The keyboard sucks, and I'm using a piece of paper for a makeshift mousepad, so any mistakes left are there out of frustration.

Anyhow, things are going decent here. I go to sleep at 12, get a shitty sleep, start my day at 5:45. Spend much of the day pacing around the apartment and veranda, crashing on the bed from tiredness/boredom, or…go out occasionally. Somewhere. It's more fun just getting to where you want to go instead of actually being there (‘there’ being a shopping center, so far). Rickshaws are fun.

I have much to write about already, but this is neither the time or place. When I come back, perhaps. Have a separate little site for the trip. And pictures! Maybe you'll see the bride my grandma picked out for me?

thiskeyboardsucks. idogiveupindeed. untilthenextcafevisit. ciaociaociao. khodahafez. allahhafez. amarnamkaiser.

Take care. I might bring back something for a few of you.

Yeah, my face is still round.

A few seconds later, I think of a scenario where I order a very simple yet very expensive dish at a very expensive and luxurious restaurant. The waiter, while courteous and all, doesn't do much during the course of the meal. Why is it customary, then, to still give him $50 for a bringing a $333.33 plate of caviar?

The price of a dish shouldn't be the only basis on which a tip is calculated. Other categories to consider might include hygiene, style, friendliness, frequency of service, and quality of service. The ruling board of restaurant standards (if something like that exists) could then formulate a weighting system for final a base tip, which can then be multiplied by some number to account for a restaurant's aura of sophistication and priceyness.

Or something. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Try before you buy: exactly the reason filesharing services shouldn't be shutdown. No one likes getting stuck with a lousy DVD.

(No, I wasn't a victim of this purchase.)

Anyhow, a brief reminder: just a few weeks ago, I was quite prone to keeping my belt at its first or second notch (depending on if the pants were just washed) with the top button unbottoned. Yeah, it was a sad daily reminder that my stomach had problems.

The pants I'm wearing today are a good example of the worst-case scenario after being washed three weeks ago. They were washed again a week later, but today is the first time since then that I put them on.

I'm proud to report that I'm on the third notch – skipped directly over the second. Yay! I don't think I've ever gone to that level, at least not in the past couple of years.

So, exercising regularly and eating healthier (and less) seems to be working. It just takes several weeks for things to start kicking in. I still look and weigh the same, I think – logic dictates that I've traded some fat for muscle.

And if that answer isn't sufficient, remember that belts don't lie.

Next on my list: a six-pack. I've still got a long way to go, but I'm making progress for once, right? The girlies will finally swoon at my sight.

And so the hole has existed there for almost eight months, often looked at but always neglected – I changed that today. I went back to the house, crawled through a window, disassembled my tool shelf-turned-book shelf, measured an adequate-sized rectangle to knock out and patch, drove to Lowes, bought a 4×8 ft gypsum board (otherwise known as drywall) and gypsum joint tape and a tub of all-purpose adhesive and a putty knife and a utility knife.

But I had to cut the board down into four parts in the middle of the parking lot, directly under the sun, because my Honda isn't big enough.

The next three hours were ugly. I managed to cut a special rectangle from the wall, in which the angles weren't necessarily perpendicular; I also cut past the studs. The irregularity made cutting a right sized piece of the board tricky – three tries, spread out over two hours, involving lots of hammering and kicking and hacking with the utility knife. Despite the gaps between the old and new, I slapped on adhesive and tape.

The whole processed drained me physically and emotionally. I wanted a shower away the caked layers of sweat. I wanted to dress in house clothes. There wasn't any patience left to do the job right.

A piece of drywall now portrudes instead of the better looking hole. Those studs would have done wonders to keep the old drywall from creeping back. Ah well. The house is a piece of shit anyway, so maybe our loving landlord won't keep part of the deposit.

I've learned that you have to plan more carefully and be precise for this deceptively complicated task. (Though I didn't do a terrible job, considering it was my first time and I didn't have a ruler with me.) And that you can't wear shoes that are too small for your feet: the cramped toes eventually lead to sore calves and legs from much squatting. And that brand new shoes might get a bit messy and not look good enough to exchange for a bigger size, unless a toothbrush is used to scrub away adhesive and gypsum dust.

And that humidity and heat suck more than Ryan and Frank after ten beers. The end.

(There are so many loose ends to tie up before I leave. Going to one of the poorest and most densely populated countries in the world will actually be a relief. It doesn't help that I'm painting this romanticized picture of the vacation from the few good – perhaps tainted – memories of nine years ago, those days of a fat kid sitting in a hot and humid apartment reading books most of the days: why do I remember less bad than good?)

(Oh, and thanks again for the water-to-go, Tiffers. You are literally the first and only friend I've seen in two months, aside from Nick. And Espresso Royale ran out of water, or else I would've never stopped by; and I know they won't call me back, even though I put that I've applied there for the last three years. How sad is all this?)

He hands her a $5 bill and two pennies. She pauses a few moments.

—You threw me for a loop there!

She smiles. He doesn't get it. The screen reads, in green, $3.85.

—You look Middle Eastern and all…I thought you'd sound like it.
—Oh… (He smiles to keep things easy, but he's also amused.)
—Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just didn't expect it. (She continues to smile.)
—Hehe.
—Here you go. Woops, sorry about. (The Icee cup is a bit overloaded, causing little streams of sugary joy to run down the side.)
—Oh, it's no problem.
—You might want to take a bit off the top before sticking the straw in, or else it'll push more out.
—Alright. (He sucks off the top, then sticks the straw in.) Thanks.
—Thank you. You have a nice afternoon.
—You too. And beware the wrath of Allah.

(He didn't actually say the last sentence.)

I'm always so perplexed to read absolute ignorance like this.

I need to stop reading the Letters to the Editor section. People are constantly keeping their eyes and ears and minds closed to logic and history and facts. I won't try to pick it apart this time.

I feel so vulnerable now.

Uh-oh!
—Mystikal, ‘The Man Right Chea’

The charges are hopefully false, because he was talented and skilled at one point, but if not, I wish him a good time in jail getting gang-probed.

Punto numero uno: Connie Chung is quite the tool.

Martina Navratilova made comments in a German newspaper that many people are claiming as ‘anti-American’, namely that the Bush administration responds to money [and dog whistles], and that certain authorities (Bush, Ashcroft, etc.) are supressing freedom of opinion. God forbid that anti-American means questioning tyrants!

You might be wondering why Chung is a tool. Her words, nearly verbatim: ‘You know, I must be quite honest with you…when I first read that, I thought, You best get your ass back on a boat or plane to the Czech Republic!’ Later on: ‘You know the saying: love it or leave it’.

Bitch, please.

Punto numero dos: It just goes to show that, with money and free speech, you too can air a commercial that questions the support of Palestine.

The group that came up with this splendid propaganda piece (most likely Jewish or false-patriot-right-wingers) asks you why the US even considers having Palestine – the terrorists – on their side when they – the Americans – are fighting against terrorists. Yassir Arafat is shown to be saying ‘Jihad Jihad Jihad Jihad’ which, to the rest of the non-Muslim world, simply means a holy war involving terror. Oh, and there's their support for good ol' Saddam Hussein, America's other favorite bad guy, once an ally to Ronald Reagan (who didn't have a problem supplying Hussein with military essentials). This group urges you not to support Palestine.

Why was poor old Saudi Arabia left out of the fun? Surely the government sees something wrong in a country that severely abuses human rights and produces terrorists? Surely Bush sees hypocrisy in monetary ties to the bin Laden family?

Why is it so hard for people to put aside ignorant fears, to let go of greed? Until the world makes sense, I will forever gripe and cynicize and say ‘fuck humanity, you lousy bunch of clones’.

Perhaps I focus in on this supposed war on terorrism too much. This really is just a sliver of all the world's woes, though it contains many of the elements that cause these cycles of stupidity and unfairness.

One day I'll die and not have to think.

Is the centered title with bold text and red quotations a little too…pretentious? Yeah, the red quotes were much too much.

I'm bored. In general. Of everything. I've been in this office for too long. Bangladesh will hopefully make things temporarily interesting.

I watched that American Idols crap last night while making salsa and chicken. I smiled at those stupid jokes, like it was all an enjoyable event. I felt like a hypocrite.

Maybe attempting to cook with no clear outcome is good therapy.

That girl with the abundant cleavage is hot. There's a genuine porn-star quality to her as well. I hope she's the next American Idol.

…

1. armenian girls that suck cock
2. frat-house train sister window girl gang

The stickers made me smile.

My brother's friend, Tim, turns 17 tomorrow, so I had to drop off a birthday card from the both us. I had no intention of interacting with people: the mission was to place an envelope in a mailbox and be gone, thus, my hair stayed puffed and spiked up while blue flip-flops adorned my feet.

With the windows down, I ventured out into a gorgeous summer morning. All the elements were ripe: a forceful sun beaten back by the natural air conditioning of cool breezes, the little roars of my Honda no longer drowned by a constant stream of other noisy vehicles, music that could be heard amidst scenery passing by at over 70 MPH. Splendid.

I pulled into Tim's driveway, discreetly made my way to the porch, and placed the envelope against the front door, all the while hoping not to set off the security system. Now for a quick but long detour to Meijer for some Irish Creme coffee; it was too early to quit driving.

And so I merrily zoomed up and down streets and highways. The compactness of the car acted as an intimate concert setting while the sound of Nine Inch Nails, Stretch Arm Strong, Saafir, and Tool danced with my ears.

And I kept looking into the rearview, amused that my hair waved back and forth, though still retaining its plume, as wind circulated through the interior. It's a nice illusion. I might almost pass as having a full head of hair now.

Changes – 1990
I consider myself a brat.
In the mirror I see a brat.
I play outside, eat, and watch TV all day long.
I like to eat pizza and hamburgers.
I know how to jump off a slide.
I often dream of having all the GI Joes.
I wish I had more toys, but I'm glad I have my GI Joes.
I constantly ask for more toys.
There is nothing that scares me more than the dark.
I sometimes see myself as Cobra Commander on GI Joes.
I wonder when I will finally finish elementary school.
People always ask me, “Why don't you ever settle down?”
I answer, “Because I don't want to.”
Sometimes I think I'll break my leg.
I cry when I'm hurt,
I laugh when I see something funny.
Someday I'll figure out why the government is hiding aliens.
I don't think I'll ever stop collecting GI Joes.
Someday I'd like to be a policeman.

Changes – 1995

I consider myself a pirate.
In the mirror I see someone who is 5‘7“.
I ride my bike, use the computer, and draw all day long.
The thought of money excites me.
I like to eat pizza and spinach.
I know how to use computers.
I often dream of being rich.
I wish I had more money, but I'm glad I have The Jolly Roger's Cookbook.
I'm constantly asking for more money.
There is nothing that scares me more than a big phone bill.
I sometimes see myself as ! In !.
I wonder when I will finally finish middle school.
People always ask me, “Why do you like to use computers?”
I answer, “Cuz I do, so hahahahahah you're just a dumbbutt who don't [know] anything about them!”
Sometimes I think I might be arrested.
I cry when I get hurt really bad.
I laugh when I see/hear something funny.
Someday I'll figure out how to make a Blotto Box for fiber optics.
I don't think I'll ever stop using the computer.
Someday I'd like to own AT[-n-]T.

What else, what else…ah, some [forced] journal entries. Here's just one of the six, dated 18 April 1995 (this isn't my earliest entry ever):

I woke up at the same time I always do (6 AM) but I was really tired because I usually woke up at around 7 during spring break. I had nothing to eat at home so I ate an Apple Claw at school.

For lunch I had a peanut butter/jelly sandwich, apple, juice, and french fries.

In [Language Arts] today, we were split into groups. It was either Nazi, German farmworker, or Jew. The tallest people had to be the Jews, but they should've been the Nazis since they were stronger. I was a Jew.

The irony. Now a note from the teacher (25 May 1995):

Kaiser,
You have the ability to be successful at whatever you choose to tackle. You have some admirable qualities; however, lately, I've seen you lower your standards and slip into a groove during class with some kids who are weak as students – you have a “spark” that will allow you to “fit-in” w/o compromising your scholastic efforts &grades! Make wise choices!
 
Best wishes!
Mrs. Barris =)

She might have been commenting on my friendship with Mark, and sitting next the inbred hick known as Carl Ostermeier probably didn't help in matters (you can only tell someone to stop closing the metal binder rings on your ear so many times before realizing he's a total dipshit). Still, bits of enduring advice and encouragement I might someday follow.

This next piece, however, is an absolute jewel:

‘Frozen Moments’
 
My eyes squeezed together, sweat trickling down my face. Ten minutes and it still [wasn't] working. Veins bulged from my forehead as I went into deep concentration. The sweat was on me like a lead vest. The heat kept building. Slowly, I reached for the juice and drank it. Fifteen minutes passed. The mildew on the tiles seemed more prominent. The walls started closing in. The toilet started growling. “Give me food!” it was saying. Something was happening. I could feel it move. Out, out, out. Ahhhh…relief. It was rushing out like Niagara falls, and I was happy.

The date, 12 May 1995. I was in eighth grade. I was so lame. I haven't changed.

A bit nerdy, I know.

Then this girl came along around junior year and he eventually disappeared from the lunch hour scene; most contact soon eroded. It's been a good five years, I think, since we've ever actually done anything together, so I helped him move last night.

The first thing I noticed (a surprise) was that his hair is growing back from a shaved head, and a a beard of matching hair length; otherwise, the same Nick. But I also found that he has a lot of…trashy friends. Trashy townies, I guess you could call them, drinking and smoking various things, talking about the ‘bitches’ they've had sexual relations with, who did what to his car, etc.. It wasn't a total shock or surprise, but more of a realized preconception.

I know Nick could've done better, being smart and really good with computer networking (I'm sure he could match wits with a Linux-CS nerds on campus); I'm not saying this to be condescending. Alas, he hasn't been able to find a job to show what he's capable of, and he'll be a father any day now. It's the latter thing that now prevents him from moving away to find better oppurtunities. I hope things will fall into place for him.

It was interesting, though, to be squashed in the front of a U-Haul with three other people while they passed around a blunt. While driving. Indeed, a side of Springfield I've never experienced.