Scents

Well, happy new year’s eve, and all that.

I’m toasty warm at kanon42′s house again, having abandoned the freezing cold geekhouse. We’ve no heating oil, no money for heating oil, and a 40 foot driveway buried under more than four feet of snow — thus making it impossible to even have heating oil delivered via a bad check (an option I’ve considered — I really don’t want the pipes to burst…)

The two hour drive to kanon42′s took five hours, but getting here was worth it. I am loved here. There’s something really really wonderful about being accepted as family by your SO’s family (the sisters, primarily…)

Right. So.

I’m in North Brunswick, preparing for what, if you believe the radio weatherman, is to be the storm-to-end-all-storms; or, at least, the storm-to-end-the-year-2000.

I have no heating oil. I have no money for heating oil. Therefore, I’m going to bounce a check to the oil company, in order that I not freeze to death… if, that is, the oil company actually makes it to my house before the aforementioned storm begins.

Maybe I should concede defeat and head back toSouth Jersey and Maggie’s.

kanon42 and I have been thinking about a road trip to every Wawa convienience store. I’d be happy with just one, if they have hot cocoa.

Things not to do in Philadelphia if you want to stay alive:

• walk six blocks down South Street in December, with a wind chill of -15C …
  • … without a jacket
    • … without a sweater
      • … without having had breakfast
        • … looking for a record store (611) that’s not open yet

I’ve never been so cold (and that’s saying something, coming from someone who once walked from Mount Holyoke College to UMass in a light sweatshirt and sweatpants in a blizzard). I could hardly walk. I could hardly breathe. I actually collapsed onto the pavement at one point.

And I can’t feel sorry for myself — it’s my own damn fault. I own a huge fluffy L.L. Bean coat that’s supposedly guaranteed to keep a person alive for six hours in fucking cold -50C weather — it’s just that I left it in my trunk. I never wear the thing — it’s too big for normal use (it’s so huge, I can’t pass through a standard doorway while wearing it.)

Final Fantasy VIII is not a good spectator game, especially when you’ve already played it. I’m currently watching kanon42 play; as I write, she’s just after the Forest Dream (disc 1, en route to Galbadia Garden). The music is tormenting me… god, will it ever end?

I’m gonna junction my BOOT with her HEAD if I have to watch a GF summons clip one more time.

We’re thinking of taking a road trip, but (1) we don’t know where to go, and (2) we have absolutely no money.

Donations via Paypal are welcome to dmd@3e.org :)

Daniel’s life, Christmas, 1998: monitor network, telco, and hosting operations at Qwest/ICon CMT Corp., alone, in a small windowless Network Operations Center in Weehawken, NJ, from 4pm Christmas Eve to 4am Christmas morning

Daniel’s life, Christmas/1999: monitor network, telco, and shared server operations at Bristol-Myers Squibb Corp., with one recluse cow-orker, in a large windowless Global Activity monitoring Center in Hopewell, NJ, from 6pm Christmas Eve to 4am Christmas morning

Daniel’s life, Christmas/2000: monitor ear, nose, and throat flem and mucous production at kanon42′s home, with many arguing “family-in-law” members.

Well, it was nice to be surrounded by people for a change, even if I’m not a follower of any particular religion. I got a Chocolate Orange (which I’ve been craving) and gift certificates to Tunes (a music store) and to Barnes and Noble.

I’m going to be quite happy to be out of this allergen-plagued land, though…

The following is a direct transcription of copy appearing on the outer carton in which Sansui’s J33 loudspeakers came.

JET STREAM… A mighty current of air created by the earth’s rotation, a vast, silent stream which flows between heaven and earth and from which there seems to come, moreover, consoling music to fill the hearts of men, awe-inspiring, supernatural, cosmic music which enthralls all who hear it.

JET STREAM… Which girdles the earth with its sash. The vision which seers have of man is not one which comes from the cosmic vastness.

Is this not also the case with Arthur Rimbaud, Johann Sebastian Bach, John Coltrane and others of their stature?

Through the words and notes of their poems and music there always comes an impression of clarity. This is the supreme song of liberation of many, of one whose heart is filled with the desire to soar up into the realms of infinity and whose look is serene.

It was the same with Robert Goddard, the illustrious rocket scientist of Clark University in Massachusetts. It was this man who, in the spring of 1899, climbed a cherry tree and, gazing at the plain which stretched away toward the East, exclaimed, “Oh if only we had the means to fly to Mars. What a wonderful thing that would be.” Such was the mind of this man!

At this moment he had the vision of the ancients, who had likewise looked into the cosmic infinity, the same dreams as the Egyptians, the Babylonians and the Mayas long before. Prayer, this is cosmic language addressed to God through music. Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. (Bach-Extract from the “Mass in D Minor”) When, free from all cares, you are reclining beneath a shady tree drinking good wine, as the Greek philosopher recommended, you also can experience this vision of splendor. It is at this time that you will understand that the music which captivated you came from out there, from the Jet Stream.

Let us hasten! Let us proceed forthwith to the world of the Supreme Love!

Let us join the celestial JET STREAM where infinite and eternal hope flow in abundance!

Lake Celeste: A small lake community founded in 1948 near Peekskill, NY, where I spent many happy summers.

A great deal of mythology grew up around the swimming area… the most important thing everyone needed to know was that you Didn’t Go In The Muck. The muck contained all manner of unspeakables; dragons, ten-headed turtles, and the Lake Celeste Monster (an apparition which, as you got older, you tended to stop believing in — until you saw it yourself. It’s really a very old, very large turtle with a weird bump on its shell) to name a few. Real dangers lurked in the muck, too, notably leeches. The snake side didn’t really have a name; you just didn’t go there. It didn’t have a mythology like the Muck’s.

There were several “tests”, administered by the adults:

• swimming test: not really official, but it was presumed that if you were in the lake beyond the babies area, you’d passed this.


• rope test: To be allowed to swim out of the ‘everyone’ area (but NOT into the adults area), you have to show that you can swim without stopping from the everyone area boundary all the way around the raft and back.


• raft test: to be allowed to go on the raft unsupervised (i.e., without someone else there with you — an observer on land doesn’t count), you have to do the rope test twice without stopping.


• lake test: this is the holy grail of childhood; most kids finally passed it around age 12 or so. The lake test entails swimming from everyone all the way out to the other side of the lake (before the reeds, though). Passing the lake test entitles you to (1) swim into the adults area, but more importantly (2) gives you the right to take the boat test.


• boat test: allows you to go out alone in a rowboat. You are escorted to the far side of the lake, and your oars are taken away from you. You must bring yourself and the boat safely back to shore.
• canoe test: I never passed this one, but I went out in canoes all the time anyway… theoretically, this is the same as the boat test, but you get your canoe flipped. You have to bring it in full of water — not a trivial task.

The community was dying as I grew up; it was pretty much gone by the time I stopped going every summer, and the time when my grandma sold our house. I was one of the last to learn the culture, traditions, etc. that had been created from 1950-1980 by my mom’s generation (my mom’s family was one of the first to move into the community in the 1950s). I was very active in the Lake community as a kid, before age 12 or so.

Things to deal with:

• a canker sore where I bit my cheek
• pay the rent
• take the GRE
• spin around in little circles muttering to myself
• eat well
• get Bruce Schneier’s new crpyto/privacybook

Other daily notes:

• I’m 20% through Robert Jordan’s new Wheel of Time release, Winter’s Heart.
• I’ve got to create a bad web site for a class, in order to then fix it later. I plan on using patternlanguage.com as a prototype.

It’s so nice to be madly in love with one’s SO.

A friend of mine worked for a while as a peer counselor for a
college’s anonymous (telephone) student counseling service. One
evening, a guy calls, explaining how his boyfriend is always mean to
him and verbally abusive.

“For instance?”

“Well, sometimes while I’m going down on him he calls me names, like “bitch” or “cock-sucker”.

My friend murmurs understanding, then mutes the phone for a moment to talk to her supervisor, who’s listening next to her.

<deadpan>”Now, let me clarify here — he’s sucking cock; does that not, in fact, indeed make him a cock sucker?”</deadpan>

Working hard, or hardly working?

This question, far from being a stereotyped question heard only in
Dilbert strips and other workplace satire, is actually used
and actually considered the height of humor by many corporate
drones.

I did not believe this until I encountered “Mike” at Bristol-Myers
Squibb, where I worked for a while. Not only did this person (and many
others, I should add) use this on at least a daily basis, he also was
the proud owner of a plaque bearing the words

You want it when!?

People smiled at it. It added levity to their otherwise drab days.

jimr — James A. Robinson — was the sysadmin when Karl, Bjorn, and I
arrived at Simon’s Rock College. He was, truly, worshipped –
worshipped to the point of insanity, some might think.

jimr wore these … shirts. Nobody was ever sure what,
precisely, it was about them, but they had some je ne sais quoi that
defined them as jim.

On October 31, 1994, Seth and I ventured up to the Cottage, where
jimr was living, and entered through the back window. Leaving behind
thousands of dollars of computer and stereo equipment, we purloined a
single shirt, and made a break for lower campus.

The shirt was respectfully duct-taped to our dorm room wall and
venerated for months.