Tuesday 30th November 2004

more of the depressingly same

dear fell
ow intertron nodes,

this is to follow up on my previous post regarding the un-beauty of airports.

they are still un-beautiful. still expensive. still full of whiny angry hurried people who are not satisfied with where they are and infinitely anxious to get somewhere else.

[matt's wife's litany of complaints]

matt's wife sez: I hate flying I hate flying I hate flying. etc. moreover, I hate airport people. you know them too well and yet not well enough to say, 'shut the —— up' or, "shut your phone the —— up." *also is weird to be known as matt's "wife," or anyone's wife for that matter.

[/matt's wife's litany of complaints]

(yes, she wrote that.)

shoutz out 2 mah wiggaz:

UNITED AIRPLANES PILOT we the passengers demand that you stop injecting narcotics into your blood before you start flying aircraft, especially ours.

PARENTS please accept my apologies for mentally yelling at you. you see I thought the car was mine when I told you to go ahead and sell it and therefore thought that money was mine. keep every dime and I will stop cursing your good names.

GUY ACROSS FROM ME stop yelling at your cell phone, it has done nothing wrong.

GIRL WHO LOOKS JUST LIKE MY WIFE i don't know how you did that but it is really creepy.

BECK thank you for coming with me in my portable electronic devices, without you I would never have survived so long. it is perfectly clear you wrote this song for me, here, now.

posted by antimAtt @ 17.56 (gmt+0000)
to /soapbox/unhappiness/visibleman

Sunday 28th November 2004

many words accumulated

airports are not beautiful places. they are not places where beautiful things happen; they are places where people sweat and swear and shout and get advertised at. one could easily liken it to a large cattle ranch, with cattle arriving and departing daily at a furious pace—though not so much a furious pace today, since it's our thanksgiving, and most sane people have already gotten where they ought to have got. but the point remains, I do not like airports. I compulsively want to get there two hours early for the vaguest of vague reason 'just in case,' and subsequently end up sitting for at least an hour and three quarters. silly matt. but this one does have free wireless internet service, so I can't complain … as much. but I did have to remove my shoes so yes I certainly am going to complain.

since I've been here I've heard many interesting things:

1. the word 'fuck,' twice; didn't hear the context either time
2. 'this is the first time I've flown since 9/11; I'm scared to death'
3. 'I could think of better ways to spend thanksgiving'
4. 'who are you emailing, your other wife?' (quoth my current wife just now as I'm writing this)

the world should listen to itself more. discuss.


I am now in seat 8D in a united airlines b-52 or somesuch flying machine. more excitement was had whilst boarding (as most travelers suffer from either brain damage or mad cow disease (refer to paragraph 1)). a lady wanted to put her four-ton luggage device in a space the size of, roughly, a shoebox, above her seat. much shouting and whining and finger-pointing and finger-raising and throwing of punches, culminating in the bag's ejection from the aircraft and escort to the baggage check area. in this post-9/11 world, we can only assume that 'baggage check area' means a holding cell in guantanamo where it will be regarded as an enemy combatant and where it will be given a half-hour's worth of air and sunlight a day and no legal counsel other than a retarded orangutan and an uneducated roll of industrial carpet. it seems this is where all my bags end up.

here I see a cross section of the entire human race: the two men across the aisle from me who discuss venture capital and non-recoverable assets like geeks talk about linux. the polite but socially backward japanese couple who utterly stopped the boarding process so they could (with smile-laden faces) put their bags in the storage compartments. the satisfied coy newly married people. the parents with their equally tired children. the pretty teenagers with their smug mobile phones. cattle all.


I'm now in my parents' house in the general vicinity of los angeles. [aside] on the very short flight from los angeles to the airport closer to their house (on a 30-seated propeller plane) we saw l.a.'s protective layer of smog. from the air, the firmament here between clean air above and dirty air below is as clear as though cut with God's own straightedge. it occurs to me that if anyone ever tried to detonate a nuclear weapon above the smog layer, the city would be completely untouched: no force in nature, pressure waves and gamma radiation included, could penetrate that disgusting armor. and this filth is repeated in a thousand, ten thousand cities worldwide. it's amazing how thoroughly we can bollocks up a planet.

but back to me. I've once again sorted through all my old things, my dad's old things some of which are now my things but all of which are just things. back-story: he died when I was three. I remember him but not much of him, and as time grows on I find it hard to distinguish between real and false memories, between mental images and photographs. I'd swear I can remember his voice.

I've fixed my parents' computer; I have set the table for dinner; I have made and consumed some better-than-mediocre tea; I have lost to my wife at poker; I have played with the legos of my childhood. I have a family who loves me and for whom I have great affection. there are many and varied things I am thankful for.


I have been at the house for quite a long time and cannot get my computer to speak to the existing wireless network here and have no time- and/or effort-efficient way of transferring this text to an interweb-connected computer, so it is possible that you will not receive it for a very long time. you have my apologies.

so now it is after midnight, friday-saturday night. my sister is staying in the room next to ours, and she is speaking loudly on the phone and playing some sort of music through her computer. why I am telling you this is beyond me.

it is now after midnight, saturday-sunday morning. I've said goodbye to my sister. I've played poker again with my family, this time winning. I've played pool and won. I've played a brainless dice game and won. I've hemmed and hawed about fixing my internet connection and have finally succeeded, albeit only after employing all my tricks and pushing my computer's (and wife's) patience to the limit—and in the end I must consider this a win as well. I really need to get to las vegas.


please forgive some things:

0. the time elapsed between starting and completing this entry
1. its inevitable incoherence and failure to follow any single thought to a logical conclusion, which I am, right now, too tired to consider
2. its general illusion of substance. I promise it is a fluke
3. (t.b.d.)

Saturday 20th November 2004

inside joke

when talking in real time to silly girls in australia, don't be sick. sick means slow, slow means inarticulate, and inarticulate means disillusionment.

I enjoyed myself, I really did. but I think they were straining to.

we needed more people on the line. (where were you guys, anyway?)

posted by antimAtt @ 13.58 (gmt+0000)
to /humans/unhappiness/visibleman

Friday 19th November 2004

swear words: not just for grandma anymore

a list of minor goings-wrong, which in their entirety make up a very bad day.

we had to (read: volunteered to) drive friends to the airport at 3:00 in the morning yesterday/this morning. got back at five. slept not-at-all well and not nearly long enough.

my ipod's battery died with hours of work ahead of me.

the network hiccupped at a crucial moment (right as I saved all my work and was logging off), choosing that exact time to disconnect my computer and somehow in the process delete all the updates and entries I had made during the day. that's right, I worked all day and at the end have nothing to show for it. nothing. it is gone. all gone. unceremoniously deleted.

the cute co-workin' girl at work had her last day today. she leaves for ireland soon.

my throat hurts, and relatedly, my voice is on the outs. I am short-sighted: the tea I took to soothe it was very probably caffeinated which is why I can't sleep even though I'd quite like to.

the ctrl button on my keyboard is currently finnicky. unresponsive. in a 'phase.'

I can't get quicken's online update features to work properly.

I can't find a certain power adapter I need to find. I can't find my new online banking pin that I swore I wrote down right here two minutes ago. I can't find my keys, my coat, my wallet, my shoes. oh I found my keys but set them down to look for my shoes and found my shoes but forgot where I put my keys. I can't find my sanity.

we're out of clean spoons. it's my turn to do the dishes and I have no one to blame but me.

we're nearly out of comfort-flavor ice cream. … moot'd! no spoons.

it feels like today should have been a friday, but no. I still have that to look forward to.

as the venerable douglas adams might say in such a situation:
'this must be thursday. I never could get the hang of thursdays.'

thank you, mr adams. you left me just when I needed you most.

posted by antimAtt @ 1.58 (gmt+0000)
to /unhappiness/visibleman

Thursday 18th November 2004

the wheel is spinning but I can't see the hamster

I tried to mail a boomerang a few days ago but it keeps coming back.

seriously, though.

it's been a serious while since our last time together, mostly because I've been distracted, and because I've decided to spend my time on tweaking the template again. that's not what you want; I should know better.

but since you're here and since I'm needy, tell me what you think about the link hovering thing. we (I) aim to please.

the job dillemma remains so. the one that would require us to move is looking brighter every day, while at the same time I quite enjoy what I'm currently doing. it's going to be a tough decision either way. tears will be shed. names may or may not be called. I do not like making decisions. it is my most annoying feature, something I really wish I could just iron out. to my infinite discredit, I'm a sucker for the easy road.

I might be setting myself up for disillusionment with a certain future conference call, but I remain an eternal optimist. at least I'll be able to more-or-less keep the voices straight (having heard half of them already).

aivapot leaves me speechless and helpless. and even though it's none of my business I wish it could be. I've always always been on your side.

my nanowrimo word count remains steady at an unimpressive 41,942 (bugger); I thought I could make it but I'm impasse'd. I'm thinking about running it through a web translator and back a few times to generate some extra words, but I fear something might be lost.

winter is just another way of saying 'I'll be constantly cold for five months and no number of blankets and/or heaters can remedy it. in many ways I despise this town, these environs, these doldrums-but-not-technical-doldrums … but I'm to love the one I'm with, right?

bleh. it's late, and I'm still insubstantial.

to obscurely steal style from a guy I miss:

matt_'you may already be a winner.' thanks, but I already knew. I don't need junk mail to tell me.

where oh where have you got to.

*title used by wife's kind permission

posted by antimAtt @ 2.52 (gmt+0000)
to /humans/internet/visibleman

Wednesday 10th November 2004


so apparently (some of) you have head-pictures of me, without having any useful frame of reference against which you can compare them. you might have seen pictures of me a long long time ago but even I've forgotten where I put them. I probably should have pre-emptively fixed this long ago, but since that's no longer an option, I'll just fix it, uh, emptively.

will I re-regret this? internal oracle again says yes.

firstly, pictures of a boy in front of big awesome water. clicky linkies.

clicky linky for to see the first one with added bonus detail. one free in every click.

secondly, pictures more clearly of my facial region, though in neither picture can you easily see my eyes. this is because I do not have eyes.

left is circa bachelor party. right is circa barely-pre-engagement. in both I am wearing my prized Che shirt.

okay, fine, you can kind of see my eyes. I guess I kind of fibbed that bit up; it's just that it's always been a recurring nightmare of mine, not having eyes, and I occasionally accidentally think it's true. (unless I photoshop'd them in. I'm keen on computers like that.)

if you came here wanting to hear about my job, then, sorry. [in the immortal words of the mortal jen, 'weenies.'] I'm avoiding writing about my job because I don't want to turn into a guy who writes on the interweb about his job. I couldn't bear it.

neil, I want to write you something but now is not the time. this is not a time for substance, because of late I find I am insubstantial.

posted by antimAtt @ 2.15 (gmt+0000)
to /humans/internet/visibleman

Saturday 6th November 2004


and we're job'd, the two of us.

finally! I can instead whine about something substantial. stay tuned. (for now I'm tired.)

posted by antimAtt @ 22.24 (gmt+0000)
to /happiness/visibleman
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