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Naughty Hope I'm probably being naughty. It requires so little effort for me, really, that one might say it comes naturally. Here's how: 1. Rather than updating my diary over the past few days, I've poured my energy into constructing carefully-worded arguments for various points and causes over e-mail. I fear if I continue, a full-scale debate may break out. In some ways, I hope so, but in others, I'd rather it didn't. At the same time, I feel if I don't respond to the last message which was sent my way, I'll look like I wasn't thinking about what I was writing, or I simply didn't know what I was talking about, which is decidedly not the case. So I'll parlay my notes from this morning into yet another message defending my position, but conceding that the last message I received does, in fact, put my mind more at ease on a number of issues. 2. Since dgdesigns has gone offline for awhile, I've started picking apart the template for these pages, mostly out of necessity, as my background image had disappeared, and Heaven only knows what might have happened next. Thing is, since I could no longer link the background image to the dgdesigns website, I had to go find a similar one on the 'net, and then, I did some manipulating to it, so it'd look more like I'd like, and then, I had to put it on the webserver in my office, because those dumbfucks at PayPal haven't fixed the 3507 error yet (It's an error which occurs when SOME users try to pay for something with their credit cards listed as their primary means of payment, and the workaround they proposed totally doesn't work, and the way I think I could get it to work is absurd and slightly convoluted, so I haven't bothered trying it yet), so I still haven't been able to upgrade this thing to "Gold Status". Now, technically, placing the image on our company's webserver is within my rights and power; I AM the network & systems administrator, so I can pretty much do what I want. I just wonder if and when anyone will notice there's a funky picture of the sun hidden on our website. (Of course, I'm not going to give you the URL! If you, by some twist of fate happen to figure it out, which would of course first entail figuring out the identity of my employer, then carefully exploring our website and figuring out its structure, etc., e-mail me and let me know. I'd be very amused. No, you should not interpret this as an invitation to attempt to hack our website, as I'm afraid that might be so easy as to be ridiculous.) 3. I've been sending generally rather snarky e-mails to people, both at work and elsewhere. It's not like this is really that unusual, but it seems to happen with increasing frequency lately, and I don't seem to be editing myself so well, so they're a little more cutting than they might normally be, despite my best efforts to the contrary. In the same vein, when I walked into the office this morning (9.15...further naughtiness), one of the receptionists on whose computers I'd been working last night until about 8 p.m. gave me an alarmed look and said, "I can't seem to log on; it's denying me access!" to which I replied, after a cursory glance at her screen, "Try using your initials as your user ID, instead of 'administrator'." It amused our accountant, at least, as she gave me a look as I walked past her which seemed to say, "I had no idea anyone was that dense." On a similar note, I have a daily calendar on my desk, as much for everyone else's entertainment as for my own, called "What's the Number for 911?" It consists of stupid or just bizarre transcripts of calls to 911, and the entry for a couple days ago involved a guy who called 911 to report he'd been shot. Upon the arrival of the EMTs, he revealed he'd shot himself, just to see what it felt like. A year or so later, he placed the same call, having shot himself in the chest this time, and explained he'd done it again just because it felt so good the first time. Some people are just too stupid to live (though I believe he did). I've just realised my last entry was nearly a week ago. Much has transpired in the interim. Friday, of course, was work, interrupted by more apartment-hunting. Friday night, C and I went out to dinner and had drinks, then we went to Richter's and drank three more half-yards of beer. I don't remember paying the bill. I also don't remember driving home, though apparently, when we arrived, I managed to back into a parking space without hitting anything or anyone (that part my brain has vaguely reconstructed). I should not have been driving. I am deeply ashamed of this. This is yet another good argument for my moving back downtown, where I work and play. It will mean that after going out and having a few too many, though it happens pretty rarely, I will not have to get behind the wheel to get back home; I'll just stumble across town like in the Good Old Days. To that effect, when I woke Saturday morning (late and still drunk), I rushed off to my rehearsal, after which I saw an apartment in my old apartment building, this one a two-bedroom unit on the top floor of the southeast end of the building, and after a bit of number-crunching and soul-searching, filled out the application and wrote a cheque for the deposit. I move at the end of this month into a near-perfectly-located wonderfully modern apartment in a building with secure doors and a concierge at the desk, a luxurious lobby, a fitness centre at my disposal, air-conditioning units in each room, hot-water-baseboard heat, dishwasher, garbage disposal, a washer and a dryer in the apartment. I don't want to think or talk about what it's going to cost; I'm just going to hope for a bigger raise than I deserve at the beginning of July and consider taking a second job. Prostitution, perhaps. So now, the ordeal of packing has begun. Last night, I spent about an hour and a half going through a box of papers, most of which I determined could be trashed. This process must continue daily, so that everything is in order when the movers arrive to take me away at the end of the month. I want to get rid of my living room furniture and replace it, as it's all hideous hand-me-down vintage 1960s stuff which does not at all fit the vibe I want going on in my new place. I want a modern living room/dining area/kitchen. I'm thinking barstools in lieu of kitchen table, sectional sofa (leather?), big comfy plush chair. One bedroom is, of course, the bedroom; the other bedroom is my studio/workspace, and it'll be bigger than the current one, so hopefully, I'll actually get my shit together in that arena and go be a singer/songwriter in the local area so I'll at least have a foundation re-established before (SOMEDAY) moving to Manhattan. While doing all the requisite soul-searching and second-guessing involved in making these decisions, I've determined I'm probably better off starting over playing in Connecticut venues. So many people move to New York looking for fame & fortune without really having done the back-work and expecting it to just fall in their lap, they get washed away. I don't seem to recall the Dave Matthews Band moving to New York to do their thing. In fact, I remember hearing them play back in southeastern Virginia, before anyone really knew who they were, and look where they are now. And I reckon he was about my age when they released their first album, so I suppose there's hope yet. But then, there's always hope, isn't there? r
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