5.31.2003
My day begins as most days begin as soon as I am released from my daytime job. This occurs at 6pm. i fully expected the metro transit lady to be correct when she told me to catch the 19 and that would take me to dinky town and the 400 bar where peter stuart would be playing that evening. however she was mistaken. now yesterday the temperature was 80. today it was 60 and windy. "brisk" is the word i'm looking for. i begin to walk, and as i have only a t-shirt and shorts i am soon chilled. I proceed in the general direction of my destination, passing fountains at the government center. there are no other people around, and the wind carries water droplets a good twenty feet from the fountains and hits me in the face, makes little specs on my spectacles.i wipe them off and approach fine establishments such as The Eagle Club. the sign in the window reads: "Naked Boys Singing". I then notice the color of the Eagle Club sign, it is rainbow. Rainbow stands for diversity. I continue onward and am bombarded by a rather annoying SKYYBLUE ad. in passing the spaghetti factory i spot what appears to be american currency in the gutter. I look closer, and it seems to be a $20 bill. at first I am skeptical because of those fake chic track faith bills that i have been the victim of far too many times to count. i nudge the bill with my shoe to make sure its real before i bother to dirty my fingers with gutter. its real alright. and wet. i hold it up proudly and announce "i just found $20 in the gutter!" thereby clearing my conscience (just in case the rightful owner is within earshot). Two strange looking women in red shirts are walking briskly. they offer me "it must be your lucky day". I wonder why they are both wearing red shirts, then i realize they are racing toward the metrodome to probably watch the Twins play. I continue onward and slip the $20 in my bus schedule to dry. soon the bus 20 picks me up and takes me to the corner of riverside and ceder, the exact location of the 400 bar. the time is 6:58pm. I attempt to enter the bar. I am greeted by a large man with dry eyes and a goatee. he advises me that the doors don't open until 8pm. so i have an hour to kill in the cold.
across the street from the 400 bar is a small restaurant entitled "riverside cafe", reading the glass i see things like "GYROS". i have no idea what gyros are. i enter, and a very dark man greets me. he is holding a cellphone that glows from his palm. i ask about the soup. he says it is beef, as he stirs it as to make it look more appealing. i say, i'd like some soup. he smiles huge as i am the only customer in the establishment and it is dinner rush on friday. He holds a very shallow china bowl in the same hand as his phone, and begins to scoop the soup. i ask if they have any crackers, he says no, but they have bread. i say i'll have some. he nods to his cook. the cook grabs tissue paper from a box that says SYSCO: DELICATESSEN PAPER. My dad works for sysco. the cook puts a piece of bread on the grill for their only customer. The owner if finished scooping my soup, and is about to hand it to me...he offers to reheat it for me as it is a little cold. I have a seat at a table by the window, he brings me some water and my soup. he asks me if would like a banana. i say yes. he asks me if i'd like some jalapenos. i say i would. i stand up and walk to the counter. the owner instructs the cook to get me some jalapeno sauce in some language that i can not identify. the cook grins a big grin. dark dark skin and bright white teeth. his grin reminds me of the "greater GREATER mind" guy from A Waking Life. i am handed a little bowl of green sauce, and am warned it is very hot. i return to my table now and begin on my soup. it is very good. chunky... almost like a stew.. my bread sits on top of delicatessen paper inside a basket. delicatessen is french for butcher. i call my girlfriend anna. she is at bored at work. she works at general nutrition centers and sells horny goat weed. i tell her about my plan to see peter stuart, and that i'm in some strange restaurant. she is worried that i'm going to be murdered late at night on my way home. she then asks me if i am at home. i am confused and tell her no, i'm still at the restaurant. i then realize that she is talking to her sister on the other phone.
i finish my soup and bread and examine the banana. the owner had plucked it from a box behind the counter. he seemed to take a moment to choose one, the label read DOLE : ORGANICALLY GROWN. i say this with supreme confidence, this was the best banana i have ever eaten. it was perfectly ripe, perfectly flavorful, even the peel was flawlessly yellow. perfect. as i enjoy my banana i spot the owner on the other side of the restaurant playing with his cellphone. i imagine him getting a cellphone thinking he will need one because he's going to be a busy important guy running a restaurant and all. i see him open and close it like captain kirk would a communicator. but with his business failing i imagine he is wondering how long he can afford his glowing toy communicator. he gazes into a mirror (leak) on the wall and squeezes his face like macaulay culkin. i feel bad that he is lacking customers. he is friendly guy. i stand up and ask him how much. his cook rings it on the register and it comes up $7.00...the owner then instructs him to discount it $1.00, saying "We want you to come back". I nod with a smile, and proceed to the door, he again speaks to my back "Thank you! come again!".
the time is 7:20.
i wander around looking at various little shops and whatnot, the wind is cold and I approach the doors of the bar again at 7:45. no entry. so I dawdle behind the club for a while. i witness another mountain bike cop with his hand gripping a perp in handcuffs. my eyes wander upward toward the crackstacks. the crackstacks are twin high-rise low income apartments. on a telephone pool a blackbird squawks. soon he is joined by 2 other squawking birds. i observe the one that started all the squawking move from perch to perch advertising something important. his two followers stationed that the telephone pool where the original meeting had been called. my eyes follow the first bird for a while, and i hear the squawking get a little louder, and i turn around just in time to be the victim of a hostile swooping. more surprising than dangerous. i wonder how easy it is to observe bird behavior. soon it is time to enter the club.
i choose a seat and busy myself with snake II and various free newspapers until the first act starts at 9. Her name is Sasha, and she plays keyboards and sings emphatically. to me her lyrics were lacking though. next was rob sokoro. i liked his songs. slow and folky. he had a song called "john mayer" that i don't think was in any way honoring him, and another called "son of a carpenter" which he explained is about dropping acid. i particularily admired him for that one.
soon peter stuart took the stage. his hair grown out. opened with speed of silence. told us about how he drove from madison WI, and played in some guys living room for a bunch of highschool kids that afternoon. weird. he made fun of avril lavrigne (SP?) "why'd you have to go and make things so complicated? do you think avril lavrigne ever even skated?"...i only was able to watch him for about 35 minutes because the last bus was leaving at 11:41pm. so i had to run and catch it.
i arrived at the corner of nicollet and franklin at 11:58pm. this is a strange corner anytime of day. the next bus is not until 12:18am. so i have 20 minutes of waiting in the cold. i open my book and try to block out my surroundings. soon a taxi cab pulls up. a lady that can only be described as a mulatto richard simmonds. sits down on the bench beside me. i look over and she has crazy in her eyes. she speaks at me in tongues. i'm serious. drunken INSANE syllables are coming from her mouth, her eyes intense. she grits her teeth very hard. struggles to give me a fake smile. i don't know what to do. i just try to act extra friendly and normal, as i am alone with an intoxicated, medicated, insane women. we shiver there for about 5 minutes. she keeps asking me for something and i can't understand her. i pass the time by telling her how many minutes until the bus. eventually she leans over and grabs my forearm. mumbling the same thing. i suddenly hate the world. hate our civilization. the way it is organized so unnaturally, in such flagrant conflict with laws that have been proven to work. a well dressed black man approaches asking for smoke. i could not help, either could the mute, teeth gritting, crackpot sitting next to me. he sees that i have a cellphone, he wants me to call his 'old lady' for a ride. i call Pam and advise her that Rufus is waiting on the corner of Franklin and Nicollet. she says she'll be there in a bit. a minute later the bus arrives, insane lady remains on the bench rocking back and forth... i journey onward.
riding on the 18, i take it as far south as i can go, and still have to walk about 10 blocks to my apartment. i break into a light jog as it is cold and i want to get home. a police car rolls up along side me.
officer: what are you doing?
chad: walking home
officer: where is home?
chad: 75
officer: 75 and where?
chad: gateway apartments
at this point i realize that this officer has a grey mustache and likely enjoys sports, and destroying things with explosions. his canine partner barks at me from the back seat of the car.
officer: where are you walking from?
chad: 66
officer: why were you there?
chad: thats as far as the bus goes
officer: what's your name?
chad: why?
officer:(his tone more authoritative and threatening) listen, do you want to tell me your name or should i put you in my car?
the canine senses the stress in the voice of his homo sapien counterpart and begins to bark uncontrolably.
chad: chad
officer: what is your last name?
chad: perkins
officer: thank you
and with that he sped off. i was soon passed by two more patrol cars within 30 seconds. apparently something was going down. its nice to know the neighborhoods being kept safe. these brave men fearlessly ask people their first and last names and where they are going.
i arrive at my door at 1:00am. i call anna, but she is asleep.
across the street from the 400 bar is a small restaurant entitled "riverside cafe", reading the glass i see things like "GYROS". i have no idea what gyros are. i enter, and a very dark man greets me. he is holding a cellphone that glows from his palm. i ask about the soup. he says it is beef, as he stirs it as to make it look more appealing. i say, i'd like some soup. he smiles huge as i am the only customer in the establishment and it is dinner rush on friday. He holds a very shallow china bowl in the same hand as his phone, and begins to scoop the soup. i ask if they have any crackers, he says no, but they have bread. i say i'll have some. he nods to his cook. the cook grabs tissue paper from a box that says SYSCO: DELICATESSEN PAPER. My dad works for sysco. the cook puts a piece of bread on the grill for their only customer. The owner if finished scooping my soup, and is about to hand it to me...he offers to reheat it for me as it is a little cold. I have a seat at a table by the window, he brings me some water and my soup. he asks me if would like a banana. i say yes. he asks me if i'd like some jalapenos. i say i would. i stand up and walk to the counter. the owner instructs the cook to get me some jalapeno sauce in some language that i can not identify. the cook grins a big grin. dark dark skin and bright white teeth. his grin reminds me of the "greater GREATER mind" guy from A Waking Life. i am handed a little bowl of green sauce, and am warned it is very hot. i return to my table now and begin on my soup. it is very good. chunky... almost like a stew.. my bread sits on top of delicatessen paper inside a basket. delicatessen is french for butcher. i call my girlfriend anna. she is at bored at work. she works at general nutrition centers and sells horny goat weed. i tell her about my plan to see peter stuart, and that i'm in some strange restaurant. she is worried that i'm going to be murdered late at night on my way home. she then asks me if i am at home. i am confused and tell her no, i'm still at the restaurant. i then realize that she is talking to her sister on the other phone.
i finish my soup and bread and examine the banana. the owner had plucked it from a box behind the counter. he seemed to take a moment to choose one, the label read DOLE : ORGANICALLY GROWN. i say this with supreme confidence, this was the best banana i have ever eaten. it was perfectly ripe, perfectly flavorful, even the peel was flawlessly yellow. perfect. as i enjoy my banana i spot the owner on the other side of the restaurant playing with his cellphone. i imagine him getting a cellphone thinking he will need one because he's going to be a busy important guy running a restaurant and all. i see him open and close it like captain kirk would a communicator. but with his business failing i imagine he is wondering how long he can afford his glowing toy communicator. he gazes into a mirror (leak) on the wall and squeezes his face like macaulay culkin. i feel bad that he is lacking customers. he is friendly guy. i stand up and ask him how much. his cook rings it on the register and it comes up $7.00...the owner then instructs him to discount it $1.00, saying "We want you to come back". I nod with a smile, and proceed to the door, he again speaks to my back "Thank you! come again!".
the time is 7:20.
i wander around looking at various little shops and whatnot, the wind is cold and I approach the doors of the bar again at 7:45. no entry. so I dawdle behind the club for a while. i witness another mountain bike cop with his hand gripping a perp in handcuffs. my eyes wander upward toward the crackstacks. the crackstacks are twin high-rise low income apartments. on a telephone pool a blackbird squawks. soon he is joined by 2 other squawking birds. i observe the one that started all the squawking move from perch to perch advertising something important. his two followers stationed that the telephone pool where the original meeting had been called. my eyes follow the first bird for a while, and i hear the squawking get a little louder, and i turn around just in time to be the victim of a hostile swooping. more surprising than dangerous. i wonder how easy it is to observe bird behavior. soon it is time to enter the club.
i choose a seat and busy myself with snake II and various free newspapers until the first act starts at 9. Her name is Sasha, and she plays keyboards and sings emphatically. to me her lyrics were lacking though. next was rob sokoro. i liked his songs. slow and folky. he had a song called "john mayer" that i don't think was in any way honoring him, and another called "son of a carpenter" which he explained is about dropping acid. i particularily admired him for that one.
soon peter stuart took the stage. his hair grown out. opened with speed of silence. told us about how he drove from madison WI, and played in some guys living room for a bunch of highschool kids that afternoon. weird. he made fun of avril lavrigne (SP?) "why'd you have to go and make things so complicated? do you think avril lavrigne ever even skated?"...i only was able to watch him for about 35 minutes because the last bus was leaving at 11:41pm. so i had to run and catch it.
i arrived at the corner of nicollet and franklin at 11:58pm. this is a strange corner anytime of day. the next bus is not until 12:18am. so i have 20 minutes of waiting in the cold. i open my book and try to block out my surroundings. soon a taxi cab pulls up. a lady that can only be described as a mulatto richard simmonds. sits down on the bench beside me. i look over and she has crazy in her eyes. she speaks at me in tongues. i'm serious. drunken INSANE syllables are coming from her mouth, her eyes intense. she grits her teeth very hard. struggles to give me a fake smile. i don't know what to do. i just try to act extra friendly and normal, as i am alone with an intoxicated, medicated, insane women. we shiver there for about 5 minutes. she keeps asking me for something and i can't understand her. i pass the time by telling her how many minutes until the bus. eventually she leans over and grabs my forearm. mumbling the same thing. i suddenly hate the world. hate our civilization. the way it is organized so unnaturally, in such flagrant conflict with laws that have been proven to work. a well dressed black man approaches asking for smoke. i could not help, either could the mute, teeth gritting, crackpot sitting next to me. he sees that i have a cellphone, he wants me to call his 'old lady' for a ride. i call Pam and advise her that Rufus is waiting on the corner of Franklin and Nicollet. she says she'll be there in a bit. a minute later the bus arrives, insane lady remains on the bench rocking back and forth... i journey onward.
riding on the 18, i take it as far south as i can go, and still have to walk about 10 blocks to my apartment. i break into a light jog as it is cold and i want to get home. a police car rolls up along side me.
officer: what are you doing?
chad: walking home
officer: where is home?
chad: 75
officer: 75 and where?
chad: gateway apartments
at this point i realize that this officer has a grey mustache and likely enjoys sports, and destroying things with explosions. his canine partner barks at me from the back seat of the car.
officer: where are you walking from?
chad: 66
officer: why were you there?
chad: thats as far as the bus goes
officer: what's your name?
chad: why?
officer:(his tone more authoritative and threatening) listen, do you want to tell me your name or should i put you in my car?
the canine senses the stress in the voice of his homo sapien counterpart and begins to bark uncontrolably.
chad: chad
officer: what is your last name?
chad: perkins
officer: thank you
and with that he sped off. i was soon passed by two more patrol cars within 30 seconds. apparently something was going down. its nice to know the neighborhoods being kept safe. these brave men fearlessly ask people their first and last names and where they are going.
i arrive at my door at 1:00am. i call anna, but she is asleep.
5.29.2003
today as many days before i walk the streets of brainerd, hoping my destination is worth the effort applied to get there. i went to best buy planning on buying a decent digital camera. i was unsure on the camera and decided against the purchase. i wondering over to the cd section and picked up interpols album cause it was ten bucks and i had read good things of it, and the new blur album wich i was optimistic on because i enjoyed their last album, and was eager to see wht infuence the gorrilaz project would have on blur's sound.
i find the blur album very beautiful, and find the interpol album good
well worth the trip
i find the blur album very beautiful, and find the interpol album good
well worth the trip
The ambiguity of searching for a job is beginning to get to me. I say ambiguity, because there is no particular correct action to be taking. Yesterday I sent out resumes. Today i have sent out resumes. I have made phone calls, but nobody is answering. I leave messages but nobody returns them. i was going to go down to the cities today, but all of my prospects have basically evaporated. I can't make contact with anybody. I hate to just drive there for the sake of driving there, but I might have to. I don't know.
maybe I will just go.
Does it matter if I find a job so long as I am making an effort? Does a soft market necessarily make me a bum?
{dons tie and dress pants, sets a course for Minneapolis. Warp 6.}
maybe I will just go.
Does it matter if I find a job so long as I am making an effort? Does a soft market necessarily make me a bum?
{dons tie and dress pants, sets a course for Minneapolis. Warp 6.}
you ever had one of those days where nothing comes together... when everything that could go good/bad, 50/50... goes negative? like the molecules in your universe act as though they are repulsive magnets?
yeh i guess everyone does.
i'll save my truth lecture for another day.
gnite
yeh i guess everyone does.
i'll save my truth lecture for another day.
gnite
5.28.2003
TEACHER SEEKS PUPIL
Must have an earnest desire to
save the world. Apply in person.
Must have an earnest desire to
save the world. Apply in person.
just cus you feel it,
doesnt mean its there
doesnt mean its there
is it bad when my voodoo 3 3000 PCI can play a game that my geforce 2 MX200 AGP is choking and freezing on?
:(
looks like it's time for a new video card :(
and about gun control/abortion, we need to just give the babies guns and things'll work themselves out...
:(
looks like it's time for a new video card :(
and about gun control/abortion, we need to just give the babies guns and things'll work themselves out...
5.27.2003
Alaskan politics is always an interesting thing... It is small enough and personal enough that you can have an audience directly with the governor if you have something worthwhile and intelligent to say, but there is a lot of national attention, so by proxy, you have a national audience as well.
I have done some reading about the Patriot Act, and while I think that Federal agencies such as the INS (is it still called that? did that get changed under TSA?) so that they can actually do something, I think that the Patriot Act goes too far. It is like McCarthyism. Terrorists are the new Commies. Gray is the new Black.
The one thing I was thinking about lately was how contradictory all political things are. They do indeed make strange bedfellows, ideologically, if not physically. Take two hotly contested topics - Gun control and Abortion. Pro abortion people say that the government has no right to invade their privacy and forbid them from terminating a life if it is convenient for them. Ok, fine. Gun rights people say the same thing about their guns. "Fear the government that fears your gun". But they are generally on opposite sides of the fence. So pick your poision... do you want to have a larger, stronger government? It can ban guns, but will also control abortion (it can intervene above the personal level and make you do or not do something you disagree with). Conversely, you can have your gun, but that freedom also allows people to have abortions.
It is funny in a sick way. Everybody wants the right to kill others at a moments notice, and to do it with impunity. Indeed, we all are at each others throats.
It is sad that we don't live in a world that abortions were legal but simply never happened (like even once) and that we could have our guns, but nobody would be capping anyone else with their .40 (like even once).
The issue really comes down to a very Alaskan way of thinking. "I want the government to build a road to my house, but no farther, and I want everyone else to pay for it." "Why should people who live in another part of the world control what I do in my backyard?" and so forth. It is the simultaneous convolution of selfishness and independence.
I have done some reading about the Patriot Act, and while I think that Federal agencies such as the INS (is it still called that? did that get changed under TSA?) so that they can actually do something, I think that the Patriot Act goes too far. It is like McCarthyism. Terrorists are the new Commies. Gray is the new Black.
The one thing I was thinking about lately was how contradictory all political things are. They do indeed make strange bedfellows, ideologically, if not physically. Take two hotly contested topics - Gun control and Abortion. Pro abortion people say that the government has no right to invade their privacy and forbid them from terminating a life if it is convenient for them. Ok, fine. Gun rights people say the same thing about their guns. "Fear the government that fears your gun". But they are generally on opposite sides of the fence. So pick your poision... do you want to have a larger, stronger government? It can ban guns, but will also control abortion (it can intervene above the personal level and make you do or not do something you disagree with). Conversely, you can have your gun, but that freedom also allows people to have abortions.
It is funny in a sick way. Everybody wants the right to kill others at a moments notice, and to do it with impunity. Indeed, we all are at each others throats.
It is sad that we don't live in a world that abortions were legal but simply never happened (like even once) and that we could have our guns, but nobody would be capping anyone else with their .40 (like even once).
The issue really comes down to a very Alaskan way of thinking. "I want the government to build a road to my house, but no farther, and I want everyone else to pay for it." "Why should people who live in another part of the world control what I do in my backyard?" and so forth. It is the simultaneous convolution of selfishness and independence.
5.24.2003
big juicy alaskan balls
5.20.2003
sometimes it's nice to put a cd in and go do something else. and the occasional break from whatever it is you are doing and sparatically dance and jump around the house for a couple minutes. then return to what you were doing.
5.19.2003
I had a dream last night...
the world was coming to an end...
from a flood of all things, all I can remember are tornados, and lots of water, and a sense of impending doom...
the world was coming to an end...
from a flood of all things, all I can remember are tornados, and lots of water, and a sense of impending doom...
5.18.2003
whoa...
5.13.2003
Oh jeff, i'm torn between the desire to politely scold you for recklessly destroying an innocent idea, or chuckle like bart simpson during an itch & scratchy session. oh well. i am back online. i have my computer with a fresh install of xp, however it is on the floor. (new apt, no furniture) work is work, ... and sadly it seems to mean that life well, is only life.
more to come....
more to come....
5.08.2003
Hee hee!
This morning when I came to school, I noticed that some (presumably) environmental activist person put a bumper sticker that said "PLANT TREES" on the door to the engineering building. It was separate vinyl letters much like our old "99.1 Real Rock" white bumper stickers. I didn't think too much of it until I had to go out to my car again and I saw it again. The phrase was running through my mind as I went to my car when I got the idea... I would change the sign!
I scraped off the L and the R, so now the sign says "P ANT T EES".
They were asking for it, if you ask me. Next time pick something less easy to make fun of...:)
This morning when I came to school, I noticed that some (presumably) environmental activist person put a bumper sticker that said "PLANT TREES" on the door to the engineering building. It was separate vinyl letters much like our old "99.1 Real Rock" white bumper stickers. I didn't think too much of it until I had to go out to my car again and I saw it again. The phrase was running through my mind as I went to my car when I got the idea... I would change the sign!
I scraped off the L and the R, so now the sign says "P ANT T EES".
They were asking for it, if you ask me. Next time pick something less easy to make fun of...:)
5.06.2003
I am sick of my senior design project
Sleep deprivation is no longer fun
Sleep deprivation is no longer fun
5.05.2003
I for one am wonderful at being ignorant. And I do have to say... it IS blissful.
5.02.2003
5.01.2003
Those who dont believe images of war should be shown on the news at all are those who are just in denial of what really happens during war. They see war as "us bombing the shit out of them", and they fail to realize that there are people dying on both sides because of this. And when one believes that there are no negative consequences of war, they ask "why not do it?", as opposed to "why are we doing this?"
"Why are we doing this?" is the question that the mainstream public does not want to ask, and they dont want to know the answer to that question either. It's just ignorance. And most people are wonderful at being ignorant... and stupid...
"Why are we doing this?" is the question that the mainstream public does not want to ask, and they dont want to know the answer to that question either. It's just ignorance. And most people are wonderful at being ignorant... and stupid...
