1200
Murder in the Secluded Grove.I was (fortunately) engrossed in Caleb Carr's Killing Time so didn't notice it was indeed killing time. I looked up, after the vile deed had been done, and saw Veron playing with a "toy". I said to myself, "I hope that isn't what I think it is". But it was. After a particularly vigorous swat of his paw, I saw the wing. One of the little zebra doves. He swatted it around some more, then took the back of its neck in his mouth and carried it away.
Mother Nature, you really are not a very nice person, are you?
1201
Seventh Circle returned on Sunday. As suspected, that Crazy Englishwoman had let it stay crashed for a week, trying to force the Owner into doing something about the inoperative re-boot facility. The Owner probably hadn't even noticed, he hasn't taken any interest in the game for years. This, of course, has the C.E. in an absolutely foul mood, which has left a cloud of stink over the game all week. She is without any question the worst "administrator" I've ever encountered in a MUD. (In case anyone again searches the Tales for "Darkana", as they have done in the past, that's who I am talking about.)Nevertheless, when I saw the Sleeptalker at the Black Hole on Monday evening, I told him the game was back. He was settled on a mat downstairs, but followed me up to the second floor, said he wanted to play the next day but had no bus fare. "You poor baby," I said, but gave him two dollars and said "get your eyes off it" when he looked longingly at the five I put back in my pocket.
So he showed up early on Tuesday morning, wearing all new clothes including a bright yellow tee shirt. Physically, he looked splendid but he has been going at that damned pipe too heavily. His brains are scrambled. He began in one of his best flirtatious moods (and he is indeed a master at flirting). We played the game and he started ranting about someone who was writing things about him on the walls in a "gay park toilet". [?] I asked what he was doing in a "gay park toilet" anyway, but got no reply (nor did I when I asked the question again later out of the game). But his ranting got on the Crazy Englishwoman's nerves and she first said "take it to tells" (i.e., off the public channel). Didn't seem to make much difference as I saw it because it was only the two of us and her. (When the game goes down for an extended time, people naturally find other things to do and don't always return.)
I don't know exactly what happened, because he didn't admit to it, but I assume he must have said something privately to her and she deleted the character. He re-created it, and she put a "site ban" on Hamilton Library, so no one could play from there. Didn't affect me since I was playing via LavaNet, but was certainly an extreme over-reaction on her part.
He was, of course, irate and I don't much blame him. He wanted beer, so we walked downhill to get beer where he wasn't content with the one I was buying him but also pocketed another can of the stuff. [sigh] Then his pipe-inspired paranoia went right off the scale when he accused his Chinatown patron of being "Darkana", said the patron didn't want him playing "his MUD". No point in any logical argument, the fact that we both know the game is based in California and Darkana is an Englishwoman, has absolutely nothing to do with his Chinatown patron. (Who may or may not be the person being accused of writing things about the Sleeptalker on bathroom walls, I couldn't get an intelligible explanation of that.)
Even though he has had nothing good to say about Angelo for weeks, he eventually said he had to go look for Angelo. Meaning the pipe, of course. Okay, let him look for Angelo or Tanioka or Rocky or whoever will share the pipe with him. I give up.
1202
A reader wrote: I hope he won't have slaughtered the Chinatown patron.Well, if after all these years, the Sleeptalker hasn't yet killed me, I think the C.P. is safe. During the Sleeptalker's rant I said, "I suppose you say all this crap about me to other people," and judging by the sheepish grin on his face, I think I was on target. The Sleeptalker is, after all and alas, a "Fundamentalist Christian". He may be able to ignore the fact that homosexual sex is a "sin" but I don't think he'd be able to go so far as to ignore "thou shalt not kill."
Let us be grateful for small blessings ... in whatever form they come.
Not that I have ever cared if he did kill me. As I've told him, just do it in a way that you don't get caught. (But, of course, his conscience would catch him worse than any prison system could possibly do.)
We had a novelty on campus Wednesday morning, an exceptional break in routine. I walked up to the door at Hamilton Library and nothing happened, the door remained closed. I looked at my watch. A bit after eight in the morning. Ah, well, I had wondered why so many people were sitting around outside. The Great Honolulu Black-Out of 2004. No electricity, anywhere in the area. 40,000 people were supposedly affected by the (still mysterious) power failure.
I shrugged, went to buy a beer. On the bus to the shopping center I thought, uh-oh, the store may be closed, too. But apparently they had an emergency generator and it was open. So I bought beer and catfood, returned to the secluded grove (even though rain was threatening, as it has done almost constantly for days).
A new resident there. A very large cat who is a mix of dark gray striped patches and white. Alas, no notch in the ear. I immediately decided to call him "Bluto". So if I named PapaCat "PopEye", I guess I'd have to give Lady Grey the nickname, "Olive Oyl". Bluto, happily, waits until the youngsters have eaten before finishing up the leftovers. Then he sits and stares down at me as if to say, "haven't you got more?" Sorry, I am not buying cat food by the case.
On "Super Tuesday" evening my regular radio listening was not available, replaced by coverage of the day's many "primary" elections. I listened to that, heard Kerry's victory speech and the elegant, if a bit ass-kissing, surrender by Edwards, smirked at the news that Bush2 had called Kerry to congratulate him and had said he hoped the campaign would "focus on issues". Uh-huh, let's not talk about Bush2's military record (or lack of same) or his monumental lies.
And although I knew Bush2 is tasteless, I had no idea he would go so far as to include 9-11 scenes in his first television campaign commercials. Little wonder there is a protest, although in recent years one has to wonder whether the American public any more cares enough to protest anything .... or even to ask questions. Like just exactly what was the USA role in the Haiti mess?
Oh well, what do I really know or care about these things?
1203
I must have looked really "sharp" on Thursday, not that anyone I cared about noticed. I had a very early morning shower and then went to the laundromat. That's my most-procrastinated chore.Peter, in my favorite (disgusting word) "blog", initiated a discussion about "freedom". When I hear that word, my first thought is always Janis Joplin belting out "freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose." But to me, it also means spending as little time doing things you don't really want to do as you can possibly manage. When you arrange your life to satisfy that requirement, you have as much "freedom" as you are going to have this side of death.
Laundromat is very near the top of the list of things which don't spell "freedom".
But then, I spend every night doing what I don't want to be doing, sleeping at the Black Hole, so it's not too surprising I get really really picky about my waking hours.
Most peculiar at the Black Hole on Sunday night, something I've never seen before. I settled on my mat, draped a corner of my beach towel over my eyes, thought I might go to sleep if the internal jukebox would ever stop swinging away on "libiamo, libiamo ...". I heard a voice which was like some comedian playing a severely swish homosexual. "It's my first night here, love," the creature said. Well, I hope it's your last, I thought. This person was apparently annoyed because the man on the mat next to it was too close, explained that the one on the other side was "my friend". Eventually security people got involved to sort out the problem. Later I awoke needing to make (what has become an annoyingly frequent need) a visit to the toilet. Okay, okay, if I drink 40 ounces of beer at sunset, I really should not be too surprised that some of it will want to leave my body during the night. Well, "Miss Thing" was busily bobbing its head up and down on its "friend's" crotch! Without even the cover of a towel or sheet.
Oh well, to each their own. Let the good times roll.
The weekend was dominated by Giuseppe Verdi. I was quite right. I would have been very annoyed with myself if I hadn't screwed up this cycle's finances by acquiring a tape recorder.
So I listened to Verdi's "La Traviata" three times on the weekend. I'd listen to it again right now if I hadn't locked up both the machine and the tapes in my campus locker.
No matter, the internal jukebox has been stuck on it.
Di quelle amor ... or something like that. The only Italian I know is from opera. The internal jukebox knows it better than I do.
1204
"It's good to see you," I said, and meant it. A major surprise, too. Okinawa appeared in Hamilton Library on Thursday. He was with "a friend" who he mentioned several times, but I don't know who he meant (not someone I know, evidently). He and his friend had gotten banned from the Hawaii State Library, although the exact explanation about why that happened wasn't too clear.He has lost his "prison fat" and looks again much the same as he did in
He was somewhat distressed about Tanioka who, judging from his description, has deteriorated back to his unshaven, not-too-clean pipe-shambled state. He'd also seen the Sleeptalker since that one got his "buzz cut" hairdo, and I wondered why the Sleeptalker hadn't mentioned to me that he'd seen Okinawa.
As I told Okinawa, I assume the Sleeptalker has gone back to his sister in the country since he hasn't been seen. Just as well, considering how heavily he'd been going at that damned pipe.
Reading. An unusual, rather melancholy novel by the Argentinian, William Gill, Unforgettable, about a very foolish young man who fell in love with a grande dame whom his father had also been in love with. Then some inconsequential American rubbish and, right now, a little detour into very grand French literature, Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera.
Go ahead, decide where sarcasm is being employed in this Tale.
[And my thanks to Maryse for her assistance in the above collage.]
1205
Dame Fortune went outrageous on the Monday morning before Spring officially arrives. But then so has the weather. With Spring only days away, we are getting the coldest weather we've had all winter.But what she did was well beyond the nonsense the Weather Gods are giving us. I, as requested, went to the "7-D" location in the District Court, said "good morning" to what I later realized was my Opposition, the person representing the Law, and smiled at my cute lawyer (i.e., Public Defender). He wears too much greasy stuff in his hair and shouldn't be clogged in scuffed brown shoes, but otherwise is delicious. They checked me off their lists and I sat down, waited for almost two hours listening to other folks being chastised before it became my turn.
Later the Cutie came over, took me just outside the courtroom and muttered some stuff about "deferrence". I hadn't the least idea what he was talking about, told him to do whatever he thought best. Later it seemed this "deferrence" hinged on my going for "substance abuse evaluation". Screw that. I know I'm an alcoholic, but a relatively mild one, and I don't need anyone to "evaluate" me to determine that. So forget "deferrence", just get me out of here. I ended up with two fines which total $150, plus $50 "court costs", all to be paid by May 14th.
If I'd had a bit more money in my pocket, say, if the "trial" had been next Friday, I probably would have opted for jail time since I could have used the money to buy smokes while in jail.
But, as for Dame Fortune's outrageous trick, I had to listen while I was waiting as the Judge issued a warrant for the Sleeptalker's arrest, with bail set at $500, since the Sleeptalker failed to show up in court.
I assume this was in connection with his "double jeopardy" situation, whatever that is. Yes, quite outrageous. Dame Fortune must be an Aries person.
The Judge told me next time I am drinking in a public place I will probably go to jail, so I immediately went and bought a beer and drank it. In a public place. They can't seriously think the idea of "jail" is going to be a major deterrent to someone who lives at the Black Hole?!
As I was breaking the law, yet again, RobRoy came along, looking even cuter than the lawyer. I told him I was surprised not to have seen him this semester, wondered if he had dropped out. Well, yes, he said, he "surfed" through his first semester, "surfed" in this case meaning "flunked", and his family wisely decided he should earn the money himself if he wants a second try.
The Judge asked me if I was satisfied with my Public Defender. I said, "yes, completely", resisting the temptation to say "I could fall in love with him."
1206
Readers have written to protest that the "punishment doesn't fit the crime". I don't disagree, needless to say, but I could have "played the game" and made it easier. If I'd gone along with the "substance abuse evaluation", maybe have attended some "counseling sessions", I am sure the (blatantly anti-alcohol) judge would have reduced the penalties, maybe even have eliminated them altogether.I didn't want to dance that dance. So I pay the price.
[Note what I said in a recent tale about "freedom".]
And then I thought later in the day, after I'd broken the law yet again by drinking beer in a public place, I should have asked the Judge for permission to speak after the Prosecutor said, "these offenses are all alcohol-related". I could have said, "no, Your Honor, they were all sex-related."
I'm such a wimp.
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