out like a lion
Monday, March 31 1997
Now I say: I never floss; life is too short.
Cecelia the Brazilian Girl appeared in my room as I dressed. She wanted me to go with her to get an earring at the Coyote (a funky little boutique on University Avenue adjacent to the 14th Street C&O Railroad Bridge). Soon we were joined by Karen the German Girl and Annie the Taurus. Early ideas of a day spent doing projects on my own were wrecked on the rocks of this unforseen social island.
Early ideas of a day spent doing projects on my own were wrecked on the rocks of this unforseen social reef.
After the longer-than-expected Coyote experience, we four went into the Pita Inn and ate pitas. Once I had food in my stomach, I felt better. Annie was even proving entertaining, showing me a mysterious third tendon in her arm and other unusual (freakish, if you will) bodily characteristics. We had endless refills of one cup of soda pop which we kept passing around, cross pollinating any oral diseases we might have.
I wanted to do some Internet stuff, and announced my intention to do so, expecting the others would want to do something else. But instead, they grafted themselves onto my Internet plans as well. So we walked down remarkably cold and blustery (but sun-dappled) sidewalks to Alderman Library at UVA. Cecelia and Annie composed a long email to Jasio while Karen surfed the Glossary and begged to read my "new project" (these Musings). I refused to show her where they were, and when it seemed she might surf to them, I renamed the Musings index from index.shtml to index.poo from an ongoing Telnet session. Sorry about any 404 errors you folks experienced at the time! I also received a somewhat irate email from Monster Boy (firstname.lastname@example.org). He's in Williamsburg still, and he sought to either correct or obfuscate things I'd mused about him and his -possible- dalliances with a certain lovely Aquarian girl. He asked rhetorically if I was trying to get him killed. I sent him email saying that the story was too good to ignore and that all the people in the story except him are technoklutzes unlikely to ever make any use of the Internet. I realize that by telling stories such as this I risk such stories not taking place in my presence in the future. Interestingly, though, I've noticed that the more scandalous stories I tell the more scandal I'm exposed to! We ALL benefit.
Sorry about any 404 errors you folks experienced at the time!
I broke free on the pretense that I needed to take a nap since I would have to be working tonight. But I only slept about an hour.
I went to UVA's Cocke Hall and did much work on my musings. A girl sitting next to me kept farting silently. I know this because things smelled okay until she showed up. She was also wearing perfume, which made the farts smell even more repulsive.
She's particularly peeved about the upstairs bathroom, the toilet rim of which resembles the surface of Mars, so she says.
Back at the Dynashack, Elizabeth was busy cleaning the kitchen. People have been slack around the house lately and things have slipped into chaos. I try to straighten up after the goths when they come over, but I barely use the kitchen and do not consider it my responsibility (though I usually clean what messes I make there plus some additional messes made by others). Elizabeth says that ever since she quit smoking she cannot abide messes and foul odours. She's particularly peeved about the upstairs bathroom, the toilet rim of which resembles the surface of Mars, so she says.
I slept only about an hour and a half before work.
I'm reading the Washington Post website about the first successful creation of an artificial human chromosome. It seems every day we get closer to a future of:
Beyond that: at a certain point we can just eliminate the "download to gene" part and live forever within the machines.
- DNA uploads to CD-ROM and the Internet
- information from CDs and the Internet being downloaded to genes
- "sex" occurring within software, mediated by check boxes and menu selection of traits
Scary? Maybe it's inevitable. Beyond that: at a certain point we can just eliminate the "download to gene" part and live forever within the machines. How happy we will be then. It will be a realization of the concept of people "shedding their containers" spoken of in the tradition of the Heaven's Gate cult. Instead of going off in UFOs, we can live as information flowing in cyberspace. It's not April Fool's Day's entry yet, but it is April Fool's Day. And I ain't fooling.
Dinosaur Junior reminds me a bit of Neil Young. This is a good thing. Some of the guitar in "Even You" and "Get Out of This" (on Without a Sound) sounds like it could be on Young's excellent Rust Never Sleeps. It's enough to make me nostalgic for the Spring of 1988, when I lived with my girlfriend in the Oberlin dorm known as Harkness and listened to Neil Young and REM endlessly.
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