 ©1999-1999 ICFTP What're you, kidding? |
7 July 1999:Blah. Too much talk of things I want to do, things I will do someday. It's hard to maintain that state of existing just for the present, not trying to rush the future.
In other words, I'm getting fucking bored.
Ok, that's not entirely true. Always got things to do. Got a model to finish. Got that Theremin picture to work on for Beda. Been playing with speech recognition and Applescript (you gotta love Apple for including those two things in the OS... Applescript is incredible, and speech recognition's just cool). But the concentration's hard to come by. Too many drugs, too many fatigue poisons. The medication fucks with my eyesight, doesn't make it easy to stare at a monitor for too long. I can go out and run around, but it's hard work to climb up to Five Points and look at all the healthy people. Sometimes feel like I can't win - looking at sick people scares the piss out of me (there's a guy in the Unit named Kevin, 18 years old and fucked up beyond belief. Scares me every time I see him) and looking at healthy little preppies who have no clue would drive me insane if I did it too much. It was bad enough when I knew that they didn't appreciate the SUV than Daddy bought 'em, but now I get to resent them for taking their health for granted? (snort) I think down that road lies monsters... let's not go there, shall we? We'll just look at the pretty girls and ignore the idiot guys who don't appreciate THEM either.
A little bitchy tonight, are we Trey? Self-pitying, perhaps? Deal with it, dickwad.
Yes, I talk to myself like this.
It's just the waiting.
Maggots are protein, worms taste better
I like my beetles in any kind of weather
Pustulating possum, roadkill rat
mutilated mutt, don't give a shit about that
As long as it's dead I'll cook it on the Coleman!
A little Mutant Speed for ya, homegrown speed metal.
Crunch crunch crunch crunch... I miss the days of going to thrash shows and slammin, moshin, bangin heads... hehehe. There was a place in Mobile called the Four Strong Winds Coffee House. Little house on Holcombe Avenue, in an area of town that has long since degenerated into a strip of auto repair shops and houses with bars on every window and steel grates on the doors. On saturdays it was a hippy hangout, with folk music and coffee. On friday nights it was thrash or punk, 50 to 100 kids packed into a tiny house, 100+ degrees in the summer, shirts off, big sweaty mass of people slamdancing, moshing in a big aggressive friendly circle. Mutant Speed (now Soulcore), Mind's Eye, Loppybogymi, dozens of other bands that have slipped beneath the surface since.
My teenage life was so different in some ways than the teenagers I know now... they are actually enjoying being teenagers and going to high school. Sheesh. I remember kids scared to talk to anyone besides people they knew, dressed in black with eyes downcast or looking anywhere else but at you... going to shows to lose yourself for a while... going home sweaty, clothes stuck to me, shirt tucked into my waistband, worn out and too tired to feel fucked up in the head anymore. Angry music, angst music, not happy bouncy stuff with horns and cool, geeky lyrics.
Just got off the phone with Christy... here comes the homesick. Damn damn damn. Think I'll put on some Counting Crows and get depressed. Wish I had some weed. Sigh. It'd be nice to take my head and heart offline for a little bit.
"It's 4:30 am on a tuesday... it doesn't get much worse than this..."
I get the coolest emails... this was from Wm Nolen Reeder, the webmaster for the Birmingham Zoo. He found my site, somehow figured out that I love cats and kittens (I thought I hid it better than that... here, is it that visible? What if I turn this way?), and sent me this:
These are Pallas' Cats and they come from central Asia. When this picture was taken they were six weeks old. Ounce for ounce, they are about the toughest cat in the world. The adults are not much bigger than a house cat but they will tear you up.
The kittens will be two months old on the 13th. I just got back from videotaping them and the curator of mammals was able to hold all five of them cradled in her two hands and forearms against her body. They were spitting and growling and swatting at her. Their average weight is about 8 ounces right now.
In the wild, they are found on the Russian steppe across to western China. Kinda of north of all the mountains that separate the Middle East and India from Asia. It is thought that they might be the source of the persian breed of cat. Of the 36 species of wild cats, they are among the rarest. No one knows how many still exist in the wild and only about 100 are in captivity at the moment.
I guess Doc Salzman would probably have a heart attack if I tried to get over to the zoo right now. Actually, she'd probably look at me like I was the dumbest thing she'd ever avoided stepping on and proceed to flail me with a few well-chosen words.
Ok, she's not that bad.
But the B'ham Zoo and the Pallas' Kittens are a definite must on the checklist of "Things To Do When I Don't Have Cancer Anymore."
Maybe I should make a list, ala Bellatrix...