You know Steve, I've actually given some thought to this idea several times these past few weeks, mostly on Sundays as I eagerly scan the sports pages for baseball bits, but I'll probably pass, what with my persistent feeling of work overload, our new house hunt and sales fever, and such. But thanks for asking. Would love to bring those Poets back, but I think the best I can do is wish you good luck with the Rhubarbs.
Speaking of gallery openings. Just read an article yesterday about DC's NOMA (north of Massachusetts Ave.) being the center of a new commercial push up the New York Ave. corridor, complete with four new circles, office buildings, upscale housing, shops, et cetera, the mayor is touting. Of course, the urban renewal project will more than likely oust the artists who rent loft space in old buildings amidst mechanic shops and other grease monkey estabs, and one was quoted saying that they would like to organize in collectively buying a place east of there, as in NE, so that they won't fall victim next time to this sort of urban swell.
And so it goes, the Stadium-Armory infestation continues to remain the invisible fringe west of the Anacostia, although the mayor is still talking like DC will hustle in a team which will play at RFK until a downtown stadium can be built across from the White House...
We drove by a few places yesterday from a short list of available units in DC provided us by our agent, and will actually visit inside a couple of them if they are still available after this past weekend. It's amazing that DC is suffering a housing shortage. Last Friday afternoon we had our first walkthrough here in the Dollhouse, but the tall professional anglo from the Smithsonian was decidedly not interested, yet our agent remains highly optimistic of a quick sale. Our first scheduled Open House for next Sunday has been postponed at least a week at my request, so I can get the courtyard up to snuff once this last (hopefully) cold whiff passes. Sigh...
Meanwhile, go hip young man, nothing lasts forever. . .
Thanks, but no. I've had my fill. Time to coordinate and articulate all those hours I've already spent chasing the images of a 144,000 sloppy but willing . . . and the cage is definitely out of the question. My underwear is caked in blood every morning after a fresh dressing at night. This is not an easy surgery to "put behind one" in the rush back toward the routine of merely sitting and gardening, such is my life as writer and designer.
The 8600 finally arrived in woeful condition. The cardboard box and styrofoam packing both looked as if the world's angriest pit bull had slipped them the big one. The CPU was not even inserted into what was left of the packing. The mouse and powercord were missing, the visibly fatigued cardboard sooted and sullied, loosely retaped with the metallic footprint showing through the three inch gap at the bottom flaps. The floppydrive coverplate was missing one of its two snap-on prongs, the other needed a ninety degree twist back to normal.
Of course, the plate doesn't not stay snapped into place as a result of the missing prong. Apple said there was nothing they could do about it, when Liberty called to report the horrendous UPS service yesterday. Ran her a long line of probable first day on the job bullshit even telling her that Apple could not track the shipment (to verify any details, how long it took to get to us, etc. after telling her it was a money back return deal ONLY in the first seven days AFTER they shipped). Sue defied them in her usual weak way that indeed SHE had tracked the whole shippping path since June 20 (uh, to July 6, considerably longer than a seven day loop) from the UPS website, which she was sure he too could access since it was Apple who had E-mailed us the UPS tracking number (actually my version of the argument is probably more detailed than hers, unfortunately).
Bat criteria? Simple. One that FEELS good and LOOKS good in the hands of the slugger. I’d ramble off a few brandnames and some arcaneia about appropriate lengths and weights to suit the needs and style of the hitter, but the doodads are calling. . .
Back and forth, the adjutant experience of telephone dancestepping was remarkable only in its poverty of polite and accommodating feedback from the once highly touted Apple service side of the equation and the frustratingly weak powers of articulation on the consumer side. I had snapped a photo of the sorry package and was prepared to send it to Apple to document my complaint, whether they accepted it as proof without belonging to an official chain of evidence, or not. Something or someone had banged that box up hard. There were missing parts. What were we as loyal Apple consumers to expect? They finally hung up, nothing resolved except a 90-day warranty which we already came with the purchase. I will fret upon this a few days before deciding whether or not to step into the ring to mandate satisfaction, or else simply let it go by pushing the limits of the machine in the first 90, find some spare parts elsewhere if I need them, and get back to business, challenging myself to never buy directly from Apple ever again (this ain't the first direct buy that's gone sour).
Miraculously, the damned thing booted right up. It's running OS 7.6.1 which we'll upgrade to OS 8.1. Still haven't decided on a server package, but as is my wont, I'll probably settle on the Mac industry leader, spend the bigger bucks on WebStar, and top it all off with the full throttle of nifty add-ons. And soon be competing with the best and the rest, right here from the Dollhouse Studio Z.
Bat criteria? Simple. One that FEELS good and LOOKS good in the hands of the slugger. I'd ramble off a few brandnames and some arcaneia about appropriate lengths and weights to suit the needs and style of the hitter, but the doodads are calling. . . .
Whoa! Un mistek! It should read "and I reckon we'll see you Friday night at Howrey Simon near ten..."
You'll have time to sign-up at your new sportsclub, get your first sweaty whacks in, recover and greet us by then I would suppose. Batting cage residues: not as sore as you predicted. In fact, not sore at all, just tired, and that's as much a response to excess spirits in a bottle as pumped up team spirit in the batting cage. How's your arm feeling this morning? Uh, not that you were exactly slinging bullets, but it IS a new activity, and spring arm is simply a fact of diamond lifestyle. I feel a slight ache in my throwing muscles. Next week you should really try to flex your own a little bit more in that department, and you definitely need work in the fly ball depth perception routine, but I am confident your natural grace will aid you as quickly as your confidence, not cocksurity, or over-confidence, but simple humility-driven confidence, rises to the occasion. Even infielders must snag a pop fly on occasion...
As I write this I am remember Kerouac's fondness for baseball, and Bukowski's overwrought distaste for it...
CB was simply a jerk, preferring instead to stress his ingenuities and flex his flopmop muscles at the racetrack. A twenty spot staked on a figger-rigged mare of many sure beats running around the bases after just swatting the long ball, in his book I reckon, but man, baseball IS the game! Anybody can play at some level. And you don't have to lose a lot of money to the mafia in the process...
Space, just got back into DC ourselves after a quick whirl of that peachie keen homestate of Georgia. I was knocked out and loaded after 48 hours of no sleep when I arrived which, of course, immediately led to fights with Sue & my Mother the first hour. Another 12 hours and I was nearly falling down punch drunk (the metaphor, not the liquid) but still staggering around as everybody did the Christmas thing two days early, and all I wanted was a place to crash. Spent some quality time with sister & her family. Her husband's a merchant marine. Oh yeah, you might recall that from my descriptions during last summer's tragedy. Clyde finally has that damned magazine job which lasted three dog nights and nine lives of a cat, and I still don't think it'll ever go to press in its current form because he still thinks he can swashbuckle into a printer and bypass the service bureau niche (of course saving him bucks!) Not a chance, but he has never gained sight of the four-color process and the technology shifts going on in the fieeeeeeld. After I thumbed thru the job with him, we hardly spoke again that trip, although he seemed genuinely thrilled with the layout. Glad that mess is behind me....
Hardworking breadwinner comes home from the office night after night, plops down in front of the television set, and pops open a beer (or pours self a series of wine anesthesizers), and is pretty much dozing cold to any touch or conversation the frustrated homemaker tries to initiate. Years later trouble brews.
Meanwhile, glad to be back home, and web-constructing, ah, my newfound firstlove. Sue and I are walking on eggshells, or rather, she is. I've threatened to leave her if I can't wake her up from her sexual slumber (empty ornery threats). My desires run manifest, but I have sublimated them far too long I say to myself, and figure the time is at hand to force a change. She says she realizes her lack of vitality, and wants to meet me in the garden of bliss, but I can tell this is going to be a long haul. Marriage sucks in this department. Otherwise I'm all for partnerships in rhyme, crime, and drinks with a splash of lime. But the sex broke down for us ages ago. I know I'm no great looker, hardly a provider right now, and nobody worth their salt & saliva will sympathize with me when I try to shift some of that blame onto the beautiful hardworking lady of the house, but isn't there a stereotype that fits in here? Hardworking breadwinner comes home from the office night after night, plops down in front of the television set, and pops open a beer (or pours self a series of wine anesthesizers), and is pretty much dozing cold to any touch or conversation the frustrated homemaker tries to initiate. Years later trouble brews. That's the Sue & Gabriel story, roles reversed, although she's always been a good listener, simply not much of a bed warmer.
His mom and pop married AND divorced each other THREE times, after growing up in the same household as step-brother and sister, my grandpa being ten years the senior of my granny. Eeeek! Just want you to know with whom you've been swapping goofs at baseball games & the Internet, dude.
Oh well, don't mean to whine on your virtual shoulder, but I figured I should clear the air somewhat after those few cryptic remarks I made a couple of weeks ago I guess it's been since we last mailed. Glad you had a pleasant holiday. Mine wasn't all bad. Spent some quality time with another brother in Dalton, just a few miles south of Chattanooga in the Tennessee ridge. He finally seems to have found a hole in the world where he can function more or less obedient to his crazy-eyed whims, a fearless mountainman, hours away from the dark shadows of family competition. The next trial for him will be when he gets his driver's license back. He's already spent over eighteen months in the slammer in two different stints on DUI charges. Chaz is a decent guy, actually very decent, but he's a small guy (5'4" 135 lbs.) wrestling with the dual giants of massive ego and low self-esteem fueled by family resentment and fantasy-driven psychosis. But he seems well-placed right now, and I'm happy for him.
Aside from Clyde (the successful business tycoon) & Laurie Ann (the most well-adjusted sibling among us) however, the rest of us seem to be in a state of perpetual psychological erosion. It's an inherited trait from my mother's side, although one would be hard pressed to deny that my dad's farmbilly background ain't fraught with a special kind of weirdness as well. His mom and pop married AND divorced each other THREE times, after growing up in the same household as step-brother and sister, my grandpa being ten years the senior of my granny. Eeeek! Just want you to know with whom you've been swapping goofs at baseball games & the Internet, dude.
Anywaze, lemme go. Gotta brush my teeth or something.
"...free from the Clyde-induced depression of Ninety-five! But swiftly working on a mutated variety, to date unnamed."
Date: Wed Jan 25, 1995 1:02:12 PM America/New_York
Hey Space, guess you've heard of the recent deluges that this side of the continent has been suffering through in recent days. So far we've personally only suffered the minor inconveniences of that long melted 30 inches of snow piled up so high there was no going anywhere, and I did finally get sick about three nights ago, and am just now pulling back from the toxic stage into recovery.
There's apparently no danger of Sue & I going splitsville. We are family as we say in our own petit l'amour vernacular, but she has even suggested perhaps I need an extended vacation somewhere somehow fresh and invigorating. Perhaps a spring flight to the west coast, or a Mardis Gras bolt. I dunno. It sounds like a good idea to me, but in the thick of winter the odds that I could exile myself to fun status without crippling anxiety about the homebase are nil. So for now I shall quench my thirst for change simply on the dream and the knowledge that my amazing wife wants me to do whatever it takes to get straight with myself, although she is little more than a dedicated patron of my so-called arts at this point. Love is a pretzel logic with or without the salt of the earth thing ever making sense. Maybe I'll just eat myself into oblivion, taking myself out of the game that way. I love her too much to stray too far away.
Doubt I'll even THINK of the Super Bowl on Sunday much less watch it unless at the last minute some fearless bodysnatcher entices me to join their riotous beer guzzling cult in honor of yet another American moment when all good citizens are called upon to gaze and rejoice at the goodness of it all. Green Bay, I might have watched, oh fickle me.
Have there been any winter rumors or dugout calls from any of the Nuthouse regulars? The way I'm focussed on the Net these days, art in general, technology in particular, I wonder if I will be true to my urges, and rejoin Prodigy just to hang a few curves with the old gang again this spring. I'd like to compete, but geez, I haven't folowed baseball, and what is this I heard for the first time only a couple of days ago, INTERLEAGUE GAMES in 96????? Eeegaaads!!! Gone is the sport of my youth. On the bright side maybe I'll get a shot a catching the Braves in Baltimore. Some local TV buff mumbled something about Atlanta visiting the Orioles in midsummer, oh well. Change is inevitable even in on the one-perfect diamond. Then they lowered the mound, and brought in the fences.
Did you ever resubmit that addressing problem to GeoCities? If you haven't you should. The web is closer to you than you think, although you haven't relayed any info concerning the web and that geek pal of yours you planned to hit up for a few answers.
Don't really have any great windbreaking news to pass on to you at this time. My earlier anxiety with Sue has passed simply because I've given up and have been given the green light to seek pleasure wherever I can find it, although I've gone nowhere in my search to date. Can you believe this woman? No urge to change herself, but no urge to dump me into the street where I probably belong.
Oh I did have a terminal falling out with my mother, but I will save that garbage for later.
"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""