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Casey/Male/31-35. Lives in United States/California/San Francisco/The Mission, speaks English and  . Spends 80% of daytime online. Uses a Faster (1M+) connection.
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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Saturday, February 15, 2003

Not Losing Sleep Over This, But...

I'm far from the first to think it, but it's still suspicious timing to be told not to wander out in big groups the week before a series of national anti-war rallies. I think at least the West coast (who are not as freaked out as the other coast, somehwat understandably) skeptical. We're more concerned with missles from North Korea than unelaborated reports of "chatter."

Not to be too Wag-The-Dog about this all, but what if, say, the Powers That Control The Government wanted to set an example? The other night before bed (what better time?) I started to play out a little scene in my head:

Increased Alert is called (To Pomegranite or Cranberry or whatever the next highest color is in the Pottery Barn™-Sponsored Terror Alert.) Press conferences to calm the public do the exact opposite. Cynics grouse, refuse to call off anti-war protests. Covert government operatives—paid terrorists, if you will—release a small, easily controlled nerve gas attack in a liberal city in a Democratic-leaning state, say, at a protest rally, where there will be plenty of media attention. For the sake of argument, let's call this fantasy place San Francisca. This would:

  1. "Prove" that a serious terrorist threat on American soil really existed, despite previous fabricated evidence;
  2. "Prove" that Homeland Security is effective, both at seeing the threat ahead of time and quickly addressing it;
  3. Snubs the liberals and the pacifists in that pinko-fag city of questionable, declining economic support anyway.

Since today's rallies occured without unusual violence, this must just be my dark fantasy. Right? Right. Despite this line of thinking and the forecasted rain, we'll be out at our local anti-war rally tomorrow to suggest that duct tape may save us yet from toxic gas leaks and terrorists. (30k JPEG popup)

06:22 PM PST (link)

Friday, February 14, 2003

I Love You Too, But I Must Wash My Ears Now.

You know your significant other have reached a significant level of understanding when he sends you these online valentines. And you're touched and delighted. AND you agree that the rendition of "Light My Fire" really isn't all that bad. (But that version of "Love To Love You Baby" is.)

04:20 PM PST (link)

Thursday, February 13, 2003

Russell Stover Chocolates Still Suck.

Fat. Naked. Dangerous. You know, I'm beginning to doubt that I was ever really that bitter about Valentine's Day. I mean, I'm bitter about everything, so I have to mean evil-black-spit-in-your-face bitter to be worthy of note. (The lady doth protest too much, methinks.) I know I don't have that kind of venom anymore, but I'm beginning to wonder if I ever did.

F'rinstance...I used to make it a point to wear my black suit on Valentine's Day; given my current wardrobe choices, nobody would notice anything different if I did it today. (I mean, I get grief from people at work when I wear a grey shirt.) So to liven things up now, I usually wear a red shirt on Valentine's Day, or at least when we go to dinner. Ooh, how daring. Does this make me a traitor? I think it may.

And it's true, Valentine's Day dinner is one of the most overpriced nights to dine out. Service can be scattered; it's probably a horrible night for tips and people making special requests. But I like eating out, and if there's one more night each year where I get to eat out with my boyfriend, how can I be opposed to that?

Oh shit; I think I hear the Pessimism Police coming to rescind my Bitterness card now.

03:41 PM PST (link)

Wednesday, February 12, 2003

The Forbidden Post.

I've been avoiding writing here because I had been in such a god-damn awful mood these past few days, that I just knew no good would come out of it. Foul mood. Nothing to say. Not posting makes foul mood worse. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The Boyfriend and I in the car the other night discussed the futility of posting a Weblog entry about not having a Weblog entry; I'm hoping that by posting about that conversation, I've achieved a certain level of meta-data that elevates it from mediocrity. Didn't work, did it?

So why not go all out? I'll posting about the latest Weblog meme I've seen: GeoURL. Hi, neighbors!

And this Mind-Reading Flash program which was an email forward. Blew my mind for a few tries until I figured out how it was coded.

While we're here, let's go off the shark-infested deep end of forbidden Weblog topics: My haircut. I've had far worse haircuts, but the moment I felt the clippers on an unfamiliar part of my head, I knew I was in for it. You know when you get a new hair cut and people say things about it? Well, imagine that something drastic happens to your head and nobody says anything. You know that they're not sure what to say about it besides, "It'll grow back."

What other cheese can I throw at you here? The What kind of Sex Toy are you Quiz? (More new quizzes here.) Pictures of cute puppies and a few kittens. No, I'm wasn't kidding. (Link from Heather Champ.) Did I miss anything?

11:28 AM PST (link)


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