Dave's party

It was a nice party. I got to finally see the house. It looked nice, roomy, charming. They must have done a lot of work on it, especially when he described the maintanence; lack thereof, of the house with its previous owners. It was great to be there.
I got to see Andrew; cute, lively, watching everything and everyone. I didn't get a chance to hold him though
William was interested in playing with others, also easily captivated by Toy Story. He has cars, but the helicopter was truly neat!
There were tasty treats -- that I should not have had, but they were yummy!

It was very nice to see people all around. It is a quiet neighborhood.

There was a person in question, regarding movie roles: he is David Warner; staring in Tron and Time Bandits.

Passivity or I psychoanalyze myself

As I age, I doubt that I am less angry, but my "anger gives" me "focus". There was a time that my so-called rage was free-floating (not unlike free-floating anxiety; also similar to general anxiety disorder), but rather than a disorder, it was a character flaw rather than a true psychosis or mental ailment. Now that I am old, only minorly wiser, I find that there are indeed injustices that are worth of anger and attention.

I remember that there were times that my aggression was easily diverted to any number of questionably rational ideals including my homophobia at the time.

There was a time that I was quite homophobic, during the BBS days trying to garner support for the Legion of Fag Haters (or something like that). It was at this age (maturity not chronological) that I was most susceptible to cults and mob-justified crime including murder. I had a wonderful group of friends who were gay-stomping, though a few agreed that homosexuality should have been a punishable crime. Two critical things happened in my life to permanently alter my perspective on violence.

1. In my youth I tortured and killed invertebrates endlessly. It was enjoyable. I happened along a frog in the yard. It was at this juncture that I could have ended up like Rowe. I was sixteen, I think, and I held a large knife (old military knife I found at a school) over the frog. I dropped it probably about six times before it hit the poor frog. It sliced a back leg, but it didn't injure it terribly.
This would cinch me into a typical psychotic / asocial category save this; I felt terrible and nearly cried for the frog. I had a well hidden and buried conscious. I had done so well at hiding it, I found its strength in returning, painful. After this, I could not comfortably injure any animal. Much later (15 years, perhaps) I have an even greater preference for not killing when possible. I set free spiders and insects rather than kill them. Perhaps it is because of guilt or because I do truly feel that there is a reason for their existence at that time -- spiders eat insects that serve other purposes -- cycle of life and continuity of nature.

2. Had I not been introduced to people, who later on were okay people, and further on were openly gay, I would have felt justified in my hate of them. Ignorance has a way of verifying assumptions. To this day, I don't have any really close gay friends. If I'm wrong, then I am. Anyway, more to the point. Having found out later that people I knew for a while were gay, I had no real reason to hold that against them since it didn't change who they were. With this I relented my hate and animosity. My worries and fears of gays stem from very young years, and certainly not improved with some of my childhood experiences and neighborhood friends.

My folks weren't homosexual bashers and, since they grew up in bigoted households and couldn't stomach it, they weren't going to raise children who disliked supposed groups or categories of people. For this, I am very thankful.

My self-destructive tendencies, though general wild stupidity, were nearly suicidal; based for some years, though I doubt that I recognized it. Having grown older I am a bit less reckless. I have no suicidal tendencies and have been known to wimp out on many things, merely due to the safety or risk factor. I don't gamble (various reasons for that) and am far less of a risk-taker.

Wow! I am mad. It's amazing anyone around me is around me.

Names of infamy

If not now, later, when they are obnoxious ADULTS.
I had J'Lyn and Grayen both at odds with me. My solution, divide and conquer. That worked, Grayen being the greater offender, I removed him.

Look out for these two in their teens -- news, I'm sure.

Survial of the best suited

or best fit.

Rowe (first name, unimportant) met a sad end after high school, around 6 months after graduation. Ohio has different rules for alcohol and establishments than Indiana. For this reason a dive touts enterance to 18+ persons, being given a paper writstband indicating legal and non-legal drinkers. This is interesting in theory, might even be good, if the people were faithful to that policy. The place had no quams about underage drinking, since those checking ID, saw that it was roughly rectangular and had a picture and letters on it. Honestly there had to be 14 year olds there too. Worse still, 30-year olds. Drunk 30 year olds and yonung teens -- so gross, it should have been nuked. Anyway,
Rowe apparently was driving back, with other underage drunks in the car. He failed to make a turn and flipped the car. It was my understanding that he bled to death, pinned under the car, his "friends" fled possible arrest for 'minor in posession'.

This was an anti-climatic end to someone who made a mortar for a class project to fire a tennis ball. He enlisted my help to put things together. He had to make due with what he had -- and he was alive because of that.

He read a munitions manual for a book report (sound crazy yet? Other stories will confirm it)
He made a mortar from cardboard tubes and socks for stuffing and wadding.
He used an electric start to fire it.
He carried the weapon just outside the school. I plugged it in.
[Foom!] Words don't describe the volume of the blast. People exited rooms. I ran around the corner to see his vanishing act. In seconds, like Copperfield, he was gone in a large cloud of smoke. There was an odd print on the window of the door. We later found out that it was melted sock that didn't come off the window.
I opened the door and still no Rowe. Finally, coughing hacking, he was there. What no one had scene is him rapidly dropping the large shattered firework and putting out the fire on his arm. He suffered second degree burns. No one remembered that he wasn't trying suicide, specifically, but rather "launching" and tennis ball.

He generally brought some weapon to school, showing to a select few -- no one really wanted to know. As far as I know, no one picked on him, he was just bizarre and a loner. Had he lived, he would have made news for crime no doubt.

He also palled around with RC (not likely to be mentioned in any later post) who openly made anti-Semetic comments and once nearly blew up himself and Rowe by playing with a live grenade.

I guess I posted this because this was a route I could have taken -- the road less travelled, for a reason, leading ultimately to destruction of others and self.

Middle School Madness (series)

a kid who had bangs longer than the fullness of my scalp hair, I imagined him thinking: "I like hair in my face." (song-like)
"Swats", corporal punishment for wrong-doings. I never got one, but that was employed on several kids while I attended.
Art teacher; nice but wacky, suffered a debilitating fall on steps leaving him mentally incapable of teaching. His nickname for me: Howdy Doody, because I have freckles.
M D (probably never to mentioned in any other post) had a preference for silver and gold paint markers -- nasty and messy. I remember he always had some mess on his desk somewhere and on his arms. Later, this kid couldn't come to school because of a bad acid trip.
At least six different incidents of me getting hit in the groin, usually during P.E. One such adventure was attempting to block a soccer shot. I jumped up and it was only chest high. Well, with the jump, it hit me square in the nads. I fell onto the ground, was pulled off the field and asked the stupid question, "Are you alright?" No! I wasn't alright. MR was there and was heartily laughing.
MR invariably would fall asleep during any movie or slide show during science.
The same "I like hair in my face" kid would sometimes turn around and look at either MR or me or both and mumble, "I kick you [sic] butt"
I remember being pretty much Beavis or Butthead throughout, well before that series was on TV -- "stoner", "rocks", "hard" -- all with stupid laughter.
I also remember the report on 60 minutes referred to masturbation as arousal from "touching oneself", which I didn't quite comprehend being genitalia, but rather anywhere. I thought it odd that someone would moan at the touch of an elbow.
There was a foul-tempered math teacher who made grass-growth fascintating, but not math.
MR had a notebook with the collection of his, not-truly Schultz Peanuts, in say ... XXX form.
There was a teacher there who wore short skirts and was very curvy. What? What do you mean I'm teasing the hormone-strong animals? I'm not doing anything but getting their attention. "Uh, Mr. Murphy? Would you come to the front and give your report." "No thanks. I'll take the F."
I remember the underpowered computers they brought into the school and that people had to learn to use the "Card Catalog".

The P.E.T. Computer. Tape storage driven, with a Mac-like fused body and screen. The keys were as solid and stiff as an electric typewriter's, the screen a little larger than a wallet.
I first met MR in middle school. I also met TS there too. His wonderful opening statement to MR and I was, "Hey, Frog and Toad." Charming!

MR was the first person I ever met that actually took the bus -- as I walked to school Elementary and Middle.
This was also the period of the great egg toss.
There was Reynolds and Reynolds teachers -- not related. The woman Reynolds was young and, well ... quirky. Public knowledge of her biker (or cyclist) boyfriend lent us to make speculations.

Whunh was there. She sat in a group with MR and myself. Another tidbit of middle school humor:

Fjord: a body of land mostly surrounded by water (I defined it as me, a guy, in the bathtub)
This also spawned "Fwank!" c/o MR -- the sound reverbarated when farting in the tub; to which most people can truly attest.

Speaking Old Entish

I took the folks out today for lunch. They ran into an old neighbor from when they first moved here. She can talk exponentially. My father stated, "I thought that we'd be here all afternoon."

It reminded me of Lord of the Rings, "It takes a long time to say something in Old Entish, so anything worth saying takes a long time."

BBS

days

There was Hairy Monster then Scott mentioned, decade later 2005 sent me this

Tribal Warfare

What I predict for the short future:
escalations in the Arab regions will eventually plummet the world into terrible factions.
There may be more than two groups, but ultimately it would break down to two groups. I see one separation being Muslims and non-Muslims.
At that point with emminant warfare ... nuclear weapons would be employed breaking the population into scattered parts. Presently the world sees the US as, gennerally a bully. The arab world is unstable and with instability comes war.
With war, unending, there is a "winning" solution, nuclear warfare wherein your "side" could "win" by having the greatest number of population not immediately killed or (17th-18th century concept) winning by holding the ground -- area of contest.

I would predict this to be within 22 years, unless stability within the arab regions and the US improve. The US is too petty with partisan battles to realize that spending money abroad, especially in the arab region doesn't bring money back to us. The last many administrations and congresses and senates have not spent money domestically for many improvements.

Welfare -- gennerally doesn't work and needs -- trashcanned in favor of a new system. Overpopulation in the jails & prisons can be simplified as per person expenditure well exceeds anything spent on welfare.
Too many poeple -- too few exectutions. A more proactive, pre-emptive strike on groups, like proposed by the administration could limit the money presently spent.

Crime, now an adult, can be controlled with selective striking so that no other generations will go on. This will ultimately appear to be another tribal conflict being of the poor versus the rich.

It was long in coming.

You know what makes you gay?

[this is funnier if you saw 40 Year Old Virgin]

That Fine Young Cannibals dance of leap froggin you did!
Shane Johns -- wierd turned to gay

Stories of hide and seek with male roommate when showering. Gross, nasty, eww! Later had gay child porn...

wow (Ben Stein voice here)

Names will hurt you

Whuh! -- a name given to someone who was, well, with a large posterior before it was hip.
Fffpppttt (fart sound) -- from her stupid, criminal-esque boyfriend

More later

short bits about "Wilma" or Kleenex as I call her

first ... that isn't the real name, but the pseudonym will be used throughout:

Wilma is living with one or two guys at the time that she is introduced to our group. It was my understanding that she was "sleeping" with one, but ended that, then was "sleeping" with the other.

At this time she met Scott. He had her over, not really knowing what a ciniving witch she was. She flirted with Monkeyjack. She then was with ISJ, similtaneously with Scott. She met up with MR and that was three of our group. She expressed interest in Krista too.

Now that you have a bit of an understanding, here comes the the relationship part. There were factions going on him against him or them ... oi! It was ugly! We were petty and it brought division and 'betrayl' to the group. In the end, the group was weaker but alive. The intruder is ridiculed, but there was a lesson in it ... keep friends true.

The flake and fake -- nasty character is still in town, but I think wise enough to know she isn't liked.

I was out of the mix -- I was intersted in her -- momentarily, but she wasn't in me. All the better, perhaps.

Legends of the Fall

More stupid things I miraculously survived:

Climbing up a ladder and trying to duplicate coyote running in mid-air, then falling onto not-so cushy lawn furniture pads.

Swinging on vines in the local woods -- including having it snap mid-swing, sending me falling 8' onto my back.

In the same woods, firing randomly at things. I fired at a tree, the bb hit something and it came up to my eye -- within an inch, then fell to the ground. I was convinced that day of the phrase, "You'll shoot your eye out!"

Bumper skiing with a person who doesn't tend to stop if you've fallen.

Ridning on the backs of cars
Riding in the non-existent trunk of a Fiero (hot engine that I had to avoid touching), so the trunk was open and I rode in it until a stop sign, over hills and bumps. I was desperate to get out -- I nearly left it while the car was moving.

Mixing a batch of alcohol and water so that I could hold fire! I didn't actually get burnt with this, but it was stupid. On the same day, I blew up a butane lighter I found.

Deja Vu

and my lust for lust

Also downtown was a 18+ (no alcohol) strip club. I did like going here and it was about 1 block from the Other Side.

Deja Vu was a chain, headquartered in Flint, MI (later dismantled by stupidity). It was tied to the mob, a woman manager (undercover officer) finally got access to files, linking illegal funding (laundering of monies), thus closing all the clubs.

While in I business, I was keeping it in business. I spent / wasted lots of money there on strippers feeding my lust, but not fedding my lust -- I didn't ask for anything extra, and they weren't going to give it away -- nor accept if I was stupid enough to give to them without it. Suffice to say -- (approximate figure) $5000, perhaps went to that place. What a waste!
Despite all of that, I can say that I never had "relations" with any prostitute.

This was about an 18 month habit. After that -- I was done with it.

My then-sister's-fiance wanted a bachelor party. His friends, one of my brothers-in-law and I went out to such establishments. They found it comical that the strippers knew my name -- many of them. They all just looked at, whom they thought was a clean cut guy -- in shock.

My lesson: it ain't worth it.

take me to the Other Side -- not!

This here's a tale of some frinds who were duped.

There was a closet homosexual, or at least I didn't know he was at the time and an openly bi-sexual woman (her tale will be told later, hopefully through the many sources MR, Scott, Monkeyjack, & others, maybe).

These people I will give -- pseudonyms: Fred and Wilma
Monkeyjack was with me when Fred mentioned there was bar that people 18+ could enter. I thought it odd, but went along with it. It was downtown, which should have been a clue. Wilma drove in her compact manual.

We arrive at The Other Side. This wasn't too secretive if you knew the inside. We walk up to the door, several couples are leaving. One runs out and effeniantly calls out, "Wait! I forgot my purse!" This guy was a fellow graduate whom many thought was gay. It turns out that he certain was at this time in his life.

We enter -- I was homophobic and rather nasty about my dislike and pronounced hate of gays. All step further didn't make the night better. Fred paid, then Wilma paid the cover charge.
Monkeyjack walked up and dolled out a $20. It was at this time that the cashier was clearly high. He made no response to the $20. Slowly, he recognized it as money, but had to search 4 minutes to not find change. He asked someone near him for change. It was painful to wait for the stupid guy.
I walked up and handed him another twenty. Forgetting that he looked before, he routinely looked in the same places, and also had blank periods on non-movement. Finally he called over someone for change, having not found enough in the cigarette box in his sleeve (50s look).
We proceed and Fred hands each of us a drink.

What the ____ is this, I thought. I held it not wanting to drink it, thinking that getting drunk wasn't the wisest of choices. The further we went, not a well kept place, by any means, we go to the main room, somewhat divided into seating and dancing.
We sat.
I looked around and saw, typically people talking and dancing. A guy was dancing by himself wearing a purse, others were group dancing -- charming.
At one table I saw women around my age at that time ... cute, neat

they kiss
[next]
We sit there and I'm very uncomfortable. By now I have slugged the drink and wanted to leave. Monkeyjack, not as uncomfortable as me, wasn't ready to leave. The time we went wasn't random. The floor show started around 15 minutes after we arrived.

Before that, I had to whiz. I wasn't sure about that. I was happy that there wasn't a long line of urinals nor stalls. Perhaps, it was more horrifying. There was a men's and women's. In the mens was an airline size restroom. It had a toilet and an undersized sink. The door had a thin interior door and a screen door. God knows why -- better not to speculate.
The wood door didn't have a lock. I did lock the screen door with the nice hook
With my back / butt to the screen I used the toilet as quickly as possible. Faster, must pee faster!
Stupidly, I felt so uneasy, I pulled out a boxcutter from work ... cutter in one hand, putter in the other. I finished and rinsed in icelandic cold water -- sans soap.

I returned to my seat mortified.
The floor show started. I looked for about ... 2.2 seconds. That was long enough to see a red sequinned something, I think with a blonde wig. I stared at the table for the rest of the time.
Wilma had expounded later on how she was jealous of their legs, these dancers, drag queens.

The lip-syncer was walking around, singing and I understand, nearly sat on me. Monkeyjack grabbed my chair -- saving everyone from a nasty battle scene. At that moment, I didn't mind being Monkeyjack's b____. After that singer, I left asking absolutely no questions -- hurriedly, angerly!
Monkeyjack called after me ... "wait!" I wasn't. "Wait!" No ________ way! He caught up to me with ... importantly, keys!

"Can you drive a manual?"
"Yes." What I failed to complete was "badly, terribly, not really."
I stall it 15 times trying to reverse.
I stall it 20 more times going back to Monkeyjack's house.
I never took it out of 2nd ... ouch!

I would have felt bad about it, except she was a nasty little character ... deceiving, lying, using (more later on "Wilma")

I picked up the two in my car, about 90 minutes later when they called.
Bad evening, but one from which I wasn't hurt or harmed, just scarred a bit.

Reason to fear

Ouch time!

don't look up

last thing you see before the splat

Moving Day

Dave, his pregnant wife Jen and son Will were moving. While they had moved a great deal of their things, stuff was still there.
They asked for volunteers for the job. I wound up having the day to help them.

Their house was mostly empty. The obstacles that were the most difficult were:
the sectional sofa that, even with four beefy guys lifting it was, well, a challenge through not narrow stairways. The practical solutions was cables run over like straps, carrying the section gurney style. I'm not a beefy guy, those more able were the lifters there.

Piano. It wasn't too difficult, but if you haven't lifted one, especially without the wonderfully available piano movers, it is a "treat". The piano is long and the ramp onto the moving van was not long enough to be a slow incline.

The packing went well. Some things were there long enough that -- one forgets how to disassemble them. It was, uh, interesting ... the crib took some thought.

The best thing to move, most of all, was the cement planter, which Dave was, I think, not so happy to have to take with them. I think it was only 4 x 4 feet, like 4 tons x 4 tons. With all of us lifting it onto a truck, it was still an unhappy move. It could have snapped under its own weight.

Their transitional move went okay. I wasn't able to help them to their new home.

Ages

Monkeyjack, when in high school looked like a middle schooler. He also looked young. This once enabled him to get out of a ticket -- looking like a new driver.
I looked old in high school. Monkeyjack's early-developing cousin thought I was thirty-five. Boy! His cousin was not a good mix with horny teens. She was young, 14, but looked, well ... curvy. Too curvy for a 14-year old. We were around 17-18.

Monkeyjack always got carded and I never got carded. I still look about 5 years older than I am.

In that I looked old enough to buy, say liquor, earlier than I should, I never took this opportunity. I was too scared, chicken, whatever.

We didn't start the fire

Oh, wait ... yes we did!

Monkeyjack and I were the only ones to have Apple computers in 1988. So, we were intersted in file-sharing, that's how we met.
Hey, who's [my name]?
Look for the guy with his shirt open with a full beard and hair hanging out. Keith found me with no problem.

While file-sharing, an inspired thought came about ... why not start that wad of paper on fire?! Why not then?

Light ... hold ... ouch, fire! Fire! Fire!
Run to toilet flush the fire. Wow! That was pretty stupid.

My last trip to Denny's

I only went there twice. Circa 1990?

It was late, we were all hungry, probably in the north part of town when we all went to Denny's. Good food -- not present. Service -- tardy. Stupidity -- common.

Most memorable was EM talking about a fun thing with holding your wrist in pain with "boisenberry jam on it."
Boisonberry, how very common.

EM is also known as, the close talker ... uh, hey! Could you like, not be 4 inches from me when you talk?

He also had a brother who I saw twice. His brother had the Joker character from Full Metal Jacket, 1000 yard stare. He looks like someone you wouldn't approach.