Call of Steinbeck

My day was slightly hectic. Thank goodness, I actually had a decent night of sleep. I paid my monthly parking fee for my spot at the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. Then, I drove my truck to Kahala Mall. I was a bit early, so I purchased a whole mess of Van Camp's® Pork and Beans and Coral® tuna. I also purchased a large cup of coffee at the Barnes & Noble® Café. I met moms at the front entrance of the mall at 10:45am. We ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. Lunch was filling and delicious, although the service was far from "friendly." After lunch, I drove moms back to Hawai'i Kai. We stopped off at Foodland in Koko Marina. I chatted with moms until 1pm before departing for Waikiki. I left a little earlier than usual because I had to purchase a new bus pass in town before gym time.

Aside from that, the whole day followed the "same ol' shit" routine as outlined existentially in the "blog" of April 28th titled, "Who Knew?" I was pretty much in an existential fog for most of the day anyway. That always happens on days that I spend time with moms. I become totally disconnected from my environment. I move about in my usual surroundings but nothing seems real. I see lifeforms and inanimate objects, but there is no differentiation between either. Everything becomes amorphous. Then, I launch into the same introspection that ultimately concludes in a meaningless denouement. All I think about is my mortality, my limited time with moms, and the indeterminate quality of my future. Then, once again, I am compelled in a desperate way to divest more of my useless possessions and to sever my remaining ties with any part of society. The latter activity, albeit benign, has the propensity to generate extreme anxiety and confusion. I hesitate to follow up on a decision in such a mental state of disarray. Yet, I sense that one day soon there will be no hesitation.

Caroll had sent e-mail on Saturday. She was supposedly moving to Santa Cruz from Concord yesterday with the help of her brother. She apparently has both a job and an apartment in Santa Cruz. Her uncle was supposedly going to share the place with her, but that apparently fell though. "I am beat. Stressed. And whatever else ... ," she wrote. Frankly, I have no idea how Caroll has survived all theses years. She has defaulted on her student loans and her mortgage for the townhouse that she should not have purchased in Salinas. You may recall that she moved to Salinas because of the "Call of Steinbeck." In the end, she had to file for bankruptcy. Somehow, she always seems to find a job and a place to live, then repeats the same harsh cycle ad infinitum. Caroll is a true survivor.

Zipper Day 2007

Yes, Zipper Day is here! And, we at LoserNet® always make time to observe the special day that is dedicated to the invention of the zipper. Is the zipper a more significant invention than, say, the computer? You be the judge.

I was extremely fatigued when I returned to Waikiki yesterday afternoon. Sleep deprivation is getting to me. Even in my delirious state, I could not remain in my prison cell (little shoebox) all night. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure so that I could attach my new registration tag to the license plate of my truck. I also updated the paperwork in the glove compartment. I had not seen my truck in a month. Often, I forget that my truck even exists.

I spent only an hour at Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was not there. The guys' restroom was closed again, possibly because too many of the homeless are using the facilities. Some of the other "booksellers" were giving me the once over. Since I am there almost every night, I am assumed to be one of the homeless. Well, that's my guess.

After I alighted the prison transport in Waikiki, I had to wait to cross Kuhio Avenue. "What are you doing tonight?" Was some chick talking to me? I turned my head to see a young hottie smiling. Baby was dressed like a college student. At first, I thought that she was a student at the Diploma Mill, perhaps one of my former students. Since, I could not place her face, I assumed that she a "working girl." Baby made brief conversation, but I only offered terse, albeit, polite answers. As we walked across the street, I finally noticed the telltale sign of a "working girl," the infamous little clutch purse at her side. Baby seemed a little nervous, so I assumed that she was new to the game. It's sad to see that baby has chosen such a profession to make quick money, especially since she was quite a hottie. Equally sad is the fact that baby apparently saw me as a lonely old loser, a desperate fool eager to pay for da wild thing. What a sad society.

I spent an hour reading Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization," in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) late last night. Strangely, I did not feel as fatigued as when I was out gallivanting around. My whole mindset about the world is changing as I continue to read Fisk's book. I believe that Fisk's historical chronicle is accurate. He has exposed the truth, and the truth hurts. In all honesty, I am now at the point where I am experiencing a severe spiritual conflict with the material world as we know it. I want to become a hermit, a recluse, and escape the madness. Yet, where is there to escape to? The satanic gargoyles are festering in every nook and cranny on the planet. I am very ashamed of humanity, what it has become, and the continuous ruination that it oversees. I have become extremely sick of the perpetual lying that I am subjected to bear daily from the gamut of media fools to the real-life individuals whom I encounter.

I am, after all, only alive and subsisting in a benign society only because I was born into it by happenstance. My soul could appeared anywhere else on the planet in any part of the time continuum. I could very well have ended up being one of the infinite casualties that are highlighted in Fisk's book, if only I had the "misfortune" to be born "over there." I say "misfortune," because the latter term is relative to my concept of being "fortunate." However, is living a life of no meaning any better? Is the ability to eat junk food, excrete waste matter, accumulate worthless shit, and perform essentially useless tasks worthy of the term, "fortunate"?

This morning, I performed my Sunday ritual as expected (refer to the "blog" of April 28th titled, "Who Knew?") and, as I sat with cup of coffee on a concrete bench in the desolate lobby of Kukui Plaza, I saw one of my former Diploma Mill students exiting a doctor's office. Dustin, who was a student in my class about four years ago, graduated the same year from the same high school as the ol' lavahead. He was with his 17-year-old son. We only chatted briefly, but I was reminded of the one significant conversation that I had with him. "How many good years do we have left?" he asked. "Maybe ten? Fifteen?" Dustin finally obtained his degree and is now working full-time for a decent firm. I, on the other hand, am awaiting my emancipation from wage slavery. Ironic, eh?

During and after my workout at the gym, I questioned the feasibility and validity of my gym membership. What am I getting for $36 per month ($432 per annum)? Are my workouts really keeping me healthy? Financially, the gym is cost effective because I go there every day. Could I get by without the gym? Would I be able to maintain a similar workout? The gym environment is obviously both institutional and artificial. It almost seems idiotic to perform useless physical labor in an air conditioned building with machines that yield zero productive output. Yet, the gym meets my needs. I am able to obtain a full weight and aerobic workout in one central location. Psychological commitment is factored in, so the ability to maintain a consistent regimen is guaranteed. Incidentally, the hottie gym trainer was conspicuously absent. Boohoo.

I leisurely ate my two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos in the dining room of Taco Bell®. For all I now, that could be one of the last times that I will enjoy such a luxury. I ruminated upon my desire to move out of the "condotel" unit. Will I be able to find rental housing for around $500 per month? I will not be able to rent my own place for that little money. And, all I would end up with is another little tomb in yet another dumpy mausoleum. Ideally, I need to find a room for rent in a house. Not so ideal is the matter of having housemates to deal with. Oh, the horror!

Here again, I am being bogged down by trivialities, the product of a meaningless society. I am fretting over mundane crap whereas, had my soul ended up in human form in another part of the planet or in another time period, I would have many more pressing concerns. Now I must wonder whether deriving meaning for my existence must transcend environmental and geographical circumstances. And, what of econometrics? Truly, there can be no fair or equitable manner of personal redemption otherwise. Occam's zipper ... errr, razor?

Who Knew?

Should the ol' lavahead keep chronicling the same ol' shit? Does anyone not know that the prison fare for dinner consists of beans and bread? Every night? Does anyone not know that my prison cell (read: little shoebox) must be cleaned nightly with my humble dustpan and brush? Does anyone not know that I must peruse the pink rubber piggy bank replica while I sink financially? Does anyone not know that I must ride in third-world discomfort several times per day on the prison transport (read: bus)? Does anyone not know that I end up at Barnes & Noble® pretty much every night? Does anyone not know that I must note the presence of the hottie "bookseller"? Does anyone not know that baby is usually looking hot? Does anyone not know that I must often stop off in the ABC Store to purchase miscellaneous food items and, often enough, a big-ass can of cheap cerveza? Does anyone not know that I immediately go into lockdown in my prison cell, if I do not spend a little time in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) first?

Does anyone not know that I must usually sacrifice sound sleep every night because of the psychotic behavior of any of the satanic gargoyles who are assigned to the prison cell next to mine? Does anyone not know that I must deploy the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo" in a vain attempt to mask out the latter stupidity?

Does anyone not know that I wake up groggy every morning? Does anyone not know that I end up in the faculty computer room every day (except Sunday)? Does anyone not know I must partake of the free generic coffee in order to function? Does anyone not know that I must stroll to Safeway® usually every morning? Does anyone not know that I must purchase air-filled energy bars, lard-filled Tina's® burritos, Focaccia bread snacks, or a combination of each? Does anyone not know that I must piddle around on the computer all day? Does anyone not know that I must put in my one-hour of wage slavery (only for two more weeks)? Does anyone not know that I must go to the gym sometime after 2pm every day? Does anyone not know that I must note the presence of the hottie gym trainer? Does anyone not know that baby is a hottie? Does anyone not know that I must piddle around on the computer for the rest of the afternoon until the dreaded hour arrives that I must return to Waikiki?

Does anyone not know that my Sunday prison brunch consists of Coral® tuna and bread? Does anyone not know that I must procure the Sunday paper from the prison compound before leaving for town? Does anyone not know that I must sit and read the paper in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments? Does anyone not know that I must procure my Sunday morning cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's®? Does anyone not know that I must often sit in the desolate lobby Kukui Plaza with my coffee and listen to smooth jazz on the background music system? Does anyone not know that I end up at the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill at noon? Does anyone not know that I must purchase two Cheesy Bean and Rice burritos for an early Sunday dinner at Taco Bell®? Does anyone not know that the remainder of my Sunday routine is the same as any other day?

Does anyone not know that I am a loner monk? Does anyone not know that I have no cell phone? Does anyone not know that my Palm® TX is my only alternative contact medium with the outside world whenever I can connect to a free wireless network? Does anyone not know that the "blog" is my only "job" now?

Does anyone not know that the benign cycle that I just described repeats itself ad nauseum? Yes, everyone knows. Same ol' shit. So, why do I keep chronicling these details every single day? I believe that I have emphasized my rote life-style beyond overkill, eh? So be it, then. I have now described the "reference standard" for my daily adventures. I will attempt to refrain from the mundane from this point forward. Not to worry. There will be many other issues to discuss.

Last night, I stopped by the Apple® Store before proceeding to Barnes & Noble®. I perused the promotion material for the new iPhone®. Very slick device. However, most of the "connectivity" features require a dedicated Net connection, which will primarily be through a very expensive Cingular® premium service plan. My Palm® TX will continue to be sufficient for my needs. While at Barnes & Noble®, I perused a book about worldband (read: shortwave) radio, which whetted my curiosity. Would I be foolish enough to waste money on a small shortwave radio? Incidentally, the hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking mighty fine.

With less than two weeks of wage slavery left, I must focus on survival (read: money and sanity) issues. Here is what I face in the short run:

• Cost Cutting. Cutback or elimination of "luxuries" which currently only include Sunday coffee from Mickey Dee's®, Sunday dinner at Taco Bell®, and numerous big-ass cans of cheap cerveza for about $38 savings per month ($456 per annum).
• Financial Triage. Priority is the divestiture of the "condotel" unit and, next in line, the sale of the 2005 Nissan® Frontier Nismo truck, for a possible increase in liquid assets by $67,000 in total and an annual savings of $620 in truck expenses (i.e., insurance, registration, maintenance, petrol).
• Living Situation. The current "condotel" living situation has rapidly become intolerable. Tentatively, a deadline of June 1st has been set to put the "condotel" unit back into the hotel rental pool and find cheaper rental housing elsewhere.
• Moratorium. Continuation of the moratorium on the acquisition of additional useless possessions.

My struggle for survival will now insure that I lead an impoverished life-style from this point forward. I will also remain single and celibate forever. My "Golden Years" will likely be plagued with serious financial problems. I may, in fact, eventually end up homeless and destitute.

My previously brilliant idea of intentionally becoming a homeless "camper" is near defunct. The City initiated a parks cleanup and maintenance program several months ago. The homeless "campers" situated along the West O'ahu beaches were evicted in the guise of the park "refurbishment" campaign. Many of the campers moved into the new homeless shelters during that time, but shelter space was limited. I believe that the shelters are at capacity now. Most of the remaining homeless "campers" relocated to the North Shore beaches. The City has now slated the North Shore beaches and the Thomas Square park in town for the same "refurbishment" program. Once the parks and beaches have gone through the "refurbishment" process, the homeless are not allowed to return. Thus, the homeless population is being forced to continuously move literally around the island. All the while, the homeless population is increasing. The legitimate campgrounds are still available five days per week. However, I am certain that the homeless "campers" will soon be moving to those campgrounds as a last resort. There will most likely be an increase in crime and violent conflicts.

Fourteen Days

What a routine! Prison dinner (read: beans and bread). Clean prison cell (read: little shoebox) with humble dustpan and brush. Sheesh! I departed for Ala Moana Center at 8:15pm. There was a large crowd in Barnes & Noble® when I arrived. Apparently, Bikram Choudhury was there for a book signing to promote his book, "Bikram Yoga: The Guru Behind Hot Yoga Shows the Way to Radiant Health and Personal Fulfillment." There were hundreds of hotties standing in the line. Judging by the way they were dressed, I assumed that the babes were from the elite class of Hawai'i. The hottie "bookseller" was there, obviously overwhelmed with work. The whole spectacle almost made me ill. As the world crumbles, the elite need only concern themselves with yoga techniques and celebrity adoration.

I departed for Waikiki at 10pm. On the way back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I made the mistake of procuring a big-ass can of cheap brewski. I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) with Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization," and dropped back the big-ass can of cheap brewski. The chapters about the plight of the Palestinians have been difficult to read as well. To fully comprehend what has happened and continues to happen today can only bring about a sense of grief as well as deep gratitude for not ever having to suffer a similar plight. A quick introspection of my own life then revealed how truly meaningless it is.

The bottom line is that we live a cushioned, gluttonous, hypochondriacal life-style that evaporates any meaning from our lives through sheer boredom and banality. Consumerism "infantilizes" the mind, and dissipates values, ethics, and morality into thin air. We are robbed of the opportunity to experience real suffering and grief. We are deprived of toiling for existence. Our only concern is Bikram Yoga and other New Age crap. It's a life of cheap theatrics, and there is no redemption.

We are a passionless society. Hence, we express horror when we watch on the tube the disinfected accounts of such "atrocities" as suicide bombings. Heck, the average citizen of the "civilized" world won't even come to the aid of a fellow citizen lying on the street bleeding. Thus, we cannot understand why anyone would literally blow themselves up for some "foolish" cause. We label them "terrorists" and diagnose them as psychopathic killers. We could never comprehend the meaning of sheer desperation, a point when all options have been depleted, as long as we live in ignorance (read: bliss).

I have no idea why I am compelled to drop back cheap brewskis. Consequently, I never sleep well. At 4:30am, I was semi-conscious enough to hear the satanic gargoyle in the next prison cell open and close the cell door repetitively every few minutes, sometimes every ten seconds. Could it be the same satanic gargoyle from a couple of months ago? Obviously, I had to employ the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo." When I finally decided to get up at 8:10am, I could still hear the benign idiocy continuing. I packed my gym bag and departed within minutes. I am not one to enjoy the observation of schizophrenic behavior. Meaninglessness obviously gives rise to insanity.

I was at least relieved to ride an near-empty prison transport (read: bus) to town. Along the way, I noted that petrol prices have gone up again. A gallon of low octane petrol runs $3.15 on average. A fresh pot of free generic coffee was brewing when I set foot in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. After a few cups of coffee, I was off to Safeway® to find something to eat. I performed my one-hour of wage slavery. As of today, I have two weeks (14 days) before I am emancipated from wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. The rest of the afternoon and evening will be the same ol' shit.

The future of Net radio appears to be in jeopardy because of new royalty rate plan (set by the Copyright Royalty Board) that is scheduled to take effect very soon. Net radio operators such as DI.FM may be forced to shut down. I suspect that the latter is one of the first of many frontal attacks on smaller eCommerce operators. Forcing the smaller operators out of business will then pave the way for the typical large conglomerates (e.g., Clear Channel® et al.) to monopolize the entire market. Is that not the current capitalistic model? Only the largest corporations will end up providing us with almost all of our goods and services. The music industry is already consumed by greed. The crap being pumped out as music is now all "cookie cutter" bullshit, whether anyone chooses to believe it or not. When all is said and done, materialism and consumerism will eventually result in a totally "marginalized" and "homogenized" society.

House of Cards Redux

Another evening at Barnes & Noble®, another evening piddling around for no apparent reason. I could easily assume that I am wasting my life away. What are the alternatives? I could spend all night in front of the tube. Whoa! That's really redeeming for the soul, eh? I could walk around the empty streets anywhere in town and be arrested for vagrancy. I could spend a lot of dough to hang out at some chic dump with the movers and shakers of society, but I would probably be arrested for vagrancy and trespassing. Thank goodness for Barnes & Noble®. The homeless are also thankful. I have noticed quite a few of them reading books in the store. Some of the homeless are in cognito. Only a trained eye could detect their presence. The telltale sign is the presence of a large backpack or gym bag, stuffed beyond capacity. At 10pm, there is no reason to be carrying so much crap unless, of course, that crap is all of one's worldly possessions.

My life-style hovers precariously close to that of the homeless. I have nowhere to go, nothing to do. I wander about aimlessly in the cold concrete jungles of a paved-over paradise. I will soon join the ranks of the "useless eaters," as I will no longer be "gainfully" employed. My only separation from the homeless, and it is a thin one, is that I still have some residual assets. Not much, though.

The hottie "bookseller" had the night off. Boohoo. I perused a few books haphazardly. I do not want to be tempted by another book because I am still not even halfway through Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." I departed for Waikiki at the usual time. Although I was tempted yet again to sedate myself with cheap booze, I refrained. Instead, I spent an hour or so in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading Fisk's book. I am now reading the chapters about the tragic Palestinian plight. Another woeful tale. I do not regret the purchase of the book. What it has given me for its $20 cover price is a glimpse into the human plight, the reason that Armageddon must come soon to cleanse the Earth. There is no hope for humanity. We have passed the point of no return.

I was up before 7am this morning. Thus, I was on my way to town before 8am. I rode a very crowded prison transport (read: bus). The discomfort was increased because the air conditioner was off for the entire trip. Mind you, none of the windows can be opened. The ambient temperature rose rapidly. Can you imagine the CO₂ level in a packed 60-foot articulated prison transport? I was feeling light-headed when I alighted on Hotel Street. The fresh air was a welcome relief.

Fortunately, there was a pot of free generic coffee brewing in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill when I arrived. After a few cups of coffee, I performed my Safeway® morning ritual. I have begun to distance myself from most of the Diploma Mill faculty, all except two or three colleagues. I no longer want to discuss pedagogy or other benign topics about higher education. I have said all that needed to be said. Higher education is going to be a tough field from this point forward. The quality of domestic students has declined drastically. The conflicts between faculty and students will increase unless the faculty completely submit to the "infantilized" environment. There is no way to uphold any kind of educational standard (i.e., relative to desired expectations of competency at any particular level) and remain employed or sane. Overall, the latter phenomena is yet another indication of the decline of society. The current generation of brain donors will surely put the final nail in the coffin of the so-called "middle class."

The demons who possess the typical college student (and all of the satanic gargoyles), the idiocy of progressive parenting, the lack of training and discipline, the New Age bullshit, the "self-esteem" movement, the epidemic of the "seven sins," the blubber-producing shitty fast-food diet, cigarettes, cheap booze and drugs, all of it is coming back to haunt us. That's "blowback" in CIA terms. The chickens are coming home to roost. Forget the so-called "terrorists." We have got millions of dumbed-down mofos right here who are readily bringing "mutually-assured destruction" back in vogue by means of sheer stupidity.

One really has to take a good look at what is going on. Millions of jobs have been lost within the last decade, never to be replaced. The creation of new jobs is primarily in the minimum wage peon category, not enough to even straddle the national poverty line. Illegal immigration is welcomed along with "guest worker" privileges, which further undercuts the domestic labor base. The dollar has devalued. The real estate market is said to be ready to implode. Oil prices are finally rising. Yet, the stock market topped its indices. Wrong is right. Nothing makes sense anymore, that is, unless we accept that everything is being manipulated and propped up artificially. What we are seeing is an enormous "house of cards" being constructed. No one wants it to collapse, but new floors must be added in the name of "growth." The "house of cards" becomes a behemoth structure, simply awaiting a small gust to topple it.

I performed my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. A moronic Chinaman (read: "slope") screwed up my weight workout because he, being the multitasker that he is, was able to use two machine at the same time. He moved at an extremely leisurely pace between the two machines. It took about three minutes for him to complete a set and sit on the machine idly to recover. Then, he strolled to the other machine while leaving his crap on the previous machine to "reserve" it for his exclusive use. He stretched his puny arms and looked around between sets. I left the skinny wimp to his own devices. After all, he could pull a "Cho Seung-Hui¹" on me. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. The evening? Same ol' shit.

I am sitting and waiting for the secular Apocalypse, as I have mentioned prior. When will it happen? The Shrub administration is being deconstructed judging by the number of continual scandals popping up including that of appointees, Alberto "Gonzo" Gonzales and Paul "Wolfman" Wolfowitz. Dick "Dracula" Cheney is being targeted for impeachment. The incursion in Iraq is degenerating even further with the outrageous new scheme to physically partition Baghdad into small ghettos. And, the "surge" is failing. No telling what is going on in Afghanistan, but it can't be good news. Like trapped rats, the Shrub administration will have no choice but to strike out at anyone and anything. One tangible target, Iran, remains. All news sources (including the alternative news) have been conspicuously silent on the matter. Only John McCain's morbid parody ("Bomb Iran") of the old Beachboy's song, "Barbara Ann," made the news. Yet, I believe that the incursion into Iran is still looming.

¹Cho Seung-Hui, suicidal "martyr."

One Minute to Zero

Once I returned to Waikiki last night, I was not inclined to do much after eating my prison dinner (read: beans and bread) and cleaning my prison cell (read: little shoebox) with my humble dustpan and brush. I piddled around in my prison cell, watched the ridiculous tube off and on, until 11pm. What a waste of time! To redeem myself, I spent an hour in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and read more of Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization," for an hour. Then, I called it a night.

I got up at 8:20am, even though I was awake for a while. I've been trying to force myself to sleep closer to eight hours. I've been living off of four to six hours of sleep every night for so long I cannot remember. Sleep deprivation is unhealthy, but the constant noise and stupidity only keeps getting worse.

I departed for town at 8:35am on a very crowded prison transport (read: bus). A chubby chick, obviously a Diploma Mill student, sat next to me. She kept bumping into my arm with her elbow. She was constantly fidgeting, taking crap out of her bag, playing with her iPod®, fiddling with her cell phone, all of the symptoms of extreme psychomotor agitation. I've noticed the same symptoms in the majority of young people and few of my idiotic fellow "Baby Boomers." I assume that most of these fools have been diagnosed with some kind of attention-deficit or hyperactivity disorder. No doubt they are all drugged up on amphetamine-like medication. The real problem is lack of discipline and self-control. As children, they were never trained or disciplined to control their bodily functions and behavior. Thus, as they grew older, they never matured. In the end, they become the perfect victims (or dare I say, customers) of the epidemic of the "seven sins."

It all boils down to the usual culprit, progressive parenting. It's really not parenting at all. The kids raise themselves and teach themselves their own "values" courtesy the tube. This is the "American" concept of "freedom," that is, the freedom to be dickhead and do whatever we please even if it encroaches on the rights of others. That's another reason why there are so many fat slobs running amuck. Yes, the "freedom" to be a fat slob. Jaime O' Neill penned an interesting article titled, "Fat Heads, Fat Bodies, and Fat Cats," which appeared on the Smirking Chimp site. An excerpt:

If you are an American, it is a statistical probability that you are fat. Upwards of 60% of Americans are overweight, and many of them are obese. But you don't need statistics to give you this information. Just look around at the people in line at the checkout counter at Wal-Mart, or in line at the post office. More likely than not, your fellow customers are fat. Visibly, prodigiously, and obviously. Fat.

Americans are making stereotypes of ourselves -- greedy in our actions and piggish in our appearance. We don't think about the planet, we don't think about the future, we don't think about much of anything beyond the immediate gratification of our most base desires. We shove food into our faces to stave off the emptiness, and to comfort us in our fears. We consume tons of junk from China and other nations -- comestibles and consumer goods -- driving up our trade deficit, all in an attempt to push back the lingering sense that something is wrong.

I don't agree, however, with one of the points in the article. O' Neill blasted Congress concerning the bill which prevents consumers from launching lawsuits against unhealthy fast-food providers. The motive behind the bill is obviously corporate greed, but the consumer of crap food should not be considered a "victim." Stuffing one's face with greasy crap food is a personal choice. Becoming a fat slob is a personal choice. It takes months, maybe years, to bulk into a full-blown gluttonous hog. The "victims" are victims of their own stupidity and ignorance, just as the myriad cigarette-smoking satanic gargoyles who end up with respiratory illnesses.

I was pleased to see a pot of free generic coffee brewing when I set foot in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Pseudo-professor Glenn paid a visit. We were able to chat briefly. I performed my morning Safeway® ritual. I also took time to read the "blogs" of my virtual homeys, Mr. Ray and Devin to see what's what on their side of the planet. When no one else was around, I tuned into DI.FM Deep House on Net radio.

Rob, the former IT guy at the Asylum, sent e-mail. Apparently, the project is on its way to becoming defunct. The funding is gone, so Internet Jon had to break the lease for the downtown office space. Here today, gone tomorrow. I had always suspected that the project was a fly-by-night operation. I am not certain what Rob is going to do. He can live off of his savings for a while. IT jobs are scarce in Hawai'i. There has also been an influx of "guest workers" from India who have been filling IT positions for much lower salaries than local workers.

I performed my mandatory one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:25pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I found myself rushing through my workout, although I had no idea why. I cannot relax anywhere in town. There are too many satanic gargoyles around. Therefore, I rush from place to place. Then, I end up wasting time in the faculty computer room, the only peaceful place that I am aware of. Well, that's only true if I can ignore some of the more psychotic faculty members. The "blog" provides my only sense of purpose while I am in town. I read endless articles and increase my knowledge and awareness. After all, the secular Apocalypse could come at any time. I will depart for Waikiki at 6:20pm. The standard prison dinner is all that's on the menu. Beans, beans, beans, and more beans. My prison cell will have to be cleaned with my humble dustpan and brush, a necessary regimen to instill discipline. Then, if I am in the mood, I will be off to Barnes & Noble®. Wheeee!

Here's a nice parting tidbit for the day, an article titled, "Working for the Clampdown," that appeared on the American Conservative site. An excerpt from James Bovard:

The Defense Authorization Act of 2006, passed on Sept. 30, empowers President George W. Bush to impose martial law in the event of a terrorist "incident," if he or other federal officials perceive a shortfall of "public order," or even in response to antiwar protests that get unruly as a result of government provocations.

And, what do we mean by "martial law"?

"Martial law" is a euphemism for military dictatorship. When foreign democracies are overthrown and a junta establishes martial law, Americans usually recognize that a fundamental change has occurred. Perhaps some conservatives believe that the only change when martial law is declared is that people are no longer read their Miranda rights when they are locked away. "Martial law" means obey soldiers' commands or be shot.

Scary, isn't it? Yet, hardly anyone knows or cares. The satanic gargoyles have the "freedom" and the "right" to become fat slobs. What more "freedom" do we need? The sheep are always looking for the shepherd. They do not want to be leaders. They want to be led. Yes, they will be led - led to their own destruction.

Tower of Babel

I left my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 8:10pm, after cleaning the dump with my humble dustpan and brush. Since I ate my pathetic dinner in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I snacked on a couple of pieces of dark chocolate that moms had given me last week. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) with a number of satanic gargoyle tourists, the fattest and noisiest ones sitting in the seats adjacent to the one that I had occupied. The blubberous arm of one of the satanic gargoyles was resting precariously close to my head as the slob saw fit to use the back of my seat as his armrest. I would have thoroughly enjoyed jolting his lard-filled cranium with my Nova® Spirit electronic restraining device (ERD). The thought of seeing his electrified eyes bug out of the sockets of his kabuki-masked face made me giggle with delight.

I was relieved to alight at Ala Moana Center. As I traversed the shopping complex, I became confused and distressed. I felt an extreme disconnection. I thought about moms. Actually, I had been thinking about moms since we parted company after lunch yesterday. I pondered the future. What will I do when moms is gone? What if I am still stuck with the "condotel" mortgage? I became fearful, then angry. My planning has left a lot to be desired. I must keep pondering the morbid scenario because it is all too real, and I am totally unprepared for it. My guess is that I may be forced to hastily abandon the mortgage and face the foreclosure of the dump, in effect forfeiting well over $51,000 in the process. Not a good idea.

No matter what anyone says about living in the "here and now," it's all a farce. There's too much anxiety about the future to simply ignore the consequences. During the days of the journal, I had exacted a plan to end up penniless as a senior citizen, the idea being that I could live off of various social programs (which require that one be penniless). There's not much hope for that anymore. Ending up penniless only means life on the streets as one of the burgeoning senior citizen homeless population. Thus, I must make sacrifices now (i.e., exit society) in order to be able to average out my remaining resources over the long haul. It has taken me too long to realize that there is nothing long-term offered by the so-called "institutions" of society, including wage slavery. The cost to buy out of the "system" is high, but the latter cost will amortize itself in the long run.

I was becoming melancholy, so I made my way to Barnes & Noble® for another exciting evening. Was the hottie "bookseller" there? You bet! I wandered about the store aimlessly, still pondering my future conundrum. I departed for Waikiki at 10:05pm. During the ride on the prison transport, I debated with my other self about whether I should procure a big-ass can of cerveza or not. Can you guess which side won? I spent an hour in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization," all the while droppin' back the big-ass can of cerveza. I finally completed the chapter about the Armenian genocide of 1915, about the most difficult chapter to digest so far. After an hour or so, I called it a night.

This morning, I finally got up at 8:20am, although I had been awake for awhile. I was able to pack my gym bag and depart within a few minutes. Another unnerving ride on a crowded prison transport left me frazzled, and it wasn't even nine o' clock yet. Fortunately, a pot of free generic coffee was awaiting my arrival in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. As usual, I walked to Safeway® to find something to eat. Same ol' shit. I performed my one-hour of mandatory wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer, not that it really matters. I spent the rest of the afternoon in front of a computer. I'm just waiting for the nightly ritual to begin.

A Thousand Clowns

Yesterday afternoon was essentially a nightmare. The pleasant morning was negated by continuous encounters with a barrage of rude dickheads. Even kids, possibly no more than 10 years of age, were displaying inconsiderate behavior even more unbecoming of their fat slob parents. That's the deal, though, isn't it? No one has been raised properly. We now have at least two generations of assholes, led primarily by Caucasian households. After all, it is the dominant culture that had developed "progressive" parenting style. Oh, don't worry, the ethnic minorities are assimilating rapidly toward exactly the same moral decay. I have yet to see any parent truly discipline a child. Spanking is taboo, which really explains the proliferation of extremely bad behavior. The common cure is to put the stupid kids on psychotropic medication, just the same as their even more stupid parents.

I've lost faith in humanity, and I am beginning to question my faith about whether the Almighty will bring forth Armageddon to clean up this cesspool. As I have mentioned, Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization," has become extremely troubling reading for me. The truthful accounts of war are melancholy and serve to undermine my faith in anything. The Turks of the ill-fated Ottoman Empire perpetrated a large scale ethnic cleansing pogrom upon the Armenians. And, what of the Ottoman Empire now? All that's left is a footstool with its namesake.

I started the dreaded laundry task when I arrived back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). Since I had eaten at Taco Bell® earlier, I pulled the lone shiny red apple out of my tiny fridge. I sliced the apple and slowly ate each delicious piece. I reveled in the miracle of the apple. Such a wonderful fruit, all provided for us to eat by the life cycle of the planet. Only humans have selfishly derived a tiered distribution scheme to deny the impoverished the right to eat. Who created the edible fruits and vegetables? Certainly not the satanic gargoyles who know nothing else but how to destroy life.

After putting my laundry away as well as cleaning my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush, I departed for Ala Moana Center at 7:50pm as per my nightly ritual. The place was somewhat desolate. However, even walking along the promenade as wide as a four-lane street, I was privy to have a fat slob walk directly in front of me, practically colliding with me with his bloated girth. I sat on one of the benches to briefly compose th "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. Less than ten seconds later, two fat slobs sat down right next to me and lit up their cigarettes. As I stood up above the billowing clouds of smoke, I observed several empty benches in the vicinity. Is this ignorance or just plain stupidity?

I spent an hour or so at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking hot. I spent an hour or so there. I departed at 10:05pm, but I ended up waiting over 30 minutes before a prison transport appeared. Once I was back in my prison cell, I went into lockdown for the evening. I read a few more pages of Fisk's book and called it a night.

I slept much better last night. I woke up at 7:40am. I leisurely packed my gym bag and departed for the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) 15 minutes later. I was able to board a prison transport (read: bus) immediately. After an unnerving ride on a crowded prison transport, I was happy to guzzle several cups of free generic coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. At 9:25am, I was on my way to Kahala Mall on another prison transport. I met moms at the front entrance of the mall. We have enough time to eat a nice lunch at Panda Express®. As we walked to the prison transport stop, I noticed that the signage for Pearl's Korean Barbeque was back in place. Moms and I chatted briefly before I had to rush back to town. I performed my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I briefly walked over to Safeway® at 4:30pm to purchase three energy bars, three bananas, and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. I will eat the burritos for dinner before I depart for Waikiki. The rest of the afternoon will be the same ol' shit. Then, the nightly ritual will commence.

I have three weeks of wage slavery before I am finally emancipated. As the days go on, I am becoming more distressed. I want to be emancipated from everything - the "condotel" unit, the truck - everything. I am not certain how much longer I can maintain the ruse. I will most likely have to invoke some kind of triage contingency plan to deal with the remnants of my useless estate. Everything has become meaningless.

Disturbing Mundanity

I was in a leisurely mood when I exited my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 8:10pm. I had choked down yet another nauseating beans and bread prison dinner. I cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush with little thought. Even a minor analysis of the latter activity could provoke a major drinking binge. As I was strolling through the Food Pantry parking lot, I heard someone call out my name. I could see a silhouette of the driver's window of a new Toyota® FJ Cruiser. I walked up to the vehicle. To my surprise, I saw "Bee," one of former students at the Diploma Mill, beaming away at the wheel. "I heard you got fired," he said. I laughed. Apparently, word has really gotten around. We had a nice chuckle when I offered a brief synopsis of the situation. I enjoyed our little chat.

I then rode the prison transport (read: bus) to Ala Moana Center to complete the nightly ritual. I was in a good frame of mind for once. I spent a couple of hours at Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking fine. I spent the time wandering about the store, not really perusing anything in particular. I departed for Waikiki at 11pm, although my leisurely mood had long dissipated. I purchased two bananas, a package of baby carrots, and one Granny's® Gourmet Muffin at the ABC Store. I was tempted to purchase a large quantity of cheap booze but, once again, refrained from doing so.

I spent about 30 minutes in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading a few more pages from Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." I am now in the chapter dealing with what Fisk labels the "first holocaust." He was referring to the Armenian genocide perpetrated by the Turks. It is becoming more difficult for me to read the book. One can make no sense out of the endless violence and killing. I could easily discontinue my reading of the book, and simply bury my head in the sand like an ostrich. In the "land of plenty, " denial and avoidance are the standard modus operandi of the myriad satanic gargoyles. Or, there is lip service expressing feigned concern. That's why history keeps repeating itself over and over again. Nothing will change until the real suffering comes home to roost.

I woke up at 8:20am this morning. I leisurely packed my gym bag, ate my prison brunch (read: Coral® tuna and bread), procured the Sunday paper from the prison compound, and sashayed to the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) at 9:35am. I waited 30 minutes before the Route B City Express prison transport arrived. I finally found myself in town at 10:30am. Why it took me an hour to get to town is inexplicable. I made my way to the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. You know the drill. Read paper. Obtain coffee at Mickey Dee's®. Sit in desolate lobby of Kukui Plaza and listen to smooth jazz on the background music system. Wait for student computer lab to open at noon. Compose "blog" and piddle around on computer until gym time at 1:30pm. I only spotted the hottie gym trainer sitting at her desk when I was on my way out.

I ate an early dinner at Taco Bell® consisting of two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos. I had to consciously make myself eat slower than normal. Thus, I was able to savor every bite of my meal and enjoy it. I am becoming more aware of how "tense" I am during the course of the day. I cannot relax because I am on "automatic pilot" to move as quickly and efficiently as possible. Yet, where do I have to be at any particular moment in time? I was back in the student computer lab by 3:20pm. Same ol' shit until 5pm. Then, I will return to Waikiki in anticipation of the nightly ritual. Can it get any better than this?

Although conspicuously absent from the "blog," I have been experiencing some apprehension about my impending emancipation from wage slavery. Not the actual act of emancipation per se, but my inability to conceptualize my path afterward. I assume that I will continue the current repertoire of benign activities during a transition period. However, without any idea of what's in store for myself past that time, the transition period may become locked into a permanent cycle of drudgery. I have made no further progress toward my exit from society, which only tends to increase the anxiety. Very disturbing, to say the least.

Just an Illusion

Last night, the prison transport (read: bus) was 20 minutes late. And, with traffic, the ride back to Waikiki took even longer. Traffic is even worse now that petrol prices have gone up another four cents ($3.10 per gallon for lowest octane). After hurriedly eating my prison dinner (read: beans and bread) and cleaning my prison cell (read: little shoebox) with my humble dustpan and brush, I was off on my nightly ritual to Ala Moana Center. Foolishly, I spent time at Shirokiya and the Apple® Store. However, one benefit was derived. I was able to ascertain the high degree of disconnection that I have now attained.

There are two component involved in my exodus from society:

• Disconnection
• Deconstruction

I was particularly struck by the disconnection phase when I perused all of the "high tech" toys at both stores. When I was wandering around the Apple® Store, I fiddled with the new Apple® computers as I usually do. I felt the pull of desire to purchase a new computer. My Palm® TX just seemed so pathetic in comparison. Then, I was overcome by a feeling of alienation, technological alienation, for lack of a better term. I am now so far behind in comparison to my satanic gargoyle peers. I am a technological dinosaur. I have no iPod® (although the Palm® TX has a similar feature). I do not subscribe to any music download service. My prison cell has a broadband connection, but I cannot interface it to the Palm® device. I have a tube, but I rarely watch it. I could go on and on, but the bottom line is that I am literally disconnected from everything, specifically the "mainstream."

I could feel the force of the Dark Side in the stores. The urge to give in and purchase the useless crap was extremely strong. I have always had a weakness for "tech toys." And, I have always wanted another Apple® computer. What would happen if I purchased one? Well, I would not have to pay for broadband Net service while I am in Quagmire Prison. What happens when I move out? And, would I reinstate the defunct vast hurdy-gurdy DVD library? There is no question in my mind that one purchase will invoke a downhill spiral that will be difficult to stop.

I finally ended up at Barnes & Noble®. No hottie "bookseller." Boohoo. I felt less distressed. Books are "low tech." I felt comforted being around the stacks of books. I departed at 10:05pm. I waited for a long time at the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) because the first prison transport was crowded. Upon arriving back in Waikiki, I was tempted to purchase a large quantity of cheap booze to guzzle into the night, but thought better of the stupid idea. I did absolutely nothing for the rest of the evening.

This morning, I departed for town at 8:45am. No matter how hard I tried, I could not move at a leisurely pace. I rushed to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill so that I could brew a fresh pot of free generic coffee. Then, I rushed up to the fourth floor to take care of a few grading tasks. Then, I rushed to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread, a can of generic pork and beans, two lard-filled Tina's® burritos, and a banana. Then, I stuffed the heated burritos into my mouth just as the gluttonous satanic gargoyles would.

The only relaxing moment was when I took some time to read the backlog of AARP® magazines and bulletins that I have amassed. After all, I am a senior citizen now. I also listened to DI.FM Deep House, something that I haven't done in a long time. Deep House is the only kind of music that I can tolerate, and DI.FM plays the best of the genre. Gym time was at 1:45pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo.

After the gym, I was back in the faculty computer room in a flash. I downloaded, installed, and configured the Mundu Radio player, a Net radio streaming media application for my beloved Palm® TX. I connected to the Net via the Diploma Mill wireless network. Worked like a charm. I was able to tune in to the DI.FM Deep House channel. I have the bundled Pocket Tunes bundled player, but the latter version does not include the Net radio player. I would have to upgrade to the "Premium" version for $30 and some change. No thanks. For now, the Mundo Radio service is free. Well, I piddled around until 5pm. Yeah, the nightly ritual awaits.

Caroll sent e-mail again. She is now planning to move back in with her brother in Concord in Northern Cali for a while. She believes that she will have a job in Santa Cruz at another car dealership. She has already lined up a studio apartment, or so she says. She will be putting everything into storage again. I have no idea why she carts around all of that junk (i.e., furniture, kitchen appliances, etc.) with her. Most of it has spent more time in storage than anything else. Obviously, she will have to pay the storage fees. Caroll will be taking her pets - two cats, several fish, and a bird - along with her. She seems to acquire more and more pets, although she now claims that she is virtually penniless. In addition, she has purchased a car and now has monthly payments. She confided that she is depressed and ready to give up. I surmise that she is desperately trying to reach me by phone to plead for money. Even if someone gave her $10,000 in cash, Caroll would spend it all within three months.

Primeval

Upon arriving back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) last night, I was only able to eat my prison dinner (read: beans and bread) in peace. The satanic gargoyles in the prison cell next to mine returned from their furlough and immediately launched into a slammin' soirée. These are the kinds of fools who are responsible for the demise of the giant tortoise relatives of poor "Lonesome George," I thought to myself. My patience for the latter crap was at all-time low, so I cut short the cleaning of my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I departed immediately and ended up at my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. A store-wide inventory was in progress, which was being conducted by an outside firm. The hottie "bookseller" was also busy with the inventory process. Baby was looking really hot, by the way. I perused a few books, but my sole purpose was to seek solitude away from the madness of Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). As usual, I departed for Waikiki at 10:05pm.

Just as I walking into the prison compound (read: hotel lobby), the prison guard (read: security guard) asked, "What? No Coors® Light tonight?" I laughed. "I've got to cut back," I replied. Later, I sat in the prison compound and read a few more pages of Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." I am only about a third of the way through the book.

I did not sleep well last night yet again. I left for town, gym bag in hand, in a groggy state at 8:30am. Once I was in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I poured out a cup of the magic elixir, generic free coffee. I walked to Safeway®, my morning ritual. I restored my monk haircut at the Institute of Hair Design. I performed my one-hour of wage slavery. Same ol' shit. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer lab. Once I composed the "blog," I had nothing else to do. Well, Friday evening is upon us. The nightly ritual is calling.

As I continue to reflect upon the plight of the defenseless endangered species of the world, I feel tormented. Humans¹, particularly the predominant satanic gargoyle subspecies, are to blame for the upcoming extinction of creatures like "Lonesome George," the sole remnant of the giant tortoises of his kind. It's so sad. The satanic gargoyle subspecies has overtaken the planet and is destroying it much in the same way a malignant tumor destroys functional organs.

The problem, as I've stated numerous times, is overpopulation. And, with the population slated to double to 12 billion humanoids within 40 years, what are we to do? By that time, a good portion of even our most common species of lifeforms will have gone into extinction. Even with "natural" attrition due to poverty, starvation, epidemics, natural disasters, and war, the population is growing too fast. A large human population would not be so bad if it was not destroying itself and everything else. However, that is about all the satanic gargoyle subspecies is good for - destruction, mayhem, terror, infliction of mass suffering, and enslavement.

I often joke that the satanic gargoyles, as moronic as they be, are the "missing link" as proof of Darwin's theory of evolution. In retrospect, that was an insult to apes and chimps. Have you ever seen a fat slob chimp? How about a chain-smoking ape? Or, a drunken monkey acting like an asshole? The animals clearly are a notch or two above us in the food chain. They certainly aren't hellbent on destroying each other and everything else en masse.

As an aside, here's a tidbit to add to my previous discussion about the Zero Sum Game²:

A 2004 analysis of data by the US Census reports that 60 million Americans now live on less than $7 per day. That's one in five in the U.S. living on less than $2,555 per year. At the same time, the richest 1 per cent now garners about 16 per cent of national income, double what they earned in the 1960s. While global income inequality is probably greater than it has ever been in human history, with half the world's population living on less than $3 per day, and the richest 1% receiving as much as the bottom 57%, the fact that so many Americans are living on so little, is particularly confounding. (Source: Thomas Paine's Corner)

One in five? That's 20 percent of the US population. Why am I surprised? In a few weeks, I will at the low end (i.e., no income) of that demographic group. Sheesh! And, if that's not bad enough, three million US manufacturing jobs have been lost since the 2000 year (Source: AP). Where's the outrage?

So far, there has been no proceedings launched against me for a formal termination from the Diploma Mill. I have been facilitating mathematics classes, but that is not my originating department. I am actually Computer Science faculty. Technically, without the formal termination, I can still facilitate Computer Science classes. Do I want to? Can you guess? I suppose that I can keep that option on the back burner for more desperate times. The life of a pseudo-professor, by the way, was most eloquently described by one of Joe Bageant's readers as that of "educated hobos." An excerpt:

They delude themselves with the notion that somewhere, somehow, they're going to land "the" tenure track position that's going to put them into the gravy train with the "real" professors. They put on airs of elitism, but what it really is, is desperation. If only they can suck up enough, prostitute themselves enough, fuck the right member of the departmental hiring committee, work at the right unpaid post-graduate fellowship, then they'll get that tenure track position. And the elite at those academic workhouses merely chuckle, knowing that as long as they keep that raw hamburger meat of tenure dangling in front of the starving dogs of itinerate adjuncts, said adjuncts will snarl and snap at it forever without ever looking beyond at the puppeteers holding the strings.

Oh man, if that doesn't describe most of my soon-to-be former colleagues! They are all only one complaint (by a disgruntled failing student) away from unemployment. Incidentally, I made sure that all of my students knew that I was terminated because of one student complaint. Word will spread like wildfire. Every failing "douche bag³" student will now be empowered to file a bogus complaint against any faculty member. Baha! ha! Ha! Haaaa!

¹Humans are also slated for extinction as the subspecies of predator satanic gargoyles subsumes the latter.
²Zero-sum describes a situation in which a participant's gain or loss is exactly balanced by the losses or gains of the other participant(s).
³Douche bag, a person who is a total moron and doesn't think before he/she speaks or acts. (Source: Urban Dictionary)

Lonesome George

I embarked on my nightly ritual at 8pm, right after I ate my prison dinner (read: beans and bread) and cleaned my prison cell (read: little shoebox) with my humble dustpan and brush. The clowns in the prison cell next to mine had just returned and were engaged in a minor slammin' soirée. So, I was outta there. I spent an hour or so in Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was there. Baby was looking hot. I perused several book, but one was worthy of note:

"Going, Going, Gone: Animals on the Brink of Extinction and How to Turn the Tide" - Think Books

The title is self-explanatory. I was heartbroken to see the number of wonderful animals, birds, plant life, ocean life, and insects that are on the verge of extinction. Once those species are gone, that's it. The saddest story was about "Lonesome George" (presumably named after one of my all-time favorite comedians, "Lonesome" George Gobel), the last of his subspecies, Geochelone elephantopus abingdoni, a giant tortoise found only on the Galápagos island of Pinta. To no surprise, the looming extinction of many species of wildlife is directly influenced by human activity.

" I returned to Waikiki at 10:40pm. I made a prerequisite stop at the ABC Store to purchase a couple of bananas and a big-ass can of cheap brewski. Later, I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and continued my reading of Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." I dropped back the whole big-ass can of cheap brewski. It is becoming much more difficult to read the book. I must often pause to reflect on what I just read. The sad realization is that the entire history of human kind is composed of tragedy, destruction, and mass suffering for the majority of the world's population. Only the elite class of moneychangers and powers-that-be are able to sit back and enjoy the show in a modern day version of the macabre spectacles in the Roman Colosseum.

I did not sleep well at all. At 5am, I powered up the Brookstone® "sound therapy placebo" and placed the earbud headphones in my ears. Regardless, I could hear the early morning slammin's soirée clearly at approximately 7am. I rode on an extremely crowded prison transport (read: bus) to town, a most annoying journey. Fortunately, a fresh pot of free generic coffee was already brewing when I entered the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I mailed my State tax returns and my truck's annual registration fee. Then, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a couple of cans of Hormel® Chili, two energy bars and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. I completed my one-hour of wage slavery.

Just afterward, I ran into Professor Lisa near Fort Street Mall. She asked about my situation. I gave her a brief synopsis of what transpired in the "kangaroo court" session a week or so ago. Frankly, I don't want to utter that idiotic story again. It makes me sound more like a disgruntled wage slave when, in essence, the pseudo-professor phase in my life is thankfully coming to a close.

Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Where is baby? Once again, I will piddle around in the faculty computer room until 6:20pm. The nightly ritual beckons me.

Last night, I sporadically tuned in to CNN to monitor the non-stop coverage of the Virginia Tech massacre. The coverage now included an endless loop of Cho Seung-Hui's photos and homemade videos. The commentators stopped short of calling Seung-Hui the name of his implied personification, Satan. Buried deep in the "back pages" of the "news," was an eye-opening article which provided details about the kind of racial harassment and ridicule that Seung-Hui had to tolerate during his years since arriving in the "land of plenty" in 1992. As I read the article, I was able to see how the "balanced" journalism deviously detoured the reader to material that would further demonize Seung-Hui. What should have helped the reader understand the underlying societal problems and injustices just ended up being yet more fodder to "prove" that Seung-Hui was a criminally insane psychopath. Case closed. It is the kind of journalism that keeps the sensationalism going through endless loops of jaw-dropping images and soundbytes of savagery. Yet, there never is any room left for discussion about why these tragedies occur. We are left to assume that losers just seem to pop up out of nowhere, go insane, and launch a homicidal rampage for no reason at all. Heck, they're losers.

I had sent Caroll a text message via the Net to her cell phone, a brilliant idea that came to me when I discovered a free Palm® TX SMS¹ application. You may recall that I had no way to contact her because I no longer have a cell phone. I had sent e-mail, but it bounced back. I also sent a letter to her last known address. That, too, was returned. Well, I received e-mail from her yesterday, and she also left a phone message. So, she must have received the text message. It appears that Caroll is now living in Concord (Northern Cali). She rented an apartment, but now she cannot make the rent. She had previously moved in with Michael, her brother, for a couple of months. Caroll moved out because of "differences" with her brother, the scenario of which has happened at least once before. She experienced more employment problems. From what I could ascertain, she is currently unemployed. In my reply, I wrote of my own situation, that is, my upcoming emancipation from wage slavery. I would like to help Caroll, but I believe that she needs permanent financial assistance. She refuses to cut her expenses, which is part of the problem. I am not certain if Caroll has any way out her dilemma.

For the most part, Caroll's story will not be an unusual one. Each day, thousands upon thousands of the general populace will crossover from the fringe "haves" to the "have nots." That's how the "system" work. It uses and abuses us (i.e., wage slaves), then it spits us out after we've been spent. Hubris is what keeps most of the satanic gargoyles in a state of denial. They continue to indulge hedonistically in the "seven sins" with carefree arrogance. They continue to fool themselves with optimistic and faulty pro forma financial data, yet there are one step (read: unemployment²) from financial ruin. The financial tide keeps rising, and more fools are being swept out into the sea of poverty. In my previous discussion, I have shown that there is no way for the average satanic gargoyle to come out ahead at retirement. It's a Zero-Sum Game³ concocted by the moneychangers and the powers-that-be. There is no way to beat the game.

The only hope is to save as much dough as possible. The most effective measure is to cut down on life-style excesses. Most of the "luxuries" are life-style traps. In other words, there will be an on-going financial commitment of some kind to support or maintain those "luxuries." A simple expense tracking application for a computer will reveal just how much money is flowing out of a household. Capital outflows normally tend to increase, not decrease. Maintaining the status quo is not enough. Cost-of-living expenses will continually rise and, therefore, the capital outflows will increase as well. In my own situation, I still have doubts about the actual cut-off point, that is, the point where it is best to cut one's losses and exit the "system." In the end, the individual must make the appropriate decision. However, the decision must occur before the infamous "point of no return." Just remember "Lonesome George."

¹SMS, short message service protocol for text messaging.
²Involuntary emancipation from wage slavery is not just a worry of the rank-and-file. Globalization, outsourcing, and "guest worker" visas will affect the lower four income quantiles.
³Zero-sum describes a situation in which a participant's gain or loss is exactly balanced by the losses or gains of the other participant(s).

Long Duk Dong

Upon arrival in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) last night, I reluctantly viewed the "news" on CNN. According to the Anderson Cooper, the coverage of the Virginia Tech massacre had been non-stop all day long. Interviews with the Cho Seung-Hui's Caucasian roommates revealed that he was not just a loner/psycho but also a stalker of Caucasian babes, at least according to their testimony. Pundits, pseudo-psychologists, and other fools were lined up to throw in their "professional" opinions. Every villainous Asian stereotype was cast as part of the psychopathological profile of the perpetrator. I was sickened by the coverage. I could barely choke down my prison dinner (read: beans and bread) as I listened to the endless bullshit. After cleaning my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush, I knew that I had no other choice but to engage in the full nightly ritual.

I rode the prison transport to Ala Moana Center and immediately walked to my safe haven, Barnes & Noble®. No hottie "bookseller." Boohoo. I spent a little over an hour perusing a few books, nothing in particular. I simply wanted a reprieve from my prison cell. When I returned to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I was compelled to sit in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and continue reading Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." I completed the chapters about the Iran-Iraq War. "The Great War" is not simply dry history. It is living history as told by a reporter that went well beyond the farce of the current "embedded" reporting. Even after one hour of reading, I had difficulty putting the book down.

When I finally went into lockdown in my prison cell, I tuned in to CNN again. By that time, the coverage of the Virginia Tech massacre was at a fever pitch. Seung-Hui has posthumously degenerated from a loner Asian suspect to a deeply troubled student to a perverted Asian male to an Asian stalker of Caucasian babes to a remorseless psychopath and finally to ... Satan! An Asian Satan! The whole débâcle reeked of over-analysis. Why didn't CNN just call the ol' lavahead? He would have given his opinion for a fraction of the consulting fee. Satan ... err, Seung-Hui ... suffered from Long Duk Dong Syndrome¹ (LDDS). When Seung-Hui arrived from South Korea to the "land of plenty" in 1992, he did not expect that he would be subjected to moronic Asian stereotypes. He discovered that babes, even babes of his own kind, wanted nothing to do with him because, as the stereotype goes, Asian guys are not studs. They are simply perverted buffoons. Or, martial arts eunuchs. Or, worst yet, they are evil villains who excel in sadistic torture techniques. Once Seung-Hui realized that he could never attract any babe, he lost it. That's it. No more analysis is necessary. Had any of the White Supremacist pseudo-psychologists looked past their own "white" vision, they would have realized that Asian cultures are very different from the generic Caucasian psychological models. Hence, in retrospect, the "experts" could only spew "whitewashed" psycho-babble, a function of their extremely limited knowledge (i.e., ignorance).

This morning, I was awakened by a slammin' soirée that commenced at 7am and continued for 30 minutes non-stop. A dresser that only has four drawers must be opened and slammed shut for 30 minutes straight. Why? Can the pseudo-psychologists on the tube provide an answer? No? Well, the ol' lavahead has the answer. The satanic gargoyle life-style promotes obsessive compulsive² behavior. Rampant consumerism, impulse buying, overeating, instant gratification, all contribute to the despicable phenomenon known as the epidemic of the "seven sins." The "infantilized" mind has no other option but to engage in mindless repetitive activity.

I was out the door by 8 o' clock, gym bag in hand. Fortunately, I was able to immediately board a prison transport (read: bus) to town. Pseudo-professor Francis boarded a few stop after me. We chatted for the duration of the trip. The minute that I set foot in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I poured out a cup of free coffee. At 10:15am, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread, three energy bars, and a banana. I performed my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:25pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. My priority? The "blog," of course! As for the evening, I will cross that bridge when am there.

Finally, someone has spoken out about the real cause of the obesity (read: fat slob) problem. The latest news, much to the relief of the fat slob satanic gargoyles, is that obesity is allegedly "genetic." Dr. Gerry Lower slammed the latter claim in the article titled, "Genes Do Not Cause Obesity," which appeared on the Smirking Chimp site. In his summation, he asked:

Whom do we genotype for susceptibility to obesity? Do we genotype only those who can afford it? If predestined for obesity, will the potential victims actually eat less and do more? Knowing about your obesity-prone genotype after the fact of obesity is of little help. Alternatively, will the victims just place the blame for their condition on their genes, such that they may give up on dealing with their weight problem altogether?

What really struck home was the comment that Lower made in defining what we believe to be "freedom":

Is this not mostly a load of corporate capitalistic rot aimed at defining the people by maintaining the mythology that we Americans ought be "free" and able to do as we please without consequence and without acceptance of personal responsibility? Is this not mostly the efforts of greed-driven corporate America to convince us that freedom is synonymous with license? That is precisely how corporate America sees "freedom".

Exactly the "freedom" that is being literally sold to us, the "freedom" that only be attained (read: purchased) by engaging whole-heartedly in the epidemic of "seven sins."

Gluttony is much like rampant materialism. We are blinded by material wealth, which makes us feel as though we are living "high on the hog." Never mind that most of our material wealth is comprised of cheap plastic trinkets made in China. We equate material wealth with "freedom" because our vision of totalitarian societies is one of total squalor. In the latest rendition of the consumerist society, we now find that we must also purchase services or contracts along with the physical products. Otherwise, the products are useless. Therefore, we increase our financial burden and become more enslaved to mortgages, cell phone contracts, broadband Internet services, insurance, and the like. The list is endless, as is the term life of the contracts. Everything that we believe gives us "freedom" has really indentured us even more to the "system."

Total emancipation from slavery will not come easily, as I am discovering as we speak. It is only after careful introspection that we can ascertain our personal steps to real freedom. No step will be without sacrifice. What I mean by "sacrifice" is that we must forsake certain "luxuries" that we take for granted. We may have to yield to more inconveniences. We will have to get by with a lot less. Freedom will not be the easy life that we had envisioned. The moneychangers and the powers-that-be have created an artificial superstructure which impedes our ability to see and understand what real freedom is. Until we understand the latter, we can never be free.

¹Long Duk Dong Syndrome, name derived from the perverted Asian character played by Gedde Watanabe in the idiotic film, "Sixteen Candles."
²Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), in the American Psychiatric Associations's DSM-IV (Diagnostic & Statistics Manual), is characterized by a subject's obsessive, distressing, intrusive thoughts and related compulsions (tasks or "rituals") which attempt to neutralize the obsessions.

Decimation

I spent another whole evening in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I spent the time reading a few religious publications that moms had given me as well as Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." I also munched on the remaining air-filled energy bars that I brought back with me. At midnight, I heard the cell door from the adjacent prison cell slam into the common wall. My little reprieve from insanity was officially over.

It is becoming much more difficult to read Fisk's book. That the Middle East has been the stage for constant war is a tragedy in itself. The descriptions of the suffering of the masses is heartbreaking. And, this is only about the Middle East. While I was in a semi-lucid coma during my materialistic years, I hardly paid heed to the turmoil in the various global hotspots. I can assume that the brutality and carnage were simply a carbon copy of Fisk's chronicles.

I read an interesting article about poverty and social inequity in one of the religious publications. I tried to make sense of what I read. In just a few paragraphs, I was provided a terse summation of the worldwide suffering of the impoverished masses. I realized the difference between reading and comprehending. Thus, I was overcome by grief. No words can truly describe the experiences of the real slave class. How easy we have it here in the "land of plenty." Yet, I seldom see any signs of gratitude expressed by the myriad satanic gargoyles. Because we are not exposed to the true meaning of suffering, we abandon humility as well as humanity.

Once again, I did not sleep well. I am not certain if I will ever have a good night's sleep again. I was extremely groggy when I woke up. I packed my gym bag and departed for town at 8:25am. The prison transport (read: bus) was extremely crowded. When I staggered into the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I quickly reached for the inviting pot of free coffee. After consuming a few cups, I felt slightly better. I walked to Safeway® to purchase six air-filled energy bars and a couple of cans of generic pork and beans.

I completed my mandatory one-hour of wage slavery. I am counting down the remaining days now. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Will I engage in the nightly ritual to Barnes & Noble® later? There's a high probability.

The lone gunman of the Virginia Tech massacre was identified. He's Asian and a "loner," the latter being the stereotypical characteristic of a psychopath. An excerpt from news sources at 10am HST:

News reports also said that he may have been taking medication for depression, that he was becoming increasingly violent and erratic, and that he left a note in his dorm in which he railed against "rich kids," "debauchery" and "deceitful charlatans" on campus.

Uh-oh. Sounds like the ol' lavahead, eh? So far, there's no telling what the motivation was for the massacre. Yet, with such intense news coverage by the "mainstream" media, there was hardly any reaction in my own surroundings. If anyone seemed to care, it was out of "political correctness" only. I noticed a similar phenomenon after the "September 11th" event, although the almost sci-fi effects of the tragedy seemed to be the only draw. In the end, no one really cares. They've got better things to do. If anything, there will be a backlash of racism and even more troubling Asian male stereotypes will surface.

In my own time of reflection, I have learned to be very grateful that I am alive and healthy. What more do I need? In the span of a few brief paragraphs in Fisk's book, I read about thousands of people who perish in anonymity. They are casualties of war, "cannon fodder," and "collateral damage." And, with each subsequent chapter, the casualties continue to build. In this so-called "age of enlightenment," did we really decimate so many for no particular purpose? Heck, the tragedy at Virginia Tech is replicated several times daily on many orders of magnitude in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. To say that I am disillusioned is an understatement.

Hallelujah Trail

Once I arrived back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 5:45pm yesterday afternoon, I remained in lockdown for the whole evening. I viewed another Steven Seagal film on the tube, cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush, purged more files from my beloved Palm® TX, and read a few pages from Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization."

I slept much better sans cheap brewski. I did not wake up refreshed, however. I was groggy, no doubt because I continue to carry the burden of an incidental life. I packed my gym bag and exited my prison cell at 7:55am. As I was walking , I espied the desired Route B prison transport (read: bus) approaching the prison transport stop (read: bus stop). I broke into a sprint, something of a miracle considering that I was wearing my tattered slippers (read: slippahs). Fortunately, I was able to board the prison transport, although it was full of rude Diploma Mill students. There were a few wage slaves on board as well. The entire group of satanic gargoyle passengers looked like kabuki-masked zombies. No surprise. They are zombies. The entire commute was reminiscent of the ride that real prisoners take to some desolate rock quarry where they spend all day breaking up rocks with a sledge hammer.

After the laborious ride to town, I made my way to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. A few cups of free coffee brought me back to life. At 9:30am, I departed for Kahala Mall. I met moms at 10:35am near the entrance to the mall. We ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. I always order the regular (read: huge) barbeque chicken plate lunch. It was delicious and extremely filling. I noticed that the signage for Pearl's had been removed, which led me to believe that the days of Pearl's are numbered. I was able to chat with moms briefly at the prison transport stop before heading back to town.

During the ride to town on the prison transport, I reflected upon my time with moms today and my upcoming emancipation from wage slavery. Overall, I believe that my untimely release from wage slavery is a blessing in disguise in more ways than one. I will be able to spend at least another day per week visiting moms. Given the fact that I was away in Cali and Oregon for a total of 27 years, I believe that I am doing the right thing. During that span of time, I usually only visited Hawai'i every four years for only a two-week period. Mummifying my tenure in wage slavery will also facilitate the end of any possible consumerist urges. I will not get trapped in a materialistic cycle which only requires more and more infusion of money that I don't have.

After my one-hour of wage slavery, I was off to the gym. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I continued to ponder my situation. Confusion set in, which was to be expected. After all, I am essentially planning to buck the "system." What am I going to miss from my previous life? I kept asking myself the latter question, only to end up stumped every time. There is nothing to keep me tethered to the "system." That's right, inside the "system," I am a loser. Outside the "system," I am simply myself with no label attached.

I was back in the faculty computer room by 4pm. I made a quick trip to Safeway® to purchase four air-filled energy bars and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. Can you guess what's for dinner? Yum! I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I composed the "blog" and piddled around. Then, I consumed my delicious dinner. I have not been too overly concerned about the upcoming secular Apocalypse lately. Alas, I am too fatigued. I just want to find my way back to the Hallelujah Trail¹.

¹Inspired by the film of the same name dealing with a town on the verge of a cheap booze shortage and the wagon train commissioned to replenish the supply.

Burrito Heaven

I was not significantly inclined to leave my prison cell (read: little shoebox) once I returned to the dismal dump at 5:45pm last night. I consumed my pathetic prison dinner (read: beans and bread). Then, I cleaned my dismal prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. The occupants in the next prison cell have been very quiet and considerate, which really is the reason why I have had no real impetus to rush off to nowhere in particular. I watched a couple of mindless Steven Seagal movies, both of which I have seen numerous times and both of which comprised the same formulaic Seagal plot.

At 10:30pm, I grew significantly bored with my emulation of the satanic gargoyle life-style. Therefore, I walked to the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of cheap brewski and three bananas. I carried Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization," with me as well. I ended up in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). I read Fisk's book and dropped back the whole big-ass can of cheap brewski. I was able to put in a little over an hour of reading time. It is hard not to consume any cheap booze while reading Fisk's book given the fact that the content is about never-ending war and trauma.

I did not sleep well at all. The cheap brewskis are really not doing me any favors. Well, the latter is a moot point since I will be operating within a very limited budget once I am emancipated from wage slavery. I was on a leisurely schedule this morning. I ate the usual prison brunch (read: Coral® tuna and bread). After I packed my gym bag, I procured the Sunday paper in the prison compound. A relaxing ride on an uncrowded prison transport put me in an even more leisurely mood. During the ride to town, I observed that petrol prices have shot upward by 18 cents per gallon for the lowest grade (now $3.06 per gallon). If the upward trend continues, I would expect that prices for goods and services in Hawai'i will increase significantly very soon.

Once in town, I made my way to the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments where I spent about 40 minutes reading the paper. Next stop was Mickey Dee's® to purchase a large cup of coffee, another luxury that is soon to end. I sat in the desolate lobby of Kukui Plaza and sipped my coffee while listening to smooth jazz playing on the background music system. My daily activities are only a shade different from the average homeless guy. As long as I am in some semblance of solitude, I feel quite content.

At noon, I stationed myself in the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill, another benign activity that I will need to wean myself from in the the near future. Gym time was at 1:30pm. The hottie gym trainer was on duty. Baby was looking hot. All during my cardio workout, I could see baby leading a gym member through the circuit. My mind started playing tricks on me. I quickly realized the folly of my ways. I am on my way out of the "system." I don't need to waste any thoughts on babes. I purchased two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos at Taco Bell®, yet another benign activity that may come to an end soon. I had better enjoy all of my favorite benign activities now, I suppose. I was back in the student computer lab by 3:30pm. I composed the "blog" and piddled around until 5pm. There's no telling what I will do tonight. I will cross that bridge when I come to it.

I have installed an application uninstaller utility, a backup utility, and a Mahjongg game on my beloved Palm® TX. Thank goodness for freeware! My Palm® is now ready for a "hard reset," whenever that will be. I am not even certain how long Palm® will remain in business. The PDA is already a fossil as it is being steadily replaced by so-called "smartphones." In addition, the Palm® Garnet operating system is also losing market share. Had Palm® introduced its superior Cobalt operating system, there might have been a chance for a comeback.

Hawai'i icon and legend, Don Ho (not to be confused with Uncle Ho¹) passed on yesterday. He was 76 years old. I only mention the latter tidbit because Ho was only 23 years older than I. Pops passed on at 78 years of age, his lifespan cut short because of cancer. How much time do I have left? Probably about the same. That's not a whole lot of time, eh? That's a clear message for me to get my effects in order for a very timely transition, my exodus from society. Time is simply being wasted away in a "system" that is collapsing.

¹Uncle Ho, the nefarious character from the unfinished classic, "Monastery H.E.A.T.," and also one of the many nicknames for Ho Chi Minh.

Piddle

The minute that I stepped into my dismal prison cell (read: little shoebox) last night at 6:45pm, I went into lockdown for the evening. I did not even spend time in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). What did I do during that time? Piddle around, of course! After all, it was Sinister Kahuna Day. Sheesh!

I noticed that the on-device memory capacity of my beloved Palm® TX has diminished to 86 percent. I have cleared all useless files from the device memory. Archived files have been stored on the memory card. I suspect that the device is keeping its own hidden archive cache that will not be deleted until I "hot sync" the device to a computer. There is no way to purge those files by means of the device itself.

I finally called it a night after reading a few more pages from Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." At 2:30am, I was awakened by possibly the same drunken dickhead from the night before. Apparently, he and his bitch believe that they are on a desert island. Groggy as I was, I got up at 8:20am. I was able to get myself ready for the day in less than ten minutes. Thus, I was out the door just after 8:30am, gym bag in hand. I brought my Palm® "hot sync" cable as well.

I arrived in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill at 9:10am. I made a fresh pot of free coffee. I tried to remedy the memory problem with my Palm® TX, but the "hot sync" program on the computer could not interface with the device. The computer was unable to recognize the device while it was attached to the USB port. So much for that. So, I mailed my Federal tax return. I also transferred another $1,200 from my investment accounts to my local bank. This will be an expensive month. Naturally, I made the daily trek to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread, a generic can of pork and beans, and four air-filled energy bars.

I spent an hour searching for information about the Palm® TX memory problem on various discussion forums. Oddly, after piddling around with the "hot sync" setup again, I finally managed to get it to work. After performing the "hot sync," everything was still the same. That was a waste of time. I installed a cache cleaning utility, but it did nothing to solve the memory problem. I then discovered that the utility only clears the database cache. My guess is that the Blazer® Web browser is not emptying both its own cache and "cookies." Even attempting to do so manually is not working. After more searching, I found a file manager utility for the Palm®, although I cannot be certain of which files are safe to delete. Alas, I will probably have to perform a "hard reset" on the device sometime later.

Gym time was at 1:45pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I composed the "blog" and piddled around until 5pm. Most likely, I will engage in the full nightly ritual. I do not want to sit in my prison cell all night again.

Well, it seems that I really wasted my time with my beloved Palm® TX when I could have been fretting about something more important. Tweaking my Palm® TX is very important. It is my computer. I must insure that it remains in good working order. I have also been purging the vast hurdy-gurdy video library (read: mpeg files) from the memory card. Sadly, I will have to cut more expenses next month after my very last paycheck is deposited. I will be living even more closer to the fringe. I have a long way to go insofar as the mental adjustment required for my newly emancipated life-style.

Shattered Innocence

I have observed that all but the one homeless couple (with their dog) are left in Chinatown Gateway Park across from my favorite prison transport stop (read: bus stop). There are a few transient homeless who appear for a day or so and disappear after that. For some reason, the homeless couple persist in the park. They were still there last night, laying in the protected alcove of the building housing the Louis Pohl Gallery. I attended to my usual dull tasks once back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). As I consumed the bland contents of the generic can of pork and beans, I wondered how much longer I could eat the same "pet food"-quality crap before I go stark raving mad. Thus, the evening ritual commenced.

I spent an hour or so at Barnes & Noble®, but you knew that already. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking mighty fine. I departed at 10pm for Waikiki. I spent an hour in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading Robert Fisk's book, "The Great War for Civilization." The history of the Middle East is quite tragic, the countries of which have been ravaged over the last few centuries by various empires. Fisk's book become even more of an imperative given the recent event unfolding in the Middle East.

When I alight the prison transport (read: bus) upon arrival at Ala Moana Center, I always walk directly to the underground parking level. I am able to walk across to the mauka (read: mountain) side of the shopping complex without dealing with idiotic satanic gargoyle shoppers. Lowly wage slave employees park there. The walk is not too pleasant because there are huge sewage traps located about every 75 feet. Oh, I wish that I could get as far away as possible from the fools. And, that is the reason why I have disassociated from everyone and the main reason that I look forward to my emancipation from wage slavery.

I was awakened at 2:40am by an asswipe who was yelling and screaming, most likely drunk off his ass. It sounded as if the drunken tirade was located in the prison compound. The moron continued yelling for at least 30 minutes. I am not certain why he was not subdued and put into lockdown. Needless to say, I woke up in a very groggy state. I staggered around and prepared myself for the day. After packing my gym bag, I departed for town. I consumed a few cups of free coffee after I set foot in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I walked to the Post Office to weigh my tax return envelopes to determine whether I had to add extra postage. Sure enough, my IRS return was heavier than an ounce. I did not mail any of my tax returns yet, though. I also walked to Safeway® to purchase the same bland food products as yesterday. Well, I broke down and purchased two lard-filled Tina's® burritos to supplement the bland air-filled energy bars. Am I trying to become a fat slob? I don't know.

I did my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. While I was in the middle of my workout, I experienced doubts about my commitment to the gym. What exactly is the purpose? Am I really much healthier by maintaining a gym regimen? And, how much longer before I am too old for the gym? I don't have any love for the gym, not like the old days back in Convalescent City. I am simply going through my routine as a good automaton would. I returned to the faculty computer room at 3:45pm. I will spend the rest of the afternoon composing the "blog" and engaging in other benign activities. The evening? Who knows?

I have found that I am a product of my association and, frankly, I did not like the result. My quest to regain lost innocence has been consistently thwarted because I am around and interact with worldly satanic gargoyles. I, myself, have some inherently evil characteristics, but my desire has been to purge the latter. I find that when I am completely alone, I can make significant improvements in my attitude and disposition. I can focus on innocent qualities which, in effect, bring personal satisfaction. I do not want live the "seven sins" life-style, no less be exposed to it. Innocence is a beautiful thing. Lost innocence is detestable. It is my hope that I can pursue a path of regained innocence once the deconstruction of my present life is completed.