August 17, 2000 ***"Oh, The Gore Of It."
    Let me just remind everyone that the spectre of censorship still clouds every vision of Al and Tipper Gore.  The spectre of taking freedom away.  You see, everyone thought that Tipper's PMRC was just "after" those dirty, nasty heavy metal bands but, in reality, there were a lot more bands on their list of "questionable" artists than just Judas Priest and Megadeth.
    Just remember that.  Don't forget it, even though news shows are for some reason looking over it.
    But that's not the whole thing either.
    Does anyone take politics seriously?
    Does anyone believe those smiles?  They're like the smiles on girls in beauty pageants...faked and there simply as decoration, not reality.
    I don't doubt that Al Gore thinks he can do a great job as president and that he believes in himself.  I don't question that.
    But I don't think politics needs another Al Gore, or George Bush for that matter.
    "I want to fight for you!" says Al Gore.
    Fine.  Whatever.  I'm sick of it.  I'm going cold turkey.  I'm on the wagon.  It's over.  No more politics.  It's killing me quicker than my job.  No more.  No mas...no mas...no mas....
    Give me a new America or give me death....
 

August 16, 2000 ***"Mmm...Sweaty Muffins...."
    Is there any better song to drive to on a cool summer's night than She Divines Water by Camper Van Beethoven?  Actually, the whole Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart CD.  Windows down, breeze blowing, still summer, obviously, but hinting at autumn...beautiful.
    It's a strange thing when stuff that's settled beneath the surface comes bubbling up.  It's always interesting how people deal with the stirred up water.  How we try to see into the pool that once seemed so clear, but is now clouded with the silt of arguments never made.
    "How can I believe that everything in this world is going to be fine?"
    I have a lot going on, heading into the book release show on August 28th at the York Street Cafe in Newport, KY and a couple high profile band gigs coming up, but it seems a lot of my time is being spent working on things that have nothing to do with those pursuits.  That and the fact that I've been reprimanded at work more in the past week than in the four years I've been there total.  Utter weirdness.  It's a strange thing to realize just how out of place you are...and how much you sort of enjoy being the rock in the road, the voice of reason in a sea of _______________.
    That blank left for you, dear readers, to fill in the descriptive word of your choice.
    That said, Journal IV will be ending soon, giving way to Journal V on a new page.  If you only come here to see when there's an update, go to the main page in the next couple of weeks for the link to the newest Journal page and, as always, thanks for reading.
 

August 4, 2000 ***"Yes?  No?  Maybe...."
    My buddy Tim had free tickets to see progressive rock monsters tonight and, despite my attempts to find anyone but me to accompany him, I went.  Yes is a good band.  Great musicians.  But I hate the music because it's too jazz-like.  When they rock, or when there's singing (most of the time) the stuff's just nifty.  Then they go into a ten minute wank-fest...during these moments tonight I spent my time doing one of three things:
    1)  looking at women,
    2)  trying to avoid wafts of pot smoke from the sixteen year olds who were partaking around us, and
    3)  watching the sun set over RiverBend.
    Actually, I hate going to concerts just as much now as ever.  It's not the shows, but who you have to see them with.  It was amazing how many people were there simply to either get high or drunk and then converse with their pals.  Perhaps it was the music, but most folks were having conversations during the set.  Wretched.
    And I'm all for personal freedom.  I don't believe in prohibition or anything like that.  However, realizing that the kids who were getting high around us were going to drive Mommy and Daddy's new SUV home really made me ill.  And a bit tense.
    Of course, I had fun too.  These folks would walk around, stop, light up, smoke up and then move on.  Avoiding the narcs???  Apparently.  One odd looking fellow stopped to my left and, with my owl-like vision, I saw him take a toke off of a joint.  Then he nudged my arm, offering me a toke.
    I turned to him and, giving him my best Rollins glare, said, "I'm an off duty police officer."
    You should have seen him take off.
    Awesome.
    Here's my thing:  do what you're gonna do.  Do it with who you're going to do it with.  I don't care if you get high, get drunk, who you have sex with, how you like to have sex, how you like to dress, who you're going to vote for or what kind of job you have.  You're human and, as such, I respect you.
    HOWEVER, when you're smoking pot around me, from now on, expect me to smack the joint out of your hand and stomp on it.  "Personal freedom, man, don't do that!"  Sure...just like Steve Howe, who's an amazing guitarist, go do it in your bedroom where I don't have to put up with it.  Smoke your stuff at home where you won't hurt (or annoy) anyone else.  Drink at home where you won't get into a car to drive home and cause trouble.
    Take some responsibility and have some respect for others, as well as yourself.
 

August 2, 2000 ***"Mob America."
   To watch Dick Cheney on television tonight spewing forth about saving the American military, about bettering our schools and turning American around, I couldn't help but fear for the future.
    Mob rules, kids.
    The mob spoke and clapped after each carefully set sentence.
    Carefully spoken words.
    Carefully uttered ad hominem attacks.
    "Does anyone believe...that the man for that job is Al Gore?" said Dick Cheney.
    Maybe not, but I don't believe it's you and your pal George Bush either.
    Nor do I believe that Al Gore (with Tipper in tow) is a better choice.
    I'm neither Republican nor Democrat.  Party politics is why the mob rules and always has in the United States.  This Republic.
    I remember Ronald Reagan.  I remember George Bush.  And isn't it amazing how today's George is George W. and not George, Jr.  How carefully scripted our political system is.
    George Stephanapoulos stated, "This crowd loved it."  Cokie Roberts (yes, I'm watching ABC) said, "This crowd is in ecstacy."
    No kidding, kids!  YOU'RE AT THE REPUBLICAN NATIONAL CONVENTION!!!  Do you think they're going to let any dissenters in?  Really?
    The media must be silenced.
    Partisan politics must be opened up.
    Vote Libertarian, vote Green Party, vote Freedom Party, vote Independent...I don't care, just vote and vote with your heart.  But I don't believe any of you if you say your heart is with Bush or Gore.
    Thompson/Zevon in 2000.
 

July 25, 2000 ***"A Great Day."
    I had a terrific day today.  <<<insert that Smashing Pumpkins song here>>>  Had to take off of work to fix a problem with my truck.  Well, not my truck, per se, more like my bank.  Y'see, I lease my truck and the registration renewal cards they usually send to normal folks who buy their vehicles, well, mine goes to my bank.  Who sends it to their corporate office five states away.  Happened last year too...got my notice card in a ------- Bank envelope two months after I should've received it.  This year I remembered and got to the County Clerk's only a month late.
    Still haven't received the card yet, though.
    I'm waiting to get it before I toss off a particularly nasty letter to the F------ Bank main office.  Maybe I'll at least get my late fee reimbursed.  Who knows.
    I also got a lot done today in tying up loose ends for the book.  Promo copies will go out next week and the release is pretty well set for September 1st.  Venue remains to be seen for the release shindig.  I'm thinking NKU might be too pricey for me right now.  I've got a lot riding on this book, both for myself and the future of DKP.  Well, not any more than any other release, really.
    It's all good, though.
    Check out the DKP Events page for information on the upcoming release show AND the Kentucky Book Fair, which I got my invitation to in the mail today.  That should be a really interesting and fun gig.
   Oh, and once again, all you morons talking on your cell phones when you should be driving, I guarantee that if it is me that you hit, you will pay dearly.  I don't care if it's money or your ass, you will pay.
    Can you tell some idiot cut me off today?
    I may not be updating as regularly as previous months right now...it is all due to the book preparations.
 

July 15, 2000 ***"Lyrical Content That God Likes."
    We played a song tonight on Scriptus Live that had "questionable content" according to one of the Board members at the radio station that hosts the show.  My problem with situations such as this are twofold:
    1)    we read the disclaimer prior to our show every week just in case there is anyone listening who would rather not touch on sensitive issues, which we do sometimes.  Sometimes we hit on theological, artistic or moral issues that the average person, or the highly religious person, would rather not hear.  That's fine.
    2)    we play songs by, and read works by, artists who are expressing a variety of emotions and states of being.  Occassionally those themes or the wording chosen to express those themes are a bit brazen and harsh.
    Tonight, the song was "The History Of Man" by Pat MacDonald, who used to be in Timbuk 3 (remember "The Future's So Bright I've Gotta Wear Shades"?)  The song is a somewhat cynical, though lighthearted, look at the history of man, touching on the scenarios of leaders and their mistakes and the general power-hunger/greed of mankind.  In the last verse, there is some stronger language used and, to me, it had to be.
    At a certain point, strong language is appropriate.  I have used it in songs and poems.  Do I attempt to use more descriptive words first?  Certainly.  But sometimes, you have to be harsh and go for the jugular.  In this case, it was true that there was no other way to express the inherent frustation of the song.  For the Board member who called the station to address his displeasure, it was a religious issue.  For us, it is an artistic issue.
    And that is not to say that an "artist" has carte blanche to say whatever he/she feels.  Not true.  But sometimes the necessity is there and it makes the exclamation point on the statement.  Just like god didn't necessarily have to drown the world with forty days and nights of rain, but the effect was spectacular.
    In short, when we play songs like "The History Of Man" or Warren Zevon's "My Sh*t's F*cked Up" or "The Number Of The Beast" by Iron Maiden, we're not playing them for shock value, but rather because of the statements:  frustration with humanity, blues over bad decisions and nightmares about possession, respectively.  In the show itself, Greg (the other host) and I seldom if ever use anything close to what could be considered strong language.
    For anyone who has a problem with it, well, change the station...it's not that hard.
 

July 12, 2000 Pt. 2 ***"Hatred, Truth & God."
    When I see shows on hate groups, like on tonight's "20/20," it really makes me sort of wish I were a gay black woman.  Anything but a white man, because, of course, the white man is the assumed enemy of everything.  But in saying that, I'm generalizing far too much.
    Female's into hate.  Anyone into hate.  Pure white people.  I wonder, really, how much "pure" blood is in these chicks on the show.  In reference to my earlier entry, well, television is on in my room here and, well, it's sickening.
    Most of this trash is based on "bible...it's bible!"  Okay, fine.  White power is an opiate.  It's a mob mentality.  The same thing that created the Holocaust.  Unfortunately, that's what these people want.  It's all about tags...homosexual...black...Jew....  It's not about truth or people, but about tags.
    Do you live your life this way?  Do you judge based on the outer appearance of someone, or what they drive or who they hang out with?  Sure, if they're hanging with drug-frenzied idiots, there's a good chance you don't want to be with them.  (That's the thing:  it's all situational.)
    According to these folks, if you're gay, you're immediately damned to hell upon death.  Assuming a Christian belief system, of course.  I guess the same goes for blacks and Jews and the rest of the lot that they don't like.  Lord, these people are so stupid they claim to desire an Aryan race when none of them would fall into that category.
    Some truths:  there was religion before Christianity.  Many as a matter of fact.  Many of them were quite similar both in their "creation stories" and morality plays to Christianity.  It's a religion - a way to worship god - not god itself.  Big difference.  Do you worship the bible or do you worship god?  Oh, and if you believe Jesus Christ was caucasion, then you really need help.
    But that's not the point.  I don't know the "True" moral law, if there is one.  I just know that in my heart, I believe that there is no equality, but there is compassion and humanity.  We're all equal in the fact that we're human beings and deserve respect.  I find American politics to be far more upsetting than someone's sexual preferences.
    But, then, it's about America, huh?  Freedom of speech.  These white supremicists, Baptist bible thumpers and others are terribly funny to listen to, to be honest about it.  Always stupid and entertaining, just like pro wrestling or Jerry Springer.  Lowest common denominator entertainment.
    The problem is that people believe Springer is real....
 
 

July 12, 2000 ***"Level-Headed Death Wish."
    Okay...my television watching is about at the end.  I can't take much more.  I wanted to get back, I wanted to watch, I wanted to join the ranks of t.v. heads.  It's not like it was when I was younger.  I feel like I'm at a pep rally when I watch television.  Here's the football team (the sitcom and some blase noise) and here are the cheerleaders (raised volume, if not i.q., during the commercials.)
    There are the exceptions, of course, but good lord, it's few and far between.
    Somewhere between hope and desperation is where most of us live.  Somewhere between the gentle breeze that carries the spring rains and the barren, desert wind that smells of decay scorched dreams.
    The television can't give you that.
    Live or die.  Simple choice.
 
 

July 7, 2000 ***"Long Time, No Write."
    Greetings, my friends!  No, I haven't died or anything...just been terribly busy with getting the new book put together, writing lyrics, writing assorted other stuff...just being me, I suppose.
    Here's a thought, though, to get you through to the next journal entry:
    Is the internet a good thing?
    I mean, is it such a good thing that so much nonsense is so accessible to everyone?  Sure, it's wonderful that we have access to the information.  How many of us use the "information" aspect, though?
    My idea:  the internet is becoming to this generation what television became to the baby boomers:  a reason to sit around and waste away instead of striving for other things, dreams and adventures.
    Of course, as I wrote some time ago, "if we were all Elvis Presley, being Elvis Presley wouldn't matter much at all."  If we were all Pro Bowl football players or excellent actors, then the terms "Pro Bowl" and "excellent" would be rendered meaningless.
    Is it our fate to be mundane?
    Is it our fate to be lost?
    Or is it our fate to be great in our own ways, and in turn, are we being led astray by the ease of entertainment and lack of artistry in the entertainment we have today?
    Do you want to eat Big Macs for the rest of your life, or would you like a filet mignon sometimes?
    Think about it....
 
 

June 27, 2000 ***"Human Genome Project Blues."
    So it's complete now, huh?  They've mapped DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid), the basic building block of humanity.  The "well known double helix" referred to in "Run Straight Down" by Warren Zevon.  The blueprint.
    There are some things that we, as a race, are not ready to know.  How to create one of ourselves is one of them.  Forget the cloning of sheep, how about the cloning of me?  The obvious theological question that I, admittedly, am interested in is will cloned humans have personalities?  Or souls?  Of course, you have to believe in a soul first for that to make any sense.
    But, on the other hand, if you believe the soul to be the culmination of energy in a living being, well, who cares?
    Think of the horrors, though.  It's much like me and a watch.  There are those who can take a watch apart and put it back together and make it work.  Watches are complex and tiny, given to strange personalities of their own (ask any seasoned watchmaker.)  Much like humans.  If I were to tear into a watch, all I would cause is destruction.  Much like scientists tearing into the code.  Bad idea.
    And I'm even someone who might benefit from this work!  Being diabetic, a hereditarily passed condition, with the HGP there's a chance that I could erase it from my genes and make sure future generations of Kaeff's wouldn't have it.
    But I don't want to.  I don't want to cleanse.  I don't want to rid the world of disease.  Easing suffering, sure.  But disease has it's place.  Genetic defects have their place.  Most giraffes of millions of years ago, or their ancestors, probably looked at the new kids, with their gradually (over many years) lengthening necks strangely.  Probably wished they'd had cuter, short-necked kids.  It's evolution.  And don't give me that silly evolution versus god argument...is it so hard to believe that god, or the higher deity of your choice, set the primordial ooze in motion, or was the lightning bolt that was the catalyst for the first "life"?
    In short, I have the blues over this issue.  I'm totally fifty-fifty...for and against...hopeful and fearful.  A snippet from a new poem I wrote today upon hearing the news:
    "There's an angel in my armor /
    And a devil up my sleeve...." (c) 2000 S.N. Kaeff
    We're entering a frightening time, my friends...see you on the other side, with all the cloned sheep, engineering celery and painted tomatoes....
 

June 24, 2000 Pt. 2 ***"Get Over Yourself!"
    This journal is a place where I vent, where I write ideas, where I place the occasional call-to-arms.  Basically, this is pieces of my life and views of things in all of our lives.  While I will sometimes grill people or things, I don't take pot shots at people.  I don't use this as a place to spill my guts on things that most people wouldn't ever be interested in.  Honestly, I keep other journals of personal things.  My definition of journal and yours might differ.
    I've been reading a lot of journals lately.  Some recommended by friends, some I've just stumbled upon.  Good lord, there are a lot of miserable people out there, folks.  There are a lot of people who feel a journal is a good place to throw stones, too.  Whatever.  The thing is, if you're one of those people who makes themself feel better by dragging other people down, do me a favor and get over yourself.
    I am, admittedly, sometimes not the cheeriest of folks...that being due to my thought processes.  I'm not necessarily "depressed" or "pissed-off," but rather I'm hunkered down thinking inside, dealing with the outside world on a totally surface level.  Don't take it personally, okay?  But some people need to realize that their attitude makes them.  Affects their health, future, everything.  Some people carry too much baggage.  Read one journal where a guy was still pining over a women who he left (yes, who HE left) in 1996.  One word:  moron.  Read another one where a woman took a pot shot at a former beau's current love.  Advice:  go back to the litter box, there, kitty, and get a dose of reality...leave it alone.  A last one that struck me was a fellow who told, in pretty graphic detail, of his suicide attempt some months ago.  Advice:  learn from your mistake (take that however you wish.)
    So, and this goes for mine as well, be careful the faith and reality that you inject into journals that you read.  They're not always the wells of truth and knowledge that they could be.
    Requiescat en pace, as WZ said....
 

June 24, 2000 ***"We Have The Technology."
    Profound sorrow.  I've seen that phrase bandied about a few times...never really understood it, though.  I might now.  I feel like a tidal wave, sometimes, but I never reach a shoreline to break upon.  Sort of like a gun that never goes off.
    I listen to the radio and hear a load of soulless crap.  Hmmm..."soulless"...is that a word?  Or is it spelled correctly?  Oh, you get the point.  It's much more a word than irregardless, which is not a word at all, no matter what anyone says.  A negative prefix and a negative suffix equal a non-word.  Got that, Timmy?
    By the way, word up to my brother, Tim, from work, who is an avid reader of the Journal here and has sparked some great conversation on some things I've written here.
    It's currently 2:20 am on Saturday morning.  Got home a short time ago from having a late munchie with one of my close friends and a friend who he works with who happened to have graduated high school with us.  Interesting conversation and some entertaining sights where we ate at.  It is so bizarre and wonderful what some women will wear on their "down time."  Oh my.  I'll say this, women, of the many things they have better than men (and the many burdens they have that I just couldn't handle), the most amazing is clothing choices.  From underwear to accessories, women have so many more fashion choices.  Of course, see my entry from June 18th to get a full view of my fashion consciousness.
    Enough...I'm rambling...we have the technology to build supercomputers, to take close-up photos of Mars and to maintain inventories of material handling parts, but we still only have Al Gore and George Bush as Presidential hopefuls.  Or the Presidentially hopeless.  Is George McGovern still alive?  Or can we bring him out of the grave?  At least it'd be interesting then.
 
 

June 20, 2000 ***"Snow On The Rooftops."
    Throughout the day I saw images of snow on rooftops.  I saw steam coming from manholes in the slush-ridden streets.  I rode in a cab down avenues of zombies, trudging their way through the cold.  I danced along the boulevard of broken dreams (tip o' the hat to Hanoi Rocks.)  And, strange as it may seem, it was quite entertaining.
    I'm not a summer kind of guy.  Sunshine is wonderful and, well, we wouldn't have broccoli without it, but give me a cloudy day, slightly rainy and with an invigorating breeze anyday.  I don't deal with heat well.  I'd rather be dressed up (as in more clothing) than dressed down (as in less clothing.)
    But I've started watching television again, on a more regular basis that is.  I felt I was missing out on too much pop culture.  First thing, I'll never eat a Domino's pizza again.  If the best marketing ploy they can come up with is a dirty monkey stolen from someone's Salvation Army donation box and tied to fishing line, then god knows what the hell they're using in their pizza.
    Second, as I've alluded to in previous journal entries, neither Friends nor Ally McBeal are worth watching, though each has its occasional high point (see last night's female a female kissing scene.)
    Third, well, um...so far I do think I'd rather sit in the dark, listen to Morphine and play guitar than watch television.  Until football season, that is....
 

June 19, 2000 ***"Maelstrom."
    When someone throws you away, how do you uncrumble yourself and get back into their notebook?  Or is it better to ride the can to the curb and see if someone picks you back up of their own volition?  Maybe it's just me overreacting.  Probably.  Not unusual.
 

June 18, 2000 ***"Yoink!  The Simpsons...."
    I remember when The Simpsons were a between sketch bumper on The Tracey Ullman Show.  Hilarious even then, the fact that the actual dedicated show is still going is a testament to some very talented people.  I honestly don't think that there is a more innovative show on television than The Simpsons.  For a decade plus, this is where comedy has met topical humour.  My hat's off to all involved with that t.v. show.  Amazing.
    So why the sudden outpouring of praise?  I just finished watching the show (while I was also in the process of working on lyrics) and realized that the position I was in, lying facedown on my bed with a notebook and pen, watching The Simpsons, was something I'd done in high school as well.  Sick in some ways, but strangely settling in others.  My life's changed a whole heck of a lot, but The Simpsons are still on and, darn it, Maggie is still a baby.
    As my life continues on, gravitating toward middle age, I find myself in the strange position that many human beings do:  grasping onto the fleeting childhood hopes and loves while being sucked, magnet-like, into the despair of adulthood.  But there's always The Simpsons.  A cartoon, too!  Even better.  Much like the old Warner Bros. cartoons, The Simpsons was always more for adults than kids.
    I suppose that the fade of youth has its prices.  I'm getting the bills in the mail daily now.  Another part of the conversation from a few nights ago was my dislike of suits and ties.  Reasons?  I gave several, none of them particularly enlightening except for this one:  I don't like them.  They're not comfortable.  Comfortable to me is jeans and a white dress shirt, sometimes with gym shoes, sometimes with my work boots.  Add a sport coat if its cold outside.  Make it a t-shirt if its terribly hot.  Simple, effective.  Savor the irony in the fact that the outfit I just described has striking resemblances to Homer Simpson's wardrobe for over ten years.
    However, in pushing the publishing company and so on, in having to become a schmoozer, I also recognize the need to be uncomfortable.  My world revolves differently than yours does, I'm sure (that statement written in thinking of those of you who write to me regarding these entries.)  Judgements are made using varying facets of logic and common sense, along with a certain fear of risk.  The covers we put on are important, there's no question.  Just like taking the aesthetics of a book cover into consideration when I'm putting one together, taking my appearance into consideration is important to business.
    But I still don't think I want to work with anyone who doesn't know what "yoink" means...ever.
 
 

June 16, 2000 ***"Radio Free."
    On my way home from a particularly fine and reflective evening out with a couple of great friends, I tuned into WNKU and they were playing R.E.M's Radio Free Europe, a song I've never heard on the radio.  R.E.M is perfect music for introspection, much like Peter Gabriel.  In being flattened by a rather pointed question (which is still fluttering around my skull) I think a drain plug was pulled out of my bathtub of dirty water.
    I am a selfish person and probably always will be.  I recognize that.  I am driven by things beyond my ability to reason away from them.  I love to write.  I love music.  Given the opportunity, or having created the opportunity myself, those are what I will do for the rest of my life.  I am selfish.
    My drives have ended in some rather gruesome ways.  Several bands I've been in have paid the price, having been driven into the ground by me and my desire to push forward, beyond what the bands themselves were ready for.  My desire clouds my perceptions sometimes.
    The new book, The Mirror Suite, is part of a journey...a journey that I thought was concluded.  Instead it's a foyer into a house filled with other journeys.  I realized that tonight.  You can realize the mirror in front of you, what is contained there and come to grips with it.
    It's what's beyond your peripheral vision, what's behind you and to the sides, that most of us take for granted.  A trained assassin will never sit with his back to the open air, but most of us do everyday and never give a second thought to what's going on or what impact we're having around us.
    The point?  Probably just that I'm morphing again, coming to grips again and attempting to realize again just who I am and what I'm doing.  Life is constant re-evaluation and re-evolution.
 
 

June 7, 2000 ***"Look, Ma!  I'm An Adverb!!!"
    I've been granted one of the greatest awards or tributes that I think any person can get.  I'm  held in esteem enough to have had my name taken in vain.  My attitude has made itself a marked character.  Y'see, I tend to go off on people sometimes.  It's not like I haven't done some stupid things in my life...I freely and happily admit that I have.  However, when I do something stupid, I do my best to learn from it.  However, certain attitudes and lightweight lifestyles perturb me.  Those who lack common sense disturb me.  In other words, I don't wear my heart on my sleeve...I point it out to you and then shove it down your throat.  (Sometimes...I am normally quiet and introverted, reserved,  most of the time, which makes the backlashes of my outbursts seem much worse than they are due to the juxtaposition with my normal, quiet self.)
    Some folks go "ballistic" on people.
    Some folks go "ghetto" on people.
    Some folks go "postal" on people.
    Where I work, we now go "Kaeff" on people.
    I must give credit to Shawn and Ryan for bestowing this honor upon me.  I truly relish and enjoy it.  Perhaps, at some point in the future, it will be a household word instead of just a warehouse word.  Thanks guys!
 

June 6, 2000 ***"Lust Coffin."
    I returned to work today after a week of vacation.  I could insert a deep sigh here, or something else equally noteworthy, but I shall refrain.  'Twas the same old junk, just in a different place.  In better news, there are two cool new albums out that I humbly recommend:  Iron Maiden - Brave New World and Steve Earle - Transcendental Blues.  The Maiden features the return of Bruce Dickinson and Adrian Smith, thus reuniting one of the most poignant and thundering bands of the 80's and 90's.  Though thought-provoking guitar-oriented hard rock & roll has slipped into the back of peoples' minds in the last eight years in favor or moping, mumbling strummers, I think the return of the Maiden Mk III lineup is just awesome and a signal for a resurgence of originality in rock.  In contrast, Steve Earle is just what most of the Seattle bands and much of the current FM airplay wishes to be:  honest, forthright, in-your-face and brutal, with just enough twang to hearken his country roots into the mix.  On a long drive, Maiden and Steve Earle...perfect combo.
    Toss in some Supersuckers, Warren Zevon, King's X, Rollins, Manic Street Preachers and Peter Gabriel and I'm sure I could make it to the West Coast without stopping....
 

May 31, 2000 ***"Birthday Thoughts."
    I'm 27 years old today.  Young enough to know better, old enough not to care.  Young enough to still be spritely in my beliefs, old enough to be jaded in my acceptance of reality.  Young enough to carry on and dream, old enough to see the faded paint on the bicycle.  Young enough to hope, old enough to have faith.
    But, I suppose, it's about more than that.  Had dinner with a dear friend and my fiance last night.  That was wonderful.  We chatted, took pictures, joked around and watched some old filmwork he'd done.  I'm at my residence today and T. and I are going to COSI tomorrow, which should be a blast except for the drive to Columbus.  My truck (see entry from late April/early May) is still unfinished as I type, and I don't foresee it being back to me by tomorrow.
    And what, exactly, is up with the four or five cars I've seen down south over the last few days that have huge D.A.R.E. stickers on them (dare to keep kids off drugs, that is) but are full of people smoking cigarettes?  Am I the only one who sees the hypocrisy here?  Freakin' half-witted morons playing along to a game they haven't read the rulebook on.
    I appreciate those who've e-mailed their birthday wishes to me already.  My heartfelt thanks to all of you.  And my birthday wish for the world is such:  think about it before you do it, and when you do it, do it all the way or don't bother.
 
 

May 24, 2000 ***"Thinking About Hell."
    It's been put to me in the last few days, both by my fiance and in a movie, that perhaps hell is not necessarily the lakes of fire and chains of ice that most Western religions believe it to be, but rather simply the absence of God and his Word.  Simply?  Of course.  The most important part of religion, whether you're Christian or Buddhist, is faith.  If that faith is tested by an absence of the Word, where do you turn?  Do you maintain faith even through the storm or do you turn your back, as you may feel that God has?
    My real reason for writing this entry is a question, or a theory more accurately, that popped into my head a while ago that I've mulled over in my head.  Hell.  The church has a version of hell, most religions have a hell of some kind, or a purgatory.  The place where evil lurks, where evil is spawned, where the flowers of the dark are bred.  It is the torture chamber for evildoers from this realm that we occupy now.  The aforementioned lakes of fire, brimstone, chains of ice (if you're from a warmer climate.)  Horrors beyond your worst imaginations.  Why?  Because Satan fell from his place at the right hand of God, out of jealousy or for whatever reason.  Cast down into Hell by God.  The Fallen Angel's home is Hell, and he tortures the lost souls of the world for all eternity.
    Okay.  So here's my thought that's kept me up nights:  Satan hates God for putting Man above Angels and giving Man free choice and souls, etc.  Satan, even though he was once loved above all others, hates God.  So Satan's going to do God's work, torturing the evildoers, like God's Warden?  It's been suggested to me that, though the evildoers are sentenced to Hell, they're still part of God and that's why Satan would torture them, to get back at God.  But, then, Satan is also still part of God from that point of view.
    Hypothesizing here, playing *ahem* devil's advocate, if I'm Satan, I'm taking everyone who falls into the pit of Hell from this realm we're in now and I'm considering them part of my club.  We're alike in so many ways.  Why torture them?  They turned their backs on God like me!  I'm not torturing them...either by choice or by accident, we're a team once they're in Hell.  And, at some point, there might be a chance, with that army of souls, to re-take Heaven.
    Of course, if you're not Christian or part of some subsidiary thereof, this whole entry is pretty much a moot argument.  I just see a little incongruity in the whole story and the theory of Hell and what it is, or what it's supposed to be.
    And then I read something like the following from Charles Baudelaire:  "...the Devil tempts only men of genius.  He doubtles scorns imbeciles, but he does not disdain their assistance."  Or perhaps The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis.  Makes you really curious about exactly who and what you're going to believe.
    Which, in turn, brings the path of this entry back to faith.  Are God and Satan really two guys down at the barber shop playing chess?  Are God and Satan truly enemies of divine kind, ducking and weaving and trying to win souls for their personal pursuits?  Or is it really good and evil and our souls bear the cost of the decisions we make in life?  Or is it Buddha and the Tao?  Is there, really, any difference between any of those?
    Faith.
 
 
 

May 22, 2000 ***"Kiss This...."
    I used to be a fan of KISS.  I really did.  Gene Simmons was an influence on my bass playing, I will freely admit, though it was the early work that I liked a lot.  The stage shows and all, just fantastic.  I've seen them twice, on the Hot In The Shade tour which was, well, lukewarm, and on the Revenge tour.  That was a great show.  Probably moreso because I and three good friends were center stage, fifth row back at Rupp Arena for it.  Nice job with the fire breathing (which was brought back by Mr. Simmons on that tour.)
    Alas, they've lost me.  I don't own any KISS CD's now.  I didn't buy the reunion CD, Psycho Circus, partially because the song I heard stunk and partially because, even with the nifty hologram cover, there's something against my nature to pay $17.99 for a CD with only a little over thirty minutes worth of music on it.  Not gonna happen, Gene, it's just not.
    Why am I going into this?  Well, the mighty ones are playing at Riverbend tonight on their Farewell Tour.  Really?  Farewell, or just goodbuy (misspelling intentional) for now, until we can find a way to grub more cash from you?  Gene would say it's the American Way, man, capitalism personified!  Great.  And, to a certain extent, I agree.  Go get the money if you can.  Absolutely.
    But, at what price to the music?
    I've forgiven a lot of these cretins.  I really have.  The final straw was on television last night.  There was the formerly mighty KISS singing for Pepsi, which was bad enough, and then there was that horribly annoying, terrifying, wretched little girl from the Pepsi commercials with Paul Stanley's face paint on.  I wanted to scream.  Then I wanted to laugh.  Then I wanted to cry.
    Is this what the KISS Army fought for?  Is this why you idiots were defended to the death when parents said your name stood for things like Knights In Satan's Service?  Is this why kids had to make up different meanings for "Lick It Up" so they could confuse their parents and  buy the tape at K-Mart?
    Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley, you make me sick.  And you don't care, I know, because you've lived your version of the American Dream and you're rich and don't have to answer to anyone.  You've suckered so many into your little world.  Ace Frehley and Peter Criss, I don't hold you responsible because you're just Gene's and Paul's toadies anyway, always were, I think.  I feel badly for the Bruce Kulicks and Eric Singers who you've walked over on your way back to the "big time" in makeup.
    Leave me out of it.  You're garbage and always were.  Anyone want a slightly beat-up KISS lunchbox?
 
 

May 19, 2000 ***"Quote From A Wise Man."
    I was going through this evening, after dinner, cleaning out the vast expanse of papers and junk that has collected under my desk.  I'm not disorganized by any means, however, in one pile I found the mock-up for Tripping Darkly, my book from 1997.  Quite telling, eh?  Also found old e-mails from past acquaintances, some female, which were very humorous.  Oh, the things we'll say, huh?  And the things people say to us...those are much better.  No less than three women thought they were in love with me having only met online and talked for a few weeks or months.  Amazing.  Welcome to Scot's Cyber Brothel.  Scot:  cyber gigolo.  Wonderful.
    The good thing is that I found a folder I'd made of T.'s e-mails to me, including her first.  T., for those of you who don't know, is my fiance and, yes, we met online, sort of.  She's a friend of one of my closest friends who had given her my website address and she e-mailed me to talk books.  Cool.  After a couple months of e-mailing and then talking via phone, we met and, well, I won't go through the whole story, but it ends happily.  Or, well, it's still going on...you know what I mean, right?  If you pick up a copy of Soliloquy, the poem "Cemetery Girl" is about our first date.  Ah, we kids and our crazy love....
    But as to the title of this entry, in amongst the jungle of papers, I found a handwritten scrap, torn from another sheet that had who-knows-what on it, that bore some words another of my closest friends had written some years ago.  It is one of the wisest and yet most chilling strings of words I had or have ever had the chance to read.  It is the following:
    "You won't even know what the most beautiful and perfect thing in the world is while you have it and that is why you will lose it."    --- Brian "Bunny" Easterling
    Wisdom to live by.  Realize what you've got and hang onto the beauty.  We all live with regrets and wishes to have done things differently in the past.  The key is to not let those things be a burden, but to learn and move on.  Recognize your beauty now, because tomorrow may be too late, my friends.  And thanks for those words, Bunny.
 
 

May 15, 2000 ***"The Peripherals."
    Y'know, I realize by reading my friends' pages just how lacking mine is in visual creativity.  Mine is sort of like a peanut butter & jelly versus their caviar and filet mignon.  Wretched.  But also fantastic because you can get to their sites via the DKP Link-O-Rama...in other words, check 'em out.
    The book, The Mirror Suite, is done, but the peripherals are in the process.  Stuff like a bio sheet, information on DKP and a catalog are bears I'm wrestling now.  I love it, though.  This is the stuff I live for, the preparation, the details, the presentation of DKP and the new book.
    There will be a new page up within the next few days which will have two of the poems from The Mirror Suite, a preview of sorts.  Something to whet the whistle and give those who haven't made the recent POETS ANONYMOUS readings a chance to check out what I've been up to.
    But on the subject of peripherals, attention must be paid to them.  I think there's too much "looking at the big picture" in the world today.  We all look at the Wal-Mart sign and miss the people walking in and out.  We all look at the television show and miss the artistry of making it.  We all look at the sun but we miss the stars that are behind it.  There's a lot more to the world you see everyday than what you notice.
    Oh, and if you're interested, check out the daily updates on every nuclear power plant in the United States...this is the real, posted day-to-day update, by the way.....
 

May 14, 2000 ***"Short, But Good."
    A great weekend comes to a close.  Spent Sunday and part of Saturday evening with my beautiful fiance.  Went shopping and found a copy of Anne Sexton's Complete Works for four bucks (whatta deal!)  Ate dinner tonight and watched a great movie ("Being John Malkovich.")  Spent much of Sunday naked as well.  All in all it was a great relief from the past few weeks, which have been taken up with finishing the edits on the new book.  The Mirror Suite's tentative release date is September 1st.  Now I'm working on putting together promotional materials, flyers and such, bio sheets and all that jazz.  Somehow, there must be an easier way, but regardless of that, it is all good.
 

May 13, 2000 ***"Sorry I'm Late...Dead!"
    So, I 'm heading home from the reading last night at Arnold's, driving through Northern Kentucky, and twice, twice there is a  carload of young women in front of me smoking.  Now, okay, that's normal.  That's everyday.  But they're also dumping their ashes through cracks in their windows, letting them fall to the roadways, and eventually flipping their cigarette butts out onto the road as well.  Nice.  Worthless bitches.
    Of course, it's not just women.  There are poems in two of my books about such things.  I consider it a terrible injustice.  Much like drinking...if you're going to do it, fine, just be responsible about it.  I guarantee the car these chicks were driving had an ashtray.  It was a post-1980 auto, actually most likely newer than mine (daddy must be well-off.)  How hard is it?
    Apparently pretty darn difficult.
    I see things like that and I feel that a crime has been committed against me.  Overreaction?  Possibly.  But I have to live here too.  This is your land, this is my land and all that jazz.  To me, when someone dumps their ashes out of a window or flips a cigarette butt in the grass, it's worse than spitting on my shoes...or in my face.
    Just like junkies, controlled by heroin or pot, so are drunkards and smokers.  Controlled by a plant or a drink.  Controlled by inanimate objects, letting their world be poisoned by them.  Don't get me wrong, I believe in personal freedom.  That is tops on my list of necessities of life (bound by a loose interpretation of Kant's Categorical Imperative.)  However, I would love, just love, to see how most of these morons would get along if tobacco were outlawed or prohibition were put into effect again.  Jesus, talk about therapy...we'd actually need all those psychobabblers to treat them.
    Here's the thing:  we're all controlled by something, be it the desire to be something, to write, to play music, to sit at home and watch t.v., whatever.  There is something, or somethings, driving all of us.  I simply question the modus operandi of people who will smoke and then burden someone else, or the world, with the garbage they leave behind.
 
 

May 8, 2000 ***"Child Genius & Multi-Media."
    I drove past a church today, a Methodist church, that had a large banner out front that read:  "Special Multimedia Service Sunday 10:30 AM."  I'm so tempted to go.  A laser light show depicting the crucifixion?  A special narrated play?  What Would Jesus Do video games?  The possibilities are endless, huh?
    I'm trying to argue with myself as to whether, if I had a son or daughter who was a "child genius," I would allow them on a catastrophe such as the FOX Network's battle of the geeks or whatever it's called.  Now, don't get angry...I was a geek too.  Did the split classrooms, special classes and academic teams and such.  Well, until high school when I discovered music and the wonders of rock n' roll.  My I.Q.?  Should I tell you?  Pshaw...like it matters...the only time I was tested was in fourth grade and I was at 144 then.  Whoo-hoo.  Who cares?
    I will grant that children need to be challenged more.  I will grant that the bright stars need to be challenged more.  However, the dog and pony show that this television show is just sort of sickens me.  There's enough pressure on kids anyway...let them learn, let them grow and let them progress on their own...don't make a competition out of it.
    Oh, and about this new Pepsi Challenge?  If you've lived in the United States for more than a month and can't tell the difference between Coca-Cola and Pepsi, then you need a taste bud transplant.  Utter, complete crap and silliness.  Corporate American runs wild again and we'll all sucking on the barrel of the gun.
 
 

May 2, 2000 ***"Advertising & Rome's Fall."
    Having whore-like tendencies is something that I think most of society is saddled with at this point.  We whore ourselves to the television.  We whore ourselves to jobs.  We whore ourselves to the flavor-of-the moment politicians who prey on our need for a cutting edge platform to support.
    Yes, I agree with you...I am in that crowd and pointing the finger at myself too.  Isn't it strange how the original idea of working to survive became survive to work so that you can buy that big screen television?  Rome fell when the struggle ended.  Rome fell when entertainment became the pursuit of the people instead of building, learning and surviving.  Striving fell to convenience.  The quest for knowledge gave way to the quest for leisure.
    Sound familiar?
    I'm not just railing here.  I'm not standing on a soapbox.  I don't particularly care if anyone listens.  People seldom listen to the truth, anyway.
    However, I beg of you one thing:  the next time you're watching television, think about what it is that you're watching.  Is it stimulating?  Or do you think it is simply because it's easy to think so?  Are the commercials really telling you anything pertinent about the product that is being sold?  Or is it all fluff designed to implant an image and desire?  The ultimate modern artform....
    I'm not saying that there isn't hope, either.  There's always hope, right up until the very end.
    The thing is, we've been advertising the end for quite some time and these offers don't last forever.
 

May 1, 2000 ***"Disappointment."
    I was very disappointed to find that the Sweet Tarts, contrary to my first vision, the first thing I thought I saw, did not say BITE ME in the center.  In fact, they said the rather mundane, BITE 'EM.  My chuckle diminished into a wry smile.  Boring.  What I wouldn't give for a typo on the Sweet Tarts.  C'est la vie.
    I did, however, get the results of my EMG test for my CTS.  A mild form.  Need to wear the brace at night and watch myself, but I'm okay for now.  That "for now" part is the most important section of that.  Oh, by the way:  EMG is electro-magnetic something-that-begins-with-G and CTS is carpal tunnel syndrome.  The EMG is a special form of torture.  Well, it's not really that bad, but it's not pleasant.
    It is, of course, electric shocks sent down your arm to test the nerve responses to the stimuli.  We all know that our movements are based on electric impulses from the brain to the muscles.  At each point on my arm that was to be tested, I would get four shocks.  The first was rather gentle, garnering nary a jolt to my arm, but enough that the good test-physician knew I felt it on his machine.  The second was a bit more intense, not bad, and got a bit of a jolt through my arm.
    The third shock was a wowzer...zap...hand jumps two feet into the air and the hairs on my arm stand on end.  Yup...there's a nerve in there that felt that one, partner.
    The fourth shock, and no one will convince me otherwise, was simply for the humour and amusement of the administering official.  My arm went goofy on me.  You've seen the end of Return Of The Jedi when the evil emperor is nailing Luke with the blue lightning of the dark side?  Yeah.  I had that same lightning shooting down my arm.  Alas, there was no Darth Vader with the good-hearted Annakin Skywalker who once won his freedom in a podrace to save me.
    But I'm fine now, and that's the important thing <buzz...crackle...chirp....>
 

April 28, 2000 ***"The Wreck Of The Mighty Green."
    I don't remember much between leaving for work this morning and being spread-eagled against the police car.  I don't remember whatever I did happen to do at work that my "boss" told me to take a walk and cool off over (while I occasionally show my temper, cuss a little bit or harangue someone, I doubt that whatever might have happened this morning could be construed as a typical "Scot tantrum.")  I don't remember driving toward home, from work.  I don't remember slamming my truck into the back of the unoccupied, except for the driver, school bus.  I don't remember running across the field, falling and scraping the heck out of my stomach and arms, and getting caught by the police officer.  I barely remember the ambulance ride.
    You see, I had an insulin reaction this morning on my way to work.  Having been diabetic since I was 11 (I'm nearly 27 now), I usually catch these things as they come on.  The effect of either having too much insulin or too little food or both.  My sugar upon reaching the hospital was 47 and that was after some glucagen I got in the ambulance, so when this all occurred I was probably barely on the chart at all.  Normal sugar is 80 to 120 mg/dl of glucose in the blood.  Yes, I was out of it.
    Two things are ticking me off now.  First, that no one at work caught on and that my "boss" told me to leave.  I've been there for four years and, though I'm known to throw a fit occasionally, if it was as bad as I'm being told, you would think someone would have said something or stopped me.  However, my condition is my responsibility and I'm placing no blame.  Just something to think about.  Second, my truck is dead.  Not totalled, dead, but not in good shape.  I thought it was totalled but my pal, Greg Littleton, who owns the best paint & body shop in Northern Kentucky, said it can be fixed.
    Now the thing is, how do I keep this from happening again?  Check my sugars regularly?  I do that already.  Maintain control?  I try.  Blah, blah, blah.  The thing about diabetes is that just when you think you've got it collared, it bites your butt again.  In the 16 years I've been dealing with this, I've had the occasional problems, low sugars and high ones when I've been sick.  I just have to deal with it.  What am I thankful for?  I'm alive.  There were no children on the school bus.
    I think I need a change of scenery.  Everything has lost its taste.  Once the new book is done, my search starts in earnest for a change of things around me.  The mean green machine will be back in action soon enough, I guess, and I'll move on.  For now, though, me ego, along with my gut and my arms, are bruised and bleeding....
 
 

April 27, 2000 ***"Zamboni?"
    I'm in a mood to smooth the ice that's forming around me.  The editing for the new book is coming along, slowly.  Most of the actual editing is done and I'm down to putting poems in order and formatting the thing.  Working title is still The Mirror Suite.  I'm also considering putting out a companion volume of selected journal entries, from these very pages you're staring at now, called Throttling The Masses.
    And, with all this, comes the upcoming media stuff.  I have to do a new bio, a new promotional package, have some pictures taken and put all of that together.  In all honesty, I don't mind it.  I like it, in fact.  However, I need to keep my focus on the book(s).
    Oh, and a local family has disappeared, but in their abandoned house some teenagers (what the hell they were doing there, who knows?) found scalpels, bondage stuff and fake breasts.  Hmmmm.  Sounds like a fun family, y'know?
    I used to answer the phone at home with, "Hello, Scot's House of Ill Repute, how can I serve you?"  I thought it was particularly funny...some of my family didn't see it that way, but, well, you know....
    And, finally, another thing about smoothing down the edges of the ice:  it's about coming to grips with yourself.  In my case, with myself as a writer.  This new book goes a long way in that vein, mainly in dealing with perceptions, mine of myself and others' of me.  To be honest, the ten poems that comprise the suite are rather ambiguous, I admit.  However, it's by design.  Even for as sharp as the mirror's image seems, it never gives away much except that feigned reality.  It's up to us to smooth the edges.
 

April 25, 2000 ***"My Hand & Why I Miss It."
    I was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome last week.  Need a quick explanation of what that is, since it's a media buzzword for work-related injury and never really gone into detail on?  Okay, turn your hand over, palm facing up.  There is a tunnel at the base of the palm, the carpal tunnel, that runs through your wrist.  That tunnel contains ten things...the median nerve and nine tendons which go, two each, to the fingers and one to the thumb.  The tunnel is formed by the transverse carpal ligament and the bones of the wrist.
    Funny thing about nerves is that they're very sensitive.  You can press your thumb there at the base of your palm (I wouldn't, though) and squash your median nerve flat & your hand will go numb.  Not a good thing, though.  Carpal tunnel syndrome occurs when swelling in the tunnel occurs, due to any number of reasons, one of which is repetitive motion/work-related injury, putting pressure on the median nerve.  Treatments include braces, cortizone shots (ick, yuck, no thanks...all that does is cover the problem up), changes in activities and, possibly surgery.  The surgery is to cut the transverse carpal ligament that makes the roof of the carpal tunnel, thus relieving the pressure on the nerve (this ligament is the only real protection that the nerves and tendons have at this point.)
    *sigh*
    Causes?  Well, I can place blame on my job, having started noticing symptoms about a year and a half ago, the numbness & tingling, some cramping, while typing at work.  But I'm also diabetic, which places me in a higher risk group.  I type at home, with the publishing company, though not as much as at work.  I'm a musician.  Whatever.  The thing is, it's happening and I miss being able to type as opposed to hunt & peck, as I am now.
    Hell, life is life and you play the hands you're dealt until you finally have no choice but to fold.  Though my current hand is a bit less than wonderful, I'm not folding yet.
    Dealer, hit me...or cut me...whatever it takes, man, whatever it takes.
 
 

April 22, 2000 ***"Honesty & My Lap."
    That close.  That close, I was, to having a nubile young lady sitting on my lap for a portion of the radio show this afternoon.  You see, we were deciding how to arrange the studio, with four people and two microphones.
    "Are you married?"
    "No...."
    <she sits, briefly>
    "...I'm engaged."
    <she stands>
    Damn that honesty, that streak of honesty that I have.  Actually, the whole thing would have been more humorous than anything.  The whole show was a great time, with two of our favorite local poets joining us promoting their upcoming events.
    Do you have any idea how many times honesty has screwed me?  Especially in my younger days.  My honesty and my sense of morality, which I think is an offshoot of honesty.  If you're honest, with others and yourself, you'll have no choice but to be moral (keeping in mind that morality, though somewhat subjective, can be traced back to Kant's categorical imperative, at least in my eyes.)
    But you know what else?  Honesty has kept me from getting into a lot of trouble, too.  Maybe I've missed out on some of those Hunter S. Thompson-esque adventures and a few of those Indiana Jones-like moments that I'd like to have, but overall, it's a good thing.
    If you can't get it by being honest, you probably weren't meant to have it...but that implies fate, doesn't it?  How about this:  if you want to be treated kindly, treat others honestly and they'll reciprocate.  Mmmm...not always true.  How about this, then:  find your own way and do what you want to do, but keep in mind that whatever you do always comes back to you.
    Yeah, that's probably it.
 
 

April 19, 2000 ***"Back & Bad."
    Okay, so now it's diabolicalkitten.com time, huh?  We're in the midst of tidying up the place, dusting things off and putting the finishing touches on things.  If any of the links you find don't work, they'll be fixed.  Likewise, the journal will return again next week...thanks!!!  Scot
 

April 1, 2000 ***"Vacation Beckoning."
    I told a few friends this evening of my plans to put the Journal on hiatus and got more requests to keep it going.  All the more reason to just take my vacation and bring it back in a month.  I've reconsidered my original plan to replace this journal with a fictitious journal-of-a-serial-killer.  Probably wouldn't be taken as quite the joke that I would intend, so it's better to just not even go there, huh?
    By the way, no April Fool's Day jokes here.
    I'm taking a break from the journaling mainly so that some of the ideas that have ended up here can end up in poems or songs.  Back before I began the journal, a lot of my vents and ideas became those things.  However, in its favor, the journaling has also allowed me an outlet that I needed and has been an ongoing exercise in expression.
    So, my thanks to all of you who've read and sent me comments or suggestions for journal entries.  I'll be back & raging better than ever on May 1st...until then, stay cool and, if you're in the Greater Cincinnati area, please come out to one of the poetry readings in April for National Poetry Month...they're listed on the upcoming events page linked from DKP.
    Vaya con dios, mi amigos....
 

March 31, 2000 ***"Responding & Reconsidering."
    The Poets Anonymous crew had a great reading tonight at the Mill Street Manor.  Six of we regulars participated, along with some open mic folks, one of whom, a librarian, was very, very good.  It was surprising, to me, that I did as well as I did.  My throat hurt and I was coming off of a subpar reading at last month's Cabaret gig.  Got several "attaboys" after I came off and after the reading, along with some comments about a brand new poem, "Tulips."  It will most likely end up as part of The Mirror Suite when it comes out later this year.  Always a very cool thing when something brand new, still shiny, strikes a chord with people.  Many thanks to my mom for the story she told me that inspired the poem.
    On to other things...in response to several questions and hopes that were e-mailed to me, I've reconsidered doing away with the Scot's Online Journal (see March 28th entry.)  I am going to take a brief hiatus for the month of April to recharge my batteries.  You've got one more day to put forth any questions...send 'em to me, Scot.
    Until tomorrow and my final entry prior to hiatus, well, if I had something profound to say, I probably already shot that wad at the reading....
 
 

March 30, 2000 ***Counting Down."
    So in a local middle school a 29 year old female science teacher bedded (i.e. had sex with) a 13 year old male student.  Just came across the wire today...not sure when it happened.  Okay, that's bad, I'll admit.  A quick caveat, though:  I remember when I was 13 and having the occasional sexual thought about a teacher or two, though my sexual thoughts at the time were generally about a few girls in my classes and Barker's Beauties on The Price Is Right.  I can see how this happened.  It's not right at all, of course, and I feel very badly for the kid.
    Then the news hit me with this:  the teacher is married to another teacher at the school, a social studies teacher.
    Imagine the horror.
    Your wife cheating on you is one thing.  Your wife cheating on you with a young stud pool-boy is another thing.  Your wife cheating on you with a 13 year old, barely pubescent student of hers is just plain suicide material.  The kid?  Yeah, sure, I feel badly for him.  I feel absolutely terrible for the poor husband.  What a mess.
    How inconvenient.
    That's all I have to say right now, except that folks are equal simply in the fact that they're human beings.  No one deserves special rights except, perhaps, folks who are disabled or mentally handicapped, and they only deserve a bit of extra help in their daily ways (adults, that is.)  I don't care if you're a minority.  And who knows exactly what a minority is, anyway?  In Clifton, I'm a minority, but it doesn't bother me.  In my high school there were three, count 'em, folks, three black students...my school's population was about a thousand kids.  Or if you're gay.  Personally, I don't care what your sexuality is any more than I care what color your skin is.  If you're cool, I'm cool with you.  And I know quite a few very cool black folks, quite a few very cool gay folks.
    Who cares?
    Everyone can gather as they wish to.  Have the million man marches and gay pride days.  That's fine, but I don't recognize them anymore than I recognize St. Patrick's Day.  I'm not Irish.  I don't care.  I'm not making an evil statement here, I'm just saying that those points of view don't enter into mine.
    However, I recognize that if I were black, or gay or Irish, they very well could.
    A lot of people have questioned me about my lack of thought about these issues and how could I, as an intelligent citizen, an artist who is supposed to have such a wide world view, not support such things (aside from St. Patrick's Day, that is).
    Quite simple:  I did put a lot of thought into it.  I recognize people for who they are, not their badges or flags or skin.  I make fun of everyone equally as well, myself included.  I respect everyone who respects me and as I wish to be respected myself.  I am confrontational and a bit abrasive, but I think we all have that in us.
    I'm me, you're you, let's shake hands and have lunch, huh?
    If someone's skin or sexual preference or religious background is the worst thing you have to worry about, let's trade lives because I see a ton of other more important things troubling me in the world.
 

March 29, 2000 ***"Answers & Chaos."
    I'll answer some questions after a few quick points.  First, I feel like utter crap right now.  I just got back from a little drive to recon where the Poets Anonymous reading is this Friday in Milford, OH.  I found it, but the drive was terrible.  I'm a bit under the weather and had the terrible occasion to, number one, not know whether I was going to sneeze or cough or both and, number two, not know what the viscosity of the discharge of either the sneeze or cough or both might end up being.  Not having a handy rag, I was concerned, as you may well guess.
    I ended up sneezing and damn near clocked myself on the steering wheel...several times.
    Okay.
    First, for Kelly, who wanted to know my thoughts on "chaos theory," I offer the following web-link:  The Chaos Experience.  Personally, I haven't done that much reading or research on it, but I did get a cool lesson in fractals from my buddy, Kristian, who's currently teaching math to Tennesseeans (is that a correct spelling?)  Chaos theory...interesting stuff.
    Second, for James, yes, I believe that art is the true gateway to the soul and that to be in contact with reality, one must create and give of themselves to the world.  That does not, however, mean you must paint or write or be an "artist."  Some folks create just by their mere existence and effects on others.  It's a strange line, but it comes down to the fact that you have to give to get, y'know?
    *Time Out*  T.'s on the phone....
    Okay, I'm back.  I'm not sure she realizes how much the sound of her voice means to me.  Even though she's 100 miles away, just hearing her made me feel better and made me forget the wretchedness of this day.  I wasn't particularly talkative, with my throat feeling like sandpaper and all, unfortunately.  That's okay, though.  Sometimes it's the unspoken things that speak volumes, like love.
    Third answer, for Teri, in my CD player right now are:  Supersuckers - The Greatest Rock N' Roll Band In The World, The Cult - Ceremony and Tony Levin - World Diary.
    Finally, for the girl (at least I think you must've been a girl) who called herself Rucksack and has the untraceable hotmail account, you're a sick, perverted, twisted individual and you should probably be locked up for even thinking about doing things like that but, in answer to your question, yes, I do enjoy that as well and do it as often as humanly possible.
 
 
 

March 28, 2000 ***"The End Is Nigh."
    I have truly enjoyed writing this online journal, which I began in the fall of last year.  It has been a fantastic exercise for my writing and a great way for me to vent and express things I normally would have kept inside.  I thank my friend, Bunny, for setting a high level with his journal that I've tried to live up to since the inception of mine.
    However, all good things must come to an end, if only for a while.
    I fear that my entries have become too personal, too "I" and "Me" oriented.  Oh, of course, that's what a journal's supposed to be, right?  I just think that, perhaps, I'm giving away too much of myself.  I made a reference in a Diabolical Kitten Publishing e-newsletter a month ago to this journal being like reading your son's journal or your daughter's diary, but without the guilt.
    Touche.
    My final entry of this version of the "Scot's Online Journal" will be on April 1st, which I find to be quite appropriate.  If any of you have questions you'd like me to answer, please e-mail them to me via this link:  Scot's Q & A.
    You've got four days, so get 'em in quick, folks.
    By the way, before you ask, I am in the planning stages for another online venture, though not personal.  It will likely be an online journal exploring the mind and days of a serial killer, sort of like acting and role playing at the same time.  Should be fun.
    Till next time, 108 hours and counting....
 
 
 

March 27, 2000 ***"Love Stoked Flames Of Weakness."
    I hate fights.  Well, okay, it's not so much that I hate fights.  Fighting is fine if there's a reason besides my own stupidity and genetic makeup.  I have a temper.  I realize this and do my best to keep it in check.  Sometimes, though, it rears up without me even knowing it.  That happened yesterday.  Horrible.  I haven't felt that badly in a long time.
    Some would say I'm too self-critical.  Perhaps that's true.  I have to be, though.  It's a necessary evil.  Sort of like trying ten million different FTP programs because MindSpring, who bought NetCom, doesn't provide an FTP program in their ISP service.  You need an outside client.  Bullshit.  NetCom selling out was the worst thing ever.  Not that MindSpring's been all that bad.  At least we NetCom'ers got to keep our website and e-mail addresses.
    Oh, and MindSpring recently merged with Earthlink.  Please see my pal Bunny's site for unabridged commentary on the wonderfulness of Earthlink's FTP client.  Great.  Can't wait for that changeover.
    Change is not necessarily a bad thing, as long as it is progressive.  My changes in attitude and approach to life have been good...they've been ongoing since I was a child.  It gets a lot into familial relationships and genetics, so I shan't continue.  Let's just say it is for the best.  Changing ISP's would be bad, but I wish MindSpring was easier to deal with.  Changing jobs would be great if I could find one that suited me.
    Weakness is not a good place to begin change.  Change has to be sprung to from a sturdy foundation, otherwise the sand you jump from will swallow you alive before you even get off the beach.
    I love my fiance, my music and my writing, my friends and my life.
    I hate my attitudes, my lack of patience, my stoicism and my frustrations.
    I need change.
    And I have the strength to do it.
 

March 25, 2000 ***"Mentors."
    In the past couple of days I got reacquainted with one of my mentors and lost another.  Well, not lost, but rather lost a link to him.
    The mentor I got reacquainted with was Dr. Richards, who was my Philosophy advisor during my time at Northern Kentucky University.  I went to a lecture he gave on political forgiveness in international relations.  It was a fine piece of work, as I expected it to be.  It was also fascinating to me the diverse group of people that showed up for it.  Very cool.  And, of course, it was great to be back in a classroom atmosphere, taking notes, thinking, being challenged.  Wonderful afternoon and well worth skipping out of work for.  As soon as the paper is published, I'll post where you can find it in the journal if you're interested.
    The mentor I've lost is my friend, Jack, from work.  Really, he hasn't been a mentor so much as an archetype of how to do the job.  I've learned a great deal of what I know about my current occupation from watching him and asking questions of him.  He's moving back to another location of our company starting on Monday and the reality hit me yesterday that an oracle of mine is no longer with me.
    Work won't be the same.
    I think most of us take people like that for granted.  Our professors or our co-workers who present not only a positive influence, but a wealth of knowledge to draw from.  And sometimes, like so many other things in life, we don't realize their influence until we're on our own.
    I haven't suffered without Dr. Richards' classes.  I won't suffer without Jack around.  But without both, I have been and will be forced to walk without certain safety nets.
    That's what life's about...getting to a point where you walk alone.
 
 
 

March 23, 2000 ***"Journals & Tobias Soul."
    First, I urge you all to go check out my friend Bunny's journal/page and the entry for March 22nd.  It is a guest entry that I wrote for him.  His newest journal incarnation is that of a screenplay or script and it's very fresh, very cool.  I had a lot of fun doing it.  Thanks for the op, bro.
    My original intent for this entry was to talk about soul, but not of human beings' souls or animals' or folks like that.  It's of musical instruments.  Have you ever had a favorite pen?  Pair of shoes?  Instruments are like that too.  Some of them call out to you.  A lot of it is hand-craftsmanship, to be sure.  I have one such instrument.  My Tobias 5-String Bass.  Translucent green over flamed maple.  A neck that fits the curves of my hand perfectly.  Playing the mean green is like sex...it's not that I play it, but more that we play each other.  We find the grooves together.  My other basses are like that to a certain extent, but when I first saw the green a number of years ago, before I even picked it up, I knew.  Love at first sight.  I could hear the notes, the tone, before the plug touched bass, before my finger flipped the amp on, before I lopped that first open E.
    I had gone on a quest for an upper line instrument.  Prior to the green, I was a confirmed Fender P-Bass man.  I still have two of them.  I needed an instrument that I could take to any session, plug into a D.I. and just rip.  My Tobias was and is that bass.
    The instrument has a soul.  I have no doubt about that.
    Why do I bring this up?
    Because a great deal of the things, the merchandise we buy everyday, not just instruments necessarily, has no soul.  And, sure, the soul may be totally in my head.  I don't think so, not by any means, but that's not the point here.  The point here is that I could go to any music shop that carries the newer Tobias basses (mass manufactured by Gibson, not actual Tobias' like mine) and not find the match that I've got.
    A helpful reminder that there is soul left in the world and that you should seek it out whenever the opportunity strikes, which I guarantee is daily.
    This public service announcement has been brought to you by the funk & the groove that oozes from every fine bass ever made....
 
 
 

March 21, 2000 ***"Firefight."
    It's not so much the fact that I have to get up to go to work every morning, it's just what I spend my time doing.  I'm not a prima donna.  I'm not being pretentious.  I just hate my job.  I like the grand majority of the people I work with, but I hate my job.
    Don't you?
    I'm sure I'm not surprising anyone or asking a silly question here.  I get into an argument in my head every morning.  Why am I doing this?  Why am I making myself miserable?
    It's simple.
    It's the same thing that makes you go to the dentist or the doctor.   You know you have to for your own good.  Simple.  You're an adult and, damn it, that's what you have to do.  You go to work for a paycheck so that you can do the things you enjoy.
    I almost wish I had the 'nads to just quit.  But that paycheck.  It finances books and music.  It pays the bills.  It pays for dinners and insulin.
    The firefight goes on.  The ME-109's and the Spitfires over London.  The bombers over Dresden.  The B-whatever's dumping Little Boy and Fat Man on unsuspecting Japanese cities in my head.  Bombers opening their wombs to give birth to the destruction of a million dreams to end a war and to give rise to a new empire of discipline and despair.  Who could say the whole thing wasn't a big, calculated game.  A game of Risk with human pieces.
    Boy, do I sound like a fucking whiny-assed piece of shit or what?
    *laughing*
    Ah, fuck all y'all ("y'all" not referring to you, dear readers, but to the corporate hierarchy I and most of us answer to everyday)...I'll beat you eventually.  My soul's stronger than your money, I guarantee it.  Keep on shooting, I'll keep on ducking and weaving, getting closer and closer until I'm right in your face, smiling as I slit your throat and open the door to my dreams.
 
 
 
 

March 19, 2000 ***"Learning About Sex."
    Let me just say that there are many different ideas out there as far as how young people should learn about sex.  For instance, in sixth grade our class got to watch filmstrips produced by the Disney corporation that were supposed to do the trick.  Yeah.  All I remember is the logo of Mickey Mouse's head as the first frame and the laughter that commenced afterwards.  They separated us, boys and girls, and made us watch these things and then opened the field up for questions.
    Sure, we pre-pubescent, chuckling roustabouts were going to have questions.  Don't think so.
    My first introduction to sex, aside from the curiosity surrounding my emerging manhood, was a subscription to Playboy magazine, generously paid for by my folks.  Now, I'm not sure if it was to get out of the inevitable "little talk" or if it was a ploy that went this way: "he's a smart kid...we'll give him the books and he can figure it out for himself."  Something tells me it was a bit of both.  Or perhaps it was just their amazement and pride in my gall to ask them for such a thing instead of sneaking copies into my room somehow.  Either way, I had that subscription for about ten years and I learned a lot from it.
    The "Playboy Advisor" column especially.  In it I learned of problems and solutions before I would need them, techniques that I would later use and so on.  Wonderful.  Some of the pictures were, to be technical, something of schematics for later adventures with the women kindly enough to share a bed, back seat of a car or back room of a record store with me.
    This only comes up because of a discussion today with my beautiful fiance, known in this journal as T., about the question of learning about sex.  While I stand by my way, I also recognize its inherent problems.  One of them, the biggest one, being the lack of reality in the photo spreads.  Y'see, airbrushing only works on photos, not on real people (though scalpels and saline and silicone do).  If you only read Playboy for your formative years, then you're going to have real problems dealing with real women.
    In other words, as with any textbook, glean from it what you can and then be ready for culture shock when you try to implement the knowledge.
    On the other hand, there's the experimentation angle, which T. tends to favor.  That's cool, I guess, but working within the realm of reality wherein teen pregnancy is a problem and, truthfully, most teens aren't able to set their own alarm clocks, much less remember that latex is their friend, perhaps experimentation isn't a great idea.
    So where does it go?  There are good sides to both arguments.  In the end, I think it comes down to trust and hope.  Trust in folks that they'll be able to figure things out...I mean, really, it's sex.  It's fun to figure out little ins & outs that make things great for you and your partner, but at the end of the day if you can't do it, there's a problem.  Hope that they'll be safe in trying.
    And hope that they'll find someone who's wants and desires match their own.  I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have found a women who not only satisfies and inspires my mental, creative and spiritual sides, but also has as much fun playing and experimenting in the bedroom as I do.  Lots of folks aren't that lucky.
    But here's what it's all about:  communication and respect.  If you can handle those two things, there's nothing stopping you from being a great lover.  They're what's gotten me by...along with a few stacks of magazines and a partner who with a simple look can turn me inside out.
 
 
 

March 16, 2000 ***"Points."
    "The show where points are as useless as a degree in Philosophy."
    That's how Drew Carey introduced Whose Line Is It Anyway? tonight.
    At first, I was a bit taken aback...then I laughed.  That's the key to life, my friends.  Realizing your own situation and being able to laugh at it.  A Philosophy degree, of which I have one, seems like nothingness on the surface.  However, it greatly expanded my world view, taught me much about both rational thought & logic and metaphysics...and how the two sides interact and are both necessary for a balanced life and dreams.  My focus was in ethics and morality, so I gained much insight in those areas as well.  The thing is, most folks think philosophers want to tell you how to live, explain the way to the better life.  Personally, I think of philosophers as scientists of humanity's journey.  Philosophers have laid the stakes at the sides of the trails, marking our paths through every stage of the evolution of man.  From the Greeks laying the foundation to German questioning and reason to American pragmatism, philosophy has mirrored and supported and described human life.
    Is there a right philosophy?
    Depends on your definition of "right."
    Hmmmm...damn philosophers and their turnaround answers.
    My favorite cartoon I've ever seen is of a bait shop.  There's a fellow sitting on the porch and two guys walking by.  The sign on the shop reads, "Philosophy & Bait Shop."  One guy says to the other, "Y'know, I always wondered what you did with one o' them there degrees."
    Right on.
    I don't regret a minute of my educational choices, though I can joke about them.  Y'see, I'm living it.  I have a degree in English and a degree in Philosophy.  Therefore, if I could find a job where the necessary functions were to think a lot and then write a paper about it, I'd be an invaluable employee.
    But I never find want ads for things like that.
    But you all know what I love.  I love music and I love writing and English and Philosophy have been wonderful additions to my creative life.  They've also caused troubles.  We won't go into that.
    I spent time with one of my best friends on Monday.  Both of our lives are in a state of flux right now.  Many positive sunrises out there if we keep our heads about us.  I uttered the immortal words, "There are no endings, only new beginnings," to him.  A philosophy of life.  You're never locked in or down and out.  There is always a way.
    Sometimes it's just about your point of view.  We have a tendency to dig holes down deep into our situations and forget about the reality we're working on that situation in.
    Don't put blinders on yourself.  That's probably the biggest lesson I learned in Philosophy.
 

March 14, 2000 ***"Help Wanted?"
    Amazing.  You watch the news and they talk about how many "help wanted" signs there are and how few folks out there need jobs.  About how easy it is to find a job.
    Yeah, if you want to work at McDonald's for $6.00 an hour.  Yeah, there are jobs out there, but nothing that will pay you enough to buy a loaf of bread after you pay the rent.  They're looking at numbers:  those who have jobs versus those who don't.  Simple.  From that perspective, things are riding the high end of a wave right now.
    Do I sound bitter?  I'm sure I do.  Lies.  Sort of like abortion in the political arena.
    Abortion is not an issue.  It is a situational topic.  If it's your sixteen year old daughter who little Johnny Fullback knocked up, then you're pro-choice.  If it's the neighbor's kid, you're pro-life.  A blanket example, to be sure, and not completely fair at all, but you get the point.  Wear the other person's shoes.  Before you accuse me, take a look at yourself.
    And I do indeed understand and respect those to whom this is a religious issue.  You're entitled to your view and I'll listen to your argument.  But don't try to play Jesus and save everyone else's soul.  This is not a Crusade.  The last Crusade was many moons ago and you lost.  Sorry.
    Guns, too.  Everyone has a right to bear arms, I agree.  However, there is no reason why you have to have that gun today and can't wait a week to ten days for a background screening and safety course.  It's called responsibility.  You're buying a weapon.  Be happy you live in a land where you're still allowed to do that.  Also, though everyone has the right to own guns, rights can be taken away.  If you drink and drive, I vote that you lose your license immediately for at least six months.  Second offense?  A year.  Third offense?  God help your walkin' soul because to me you wouldn't be allowed behind the wheel again.
    Some people are too stupid to breathe, y'know?
    Guns, though...if you're convicted of a felony then you should automatically forfeit all rights to own firearms.  Simple.  And, sure, everyone makes mistakes.  Fine.  Sure.  Sometimes girls get pregnant, sometimes guns go off, sometimes you have one too many at the party and sideswipe that pedestrian on the corner.
    It's called responsibility.  It's called recognizing your life and your actions' effect on others.  It's called having some intelligence and logical thinking skills.  Step outside yourself sometimes and look in.  What do you see?
    Help wanted:  someone needed to find some common sense for America.
 

March 10, 2000 ***"Kiss My Editing Ass."
    I'm losing it, slowly but surely.  Granted, most of the new stuff came across pretty well tonight at the reading @ The Cabaret, but good lord, I'm driving myself nuts.  I'm in a strange predicament, y'see.
    I'm finding myself comparing this current work to my previous books.  However, I realized in conversation this evening just how fruitless that type of viewpoint is.  For example, the first book, A Complete Sentience, was pretty much drawn from many years of writing, through high school and college.  Thus it was very eclectic and had many different periods in it that are pretty easy to figure out.  The next one, Tripping Darkly, was, as you would guess, very dark.  That period in my life was one of great introspection and upheaval, post-college wretchedness and the attempt to find a path.  It was a trip through the dark hallways in my head, and most folks'.  The last one,  Soliloquy, is just that:  one person's stone in the road, views and voice shouted above the din of this rockin', media-hyped world.  Loves, frustrations and simple observations.
    Now, the new one is tentatively titled The Mirror Suite and is based around the ten-poem suite.  It's based around the theme of perception versus reflection and how we deal with those things, our input from the world.  It started with some strange visions I had.  Not really worth going into, but occasionally, when I looked in a mirror, I'd see cracks scattered across the glass.  Strange, psycho, whatever.  What intrigued me was the fact that to me, they were there.  To others, it would just be a mirror.
    Obviously, all four are quite different.  I'm thinking too much about this new one.  I'm going to take a couple weeks away from the poems, write as I go, when the mood and inspiration strike me and then come back to it.  I'm shooting for late summer to release it, so time is not an issue.
    Quality, however, is.
    Flow is.
    I've got the pieces of the puzzle, but I'm having trouble constructing the scene with them.
    It will come.
    It always has before, y'know?
 
 
 

March 7, 2000 ***"Exhaustion's Meanderings."
    I stayed up as late as I possibly could last night, considering that I had to get up, at the very latest, by 6:30 AM.  At 2:00 AM, I hit the wall.  After that, my thoughts became as strange as that feeling you get watching bums pick through garbage.  The garbage dump in my mind started spewing forth such notable things as songs from my past ("Generation") and past infatuations (Laura...ugh) and past attempts to end certain things (no comment).
    Exhaustion is a wonderful thing because it opens the floodgates.  Most of you, likely, use alcohol to do this.  Or other such nefarious devices.  That is, if you do it at all.  Personally, I think it helps to dump your garbage on the table and count the change every once in a while.
    The disturbing thing to me is that my travels into induced exhaustion often culminate in a frank discussion with myself about death.  This happened last night.  It's also happened during the rougher of insulin reactions too.  I end up with a vivid upon vivid picture of myself, my heartbeat and, for some reason, the feeling that at any moment it will stop.  Then my mind roller-coasters me through various stages of death, what it will feel like, how old will I be, how will it happen and so on.  My mind turns into a tornado reeling around that one moment wherein the word "mortality" actually means something.
    And I realize that I won't be here that long.
    Nor will you.
    And the world will continue without us.  Without the people we love, the things we love and the things we adore doing.  Our favorite books will still be here when we're worm-fodder.  The televisions and computers will carry on.
    And what will I leave behind?
    That's the thought that shoots the chill up my back, for some reason.  I feel as if I waste so much time and as if the hands of the clock are always following me, chasing, taunting and mocking my every move...
    ...and my every heartbeat.
 

March 5, 2000 ***"Mmmmm...Hooters."
    Some people say that Hooters restaurants are obscene, some for many bizarre and abstract reasons.  I only thing they're obscene in the simple fact that, unlike strip clubs, you can't offer a dollar up to be fitted into a lacy garter or a bra strap.  Good lord, there were some fine looking hunks of femininity at the Hooters in Newport last night.  Tim and I went there for a late dinner and conversation.  And, alas, the view could hardly be missed.
    Now, the main reason I've never liked Hooters, really, was the frat-boy atmosphere they foster.  And it was in full swing.  Horrid.  Mobs of raging testosterone machines...but then again, how could any man NOT be a raging testosterone machine in a place like that?  The thing is, the food was actually very good, much better than your average Friday's or Applebee's.
    Our waitress was named...well, I won't give her name, but she's studying to be an engineer and we found out that she does indeed have two resumes:  one for prospective career paths, listing her (I assume) co-op ventures, and one listing her money-making ventures from places like Caddy's and, of course, Hooters.  Me, being the inquisitive sort, asked the fateful question, the one that I always get when I tell of my English/Philosophy pursuits, why Engineering?  Aside from enjoying it, enjoying design and building, the obvious ones, there was also that, as a female engineer, she could pretty much have her pick of jobs.
    Quite true.
    Possibly worth a bit of despair, but quite true.  Let's see...I'm h.r. at an engineering firm and I've got a choice between her and another equally qualified dude.  Who am I going to pick?  Well, me, I'm going to pick the one who interviews better.  Seriously.  But you and I both know that most times she'll get the gig.
    Anyway.  Here's something I've wondered too:  some of the women there had obviously spent a good bit of money on their bodies...thirty-year old women's breasts just don't float like that, no matter what kind of harness you put on them.  Why not go for the big bucks and dance for a living?  Just a question, rhetorical, I don't need an answer.  But I know they'd make more at Deja-Vu or Bristol's than Hooters.  Perhaps a streak of modesty?  Or religion?
    Oh, I could ask so many questions.  My main point is this:  it was a good meal that was made all the better by the fact that there were so many nubile young tarts to look at (and that one of the cooks in the back looked uncannily like a former guitarist of mine) and the fact that I am engaged to a woman I love with all my heart and can say anything I want to these women because I'm not looking to score, I'm just curious.
    Curiosity killed the cat?  No way.  If you're not curious about why a girl would work at Hooters, then you're brain dead.
    But I've had my fill, too...probably won't see me down there for another couple of years (unless I hear tell that another of our high school comrades is working down there...that's always fun.)
 

March 4, 2000 ***"Reviews & Critiques."
    So T. and I went to see Scream 3 on Friday night, against the critics and reviewers harsh warnings that it wasn't as good as the first two, that the story wasn't written by the same fellow (Kevin Williamson) and didn't make sense, this, that and the other.  I, prior to seeing it, did not read one good review of the film, nor have I since.
    But you know what, folks?  It was a darn good flick.  I thought the writing was good, the plot sufficiently detailed, though not quite as great as the first one, and the acting was well done.  All in all, it was a fine end to the trilogy and T. and I both enjoyed it very much.  Especially the cameos by Kevin Smith and Carrie Fisher...hilarious.
    So what can we gather from this?  Hmmmm...I'll tell you what I know:  never, ever trust a professional critic.  If you make your movie choices and musical choices based on what some overweight monkey with horn-rimmed glasses says, then you've got many more problems to deal with than I can help you fix.  Watch the trailers and if it looks interesting, go see it.  Life's too short to miss out on something just because a dude got paid to rip it to shreds.
    On a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest and ten being barely attainable, Scream 3 gets a righteous seven.
    However, contrary to all this about not trusting reviews, trust this one from me ('cuz I'm an amateur):  The new Rollins Band CD, called Get Some, Go Again, is the densest, most unpretentious and most in-your-face rock n' roll album I've heard since Manic Street Preachers' Generation Terrorists came out.  If you're in the mood for some great driving music that makes your foot tap, your head bob and your mind think, plop down the fourteen bucks for it...you won't regret it at all.
 

March 1, 2000 ***"A Few Words."
    I chatted online with a few friends this evening.  I'd spent most of the winding-down hours editing down poems for the new book, doing basic typesetting, adding and subtracting words and lines.  My eyes were about to cross, honestly, from staring at the screen.
    It's a strangely enlivening thing to just chat, even about silly stuff, with folks.  No spoken words, just typing, but I think that gets the juices flowing even quicker.  You can't depend on your tone of voice or context.  Whatever you say has to be right there.
    Oh, by the way, a fellow went on a shooting spree in a McDonald's and a Burger King near Pittsburgh today.  Surprise ya, B.?  Does it surprise any of you?  I'll rant on gun ownership and other peripherals like that sometime next week, I think.
    Back to context, though.  Unlike speaking to someone, if your only words are on the computer screen, you have to be very specific.  Or you can work in subtle openings for the other(s) to add their own thoughts.  All in all, I think online chatting is quite the nifty thing.  However, know this:  I seldom use it except to talk to friends who are, alas, too far away for phoning very often.  "Meeting" people online is utter crap.  Why?  Because it's too easy to fake yourself too.
    My thing?  It was great tonight.  Brought me up, made me laugh, gave me a chance to express a little bit.  A lot of fun.  My thanks to B. and J. for the conversation.
    And if any of you folks out there are curious, try it with a friend.  You'll be surprised at the different facets talking online gives to a conversation.
    A few words make all the difference.
 

February 29, 2000 ***"Rhapsody Of Doubt."
    Have you ever had one of those days that, although it doesn't drag on and on, every moment brings about such strange and diverse introspection that you feel terribly drained near the end?  I hit that point at about noon today.  The rest of it was a blur.
    One bit of humorous news:  the computer at work thought it was March 1st today.  Cool.  Y2K, dude!!!  Y2K!!!
    Oh, and while most of the bits of stuff that hit the wall in my head today were personal, some were not.  Such as, why do we Americans see fit to believe every bit of razamatazz thrown out by Presidential candidates on television?  The same "platforms" are being expounded upon that kept us enthralled throughout the '80's and '90's.
    Taxes.  Abortion.  Welfare.  Economy.
    And newer ones like cyber-safety.
    Oooohhh...cyber-safety.
    We're all fooled.  None of us paid attention to that damn Who song.  We all got fooled again.  And again and again and again.  Nothing's changed.  Nothing's going to change anytime soon.  What the hell kind of society do you want?  Yes...YOU?  Do you ever stop to think about it?
    No.  Likely not.  Admittedly, I feel myself sucked into the mire of mediocrity as well.
    Sing your own song.
    Don't just hum along.
    Because, you see, the song we're singing reminds me too much of something I heard on Lawrence Welk's show when I was very young.  Bouncy and intoxicating, but much like cotton candy as soon as you bite down it disappears.