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2001: The Viagra Years
Sunday December 23, 2001
In USA Weekend, I saw an ad for the "Ultimate Fireplace Video." For $6.95, the video provides one hour of continuous viewing of a fireplace. This is the same rag that also carries Dell and Bose ads as well. What does that tell you? I suppose that a virtual fireplace is better than none. It placates the masses, much in the same way that the idiotic tube farce, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, gave hope to all of the impoverished masses that they, too, will eventually live in opulent splendor. However, most of the idiots who watched that piece of [dung] didn't realize that just one of the obscure paintings on the wall of those plush palaces was worth more than what they would earn in a lifetime. And, what of that stupid fireplace video? The ad says that it is "relaxing and romantic." Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa! A hurdy-gurdy DVD library is a better investment. At least one can choke da chicken while watching incredible babes do da wild thing. It would be easier to stay warm by pulling the pud rather than watching a moronic fireplace video. Can you imagine inviting some babe over, tempting baby with the thrill of sitting in front of a fireplace? Then, upon arrival back at the tiny shoebox, pop in the "Ultimate Fireplace Video." Sheesh!
And, what about the Bose Acoustic Wave? Is it a total joke since it appears in ads in that rag as well? I assume that, for $1.079 list, it is one of the biggest rip-offs in history. There is no discount on the product. Brings back old memories of the days of "fair trade," eh? I still must admit that the Bose Acoustic Wave has no competition. However, one could buy a decent component system that sounds much better for the same price. Let's face it. I'm one of those idiots who would buy the "Ultimate Fireplace Video." When I really think about it, the Nova Spirit Taser-like device (at left) was obviously one of the best purchases I have ever made. Why? Well, I can eventually apply it to the oversized cranium and, perhaps, jolt some sense in those cavernous regions. Too bad that I'm not rolling in dough. Otherwise, I'd send everyone I know the ultimate gift — a Nova Spirit. As you may know, I am celebrating any of these ridiculous consumer holidays. The underlying hypocrisy, debauchery, and blasphemy is sickening. The nonsensical gift giving is beyond laughable. Case in point. Roach distributed a few token gifts to the faculty. This year, it was a crystal candle holder. Last year, it was a crystal candy dish. I live in abject poverty. Why do I need crystal? So, I'll end up donating it to Goodwill. Mr. and Mrs. Quixtar gave out little gifts of coffee. Amway coffee. With a small tag attached that gave specifics on how to order more through Mr. Quixtar.
I reluctantly went to the gym late this afternoon. I have no idea why I must force myself to go to the gym. I always feel much better afterwards. Remember when I practically lived at the gym? Perhaps I have finally realized that there is no reason to be a buffed out monk. My bro and his family were here when I returned home. I shared a few cans of Guiness with my bro. Then, we stuffed our faces with pizza. I wasn't actually in the mood for company. However, it wasn't so bad. What I really need is a long period of seclusion with absolutely no contact with anyone. I recall the days in the Roach Motel back in Convalescent City where I had the luxury of going into extended seclusion in my closet. Alas, those were the days!
I was not feeling too well after dinner. I've been eating a lot of crappy food lately. I wonder what my cholesterol level is at now. I'll soon find out when I go in for my physical examination. There are only two weeks left in the year. The journal has survived another year of banality. I have maintained my monk vows for three years. Since I am on unpaid vacation, I hope to spend some time to clear up a few things in the journal. In a sense, we are digressing to the latest Journal of the Mind — more idiotic thoughts from the ol' lavahead.
Monday December 24
Speaking of the Journal of the Mind (read: the [UJ] archive), I have noticed that a small handful of readers have been checking out the pathetic ramblings from the past. That was nightmarish time for the ol' lavahead. It was so ghoulish that I sealed the archive for the longest time, only opening it on special occasions. Now, it's like a bad sitcom that keeps coming back. I often thought of deleting the whole archive, but now I believe that it serves a purpose. I am sure that many people who have been through similar experiences will appreciate some virtual camaraderie. And, I suppose it makes for interesting reading if all else fails. As for me, I have never even looked at it again after it was initially sealed. There is truth in the old adage — time heals all wounds.
I am certain that everyone is running around like maniacs, trying to find last-minute gifts. I can't even mention the name of the holiday since it is so painfully blasphemous. I have removed myself from the festivities, not just because of its pagan origins, but also because its intended purposes are what we should be doing every day. Goodwill and giving should not be limited to one day in the year. Neither require action only against a backdrop of tragedy or grief. Neither require useless tokens such as a crystal candle holder. What people don't understand is that useless gift is no gift at all. The cost of the token is irrelevant. In fact, the whole transaction is meaningless. I would be more impressed if someone just came up to me and said, "I have come to value your friendship." Nothing more. Nothing less. I suppose that it does not matter what I think. After all, I am a nobody. I am a monk. Tomorrow is just another day.
I keep thinking and talking about retirement. Hog heaven. But, what will I really do when the time comes? Frankly, these unpaid vacations are a bit much for me. I have an extremely difficult time keeping myself from lapsing into a coma in my new favorite chair. That's because I have nothing else to do but sit in my new favorite chair. My plan to retire in two years is completely foolish. I have too little dough, and I have nothing to do. Being employed as a wage slave certainly gives me something to do, but it's not enjoyable. Has slavery ever been fun? The redeeming factor for most wage slaves is the ability to spend the accrued, albeit paltry, wages. Hence, our sense of accomplishment is only derived through a direct translation in terms of buying power. Since I have no desire or need to purchase anything beyond the necessities, I will never feel accomplished. I have occasionally felt the exhilaration of buying something. The most recent experience was when I acquired my beloved iBook. The iBook continues to enthrall me because it is quite a marvelous device and because I use it all the time. My Palm IIIe was a novelty, a toy, until I finally found a use for it almost two years later. Thank goodness for MiniCalc Lite. All of these issues are moot in terms of wage slavery and retirement especially when one is a monk. I have entertained the idea of purchasing a cheap parcel of land out in the middle of nowhere and build a modest monastery on it. What exactly would I do all day, subsequent to moving in? Lapse in and out of a coma while sitting in my favorite chair out on the porch?
There are probably a few people who live similar lives to that of the ol' lavahead. Heck, some may actually think like the old fool as well. Perhaps those are the people who find themselves visiting LoserNet and reading the useless gibberish of a decrepit monk. Five years of gibberish, to be exact. You are here with me, living through these times as well. It has been a long journey. Seems like just yesterday I was living below Loser in the Roach Motel. Now, I'm some kind of pseudo-professor in a quagmire of educational asylums. Somehow, I prefer the days of old.
I did my yardboy chores this morning, and I also touched up the paint on some of the trim at the front of the house. Then, I went to the gym for a short workout. I bought an eight-pack of Guiness at Foodland and ended my day by droppin' back a few. Part of my hurdy-gurdy DVD order arrived today. I'm going to update the DVD player on my iBook this evening because none of the DVDs played back properly. Everyone else is doing the holiday shuffle. I've long since disassociated myself from friends and acquaintances. I will just spend another evening with my beloved iBook. This is how I am going to spend the rest of my life. I am, at this point, somewhat ambivalent about my destiny.
Tuesday December 25
One week left in the year. Amazing, isn't it? This is what wage slavery does to a person. I downloaded the new DVD player upgrade. It seems to work pretty good. I was able to view my newest addition to my beloved hurdy-gurdy DVD library. I wonder where the rest of my order is. Priority mail used to take about four days from the mainland. Now, I'm happy if anything arrives earlier than three weeks. I am not certain why I have established my hurdy-gurdy DVD library, what with being a monk and all. Well, I might as well cut out the clown act for now. After all, the year is almost over. I have been unable to stop thinking about da wild thing. My hurdy-gurdy DVD library is not to blame, although it tends to exacerbate the situation. The real issue is that I fell away from the monk lifestyle a few years ago. That has tainted my resolve.
The babe situation is also a moot issue. In my observation, I have seen no strong reason to be involved with a babe beyond da wild thing. I'm a real boring guy, but babes bore me even more. Yes, babes do like to try new things and they do embark on superfluous adventures. Most guys would be content to sit at home if it were not for their babes. Conversations with babes border on trivial pursuits. Spending any extended period of time with a babe is a torturous experience. I, for one, have to admit that I have nothing in common with babes. I live the life of an ascetic which, in and of itself, goes against the very nature of babes. Yet, aside from my own personal quirks, I wonder why guys and babes get together. Having a family seems to be the only solidifying reason, yet I am at a loss to figure out why many couples bother to have kids. They seems to only have concern over outward appearances, but have little or no clue about the fundamentals of child rearing. Nor do they even seem interested. My only guess is that the children become the glue that holds a weak relationship together to further prolong the misery. Most of the people in the world have no business being parents.
In my daily interactions with babes, I find little or no substance in those conversations. The majority of babes, at least in Hawai'i, seem to be preoccupied with finding a mate. The attraction is purely physical because none of them have developed even an iota of intellect. In the end, the babes resort to their wily ways. The pretense that people are basing their choices on everything other than da wild thing is ludicrous. It's all pure physical and sexual attraction. Nothing more. Nothing less. That is, of course, the whole basis of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. For guys, da wild thing is the main issue. For babes, physical attraction also includes "peripherals" such as big bank, big house, and big car. By the way, don't get me wrong. Most guys are brain donors these days as well.
As an aside, take a close look at the hurdy-gurdy industry. There are hundreds of new titles appearing every month. Someone has to be buying them and it's not just the raincoat crowd. Let's face it. Guys are the one who buy hurdy-gurdies. And, I am certain that an extremely large number of customers are right-wing, conservative, religious types. Some may even be monks! Not to mention that there doesn't appear to be a shortage of babes who want to star in hurdy-gurdies. Why do they engage in such debauchery? Did I hear you say, "big bank"? Why do guys buy hurdy-gurdies? Did you say, "wild thing"? It is apparent that the hurdy-gurdy industry is a reflection of real life.
My bro and his family came by this afternoon. My bro and I ended up droppin' back quite a few cans of Guiness once again. I am still worried about my bro. Even moms has now become cognizant of the potential problems that may lie ahead for my bro. In other words, he may be taken to the cleaners later, if he ends up at the receiving end of some divorce papers. Moms wants me to tell the bro how to run his life. I can't do that. I hope it never comes to that, but the prevailing national divorce rate does not spark much confidence. I'm just happy to have my hurdy-gurdy DVD library and my iBook. No heartbreaks or grief. Just a mundane existence with no one to answer to.
Wednesday December 26
What's amazing is that I've really run out of topics to discuss. Imagine that. Sheesh! I have discussed the disposition of each of my small handful of belongings ad nauseam. I've discussed the babe situation ad nauseam. I've discussed my short time encumbered by wage slavery ad nauseam. I've discussed everything ad nauseam. You, the reader, know more about the ol' lavahead than he does. Yet, we all have skeletons in the proverbial closet, don't we? Let's see now ... I've already mentioned my extensive hurdy-gurdy DVD library. What else is there? What other forms of debauchery am I hiding? Did I already mention that I secretly desire to do da wild thing with as many drop-dead gorgeous babes as possible? Yeah, I already confessed to that. That's it, I'm through!
As I approach the big Five-O ... Hawai'i Five-O? No, I meant fifty years of age ... I wonder if I'll become desperate and hook up with any babe, even an extremely thick, half-crazed babe. I've seen many of my friends go through desperation. Not a pretty sight. If I were to contrast a life of solitude in a shoebox with minimal possessions to the life that some desperate friends have chosen, I would choose solitude. Hooking up with anyone with a heartbeat, having kids, and living in the suburbs is not my idea of self-actualization. It's more like self-induced torture. Why do people fear being alone? No company is better than bad company. Perhaps I feel this way because I have spent so much time alone. That's all I really know. I am accustomed to the solitary life. And, babes really get on my nerves. I don't understand why they must insist on playing the same stupid mind games that always result in some kind of altercation. What they must realize is that guys are only concerned about the Vienna Sausage and da wild thing. Given da wild thing at least five or six times per day, guys can become very open to suggestion. Less than that, guys become somewhat irritable and tense.
I've been thinking about putting the Bose Acoustic Wave up on eBay to see if I can finally sell it off. I don't even listen to public radio anymore because I discovered that the highly acclaimed news program has now become victim to corporate bias. Is there no escape from this propaganda? I'll stand behind what I've alluded to before — hurdy-gurdy DVDs, the only worthy medium. Speaking of which, the remainder of my hurdy-gurdy DVD order has still not arrived.
I sat in my favorite chair for most of the day. Then, I went to the gym to do a quick workout. I should devote more time to my workouts because I am getting flabby. Well, that's what happen around the the big Five-O. I am amazed at the sheer number of people in the gym who are in worse shape than I am. Did they wait until their physicians mandated that they start a fitness program? Sheesh! As I walked past Starbuck's on my way home, I saw two young babes sitting at one of the tables. One was drop-dead gorgeous, wearing a short jeans skirt. After I returned home, I was outside watering the plants. The young ho' and another babe were walking home from somewhere. Then, I noticed that the young ho' was the babe whom I saw sitting at Starbuck's. Ho boy! Well, I'll be spending the evening with my beloved iBook again. More thoughts from the underground tomorrow.
Dreaming of Jenna
I prefer to think of Jenna as a babe who enjoys doin' da wild thing. I'd rather not believe that Jenna uses her drop-dead gorgeous looks and awesome body to satisfy an insatiable need for money. Nor do I want to believe that she's a power hungry bitch who gets off knowing that millions of guys are chokin' da chicken at the very thought of her. Jenna just likes to do da wild thing. Of course, Jenna isn't killing or maiming anyone. However, in the eyes of the right-wing, conservative, religious crackpots, Jenna is a sinner. There is no forgiveness for sinners who are not part of the "chosen" flock. You see, killing and maiming are okay if both are done in the name of some Holy Crusade. Corruption and greed are also forgiven in business practices if world domination under the guise of expanding Christendom's empire is the primary motive.
Northwinds Project II is in full effect. Several witness are coming forward to dispute the NTSB findings concerning the airliner that allegedly fell apart before crashing. The fall of Enron has had little coverage even though countless people lost their jobs or life savings. Most of those people were sinners or heathens. The "chosen" were given Divine insight to cash out well ahead of time. The anticipated "Osama bin Laden II" has been released. Only Hollywood could be vain enough to release a sequel in such a short period of time. A critic of the first video had prosecuted that a sequel would be necessary for propaganda enhancement. The economy is in a recession. The ol' lavahead used the "R" word months ago. On and on it goes. The right-wing, conservative, religious crackpots don't seem to even care. They don't even bat an eyelash. However, when a sex scandal comes up, they are all over it like a cheap suit. Why is that? The problem with sexual indiscretions is that it is a sin that cannot be forgiven under any circumstance. Killing and maiming can be forgiven, if prosecuted by the "chosen."
I believe that most of these conservative, religious zealots are sexually frustrated. I've mentioned this before. However, this is not the kind of sexual frustration experienced by regular pagans and heathens. An interview in Salon with a Washington call girl was most revealing. She mentioned that her right-wing, conservative, religious clients all told her that she was "going to hell," and that they would pray for her. Of course, that didn't stop them from doing the nasty. Naturally, they are the "chosen." They are forgiven before they even do the dirty deed. They are still riddled with guilt because of the cover-up and deception. They redeem themselves by confessing the sins of others and engaging in crusades to implicate sinners. Have you noticed the unusual fixation with sexual immorality displayed by these individuals?
That's why I can only dream of Jenna. I just think of Jenna as the perfect babe who loves to do da wild thing. Here I am, a monk, and I am thinking about Jenna. I am rejoicing in the Creation. What moron could possibly believe in evolution after one look at Jenna? Babes really drive guys nuts. I can certainly testify to that fact. Why must they be so devilish and use their wily ways on guys? Why can't they just be like Jenna and enjoy da wild thing?
Thursday December 27
I have a large contusion below my chin as a result of stump removal stupidity. The stump has actually been removed, but there are several large roots remaining. I was digging up one of them with a pick. I decided to try to pry it loose. The root gave way and I lost control of what I was doing. I released the handle of the pick to keep from impaling myself. Naturally, my wimpy arms were flailing about like wet noodles. I scraped the bottom of my chin with my thumbnail. I'm fortunate that I didn't knock myself unconscious. What a maroon!
I've spent most of the week wallowing in discontent because I had several things to take care of. I decided to do everything this morning. So, I warmed up my beloved six four. I took care of the recycling, got my blood test done at the Hawai'i Kai clinic, bought some cheap shampoo at Long's, and took my six-four in for the ridiculous "safety check." Didn't even take me an hour. So, I spent a few hours sitting in my favorite chair. I went to the gym to just do a cardio workout on the Transporter-like machine. I can't believe how fatigued I was. I was going at my cooldown pace for the whole duration and I was still winded. Did that little bit of blood drawn this morning cause a drain on my system? Or, was I exhausted from chokin' da chicken excessively while watching my hurdy-gurdy DVDs? Just kidding! No one chokes da chicken while viewing hurdy-gurdies. And, I am a monk. Monks don't choke da chicken.
I had heard about the idiot on the plane who had explosives embedded in his shoes. I wondered how he was caught. My first thought was that he probably tried to light the shoe bomb's fuse with a match. Later, I read that my guess was true. This, of course, is the most ludicrous assault on anyone's intelligence. This clown was clearly set up. Any real terrorist would have had a remote trigger and it would have been a done deal. I surmise that the amount of so-called "explosives" was barely enough to even blow off a good size bunion. Please forgive me, but I can't take this charade anymore. The producers of this cheesy sitcom must believe that we were all born yesterday. Where the krunk is Gilligan? Where's the Skipper? The shoe bomber will probably face the "tribunal," which really means a safe conduit back to the double agent pool. You know, if I don't see bin Laden's head on a platter pretty soon, I'm going to start laughing. I would not be surprised if he's already been whisked back to his family in Saudi Arabia, where they'll keep him under wraps until the storm subsides. We'll probably be privy to another farce soon. Perhaps a couple of pieces of Western Family brand charcoal briquettes will be shown to us and we will be told that the latter are his remains after several hundred "daisy cutter" bombs reduced his caves to gravel. Naturally, there will be a DNA match offered as "proof."
My unpaid vacation is about half over. Although I am doing absolutely nothing, I find my idle time much more enjoyable than a day in the salt mines. In fact, I almost ruined my vacation by thinking about how Roach and his minions have simply been "micromanaging" the Asylum into a true hellhole. Heck, it's no different at the university. Brain donors with PhDs. How can I escape this mass stupidity? Aarrgh!
Friday December 28
I heard the song "Cruel Summer" by Bananarama at the gym the other day. Brought back old memories. There have been many cruel Summers. I found the MP3 version on the Net and downloaded it to my iBook. I may start collecting a few MP3s, if I can find what I'm looking for. At least I won't have to pay big bank for them. And, I don't have much hard drive space so my collection will be limited.
I began constructing the makeshift steps up the hill in the backyard that moms wanted. I used a couple of the cinder blocks that were lying around as a starting point. Later, I'll have to buy a few of those round concrete pods to finish the project. I had an uneventful session at the gym again. I suppose that I'm losing interest in the gym because there really is no reason to become a buffed-out monk. I may also be lapsing into a funk (as Steph would say) because I have nothing to do. I cannot even justify spending a couple of dollars on useless crap because that represents a significant fraction of my pathetic aggregate income. Upon closer scrutiny, I found it appalling that I earn so little such that chump change is not really chump change to me.
The weekend is finally upon us, although I can't tell the difference since I haven't been in the salt mines all week. The new year is rapidly approaching. I won't be doing anything again this New Year's Eve. I'll probably sit in my favorite chair all night long. The new year for me just means that tax time is right around the corner. Sheesh! My hurdy-gurdy DVDs have yet to be delivered. I'm beginning to suspect foul play. Never deny a loser of his hurdy-gurdy DVDs.
I have been trying to think of interesting topics to discuss in the journal, what with it being the last chapter of the year and all. However, I am hard-pressed to find anything of significance. For one thing, I don't lead a scandalous life. Neither do I have any interaction with babes beyond small talk. This is about as prophylactic a lifestyle as possible, short of being mistaken for a cadaver. I was surprised to read a thread in the Apple forums initiated by one of the moderators which was about how he could not get over a babe even though two years has elapsed. I recall when I was in a similar situation of my own doing (as detailed in the [UJ] archive). That will never happen again, my friends. If I was ever stupid enough to break my monk vows and hook up with a babe, I will not exhibit any weasel-like behavior after the hook-up goes South. All I'll say is, "Okay, see you later. Have a good life." Done deal. That lamenting at the Wailing Wall is best left for the real pilgrimage.
Saturday December 29
I have not left Hawai'i Kai in a week. If it were at all possible, I would not have even left the house. However, I must go to the gym. In the future, I wonder if I can get by with some cheap, imitation gym equipment. If I am holed up in a monastery out in the middle of nowhere, then I'll certainly not find a gym nearby. Ideally, it doesn't matter if I'm out in the middle of nowhere or not. I don't want to leave the safe confines of the monastery. Call it agoraphobia, if you will. I just want to preserve my sanity, what with my fragile mental state and all.
My mental state has been somewhat fragile for a long time, at least as long as the duration of the journal. What exactly comprises a "fragile mental state"? The way I look at is this — I could snap at any time. Look at the kind of crap that I must tolerate as a wage slave. I am busting my ass in the salt mines and I get a lump of coal in return. Then, I must put up with the superiority complex suffered by other wage slaves and peons. Can they not get a clue that they are losers? Then, there's the "micromanaging." Why must all brain donors resort to this pathetic modus operandi? Is it because they cannot trust themselves? If it wasn't for Jenna, I'd be a real believer in evolution. Not only do a lot of people act like chimps, they also look like chimps. That's probably why I'm living the life of a chimp. I am in a zoo with chimps.
Is $100,000 in savings enough to retire? That's what I keep asking myself, although I am at least two years from reaching that goal. I'm happy that I have come to my senses. I make do with barely anything. Living at home with moms has been a real blessing. I have refrained from purchasing useless trophy possession like a new car. To the casual onlooker, I appear to be extremely poor. That's because I am extremely poor. Sheesh! I would not mind working through my Golden Years. However, I am sick of dealing with self-centered dickheads. There are so few decent people left on the whole planet. Frankly, I would rather hang around real chimps. They don't flap their jaws and babble foolish, childish thoughts. Or, they are not trying get something for nothing by schmoozing with trivial platitudes. People seem to thrive on the challenge to lie, cheat, and steal their way to the top. No one seems to care until the crap comes back around. Then, it's all over but the crying. The love of money and wealth is insatiable. Humanity is expendable. I once valued human companionship. Yet, when I have to listen to the self-centered garbage uttered by these fools, I want to deliver street pizza. The bottom line is always the same. It's, "What can you do for me?" Or, "What do I get out of this?" Often, I wonder if I am the same way. If so, someone should deliver me from my foolishness. As I move away from society, I find that I have become more independent. I don't rely on other people for anything including companionship. Fortunately, I still have my family, or what's left of it. I have moms and my bro, for which I am thankful. I suppose that my family is my social enclave. So, I better cherish what I have while I have it.
I may have to purchase a bottle of the "Hammer" to celebrate the new year. As you know, the "Hammer" is Corbett Canyon Chardonnay. That tradition goes back to the old days when I lived in Convalescent City. My homey Rod once work for Corbett Canyon Vineyards. The old bottles listed Convalescent City as its origin. I've sipped many different varieties of Chardonnay, but there's only one "Hammer." And, it's therapeutic as well. My mental state is often much less fragile after imbibing large quantities of the "Hammer."
I thought of going to Barnes & Noble in Kahala Mall this morning. However, I was not feeling too good, most likely because I did not sleep well at all. I'm not exactly sure what I'd do at Barnes & Noble, with the exception of wasting time. Listening to overpriced CDs and perusing computer books is extremely boring. So, I did nothing for most of the day. I sat in my favorite chair and lapsed in and out of a coma. Later, I dropped back four cans of Guiness. I was significantly hammered. I also drove my beloved six-four to City Mill. I wanted the round concrete pods for the hill project, but the dump only had the square ones. Well, I will have to make do.
The lolo and his wife must have gone on a trip somewhere. There are strange people staying at the House of Lolo. Countless number of people are coming and going, none of whom I have ever seen before. I'm not even sure if the ugly ho' is around. Late this afternoon, the young ho' returned with a bunch of military guys. I believe that they were driving the ugly ho's Ford Explorer. They were carrying on in the House of Lolo, and then departed again. I have recently discovered that a lot of local babes are hooking up with military guys. Apparently, these guys spend a lot of dough on these babes. Naturally, they also get the babes pregnant. Life has gotten so stupid that nothing makes sense. Now you see why I want to get off this merry-go-round.
Time is sure flying by, and I persist in sitting and watching life go by. I should be a satisfied monk, but I am restless. Remember when The Master became restless? He questioned his own motives, and he wondered whether he truly wanted to be a hermit. I don't have much time left. Actually, I have already run out of time. I'm almost fifty years old. I can't be running around and skinnin' up gorgeous young babes. I have to get ready to join the Geritol crowd. Or, worse yet, the Viagra crowd. Sheesh!
Sunday December 30
I have been babbling incessantly about absolutely nothing for the past week. That's because I've done absolutely nothing except sit in my favorite chair. Living in poverty is no fun. I cannot afford to take a trip anywhere, so I can only go on a mental journey. Of course, in my fragile mental state, the journey may not be too relaxing.
The classified in the Sunday paper have been sparse, specifically for job market. This week, there's only five pages total. So much for changing careers, eh? If I were to change careers now, I'd be changing to unemployment. Times are really tough for the locals, especially those who are in the unskilled labor category. The latter pretty much includes the majority of the local population. My bro has been working at a new subdivision in Kunia. The area is being developed in phases that are timed with demand. So far, the $300,000 (average) homes have been selling like hotcakes. My bro observed that most of the buyers are haole. Here in Hawai'i Kai, there are at least two large developments in progress. The homes start at $400,000. These homes are also selling like hotcakes. The buyers? Almost all haole. My most recent experiences have indicated that the haoles have now become somewhat arrogant. Because they possess a good portion of the wealth, they have now come to look upon the locals as inferior. And, they have no qualms about treating us as such. Some of the local haoles (i.e., malihinis) have used much more restraint and tact. Nonetheless, the writing is on the wall. As I have predicted, the large local population will be reduced to sub-poverty and forced to live the most despicable areas of West O'ahu. There will be a huge supply of unskilled labor. Hawai'i has only one industry that caters to this labor pool — tourism. Unfortunately, tourism is on a steady decline. The talking heads would love to blame the problem on the events of September, but the industry has been going through attrition for a long time. Short of a miracle, I'd consider it a sunset industry.
New words have been officially added to the Webster's dictionary lexicon. Now that "hottie" is official, I may have to use it in place of "babe." Who really cares about these new words? The whole language has been going downhill for years. Everyone os talking the "gansta" dialect now. Even I use these foolish terms here in the journal. Sheesh! I continue to ponder the fate of the journal. I suppose that I will continue it as long as I have free Web space. As most of the free sites have either closed down or shifted over to some Ponzi scheme, there is much uncertainty about the longevity of the journal. As I've mentioned many times, the journal is the only reason that I have a computer. I had long ago decided that I will not do any non-personal work on my computer. Pseudo-professors do not have the luxury of being supplied a computer to use for free like real professors do. If we are given substandard means of production, then the results will be substandard. Faculty in the computing field should always have a computer provided by the department. Therefore, I don't fret when I must gloss over assignments and projects. It all comes out in the "grade inflation" wash anyway.
The House of Lolo has been Party Central for about a week now. The ugly ho' is also in the game. There have been different sets of guys staying over each night. I doubt that any of them are sitting in the living room all night and chokin' da chicken. Mother and daughter must make quite a tag team. I'm only concerned that some of these fools may commit some kind of petty theft or vandalism. I can only imagine what will happen when the lolo and his wife pass on. The House of Lolo will become the Home of the Eternal Ho' Down. I do not plan to be here when that happens. There will be hordes of guys coming and going day and night. Drug parties. Orgies. Every kind of debauchery imaginable.
I got too much sun while working on the hill project. My back is completely sunburned. I can feel the heat radiating off of my skin as we speak. I put in about four hours and got a lot done. However, I don't consider the steps to be too safe, at least for moms. I had to drop back one can of Guiness to refresh myself. I did a little more work. Then, I went to the gym. I had two cans of tuna with rice for dinner. Brings back old memories, doesn't it? I am extremely tired this evening but I make no plans to retire early. The party at the House of Lolo is in full effect. Perhaps I'll work more on my journal a little later.
The Glass Menagerie
All was quiet at the House of Lolo. Apparently, the whole gang piled into the ugly ho's car and disappeared. Good riddance! Not that it matters. My sunburned back was really inflamed by 9:30pm. No sun for me tomorrow. I've had enough photon emissions for now. Sheesh! As I walked home from the gym this afternoon, I got to thinking about my life as a wage slave. I really don't want to go back to the salt mines. It's a chimp circus. Why have we, as human beings, set up this ridiculous peonage? It's always great for the people at the top. The rest of us are getting crushed below.
I've thought about sprucing up the ol' LoserNet site. I don't really seem to have the energy to even do that. For one thing, I have not archived the site onto my beloved iBook yet. Many chapters of the journal were set up for the old VGA resolution. Now, the layout looks really pathetic. The whole layout has always been pathetic. That's been the theme of LoserNet. Yet, I am often surprised when I receive negative comments. What exactly are these fools expecting? The new look of the current journal is the best I can do. I haven't snaked any new images from the Net. If anything they will always be pictures of hotties (read: babes). I'm not even sure why that is. After all, I am a monk. Nothing seems to make sense here at LoserNet. Life, in general, seems that way. Up is down. Bad is good. War is peace. Wrong is right. I am totally confused. It's a chimp's circus.
I'm living at home with moms. Some people probably get a good laugh about that. Heck, I'm almost fifty years old and I'm living at home with moms. Sheesh! Fortunately, this is a common trend in Hawai'i. Look at the ugly ho' ... that pathetic bitch is living in the House of Lolo. I'm not exactly living at home out of necessity. I could live on my own comfortably as I did for over 25 years on the mainland. I'm in the same room that I had when I was a kid. It's really strange because I can't remember much about the room. I find this time to be somewhat sobering. I've lived a carefree life for so long, I almost forgot about my roots. Essentially, everything has worked out fine. I am happy for moms that my bro's family moved out. Although I don't talk with moms much, I know that things are better. I'm happy to spend time with moms because I was away for so long. Granted, moms still does some foolish nonsense, which really irritates me, but I believe that I made the right decision. In some respects, I am thankful that I do not have my own family. It would have been too easy to forget about moms.
The year has gone by fairly quickly. I can thank wage slavery for that. I wonder if anyone else notices the same thing. Or, are people just having such a great time at work that they really don't care. Perhaps if I was anything more than a cog in the big machine, then I may have felt some kind of redemption. As I look toward the new year, I am certain that there will be more of the same. I will be squeezed by these moronic "micromanagers." And, I will always cower in fear of being fired. Is this any way to live?
Monday December 31
The last day of the year is finally here. I am in considerable pain because of my sunburned back. Thus, I was somewhat more cranky than usual. As a result, I have decided to put the hill project on hold and suspend any yardboy chores for the remainder of my unpaid vacation. I have about a week left before I return to the insane world known lovingly as the "salt mines." The latter term is so apropos because basically that is the fruit of our labor. Salt is a very cheap commodity. In the days of old, however, salt was like gold. The moneychangers and power brokers always place some kind of value on anything that will reduce the masses to poverty and slavery. I managed to go to the gym this afternoon. Another cardio workout on the Transporter-like machines. This time, I pushed myself a little harder. I have really been slacking off. My fatigue is either the result of my advanced age or my fragile mental state. I suspect the latter.
My tax forms have already arrived, giving credance to my assertion that the new year is only a significant tax event. The propaganda sheet touted a lower tax rate. We shall see. Sounds more like hype to me. My hurdy-gurdy DVDs also finally arrived. I must stick to the Brianna Banks and Tera Patrick selections because the quality of babes in the sale items are not quite up to par. After all, my goal is to have the highest quality hurdy-gurdy DVD library that would make all monks proud. I may have to purge a few selections from the library and give them away as gifts. What better gift to give than a hurdy-gurdy DVD?
Moms prepared a lot of food as usual, so I knew that my bro's family was coming by. I was not in the mood for company, most likely because of my sunburned back. Or, my latest, albeit mediocre, hurdy-gurdy DVDs may have also played a part. My bro brought more Guiness, so my mood quickly changed. We ate a lot, but my bro and I consumed a lot more Guiness than food. There were not as many people shooting off fireworks this year. Most people waited until midnight before burning off the hundreds of dollars they spent for those crappy noisemakers. My bro and I were still droppin' back the Guiness when the new year rolled in. The noise continued for only about 20 minutes. Then, the celebration was over. I'm sure that all of the bars were packed with revelers. I remember when I was one of them, celebrating for no other purpose than to drink cheap booze.
I have made no resolutions for the new year. Heck, I still haven't fulfilled the ones from over ten years ago. I suupose that I should make at least one resolution — I resolve to persevere through the year without going on a violent rampage. Well, that's good enough. I will be slaving in the salt mines until I'm relieved of my duties. I will increase the quality of my hurdy-gurdy DVD library. I will continue to fret over my possessions. And, maybe I'll find a hottie to help me break my monk vows. Just kidding! I hope that all of you had a great year, and that you had a safe and fun New Year's Eve. See you next year!
To be continued ... Go to M.01
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