A Peaceful Evening

My baby mama fell asleep early after putting the baby to sleep. The servers I worked on were suprisingly healthy allowing me to knock off earlier than expected. Tonight, the stars are finally in perfect alignment. I've dimmed the lights, poured myself a glass of Glen Garioch, and queued up some Brubeck, Mehldau, and Monk.

Finally, for the first time in what seems like months. I get some relaxing "me" time.

Too bad I have nothing to write about.

In a rut

Yes, I'm in a bit of a rut. I can't seem to organize the 200 or so things I have going on in my head. Nor do I have the time. It's utterly frustrating. The only time I'm free to work things out in my head is after we put my daughter to sleep until the time I fall asleep. And when you squeeze in sex, exercise, and a little partying in during this free time there is not much time to critically look at the issues at hand. You do your best to maintain efficiency without sacrificing anything. By 2 or 3am I'm beat up. You sleep for a few hours then do it all over again. I'm exhausted at work, bogged down from lack of rest and the hangovers. It's a never ending cycle.

Yeah, I know not a damn thing has changed.

I want to work on a business plan for that idea I've had in my mind for quite some time now. I want to finish reading The fuckin Fountainhead. I want to go out and meet new people to help motivate me. I want to get rid of this fuckin gut. I want to take some classes. I want to look for a new job.

I want my cake and I want to eat it too.

Iverson is just nasty. Poor Daniels gets broked twice.

Douche Bag Discussion

It's late Friday. Work is completed. The little bratilla munchkin is at P's. I should be out running 3 miles while cursing about the disk in my ipod getting replaced. But I'm not. I'm on the Tucker Max Message Board reading about what makes a douchbag.

Here are some of my favorites:

Any guy who wears his cell phone/PDA on his belt. We are not impressed by your Treo, you fag. Put it in your pocket.

Anyone who sips their mixed drink through the fucking stirrer(s).

Anyone who wears a bluetooth earpiece at all times.

Guys who refer to their friends as "my bros" or "my crew."

You habitually send food back at a restaurant. I worked with a guy who did this at EVERY meal just to show the server how developed his palate was, “I think there is a little too much tarragon/rosemary/what-ever-the-fuck in this” Asshole.

People that quote Sartre, Neitzsche, Kierkegaard, in daily conversation.

Guys at the gym who talk more than they work out.

Anyone who orders complicated drinks at a coffee house or bar.

Barbed wire tatoos on the bicep.

Double Polo: Popped, locked, ready to suck cock.

The guys at the gym that spend 5 minutes flexing and checking their muscles in the mirror after EVERY SET.

Any man who wears a wife-beater type shirt, or any shirt with no arms, to a bar.

Under-armour as outer wear outside of the gym or off the field.

People that are so anit-cliche about anything popular they become a cliche about being anti-cliche.

Now I can run 3 miles in peace...

Power of a Setback

Well, without getting to details let's just say I've encountered a minor setback in a game (or war) I've been playing for a long time. I surrendered prematurely in a battle that was even. Even though stipulations came with the surrender it was still a surrender in haste. And that's all that mattered.

Expectedly what came next was textbook Art of War: an attempt to completely crush me for good. The attempt failed.

You know what happens next when you don't completely anihilate your enemy. He becomes more motivated than ever and eventually surpasses the level of power before the defeat.

This rechanneled energy has left me feeling stronger than ever. I haven't felt this driven in years.

Stunned

For the first time in my life my perception of reality has been attacked. I had absolutely no defense for it. It was totally unexpected and totally below the belt. For a second, I almost broke down and cried like a pussy whipped virgin.

It was a simple case of he said, she said. I'm not going to get into details but let's just say I now know how athletes wrongly accused of rape must feel.

And hell no I didn't rape anyone. Not even close.

One thing I've learned from this is challenging someone's reality and causing them to actually think twice and replay events in question is extremely powerful. Wickedly powerful. Used in a situation when you already have an edge and the need to fend off a late offensive arises the technique is golden. A technique I must add to my arsenal.

Tough Times

In a nutshell, here's whats been going on:

- K, the munch, and I have all contracted the common cold. Since the munch has been displaying symptoms we've been especially tolerant of bratty actions. Discipline has been thrown out the window. And she's definitely taking advantage. Soon we've gotta get her back on track.

- The compressor in the fridge just died a few weeks after the warranty expired. It will take around 10 days to get it repaired. Fuck Kenmore for manfacturing a shitty product and fuck Sears for not overnighting the damn replacement compressor.

- I still have a job but I have a new boss. Initial impressions indicate he's an older guy trying especially hard to be hip to the issues facing the modern technology worker (telecommuting, recovery time, etc) but is having a frustratingly difficult time. The jury's still out.

Demonstrate, do not explicate...

Within the past couple of years I've grown fairly competent in the art of argument. Whether the topic is sports, preferred method of intoxication, or the reason I'm coming home at 5am, I can defend myself like Cochran defended that cold blooded killer O.J. Usually after I hit my adversary with a barrage of flawless logic and hypnotizing eloquence they throw up their arms and fold their hands --even if my original argument is blatantly ludicrous.

Maybe I've missed my calling as a trial lawyer.

The problem is that winning via argument hold a treacherous pitfall. More often than not it leaves the loser of the argument with a bitter taste in their mouth as the loss directly impacts their insecurities.

From 48 Laws of Power (Law 9):

WIN THROUGH YOUR ACTIONS, NEVER THROUGH ARGUMENT

Any momentary triump you think you have gained through argument is really a Pyrrhic victory: The rsentment and ill will you stir up is stronger and lasts longer than any monentary change of opinion. It is much more powerful to get others to agree with you through you actions, without saying a word.

That said, as of today I'm making a commitment to prove my points through action instead. Let's leave argumentative skill in my arsenal until the need for it really presents itself.

The Rum Diary

I recently finished reading The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson. The poignant writing definitely provided me a soft cushion in which to land every morning as the ibuprofen kicked in.

Passages like this reminded me that pain if expressed well is fuckin beautiful:

Sometimes at dusk, when you were trying to relax and not think about the general stagnation, the Garbage God would gather a handful of those choked-off morning hopes and dangle them somewhere just out of reach; they would hang in the breeze and make a sound like delicate glass bells, reminding you of something you never quite got a hold of, and never would. It was a maddening image, and the only way to whip it was to hang on until dusk and banish the ghosts with rum. Often it was easier not to wait, so the drinking would begin at noon. It didn't help much, as I recall, except that sometimes it made the day go a little faster.

First Post of the New Year

The reason I haven't posted in awhile is because I still haven't finished detoxing yet. My pores still reek of whiskey and my levels of seratonin have yet to reach normal. Numerous events reached the point of notoriety; from getting blackout drunk on Christmas Day from drinking an entire bottle of Jamesons to that pointless trip to Reno with C and P. Most of it I'd prefer to forget.

Many of the events that took place were brought on by a combination of fear of the future and inability to let go of the past. I'm not going to get into it.