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... Journal of Life
Sunday March 12, 2000
Another day with my Bose Acoustic Wave. Yep, I spent all day listening to my Bose Acoustic Wave. Since I spent $1,000 to buy the damned thing, I guess I should listen to it occasionally or whenever I feel like unboxing it. What a damned psycho! Boxing and unboxing all this [dung] like some kind of [copulating] idiot. I also spent a good part of my day throwing stuff out. I am a slave to my possessions (what little I have) and I'm tired of it. I have to get rid of this crap or I'm going to lose it. I walked down to Koko Marina to get some cheap fire water this afternoon. So pathetic. I was hammered in no time and stumbling about like a damned [copulating] idiot. I kicked the cheap brewski can over several times, spilling that [dungy] crap all over, amongst other stupidity. What a [copulating] maroon!
Why did it come to this? I don't know. Maybe it's due in part to my six-four and the damned battery fiasco that is still playing itself out. Maybe it's because of this piece of [dung] computer or the damned taxes that I owe. I am so damned hammered that I have had to retype everything several times. I can barely see. I deserve to be in this situation. I'm too stupid to be anywhere else. The gutter is where I belong and I'm getting there quick. Thank goodness. Put me out of my [copulating] misery already. I'm damned sick of it. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Yeah, right. How can I keep from becoming mentally ill when I am around nothing but mentally ill people all day long?
Monday March 13
Man, I was in a sour mood yesterday. That mood carried over into the morning. If I didn't live such a pathetic life, then everything would be different. That's the kind of crap I keep telling myself. Fortunately, Mark, Malia and I had lunch today at the Prince Kuhio Café in the Federal building. Malia and I met Mark at the AmFac building (where he works) and walked together. Malia had to leave a little early to pick up her daughter. So, Mark and I walked back after we finished lunch. After saying good-bye to Mark, I felt an evil presence nearby. I looked across the street and I saw the handmaiden walking with a co-worker, I presume. Fortunately, I had a nice day so the sinister kahuna did not get its way with me.
Malia bought a new computer this weekend. So, now she is able to connect to the Net from home. I'm sure that she'll be on-line for hours. I sent her e-mail this evening to tell her how to download and set up RealPlayer and program the NetRadio channels. I was listening to NetRadio House this morning in the faculty computer room. I don't believe that many faculty share my taste in music so I switched to Smooth Jazz. What do they know? How could they not like Paradise by Underground Solution? Alas, upon returning home, I immediately tuned in to NetRadio House. It's a monk's life but someone's got to do it!
Tuesday March 14
I'm moving closer toward insanity. I received a notice from the Dean at the university. He will be sitting in my class to evaluate it. How many times must I go through this crap? I called pseudo-professor John to see what he knew. He didn't get any such notice so I have to believe that a student filed a complaint. He did mention that there were many new policies coming into play. So, I'll just wait and see what's what. No doubt, the sinister kahuna is behind all of this.
It's only Tuesday and I'm already completely fatigued. The university modem pool keeps dropping my connection. Netscape keeps crashing. I've lost all my e-mail in queue. RealPlayer doesn't work. My crappy computer now skips phrases at a time. It's all probably linked to my sighting of the handmaiden. Evil follows her like a willing slave. I also dropped my ZoneAlarm firewall since everything was being disabled by it. Day by day, I am getting sick of this crap. This is "society" as we know it. It's Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs gone terribly awry. The sickening wants and desires of a decadent culture is in sharp contrast to those who truly suffer in this world. The oppressed and the poor would love to have a fraction of what we have. Yet, look at how we act as a society. It's sickening. The greed, the corruption, the filth. Are any of us even truly grateful or are we just envious of those who have more? What lesson in humility could we all learn if we suffered a fraction of the pain that others in less fortunate cultures experience? Our so-called "pain" pales in comparison. We look like a bunch of sniveling worms. "I don't make enough money," we cry. "I can't afford a Mercedes." Damned [copulating] turds! I'd like to kick these [copulating] pansies in the ass with some steel-toed boots. Really, I'd like to apply the Sleeper Hold on these fools and snap their puny necks.
I am totally fatigued by the complaints I hear, obviously voiced by a bunch of useless punks. Talking about their dough, their damned stock options, their importance in comparison to my negligible worth. Who cares? Are they going to live longer than I? Are they living a better life than I? Damned scumbags. I have got to buy some steel-toed boots!
Wednesday March 15
It's time that I use Eliza the Pocket Psychologist (for my Palm IIIe) again. I'm exhibiting signs of extreme psychosis in addition to fatigue. Paul (former Chaminade student) called yesterday but he didn't leave a phone number. I believe that he's back on the mainland. My in-class evaluation with the Dean is supposed to happen either this Friday or next Monday. Pseudo-professor John and I had lunch. We discussed the state of affairs at the university. He also showed me the miserable results of a mid-term exam he had administered. It's the same class that I facilitate on Friday nights. Some of the graduate students scored extremely low. "Do you see why no one will hire our graduates?" he asked. There's never any good news with pseudo-professor John. Unfortunately, he's right since he gets his information from the Dean's office.
I've kind of washed my hands of mostly everything. I only wish for some new (and free) Palm IIIe software. The battery in my six-four remains dead until I decide that I will take it with me on the bus and buy a new one. Everything else remains in stasis. I'm completely broke and awaiting doom come the tax filing deadline. Pseudo-professor Rick is in worse shape. He is now seeking a legal remedy to hold off the bill collectors. Alas, I await the day that I get to visit the Promised Land. The key to my declining spirituality lies there. The answer to a timeless question is also there. The whole purpose of humanity is buried amidst the ruins of a civilization long gone. Yet, the legacy is there. There is a reason why a select few make the pilgrimage. It's the scientific quest to find purpose. Something we have lost because we placed no value in it. Fools continue to look for the answer in the wrong places. Where is the answer? It's in Mesopotamia.
Thursday March 16
Why am I always getting e-mail from Viagra dealers? In talking with Mike, a colleague at the business college, I came to discover that he has been a little distraught lately.
"My wife left me last weekend. Usually marriages break up over financial matters, but there were other issues at play here," he explained.
"Are you sure?" I asked. I knew that he wasn't doing well financially. He is surviving solely on what he makes at the business college.
"Well, my wife did equate this job with flippin' burgers," he sighed.
"Oh, it's about money, all right," I added.
I knew the scenario all too well. Mike was clearly a victim of the Handmaiden Syndrome. Those who have read the [UJ] archives would thoroughly understand. Perhaps I should allow Mike to peruse the archives. It may enlighten him about his own situation. Sheesh! The Dean will be sitting in my class on Monday afternoon. That just about ruins my weekend. I hope the Keystone is still on sale.
Each day I'm beginning to see things with better perception. My world is a ruse because there is neither depth or meaning to my existence. I am an empty shell just like all of the other idiots around me. The only problem is that I'm the only one who doesn't like it. Everyone else is in bliss. Once I separated myself from materialism, from want, from desire, then I emancipated myself from debauchery. I'm on the outside looking in. Where is reality?
Friday March 17
Another long week. I spent considerable amount of time preparing my Visual Basic presentation for my evening class. However, when the time came, I could hear myself babbling on about nothing. Malia showed up during the lab segment of the class. She had been out on the town with Teresa, where they both ended up at the Irish block party next to Murphy's Bar & Grill. However, the block party must have been unruly since Malia didn't have much good to say about it. After my class, Malia and I ended up going to Stuart Anderson's Cattle Company in the Ward Warehouse for dinner. We had an enjoyable time even though I ate too much. Alas, it was nice to do something new for once. I'll be vegetating in the detestable resin chair for the rest of the weekend.
I had gone to dinner earlier with pseudo-professor Robert. We ate at Taco Bell and discussed the usual nonsense about our non-existence. Well, at least the people who work at Taco Bell recognized us. I also talked with a couple of other pseudo-professors about their tax situation. Apparently, I am not alone in this debacle. Anyway, I returned home rather late this evening. After a nice shower, I spent time with my beloved computer. Even that kind of fun is short-lived when one is extremely tired. Let's call it a night, friends. Tomorrow is another day.
Saturday March 18
A day sitting in the detestable resin chair is likened to the proverbial water torture. The battery in my six-four is still dead. Eventually, I'll take the battery with me on the bus and make the trip to Sears to buy another DieHard for no other reason than it's a decent battery. Moms has been spending all day preparing food to cook tomorrow. This bi-weekly ritual is primarily for my bro and his family. Moms will also be spending two days at my bro's place. She will be watching my nephew. Why they can't just bring the little rug rat here is beyond me. It makes no sense. If I continue to ponder the illogical nature of that situation, then I'll either end up berserk or hammered.
This afternoon, I realized how boring I must have been last night during dinner with Malia. I mean, look what I do for fun. I sit in the detestable resin chair and fade in and out of a coma. Sometimes I'll unbox my Bose Acoustic Wave for a few hours and play the same old crappy music over and over again. Or, I'll start throwing away anything that I deem useless. It's strangely pathetic. There is one sad common denominator through this whole process. I am constantly pondering my plight as a fool. I can't silence the lambs of my mind. Perhaps it's time for me to take a late night walk to Koko Marina so I can pick up some Keystone. If there's anything that can silence the lambs, it's cheap fire water!
Thirty minutes later ... I'm back with a six-pack of Natural Light brewskis and some salsa. What brain donor came up with lime-flavored tortilla chips? I had to buy the salsa to kill that fake lime taste. Well, that's my big outing for the day. Man, am I livin' large, or what? It was nice to be out last night. I should have taken the bus to Kahala Mall instead of sitting at home tonight. Oh well. Time for me to ponder why I wasted $4,000 last year for no justifiable reason. Silence, little lamb!
Sunday March 19
Another wasted day. The detestable resin chair and fire water. Throw in tunes courtesy the Bose Acoustic Wave and you have the formula for insanity. The mouse cursor on my beloved computer now moves to different parts of the screen by itself. The computer also deletes things randomly. Aside from walking to Koko Marina to buy more fire water, I did absolutely nothing. I take that back. I actually removed the battery from my six-four. Now it's sitting next to the trash can.
The highlight of my day is now. I am listening to NetRadio House. Sunset Walkin' by The Timewriter is playing. House is monk music. In actuality, it's the new jazz. It's smooth but there's no romance. Thank goodness. I have been more cognizant of the effects of media. So, I found it interesting that, in an article on the declining state of morality, US Senator Joe Lieberman was quoted as saying, "The new value transmitters are the television producers, the movie moguls, the fashion advertisers, the gangsta rappers, and a host of other players within the electronic media-cultural complex. These trendsetters exert an extremely powerful hold on our culture and our children in particular, and they often have had little or no sense of responsibility for the harmful values they are purveying." The media is molding us all to be psychos. I can no longer be a part of it.
Then, there's the issue of money. The real god of our society. I'm beginning to see how I have been taken in by this deity as well. The love of money has transcended the common good. There is such a prevalence of greed. It's sickening. Money and pleasure are top priorities and it doesn't matter at whose expense. The philosophy is so bizarre. Money buys morality. Social class determines what is acceptable. Even deviance is excusable with enough money, status, and power. To be able to have morality cater to us means we have approached deity status. This was the fundamental question posed in the Garden of Eden when the Serpent presented its evil challenge. As eerie as it may seem, that challenge still exists today. We are seeing a modern day permutation by means of the sinister kahuna. We must remain vigilant, my friends. The prophesy is nearing completion.
Monday March 20
The Dean made his appearance to my class this afternoon. Thank goodness it's over! Pseudo-professor John has given me a lead for a position with a distance education campus. We may both become faculty. Another faculty member is trying to recruit me into Quixtar (which I previously thought was QuickStart). Pseudo-professor Robert offered more convincing evidence that it is a sham just like its parent company Amway. It's greed and laziness that drives these people to swindle others with an elusive dream. I've already learned that there is no fast way to become Big Money Grip. It still takes hard work and dedication.
I listened to GrooveTech last night. The Sunday night show is hot! I've noticed that the readership is dwindling even further. I can only suspect that the redundant nature of the journal is too predictable. How long can people read this boring diatribe before giving up? Perhaps I should take a brief hiatus. Spring Break is coming up. I'll spend most of that time in the detestable resin chair. Who needs to read about that?
Tuesday March 21
My grip on sanity is beginning to loosen. Soon I'll be like all of the other singing idiots in the middle of Fort Street Mall. I talked with Pseudo-professor Ralph. He's currently working on his Ph.D. I am trying to get an idea of whether this avenue would be worth my time. I also ran into pseudo-professor Robert. Today, he was applying for an executive management position somewhere on Mau'i.
"Isn't that going to be considerable more overhead when you move there? I asked.
"Yes, but I want to find out if there are other benefits or perks for relocating," he replied. "Maybe there's a nice monastery there."
Sheesh! I'm actually ready to start imbibing in the fire water on a daily basis again. The stress is getting to me. Yet, I have become more firmly entrenched in the monks ways. I am further convinced that true spirituality can only be achieved through the monk lifestyle. I am certainly not lonely even though I am alone. In fact, I have become very accustomed to isolation. With that in mind, I am now convinced that Anonder has discovered a modicum of the Truth. If I wasn't a monk, I would agree that the only reason to be in a relationship is da wild thing. Companionship is a secondary consideration especially for those who prefer isolation. Sharing of finances and property is out of the question because it only leads to subversive and deceptive behavior in an effort to take advantage of the more financially solvent partner.
In the end, da wild thing is not even important. It is a distraction and an indulging of hedonistic pleasure. Eventually, it robs one of discipline and control, and leads to either dependence or domination. This fixation can only lead to self-destruction because it is insatiable. One can never have enough of da wild thing. I should know. True spirituality is drowned by this constant stream of pleasure. There is no focus. One's reality becomes diffused. And, that is the beginning of the end. I have learned that abstinence, mendicance, and penance are the three critical success factors in life. Understanding pain is only accomplished by experiencing it at the lowest levels of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Compassion and empathy can only be learned by traveling along this path. I am coming to a greater understanding of humanity by disassociating from its present nefarious incarnation.
Wednesday March 22
Curiosity brought me to ML Poulter's Web site. It is a site devoted to celibacy with testimonials from people who took the vow, although not necessarily out of religious conviction. I was amazed to learn that a common thread existed which centered upon my discussion yesterday. I am now entirely convinced of the importance of the monk lifestyle. In fact, I was so convinced that I printed out the testimonials. Further, I am wondering if I should remove the Virtual Harem (see Lavahead Express) since it is in conflict with the monk ways.
I ran into the handmaiden's friend Anne at the bus stop this afternoon. She is working at a new law firm after some kind of fiasco at her old place of employment. The new firm is a living nightmare, according to Anne. I empathized with her since I know that she is a hard worker and she doesn't really make enough for what she does. Some of the things she mentioned that go on at certain law firms is disgusting. It almost goes to prove that money can buy social class but it is still a thin veneer that hides the debauchery beneath.
I really must re-evaluate my life. I am taking too many things for granted again. I'm getting cocky. That's when something happens. I have to take more time to appreciate what I have. I'm not Big Money Grip but I've done much better than I thought. Sure, I'm still broke and in considerable debt. However, I have more peace of mind than I once did. And, I'm doing much better psychologically than I was one year ago. The most important blessing is that I've returned to the monastery. That's where I belong.
Thursday March 23
The more I read and ponder about the monk lifestyle, the more I realized that I have been duped by society as whole. In his satire titled, Single People are the Scum of Western Civilization, Poulter observed:
The single lifestyle leaves people dangerously vulnerable to being overrun by their animal nature. It is not widely discussed, but known to every thinking person, that each human is, behind a societally-orchestrated veneer, nothing more than a crazed chimp masturbating frenziedly in a pool of its own saliva. Society demands, however, that we hide this nature under a patina of respectability. The single lifestyle gives one periods of silence, solitude and unfettered choice during which the individual may become at least dimly aware of this underlying nature. The jarring cognitive realisation of the hypocrisy into which the citizen has been forced can only lead to their dissatisfaction and unrest, and hence must be discouraged.
Without a doubt, the mere fact that I am once again a monk is the primary reason that I can now see through the veneer. And, it's left a bad taste in my mouth. This has been a week of enlightenment.
In the old days, I knew that my call was that of a monk. However, I gave in to the outside forces that be. I felt inadequate. Incomplete. Little did I know that I was being duped by the "romantic fundamentalists" as Poulter calls them. In the article of the same name, he wrote:
Speaking of slushy fiction, it must be said that the Love Religion has the greatest corpus of sacred text of any religion ever. I'm referring, of course, to the never-ending output of Mills and Boon, and similar publishers, as well as to "gospels" like Pride and Prejudice. As with other religions, the moderate believers take the sacred text as just a metaphor and concentrate on the function of the story rather than its truth. To the fundamentalists, on the other hand, the books have to be interpreted literally: real people can have unproblematic, blissful courtships and happy-ever-after marriages, just like the ones in those books. Characters in fiction can encounter problems, of course, but unlike real problems, their resolution is a foregone conclusion. They are put there just to add a little excitement to the plot, to allow the plucky and vivacious heroine to display her pluck or her vivacity.
Well, what do I know? A student called me for help with his computer. His floppy disk was stuck in the drive. I was able to remove the disk in a few seconds with a butter knife. "Thanks. That would have cost me $120 at CompUSA," he said. Maybe I'm in the wrong business. I submitted my revised my W-4 tax exemptions today. With that, I discovered why I owe so much in taxes this year. I don't need babes. I need a new battery for my six-four.
Friday March 24
Pseudo-professor Rick is calling it quits. He has decided that he does not want to teach anymore because the quality of students has declined. Can I blame him? Pseudo-professor Robert was happy because he found a way to crash the WorldPoint party at the First Hawai'ian Tower. My classes were almost empty because Spring Break is next week. Alas, I won't be flying off to the mainland. The only trip I'll be making is to Ala Moana so I can buy a new battery. Sheesh!
I may not invest in any retirement (IRA) plans this year or any year, for that matter. As I sat and drank my coffee this morning, I asked myself, "Does Bill Gates have an IRA?" Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa! Of course not! And, it's not because he's filthy rich. These retirement accounts are to keep the small guys in their place. When I lock up any amount of dough for that long a period of time, someone else is making money on that dough. The worst part is that I'll eventually pay the same taxes on that dough and more. The IRA is only for those people who cannot control their spending. If anyone has a convincing argument to the contrary, please let me know.
Moms spent the night at my bro's place. She spent Sunday night there as well. That's because moms had to watch my nephew. I'm sure that moms had to sleep on the couch. I'm certain that my bro and sister-in-law are totally oblivious to the fact that moms is in constant pain. There is more than meets the eye to this story.
Saturday March 25
I asked Mark yesterday if he would have time to take me to Ala Moana so I could buy a new battery. He was agreeable so that's what we did today. I was able to take advantage of the remaining warranty, a coupon, and the sale price at Sears. So, my six-four is running once again. I'll make sure to keep my new battery charged with my battery charger. Mark and I ate at Patti's Chinese Kitchen for lunch. Then, we walked around Ala Moana. We also walked to the Bose showroom so I could show Mark what the Acoustic Wave looked like. On the way back, we stopped at Mark's place. He lives in a high-rise condominium called Naniwa Gardens. That pretty much was my day. Once I put the new battery in my six-four, I immediately drove down to Foodland to buy some cheap brewskis. I wanted to go to Kahala Mall this evening but I was too hammered. I'm on vacation anyway so I can go there anytime this week.
I found yet another interesting passage from Single People are the Scum of Western Civilization by Poulter. He wrote:
If you suggest to a modern citizen that his or her problems are not worth complaining about because a reward awaits them in heaven, they will usually greet this with scepticism, and ask why they should accept this suggestion on faith. If, however, you should say that their problems are all because they have not yet found the right person, whom they will marry and who will love them forever and ever, your subject will emphatically agree. Some will cite a vast corpus of romantic fiction in their defense.
When people are brought up to think that their purpose in life is to find their ideal partner and to live with them forever, the monster of individual self-determination will not rear its head. The venerable institution of marriage must remain dominant and visible in our society, to protect all of us from repugnant existentialism.
As I am discovering the nature of the ruse, I feel foolish that I abandoned the monk lifestyle a few years ago. It's easy to fall to the wayside for ludicrous reasons, mostly a longing in the loins. The discipline that is required to maintain this course will be demanding. Yet, what is the alternative? I am going to rediscover life with a singular wit, as it were. The day was enjoyable. Part of the revival.
Sunday March 26
I am finally getting around to finishing a few projects around moms' house. Today, I painted the closet doors. One set needs to be replaced because it's beyond repair. I felt a sense of accomplishment. In fact, I have vowed to not do anything else except the personal projects I have put off for so long. I even unboxed my Bose Acoustic Wave for the occasion. I listened to my favorite psychotic classical pieces on public radio. Later, I wanted to go to Barnes & Noble but there was a chance of rain. As you know, I do not have the top on my six-four.
I am still a little stressed out since I will part with $1,700 in the next few weeks. Fortunately, Hearts of Space came on at its usual time on public radio. It's been over a year since I last listened to that program. What an enjoyable rediscovery! This is the beginning of my Spring Break. All I can say is, "Wendy, I'm home!" Remember when Jack said that in The Shining. That was just before he took an ax to the door. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!
Monday March 27
Paul (former Chaminade student) called me this morning. I was happy to hear from him. He's back in Cali. Convalescent City, to be exact. It seems that he had a tough time last year. At the end of last Summer, he literally lost it. He ended up in the hospital because of "the voices." I immediately knew that he was referring to schizophrenia. Paul was stressing himself out in his last days here. He wanted success to come quickly, which is diametrically opposed to the Hawai'ian Style of doing things.
I replaced the bathroom light fixtures today. I was getting real tired of the cheesy ones my bro had installed many moons ago. I also went shopping for a stand for the halogen lamp I had bought for moms. I didn't find one I liked but I don't quite have a budget for opulence. So, I will probably end up buying one of the cheesy ones from the housewares department at Ross.
I have not checked my e-mail or wasted much time on the Net since Friday night. Maybe I can wean myself of this foolishness once and for all. I have not even touched my Palm IIIe either. I basically just listened to the continuous psychotic classical pieces on public radio on my beloved Bose Acoustic Wave. Tomorrow, I may charge up my new battery with my new battery charger. What a life! I have so much time to think now, which is somewhat monastic. Someone, get me an ax!
Tuesday March 28
There are some family dynamics at play which I have touched on every now and then. However, I have not really delineated on how much these dynamics are affecting my mental health. In actuality, mental health is the key issue. The level of psychosis and mental illness that I am subjected to on a daily basis is fatiguing. That mental illness has also permeated my family. What else can explain the quirky ways so typical of most locals?
Of course, there are other issues at play. A nefarious level of political intrigue invented by my bro and his wife. I believe that they are worried about moms' house. Their unfounded belief is that I want to take it away from them. So, they are exacting a delicate choreography to insure that they remain heirs. This petty bourgeois nonsense must end. I have no intention of "stealing" their inheritance. Yet, I can make a prediction right now. They will try to force my hand which will result in litigation. We'll all end up losers. I already suspect that they have won some sympathy on moms' part, primarily because of my nephew. The on-going penny-pinching by moms suggest that she is subsidizing their household much as she did for the eight years that they lived with her. It really is pathetic. Am I sure about my suspicions? Well, moms' is constantly fretting about small change and impinging upon me to cut back on what little consumption I engage in. The latest is the gas bill. Moms has been nagging me to not wash one dish at a time because I am wasting hot water. That, of course, is the reason why the bill is so high. Never mind that I always wash my dishes with cold water. And, a few cups of hot water are not going to make a $50 increase in the bill. I have tried to tell her that it's probably due to the old fool who reads the meter. He was probably too lazy to look at the meter and just guessed what the reading was.
There is more to this dumb story. Most of it will substantiate my suspicions of mental illness in my proximity. Another example is the situation with the halogen lamp. I bought the lamp because moms was complaining that she was going blind with the other lamp because it was so dim. The halogen lamp is "too bright" and "not high enough." That's why I have to find a better stand for the lamp. To top it off, I discovered that moms now turns up the water heater when she takes her bath because the water is too cold for her. It has nothing to do with the fact that she takes a bath in a dishpan, does it? She doesn't run the water long enough for the hot water to reach the bathroom. Needless to say, her intermittent adjustment of the water heater thermostat is going to yield even higher gas bills. When I mentioned this, it had about as much priority as my comments about the way she mixes chemicals indiscreetly with chlorine bleach. Now I see why I've retreated to the mainland during prior vacations.
Well, nothing a little fire water and the psychotic classical pieces on public radio can't cure, eh? The State government needs to look into putting Thorazine in the water supply. There are too many mentally ill people here. The majority of the mentally ill are locals which further substantiates why we need the mainlanders to come here and be our guardians. We are simpletons with no cognitive abilities and, therefore, cannot be responsible for ourselves. Now you understand, I hope. Now you see why the locals are in bad shape. The answer is ... mental illness!
Wednesday March 29
My vacation is beginning to resemble a psychotic episode. I don't know where to start. I continued my mundane chores today with the addition of yet another task. The restoration of my six-four. Ever since I shipped it back to Hawai'i, I have seen my six-four degenerate to a rust bucket. Either I do something about it now or I'll have to pay someone to haul it to the junkyard.
Malia and I went out to dinner at Assaggio's in Koko Marina. We were going to see a movie tonight but it was not coincident with our timing. So, we bought a bottle of Chardonnay (the "Hammer") and drove out to Sandy Beach. We talked as we watched the waves break. Soon, I found myself in a precarious situation. One that I was keenly aware of beforehand. Nonetheless, I committed an indiscretion that may compromise all that I have worked for. What really worries me is that I am now compromising my friendship and my way of life. No, I haven't done anything really stupid yet but I have crossed the fine line that determines the monk lifestyle. However, I'm not at all certain with whom or what I'm dealing with anymore.
In effect, I'm being played like a fiddle and I don't know why. I do know one thing. The wily ways of the babes is beyond dangerous. Even now, as I sit here, I realize what has happened. I was being lured into the devil's lair. For more than a brief moment, I had a sense of clairvoyance. Had I not been here before? Sure enough, almost four years to the exact day, the same thing transpired. It's happening again. The Curse of the Handmaiden. Damn!
Thursday March 30
I began the arduous task of removing the rust from the stock steel wheels of my six-four. For the most part, though, I was fatigued all day. Could it be because of all the Shrimp Assaggio I ate last night? Or was it because of the interesting turn of events at Sandy Beach? Oddly, we had parked by the makeshift set of Baywatch Hawai'i. Fitting, isn't it? Malia called today. It was obvious that things were a little tense. A little wine and a secluded beach make for a tense situation. The real test for true indiscretion may come up soon. Then what?
Even the psychotic classical pieces on public radio are getting to me. Is this what we call "cultured"? At least it is innocuous at best. I gave Malia a couple of CDs including the one the handmaiden gave to me in the gym a few months ago. It's almost symbolic, isn't it? I am really tired of all of this nonsense. Actually, I'm disappointed. I live in a world gone crazy. Consider the OPEC situation. The US is demanding that output be increased so we can maintain the almost ludicrous lifestyle that people around the world have been envious of. Today, I drove about a mile to buy a can of paint and a roll of masking tape in my 2,000-pound six-four. How asinine does that sound to you? Multiply this stupidity by the millions of other people who do the same thing. Wrong is right.
On a lighter note, Paul (in Seattle) threw in a funny in his e-mail:
A new monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to help the other monks in copying the old texts by hand. He notices, however, that they are copying copies, and not the original books. So, the new monk goes to the head monk to ask him about this. He points out that if there was an error in the first copy, that error would be continued in all of the other copies.
The head monk says, "We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son." So, he goes down into the cellar with one of the copies to check it against the original. Hours later, nobody has seen him. So, one of the monks goes downstairs to look for him. He hears sobbing coming from the back of the cellar and finds the old monk leaning over one of the original books crying. He asks what's wrong. "The word is celebrate," says the old monk.
Sheesh! Even I had it wrong all this time.
Friday March 31
Imagine a fool trying to paint the rusty steel wheels on his jalopy during a rainstorm. That's what the old fool was doing. It was beyond ludicrous. The rain never let up all day long so there really wasn't much choice. After all, Spring Break is officially over. Wage slavery commences on Monday. Since I didn't really want to struggle to put the pathetic top back on my six-four nor did I want to drive anywhere in the rain, I was stranded at home. I really wanted some Keystone but there was no way I could get there and back without ending up sopping wet. I have gained a better appreciation for my six-four. Sure, it's a favorite with OPEC. However, I just can't believe that I wanted to replace it with a BMW Z3. Maybe I just need a new six-four.
Malia called a few times throughout the day. She also called later in the evening and we ended up talking for a couple of hours about basically nothing. Strange, isn't it? Well, it's nice to know that there is at least one person who doesn't think that the ol' lavahead is full of [dung]. Well, I think I've made the last additions to the Virtual Harem (see Lavahead Express). I have to give it the heave-ho soon, what with me being a monk and all. Perhaps it has also given me a distorted image of babes. Well, that's not true since I don't really assess babes on their physical attractiveness, contrary to what some may think. Look at the ol' lavahead. He's no prize.
So, that's my Spring Break. Sheesh! In a way, I'm glad that I wasn't gallivanting around Cali. I'm finally comfortable being home and I'm not feeling as though I'm missing out on anything. I also know that I'm not going to meet my financial goals this year. It's time that I relax my expectations. I'm not even going to worry about the retirement investment plans. I will have to work for at least nine more years (or until my re-negotiated loans are paid off). That should be enough time for me to get my act together. In the meantime, I'll try to enjoy my life to the best of my ability. I may even break out the Bose Acoustic Wave more than once every three months. And, I'll do more things with friends like Malia. Too many expectations lead to disappointment. Life isn't going to be any smoother, mind you. However, it will be more tolerable. See you tomorrow! It's Ol' Lavahead Day!
Ol' Lavahead Day 2000
After being woken up early this morning because of the mental illness of one of the idiotic neighbors, I spent the rest of the day in a coma. The neighbor in question spent about 30 minutes opening and closing all of the doors of his van as he moved one or two items at time from his house. Since this is his work vehicle, I have to wonder why he must perform this ritual twice daily. Why not just leave the rear double-doors open as he moves things back and forth? As we all live within a protected cul de sac, I am certain that no one will steal his implements during his brief absence.
I spent the rest of the day working on my six-four. I have also assessed what other work needs to be done. A new radiator is one project. A new soft top will be in next year's budget. I'm not sure where the money is going to come from. Nonetheless, it is the most viable alternative to buying another money sink like a BMW Z3.
Malia called this afternoon. He ex-boyfriend decided to take the kids for a day so she wanted to do something. So, we ended up going to see Romeo Must Die, a shoot 'em up playing at the new theaters at Koko Marina. We had some time to kill before the show, so we had a few glasses of wine at the Akasaka restaurant. After the show, we went out to dinner at California Pizza Kitchen in Kahala Mall. I warned Malia about how chintzy the place was. We were pleasantly surprised at the generous proportions. In fact, there was too much to eat. After our late night snack, we bought a bottle of the "Hammer" and ended up at Sandy Beach again to watch the waves break. I am finding myself in an odd predicament. Malia wants more than a friendship and I am hesitant about repeating past mistakes. The real puzzling part to me is the question of why babes always want more than a friendship. That seems to be what gets them into bad situations with the wrong guys. "I wish I had met you 20 years ago," she frequently laments. The truth be known, twenty years ago, I was a putz.
It's too bad bad that a lot of these situations are not just a part of an elaborate April Fool's Day joke. It would be nice to wake up tomorrow to discover that nothing that elapsed prior was in actuality real. We have so many ways to make our life less complicated but we refuse to take those routes. "It's too simple," we complain. And, it's seemingly too boring. Many of us crave and live off of melodrama. No problems. No fulfillment. So, let's invent some problems. I've learned my lesson beforehand. I can't get caught in that tangled web again.
To be continued ... Go
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