Date: 2002-10-03 Time: 1:28 p.m. list time, yeah. problems in life: IRUNRAP.com busted-ass server situation maxed out credit cards car smashed into bite-sized pieces in new york, awaiting reassembly by a bunch of big men with hairy arms and hideously yet comically stereotypical bklyn accents glaring disparity between my capacity to play pingpong and my capacity to communicate effectively with members of the female gender with whom I would like to communicate soda machine at work out of 'pepsi blue' can't find any ADULT. albums on all the servers I'm hitting these days constant overload at work casting a misty pall over longstanding dreams of design MFA at pratt or some such shit things that rule: the fact that while I have not had a single day go by for like the past two weeks or so without some sort of new and different horrendous dirty thing befall me, I find that optimism is not only possible but prevalent, and not in that retarded saccharine hallmark-card "Every Cloud has a Silver Lining!!" type way, like I find myself actually pragmatically optimistic, which is a) some new shit really and b) quite nice in general, like: work is raking my over the coals, yeah, but the object system I wrote will make it so I NEVER HAVE TO WRITE A FUCKING STORED PROCEDURE AGAIN EVER LIKE EVER and that's great, or: yeah so things might not work out girlwise with this one girl I had a few dates with, but I have no less than three very happy memories of the whole thing, and so if it doesn't all come together (as I fear), I will at least always be able to recall, say, that moment when I was standing on the L train platform after kissing her goodnight on our third date and how I was listening to ladytron on my mp3 player and the L barrelled into the station right when the subbass dropped in 'USA vs. White Noise' and I was therein rendered incapable of being anything but utterly fucking happy for the next few moments as a direct result of all of these things... or: yes it's 3 AM and I'm walking home from work and I feel like strangling everyone and getting in the car I don't have and driving far away, yeah but when I get home I'm going to drink coffee and rock my laptop and illustrator 10 on my rooftop until the sun rises, and that's just fine, yeah. b. fleischmann secret ultra-destructo remix of natalie imbruglia's 'torn' song from like 1998 !!!LADYTRON!!!LADYTRON!!!LADYTRON!!! big ideas I have for my forthcoming superdemented I'm-turning-25-like-a-retard party bandwith boost IRUNRAP.com will get when they finally unfuck my shit and it gets situated on the rpi network the fact that there were two or three albums I listened to all summer that I haven't really been juking lately, which will allow me to wallow in trenchant nostalgia some time down the line when I next listen to them, I'm sure. [ed. note: why this is under 'things that rule' is not immediately apparent, but hey] bullshit I can't stand in the 'art world' (copied and pasted directly w/no editing from a 'sticky' on my laptop written one bile-filled afternoon in williamsburg): when someone calls their art thing 'The Something Project' (where 'something' is the name of whatever it is; some that I've seen or heard of have been 'the legacy project' or 'the wig project')... this is so unbelievably pretentious, cuz it impies that a) there was a serious problem ('the legacy problem' or 'the wig problem') and the artist in question is the first to step up to the plate, as it were, and confront whatever horrid scourge the 'project' seeks to address head-on, and b) the whole 'the' thing implies that the 'project' in question is THE ULTRA DEFINITIVE DEALIE w/r/t the issues. so pretentious. fuck 'em. people who call themselves 'd�coupage artists' when really they just like to paste a bunch of ironically juxtaposed ugly shit ryan mcguinnes and his smug haiku vector crapola fucking assholes who think crappy architectural maquettes are 'art' and are therefore worthy of display. that's just beyond retarded. when do I get to print out some fucking code and get it displayed in a shit eating gallery while I get fellated by art groupies? I'd like to know. bleah. these Archigram assholes. "get it?!? it's like the usual corbusier fetish recycled modernism, but with POOR PEOPLE! GET IT?!?!? no I never saw 'ghost in the shell', why?" these total fucking shits who supplant traditionally functional process with total assholic whimsey and wave a bunch of napkin sketches around in defense of their 'vision' and whatnot shit I downloaded today: php 4.2.3/Win32 hotline Win32 client 1.85 (piece of garbage) human league tribute album (contains one ladytron song) incomplete fizzarum album (haven't listened to it yet) bbedit 6.53 update dmg photosmart 1218 drivers for osx that did not work under 'jaguar' and made me very upset and angry big pile of shitty windows dlls in failed attempt to rig up sablotron under php/Win32, the incedence of which contributed to my computer-related pissedoffedness and forced me (like literally FORCED me) to go outside and harass innocent grad students until they gave me cigarettes and listened to me bitch about computers while completely ignoring whatever problems they might have been having, bless their hearts. the students' hearts, that is, not the busted windows shit. erm yeah. things I must do: clean house pay: electrical bill, rent, hisao for groceries he got me while poor call bodyshop, scream "MUSH!!!" into fone while making whip-cracking noise in sadly unfunny comic attempt to accelerate progress on car repair shower buy new deoderant to replace deoderant I inexplicably lost yesterday, like it's not like that shit ever leaves the bathroom, so what the fuck redesign this fucking page like finally replace favorite white button-down shirt that got horribly gouted with blobs of tar from friends' bklyn rooftop party three weeks ago make 2 pecan pies and give one to hisao cuz he's nice get a new book cuz the last thing I read was 'nausea' by sartre in august and I've been subsisting for three or four weeks on new yorker fiction which is nice occasionally but doesn't hold up as the sole source of fiction in one's life (any suggestions? I love henry miller and I detest david sedaris, if that helps guide you aesthetically) get more food, just cuz bareness of fridge interior is depressing finish work crapola finish IRUNRAP.com projects section go to doctor plan vacation very, very far away for when all of this bullshit is over... I'm thinkin' london or the west coast, in like january, yeah call maqui back in fact, rifle through entire fone list / all email backlogs and get in touch with everyone I've been blowing off for the last few months and make a lot of emotionally inspired yet potentially unfeasable plans that may or may not pan out due to logistical difficulty (this is something I do every so often to let people know I still care; while I'm not sure if that's the sentiment that gets communicated, people definately come away with the knowledge that I still am a crackhead, fo'sho). end this list and get back to my shit, wordup. love love love -fish