confusion

Since I don’t have a working computer at home and therefore do not write journal entries between Friday morning and Monday morning here is a quick update of the weekend:

exit hillbilly stage left:

Dave Lawson, the guy who hired me at Genesis left Genesis on Friday to head back to West Virginia. He is leaving because he wants to be closer to his parents as his father has gotten sick. A bunch of us got together on Friday at GSC for lunch and to tell stories. It was fun, there where about 10 of us there, we listened to Lawsons stories of strange things that happen in West Virginia—like towns with strange names: Hurricane, Nitro, Gad and the best, Big Ugly. We also go into a argument about the war—ended up being codejunkie and I vs. everyone else. Funny that he two guys I would have pegged as the most understanding where the to most adamant that we should ‘nuke the fuckers.’ I don’t have a solution to the war, but it seams to me that very few people I talk to over the age of 30 take the time to think of the consequences of all this—they swallowed the ‘terrorism’ and ‘liberation’ and ‘it will cause a domino effect in the region’ bullshit—hook, line and sinker. Anyway, good luck to Dave, hope he enjoys his new job.

but where do they put it?:

Friday afternoon S██████ called me to ask if I wanted to join him and a bunch of the Pride Alliance people from Mason at a Drag Show at George Washington University. Well, it’s been several years since I went to a drag show—since I was roommates with a gay guy and worked at the club where the drag show was. They’re funny as hell, and as I had nothing better to do I went. Other than it being hotter than hell in the room, and the queens being a bit more than fashionable late it was fun. Except that I got a phone call I had to take halfway through and did not get off the phone till the show was almost over. There was a gorgeous girl in the audience who reminded me so much of C███████ the I spent as much time starring at her as the queen (not that that’s bad for a strait guy!)

Can peanuts be social?:

On Saturday J███████ and K– came over to my place and we made dinner—penne with Alfredo sauce, salad and I don’t know what it was but it was made of eggplant, onion, garlic and what-not sauteed in olive oil and it was really good, along with some red wine. After dinner we went to Xando’s for coffee and J███████ and K– got Smores. I played with the Tiki fire and at some point J███████ announced that I had the social maturity of a peanut. Now this is a downgrade from my status—according to C███████, of having he social maturity level of an eight year old. But I don’t know, I mean peanuts can’t burn the utensils and launch burning sticks across the room with a straw.

On the 18th I got home and there was a notice from the post office that I had a letter from C███████ at the post office that I had to sign for in order to pick up. Well the post office listed was Columbia Heights, which is not my normal post office but… Anyway, I tried unsuccessfully to find the place on Monday afternoon. Turns out I read the map wrong—Seventh st. turns into Georgia ave, not Seventeenth st. So Wednesday I headed out of work a little early to try again.

By the time I got to the post office at Columbia Heights it was pouring outside. Inside the woman behind the counter told me that they had left the wrong notice, that my package was at the 14th and T st. office. Now this is irritating because I could walk to the 14th and T st. office (that will be important in a sec.) This is by no means the first problem I have had with the post office in DC—packages never being delivered, packages being delivered but never arriving, packages taking days to arrive (i.e. things shipped on the 14th from two hours away arrive on the 30th?)

Anyway, I get back in the truck and pull out of the parking space, roll up to the parking lot exit, look right and left, and start to pull out. And suddenly there is a gray Ford Taurus in front of me. BAM! I took out his front corner panel. This so pisses me off—guy driving in the pouring rain, in a gray car, at high speed down a narrow street—and with no lights! I repeat gray car, in the pouring rain with no lights! Anyway rather than report this to insurance it cost me a couple of hundred dollars. The end result of which is I am very, very broke this month.

I blame this all on the post office! If they could get their shit in order and do stuff right then I would not have even been there!

The media keeps calling the fighting in Iraq a ‘war’ but as the congress has not actually declared ‘war’ on Iraq it’s not officially a war. In fact we have not fought a real war since WWII. Now it’s one thing to go into a country under UN mandate—as in Korea to fight but it is another to go into a foreign country without that mandate and without the congress, the elected representatives of the people, declaring war. I know that it has been stated that this ‘war’ is not with the people of Iraq but with the government, but still, Bush should not have had the power to send our troops in without UN support unless the congress had first declared war. I think the war powers act—which allows the President to get congress approval after the fact should be repealed and the power to send us to war should be given back the congress so that one person cannot make the decision. Lets get back to the way the Founding Fathers wrote it in the Constitution. I know the who is it really war? is academic since war is an adjective here, but to refer to this as ‘The Second Gulf War’ bestows a feeling of officialism on the military action, officialism that is not truly there.

— find yourself
— express yourself
— amuse yourself (just a little offensive…)
— relax!

There is much that I would like to say about the state of the world, but these thoughts mostly come to me as I sit at home in the evening. Without my computer I fail to capture them—I could write them down, but for some reason I don’t. The end result is that by the time I get to work in the morning and have a few minutes to record my thoughts here they have become lost words… elusive shadows that I cannot catch, hovering at the edge of my conciousness.