recoculous is being massively updated, upgraded, and graduated to its own site. your patience is appreciated, and your eyes are welcomed, wherever my rants may be seen. updates are forthcoming.
i figured out why it hadn't rained for two months in GF: I never washed my car. Here it is, not two days past the latest wash, and the pitter-patter of raindrops can be heard on the shiny white exterior of Carter, the little white Saturn. (yes, i finally found a name.)
Here is a link to the weblog I wish recoculous could be. It can't, though, because this site is called Neatorama. (and it is. neat-o-rama.)
Here's the obligatory political link. This one's about why it's so important for the Democrats to take control of the Senate this fall. Ted "The Internet is Not a Truck" Stevens would get the boot, Kent Conrad would move up to a chairmanship and the chair of a subcommittee or two, Dorgan would get a chairmanship, Leahy would take over Intelligence, and a bunch of other awesome stuff. It's all right here; read it, and vote for Kent Conrad in November. More on that later. Also, if you live in District 43 in Grand Forks (near the library and Red River HS), vote for Jamie Selzler for ND House. Anyone who coaches high-school debate, claims to be a Republican, and then gets sick of the party's mendacity and switches to Dem-NPL is A-OK by me.
July 25, 2006
July 16, 2006
bbv post (poker post, sorry paul)
so, internet poker has turned me into depressed, angry dusty today.
38 $16 turbo games today.
10 finishes in the money, for a net profit of... -200 or so.
1 first place.
8 2nd places.
1 3rd place.
Among the highlights are five busts when a worse pocket pair makes trips to beat my better pocket pair, and three 2nd place finishes where I had a 3.5:1 chip lead going into heads-up play. I know I took way too many coinflips and 55/45s for my whole stack, and I lost most of them.
this makes it 3 times in a row that I've tried to move up to the 16s and had my bankroll crushed by loose calls, horrible cards, and too many coinflips brought on by the resulting tiltiness. so it's back to the 6.50s yet again, for an hourly rate only slightly better than minimum wage (unless i'm running hot). shit happens, i suppose.
i really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want to get drunk or smoke a joint or something, just to get out of my head for a little while. but... if I do that, I'll go to prison. that's a whole other side of depressed, angry dusty that we don't need to get into here.
i am helpless in the face of ill fortune's wrath.
/delete
38 $16 turbo games today.
10 finishes in the money, for a net profit of... -200 or so.
1 first place.
8 2nd places.
1 3rd place.
Among the highlights are five busts when a worse pocket pair makes trips to beat my better pocket pair, and three 2nd place finishes where I had a 3.5:1 chip lead going into heads-up play. I know I took way too many coinflips and 55/45s for my whole stack, and I lost most of them.
this makes it 3 times in a row that I've tried to move up to the 16s and had my bankroll crushed by loose calls, horrible cards, and too many coinflips brought on by the resulting tiltiness. so it's back to the 6.50s yet again, for an hourly rate only slightly better than minimum wage (unless i'm running hot). shit happens, i suppose.
i really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want to get drunk or smoke a joint or something, just to get out of my head for a little while. but... if I do that, I'll go to prison. that's a whole other side of depressed, angry dusty that we don't need to get into here.
i am helpless in the face of ill fortune's wrath.
/delete
July 13, 2006
f**k yeah
pure energy
Information Society is back.
Producer Paul Robb picked up the rights to the InSoc name from lead singer/producer Kurt Harland, who had since 1997 been mostly being goth and producing video-game music. Robb found Jim Cassidy, another original band member, and added two more people (and a variety of featured artists) to bring back MY FAVORITE GODDAMN BAND EVER.
YEAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!
FUUUUUUUCK YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
PSA
For the love of all that is good in the world, if you're using Internet Explorer right now.... stop. If you're at a public terminal, and they force you to use IE, show them this post.
Internet Explorer may be the worst piece of software in existence. Its unbreakable attachment to pretty much every program in Windows makes it the perfect vector to unleash all sorts of nasty viruses, hack attacks, trojans, and malware. Windows Update runs on my PC about once a week, and there is nearly always a security update for a vulnerability in Internet Explorer, usually having to do with its unquenchable desire to launch embedded Word/Outlook/Excel/whatever documents. Plus, it's slow.
Using IE is exactly like taking a razor blade, slicing open the end of your penis, and then having unprotected intercourse with every crack whore in New York. If you're not already terminally ill, you will be soon, and it's only a (very short) matter of time. "Oh, dusty, you're just being alarmist. Microsoft would never release software that was so dangerous!!!" No I'm not, and yes they would. They did. You're using it, and you're trying to make excuses why you shouldn't switch. No more excuses.
Click here to download Mozilla Firefox. Firefox is fast, supports tabbed browsing, has an excellent pop-up blocker, and is free. I use Firefox on my PC, but I'm considering switching to Opera.
Click here to download Opera. Opera 9 is brand-new, REALLY fast, and has BitTorrent support built right in. Plus, it masquerades as Internet Explorer if the website you're visiting is tracking the browser you use. (So? So, when we become the United Colonies of Microsoft, you won't be purged.)
You're welcome. That is all.
Information Society is back.
Producer Paul Robb picked up the rights to the InSoc name from lead singer/producer Kurt Harland, who had since 1997 been mostly being goth and producing video-game music. Robb found Jim Cassidy, another original band member, and added two more people (and a variety of featured artists) to bring back MY FAVORITE GODDAMN BAND EVER.
YEAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!
FUUUUUUUCK YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
PSA
For the love of all that is good in the world, if you're using Internet Explorer right now.... stop. If you're at a public terminal, and they force you to use IE, show them this post.
Internet Explorer may be the worst piece of software in existence. Its unbreakable attachment to pretty much every program in Windows makes it the perfect vector to unleash all sorts of nasty viruses, hack attacks, trojans, and malware. Windows Update runs on my PC about once a week, and there is nearly always a security update for a vulnerability in Internet Explorer, usually having to do with its unquenchable desire to launch embedded Word/Outlook/Excel/whatever documents. Plus, it's slow.
Using IE is exactly like taking a razor blade, slicing open the end of your penis, and then having unprotected intercourse with every crack whore in New York. If you're not already terminally ill, you will be soon, and it's only a (very short) matter of time. "Oh, dusty, you're just being alarmist. Microsoft would never release software that was so dangerous!!!" No I'm not, and yes they would. They did. You're using it, and you're trying to make excuses why you shouldn't switch. No more excuses.
Click here to download Mozilla Firefox. Firefox is fast, supports tabbed browsing, has an excellent pop-up blocker, and is free. I use Firefox on my PC, but I'm considering switching to Opera.
Click here to download Opera. Opera 9 is brand-new, REALLY fast, and has BitTorrent support built right in. Plus, it masquerades as Internet Explorer if the website you're visiting is tracking the browser you use. (So? So, when we become the United Colonies of Microsoft, you won't be purged.)
You're welcome. That is all.
July 12, 2006
f**k
Wow, we finally did it.
The war in Iraq is over (we won); terrorism has been defeated (we even figured out that nasty bit about defeating an ideology). Nobody in America has to go hungry, and everyone has access to a doctor. Our kids get the best public education in the world, and we've figured out a way to let all the immigrants that want to come to the US get visas. Money no longer poisons every part of our government, and elections are fair and free. North Korea and Iran have given up on building nukes, and copyright infringement is a thing of the past. Net neutrality will be preserved, and competition between media companies has been protected.
Phew. Now that we've solved all other problems, we can finally ban gambling on the Internet.
Oh, what? We didn't solve any of those other problems?
Oh. That's too bad. At least we can still ban gambling on the Internet.
fuck you, america.
The war in Iraq is over (we won); terrorism has been defeated (we even figured out that nasty bit about defeating an ideology). Nobody in America has to go hungry, and everyone has access to a doctor. Our kids get the best public education in the world, and we've figured out a way to let all the immigrants that want to come to the US get visas. Money no longer poisons every part of our government, and elections are fair and free. North Korea and Iran have given up on building nukes, and copyright infringement is a thing of the past. Net neutrality will be preserved, and competition between media companies has been protected.
Phew. Now that we've solved all other problems, we can finally ban gambling on the Internet.
Oh, what? We didn't solve any of those other problems?
Oh. That's too bad. At least we can still ban gambling on the Internet.
fuck you, america.
July 11, 2006
fun with things
pwnt in the face
this is hilarious. internet hijacked for benign mischief, news at 11. thanks delicious for the link
i hate to say i told you so
...but I did.
In all seriousness, this doesn't surprise me. People talk about mystical religious experiences in terms of depersonalization, disassociation, flashes of insight, and a general feeling of well-being; research into the effects of psychedelic drugs leads to discussions of "ego death" (depersonalization/disassociation), "euphoria" (well-being), and "you know, like, totally seeing stuff in ways that I'd, you know, never seen before. or something." (flashes of insight) And, of course, there's the well-established use of peyote, datura, ayahuasca, and other natural hallucinogens as religious sacraments by native peoples all up and down the Americas.
Reading all the ONDCP's little pamphlets about magic mushrooms always gives me a chuckle. Unwilling to admit that drugs may not be the worst thing that's ever happened to America, they reach as far as their little hands will let them to find reasons why mushrooms are a Schedule I controlled substance (which makes no sense, as anyone who has eaten the little buggers can tell you): "It is difficult to tell the difference between hallucinogenic mushrooms and other, possibly poisonous mushrooms." "Some users experience severe paranoia, accompanied by increased heart rate and perspiration." Note the conspicuous lack of evidence that mushrooms are an addictive/habit-forming drug, which is usually a precondition for being classified as Schedule I ("high potential for abuse with no discernible medical benefit").
Compare this to some varieties of religious experience: it is difficult to tell the difference between a cult and an honest religion (sometimes); it's difficult to tell whether or not your priest has an... uh... unhealthy interest in your teenage son; often times the threat of eternal damnation or a life of suffering is used to extract cooperation and submission from kids who are too young to decide for themselves whether or not they're being fed a load of crap. (what eight-year-old wouldn't become agitated upon learning that their name had been written in the Book of Death?)
Everyone needs a spiritual experience every now and then; spring cleaning for your mind, as it were. American life is such that we either don't have the time to become skilled enough at Zen meditation to achieve depersonalization, or we're so ADD that we couldn't stop thinking for ten minutes if we had guns to our heads. Some of us are disillusioned with the church we grew up in, or we didn't grow up in a church at all, and thus it feels a little strange to pray to something we don't necessarily feel like we believe in. There's no need for us to walk around, self-absorbed and steeped in our own misery. If there's someone we trust that can procure some psilocybin, or mescaline, or DXM, or MDMA, or what-have-you, and we sincerely want to explore ourselves and the malleable nature of our universe, we can. Just so long as we don't do it alone without experience (sorry, Derek), or irresponsibly, the opportunity for a significant, meaningful experience with long-lasting effects on our state of mind is within reach.
this is hilarious. internet hijacked for benign mischief, news at 11. thanks delicious for the link
i hate to say i told you so
...but I did.
In all seriousness, this doesn't surprise me. People talk about mystical religious experiences in terms of depersonalization, disassociation, flashes of insight, and a general feeling of well-being; research into the effects of psychedelic drugs leads to discussions of "ego death" (depersonalization/disassociation), "euphoria" (well-being), and "you know, like, totally seeing stuff in ways that I'd, you know, never seen before. or something." (flashes of insight) And, of course, there's the well-established use of peyote, datura, ayahuasca, and other natural hallucinogens as religious sacraments by native peoples all up and down the Americas.
Reading all the ONDCP's little pamphlets about magic mushrooms always gives me a chuckle. Unwilling to admit that drugs may not be the worst thing that's ever happened to America, they reach as far as their little hands will let them to find reasons why mushrooms are a Schedule I controlled substance (which makes no sense, as anyone who has eaten the little buggers can tell you): "It is difficult to tell the difference between hallucinogenic mushrooms and other, possibly poisonous mushrooms." "Some users experience severe paranoia, accompanied by increased heart rate and perspiration." Note the conspicuous lack of evidence that mushrooms are an addictive/habit-forming drug, which is usually a precondition for being classified as Schedule I ("high potential for abuse with no discernible medical benefit").
Compare this to some varieties of religious experience: it is difficult to tell the difference between a cult and an honest religion (sometimes); it's difficult to tell whether or not your priest has an... uh... unhealthy interest in your teenage son; often times the threat of eternal damnation or a life of suffering is used to extract cooperation and submission from kids who are too young to decide for themselves whether or not they're being fed a load of crap. (what eight-year-old wouldn't become agitated upon learning that their name had been written in the Book of Death?)
Everyone needs a spiritual experience every now and then; spring cleaning for your mind, as it were. American life is such that we either don't have the time to become skilled enough at Zen meditation to achieve depersonalization, or we're so ADD that we couldn't stop thinking for ten minutes if we had guns to our heads. Some of us are disillusioned with the church we grew up in, or we didn't grow up in a church at all, and thus it feels a little strange to pray to something we don't necessarily feel like we believe in. There's no need for us to walk around, self-absorbed and steeped in our own misery. If there's someone we trust that can procure some psilocybin, or mescaline, or DXM, or MDMA, or what-have-you, and we sincerely want to explore ourselves and the malleable nature of our universe, we can. Just so long as we don't do it alone without experience (sorry, Derek), or irresponsibly, the opportunity for a significant, meaningful experience with long-lasting effects on our state of mind is within reach.
July 10, 2006
mild outrage
Chrissy has a coffee cup that can hold half a pot of coffee; it's like a soup bowl with a handle. While carefully navigating the large rim of said cup, and consuming delicious Original Glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts, I perused today's Grand Forks Herald. Page 2A was a gigantic green advertisement, paid for by Americans for American Energy. Read it if you like, but you probably already get the gist of their argument. (Republicans for Republican Elections?)
I thought they made the sort of case that would create a lot of initial nods and murmurs of agreements at breakfast tables all over the region, and I simply could not let this giant fluff piece go by uncontested. Arming myself with some useful tidbits of fact (thanks Wikipedia), I composed the following letter to the editor:
ANWR Ad Running Empty on Facts
Page 2A of July 10th's Herald displays a full-page ad, paid for by Americans for American Energy, exhorting us to call our Senators and encourage them to support legislation to drill for oil in the Alaskan National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR). The ad makes an attractive case, speaking of "abundant supplies of American-made energy" that are "locked up on federal lands and in places like ANWR."
This ad speaks loudest when we consider what it does not say. According to estimates by the U.S. Department of the Interior, there are approximately 7.7 billion barrels of oil that drilling can recover. The United States presently uses 20 million barrels of oil every day. If ANWR's oil reserves were used to supply 10% of America's oil needs, we would exhaust the entire supply in less than 10 years. A small fraction of our energy needs that will be consumed in the time it takes for a high-school graduate to become a doctor hardly constitutes an "abundant supply."
In fact, it seems that Americans for American Energy are some of the only people left (besides Republicans in the House and Senate, and the president) who are interested in drilling in ANWR. Oil companies with operations in Alaska, such as BP, Chevron, Texaco, and ConocoPhillips, are all quite familiar with the geology of the region. All of them have stopped lobbying for the right to drill in the reserve.
Drilling in ANWR will not, as the ad suggests, "let America solve its own energy problems." In reality, it lets Republicans solve their own election problems. It will also leave the next generation of leaders no ANWR, no oil left in ANWR, and no real, long-lasting solution to America's addiction to fossil fuels.
-----
We'll see if they print it, and if it raises the hackles of any local wingnuts.
I thought they made the sort of case that would create a lot of initial nods and murmurs of agreements at breakfast tables all over the region, and I simply could not let this giant fluff piece go by uncontested. Arming myself with some useful tidbits of fact (thanks Wikipedia), I composed the following letter to the editor:
ANWR Ad Running Empty on Facts
Page 2A of July 10th's Herald displays a full-page ad, paid for by Americans for American Energy, exhorting us to call our Senators and encourage them to support legislation to drill for oil in the Alaskan National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR). The ad makes an attractive case, speaking of "abundant supplies of American-made energy" that are "locked up on federal lands and in places like ANWR."
This ad speaks loudest when we consider what it does not say. According to estimates by the U.S. Department of the Interior, there are approximately 7.7 billion barrels of oil that drilling can recover. The United States presently uses 20 million barrels of oil every day. If ANWR's oil reserves were used to supply 10% of America's oil needs, we would exhaust the entire supply in less than 10 years. A small fraction of our energy needs that will be consumed in the time it takes for a high-school graduate to become a doctor hardly constitutes an "abundant supply."
In fact, it seems that Americans for American Energy are some of the only people left (besides Republicans in the House and Senate, and the president) who are interested in drilling in ANWR. Oil companies with operations in Alaska, such as BP, Chevron, Texaco, and ConocoPhillips, are all quite familiar with the geology of the region. All of them have stopped lobbying for the right to drill in the reserve.
Drilling in ANWR will not, as the ad suggests, "let America solve its own energy problems." In reality, it lets Republicans solve their own election problems. It will also leave the next generation of leaders no ANWR, no oil left in ANWR, and no real, long-lasting solution to America's addiction to fossil fuels.
-----
We'll see if they print it, and if it raises the hackles of any local wingnuts.
July 9, 2006
wet and/or wild
mini-vacation
The halfway house gives me one night a month where I may gallivant about town (or wherever) without having to come back to sleep. Coincidentally, roommates Travis and Chrissy were going to Chrissy's parents' lake cabin on Tamarac Lake. I, of course, jumped at the chance. We hastily packed up and left on Saturday afternoon, arriving early that evening. The weather was perfect for our chosen endeavors, 90 degrees and calm, with nary a cloud in the sky.
water + skis + dusty = atomic wedgie
I'd never waterskiied before, and Chrissy's dad promised that he'd have me up and going in five minutes. Skiing is incredibly easy, he said; it's the standing-up that's difficult. Really, really difficult. Sheila, one of C's friends, tried six or seven times to get on her feet, but couldn't quite manage it, so I gamely offered myself as the next guinea pig.
Lying on my back in the lake, in a close approximation of the fetal position (except with skis), I signaled our driver to go. The rope went tight, and I was almost immediately struck in the face with an unrelenting wall of water that forced itself into my nose, my eyes, and my ears all at once. I let go of the rope once my skis flew off, over my head. Oops. C's dad (heretoafter referred as Dwight) pulled the boat around, I reattached the skis, and we tried again.
The fourth launch, I made it into almost a sitting position on my skis, but I was not far enough away from the spray to avoid getting a serious water wedgie. I hung on for as long as I could, but with block and tackle tangled in the lining of my shorts, and the constant assault of the spray, I eventually succumbed to the pain and let go, barrel-rolling sideways along the surface of the lake as my skis flew off and my legs pinwheeled in a spectacularly helpless sort of way.
Launch number five was still more successful, but I was once again propelled along the lake when the back tips of my skis crossed and flipped me forward out of them. I would have gone for six, but one of my errant skis clipped me in the back of the head when it landed in the water. I claimed approximate success and gave the rope to Travis, who was also a waterski-virgin. He promptly showed me up by locking out his legs in the fully-upright position on his fifth launch, even skiing one-handed. (jerk.)
tubal ligation
Having established ourselves as relative masters of the waterskiing domain, we moved on to the inner-tubes. I'd never seen inner-tubes like these; they were probably 4 1/2 feet in diameter, and covered completely in nylon mesh, to provide a better surface for jumping wakes. I clung desperately to my tube as Dwight unleashed all 100 of his boat engine's horses, trying not to let my teeth clack together as I flew over the edge of the wake, and then over the front of waves left by jetskiiers, until finally I went airborne without benefit of tube when I was launched off both wake and front-wave combined. Climbing back aboard was a long and draining struggle, and I lasted about 20 seconds on the second run, losing my grip and skipping over the lake surface like a stone when my tube collided with Travis's during a particularly wide turn. (As I came to a stop, I pined for the pre-BTC days, when what little shoulder and back muscle I had was not atrophied away by seven weeks of somnolence.)
Chrissy and Travis proved to be much better tubers than I, with Chrissy attempting the impressive-but-difficult stunt of jumping her tube sideways over Travis's. She completed the trick twice, but was ejected from her tube at the end both times. (From the boat, the wipeouts were just as exciting as the tricks themselves.) Travis's tenacity was unmatched, as he clung to his tube the entire time, cut loose only after an extended period of being dragged upside-down, underwater.
camping out
Weak and tired, we returned to the cabin to build a fire and play Catchphrase with the girls who chose not to accompany us on our water-sport adventures. A recent storm had felled several large trees in the area, one of which was cut up and stacked alongside the house. Some of the wood was really much too thick for satisfactory bonfiring, but Travis was not to be deterred, and threw what must have been the thickest part of the stump (easily 25-30 inches across) into the pit. The seven of us ended up bringing our blankets and pillows outside and sleeping under the stars... at least until dawn, when a thick cloud of mosquitoes descended on us and we retreated into tents and the cabin to sleep a few more hours. Early Sunday morning, Dwight, Travis, and C's friend Natalie went fishing; severely short on sleep, and afraid that I would not be able to ski or tube without more rest, I passed. The trio returned with four northern pike longer than 24 inches, each weighing between 5 and 8 pounds. I would later regret my decision to not fish, as the air remained cool and windy all day (not suitable for being pulled behind a boat). Instead, we just had lunch, I punished Travis, Natalie, and Chrissy in a fast-paced, intense game of croquet, and we headed for home.
Chrissy's parents are equal parts friendly and fun, and they exhorted us to come back again sometime. I can hardly wait.
The halfway house gives me one night a month where I may gallivant about town (or wherever) without having to come back to sleep. Coincidentally, roommates Travis and Chrissy were going to Chrissy's parents' lake cabin on Tamarac Lake. I, of course, jumped at the chance. We hastily packed up and left on Saturday afternoon, arriving early that evening. The weather was perfect for our chosen endeavors, 90 degrees and calm, with nary a cloud in the sky.
water + skis + dusty = atomic wedgie
I'd never waterskiied before, and Chrissy's dad promised that he'd have me up and going in five minutes. Skiing is incredibly easy, he said; it's the standing-up that's difficult. Really, really difficult. Sheila, one of C's friends, tried six or seven times to get on her feet, but couldn't quite manage it, so I gamely offered myself as the next guinea pig.
Lying on my back in the lake, in a close approximation of the fetal position (except with skis), I signaled our driver to go. The rope went tight, and I was almost immediately struck in the face with an unrelenting wall of water that forced itself into my nose, my eyes, and my ears all at once. I let go of the rope once my skis flew off, over my head. Oops. C's dad (heretoafter referred as Dwight) pulled the boat around, I reattached the skis, and we tried again.
The fourth launch, I made it into almost a sitting position on my skis, but I was not far enough away from the spray to avoid getting a serious water wedgie. I hung on for as long as I could, but with block and tackle tangled in the lining of my shorts, and the constant assault of the spray, I eventually succumbed to the pain and let go, barrel-rolling sideways along the surface of the lake as my skis flew off and my legs pinwheeled in a spectacularly helpless sort of way.
Launch number five was still more successful, but I was once again propelled along the lake when the back tips of my skis crossed and flipped me forward out of them. I would have gone for six, but one of my errant skis clipped me in the back of the head when it landed in the water. I claimed approximate success and gave the rope to Travis, who was also a waterski-virgin. He promptly showed me up by locking out his legs in the fully-upright position on his fifth launch, even skiing one-handed. (jerk.)
tubal ligation
Having established ourselves as relative masters of the waterskiing domain, we moved on to the inner-tubes. I'd never seen inner-tubes like these; they were probably 4 1/2 feet in diameter, and covered completely in nylon mesh, to provide a better surface for jumping wakes. I clung desperately to my tube as Dwight unleashed all 100 of his boat engine's horses, trying not to let my teeth clack together as I flew over the edge of the wake, and then over the front of waves left by jetskiiers, until finally I went airborne without benefit of tube when I was launched off both wake and front-wave combined. Climbing back aboard was a long and draining struggle, and I lasted about 20 seconds on the second run, losing my grip and skipping over the lake surface like a stone when my tube collided with Travis's during a particularly wide turn. (As I came to a stop, I pined for the pre-BTC days, when what little shoulder and back muscle I had was not atrophied away by seven weeks of somnolence.)
Chrissy and Travis proved to be much better tubers than I, with Chrissy attempting the impressive-but-difficult stunt of jumping her tube sideways over Travis's. She completed the trick twice, but was ejected from her tube at the end both times. (From the boat, the wipeouts were just as exciting as the tricks themselves.) Travis's tenacity was unmatched, as he clung to his tube the entire time, cut loose only after an extended period of being dragged upside-down, underwater.
camping out
Weak and tired, we returned to the cabin to build a fire and play Catchphrase with the girls who chose not to accompany us on our water-sport adventures. A recent storm had felled several large trees in the area, one of which was cut up and stacked alongside the house. Some of the wood was really much too thick for satisfactory bonfiring, but Travis was not to be deterred, and threw what must have been the thickest part of the stump (easily 25-30 inches across) into the pit. The seven of us ended up bringing our blankets and pillows outside and sleeping under the stars... at least until dawn, when a thick cloud of mosquitoes descended on us and we retreated into tents and the cabin to sleep a few more hours. Early Sunday morning, Dwight, Travis, and C's friend Natalie went fishing; severely short on sleep, and afraid that I would not be able to ski or tube without more rest, I passed. The trio returned with four northern pike longer than 24 inches, each weighing between 5 and 8 pounds. I would later regret my decision to not fish, as the air remained cool and windy all day (not suitable for being pulled behind a boat). Instead, we just had lunch, I punished Travis, Natalie, and Chrissy in a fast-paced, intense game of croquet, and we headed for home.
Chrissy's parents are equal parts friendly and fun, and they exhorted us to come back again sometime. I can hardly wait.
July 7, 2006
elegaic
She said, "kiss me where it smells funny..."
...so I brought her to Grand Forks! HA!
Home is much like I left it. Roommates were expecting me back in a couple of weeks, so it was cool to surprise them. Halfway-house situation is good-to-great; $5 a day and I can come and go as I please, as long as I show up by 11 to go to bed. The motivation to spend all my uncomfortable-bed hours asleep will hopefully return me to some semblance of a regular schedule.
The jerks at the Bismarck Transition Center, where I was so accurately assessed, threw away two nearly-full bottles of cologne that I had in my toiletry bag without telling me. I could not keep them in my room to use; cologne, after all, contains alcohol, which means someone may brave the horrible taste and likely intense nausea and vomiting to drink it. I was told by the guy that counted all my beautiful things upon my arrival that the bottles would remain safe in storage until my release. The administrative-types felt otherwise, tossing out everyone's good smells without so much as a "hey, maybe you should send this back home." So there goes $100. I found the situation neatly descriptive of my time at BTC as a whole.
some delicious factoids
Of the 59 other people I met during my stay at the state hospital in Jamestown last year, 2 of them have since committed suicide. 4 others were at BTC the same time that I was. I did not learn what happened to anyone else, nor did I particularly care to.
There were 43 people on my floor, and 18 places to sit in the TV room.
One of the staff members, who had been there since my arrival, asked me what my name was... the day before I left.
Between the no-booze, lethargy, and missing meals due to sleeping too much, I lost 16 lbs., returning me to my high-school weight of 175.
I received 10 hours of educational group and 3 hours of individual counseling over the course of 49 days (a sore point, obv)
I read five truly great books (Lila, by Robert M. Pirsig; Oryx & Crake, The Blind Assassin, both by Margaret Atwood; Harrington on Hold 'Em Vol. 2, by Dan Harrington et al.; the first half of Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace) and countless crappy detective novels.
I went disc-golfing once at the Hillside course in Bismarck and shot a -23 course par (-5 pro). I could have done better.
Upon my return, my steriod-drink-raging roommate Travis (story for later, heh) bought one extra-large Papa Murphy's Chicago-style stuffed pizza, of which we each ate two slices... with regret following immediately.
The first thing I did when I entered my home (aside from, of course, cheerful greetings) was seek out the giant bag of fruit snacks. Its approximate size had not changed since I left... and they're still moist and tasty.
...go ahead. Put them in your mouth. Chew them up.
It's good to be home.
...so I brought her to Grand Forks! HA!
Home is much like I left it. Roommates were expecting me back in a couple of weeks, so it was cool to surprise them. Halfway-house situation is good-to-great; $5 a day and I can come and go as I please, as long as I show up by 11 to go to bed. The motivation to spend all my uncomfortable-bed hours asleep will hopefully return me to some semblance of a regular schedule.
The jerks at the Bismarck Transition Center, where I was so accurately assessed, threw away two nearly-full bottles of cologne that I had in my toiletry bag without telling me. I could not keep them in my room to use; cologne, after all, contains alcohol, which means someone may brave the horrible taste and likely intense nausea and vomiting to drink it. I was told by the guy that counted all my beautiful things upon my arrival that the bottles would remain safe in storage until my release. The administrative-types felt otherwise, tossing out everyone's good smells without so much as a "hey, maybe you should send this back home." So there goes $100. I found the situation neatly descriptive of my time at BTC as a whole.
some delicious factoids
Of the 59 other people I met during my stay at the state hospital in Jamestown last year, 2 of them have since committed suicide. 4 others were at BTC the same time that I was. I did not learn what happened to anyone else, nor did I particularly care to.
There were 43 people on my floor, and 18 places to sit in the TV room.
One of the staff members, who had been there since my arrival, asked me what my name was... the day before I left.
Between the no-booze, lethargy, and missing meals due to sleeping too much, I lost 16 lbs., returning me to my high-school weight of 175.
I received 10 hours of educational group and 3 hours of individual counseling over the course of 49 days (a sore point, obv)
I read five truly great books (Lila, by Robert M. Pirsig; Oryx & Crake, The Blind Assassin, both by Margaret Atwood; Harrington on Hold 'Em Vol. 2, by Dan Harrington et al.; the first half of Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace) and countless crappy detective novels.
I went disc-golfing once at the Hillside course in Bismarck and shot a -23 course par (-5 pro). I could have done better.
Upon my return, my steriod-drink-raging roommate Travis (story for later, heh) bought one extra-large Papa Murphy's Chicago-style stuffed pizza, of which we each ate two slices... with regret following immediately.
The first thing I did when I entered my home (aside from, of course, cheerful greetings) was seek out the giant bag of fruit snacks. Its approximate size had not changed since I left... and they're still moist and tasty.
...go ahead. Put them in your mouth. Chew them up.
It's good to be home.
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