Greetings. The holidays were great. I’m still on vacation until the 21st, yay. Been busy working and trying to nurse my sick computer back to health. If you have the piece-of-junk MSN Messenger tag-along program “loadqm” running in the background of your Windows, kill it, now.
At least I’m pretty sure that’s what’s been giving me the business for the past few weeks. I’m far from a technical genius, and I hate to be frontin’ by seemingly giving advice, but whatever. Here’s a cool site if you ever wondered what-in-the-crap is that crap running in Window’s Task Manager, and whether or not murder’s okay. So… yeah, Windows sucks. Especially when you’re still running 98 (lowers head in shame). I’ll be rocking a Mac for my electronic art class next semester… provided my head doesn’t explode, perhaps I’ll make “the switch” (tee hee).
For Annual Gift Giving Day I got a toaster oven (thanks Sam!) and as the best Boxing Day gift ever, a new bike!—a 2003 Specialized Sport. I haven’t had a bike since I was 14. Know why? The last one I had, I didn’t lock up one time. Leaned it against the steps in front of my home in West Fargo. It was a red Trek 700, beautiful, good fun. It was stolen within the five minutes I was inside.
I felt so stupid—terminally senseless, and embarrassed, and irresponsible, so I never got another one. Until now. I brought it back to Minneapolis. Thick cable lock, which I was nervous about. Planned to get a U-lock very shortly. I rode it to work on Tuesday. It was my third time riding it. And it was stolen.
Someone pulled the bike rack out of the ground (which wasn’t difficult at all—not seeing any cut cables, I investigated, aw hell, this thing isn’t even cemented in). I was and am so pissed. Looking half hobo, half hiphop, feeling one hundred percent punk rock ready to destroy, I stalked the West Bank idiot-hopeful like someone would leave it in the open for me to rescue. Riverside to Cedar, I choked on guts all over, stupid and scared and bikeless, turning home I cried.
Wah wah wah, but christ, it meant a lot. I am several thousand dollar (debt) springtime piece of paper privileged, things things things but I don’t take them for granted. Computer, stereo, car, apartment, the food I eat and the music I pour in, I work hard and I feel lucky, and I will forever be mad but I’d mind a lot less if I believed the thief was some kid who needed a bike, too, and so stole it, and is riding it, and appreciating it… and not some professional asshole making killings lifting bikes, chopping them up and selling them part by part.
I reported it to the campus police and explained the busted bike rack, which was called in immediately but still isn’t fixed. So. I am without a bike once again, damned to rollerblade like I’m twelve years old until I get over the asinine-but-real-enough guilt and the fear of this helpless feeling. Another eight years should do it.
Site News: I planned to get a lot done, but my ‘puter problems (in addition to deepsicks’ unavailability due to a new firewall in Fargo) have cut up time. Ooo, and Don DeLillo’s Underworld, which I’ve been reading like a fiend. But um… yes. I’ll be poking around, tweaking content. Probably nothing huge. I’m going to sit on the guestbook and Bored awhile—they don’t seem to be in high demand, anyway; if anyone knows of any *free, bannerless (or with only very unobtrusive ads), not highly technical services* contact me. Oh yeah, and there’s a new hit counter below. Yep. Thanks for the tip, Bree.
Current Music Selection: On Tuesday at First Ave I’ll be seeing Interpol and a band named Calla, the latter of which I was recently introduced to. I like them muchly. Check out Calla mp3s here. I don’t know how to describe them… good? Intriguing? Intriguing’s good. Ha. I definitely want to know more. New album out on the 21st.
Work News: Looking for an interlibrary loan item concerning conquistadors (<–what a great and horrible word), I reach behind a row of books on a bottom shelf… and feel something odd. So I move the books. And find some boots. Pretty nice boots. With a paper towel stuffed inside one of the toes. Of course I have to look.
Wrapped in the towel is a little glass tube with some kinda, uh, substance. I don’t know exactly what this is—I don’t hang out with the cool kids—but I’m not completely stupid, either. Huh. Fun stuff. There’s a handful of transients who spend sizeable amounts of time in the library. Harmless, always. I return everything back into hiding. The boots were my size, but they were made of leather, and had a crackpipe in a napkin in the toe—and well I know the pain of pilfered things precious. Karma, man. Karma.