Loganthinks

I Walked logan tonight around 1:30.. i'm a fucked up, and to boot i'm coming off of the 2nd two-day all-awake bender i've been on - this is not to say i've been drinking for the last 48 hrs, but just awake, which in it's overall effects may be worse.

I ran into Anne on 30th st. and breifly said hello. As she's talking, this group of four drunks comes staggering past us, three of the bunch holding the forth upright by the shoulders and dragging him along so that the toes of his shoes scrape the sidewalk. One of the guys, all of whom were dressed like eight graders at sunday school, turns to us as he passes and yells "What's UP, Twenty nine sixteen!"

I wonder how this kid knows where i live.


i catch up to his group later on as they are trying to pry their now comatose freind off of the sidewalk. He is completely unconcious and passers by slow down and stare, but the three are too drunk to notice, giggling and trying to hold on to their cigarettes. After a minute or so they try and carry their companion by his arms and legs, but this eventually proves unscuccessful and more hilarity ensues. As they huddle around him, and as i walk past them up to my front door (still worried about the kid who knows my address), a man in a suit with a mullet approaches from across the street and and asks if the kid is okay.
"He's fine" laughs one of the kids, sitting down on my lawn pretty much excatly where he'd just flicked his cigarette a moment before.
"YEA" sputters another, we think he drank too much Alcohol tonight!"
Laugher.
The guy with the mullet is standing over the kid, and from where i'm at it looks like he's prodding the kid's shoulder with his boot. The third kid, now laughing almost too hard to talk, adds: "Yea, and he did alot of coke before we went out, too!"
More hysterics.
"Haa.. yea, it's a good thing he didnt' eat any of those tabs!" giggles the first again, "although he did bump some of that Ritalin line at your house!"
A breif argument ensues over who'se house the drugs were done at. One of them throws a weak punch and is then tackled onto the sidewalk. No one is hurt, but somehow all four of the group are now sprawled out dramatically on the concrete, one in particular trying feverishly to light his broken cigarette.

The mullet man in the suit stops prodding and shrugs his shoulders.

"Eh," he spits, turning to leave, "we've all been there".


Haha. Who knows where mullet man has been...

SO help me JEEBUS

I WILL NEVER TYPE ON JENN'S COMPUTER AGAIN.

i just wrote for like an hour and my finger strayed to hit some MACINTOSH ONLY ERASE EVERYTHING YOU JUST TYPED IN ONE SECOND WITH NO OPTIONS FOR RECOURSE "button" placed INGENIUOSLY RIGHT NEXT TO THE GODDAMN ENTER KEY.

fuck cock ass nuts vagina shit GODDAMIT.

So what i was writing earlier...

i mean, it wasn't like the solution to life, the universe and everything ...but im still pissed.


SO to try again....


My dog is getting junk mail addressed to her now.

Junk email.

Even funnier than when Spammers try and pretend their bullshit email is from "you" because your name is mysteriously in the "from" category of your inbox....

and even funnier than when they try and run through every possible combonation of first name (plus) last name @hotmail.com (leading me to get mortgage quotes begging "gabrielhorn" to "take a look at this free offer")to address their crap to...
(even funnier than this*)

...is when they somehow get your dog's name, but in their marketing genius decide to sucker me into reading their message by making the message from some combonation of my name and and my dog's.

Tonight I got an email from Loganabrielhouck@hotmail.com. And i read it too - it was about hair loss.


SO.
What bugs me is that with every website i actually interact with or leave information on, i know for a FACT that there's a little "privacy policy" button down on the bottom. This would indicate that there is some law-enforced protection of my personal information that i enter on that site.
However
CLEARLY, were i to click on this little button one time during a visit to good-old Ebay or Hotmail, and were i to have the superhuman ability to decipher bullshit internet disclaimers, i might actually discover that the repressed homosexuals running these websites are peddling my name, my dog's name, how old i am, what kind of car i drive, and pretty much any other possibly obtained information to every seedy, trailer-trash-junior-college-business-major SCUMBAG with a computer and a mail order company in the country.

This displeases me.

But there is an upside:

If, for some reason, i become a criminal and the FBI hunts me down, they will go to my house and confiscate my computer. They'll listen to all my mp3's, watch all of PAUL's downloaded porn, crack my email passwords, and try to profile me by what's in my inbox.

Man, is that profiler in for a treat.

AS it turns out, their suspect is actually an obese, balding, drug-using, unemployed but somehow work-at-home real estate enthusiast who likes free vacations and trial-perscriptions of Herbal Viagra and who is a chronic masturbator infatuated with stock market tips, Barnyard Animal Porn, and NASTY TEEN VIRGINS WHO WANT TO CUM PLEZ!!*&%htutje2348sjRJ38**!@

And i would never be found.

So should i change my besieged Gabrielhouck@hotmail.com email address to something the bastards will never guess? Should i attempt to avoid the 30-50 dogshit useless asshat emails a-day by changing my adress to a long string of random numbes and letters?
I'd like to... but i'd still bet that they got me beat...

...as it turns out, Random Strings of Numbers And Letters politely email me all the time, inquiring about time share condos, winamp plug-ins, and free adult passwords. I think the once seeminlgy infinite span of possible email names and addresses will hit critical mass in 5 years, and then anyone whose name is normal will have to buy thier own email adress from Spammers or Pornographers. THAT IS MESSED UP. i mean, it's going to be bad enough when the machines rise up and send terminators back in time to sqaush human resistance... we don't want to be screwed over by internet pornographers too, do we?

clearly i am upset about this.

clearly you all should be.

I think if you're reading this you should take action.

As for me, i'm going to start a petition... maybe even lobby local representatives to tighten controls over illegal internet marketing practices.

Starting tonight, my voice will be heard.



...Right after i finish donwloading this porn.

(da - dum-dum... *)

(yea well, posts end with shitty jokes like that when their first drafts get erased by SUPERFLUOUS "ERASE EVERYTHING" buttons sprikled like a minefield throught this goofy macintosh keyboard. Like smoking gives you cancer, it's the Truth.)

First, the heavy stuff.
At some point in a long, emotionally-invested relationship it seems that parts of your life can go to hell and come halfway back in almost no time at all.

In like 3 days, for example.

It can feel like your guts are getting raked very slowly across something very painful; it can fuck with your mind, your sense of reality, and your ability to love and care about things because when such an awful fights break out there's almost never a clear right and wrong, and the effort to get around all the screaming and bitterness and resentment ages you and wilts your spirit.

A bad thing about my life is that i'm in my second of these long. emotionally-invested relationships. I've gotten my head kicked around so much in the last 7 years that now I compartmenalize that "girlfreind trauma" and stuff it away somewhere. It's sick and discomforting that I do that, but i'ts been the way that i can get stuff done after things take a turn for the shitty. That well of bad feeling and confusion always makes its way back out later, and it's never completely hidden, but i can make it so it just feels a little heavy and dull - locally anesthitized. So instead of the world crashing down around me, it all sort of feels like an overcast day where I know rain is coming but it hasn't come yet... so it's not getting in the way right at the moment.

That's where i'm at now i suppose - this whole week might be cloudy days, i dunno. Maybe i'll get really drunk and get it all out of me, or get in a good fistfight, or have some stupid epiphany. Regardless, there's alot of work to do, and that will thankfully keep me from being consumed at any one moment with the very hard and very uncertain decisions i'll have to be making about my relationship.

In other news: I went to the weightroom tonight.

The walk to campus was unfairly cold - I thought breifly of those kids who skipped off to warmer climates as I literally leaned into the 30 mph winds... I mean, today maybe reached 50 degrees, but it had to be below freezing by 8. The place is a ghostown, which i like for whatever reason. A really goofy looking guy and his goofy looking girfriend came into the weightroom and began stretching right around when i was finishing up, and with a stupid little smile to myself i mocked them in my head. I did this because for some reason working out in a public environment is subconsicously like a being in a big schoolyard competition. It' s a ridiculous "look what i can do" self-assurance festival that comes with the added bonus of getting excercise, and even though its rarely blatant, everyone's measuring themselves up at some point while they're there. Myself included, of course. I go lift to make myself feel better - and to try and wear myself out so i can actually sleep, but I feel bad for the really skinny or goofy kids who might come in and feel shame because they pick up on all that bullshit competitve testosterone flying around. I mean, the music is bad enough.

But back to the couple that walked in the door:

The goofy guy was in his mid twenties and i kept imagining that he looked like Jared, the Subway guy. He, and his short-haired, homely, asian girlfriend, were both pear-shaped, their small torsos extending subtly outward to the hips and legs and finally to their oversized goofy tennis shoes. "Hee hee hee" i think.

As i'm smiling to myself, i watch in the mirror as the girl gets into the squat cage and proceeds to squat press around 200 lbs.
That's alot for a goofy girl.
That's alot for most people.
AS she's doing this (and she adds weight as she goes...), i notice that Jared is over by the Calf-raise machine ( a machine where you sit and place your knees under a bar and lift whatever weight you place on it with your calf muscles alone).
Now i am staring.
My goofy man Jared, who probably couldn't lift the single wieght of either of his gargantuan legs, is putting Everything he can find onto this machine. He stops with 180 pounds on each side. I shit you not.

His girlfreind is on like her 6th set of squats, and he is busy calf raising 360 pounds as i sheepishly get dressed and make my way up and out of the athletic center.

So there's not alot of story here.
Just maybe that Jared could kick my ass.
But only with his legs.

I sat outside the Athletic Center for a few minutes waiting for a shuttle to pick me up since the birds were freezing in mid air and there was no way i was walking all the way back to Calvert Street . A pack of asian kids, 4 guys and a girl, come out a few minutes later, chattering excitedly and laughing. I make a guess at them being Korean, but of course i suck at guessing that stuff. I'd seen them on the Basketball court earlier messing around. They were all sweaty and tired-looking, and I thought they'd probably been playing for a while. As they huddle in a tight circle to ward off the cold, one of them pulls out a pack of cigarettes and they all scramble to take one. There is a brief war of words as the last cigarette is taken, a lengthy wind-shielding process as they each light up, and then there are a few moments of contented puffing silence.
A cigarette would have killed me at that moment, but there they were.
I guess it's not that wierd.
My roomate sometimes laces up his shoes and walks out the door, runs 3 miles, stomps back up our stairs, flops down on our couch and immediately lights one up - before going for a glass of water.


A cigarette for the sporting smoker would be killer.

I could market it like they market Michelob Ultra.

Imagine the commericals: a big guitar driven montage of sweaty underwear models running around playing basketball and doing extreme mountain biking amidst shots of cigarettes lighting up, finished with some ridiculous tag line like "Give your game some flavor" or "Smoke the competition".

the new, Marlboro Active 100's.

awesome.

I should be sponsored by 'the Truth'

they clearly have money to waste.


SO I was also gonna talk about that new crazy guy who works at the laundrymat on Saint Paul and who pretends like he's very busy and owns the place, but there's not much to say there. He looks kind of like a hobo, and he's always dressed in hunting clothes. He talks incessantly about all the things that need to get done (which i assume means emptying the garbage cans and sweeping the floors), and makes everybody's business his business by shouting at you about closing time or dryer ettiquite.

But he' s probably just a lonely old man.

It's not a new story, and in the scheme of things, i guess it's a forgivable crime.

Maybe he'll even get rid of the roaches under the washing machines.

And have a cigarette.

Clean crazy hobo, clean.