Blogblah!!!

I’m starting on a new story, this one about my grandmother. In 1969, I asked her about man stepping on the moon as the greatest technical/scientific achievement of all time. In her view, it was the electric light.

My lazy mind, free associating, thought of the movies Matrix and Terminator along with a host of others that sees a dystopic scientific future in which artificial intelligence takes over and oppresses humankind.

You don’t see much of what we think of as artificial intelligence, but if we define it as sheer and simple computer power — the artificial intellectual power to store data and to make many mathematical calculations very quickly — then there’s lots of it globally.

Sometime in the mid 80s, supposedly 1986 the year of the internet, we passed the Turing Point. Mathematician Alan Turing hypothesized that there would be a point at which there was more artificial memory than human memory.

My friend, The Gary, is getting his key to the 21st Century and is having trouble making his order, but he, too, will soon be wired.

I want the new Intel powered Mac, superfast screamer that it’s been described.

The number and sheer computing power of individually owned computers is beyond my capacity to imagine, except I know it’s a buttload.

There are starting to be attempts to get all those computers organized. Like, back in the day we used to talk about everybody turning themselves in with a single joint to destroy the unfair justice system or everybody hold hands and pray or send good vibes to Vietnam.

Now, we’re all supposed to consider giving up our screensaver time to listen for SETI or calculate Pi or something.

But what if you’re the guy that joins up and creates the dystopic A.I. that destroys humanity?

Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass?

Most popular asshole in all of cyberspace.

You’d never get a Match.com date again.

Last night’s dinner — ALONE, thank you very much Pink Lady — was at a nearly empty Flip’s. As I ate some vermacelli and meatballs, a gay couple with an obligatory overweight girl in glasses caught my eye and ear. They caught my eye because they kissed. Now, I’ve been guilty of making out at a bar and didn’t think anything of it. I’m not so homophobic that I was shocked or grossed out by seeing two men kiss. It’s just that I was thinking how times have changed when two men feel free to kiss at Flip’s. There was a time when it might have started a lynch mob, even at Flip’s. Times have changed, but not all of us realize how much. Well, anyway, I also overheard one of the two young men’s conversation. It wasn’t as if I were eavesdropping, it’s the acoustics in that damn building, the worst in town. One of the men said to the obligatory “fag hag”:

“Oh, honey, everybody has baggage! Save that for Oprah.”

Pretty funny, I thought.

Having been duly warned, I’m through with the pussy comments. Now, it’s my pussy and I’ll pet when I want and as slow or as fast as I want.

Speaking of Sinatra, he’s been nothing less than simple joy to me since he came here to live. He’s so affectionate and funny and just very cool. He’s had fun exploring and has discovered he likes to sleep under my bed, near the heater vent. He has things to play with, food galore (although “treats” has not been something he’s discovered — YET! ) and is petted to a fare-thee-well. He’s pretty talkative (at least some large part of him is Siamese, a talkative breed) and has learned to say “where’s the cute chicks?”. At least, that’s what I think he says when I walk into the house. He likes music, especially “Old Blue Eyes”, and watches television from my lap. He plays with a “busy ball” in my round entryway and still has absolutely no interest in going outside for any reason. Soon, I’ll have white fur on all my black clothing.

I’ve barely worked in several days. First, they deconstructed my office for the purpose of putting in new carpet and now it’s covered in dropcloths while they paint. Why they didn’t paint before they put in new carpet is a mystery, but I’ll have new carpet and hunter green walls by the end of today. Meanwhile, my computer and phones have been FUBAR (ask your daddy what that means).

Tonight’s the State of the Union address by President Bush. I won’t be watching. Instead, I’ll be doing something REALLY fun. Edgar Cruz and Reuben Romero will bring their guitar virtuosity and flamenco dancing cabaret show to Galileo’s tonight. The last time I went to it, it was very big fun. Great music, great show and a crowd that got up on its feet and shouted “Ole!” from time to time. I’m really pumped up about it and can’t wait.

Just noticed that a former postal employee in Santa Barbara walked in and gunned down 6 or 7 people. The thing that caught my eye about this tragedy is that the shooter was apparently a woman. Pretty unusual.

Speaking of wierd news, a dominatrix was acquitted yesterday of manslaughter in the death of one of her bondage customers back east. She and her boyfriend supposedly dismembered the 275 pound customer and dumped his body parts behind restaurants. The prosecution’s problem is that she wouldn’t confess on tape AND they never found the body. The DA donned the zippered mouth leather hood the victim was in at the time of heart attack death for his closing argument in which he demonstrated the death scene. The judge stopped him and told him “that’s enough theatrics, counselor”. The jury deliberated two hours before deciding “not guilty”.

Sinatra’s having an affection crisis, so I’ll stop here.

A very cool cat with blue eyes?

What other name?

SINATRA!!!

Come see the chairman of the board anytime.

Right now, I’m listening to Kat with a K’s CD mix and playing with her pussy. After making me wait for what seemed like forever, she finally gave it up. It’s totally under my sole control now. It’s very very affectionate and quite furry. It’s black and white with blue eyes and must be mostly Siamese. (Her mother HATES it when I do that!)

I’m toying with names.

My first name for it was Archimedes, perhaps familiarly “Archie”.

Kat provisionally called him “Bruce”.

He seems to like Charles or Charley.

I’ve also thought of giving him the name of my alter ego on the blogs, Laoco-on.

Or “merde”.

Sartre? Maybe.

Feel free to make suggestions, but I think that cats have a way of naming themselves and I’ll look for that and let you know what sticks.

It was just as well that I was fucked up last week because I couldn’t have done much work anyway. The building put new carpet in my office and they uprooted me, my computer and phone for two days and over the weekend.

Thursday was a nut squeezer for me emotionally.

Just about every woman from my sober past was on the phone, sending me an email, wanting to have lunch and I already woke up with one woman and had a date with a new person for dinner Thursday night. First date, new woman, yes, it’s stressful for me, just like everyone else.

Lunch Thursday was with privacy shattered Sharon and it was perfect. We gossiped about my hero’s newest romantic link and hated Bush with a frenzy over Cheever’s special of grilled beef with potatoes and asparagus (absolutely delicious!). She just sold a car and picked up the tab to make it perfect. Of course, there’s no such thing as a free lunch and it’s my turn next, without doubt.

As dinner turned into coffee, I realized I was learning something from the new woman on our first date. She talked about the demise of her last relationship. It was much the same view of her late lamented lover that my own late lamented lover expressed about me. She told me about excoriating the guy, listing all his faults and shortcomings, and then feeling so guilty about it, feeling terrible. That at the time she thought she was doing it out of love, but it didn’t work, it only made things worse. I could relate. I don’t know if I’ll actually date this woman. Nothing wrong with her, you understand, it’s just that I’m not much in the mood for dating right now.

Later Thursday night, I caught a little of open mic night at the G Spot and had a fairly OK time.

Friday’s highlight was eating dinner with The Gary and DanO at a new restaurant, the India food place that’s just gone in in Mayfair shopping center at 50th and N. May. I recommend it. Between Gopuram and Ajanta, in my opinion.

From there, went to Red Cup and almost went to see the new Woody Allen movie, but couldn’t quite get there. Saw a lot of my Paseo friends there, including SuzArt, Oz, Deb., and Rena and Kat. I skipped most of Miss Brown to You at GSpot, visited Isis, and went north to Flip’s. Saw Bri serving me coffee and watched the crowd for awhile.

The only thing I really have to mention about Saturday is the OU-Texas game on TV that OU won 82-72 in a big upset on ESPN. Go Big Red. Even called my Stillwater buddy, the webmaster and OSU fan still hurting over an OT loss by the Cowboys to Texas Tech and crowed a little in anticipation of Hate Week Feb. 8.

I missed the big bowling alley white trash birthday party for Massage Marcy, but Happy Birthday, grrrlfriend.

Right now, in addition to Kat’s pussy, I’m really hyped up about the filming we did all Sunday afternoon at my house.

I had a nude scene, a bedroom scene and a dream scene in which my eyes bleed.

I’m not sure everyone would like it, but I’m having very big fun filming The Oz’s movie.

The extraordinarily talented Amanda Joy plays a real woman who wakes up hung over in my bed and finds out how I quit drinking, then portrays a dream girl who tempts and tortures me while I’m tied to a chair. Then, there’s a dream sequence where I have a gun in my mouth, I’m crying, but I turn the gun and shoot a life sized cutout of George W. Bush instead of myself. Very satisfying.

All the participants seemed to feel it was a good shoot.

I have to go now.

Kat’s pussy is loose in the house and I don’t know what it’s doing.

And, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

Th-th-that’s all folks!!!

It’s hard for me to blog today.

I’m having a difficult time and, to make matters worse, it’s a hard time of my own creation.

I’m being very self destructive at work, ignoring clients and files and huddling inside myself, afraid to go forward, afraid to stay still, and unable to go back.

I spent all day yesterday having imaginary and angry conversations with someone who is absent from my life.

But, boy, did I tell ‘em off. Over and over. Rehearsing angry words I’ll never say.

I’ve done two things “right” this week. On Monday I went to an AA meeting. On Tuesday I went to an AA meeting. Those are the right things I’ve done so far this week. That’s it.

Last night, I went to bed at 11 p.m. but at 2 a.m. I was still grinding over a failed relationship, rehearsing the angry words. So unfair, so horrible, so monstrous, I can’t face it, oh my.

I got some good advice: “let it go”.

How, exactly, do you do that?

How do you not think about the white horse?

I’m off kilter and can’t seem to get centered.

On the outside, I look good. I’m wearing Armani today.

Inside, I hate myself and all my imperfections, all the things that make me, … well, … me.

I don’t have to drink over this, but it was close enough last night that I reminded one of my favorite bartenders that I’m a recovering alcoholic and not to serve me whiskey, even if I ask.

I got up today, showered and got dressed and came into the office.

Tonight, I’ll get with friends and go to dinner and see a movie at my house.

I’ve received a reminder that I don’t have much in the way of troubles in this world and that others face much greater challenges.

I’m at the office and if I sit here long enough, maybe I’ll do SOMETHING and anything will be better than sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.

I have much to be grateful for: family, friends, material wealth, health, and the list goes on and on.

I may not be perfect, but I’m not a bad guy.

I’m not smart enough to solve every problem, but I’m not stupid.

The weather is very good, especially for January, and the top’s down and the sun is shining.

Grinding over old bones will not make my past better.

Right now, I’m safe and warm and clothed and housed and solvent.

Take a deep breath, John. Just calm down.

Erase those old tapes, dude. There’s no going back.

No doubt, the universe will unfold as it should. Without MY personal direction, I might add.

I don’t know what I”m afraid of, but I am so weary of being scared.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

Amen.

Nothing like an AA meeting to make the world a better place. One of the good things about being a recovering alcoholic is that I can go to a meeting and often will hear just exactly what I need to hear. Some way of looking at my situation that isn’t crazy and doesn’t involve getting drunk and throttling someone or putting a gun in my own mouth. Something that reminds me of my humanity and what I have in common with other human beings. It’s one of the few “safe” places in my life, where I can go and not feel afraid. People that I feel sure won’t hurt me, at least for that one hour. So, as to the above: nevermind.