Perhaps there is something in the reptilian brain that resents the agility of the monkey stages of our ontogeny.

M


erry Thanksgiving and all that crap. I hope your turkey didn't live and die in vain. Guess how I'm celebrating? Dextromethorphan. I had a tiny bit of powder left over; it was the stuff Theresa had dissolved in water and rendered temporarily useless over a month ago. My dextromethorphan adventure started out as an attempt to suppress a cough that has attended the late stages of my cold. Now it's just, well, let us say "groovy." Yes, I'm feeling that wonderful vertigo feeling. I have no idea why it's so fun to feel like I could easily fall on my ass at any moment. Perhaps there is something in the reptilian brain that resents the agility of the monkey stages of our ontogeny.

The picture at right is one I just grabbed off my computer's video card while under the influence of dextromethorphan. Not to come off as immodest or anything, but I took my shirt off to encourage impure thoughts on this puritanical holiday. I would have gotten totally naked, but I don't think there's anything particularly sexy about naked people. For whatever reason, I have the traditional Japanese blasé about the sexiness of total nudity. Do you see that six inch long horizontal seam in my belly? That's where, a half my life ago, doctors removed a bit of defective small intestine.

I can do HTML okay while in this stage of a DXM experience, though I find myself straying across the keyboard just a bit.

I installed Microsoft Internet Explorer 4.0 today. I expected to kick myself afterwards, but I'm actually rather pleased with it. It's certainly much better than Netscape 4.0. I especially appreciate the attention to details in the way pages load, reload and resize, and the way text overlays graphics when there is a conflict of region. If I keep this up, soon I'll be using cascading style sheets.

---

I was subconsciously wondering what had become of the gratuitous blonds hanging all over disgusting egotistical rock stars.

W


ould that I could tanscend style, that I could transcend my time. I remember when Guns 'n' Roses burst out of obscurity in 1988. I was 20 years old, and I thought they were so cool. They took that raunchy metal thing and threw out the ridiculous glam aspects and concentrated on the music. And they made music the way they wanted to. Nothing was sacred. I loved that about them. I loved it when idiot self-described liberals freaked out when Axl Rose made progressive social points by singing about faggots and niggers. (These days Guided by Voices can sing about faggots and no one cares.) It's probably safe to say that Guns 'n' Roses were the ones who paved the way for the eventual success of Nirvana in 1991. Nirvana was even darker, even more concerned with their inner demons, even less concerned with image. When they ascended, the 80s were over. As I said in the Big Fun Glossary, Nirvana represented a revolution in popular music. The other day I was watching videos on MTV, and I was subconsciously wondering what had become of the gratuitous blonds hanging all over disgusting egotistical VanHalenesque rock stars. Then I remembered. Nirvana killed them all off. I love Nirvana. I love the Foo Fighters too. I just wish they were called the Food Fighters. Have you seen that Foo Fighters video? The one where the firewood turns into a foot fetish fantasy? That Dave Grohl guy is cool. Even if he was a drummer for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Maybe Tom Petty and his confounded Heartbreakers are also kind of cool, just by association.

Right now, however, they sound like a bunch of dorks.

But times change. Things that were cool soon lose their coolness. I'm listening to King Missile right now. I used to think King Missile was really cool. Right now, however, they sound like a bunch of dorks. Something has changed in my mind (the part that subconsciously rides on the surface of society's values) since May of this year, when I still thought King Missile was cool. That's what I was talking about. Would that I could tanscend style, that I could transcend my time.

---



M


y fingernails are getting long. I used to chew them, but I started leaving my pinkie nails alone after I read John Steinbeck's On the Bus when I was 13. They'd get long and break off on their own. Gradually, through the years, I started leaving more and more of my nails alone. Within the past several months, I finally reigned in the last vestiges of my nail-biting urges. I no longer bite my thumb nails. All my nails are long now. They feel funny on keyboards. But I like the capabilities they give me.

Me: loveable, valuable, and lonely. Not entirely happy that way but certainly less happy any other way yet presented.

---

I don't think I handle death very well, from what little I know about it.

P


eople almost never die. I've known very few people who died when they weren't expected to. In the online journal world, no one has ever died except someone with the unfortunate name of Missy, but that was before I joined the online journal world. In my whole life, I've only known one person who committed suicide. His name was Super Matty D, and he was an Oberlin student in the Spring of 1991. He killed himself after some girl claimed he raped her. No one knows what really happened, but I do know that the girl who claimed rape was a lunatic, unfortunately a widely respected lunatic. I also know that during the incident in question, a condom was used. The greatest insult to Super Matty D's memory was that this girl was the one who organized his on-campus memorial service. It was boycotted by all his friends. Some years ago I was drunk off my ass at a party and, as I discussed poor Super Matty D with one of my lesbian friends, I broke into sobs. I didn't even know him that well. I don't think I handle death very well, from what little I know about it.

---

I


  ended up getting a case of beer just in case I had to entertain visitors. I got to the Seven Day Junior just in time; it was closing early (at 6pm) on this Thanksgiving.

But no one came, not even the promised Brazilian Girls. Or if they did, I was asleep.

I awoke after 11pm in a fit of coughing, something akin to asthma (symptoms of which I occasionally manifest). Perhaps that's one of the side effects of a DXM hangover.

Let's see, what did I consume on this Thanksgiving?

• at work: a bowl of ramen-enriched vegetarian vegetable soup (from a can)
• at work: several cups of chamomile tea
• one or two Swiss Cheese/raw spinach sandwiches
• one peanut butter sandwich
• two cups of coffee
• one pasta-sauce sandwich (don't ask)
• maybe 200 milligrams of DXM
• three Milwauki's Best Ice beers
• a few low-sodium pretzels

This was, I believe, my first vegetarian Thanksgiving ever. I would have gladly eaten turkey had it been around, mind you.

On this Thanksgiving, for what do I give thanks? That God chooses to smite the reload button on His browser with His finger and give me hit counts almost as good as sites on Geocities get every time one of their technicians pulls a Homer Simpson. However, Mr. God, I'd like to qualify that by saying a few manifestations of Thous omnipotence haven't been too cool. The Holocaust comes to mind, as does slavery, the population explosion (it was Thou who said "multiply," after all), the existence of the interstate system, Pol Pott, Idi Amin, acne, itchy butt, yeast infections, dandruff. I could go on, but Thou hath made me weary, Thou infernal censoring Deity.

one year ago

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