08.14.99
The Wicked
Aug 14 Sat (03 PM)
Remember that thing I said at the begining of the week? That thing whereI said, I could rest, maybe catch up on some things?
Nope.
As you can tell from the derth of entries this week, it’s been a non-stop ride again. Gango wants more features. ESCO brings up an old issue, people out of the office. Damn, it’s been busy. Did I mention the car breaking down? Out of commission for 3 days?
It’s been busy enough that I forgot to send out e-mail announcements about the Web Coffee early enough in the week. I just got them out the door around 1:00pm on Friday, and I think they didn’t get into people’s in-boxes soon enough. CLV, I guess.
However, I did get a few people there, and I had a great talk with one of my company’s clients. That was cool, and I think it was good for our respective company’s relationships.
Thursday night I went out with Kam. She’s been doing some massive remodeling on her house: taking out walls, putting in doors, covering up doors, etc. It amazes me how much she has had done on her house. It’s the kind of thing that makes you want to get your own house, so you can go nuts with it. Making every detail your own. Though on the flip side, she says she’s done nothing _but_ the remodeling.
The latest issue of Computer Bits to hit the stands finally has my letter to the editor in it. It reads horribly. I should have stepped back, and written a letter that addressed the entire event rather than a horribly structured piece that required previous knowledge of the situation. Bleh. http://www.computerbits.com
I wrote a poem.
It seems strange now. I haven’t really written anything of any personal meaning for a long time. This journal has been a way for to keep up on my general writing skills and keep track of thoughts and ideas, but actual… artistic? writing has been lost on me for a long time.
The last time I wrote a real piece was back at RCC, the second year that I put together the literary “magazine”. It was a good collection, and I found it quite enjoyable. My piece about windmills I hid towards the back. I think Amy’s the only one who might remember it, because I found the copy I had recently.
Out of the way-back machine and into today, the piece I wrote ended up being a response to the wanton rage and destruction that our media has brought into telephoto focus for us. I feel a real sense of depression taking hold, even in this time of great economic success, it seems like our country keeps getting stabbed in the heart.
[Image of a wounded American male, a thick wallet with stacks of cash, but bleeding from a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be.]
The poem combines for narration, some direction and word mixtures of the seven deadly sins and the seven phrases that the FCC has forbidden broadcasters from using.
If I polish it up, I may make an Extra out of it. http://www.ordersomewherechaos.com/rosso/notes/