> Felix da Housecat - Walk With Me
> Propellerheads - Better?
> Felix da Housecat - Glitz Rock [download it! now!]
> Kraftwerk - Das Modell
> Miss Kittin and Goldenboy - Nix
This is the first time in a very long time that I have been truly bored. Before, I had friends to do stuff with. Me and Joe would go all around Crescent City hanging out and eating sushi and talking about the future. Or me and Selena and Misty and Ben would hang out and watch cool movies. But no. I can do none of those things now. Ben won’t return my phone calls. I don’t know why. So I’ve been reduced to this life of exercising obsessively and eating very little because I feel that I’m fat and ugly because that guy blocked me and I never see my friends.
I have been wholeheartedly devoted myself to excercising myself to a bag of bones and my endless work. Ihave nothing else to do. All I can do is surf the Web looking at things I want to buy as if that will make my life better. That new sound card will improve my voice recognition, but what is the point? I have nothing to say anymore. I feel like my life is wasted.
Today I paid my dad the first installment of the $50 a month for the rest of my life for my transmission. I really can’t afford to drive my car anymore. I can afford to pay insurance on it and pay my dad, but not much else. I didn’t ride my bike to work today because my legs were killing me, but I’m going to attempt to do it tomorrow. Even if it’s raining. My MP3 player broke again but last night I got out the soldering gun and the superglue and fixed it. It took almost an hour for me to find that soldering gun. I even found a handgun my dad had cleverly hidden in the kitchen somewhere before I found the soldering gun. Well, at least I know what to do if there’s a burglar. I wonder if it’s loaded. Hmm.
I should instant message Amanda. She sent me the cutest text message ever and it totally made my day. Usually I only get text messages when I’ve used up all of my free minutes and so when I checked it I was definitely pleasantly surprised.
I have been staying at work a lot more lately since the semester started, which is a bit strange. Now I hang around until five o’clock or so where the work shifts back into low gear and we have all sorts of political conversations in the office. It’s a really great to work with college-educated people who know how to logically support their premises and that understand that a debate is different from an argument.
I, of course, take the completely jaded and cynical Caterine Vauban perspective, mostly for comic relief. Sometimes I fear that my coworkers think that I’m being serious when I’m being sarcastic. Today one of my favorite coworkers was talking about the failure of the FEMA after hurricane Katrina, while in the last disaster in Florida everyone seemed to have been rescued in a very timely fashion. The difference in her mind (and, of course, in my mind) is that this time the victims are mostly black. So of course I quipped “Well, Kat, I think that we really should follow Bush administration policy on this one: black people just aren’t important.”
I love bringing racial issues right into glaring focus. It’s probably just the endless rhetoric of the uberleft that makes me feel this way, but as a white guy I always have this sneaking suspicion that since I live in this highly insulated white culture, I might be somehow subconsiously a racist. But I really doubt it. It’s all just subjective anyway. Someone could say that when me and my cousin say “What’s up in the hood” for comic relief, that we’re being racists in our own politically correct American way. But I wholeheartedly disagree. I object to what passes for black “culture” just as much as I object to what passes for white “culture.” All the crap about rappers is just as vanilla in the scheme of race relations as the last Jessica Simpson album. Real black people don’t act like those imbeciles on television gloating over their cars and diamonds, nor do I regurgitate the platitudes of Jessica Simpson. But I still feel like I can’t escape our societal bias. I was riding my bike today and rode past a black person. And I was all, “whoa, a black person in Crescent City.” And I wasn’t really sure if it was a “Whoa, that’s cool” reaction or a “Hmm, things are changing” reaction. Well, I guess having a neutral reaction is the best way to respect people for individuals, but I have a hard time doing that for the inbred Crescent City scum I have to deal with on an all too regular basis. I guess I would think that way about any minority Crescent City. I don’t know. I guess I have a unique perspective on things because I view the white population in Crescent City as the biggest problem.
A lot of people give lip service to “diversity,” but I feel like the sad truth is that what passes for American culture (a conglomeration of five or six media companies) doesn’t want a world of individuals, it wants a nation of blacks and whites and latinos and gays and Muslims and more and more groups to fight amongst each other so the Republican power elite can steal our money and outsource our jobs to China. But I guess that’s the future. Once we don’t have skin color to fight about anymore, what will we dream up next?
I read this really depressing study one time about a classroom where children were divided up by eye color and by the end of a certain amount of time the groups of one eye color would fight groups of a different eye color. Oh well.
I just have to keep living. That’s my one imperative. This six months of my life will be wasted. This year will be wasted. The best years of my life will be wasted. For what? The only reason I can think of to live is to buy new technology as to better separate myself from my empty life. God, this post is incredibly long. I should stop this.
I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. I need a personal Jesus. (That’s a Depeche Mode homage, for the culturally illiterate.)
I never blog this much when I have friends to talk to. I’ve probably said ten or twenty sentences this whole day. That’s it. And they were all work related. I can can only pick out five or six sentences I said today that weren’t work related. And now Amanda signed off. I’m alone forever. In a cold room. Lol. Me and Kelly would joke last time I was down in Sacramento about melodramatic darkies (”goths”) talking about their life as being like a cold dark room. It’s sad how jokes will slowly morph into reality. And then they’re not funny anymore.
