on lunch from work today, i decided to finally replace karmalina's back left tire. it has been leaking steadily over the eleven weeks i have owned her. on the way to the opposite part of town containing the only store i could con out of breaking a set of four of the now discontinued tires, i lost my way and had to stop to orient myself. for some reason, gas stations are the "you are here" signs of the universe, so i stopped at a random one. entering the establishment, i asked the first person i saw if he worked there. he did not, yet i felt compelled to ask him directions anyway. as we spoke, it became clear that we were supposed to meet. his truck had broken down because he had completely blown his tire, and i had a temporary tire which i was going to discard because i had no need for it. the gas station attendants were being no help at all to him, and were, in fact, being quite rude. in addition, it was this person's birfily day. so, i took him with me while i got my tire replaced, then drove him to his truck, lent him my jack, and helped him install his tire. it seems the more i open myself to randomness, the more meaningful the resulting structure becomes, though, there is of course no way to verify this phenomenon by comparing it to some parallel reality resulting from my other path of action...

My pretty face you can click!

2's day, July 18, 2000

a concert in my living room, and i wasn't invited. hrmph. (there was a concert in downtown pioneer square, a square block sometimes referred to as "portland's living room.") oh well, at least i was able to sit 40 yards from the stage and not pay the $30 charge. as i sat there listening to various bands, alternately drawing in my journal and juggling because i had the room to do so, unlike those whom had paid admission, one grrl fell and broke her hip about three feet behind me. i alerted the guy i assumed to be her boyfriend, kept the eeediots who were trying to help her from moving her, and directed the crowd to make way for the paramedics, all without looking up from my drawing. i then witnessed a boi dislocating his knee, again about three feet from me. i'm not sure what was going on, but none of that negative energy seemed to touch me. as a matter of fact, people kept giving me munchie food and retrieving my dropped juggling balls for me. it's good to be the cyd.

my attack on the second coping skill (read crutch) outside of my head is underway. it has been five days since i last engaged in oregon's favorite pastime, smoking marijuana. now that i no longer smoke cigarettes after ten years of doing so, in an environment rife with smokers (both in-house and out of house), i shall apply the same will toward my seven year habit of using marijuana to cope, to unleash my creativity, to do mental housekeeping, and to reach states of non-ordinary reality. it is my belief that although the plant was useful to me in the past for such endeavors, i have mastered the essence of the plant, and no longer need it to achieve such ends. not that i have anything against the plant. on the contrary, it was quite useful to me, and may possibly be in the future. it is merely prudent for me to now bid mary jane farewell.

Here's a piece of reader mail that showed up in my (quite clogged, of late) inbox:

To: weishaupt
From: Fred Thorne
To weishaupt (or whoever) How about some new
Hot Granny Action? Or tell us where we can find
some, e.g. website.

         Regards.
   from a bunch of u.k grandads.

Sweet suffering shit. I put those pics in the Crapper with the intention of implying that the internet is a foul and nasty place, full of corrupting influences and disturbing imagery, and now someone has to come along and make a comment that disturbs me even more. But since you asked, I found that in a newsgroup. Get yerself a copy of newsbin and an account at newscene, how hard is that? Now, you have access to every single bizarre type of porn an old prevert could ever dream of, and as an added bonus, you can see all the shit on stile's site before he does.

Secondly, this email reminded me of a letter I recently received from American Express, upon which I'd like to comment publicly. Specifically, I'm referring to the letter which began, "Dear Mature Investor:", and included a fabulous free offer for an investment guide for senior citizens. Now, aside from the fact that this is a rather obvious (and slimy) ploy on behalf of AmEx's "Financial Advisors Division" to get the names and addresses of a few million or so well-off, financially ill-informed seniors, aside from that, where the fuck did their database get the idea that I'm 65? Or, for that matter, an investor? The letter was "signed" by one David R. Hubers, President and Chief Executive Officer of American Express Financial Advisors. Wow, to think a big executive like that would send a letter to lil old weishaupt. In conformance to my rule that you shouldn't put your name on a letter if you don't intend to read the response, I've written a letter to Mr. Hubers. And since I don't think he's very likely to read it if the return address reads "PenIsMightier, Inc.", I'm gonna tell a teensy white lie, and put Robert C. Guizetta's name in the return-address. He's the ex-CEO of Coca-Cola (I read about him on break today). My letter reads:

Dear Mr. Hubers:
    Thank you for your recent letter offering me a free investment guide upon the date of my 65th birthday, which will occur in 39 years. It fulfilled my ethical and intellectual expectations of your fine Division, and the Parent Corporation that guides it. It is my sad duty to inform you that your relational database of private consumer information is severly flawed. After all, if you're sending retirement guides to twenty-five year olds, how can you know that you're not sending platinum cards to minorities? Can a corporation of your stately girth really afford to be without a Big, Shiny Relational Database of Private Customer Information? I thought not. On that basis, I offer your Division or Parent Corporation (whichever) my services as an expert DB administrator. If you really care about the safety of your precious, precious list of people's names, addresses, ages, shoe sizes and whatnot, you'll send me a check, and you'll do it quick. If you even need to ask how much, I'll double it. As soon as I receive your check, I personally pledge that I'll start spending it immediately. Approximately three months later, I'll show up in your corporate offices, drunk and reeking of amyl nitrate, at which time I will professionally install your brand new Customer Information Relational Database.

        Sincerely,
          weishaupt

Eod's Morning Drink
Ingredients:
1 Can of caffinated cola
1 Heaping tablespoon of freeze-dried coffee (caffinated, of course)
Directions:
1. Drink approximately 1 1/2 sips of cola.
2. Dump coffee into cola can
3. Mix well
4. Chug like there's no tomorrow.

WARNING: This pretty much garuntees you 24 hours of full-alertness, even if you've built up an immunity to columbian black coffee.

Mundane, July 17, 2000

I've been slaving away on a few papers here for school, so I must excuse again my leave of absence. Won't someone just pay me money to run PenIs full time? I hadn't planned on this nice weather and heat which is making it impossible to sit in the back room with the lizard cages and various other hot computer equipment. Leaving the night as the only time to write, and the problem there is that I work nights.

You sound a little stressed out by the heat Eod. Why don't you take a nice cool shower and relax?

Hey that sounds like a great idea, in theory but when you don't make much money you cannot afford a very nice apartment. What does a nice apartment have to do with running water? Well in this complex it means you're lucky if the showerhead doesn't spit dust in your face. I assume that I've just had bad experiences with landlords, but I have yet to live in an apartment where the water isn't fully effected by the neighbor downstairs running his dishwasher, which he seems to run 24/7 (I think he is lazy and only has one dish, which he continously washes). Good water pressure comes at a price, I haven't experienced good water pressure for 2 years now. and as much as I like splashing cups of water on myself in order to bathe (which I actually have to do every morning) I'll be using the neighbor's hose to bathe tonight.

If anyone is interested, the quasi-hacking Zebulun Challenges are back up over at Cyberarmy. Everything is tight, and a little better than before, in my opinion. Check it out, and look for Major fenomas..

the reverend mother mary michael jackson and i are back from the coast with far too many pictures. after playing in the ocean, i wrote an ode. instead of camping overnight and visiting a winery, however, as was my plan, i stayed up talking at a restaurant in tilamook, and then drove back this morning. we ate at a restaurant/bar called the barn. that should have been my first clue. seriously, the place looked like the bar from from dusk til dawn. we ordered two glasses of red wine, and received two glasses of blush. i then ordered a philly cheese steak, and received a roast beef sandwich on a hot dog bun, with bitter onions and mushrooms on it. i couldn't eat it, so i sent it back, then decided to order an appetizer, as it's more difficult to mess them up. i received the most disgusting quesadillas ever, and i couldn't eat more than one bite. there was also some mildly retarded guy pushing around a vacuum telling us how it reminded him of his sister - fat and heavy. then, when we went to leave, the big oak door was locked, and i was scared to turn around, thinking i'd find the patrons to have turned into vampires. eventually, a big, burly, scary looking guy unlocked to door to let us out, and we headed home and slept. i woke up, walked to safeway, bought some sun-dried tomato and basil bagel chips, aged cheddar, and a local pinot noir. after getting a nice wine buzz, i wrote a journal entry. what a strange weekend.

        

        

     

Sunday, July 16, 2000

Here's a note for all you car fanciers, who are probably pining away for updates about EOD's hot rod machine or souped up Vanagon or whatever it is. I saw a car the other day called a Toyota Sera (or Seria?- they usually have different names here in Japan). It looked to me like a regular sports car or sporty midsize, or whatever (I'm not really a car guy).

Anyway, the point is, it had gullwing doors(+2cha +1dex -3str)!!! As in, those upwards-opening doors like on the car in Back to the Future (a DeLorean) and some Ferraris. The weird thing is that with the doors closed, it looked about like every other small sport coupe around.

Oh, and it had.. uh, mag wheels. Or something.