Tuesday 17th February 2004

years to the day

"Sometimes it still hurts … you know how it is. It's like … you wake up everyday and it hurts a little bit less and a little bit less and then one day when you wake up it doesn't hurt at all … and the funny thing is, it's like you almost miss that pain."

I almost miss that pain.

This is me, melancholy me. I hate that I dwell on this but two years ago this morning I woke up to the [aside] phone. Nathan had died.


boo fucking hoo. cry me a river.

I called his parents tonight. no luck. answering machine: [boo fucking hoo] [don't know what to say] 'thinking of you' 'love you' 'wish I were there' 'wish you were here' 'love you' 'bye' [/don't know what to say] [/boo fucking hoo]. I hate phones. I should have hung up.

we played narada at your funeral. we all wore orange ties for you. a thousand people showed up and we couldn't let them all into the church, did you know that?

yokwe, Big Nate. amo te.

I wish I could move on.

[moves on]

I have two voices. the voice you hear isn't my real voice; that's the substitute I make up for you because you can't hear my real voice. there's a voice in my head that I just can't describe, but it's the truest voice I have. it's no wonder I don't sound right on tape.

[moves on]

you can't read this post.

you don't know what I am saying. you couldn't possibly understand. you have no idea what color my green is. you have no idea of the power behind words like 'water' or 'moon' or 'fire' or 'sunday.' they're mine. you will never own them the way I own them. your connotations can't clasp the words like mine, with steel claws and fiery ropes lashed around their necks. you have no idea what I am saying.

you hear babble when I hear poetry. you feel dirt where I feel silk. you smell cardboard where I smell perfume. you taste vinegar when I taste wine. you can't possibly assume you know what I am saying.

I'm coming to the point, and it is this: your words, even with the same letters in the same order, are not my words. you weren't struck by the same lightning.

you have decided 'I,' the 'I' I really mean, doesn't exist, and 'I' has become 'you.' I have become you, and you have no idea what I am saying.

[moves on]

I've moved on.

posted by antimAtt @ 20.51 (gmt+0000)
to /happiness/hatelife/humans/unhappiness

Monday 16th February 2004

line drive

rain, wind, lack of sunlight, rain, oncoming cars with drivers who don't know that fog lights blind, disagreements about music, rain, rain, and rain turn otherwise enjoyable three-day vacation in the mountains into TOTAL CRAP

whew. I'm glad I got that out. we actually enjoyed ourselves, but the trip back certainly didn't make us feel great about life in general. I love her, but I swear if I have to listen to that Sheryl Crow album one more time I'm going to chop it up and put it in the microwave for three days and pay NASA to have it loaded onto the forthcoming Mars mission and shot into outer space. I'm serious about this.

perfect. my flatmate's girlfriend is at this moment singing Sheryl Crow.


thank you, universe! I salute you. with two middle fingers.

posted by antimAtt @ 19.54 (gmt+0000)
to /hatelife/humans/unhappiness

Thursday 12th February 2004

I'm just helping the whole process along.

assumption 1: the entropy of the universe is increasing—inevitably so.

assumption 2: the system wherein my pants are off has a higher level of entropy than the system wherein my pants are on, all other things being equal.

there is no fighting inevitability. PANTS ARE OFF.

posted by antimAtt @ 13.50 (gmt+0000)
to /geek/happiness/hatelife

Wednesday 11th February 2004

this will probably get me sent to jail

I hate the practice of tipping, and I'll tell you what I mean.

You go to a restaurant, possibly wait in line, or get seated immediately if you're lucky. You sit down and are given glasses of water and menus (running total number of waiter/waitress interactions: 1). You choose what you're going to eat/drink. You order your food/drink (2). Your food comes (3). You begin eating. Server comes to check on you to make sure everything is all right (not guaranteed, but I'll call it 4). You finish eating. The bill comes (5).

So you see your server roughly five times. Say the cost of the meal is $25. If you are proper and polite and tip the expected 15%, that's $3.75.

At an average of one minute per visit, your server is at your table for roughly five minutes. For this, your server earns a rate of $45/hour.

Is this really worth it?

A tip should be voluntary, you ridiculous food service fascists. A tip should be given from delight, not from necessity or expectation. A tip should reflect the level of "Wow, thanks for giving us such great service this evening; here's something extra for giving us something extra" you felt during your meal.

This is a matter of grave importance to us all. Someday, some selfish bastard is going to wake up and decided that he deserves a tip for what he does, too. And justifiably so: why should we tip our waiters/waitresses and not, say, a commercial airline pilot, who could kill us all at will if he so desired? What if auto mechanics decided they needed to be tipped? What if your bus driver came to the realization that he could extort hundreds of dollars from his passengers by threatening to take them all to the middle of a desert unless they all tipped him 400% of the cost of your bus ticket, claiming that was the "expected tipping value?"

I'm fascinated by the idea of negative tipping. If I get really lousy service—which happened to me tonight at a restaurant I love—I should be able to give my lousy waitress a negative tip. I should have been able to say "Even though this meal cost us a total of $24, I'm going to make my lousy waitress cover $2 of that because that's just how lousy she was tonight." And I should be able to write -$2 on the 'Tip:' line of the credit card receipt, and authorize the restaurant to debit only $22 from my card, forcing the lousy waitress to cover the remaining cost of the meal. Because that's just how lousy she was tonight.

I'm going to try it someday. See if I don't.

posted by antimAtt @ 21.39 (gmt+0000)
to /geek/hatelife/humans/meta/soapbox/unhappiness

Tuesday 10th February 2004


[http://matg.home.comcast.net/mac.swf] is the funniest thing I've ever seen. Or heard. Or smelled or felt or intuited. Basically it's the funniest thing I've ever experienced through any sensory medium I currently employ.

posted by antimAtt @ 22.03 (gmt+0000)
to /entertainment/happiness/hatelife/internet

it'll be really soon, trust me

When I'm finally recognized as dictator of the planet (in the near future), my first act will be to annex all the Silly Putty in the world. Only then, after my Silly Putty demands are met in full, will I get around to the business of putting my enemies up against the wall, distributing worldwide benevolence, and generally micromanaging everything else.

posted by antimAtt @ 18.20 (gmt+0000)
to /hatelife/silliness

I bet it's whoever flooded dan's journal

We don't know where our trash can is. It was outside waiting for the trash man to come empty it a few days ago, then nothing. Just gone. The trash can gnomes are at it again.

Usually, stolen things are nice or pretty or expensive. Who steals a city trash can?

For that matter, who charges so much for gasoline? Who decided which way "clockwise" should be? Who had the great idea of putting "Do not remove, under penalty of law" under my comfy orange lounge chair? And what's with the "farad?"

what is the world coming to?

posted by antimAtt @ 13.29 (gmt+0000)
to /hatelife/unhappiness
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