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Spammers should die. To prevent further garbage ruining my blog, I've added word verification. Now I'm going to check the comments to see if the feature has been added.

Aftermath of Natural Disaster

On a sidenote: The only people besides Kanye West to speak truthfully on the subject of the lack of rescue effort being an atrocity were the Congressional Black Caucus. Not to detract from people using their celebrity or even their own financial means to help, but there is a level of truth out there, that has yet to be reported on the subject of racial inequality, and the abandonment of entire sections of that city based on racial and economic lines.


I've been staying off the blog to keep from saying anything too angry or inciteful. I watched far too much CNN, and FOX News, and MSNBC, and now I am going to keep the majority of my opinions to myself, since they won't help anyone get emergency relief, or put a roof over their head.

Politically I can't imagine it took this long for America at large to realize that George W. Bush is a complete idiot, and his presidency and administration a total failure. At their most pathetic, they (the far-right-wing nutters) were even going so far as to blame the poor, or the local rescue workers for not being self sufficient enough.

Hurricane Katrina and the subsequent levy breaks were tragedies plain and simple. The solid week it took the nation to mobilize and commence serious rescue efforts was a crime, plain and simple.

Bush should be impeached and made to resign, maybe even see the inside of a jail cell.

Let's bring the country together in a show of solidarity by getting rid of the greatest con-artist team ever to steal the election, twice, all in the name of the security and safety after Sept. 11th that we've never received. They have never been For The People. They are always for big business, particularly for those private organizations that they have always and dutifully remained in contact and affiliated.

Trip to Hell and Back

My morning so far consisted of;

A.) getting off work.
B.) getting an iced coffee.
C.) getting the opportunity to see two of the most annoying dogs on the planet go to the Vet for shots!

My younger brother gave me a ride home, and we waited around for the time of the appointment. Despite Dunkin' Donuts caffeinated goodness I still nodded off. Then we left for the Plaistow Animal Medical Center, (they're good) and the dogs were in a transport kennel, (that they sleep in) and also were whining in the back seat, (they knew where they were going.) We get there and both of them pee next to another car, but it's a dirt parking lot, it's all free range. Then we go in.

This is where is gets irritating.

I've seen worse behavior in the past out of them at the veterinarian's, so I'm expecting the 5th ring of hell. (Which ring is it that 10 lbs. dogs yip and struggle against their leashes?) One dog is shaking in fear, (she requires a muzzle, to prevent a recurrence of biting) and the other is testing out his most high-pitched warble, (he's a British Pekingese; trust me, the sound almost stings.)

So we let the little bitch, (she by the way is a Jack Russel Terrier if you own one you know they are almost too intelligent and/or independant) go first, muzzle already applied, and it goes all right, but she was fighting the restraint, and then the other gets his turn, so now it's his turn to shake, but the vet dubs him a 'sweetie' so no restraint is needed. One $114.40 check later, (one of the dogs required an antibiotic for a recurring skin problem) and we're on our way back home. The dogs have literally barked and strained away all their energy, and now I'm fully awake.

Damn dogs.

A Sign of the Coming Apocalypse

Rolling Stone Magazine really sucks, like MTV in print.

A while back I read their top 500 greatest rock songs... or some such thing, and the whole list was basically wrong, if not entirely out of order.

It goes without saying that the issue following that had letters denouncing the authenticity of their choices, and how current publicity trends regardless of any true measure of value were at the core of the decision making process, but oddly enough, that isn't why I think that RSM is a worthless rag, not worth publishing. Let me sum up how stupid everyone who works at getting this magazine into print is in one clear example.

Kelly Osborne's 2nd? Album is given three stars for what? Ah. Realizing herself that she cannot sing, so she doesn't try as hard.
3, okay.

Foo Fighters is raked across the coals for a double album they released as their... 5th? Because it isn't as good as their previous album, is the reason given.
2. I see.

Smokers Beware

Smokers, I hate you. Here is a top... Four... maybe Five reasons you should die.

1.) You stink.
Everything about you, and I'm not sure if you realize it anymore, because your olfactory senses have been deadened to the degree that bathing and perfuming have become much the same thing. Your breath usually smells like a pile of dead skunks in a dung heap, with week-old rotten eggs mixed in. You're unaware of the offensive odors emanating from your body, and it isn't just the smoke. If fact people who have moved on to old-fashioned pipe tobacco, I applaud your efforts to cover up everything else that stinks on you. Chances are, you're old, and have quite a bit to cover up.

2.) You're completely devoid of manners or thoughtfulness.
Your inaptitude in what others might call common courtesy shows no bounds and it shows in nearly every action. Next time you think planting yourself directly in front of the restaurant you are leaving, or right on the front steps of the house you're at, throw yourself in front of a fucking bus. Trust me, you're not far enough off the beaten path. You need to put yourself;

A.) Out of my way
B.) downwind, refer to reason 1.

3.) You're irritable.
This falls into something of a personal nature , but cigarettes are supposed to relax you, not turn you into an utter psychopath if you don't get "yo' smokes." Go fuck yourself.

[Ex.] One brother who does smoke couldn't find his cigarettes and accused second brother of defiling them. Second brother expressed confusion and said he had no idea of what the other brother spoke. Supposedly that brother then had to walk twenty minutes in both directions to obtain new cigarettes at the time of night he "needed*" them. So in retaliation for imagined affront to his goddess, tobacco, he proceeded to take a piece of gravel and "key" other brother's automobile. What a Nancy.

*reads = is a giant pussy without them.

4.) You're slobs.
Afore mentioned brother and next door neighbor are in stiff competition to see who will reign as supreme champion of the clogger of the street drain competition. Pick up after yourself you goddamned slobs. This goes the same for a restaurant.

5.) You usually have an enabler.
In defense of the goddamned smoking, one argues that it was an addiction, and the same as being overweight. I am overweight. Goddamn it, I'm fat. I hate that about myself, but let's be honest;

A.) I don't eat a box of cupcakes a week to get there.
B.) I wouldn't spend five bucks a pack to eat said cupcakes.
C.) I don't froth half my afore mentioned hypothetical cupcakes into the faces of those around me who are either diabetic or on a diet.

So, I might be fat, but you're still the biggest assholes, smokers. Fall asleep in that easy chair with a lit death-stick hanging out of your face. Then burn.

Friday Wake

My uncle died this week. He was something like 49 years old, and my cousin (his son) is nine years old. It didn't hit me until I was describing the situation matter-of-factly to a co-worker and then (as it was the end of my shift, and I was going home in the AM to sleep) I couldn't sleep. I sat in bed thinking about how most of my memories of my Dad are from about that point on, (I mean we all have occasional memories, from earlier, but not with the same clarity) and my Dad's still alive. Hell, his father didn't die until I was twelve, and I was broken up about that.

I comprehend, but I can never know what this kid is going through. Philip Chin was a great Dad, and I hope his son remembers him as fondly as I will remember my childhood with my parents.

The Dead Shift

My job at night is simple and has little in the way of tasks. The shift is almost always an 8 hour one, and basically all I have to do is stay conscious. The other side of the dead shift is that I have become much less productive during the rest of my time throughout the week. I need to find something to do during the day. When I am not at work, I have lately resigned myself to doing no more than playing video-games, reading comic books, or going to the occasional movie. I have also gotten back into reading novels again, as it turns out reading has taken up a huge portion of my on-the-clock time.

(That's right: I get paid, in no small part, to read.)

Besides entertainment, I don't have much else going on. The Plan* is still in effect, but the fruition of that is still months off. I have about an hour to kill, before work so I'm going to go through my 'morning' routine.

[*The Plan: Saving up a significant portion of my bimonthly paychecks in order to purchase industrial grade woodworking machines. With which I will start a private business specializing in architecturally and ergonomic designed furniture with an affordable modern aesthetic. The Plan is to eventually bring in family members so that they may also work in an environment devoid of stupid people which infest our current work places as the rats that carried the Bubonic plague infested the medieval cities of Europe.]

Slowly Saving

My first paycheck I re-opened my collapsed savings-account, with $400. (It actually lay dormant for almost a year with $4.64, or something similar.) Last week I dropped another $500 into it, and next week I will deposit $600. I want to average 500 clams, but couldn't make myself do it the first week. I am slowly bringing to fruition my plan for starting my own business. Damn the perpetually dismal market & economic forecasts.

It has also occurred to me that while I am working the night-shift I am less productive during the day, but tired and depressed are similar bunkmates, and I prefer the former. There is a good feeling in tired. Ah, I feel less losery.

Attempt at Activism

I tried joining a group related both to my intended profession; architecture, and a serious societal issue; homelessness. I signed up for Architecture for Humanity. The local chapter (Boston) shortly fell apart thereafter. Then the group tried to sort-of start up again with new 'leadership' but its views are muddled, and I don't see them doing anything in the upcoming months that is related in any way to actually 'helping' people. It seems that the group falls short of its intended goals, and falls towards much less lofty ideals of design-education for the masses, rather than solutions to real problems. You know, helping people.

I don't know. I've lost interest fast, partly because they want to meet in the evening sometimes in Boston, sometimes Cambridge, sometimes Somerville, when I need to be at work at night, always in Haverhill. And partly I think that their compassion degrades into self-appreciation. Maybe I'm just not cut out for such a group. That's okay, when I tried to volunteer for the Tsunami Relief Effort, (awhile back, say 6 months) all I saw available were jobs I was not qualified for, (got an e-mail effectively saying thanks but no-thanks) and several unscrupulous sites which seemed to offer activism vacation-packages for the low-low price of a couple of thousand dollars.

Weird. The problem with the world is; anyone who actually has the urge to help, can't. Everyone else is either in it for self-interests or self-promotion. That's fucked-up.

Starting Sunday

I am officially starting my first shift on Sunday. I'm excited about having money again, because I have already made plans for it. I intend to buy several pieces of industrial-grade woodworking equipment. I plan to have a complete and fully operational shop by the end of the summer, with which I can craft affordable furniture for sale at either trade shows, or the occasional local outdoor bizarre.

I already have a few designs in mind, and this additional income would further my goals. Now I just have to come up with a name for my shop, and have a nameplate produced that can be easily affixed, so my work can be identified. I know a machinist that can probably do it fairly cheaply.

It’ll be nice to be doing something that I can feel is related to what I studied at school.

Gainful Employment

Found a job. Here in town. Not related to my field, but that's okay. It is an awake overnight position at a social services program. In more important terms, I will be able to have money again, and in three months I can get health insurance.

Yeah. All I have to do for this job is attend some training programs, and stay awake at night. The rest of the time, I can watch movies, play on my laptop, whatever. Also not a minimum wage job. Bonus.

Toy Store Oddity

This past Christmas, my parents bought a thoughtful board game for me, featuring the CBS television show; CSI. It's a great (for an adult like myself) game about Crime Scene Investigation, and if ever you watched the show, or even heard about it, you'd know by-and-large that it is primarily about (although not exclusively) murder. So the game, in my mind, was an update to the exceptional murder-mystery game; Clue. Completely modernized, and with a cast of investigators, not as in its predecessor; would-be murderers and victims. It was a brilliant advertising mechanism, and sure to sell like hotcakes.

Unfortunately as fantastic an idea as it was for them to capitalize on such a sure thing, it was just the opposite, in my mind, to release the remake of another childhood classic; the junior chemistry-set. Yes, that innocent instrument of learning has been fashioned in the image of an homocide Evidence Kit, and displayed with the likes of (I'm not kidding) sidewalk-chalk and finger-paints. (at Toys-R-Us)

A graphic and desensitizing product meant for children, the future fans of CSI: Houston [IX] (Whatever, you get my point.) Completely inappropriate.

Boston Subway

The other day I went into Boston to participate in an informal meeting of a new architecture group revolving around a two-day event slated for September. I got the e-mail for the meeting at 4:15PM from my desk at home in Haverhill MA. My brother gave me a ride to the station to try and make the 4:30 T at the Haverhill Station, we missed it by seconds.

The bridge connecting that area to the Bradford neighborhood stop has been out for the better part of 4 years. So making it across the Merrimac River wasn't going to happen in the two minutes it would take for the train to pull out of its next stop. So we drove to Reading, and he dropped me off there; next train: about 5:30PM.

Then it pulled into the station at 6:20 or so, and I thought great, I have plenty of time to get to a little ice-cream shop located on Newbury Street, (I Googled it before I ran out the door) I went to the subway stop, walked to the green line pickup, then went to the Prudential Center stop.

This, I realize, is where things went to shit.

Leaving the Prudential Center, I walked a couple of streets down, (absentmindedly thinking about other things) and not recognizing my surroundings looked for a landmark of some kind. It turns out I walked out of the opposite side of the building and walked in entirely the wrong direction, after back-tracking a few blocks I came across the part of Newbury Street I wanted, (near Tower Records or whatever its called now, the one with all the Virgin Records Corporate garbage) and located the ice-cream parlor.

Now, I was trying to keep my spending to a conservative amount, so I didn't splurge for the bottle-cap sized ice cream, instead I bought a coffee. (Reasonably priced, considering.) Now I sat and waited. I didn't see anybody from a previous meeting, but hell, they could've stepped out. Then around 7:05PM, I asked the time, and I realized they're not coming. I screwed up, I think to myself. So I walk down the street, and check my e-mail with the BAC security guard, (thanks security-guy) and when I check my map, I realize Harvard Street is located in Charlestown, near Bunker Hill CC, not near Harvard U. near the Back Bay.

By the way, it's raining. I have no umbrella.

I walk back to the Prudential, and I can't find the entrance back into the subway, so I follow the map inside, which leads me over a sky-bridge. Then I'm back outside, and wandering around. These damn yellow buses (which are part of the service) are either out of service, or going entirely in the wrong direction, so I keep walking. Finally I'm back on the subway. Things get worse.

At Park Street the rail car operator gets a call over the radio or something, and he tells everybody that his rail car is no longer in service, and we need to transfer to another track. More waiting.

Then again at Government Center the rail car stops, and we are told we need to disembark and go up top and get a transfer and blah blah blah. A bunch of people wait around, (surely they wouldn't discontinue service from Gov't Center to the Fleet Center. We were wrong.)

I head up top, and sure enough there is another of those horrid yellow buses that never seem to go anywhere. (You know this sort of malarkey never happened when the elevated tracks were still up.) And when I step on the bus, the driver asks me for a T-pass. I don't have one. So, fuck this, and I'm walking again. Finally I get to the Fleet Center I am soaked, and miserable, and irritated at everything, and when I get into the subway station, I ask someone for the time...after all that it's nearly 8:45PM. By the time a train shows I've got fifteen minutes to get down to the place in Charlestown before they close. Having been swiftly and utterly defeated by the inclement weather and the transit disservice, I give up, and go to Hooters.

Even that place was miserable. I didn't have enough money to buy beers, but I did have enough for a hamburger and a coke; so I ate instead. My waitress disappeared for what seemed like twenty minutes. The ride home on the T sucked, because I was wet, the lights are always too bright, and I don't have a CD player right now. (Broken, different story.) All in all, that is why I don't do things spontaneously, I always suffer for it.

Arts & Crafts Style

My Dad and I went to the local woodworker's specialty store; Rockler. I could easily spend a hundred dollars everytime I walk in there. I bought a book on furniture built-ins, and another on the arts & crafts style of design. I also bought a couple of handsaws [a pistol grip saw, and a keyhole saw] both of Japanese manufacture, and both without that cumbersome metal restraint to keep the blade rigid. [Which in turn means you can make a true flush and level cut.]

My Mom, on the other hand, has been getting into sewing again, and has made it her goal to quilt for everyone of the children in the family. [Mostly the second wave of cousins, but also a few 2nd cousins, (my first cousins' children.)] One in particular, who is a 1st cousin of mine, but still young; I believe he would be happy to get one made with a Transformers theme. There could be a Autobot theme on one side, and a Decepticon theme on the appossing side, each with the symbol at the center of the design.

In any case both parents need these hobbies/activities, one because he hates his job, and the other because she hates not working anymore. With these labors, they both are able to feel useful and in both their productivity gives them happiness. They also like gardening together, and I have learned slowly, that while they appreciate help, (say, on the weekends) they do not want all the work done for them. They need it, more than they want the help.

This Week in a Nutshell

My entire week was messed up by a very painful and prolonged gallbladder attack. I must have stones or something. It hurt like hell; the pain went straight through me like someone was stabbing me from my upper right abdomen to my shoulder blade.

I stopped eating for a day, I've only had breads and some soup since, and I've taken antihistamine in both liquid and pill form. Sleep has also proven difficult. Although last night felt back to normal. I will probably avoid anything "bad" for a good long time.

I already have been trying to avoid foods that are too hot, (and taking acid-reducers) and watching my sugar intake. I don't want to complain too much, but if too many more foods get edited out of my diet, I'll be eating like a horse. (oatmeal, carrots, maybe the occasional apple)

The Next Best Thing

I have yet to understand how a laptop that runs perfectly with Windows 98 SE has no sound card functions with Windows 2000. I went online to research this phenomenon, and as it turns out, it is not an altogether uncommon occurance. Apparently, the soundcards used in most laptops, of this previous generation to which mine belongs, are condidered 'barely soundcards' and 'soundcards in name alone'. The fact that some people are able to edit their BIOS to make the computer seek the soundcard capabilities on AUTO is nothing short of a minor miracle.

So, I either have to;

a.) Update my BIOS to accommodate this,
b.) Reinsert my factory discs, and reinstall the truly compatible software,
c.) Buy a new Soundcard that would fit into the same socket as my ethernet card
(and choose either sound or multi-media internet?)

Obviously choice c. isn't happening.


[I went with choice b. I bought a XP upgrade, and reinstalled everything. and upgraded my RAM which I've been meaning to do for ages.]

An Old Friend

My Laptop is back up and running, with a new battery, some new software, and nothing more to do with those standard HP disks. I can't believe it went away for so long, but I am glad everything is working again. I am sure I'll be posting more frequently online, since I still have plenty to say most days.

In some family related news, my older brother officially proposed to his longtime girlfriend, and will be moving up to Toronto to live, at least temporarily, after their wedding, now slated in late September.

More or less later. Now I'm off to download some more free software, and stop by in some chat rooms.

Never Easy

Some things never get easier. I used to hate Home-Ec. classes in grade-school. I tried, but was never really good at sewing or even threading the machine at school. One of the presents my Mom got this year was a new Singer sewing machine, and now that it is getting some use, I am kicking myself for not spending the extra twenty to forty dollars on a unit that can self thread, and one that utilizes a drop-in bobbin. Well it's been awhile, and the directions aren't very specific, and the drawings aren't as clear as they could be.

I hate sewing...

Anderson Burning

My Dad's family is from Anderson, Indiana. So, it was kind of weird seeing a ticker-tape style headline on CNN about a Metal recycling plant specializing in Magnesium burning causing harmful by-products to spread into the air, requiring a localized evacuation.

They aren't that good about calling us on the phone. We called, and they seem to be doing fine.

Perspective On Expense

I'm getting my laptop back soon, it only required a O/S tune-up, and a new battery. Then it seemed its preblems were corrected. Such a small thing, but without a regular source of funds, nearly impossible to get.

It shouldn't take long, I'll have to remind my brother to go over and get it for me. My next entry should be from that computer, as should my next website additions.