2001: The Viagra Years

Tuesday May 1, 2001

I am already beginning to experience the freedom that comes along with separation. This time, it's from the shackles of this journal. Cutting off all communication has been ideal. I've set up all new e-mail addresses for my important e-mail. In time, the journal itself will prove less important. Entries will become sporadic until it is no longer worth the trouble.

The Covey book has become an invaluable asset. In reading it again, I feel as though I had missed many important points prior. I am not as stressed out about my situation anymore. As long as I don't spend any money foolishly, then I will do fine. For example, I am not planning to upgrade my computer until it is absolutely necessary. That could be years from now. The disposition of the rest of the junk will be at my whim.

I'm not even concerned about the foolish nature of my job. It's not a career by any means. That doesn't affect my quality, mind you. I'm just not going to take it any more seriously than I have to. What's the sense? I'm a disposable commodity. I could be relieved of my duties at any time just like what happened to Pseudo-professors Emmett and John. I can only take control of what is in my control or sphere of influence. The other crap is moot. What I've learned is that, on this earth, nothing is permanent. Everything is fleeting and transient. There is no person, no institution, no doctrine that can be relied upon until time indefinite. Only the laws of the universe, those of a higher power, can be regarded as the ultimate source of stability. If I must place my faith somewhere, that is where it will be. This, I believe, is the basis for personal happiness.

Wednesday May 2

I have been grading exams for the past few days. Not a great experience. My students have made the task even more difficult because of their inability to follow simple directions. The worst part is that a few of them have copied data files from other students. What is sad is that I had told them how to effectively cheat without being detected, but they blatantly disregarded my warnings. This brazen attitude is becoming much more prevalent.

Pseudo-professor Roy had an interesting experience. A male student approached him and said that he would do anything for an "A" grade. He then started unbuttoning his shirt in, what I would assume, a blatant sexual proposition.. The student was failing the class and was at risk of losing his scholarship. Most of the faculty are voicing the same concerns and complaints. If these are the kinds of people coming out of college, then it's safe to say that we, as a society, are going to hell in a handbasket.

Thursday May 3

Yesterday was Professor Lisa's B-day. Professor Russell had decorated her office and bought a few small gifts. There was a party atmosphere in the faculty computer center yesterday. Finals week and Professor Lisa's B-day both contributed to the festivities. Pseudo-professors Robert, Ralph, and I were rating all the babes on the Hot or Not site. Spirits are running high, I suppose, because Summer is almost upon us. I am still undecided about facilitating the math class. However, Pseudo-professor Lee urged me to consider the option. "Use the class as a means to get creative," he said. "No one will hold a candle to you."

The Neighborhood Board elections are over and the ol' lavahead will not be commencing his political career as anticipated. It's all for the better. I don't need the headache of dealing with politically ambitious morons. Sheesh! I forgot to mention that I saw "Dangerous" Jennifer yesterday. I was standing at the bus stop when she walked by. There are always "dangerous" babes in my classes, but none could ever hold a candle to "Dangerous" Jennifer.

I have decided to try for the math class this Summer. I've waited so long that I'm not sure if it's still available. Does it really matter? I spent most of the afternoon chatting with other faculty. We all have a little more spare time since the term is coming to an end at the university. I've not really been myself lately. I'm almost walking around in a trance it seems. I'm continuing to read the Covey book in the silence of the late evening. I believe that this book has had a profound effect on my life. As I read through the passages, I have noted that many of my off-the-cuff dissertations to my students are clearly in-line with the same principles outlined in the book. I have made progress. I finally believe that my objectives are coming into focus.

Friday May 4

My request to facilitate the calculus class has tentatively been granted. The class may still be canceled because of low enrollment. I'm not sure why I decided to take on this new assignment, given my fragile mental state. The amount of preparation will almost certainly nullify any financial gain. I am also beginning to see that I am totally ineffective even as a mere pseudo-professor. I have no commitment to what I do. Yet, I was forced to adapt to my environment. Either that, or I would have ended up completely frustrated like many of my colleagues. Our methodology does not work because we are detached from our students. We are using a style of pedagogy that is no longer effective with the Gen-XYZ crowd. I know this for a fact because I must listen to the same complaints every day from several faculty. In each and every case, no personal responsibility has been assumed by the complainant. Sure, we could try to force the "old school" (no pun intended) upon these students, but it is clearly obvious that they are highly suspect and resistant.

Even as I read Covey's book, I cannot be certain that I will have adequate time or skills to uncover the intrinsic human principles which probably lay dormant in the deep subconscious of most students, no less the general population. The tube and other media have the added effect of subverting this process even more. I am still convinced that the solution to my own dilemma and the values (read: identity) crisis that I suffer as a pseudo-professor is intricately tied to Covey's principles. Perhaps that is why I have chosen to facilitate the math class. This could be a fresh opportunity to attempt an implementation of Covey's principles.

I'm not sure why, but I've become somewhat resigned to my situation. I wouldn't describe the feeling as one of complacency. I'm experiencing a moderate level of success. Not financial success, mind you. Although I am doing better in that respect than I ever have in my entire life. I have controlled my impulse to acquire new toys, and also reduced the subsequent guilt from past financial transgressions. I have also become somewhat comfortable with my own singularity. All of this is extremely positive. For the time being, I am satisfied.

Saturday May 5

Pseudo-professor Robert has been acting in a peculiar manner for over a month. He has been extremely secretive, especially concerning his activities in the faculty computer room. Deleting history files, using an on-line bookmark service, creating several account profiles. A few days ago, Pseudo-professor Ralph had a hunch that we would find evidence still in the cache on the network drive. Sure enough, there were a lot of hurdy-gurdy image files in Pseudo-professor Robert's cache. I was not shocked, given what I already knew. After all, Pseudo-professor Robert and I lead very similar lives.

I now understand why he's been considering the purchase of a computer. He wants a Sony VAIO notebook computer with full multimedia capability. When the three of us were discussing this matter last week, I mentioned that I know of no other reason for purchasing a computer with a large hard drive, DVD drive, and other multimedia features except for viewing and storing hurdy-gurdies. That's all I'd need a new computer for. Just kidding! Well, maybe not.

Guys who really get into hurdy-gurdies apparently begin to exhibit odd behavior as the obsession builds. Social isolation and secretive behavior are on top of the list. It is a secret world that eventually consumes almost all free time and resources (including financial). I've joked around about this situation for quite some time. However, there is a dark side. Will I be following in Pseudo-professor Robert's footsteps? Both of us are at a critical juncture in our lives. Babes like "Dangerous" Jennifer are running amuck around us. Slow torture. Although I have committed to the monk lifestyle, how easy will it be to fall away? The harmless hurdy-gurdy here and there to relieve "pressure." Soon it becomes an obsession and a need, because there will be no real babes around. A long time ago, someone told me that guys eventually go crazy unless they can do da wild thing. Abstinence for an extended period of time is a precursor to psychopathology, I was told. I laughed back then. Now, I have to wonder if there is some level of truth to that premise.

Professor Russell had invited me to join him and a few other faculty for dinner and movie this evening. As usual, I neglected to call back. Instead, I bought a bottle of the "Hammer" and lapsed into a coma in my favorite chair. When I came to, it was almost close to midnight. What a life I lead! If only I could do da wild thing with all of those hurdy-gurdy babes. Sheesh!

Sunday May 6

If I had gone out last night, I would have spent quite a bit of dough. Instead, I bought a $5 bottle of the "Hammer" and polished it off. Big headache. Sheesh! To make matters worse, the young ho' was acting up last night. First, her boytoy showed up at midnight. He was upset with the scandalous ho' as usual. There was a lot of yelling, cussing, and things being slamming around. An hour later, the young ho' was outside doing the same.

I spent most of the day in a coma. By late afternoon, I felt useless. So, I did my yardboy chores. More of the same intrusive thoughts filled the oversized cranium again. Should I sell the Bose Acoustic Wave and my beloved six-four, or not? Should I better utilize my Palm IIIe? Why did I spend so much dough two years ago when I flew to the mainland so many times? Ad nauseam. Same old crap. There are no answers. In reading Covey's book, I'm seeing the folly of my ways. It's really too bad that we never got that dubious e-commerce project going. We would probably be producing (and starring in) some great hurdy-gurdy projects right now. Wouldn't that be something? With babes like Brianna Banks (at right), who wouldn't want to perform in a hurdy-gurdy?

It's easy to understand why Pseudo-professor Robert is losin' it over the "situation" (as The Master calls it). I may be losin' it right along with him. Hurdy-gurdies and chokin' da chicken. They go hand-in-hand, so to speak. Pseudo-professor Robert has been concerned that there will be major changes in his academic department and he'll be the odd man out. "The writing is on the wall," he said. That may apply to me as well. I requested the math class for Summer and, the next thing I knew, I was told that the request is on hold until another clown is interviewed next week. If we can't find anyone else, then we'll call you. Thanks, but no thanks. I sent back an e-mail stating that I may just take the Summer off as originally planned. I'll be short on dough, but who cares? If I drop my cell phone service, then I'll be able to afford one Brianna Banks hurdy-gurdy DVD each month. Sheesh!

Sometimes I wonder if I should just go for broke and start up a hurdy-gurdy production company. Times are really bad and there are a lot of exotic babes in Hawai'i. Surely, the draw of fame and fortune will bring them in. If I contact one of the mainland producers, I'm sure we'll be able to sell everything we produce. Naturally, to cut costs, we must star in the productions as well. What the hell am I talking about? I'm a monk, for goodness sakes.

Well, it's time to return to the salt mines. No Brianna Banks there. I wonder if Pseudo-professor Robert bought the Sony VAIO notebook computer this weekend. I wonder if he knows who Brianna Banks is. Ho boy! Time is sure flying by. It's already Summer and we're still singing the same old tune. I should finish reading Covey's book sometime this week. I'll have more comments later.

Monday May 7

A mysterious Zip cartridge was laying around the faculty computer nerd room. There was no name on it. Just "Pers" scribbled on the label. Pseudo-professor Ralph thought that it belonged to Pseudo-professor Robert. I asked if he checked to see if any files would reveal who the owner was. He gave the Zip cartridge to me. I found the whole thing full of hurdy-gurdy image files. I found a sample of Pseudo-professor Robert's handwriting and compared it to the scribbling on the label. I'm no expert, but it looked like a match. Why would he be so careless as to leave that lying around? Perhaps it's a cry for help.

What am I talking about anyway? Hurdy-gurdies are a better alternative than the other. Babes only cause too much grief. The real problem is the stigma associated with hurdy-gurdies. When one thinks of hurdy-gurdies, one visualizes perverted losers. The raincoat crowd. Stalkers. There must be hella perverted losers around because the hurdy-gurdy industry is huge. It's about the only thing that makes big money. In fact, let me go on the record by saying that I stand behind Pseudo-professor Robert. Even though I'm a monk, I can empathize with his situation.

I restored my monk haircut. I feel much better. When the hair gets too long, it insulates the oversized cranium. Heat builds up. That's probably why I've been on the edge. I got my haircut at the College of Hair Design. A gorgeous Asian babe restored the monk haircut. What was interesting was that she was a really nice babe. Quite a difference from the treacherous wenches I must deal with on a daily basis. I really wish that the world was a better place to live in. If only people could be nice to each other instead of always looking to pull the wool over each other's eyes. It's all one big stinking mess. I've become even more disillusioned by being in the college environment. I've never seen so many people who are eager to lie, cheat, and sell their souls just to get something for nothing. The really sick part is in knowing that they derive an immense amount of pleasure and satisfaction from this kind of behavior. Some may try to refute me on this point. I'm not open to dissension. I've seen the proof with my own eyes and it makes me want to deliver street pizza, if you know what I mean.

Tuesday May 8

Pseudo-professor Robert made an appearance at the faculty computer center. I gave him the Zip cartridge, no questions asked. He was grateful and treated me to lunch at L&L Drive-In. We sat and talked for about an hour. He confided that he's been on psychotropic medication for Bipolar Disorder, although he used Manic-Depression alternatively (DSM-IV defines both as distinctly separate). I'm not one who believes in the medical model of psychopathology, but I did not attempt to refute the diagnosis. I've come to understand his position because I know it well. It's a phase-of-life problem, specifically "mid-life crisis," albeit a mild incarnation.

There are many similarities between Pseudo-professor Robert and I. More so than I would admit. Therefore, I could feel his pain and empathize. My goal was to open the conduit of communication. However, I was not attempting to role-play a psychologist. I will be a good friend to Pseudo-professor Robert because I know what the issues are — the single life and an unstable career path. Both factors are an anathema to the good life. As a monk, I have learned to accept and live with the former. The latter requires some adjustment in thinking, although it can be rectified by a career change or by accepting it as a means to an end. There are no easy answers. No quick fixes. As time goes on, the situation will become more difficult to bear. However, I will be pseudo-professor Robert's friend through it all. We are comrades even more so than he may know.

The math class has been given to me, much to my surprise. In fact, all the paperwork was done before I could even reply to the e-mail. I will swallow my pride and facilitate the class. Heck, I may never be asked to facilitate the class again if I do a crummy job. I really have to re-think my situation. I am eternally thankful that moms' neighborhood is quiet (unless the House of Lolo acts up). I am also thankful that I don't own a tube. I spend the evening in contemplation. Or, I read Covey's book and digest the wealth of information. This time has been very important to self-discovery and the preservation of my sanity.

Wednesday May 9

I sat in the back of the express bus and watched ahead as we weaved through traffic on the freeway. For most of the ride, both in the morning and the afternoon, I think about my life. I also think about moms and pops. I'm glad that I wear my shades because no one can see the tears well up in my eyes. I'm not sure what I think about specifically and why it saddens me. The only real fact concerning my existence is that I originated with my parents and, therefore, am created in their image. My life overlaps their lives, and I see how finite that overlap is. In time, there will be no overlap. My lineage ends with me. I fear that this time with my parents is extremely short, and that I am at fault for this. I really cherish this time but I am still sad.

"You could have ended up married to your high school sweetheart and had kids right away. You would have had no choice but to work at Mickey Dee's to support your family. Then, things would have fallen apart," I said. That was yesterday when I was engaged in a discussion with Pseudo-professor Robert. Way back when, neither of us had any ties aside from our immediate family, so we went to school on the mainland. We are much better off than what could have been. I don't believe that he saw it my way. Yet, I know that we both made the right decision. This discussion made me really understand that I have made the appropriate decision for now as well.

I called pops because moms has been hearing all kinds of things from the Ninja Turds. Pops seems to be doing okay. He will be flying here next Monday because his surgery at Queen's Hospital is scheduled for Thursday. I have promised to visit him before the surgery. The hospital is just a few blocks from the core of downtown.

I'm not sure what is the common thread in the disjointed discussion I just presented. There is some meaning that is subconsciously apparent to me. Covey points out that humans possess certain intrinsic principles. Sometimes they lay dormant. At other times, we deliberately suppress them. No matter what, they are always there. I suppose that I have discovered the existence of those principles. Re-discovered is probably a better term. I have lost faith in humanity, but that really is totally irrelevant. I am only responsible for myself and my actions, both of which should not be affected by anything external. That's life as I know it.

Thursday May 10

There are days that I feel really good, and there are days like today. One event ruins everything. This time, it was a photocopy of a page from the Asylum's Employee Handbook which detailed the dress code policy. Although it was distributed to all faculty, I took it personally. I find it odd that the Asylum is so concerned about how we are dressed, yet it has failed in numerous attempts to enforce a student dress code. Most of the computer equipment is in a sad state of disarray. Over 25 percent of the student body is now considered "at risk" academically. Yet, the administration is only concerned about the Dog & Pony Show. I'll play this game for another three years at the most. Then, I'm outta there.

Of course, it didn't help that I couldn't sleep last night since the young ho' was outside cavorting with her friends in one of their cars. The music was blaring and they were talking extremely loud. The party ended after 2am. I refrained from calling the cops because the little bitch had at least decided to have the party next to the other neighbor's boundary (adjacent to the House of Lolo). Consideration wasn't the issue. The high-pressure sodium light was the only deterrent.

Could I be exhibiting the same psychopathology as Pseudo-professor Robert? Perhaps. However, it's more than likely that there is no psychopathology. We are reacting to life situations. Bipolarity is an aspect of the environment. Everyday events and the people we come into contact with are what ebb the manic and depressive tides which pull us into the vortex by virtue of sheer force. There is no stability, not even in the short run. Events spike upward and downward, and either bring instant gratification or thrust us into a living hell. I know for a fact that each day is another rollercoaster ride, not of my own doing. I have latched on to the only pillar of strength — the monk principles. This is my only source of stability.

Most of my diatribe is coincident with Covey's basic premise. Stability can only be derived from an intrinsic set of principles which do not waver over time. They are the laws which govern the universe. Laws that cannot be broken, at least not by mortal humans. Dissonance, in my case, is rooted in my daily dealings with so many slimy weasels and backstabbers. A good jolt to the craniums of these fools with the Nova Spirit could accomplish a truly humanitarian task. When one is quivering like a blob of jelly from the applied electric current of the Nova Spirit, there would be little margin for any Dog & Pony Show remedy. The Nova Spirit is one possession which I never considered divesting. I know that there will be a day when I will be forced to use it. The point to remember is that the Nova Spirit is an adjunctive prescription (i.e., applied after the moron is restrained).

I think that I need to relax for the rest of the evening. I'll read Covey's book after I peruse the many hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net. Just kidding! Later, I will peruse my Nova Taser-like device and I may even clean it. If only I had a bottle of the "Hammer" to make the evening complete. Sheesh!

Friday May 11

The young ho' was at it again last night. Guys were stopping by one after the other, just like mangy mutts hanging around a female dog in heat. The little douche bag is already a wanton trollop and she's barely in high school. Heck, this should all look familiar. The young ho' is a handmaiden in the making. There will be more grief from the little strumpet as the days go on.

I was in a daze for most of the day, most likely because of sleep deprivation. I have been having intrusive thoughts about whom I could apply the Nova Spirit, and how I could do the deed without being arrested. The real problem is that I need to stock up on the special lithium batteries for the Nova Sprit because there are just too many craniums to jolt. The batteries cost about $20 each. Sheesh! I have been letting down my guard too much. No one can be trusted. I should have learned my lesson a long time ago. Only provide a pretense of being vulnerable, but always remain in control of the situation. Feigned vulnerability is a tactical stratagem. It is the fulcrum from which one can "turn the tables," if you know what I mean. Life is too short to be constantly victimized by morons.

The weekend is finally here. Moms is preparing all kinds of food to cook in the kamado as we speak. I only dread that the Ninja Turds will stop by and ruin my day. I need a lot of peace and quiet. Seclusion. My nerves are clearly shot. In my fragile mental state, I do not need any more grief. Aside from starting up a hurdy-gurdy DVD collection, I want to do a few things this Summer aside from sitting in a coma in the resin chair. Or, maybe all I need is some rest and relaxation.

Saturday May 12

Moms fired up the kamado early this morning. Most of house was filled with smoke and primarily in the (former) warehouse. I couldn't sit in my favorite chair for several hours. So much for relaxation. The bulk of the food will be distributed to the Ninja Turds. I suppose that is how moms derives some sense of purpose. I drove my six-four to Long's in Kuapa Kai. I had to buy a cheap bottle of shampoo and a new lawn sprinkler. The old sprinkler broke last weekend. The piece of [dung] lasted less than six months Naturally, I had to buy a 12-pack of Keystone for my troubles. I also put six dollars worth of gas in my beloved six-four. I've only put gas in my six-four one other time so far this year. I spent a total of $21 today. That's a significant fraction of my income. I've never really realized this before. Yet, I can't explain away my ignorance since my income is well below the reference standard known as the "poverty level."

I've become more disturbed about Covey's book as I continue to read it. Covey denies the use of hype. However, it becomes clearly apparent that hype is what permeates the book. I don't deny that the basic core has roots in solid, timeless principles. Yet, I sense an underlying hypocrisy. Perhaps I am too suspicious of everyone and everything. I suppose that is true. If I believed in the goodness of all humans and I believed that I could trust people further than I could throw them, then I would not be pursuing the life of a monk. I witness manipulation all around me. I, myself, am subject to all kinds of manipulation on a daily basis. I reward my manipulators with what they want only if I get something in return. It's a perverted form of "Win/Win" but it works. Take my buddy Penn. I made him jump through the hoops even though I knew he would never deliver anything worthwhile to me. I merely got the satisfaction of seeing him squirm and frantically slap a bunch of crap together. I didn't even bother to check what was in his second submission.

I see this level of manipulation in my so-called "family." Look specifically at the actions of the Ninja Turds. Their motives are transparent as clear glass. I am on to them, so they have tried to ostracize me. Give me a break! Life is a game. Most people are playing this game and attempting to win by their rules. It is the modus operandi of a typical 7-year-old child. Immaturity is all pervasive in a decadent society based on money and greed. Covey gives most people more credit than they deserve. The world is full of dickheads, and that is a conscious choice each dickhead made. Maturity requires responsibility and, Heaven forbid, who wants that? Covey is correct in emphasizing the need for independence. I'll go further and include self-sufficiency. Only then can one integrate into this society and not become a victim of the manipulators.

I discovered that someone has stolen my oil drain pan from the carport. This event has some disturbing inferences. I suspect that the culprit is one of the losers who hang around next door at the House of Lolo. There is no telling when they will become more brazen and actually break into some of the houses in this cul de sac. It's time for me to keep the Nova Spirit handy just for such an occasion. Moms delivered the food to the Ninja Turds. I'm sure that Mrs. Turd was "too busy" to come by. I'd rather not see the likes of them anyway.

Sunday May 13

I distributed the consumption of my Keystone supply equally between these two days. The weather has been extremely hot, and there's no better way to quench my thirst. I was able to relax, even though I had to do my houseboy chores and wash my beloved six-four. I sat outside on my beloved resin chair for most of the day. Most of the neighbors have not been home, so I enjoyed the peace and quiet. Only the chirping of birds and the sound of my wind chimes could be heard. It's really surprising to note how rejuvenating a day like this can be.

I'm certainly not ready to return to the salt mines tomorrow. I have been seriously reviewing my situation. I've mentioned before that I want to switch to a mindless, minimum wage job within the next three years. However, after reading an article in Salon, I may have to re-think that plan. The article was a review of the book Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich. What makes the book interesting is that its author spent two years in a variety of minimum wage slave jobs. I suppose that I have forgotten how demeaning a real peon job can be. It's even worse than what I have to put up with now!

This made me realize why I haven't been able to fully embrace Covey's treatise. There is a certain level of employment where people are considered nothing more than disposable "implements." Unfortunately, I am still within that segment as anyone can easily discern by reading my adventures as a pseudo-professor. When one is stuck in the lowest level of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, there is little use in bantering the aspects of unlimited opportunity. Emancipation is the only feasible goal.

Monday May 14

Pops arrived this afternoon and was admitted to the hospital. He is actually staying at an apartment complex that is owned by the hospital. I spent quite a bit of time calling around because of misinformation that moms received from the Ninja Turds. Pops had an afternoon appointment with the doctor. I will try to visit with pops tomorrow.

Professor Lisa had called sometime this morning. A few faculty were going to spend the day at Ala Moana Beach. Unfortunately, I didn't receive the message until I returned home. She must have not known that classes are still in session at the Asylum. I have not done anything with the group since Professor Russell's B-day celebration. I've been invited to join them for Happy Hour on several occasions, but I have declined because I just want to get home. Moms appeared to be in a bad way when I returned home today. I may have to re-think my obligation about being home so often. I do the best that I can to be a good son. I listen to moms lament about other families whose adult offspring do absolutely nothing to help around the house. That was the situation when the Ninja Turds lived in moms house as well. Sometimes I believe that moms misses those days. It gave her a sense of purpose. I'd be more than happy to move out and let the Ninja Turds accept their entitlement now.

I finished reading the Covey book late last night. I may have jumped to conclusions a few days ago. The reason I now recant my previous thoughts is the following quote from the book that I believe many people would cast aside as bunk:

Just as junk food and lack of exercise can ruin an athlete's condition, those things that are obscene, crude, or pornographic can breed an inner darkness that numbs our higher sensibilities and substitutes the social conscience of "Will I be found out?" for the natural or divine conscience of "What is right and wrong?"

To become a person of high integrity requires the cleaning up of many aspects of one's life, both public and private. Maintaining a secret private life of debauchery will only end up being one's demise. Well, so much for collecting Brianna Banks DVDs, eh? Sheesh!

Tuesday May 15

I spoke with pops again today. He had to undergo several more test, so that took up most of his day. I was not able to visit him because of that. He will be admitted into the hospital tomorrow, so I will try to visit him then. That will be my only chance to see him before the surgery. I also have to find out if there are other arrangements that must be made when he is discharged.

The faculty computer room will be closed through the end of the month commencing tomorrow. So, many of the regular faculty were hanging out in there today. I have to substitute for Pseudo-professor Ralph tomorrow. He has an evening class, so I will be returning home late.

Wednesday May 16

There's nothing like sitting in the back of the bus at 9 o' clock at night with my shades on as it inches its way back to Hawai'i Kai. That gave me a lot of time to reflect about my day. I finally went to see pops at the hospital. I met his new wife for the first time. There was a lot of activity during the course of my visit. Nurses and doctors were in and out. I was fortunate to have left at the time that I did because pops was scheduled to have several intravenous tubes attached to him within the hour. The surgery will be much more involved than I thought. He will have his bladder and parts of his colon removed. I came face-to-face with mortality in a way that I have never experienced before. My gut feeling tells me that the end of the line for pops is near. I don't think that the cancer will ever go away. We didn't have much to say to each other, which made the situation somewhat awkward. I will check back next week to see if any special arrangements need to be made.

I had walked to Queen's Hospital from the university. The trip only took a few minutes since the hospital is just a few blocks from the center of downtown. The walk back was pensive, at best. I didn't particularly enjoy my experience at the hospital. The situation was exacerbated by the extremely rude staff. I was not impressed by the variety of morons that I encountered. I almost thought that I walked into a rerun of ER, what with all pompous, self-important [rectums] whom I had encountered.

I didn't mind substituting for Pseudo-professor Ralph. The class was small in size and there were only a couple of activities to facilitate. I actually looked forward to the bus ride home. Naturally, the bus was late. But, it arrived at my destination on time. There are no self-important [rectums] on the bus. Just a bunch of nameless nobodies going nowhere in particular. Most are losers, just like myself. I blend right in especially if I wear my shades. I was glad to return home. I will say a prayer for pops because he will endure a lot of pain and suffering in the next few days.

Thursday May 17

I heard the young ho' outside at about 11:30 last night. However, I was not truly prepared for what was going on. I saw the young ho' laying on the concrete floor of the carport next the lolo's wife's car. The carport is open except for the tool cabinet that the lolo constructed along the side of the carport. The cabinet is elevated about two feet off of the slab floor. That is where the young ho' was laying. The brightness of the sodium security light left nothing to the imagination. The young ho' was naked from the waist down. I could hear some faint moaning so I looked even closer to see a pulsing movement just above her pelvis. Within seconds, the pulsing movement increased to a fever pitch. Then, it was over. The young ho' put her board shorts back on. I could see the silhouette of her boytoy, hovering above her, no doubt zipping up his Vienna Sausage. They were doing da wild thing.

For a brief moment, I was overcome by feelings of envy and defeat. I was reminded once again that I am a loser. Then, I snapped out of it. I am a monk. These things should not affect me. The young ho' is drop-dead gorgeous, even though she may only be 15 years of age. The real point is that I am amazed at the sheer power of biology, at least from the guys' perspective — specifically da wild thing. There is almost nothing that can combat this force, not even the vows of a monk. I'm not exactly sure why I was even surprised about the young ho' since I could detail my own foolish experience from less than a year ago at Kahala Beach.

The whole situation has really served to remind me of my lunch with Pseudo-professor Robert. As we sat in L&L Drive-In and ate our plate lunches, a couple of local babes walked past the front windows. They were young and drop-dead gorgeous. Pseudo-professor Robert made a comment about how gorgeous they were. That led into a discussion about how babes like that always ended up with losers. What I really should have said was, "Welcome to the life of a chimp!" I know where Pseudo-professor Robert is coming from. I deeply understand his concerns. I also know that we lead somewhat parallel lives.

Pseudo-professor Ralph, Professor Lisa, Carin from Academic Affairs, and the ol' lavahead went to lunch together today. We ordered our food to go and ate a small park above the parking garage in the Amfac Center. That's also the building that Mark's office is located. I inquired about Professor Brian's obvious mackin' on Pseudo-professor Cathrin last Friday. Even in the ranks of the faculty, the fun and games of biology are at play. Later, I spent some time talking with Pseudo-professor Ralph. I am surprised that we are all still able to coordinate common meeting times since being displaced from the faculty computer room.

Moms had talked with the Ninja Turds. Apparently, the surgery didn't go as expected. Pops had the colon operation done but the removal of his bladder was aborted because the cancer has spread far more than expected. I have no idea why this could be. Last year, pops had told me that the cancer was diagnosed as being in remission. He was given a clean bill of health and was going for a final checkup in February. After that, he planned to move to Honolulu. I have no idea why things went haywire since then. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say that the original diagnosis was flawed. Therefore, the cancer has been spreading since last year. I had a bad feeling that something was not right when I left the hospital yesterday. Now, I know why.

Friday May 18

I called pops today and spoke with him briefly. He was coherent but I could tell that he needed recovery time. "The prognosis is not good," he told me. The new plan is to resume chemotherapy. However, I am concerned that the treatments will only make him weaker in the long run. Pops and I were never close. As a matter of fact, pops made life difficult for all of us. Things got worse after I moved to the mainland. Fortunately, I was able to escape that nonsense. In seeing pops as a feeble, old man now, I can no longer harbor any malice. I was not really able to hold back the tears as I realized that this part of my history will draw to a close in the near future.

Time and space really had no meaning to me today. I walked about in a slow pace. I watched the other people rushing about all around me. Everything is vanity. I met up with Pseudo-professor Ralph. He and I had lunch at Shane's Kitchen. Pseudo-professor Robert made a rare appearance. He was preoccupied because of a summons from the Dean. The whole situation seemed to verify the "writing on the wall" omen that he had mentioned a few weeks ago. What he seems most concerned about is the possible loss of his health benefits. I surmised that it has to do with his counseling sessions and medication. Pseudo-professor Robert believes that therapy has drastically improved his life. I don't quite see it that way. My impression is that he has developed a dependency on the medication, and that he has become less sociable as a result.

Pseudo-professor Robert's father had passed on about five years ago. He moved back from Mau'i during the time that his father was seriously ill. From what I understand, he had a close relationship with his father, unlike myself. He once admitted that he slid into depression after the loss of his father. I don't think that he came to grips with that event. I'm sure that being single didn't help as his father was never able to become a grandparent. I'm pretty sure that this thesis is correct because these are the kinds of thoughts that run through my mind about my own situation. As the elder sons in traditional, patriarchal families, both he and I are assumed failures.

As Pseudo-professor Robert was leaving to see his Dean, I said, "Well, maybe he's going to offer you a tenured position." That's also what Pseudo-professor Ralph had said. "And you're getting married next week ..." he retorted sarcastically. Being the Keeper of Lost Lives, I made note of that statement. I believe that it is at the heart of his anxieties as I had previously hypothesized.

The drain in the kitchen sink clogged again as moms keeps repeating history by stuffing too much garbage in it. Naturally, the cure was chlorine bleach. No matter how much I try to point out the stupidity of bleach as a drain cleaner, the words fall upon deaf ears. My throat and lungs are tightening up because of the fumes as we speak. "Drano no good," moms tells me in Pidgin-English. "Clorox make 'em slippery so da food slide down da pipe."

Saturday May 19

Today was a scorcher, which tends to explain why the termites have been out in force. I spent most of the day sitting outside in my beloved resin chair. As usual, I lapsed in and out of a coma even though I now have less than a month to prepare for the math class that I will be facilitating. I'm not too sure whether I'll be up to doing the class or not. Everything tends to hinge on my fragile mental state.

With absolutely nothing to do, I find myself spending quite a bit of time in deep contemplation. There are days that I feel confident about my decisions. And then, there are days that I'm not certain if I know what I'm doing. I am almost sure that Pseudo-professor Robert has placed one contingency on his ability to find happiness — a babe. I thought about this for a while. Could I be still thinking the same thing? After careful review, I discovered that the monk vows are still intact. The monk lifestyle is the only viable lifestyle for the ol' lavahead. Naturally, it would be nice to able to skin up babes right and left without any commitments. However, let's face it. That's only possible if one is a hurdy-gurdy performer. Sheesh!

Sunday May 20

Pops always had a fondness for his Primo^® beer. He also smoked heavily. Pops was also extremely impatient, often unreasonable. Moms, on the other hand, never drank any alcoholic beverages. Neither did moms smoke cigarettes. That could be why there is a significant contrast in their health patterns. Moms has remained extremely active and is rarely under the weather. Of course, moms is battling the effects of osteoporosis and is oftentimes in pain as a result.

Pops was still droppin' back the booze well into his late forties. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? I don't believe that alcoholism is a trait that is passed on by genetics. I'm more inclined to believe that it is passed on through modeling, which can be almost as powerful as genetics. I am following in pops' footsteps, as it were. I can see where it's leading. I have made headway in curbing my consumption of fire water, but I believe that the damage has already been done.

I unboxed my Bose Acoustic Wave so that I could listen to the psychotic classical pieces on public radio. The music was grating on my nerves, so I put one of my Smooth Jazz CDs on instead. Then, one of the moronic neighbors decided to mow his lawn. Dust was flying everywhere. Quite a few specks were landing on the Acoustic Wave. I almost crossed the line of sanity. I wanted to jolt his head with the Nova Spirit. After I calmed down, I made a few disturbing observations. For one thing, I despise music. All of it irritates me to no end with the exception of House music. The most disturbing observation is that all of my possessions are either wrapped up or boxed up. I go through a psychotic ritual of unwrapping or unboxing my possessions before using them. Then, I wrap or box them up after I'm done. If I had a large enough plastic bag, I'd probably wrap up my beloved six-four, too. By the way, moms does this with everything in the house as well.

I thought of unboxing and unwrapping everything, then arrange all of it in a pile and pulverize the whole works with a hammer. That's got to be the only cure for this mental illness. I mean, who else has Mr. Potato Head boxed up and wrapped in a plastic bag? The damned Nova Spirit is also boxed and wrapped in a similar fashion. If I don't smash everything to bits, then I should get rid of the junk. After further thought, I decided to recommission Mr. Potato Head. What purpose does he serve when he's boxed up? He can keep me company while I'm losin' it. Sheesh!

I am really not sure what is causing me so much grief. My patience was extremely low by the end of the day. I will have to confess that I was thinking about what it would be like to do da wild thing with babes like Brianna Banks. In my attempt to understand Pseudo-professor Robert, I have become him. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

Monday May 21

I looked outside last night, but I was not surprised by what I saw. The young ho' was draped over the trunk of the lolo's car and homeboy was standing up and pumping his pelvis furiously. They were both fully clothed this time. After his Vienna Sausage delivered its payload, he let the young ho' down. She tugged at her underwear to get it back into position, obviously having moved it aside to allow homeboy's Vienna Sausage entrance to her love tunnel. Alas, da wild thing. I knew it well in my own time. I became a slave to da wild thing. Four or five times a day. It was madness. Those of us who are prone to addictive behavior are ripe for the greatest of all addictions.

I visited pops today in the hospital. He looked okay, but I knew that he wasn't feeling too well. He has been in and out of the Intensive Care Unit all weekend with different complications. He told me that moms had been in earlier. I was surprised to hear that. I didn't give pops any of the usual platitudes because I sensed that he was not in the mood for that crap. Everyone else, including the doctors and nurses, were already doing a superb job of that. As is common with patients after major surgery, pops was in a bad way. He seemed depressed, and he has given up. I didn't disagree with him, although I urged him to not give up hope. Deep down inside, I knew that he was right. There really is no more that can be done. In fact, the physician who was supposed to see him on Friday had yet to show up. As pops discussed more morbid subjects like his funeral and so forth, I just offered to help out in any way that I can. He is also considering residence in a hospice environment here in Honolulu. I didn't want to overstay my welcome, so I ended my visit. Pops looked tired, and I would rather see him rest.

On my way out, I saw pops' wife sitting in the waiting room. She had left the ward so that I could converse in private. I talked with her for a few minutes and also offered my assistance. I also talked to the attending nurse and got the phone number of the urologist who performed the pre-surgery diagnosis. I will call him later to see if I can find out anything else. There has been so much poor information from everyone. I have got to filter out that noise.

I spent the rest of the afternoon talking with Pseudo-professor Ralph. I didn't talk about pops although he knows of the situation. However, in his own way, he is helping to ease my anxieties. No one else really seems to care. Pops is just a another face in the crowd. Family tragedy is a private affair.

To be continued ... Go to V.08