This is not it

So Andy's found his place in the world. Meanwhile, I'm as lost as ever.

There's never been a place that clicked for me. Just the people. A place is just somewhere to be at some point in time. Work is just something to fill your time and make money. It's all pointless, really. I get more detached everyday from everything. To the point where writing isn't fun anymore. Or maybe it never was.

I never thought of home as a place. I don't think I've ever been really anywhere long enough to develop that. I feel comfortable in certain places, like HK, Gboro and CH. But even so, when the people I knew were gone, it's a completely different place.

And that's when I decided that home is the people. For me, anyway.

But now I think maybe it's really more a reason to belong. And people fulfills that for the most part.

A few days ago, I shot again. It was a boring panel discussion. Book signing, etc. But that was home to me. Behind the camera, where all that matters was aperture, shutter speed, exposure, framing, lens choice, depth of view, coverage, story, expression, gestures, lighting...

and then I passed out at a corner of the dark auditorium. It was very reminiscent of old days at the DTH and at N&R. All I had to worry about was to shoot.

Except I needed a reason. This was for APA, so that was alright. I have another boring gig on thursday. But I get to shoot again. Maybe it'll look cool.

Already getting sick of working on Web sites... but it's a job and the side gigs also pay decent.

And now... off to let life blur by me again...

My name is

I woke up one day, and my name did not feel like my name.

I could not identify with it. It just felt very detached from me.

It was actually semi-scary, to not be attached to a name.

It sort of feel like I was falling out of the reality I knew.

But really, isn't my name just a construction of society? I mean, the name most people know me by isn't really my name. And who knows if my name is really my name. It could've been something else and no one ever told me.

I am reminded of a story from somewhere, where it was said that to know the name of something or someone is to have power (Egyptian, Celtic, Arthurian legends. You could say it's also hinted at in Christian beliefs.) over them. So to avoid potential tragedy, you'd never reveal your real name. In fact (or fiction), some people don't even know their own real names. And so there were also stories I've read from I dunno where, in which people search for their own names.

So that was my attempt at some vital information like with Lori Beth DenBerg, for your everyday life.

When the world collapses onto you all at once.

Sometimes it can be a nice realization that, hey, I'm still alive in the world.

Other times, I'd rather lie in bed all day and think about the good old times.

And then, there are those other other times, when all you want to do is get a hair cut.

That's all I looked forward to today. The one thing that I can do without thinking much about it. And possibly make a new barber/stylist/hair-cutter-person friend. Maybe she would be cute. Possibly hot. Hopefully fun to talk to.

But first, I'd have to sit through a meeting with a client who takes 15 minutes to say something that should only take one.

There's a difference between being just detail-oriented and being repetitive about the same detail for 30 minutes.

Keep a smile on and nod. It will be over. Thank God the internet stopped working at her house.

I hope she never reads this. I would be out of a pretty good client.

Starving.

Good thing UNICEF decided to sell Chinese food at Foggy Bottom for 5 bucks. Not only does it apparently save children, ("CHINESE FOOD FOR 5 DOLLARS! HELP SAVE SOME CHILDREN!" still ring in my ears) but it also saved my stomach and a few extra dollars I might have spent at an over-priced D.C. restaurant (a.k.a. every f-ing place in this b. — except Julia's Empanadas, which is tasty and cost like 3 bucks).

So yeh, I save some children, my stomach and my wallet today. I knew I liked lo-mein for some reason.

I wish they had water or something though, to wash down the MSG.

[insert errands to Radioshack and Wachovia here] (of note, Wachovia front desk girl was cute, talkative and went to Maryland. Should have gotten the digits. D-m, always forget about that until after the fact. It's ok, at least I talked to her. Practice for the next cute Wachovia front desk girl, slash potential sugar mama.) (also, apparently I don't know what a check looks like. "This is not a check" — Teller.)

Long digression. Some discussions about what I should take for my next job.

Epiphany.

Hair cut.

Yes.

The moment came. I didn't really expect much of anything. Just cut my hair, make me head feel lighter and I can handle the world again.

But I was greeted with the nicest Ethiopian girl who had a voice/accent that I just realized sounded like Selma Hayek (hott.), which may be the reason I enjoyed her company. Nice haircut. I don't usually get my hair washed there. But wth, why not, today, may need it. Long.

I was totally unprepared for possibly the most comfortable and relaxing hair wash I have ever experienced. Yet.

Hence my epiphany and turning point for the novel that was my day. Very short novel. Incoherent as well. Possibly inspired by The Life Before My Eyes? (The only good part was the ending.)

Got new hair styling... thing... (no word to describe this stuff. gunk? looked kind of like nickelodeon GAK)

Gave a big tip.

Pretty much decided not to take the Maryland gig.

I mean, if I can get closer to my dream now, I think I would rather save doing porn for a rainy day. (ahem, hyperbolic analogy/parallel/reference to comment made to my previous post. I don't actually intend on doing that sort of thing. Unless the other party is really hot. And I get paid a lot. Then maybe. But still probably not. Gotta think of the career.)

me.gotoAndStop("mahBedz");

Back to Typing to Noone

So, trying not to fall out of updating.

Tall people are cool.

I wish I was tall.

I went into an interview last week at the University of Maryland at College Park, for a flash developer position at the National Foreign Language Center. (So much for journalism, right?)

The receptionist/secretary/person was a really tall guy. Really. Tall.

But it wouldn't even have phased me if not for what happened after the Committee of Twelve (ok, not really 12, but that gives it a little flava. Sounds almost apocalyptic.) whispered instructions over the phone to their anything-but-little assistant.

He put down the phone and slowly stood up from the chair that was way too small for him. And if he were a few inches taller, I'd imagine he'd have to bent his head slightly to the right, just to be able to stand up. Either that or poke his head straight through the ceiling. (But I guess that latter option doesn't make any sense, cause then he wouldn't be able to move. It's hard to put into words what I am picturing in my head right now. Let's just say that it involves a very Mr. Fantastic sort of neck.)

But I digress (as usual. and always parenthetically.).

It was hard to tell if he was being nice in his quiet movements, or if he was secretly plotting the doom of my flat feet which were trapped in uncomfortable semi-dress shoes. (Don't you just love how society declares that anything that impresses or viewed as "nice" must make you suffer physically?)

In any case, he said softly, "follow me."

Oh, such ominous words.

Every time I hear those words, my mind is sent to the times of Tom and Jerry and Looney Tunes. Where a person would say "follow me," or more often, "walk this way," and the writers would make those subtle semantic jokes they like so much. The "follower" would imitate the motions of the leader to the dot.

But even if I wanted to do something like that, I couldn't in this situation.

It seemed like the word "me" had not even left his lips and he was already halfway out the door. Meanwhile, I was still processing the words 20 feet away.

The whole time, I ran quietly behind him to catch up, afraid that he would notice and ashamed of my own genetically disposition toward a more physically lower stature. For every one step he took, I must have taken 5.

I was only glad to be greeted with an offer of water at the end of our journey through the winding halls that reminded me of my elementary school with its semi-sterile smell and bad acoustics, and the stairway's tiled walls looked like it belonged more rightfully in a middle school locker room.

And it was in this state of mind that I entered the inquisition of the Committee of Twelve. (to be continued...???)

So. Tall people. They are lucky.

Did you know that for every extra inch of height, a person earns an extra $1000 a year?

A missed few days.

Been busy with finishing Web sites...

and a rave.

Now Dow is down 777 points. At least it's a lucky number.

More later.

Yellow backwards is Wolley

As I sit and stare straight ahead on the metro. The big letters hold my attention. "Yellow."

Nothing is black and white.

Metronoming....

Swinging back and forth. Now I'm in the middle. When I start working and getting into things, everything else seems trivial. No time to be happy or sad, healthy or unhealthy, there is only what I do.

Currently: building my own AS3 video player. Even though, I was told not to do it. I just feel better that I can control everything on the Web site I am working on. It's almost done. I just need to put together the volume controls together tomorrow. Should be easy. And then I'll skin it to look kick ass. Plop it into the html, create the main nav. CSS up the about page... Maybe touch up some design elements. Woo. This is kind of fun... If I only could put this much effort into my own Web site... But that's next... along with Mary's site. And then I would have done 3 kick-ass sites. Hopefully land me a job. Or maybe a few more gigs, at least.

Yeh...