9:34pm :: Just tell me I'm an idiot and I'll surely be listening. At this point, nothing is possible. It has been a really nice Halloween, and although I don't really see it as a valid holiday, I'm inclined, like everyone else, to recognize. Sitting in my Starbucks I'm in the center of the never-ending trail of individuals, going to, from or staying away from adult Hallow's Eve celebrations. I do plan to drive Downtown after this to check things out.
I was thinking yesterday about this year. I had remarked earlier to someone, as is common, about how quickly the year had passed. I realized yesterday that that is in fact bullshit. This year, 2003 has been slow. I have had three separate jobs, lived in four different places (including my car) and feel that I have experienced a slice of life few get to really see. And it is NOT YET OVER. The annual climax is usually about now, when the cooler weather begins, and the winds sweep over the mountains. Soon the snow will fall and the jackets and sweaters will be brought out, and the cool desert night will be cursed just as the heat of the day was just months ago. This year has yet to climax I think. I am in a new town, and remark to myself, every day, about how great a place this is and how lucky I am to be here despite the rest of the world's best efforts. With 62 days and nights remaining, there is so much to see and do. I have three straight days off next week because of a strange schedule shift, which is luckily coincidental with the Broadcast show in Phoenix. This will be a mountain trip to revisit the Superstitions and southwestern White Mountains I blazed through two months ago.
leave now.

10:15pm :: A stone never rolls smoothly uphill. Wisdom to live by. Perched atop a hill overlooking the washed-out suburban northwest convergence of Marana and unincorporated Pima County is the MVD. I heard a female teenager repeat this word over a cell phone three times while waiting for my number to be called. This was just a temporary number but in its place, I have received a much more permenant one, one which is good until 2046, which seems like pushing it a little. I suppose I could live in this apartment until 2046, but by then my mind would be much too weary and my bones far too brittle to navigate this sloped parking lot and attempt to maneuver my small car under an aluminum veranda.
In one fail swoop I have gained Arizona residency and lost my ability to refer to myself as a Texan. I was very happy upon receiving the license, although I was somewhat upset that they had punched a hole in my Texas one.

Nonetheless, the neighbors are brilliant and I feel proud.

I believe tomorrow I will attempt the great date escape to the only business listed under "Dates" in the yellow pages. Friday, I might wander into Papago territory, always mindful of their steel-tipped arrows and poison kisses. No matter though, it is only a few miles but a world away. Forget the trailers and government housing, I want a teepee and a blanket, snuggled against a warm fire under a burning white moon. And so these are the plans, propaganda for the mind's work: keep feeding it.

12:02am :: Things never run smoothly in lieu of obsession, and I seem to be full of that. I'm obsessed with efficiency: fuel, monetary thrift or managerial. I'm obsessed with things that lie just outside my window, and outside my mind's eye. whatever that means.
Right now I'm obsessed with an idea regarding work. I once regarded this mandatory overtime as a bad thing, and it seemed to spark my defenses regarding control, but I now realize that I'm making quite a bit more money every week by just putting in a half hour extra per day, that would be wasted anyway.
But enough about this bullshit. I do enjoy writing right now, and would like to write more weird emails, but have few people to write them to. I suppose I could begin a campaign where I write emails to people I do not in fact know, but do so as to convey that I made an error in the addressing. This would actually be pretty fun, thinking what I could write to that general American public. Oh the possibilities. Toaster struedel? No, I've never owned any. But I suppose you don't own, you just buy it. You're just buying that glucose and fat so that it can coarse through your GI and your body can attempt to make some sort of sense of it all. I would like to significantly cut my sodium intake. I worry about this even though I am not overweight in any sense, and I really show no signs of health problems besides mysterious bite marks and a burned roof of my mouth. I think these birds are responsible for it. After all, most things that would cause bite marks are eaten by birds, and these bastard pigeons living on my roof may have begun a boycott on bugs entering or leaving my apartment. Like striking auto-workers I suppose.
Nonetheless, the mattress hunt has continued to be unsuccessful, and I may have to settle on a Queen for $40, which isn't that bad, really.
It just came to my mind that they have ceased production of Fiddle-Faddle, the caramel-corn-flavored product that would make all of your friends and relatives almost choke to death. It was making guest appearances in Big Lots and dollar stores for so long that I'm not surprised it's gone, it just wasn't that good. Americans want sweet stuff. We want things so sweet that cheeks and gums swell up and our teeth turn green. We want things so sweet that eating it too fast swings any normal, healthy person into diabetic shock.
Speaking of not-so-delicious foods, I came across a roughly half-gallon jar of pudding at Sam's the other day. It makes me curious who would buy something like that, and what sort of unnatural creatures could willingly consume that much pudding. Pudding is truly one of those mysteries of the world, just like Jello I suppose in that it is the paradox of the science of matter. It is strange that Jello makes both of these products. Bill Cosby would just smile and laugh, and spill into a condescending stuttering repetition of the facts, making the Huxstabul (sp?) house just a little more amusing. Forget that racism exists in the world and especially in the professional fields. Forget that the good doctor would mostly be concerned with the high cost of malpractice insurance. Forget that Rudy, Theo and that other kid would most likely all be at least inticed, if not already a regular user of one or more illicit drugs by the time they graduated high school. Did any of them graduate? And what happened to all of them besides the older one who kept getting arrested? Did Rudy marry a postal worker and move to Chicago to teach theatre arts under the towering spectre that is Oprah? Oh, I think so. It is sad that these child actors and actresses can so rarely escape their past characters and personas. These characters are the writers, and their friends. beat me out of me

11:12pm :: Where are my pants? In the other room. I don't know why, but I take them off whenever I get home. I think it's because it's just so damn hot in this place every day. Where is this Fall? Where is this Old Man Winter? Impaled on a cactus, that's where.
Clearly hearing my neighbors have sex tonight got me thinking: I've been sleeping surprisingly well ever since I've been here. Even though I sleep on the floor, I sleep 8-9 hours a night and wake up feeling very good. Calm, comfortable, collected. Maybe I'm not thinking about that.
I have memories of yeterday's travels: the Santa Rita Abbey. I expected a nunnery like in the movies, where at a charming 300-year-old temple of God, a nun suddenly becomes possessed by the devil and leaps out of a third-story portrait window. No, all there is here is a modest structure, very quiet and really somewhat uninviting, although Catholic places of worship always make me somewhat nervous. They do have a great view though, and I hope they appreciate it. It's amazing to me that all of this is only 50 or so miles from my home. I can drive into the most desolate desert, or into a landscape of beautiful rolling plains, or up onto a pine-topped Arizona mountain, any or all in less than in hour.
The deli at Albertson's closes at 9pm. Is this because no one wishes to buy meats after this time? I would love to buy meat after this time, but I suppose I'll have to take my business elsewhere. It's sad that our culture is so hell-bent on schedule adherence and keeping up with these flashing dots and slowly moving gears which we interpret as time. damn
There is very little to google for now, and there is not enough time for crossword puzzles. My bike sits next to me all the while, slowly shedding off the wasp's nest, begging for a wash. you'll get your's mr. bike, just you wait.

11:14pm :: It amazes me on these travel shows profiling South America that people have been able to protect so much of their native culture after being colonized for so long. Assimilation does need to be separated from preservation (not always easy), but pure culture so often presents itself in the most subtle ways.
Despite all of this, I am still shaken by my experience with the dead birds in my table leg. They lie outside, wasted, lost, motionless. I have a feeling that they will be in my dreams tonight, especially since I will most likely wake up to the sound of pigeons outside my window. Damned pigeons. This made my day strange, and I do hope that my experience in buying a mattress will not be as harrowing. A mattress seems important at this point, but living without one has made me realize that it is an unnecessary luxury. There is so much in our lives which we would never even think of giving up, and it takes living without to help is realize that we do not really need them at all. Maybe self-discovery will be the greatest thing to come out of this wild move to the wild west.

Tomorrow I suppose I will go up to Mount Graham and possibly spend the night there. A guy who called in today, who was restarting his ass-slow computer because he closed the registration screen he was supposed to keep open, began talking about Mount Graham and it got me reminiscent of my experiences there: both very cold and snowy. This time of course, it won't be snowy. Mount Graham is considered sacred by the local Apaches, and you certainly feel it when you actually go up there. It will be either this or Elgin, to the wine country. ROAD

8:30pm :: Nothing really defines American living than the combination of drinking and baseball. Even if you're not a big baseball fan, sitting down with your cronies and seeing your favorite team win an exciting game while putting back a few cheap bottles of Grade B American beer cannot compare to much else. I saw the Red Sox win tonight while half drunk, and although I was alone, I enjoyed it immensely. I am not in any way a big baseball fan, but seeing a team you like win in the playoffs is everything to an American. That is my patriotism, that intangible force that ties me to other Americans and can never be fully severed.
I discovered today that although Arizona does not carry Blue Bell ice cream, we do have Blue Bunny ice cream. Is it as good? Probably not, but I may go buy some just to make sure. Blue Bell is to ice cream just as Shiner Bock is to beer in Texas: it is of great value for the money you spend on it. A pint of Blue Bell costs about $1.60, and a half-gallon about $3.50 (depending on the store and its on-sale status). I think it's great that there are other states and other brands attempting to copy the success and myth behind Blue Bell. It is shame, however, that we no longer get to see those Blue Bell commercials in Texas with the singing cow. They began showing those same commercials, briefly, about a year ago, and they definitely brought for me a wave of nostalgia.
In all of this reflection and deep thought, I am in a good mood. I enjoyed my day at work, and I expect to enjoy the next. Things are much easier than I thought, and running smoothly. I am enjoying the people around me, and having fun with it in my own way. I expect to not stay here too long, but I do expect to have a good time while I am here.

I told someone once here recently that I would be here 2 or 3 years max. I do plan to go to China eventually, but I am enjoying myself immensely thus far. Especially considering that, at this point, I have no friends and am utterly alone here, I am very happy here. I suppose that this is just a matter of time, and I will have to see how it goes over the next year or so.

6:48pm :: I see lines of code and tables full of interaction. Old people, in line, paying with rolls of quarters. Cries for back-up and hellacious laughs, all in the spirit of this strange season. I'm a mole. I know this because I can see the light coming through the holes I have dug in the past. Holes are just doors after all, just like the Chinese indicate. My people hole is locked tight tonight. I am not leaving again, something strange is going on outside. The sun never really set, it's still screaming in the desert west of here. I can see it from my vantage point. My car is no longer itself. It now rejects me, like a rabid dog, growling and foaming at the mouth. Eyes fixed, endlessly glazed over. There is nothing worse than looking life in the eyes when it is truly thoughtless. Driving on these streets built for the American royalty. Wide avenues, lined with purchasing power and cigarette butts. No more driving though. I am locking myself in here. I would like to see the desert, since I have never really seen it, only in other mindsets which no longer seem valid now. None of it is valid. These moans and hisses, creaks and cracks. Spanish-language ramblings to no one in particular. If no one is listening to a radio station, is the announcer talking to himself? Is he or she crazy? In writing, you are always talking to yourself. Regurgitating thoughts so that they may be swallowed again by your sub-concious. I realize now that Las Vegas is not far away, but Las Vegas is not valid. I am not yet a number, so to these individuals who feel that I owe them something, anything, I am still not valid. Exploiting the false expectations and hopes of the masses might be valid at this point. I am, after all, conjuring up a fear for the truly wicked mind. Empty stares of pillaged conciouses, breathing on me. Where are these innocent children that I'm supposed to kill with my ravenous beast of an automobile while in a drunken stupor? One night, I will chop down a saguaro. They are far too safe.
My apartment smells of coffee and ill-will. It is littered with artifacts, all thrown together in a colorful array of grief and frustration. Blinding, but still invalid. opp

7:24pm :: I realize that I have only been understanding brief sections of dialogue. These songs including sexual innuendo must go. The preludes also need to go, because the words can be comprehended, but when added together by the mind, they are just jibberish. Why are things such as Lawrence Welk so strange? Because there is an element of sexuality throughout it all. Every single second of that program was a call to the American royalty to procreate, or at least do their very best to do so. These things are made even worse because they are dressed in innocence, and then re-introduced to us under a much more concious mind. The generation today can see these elements. Too much finely-combed hair and pretty red suits to be sexual. It's a paradigm for the mind and all its senses. The smells are still driving me nuts here. It's sensory that always leads me to a sort of backwards demeanor, where I suddenly interpret things which exist in the background, and ignore the foreground. They are the same senses which I believe have created this song in my head. It is the perfect song, but I can't express it using any of the usual tools. The fact that the set for this program has a huge "Geritol" sign behind the band makes me want to rip out my hair and scream. "ONE MORE TIME!" Clowns, unbuttoned shirts from the 70's and gold chains.

9:38pm :: What's wrong? Nothing. No really, nothing. There is silliness here. Silliness in this hot, stale air, in the smell of this generic carpet. If only it could talk. Relay conversations, the cleanliness of feet, the reminiscence of footprints. A footprint is a sort of echo, a tangible clairvoyance left permanently for those in the future. Something very deep and meaningful about footprints.