things that bug me:
war
politics
religion
intolerance
the internet
upsetting television dramas (e.r., law & order, third watch, et. al.)
every single person i spoke to or saw today, more or less
my computer
money
the sound of sirens
wait. i can break it down a little more succinctly:
everyone.
and everything.
no wait. i got it. every*one* is part of every*thing*, technically.
so: everything.
everything i needed to say has been said, under my breath, to my self, then typed into a notepad window & saved in case time & circumstances collide with blood alcohol levels & influenced fierce needs in sufficient quantity to warrant a sending. hopefully healing will intervene & allow a simple deletion in the meantime.
whatever (is the title of the file. it is whatever.txt). doesn't that sound just like something you wouldn't want to send if you cared about sounding, oh i dunno, grownup? though the wisest advice i received sounded like this & made the most sense "you should be all, like, whatever". my daughter is wise beyond her overuse of the colloquial "all, like", which is damn evocative & an efficient means of communicating things it would take me many minutes & burn too many mindcalories to express otherwise. yes i realize working the brain out is a good thing, however i need to burn in another direction right now, i have certain urgencies (in a word, work).
whatever. i added a shitload of pictures to the galleries while contemplating getting back into the rhythm of code by integrating recent gallery additions into the blog design so i could quit mixing my obvious photobloggeristic tendencies with actual blogging. of course this would mean far fewer posts since i am all about the photographic metaphor these days & that is, i assure you, for the best.
my toilet is still bubbling & has issues with the whole "flush" issue, however it is not overflowing onto my bathroom floor so i am thankful. also the shower is no longer filled with darkly sniffarific sludge. again, thankful. thankful shall be the word of the day, rather than whatever. or perhaps i should combine them: "whatever. thankful." or "thankful, whatever."
tembak. that's a bad thing right? all google has is stuff in (possibly) malaysian? but certainly has a familiar, rather sinister ring to it. and the 95% server resources it was hogging didn't make me feel real fuzzy towards it either. but in order to kill it, i have to find it. it's a big server.
i was going to go into how exactly much i don't know about this, but instead i'll get back to scowling pensively at the various server administration thingys i have open.
* * * * *
oh.my.god. so i ran the apache upgrade because it said it was insecure, and because tembak is a malicious somethingorother, being run from two different IPs i traced to Jakarta, Indonesia. so i upgraded. and apache crashed, ftpd crashed, mysql crashed, and ... right, exim. so, the server was fine except for not having database access, email, ftp, or the ability to serve pages to a browser. full reboot got apache started well enough to be able to deliver some lovely error messages. restarted mysql, restarted ftpd. exim is taking its time.
how were the goddamn indonesians running tembak on the server? i need some tequila.
* * * * * *
UPDATE TO THE UPDATE
the upgrade of apache is won't run PHP files CHMOD 777 which is like, most of them, because it's world writable do you have any idea how many fucking PHP files there are on these goddamn servers?
so i finally figured out it's
find / -name *.php -exec chmod 755 {} \;
otherwise i think i might have had to do something drastic. goddamn motherfucking piece of shit computers.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
ANOTHER MOTHERFUCKING UPDATE
i can fix 'em all i want but one MT rebuild sets 'em back to 777 and kablammo. fuck.
know what? i'll be back. i need to go get beer.
so i figure if this blonde stuff wrecks my hair, i can just cut ... some ... more ... of it off. fortunately, i have the sort of hair which can be cut unevenly & actually look better that way.
and it gives me something to do while i'm waiting for this itty bitty table thingy made out of a micronuked mini-cd with an elizabeth arden bottle sticking up out of the middle, and arms for legs, to dry.
this blonde thing has turned out to be such a bad idea. nothing like a good bad idea, i always say.
well, it is lighter. and more even. it is, however, still nuclear mutant carrot.
so, i had some things to say about the damsel, instead i spent much of my afternoon about two pixels from an insect's armpit. damsel flies. of course.
sitting here thinking the shade of the hairdye drip on my arm is a good sign, much darker than the box. because i picked an entirely inadvisable color to go over the faded outgrown red i had. & honestly, i know better. the choice i made could be construed as a deliberate attempt to have a hair disaster, thereby necessitating extreme corrective measures.
sometimes the only way i can manage to change is to fuckup in some spectacular fashion so that the choice is taken out of my hands. it's like some reverse failsafe switch in my head -- when my indecision keeps my wavering on the side of whiny overcaution for too long, there will come a time when the reckless hedonist within gets fed up. picture tooling along at 20 in a 25 zone & suddenly jumping out of the car. go ahead, run the scene though your mind, professional stuntperson & all -- it's more exciting than picturing me sitting here with cheap medium blonde hair dye doing god knows what to the entirely wrong hair i just put it on. the larger metaphor for the way i escape suffocating stagnation in my life? we'll pretend it's just hair.
if i could describe the sensation of abject panic without revealing the wildly unflattering personal details at the heart of the attack, i would, but i'm lost for words. digression: the hot-cold air-blower here is a psychotic bastard and my peeps are becoming dessicated. my peeps, dammit.
so i fight panic with denial and mad bargaining, and within minutes (well, a hundred twenty of them anyway) i am back to my peeps and froststroke and heatbite and ... dammit my peeps. i'll have to eat the entire exposed tray within the next few minutes or all's lost.
and as to that panic, i have hatched a wacky plan and much hilarity will ensue, so cue the applause sign and cut to commercial, gotta pay the bills on this sitcom.
cigarette. c-i-g-a-r-e-t-t-e. i have some. in my car. cold out, bare feet, probably don't care, even though the whole piercing as reward/pacifier for a week w/o cigarettes (not without them, they were with me, in my car, on the floor, i just wasn't smoking them) but i am so fucking hungry. more or less fasting at this point, the smoothie didn't appeal, nothing does, except things that need chewing and me not ready to be doing that and hungry i am hungry ... and oh you know a ciggie'd fix that at least a little bit.
the sprint across the cold yard did drive a point home about my desperate mindset. think if i could just stop this here and say no i will not be reduced to this! that is if you want to think about that, i myself need to find a lighter.
and in that instant take the day counter back to zero but you know i'll just lay a little spin on it instead - hey one ciggie in eight days. go me.
fucked up part about cigarettes is that they do, indeed, fix whatever's wrong with me that made me think i needed them, it's never about oh shit this ain't cuttin' it. it's ahh.
fuck.
i could turn my eyes on you and you wouldn't know what hit. i could have powers. there could be differences. you could know, or begin to.
think i almost wrote something last afternoon. almost.
you just never fucking know, is all.
