fine whine

So I haven't updated this blog or ketchup for three days. I have prepared a number of excuses to explain this horrible horrible tragedy.

First of all, the keyboard on my laptop (which is my main connection to the internet) has been quitting on me lately after a randomly determined time. All of a sudden I'll just be down to my trackball, since the touchpad gave out long ago, and though I may be relatively proficient in the use of the On-Screen Keyboard, I'm not a fan of typing sentences with it, let alone whole blog entries.

Also, I've been busy. The center stickers on my cheap wheels fell off, and I had to pick up replacement ones. I've got a bigger-than-usual backlog of library books to deal with. My VCR's not working right, and I'm not yet willing to take it apart.

Most recently, though, I've had other things to do. Today and yesterday I was involved in a LAN party, which was quite fun. We mainly played EA's Battlefield 1942 with the Desert Combat mod. So basically it was a bunch of geeks playing soldier in the first Gulf conflict.

It was a lot more fun than I had expected. I'm not a big first-person shooter fan, and BF1942 is, at its core, a FPS. Yes, tanks can be driven and planes flown, but there is still an inordinate amount of running and crawling to be done. It's not going to replace GTA3 anytime soon on my system (particularly since I don't have a good enough system to run it) but I'd definitely play it again.

Anyway, part of the fun was coming up with intriguing nicknames. At times the server was filled with sophomoric anatomical taunting, childish name calling, and worse. For my part, I tried to be clever, striking gold with a one-two punch of "BugblatterBeastOfTraal" (which surprisingly few 'got') and its followup "TraalThePrettyHorseshit" (which was timed precisely to when my team was complaining). Another nerdy reference was "Set Me Up The Bomb". Better, and less geeky than those, was my apt description of my gaming skills and a play on words: "an army of one half".

That said, I'm catching myself back up. You have been warned.

So what is it that keeps me awake at night? Is it my grand schemes? There's always another page, or chapter, or book that I can read. I have a movie backlog probably around a hundred, spread over my laserdiscs, DVDs and tapes off of TV.

There's always the Great American Novel I should start writing. I could be writing code for this website. I have links that I need to blog for ketchup so that I can stay caught up. Emails that have been typed in my head over and over won't get sent 'til I input and submit them. There are people I ought to write to, messages I should have sent months or years ago.

I've got conversations that I could rehearse in my head even more exhaustively. I could call people up, wake them and converse. My resume and the help wanted pages almost cry out loud to me. As to my dirty dishes, though they cry out in a non-verbal fashion detected more by the nose than the ears.

I wrote a poem somewhat about this once...

It's easier on TV

It's easier on TV

the hero smiles

no worries about taxes

or mortgage payments

or missed appointments

or airplanes crashing

or broccoli in his teeth

or feet in his mouth

or starving children

or dying relatives

or rush hour traffic

or noisy appliances

or paperwork due yesterday

or bumps in the night

or bumps in the road

or flat tires

or dirty laundry

or hour wages

or paper cuts

or alarms slept through

or obligations forgotten

or performance declines

or oil changes

or oil prices changing

or stubbed toes

or burnt toast

or stuffy nose

or worries in his head

when he goes to bed

the TV hero sleeps

soundly; I am no hero

(You can find this and more of my cheesy poetry here).

So, is it too much stuff on my mind? Or is it just too stuffy and I have to pee?

So let's hit the ground running. Let me tell you about myself: I work for a big clothes company, but without using my expensive degree; I drive a midsize sedan and really dislike SUVs and everything they represent; I'm married and I wash all the dishes but none of the clothes; I have a Dreamcast but want a PS2, and I watch a whole lot of movies and read even more books.

Speaking of SUVs, today one lumbered out in front of me at a good half the speed limit, drove half a block and then sloooowly turned left through a red light that had just changed from yellow. I use the word 'lumbered' as the vehicle in question was the massive Toyota Sequoia, which is very aptly named. As for its tortoise pace, I am baffled as it amply proclaims a V8 engine on the rear (and I'm sure elsewhere as well), which is easily twice my car's motor.

What's the point of all the extra text on cars, anyway? The driver/buyer presumably knows what features the vehicle has, and the rest of us shouldn't care. How many tons of plastic and metal plating are wasted every year just so everybody knows that Mr. Jones has not just any Camry, but a Camry LE, I wonder.