta...gotta hit elevator button. 'course... the elevator's faster on tuesdays... definitely faster on tuesdays. elevator door... very twinkling...very sparkly..."
For the LOVE OF GOD!!!
 

On a happier note, I was very pleased with myself for figuring setting up a front page for this site, and providing links to individual dates. there's a real odd pride/shame thing that goes along with web programming.

   Also, Berry and I went to Dulles last night to pick up our old friend Jen.  Always good to see her. she's in town to interview with THE George Washington University for a Phd Program.  I myself expect to hear from NYU any week now.  Right now I'll I'm hoping for is high on the Waiting List.  jen's borrowing Berry's car today, so i gotta pick up Berry from her office happy hour at some bowling lane.  Another pride/shame example: I REALLY like to bowl.  But, much like my web programming, I'm not all that good. but getting better, at least last time i played.  Jen was boasting of the 170 she bowled the other day. I think I've done that maybe once.  I have never, however, suffered the humliation of losing to a girl.  Elizabeth came close once, lsing by 2 pins.  I know it's an illogical sexist/pride kinda thing but, well, i make no butts about it.  So i'm a little nervouse. But much like myself, Jen's an up and down bowler. She said the game previous to her 170 she didn't even get 100.  So it's all in the timing.  So hopfully she'll be in a bowling mood.  You're going down, Murph.
    And as long as I'm thinking about women's sports, the reason things like the WNBA will never succeed is because nobody, or relatviely few I should say, wants to watch women play a sport that men play better.  Basketball is the best example.  What I really mean is that no one wants to watch a second-rate quality game, regardless of the chromosomal circumstances.  It's the same reason minor league baseball and hockey don't draw as many people as the Major Leagues.  Of course, there are perfectly acceptable and watchable women's sports, like golf and tennis, although tennis seems to endorse a weaker female image by playing a best-of-three while men play a best-of-five.  I don't really have much more to say on that. Just a thought.
 

And now, by request of NZB, pictures of the place I call "Work"

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©1999 Three Match Breeze
 
 

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