Thoughts at present now that my trip is done:

- Things don't really change in the 'hood. Besides, it's only been six months. My friends have gotten a little more tame from being employed, but we've all just kind of continued down the same paths we're carving out for ourselves. Same way with my camp reunion, except that we all accelerated 10 years down those paths before we saw each other again.
- Within 20 minutes of getting out of Logan Airport, I was reminded of one of the major reasons why I hate Boston. Even at 7AM, the damn drivers were showing off their "me first, screw everyone else" attitude. And the Big Dig is still nowhere near being done, that city is still a bloody mess.
- I'm not scared of flying. My only real fear is that my luggage will get lost. I only start getting tense when the plane touches down at my destination -- really. Although my dad does tell me that story of two of his old co-workers who were engineers and, while on a flight, called over the flight attendant to tell her to tell the captain that something was wrong with the engine that they were looking at out their window. When she denied it, they said they were engineers and they were absolutely positive there was something wrong with the engine. At that point, she got a worried look on her face and asked them, "Are we going to make it?"
- It is DAMN HOT AND HUMID in New England. To the point where I had to go into an air-conditioned room in order to dry off from a shower, since it was so humid that the water wouldn't dry off my skin in a non-air-conditioned room.
- Coming back here was easier than I thought. While I was in New England, Los Angeles felt like a world away and it seemed like I had put things on hold when I left, but upon arrival back here, I slipped back into town and my routines very easily. It makes this city feel a little more like home.
- To the girl at the Starbucks counter in Logan Airport in Boston: You need an education. If the frappuccino costs $3.67 and I give you $3.72, don't stand there looking at me, looking at the register, looking at the money I gave you, looking at me, looking at the register, looking at the money I gave you, softly saying that I gave you too much money, then looking at the register again. If you can't figure out that I gave you that much so I could get a nickel back, then just punch in the amount I gave you into the register and it will tell you. I shouldn't have to tell you.
- My internal clock is so screwed up right now, you couldn't even begin to believe it.

I think by now it's well-known that I will not be attending BlogCon 2002. And, much as I would really really like to, I just can't get out to Michele's wedding later this summer.

So here's my compromise. I'm considering buying a blow-up doll, getting a big picture of my face and attaching it to the blow-up doll, then sending it along to both events in my stead. If this is to happen, however, I will need caretakers to make sure the blow-up doll is... well, taken care of. And that he gets back to me after BlogCon so I can send him along to Michele's wedding on Long Island, and he'd probably also need a date to the wedding as well.

Think of the promotional possibilities. The BlogCon organizers could help pay for their hotel rooms in Vegas by charging people $1 each to take a picture with "Keith." Michele could help pay for her Taco Bell buffet at her wedding by doing the same. The blow-up doll would probably have a blast, and he'd probably get more action than I've seen in a while.

So if any of the BlogCon attendees/organizers and wedding guests are interested in being my blow-up doll's date, let me know.

I'm feeling so alive, feeling so real
On a stormy night, the rain is coming down
Rain like never before
I've got some records on, some bottles of wine
On a stormy night, the rain is lashing down
And I'm waiting for her...
-- Ash, "Goldfinger"

I just spent the last half-hour sitting out on my parents' back porch, watching the lightning and listening to the thunder and the rain come down. I haven't seen it rain in six months. As I told my boss a few weeks ago, "I miss weather." Sunny and 75 is great and I'm not knocking it, but every day for 6 months can kind of get to you when you're used to snow and rain and seasons. I needed this break from the Real World.

All in all, I'd have to say that the past 30 hours have been very surreal. Since it's been so many years since summer camp, I didn't really remember all that much, nor did I recognize that many people when I walked into the bar. Some I recognized instantly -- my mind saw the little kid I knew inside the faces I saw Friday night and I was able to put name to face. Others I was not so handy with and required a little help. They recognized me immediately, and one told me later on that she thought I looked very much like the kid she knew when we were campers. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

The cliques are still there. Some behaviors are still there. The plaques that I made with my bunkmates and posted in a couple of the buildings when we were campers are still there. The buildings look a lot smaller though. We don't grow up, we just grow old.

I'm glad I went, though. I would've felt that I was missing something big had I not gone, and I did appreciate the chance to see my friends years later and see how they all turned out. And now that I'm overexhausted from jet lag and not sleeping on the flight to Boston and not sleeping much last night, I'm going to sleep. If anyone wakes me, they should expect to be defeated by my shaolin kung-fu fighting style that will surely show them the error of their ways.

'Cause I remember how we drank time together
And how you used to say that the stars are forever
And daydreamed about how to make your life better
By leaving town, leaving town...
-- Dexter Freebish, "Leaving Town"

And now I'm going back.

Line of the evening, via a friend who was I was IMing with:
"We were setting up this display for the new Virgin Mobile phones, and my manager -- she's a big tech geek -- says to me, 'I can't wait to get my hands on one of these Virgins and crack it open.'"

In other strange display news, I'm still waiting for someone to bestow use of a digital camera on me so I can snap a shot of a store a few blocks away from my apartment that -- and I kid you not -- is called "Super Robot Fun Store." I know this because the name is emblazoned in neon on the sign hanging off the storefront.

From: Keith
To: Michele
Subject: RE: your post on the "circle jerk of hate"

For what it's worth, I think what you wrote is fine. I can't honestly see myself being happy in any way in a world run by Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson -- I'd probably kill myself too, if not for my inherent fear of death. I find it interesting how they preach that you should love God, that you should have love in your heart for God and your fellow man, yet they preach that everyone who doesn't worship exactly the way they do and who doesn't worship the same God that they do is an evil heathen and needs to be converted. I still say the Golden Rule should be enforced (I do try to live mostly by it, for what it's worth, but I just kind of use my ingrained morals and sense of right and wrong to guide me) in that I try to be considerate towards others and not do anything that I wouldn't want done to me. Specifically, at this point, I wouldn't want those building workers have to come to do some strange and loud procedure to the building less than 10 feet away from my window at 7:30am this morning, but that's another story. To that end, I wonder how the rabid Christians would like it if we all started a campaign to actively convert them and tell them they're wrong and they're worshipping the wrong God and the wrong way the way they have been telling all of us for thousands of years. "Jihad" has become an ugly word with ugly connotations relating to terrorism, but it's exactly what the Crusades were -- except "crusade" has such a moral high ground associated with it because the victors always get to write the history books. Some moron posted a comment on my blog about how the sixth commandment prevents murder, not killing in self-defense, so Christians are blamed every time a war of aggression breaks out -- to this I ask, how can the Christians justify the Crusades as self-defense?

Not that I think that all Christians are evil. But I kind of understand why these countries hate us so much. The U.S. is kind of the Christians of the world. We go all over the planet and tell people, "You're living your lives wrong! Come, experience the wonder of democracy that is Taco Bell and the Gap! You're a heathen if you don't, and we've got the army to make it happen!"

But I digress. What I basically meant to say is that I don't think love will conquer all. And, like someone in your comments said, I think there's a distinction between regular hate and "moral hate," and I think that hating the haters is fine. There are people out there who are just plain evil, and all the love in the world isn't going to change them. I seriously doubt that if I drove down to Compton right now and got out of my car and started hugging the natives and telling them how much love I had for them, I'd still be alive after five minutes. Some people just don't understand love. Hate, violence and power are the only languages they understand, so you just have to speak to them on their terms so they can understand you. So go tell Jerry Falwell that he's a lunatic who's propagating more hate than he can imagine in his little crusade to make the world a better place, because telling him how much you love him is not going to change his mind while screaming at him might actually have an effect. Then kick him in the nuts for me too, and tell him it's from the heathen Jew.

Talk soon--

--Keith

Chelsea, dear, it's a long way to Boston
But I wanna go...
-- Satchel, "Mr. Pink"

Tomorrow, after work, I board a plane at LAX and travel to a city that I called home for almost 8 years, yet now it seems so far away that it's like I was there a lifetime ago, even though I've only been gone for 6 months. And then on Friday night, I begin the series of events in which I revisit my past.

These three years are reunion years. On Friday and Saturday, I'm going to my summer camp reunion. Then next year, my college reunion, and the year after that, my high school reunion. In some ways, I'm happy that it's starting now, because I'm finally in a place in my life where I can say that I'm proud of where I am. I got away from it all and started over in a field that I love and that even back then, people thought that I'd be involved in. I'm living on my own in Los Angeles, which is really cutting the tether and leaving my ties and my roots behind. I feel good about where I am. And I don't know how many of those losers from my past can say the same.

Having said that, I'm not quite sure why I'm so apprehensive about this trip. I guess it is because I haven't seen these people in so many years and I have no idea what this trip has in store for me, and I wonder what my future reunions will hold as well. But, either way, as one of my best friends told me on Monday night, "it's only a little over 24 hours that you have to spend with these people."

I need to go pack now.

Well, bubbles must burst and we all know this having heard it from six bazillion different economists over the past year or so. As one of my co-workers said a few days ago when the Dow dropped 400 points in one session: "Yeah, that economic recovery is going reeeeeally well." So now, is it any surprise to hear it from a politico? President Moron's approval rating has fallen into the 60s. And I couldn't be happier. People are finally realizing that the man actually hasn't done much at all, and his administration is running this country into the ground -- or at least allowing others to do it. So it's almost a year later and despite our vastly superior firepower and our Gallant Way Of Life and all of our technology... and we haven't caught Osama bin Laden yet? I'm still waiting for a picture to pop up of him standing in front of the White House, kind of like the Tourist Guy.

Either way, I'm still getting on a plane this Thursday night. And I found out, coincidentally enough, that one of my co-workers is taking the same flight that I am. Same plane, same flight, same night. It's almost like extra assurance that we'll both make it to Boston just fine. It's what happens when we get off the plane and attempt to navigate our ways out of the city -- that's when all hell breaks loose.

We had Chinese food for dinner tonight, and I'm a little let down by the fact that my fortune cookie yielded a non-fortune. The slip of paper said, "Wish you a good health!" That's all well and good, but they couldn't have even predicted that I'd have good health? They could only wish it to me? Even my horoscope is able to come up with some vague prediction, why can't the cookie?

I hate stuff like this. (Link blatantly pilfered from ericalynn.) Some e-zine staff got together to compile a list of what they consider to be "100 albums you should remove from your collection immediately."

Unfortunately, there's a good number of decent albums in there. Some might even be considered ground-breaking or genre-defining. But I get the distinct feeling that they included those albums in the list simply because they thought it cool to be anti-Establishment. "People actually like this album, therefore we need to shun it immediately," and other such mindsets. And if any of you actually get rid of any of these CDs because some dumbass website told you to, you deserve all the mockery that you get.

I'm a person who likes to seek out new music and I've got a voracious appetite for songs and artists that I've never heard before, simply because I like the experience of hearing something new that I like. But I don't abandon artists or songs simply because they became popular, and I don't go so far out into the fringe simply because I'm avoiding everything that everyone else is listening to. Yes, I listen to a lot of stuff that other people haven't heard of, but that's only because I want to hear new stuff since I'm sick of hearing the same songs over and over. It's not because I think that I'm a cooler person or that I'm more culturally elite because I own a CD that 99% of the population doesn't know about.

I do know some people like that. People who have this need to be so far ahead of the curve that the instant other people outside their little coterie of friends hear about a band and start to like them, they immediately claim that the band has "sold out" and stop supporting them. And, quite frankly, I don't need to hear that kind of thing. Yes, music is about expression and all that jazz, but the landlord will be expressing himself or herself to you quite clearly if your rent isn't paid on time, so getting popular and selling CDs isn't all that bad sometimes. Whether a band lets the fame get to their heads, that's when it becomes bad. But that's another deal for another time.

Speaking of selling CDs not being bad, Def Leppard stopped by my office this afternoon. With beer. It was awesome. I just wish I'd remembered ahead of time because I would've brought in my Def Leppard Greatest Hits CD for them to autograph, instead of the picture that I had them sign. But they were still some rather nice chaps and quite personable.

I don't understand the appeal of Andy Rooney. I really don't. The man annoys me more than the stupid repetitive nature of Garfield comics -- yes, Garfield needs to go on a diet and loves to sleep, Jon is a doofus and will never get a date, and dogs in the strip are all stupid. We know, you don't have to pound it into our heads day after day for years on end. But that's another rant for another time.

Back to Andy. The man has one of the longest-running features on one of the longest-running shows on television. And he talks about nothing. I don't mean in a Seinfeldian kind of way where it's actually a little bit amusing. The man talks about nothing. For example: "Andy Rooney talks about how his hair has changed over the year. And he thinks about getting a haircut." I actually watched this segment -- mostly because it was already on the TV and there were only a few minutes before "The Simpsons" was on, so I didn't feel like putting in the effort of finding something else to watch for a few minutes. It couldn't have been more dumb or mind-numbing. Basically, he talked for 7 minutes about how his hair has gotten longer and how prices for haircuts had gone up since he started getting haircuts. Of course prices have gone up since you've started getting your hair cut, Samson was probably in front of you in line when you got your first trim at the Jerusalem Supercuts way back when hair lengths were measured in cubits!

He then put up some graphic of how his hair would look like if it were jet-black instead of the silver it is today, and I have to say that it looked downright scary. Demonic, almost. And then he showed a short clip of him years and years ago on TV to prove that his hair wasn't always stark white. The thing is, I couldn't tell that his hair wasn't stark white because the clip they showed was in black and white -- that's how old it was. And the even scarier thing is that he didn't look any different in that circa-1950s clip, he looked just as old and wrinkly as he did on last Sunday's episode. The man's like Methuselah, but he may never die.

How much whiny crankiness can one person generate? Apparently, enough to blow so much hot air out over so many years that if we were able to capture it, it could've powered Texas for 10 years. I mean, basically every week is the same thing -- Andy Rooney tries to tackle some really mundane and boring topic, gets confused, gets annoyed, then thinks the way other people do things is stupid. And at the end of each episode, the host closes the show with a small laugh after Andy's segment ends, as if to say, "Oh, that Andy, what a hoot." Get a grip. He's not a hoot. He's network stupidity at its peak. The television Powers-That-Be let Andy Rooney stay on the air for decades past his -- I was about to say "his prime," but he never had one -- yet they cancelled "Undeclared" after one season?

CBS, put us out of our misery and can this poor bastard before we rise up and show Andy Rooney that his segment confuses and annoys us, then makes us think that the way he does things is stupid.

It feels like my mental energy has been completely sapped. It's been that way for a day or two now. I'm trying to figure out why, but I can't because I have no mental energy. At least I'm not the only one, so it makes me feel like it's a general malaise that's settled over the world and not just over my head.

I get the feeling that a good portion of this weekend will be spent passed out in bed, or passed out in the living room on the couch in front of the TV. Now I can plug the recharger into the wall, but how do I plug it into me?...

It's official. I'm saving up to buy myself a new PowerBook. It'll take a while, but the prospect of a Mac running OS X is just too much for me not to try to get. Plus, I've never had a laptop, and I look forward to the portability.

There's no way that I would ever switch over to owning a Windows machine. It's just too frustrating and clunky to me. I definitely prefer the ease and the style of using a Mac. And it just seems that more and more these days, owning a Mac puts you among the creatively elite. So I'm proud to say that I've been the proud owner of an Apple computer since the sixth grade.

In some strange way, I find that Mac users tend to gravitate towards each other. One of my co-workers told me that she was friendly with a lot of creative people and needed to surround herself with them because they stimulated her mind, and later on I found out she's a Mac person, along with several other co-workers. I just found out a couple of days ago that another one of my friends here is a Mac person. One of my roommates is a Mac person. Someone's even started a magazine about famous Mac people, and it says that Public Enemy's Chuck D, the guys from Underworld, William Shatner and Kevin Smith are all Mac people. I spot Macs being used in TV shows and movies all the time -- Sarah Jessica Parker's character uses one in "Sex & The City," and Jeff Goldblum's character used one to save the world in Independence Day. And now there's a club in New York where people can DJ using Apple's iPod.

So go ahead. Join us in the Cult of Mac. We'll be waiting for you to break free of the bonds, and, like Homer Simpson, become a Spaulding Gray in a Rick Dees world.

Not to belittle the fact that it's still cancer, but I'm not generating the same kind of outpouring of sympathy for Sharon Osbourne. I know she's battling a very serious and life-threatening disease, but I still don't see why everyone suddenly sees her as America's darling.

I've seen a few episodes of "The Osbournes" and honestly, I don't see any reasons why people have fallen in love with that family. They all seem to be either blithering idiots or rude pompous asses. And while Sharon seems to be the "nicest" of them, I still have that sneaking suspicion that underneath that surface lurks a very cunning intelligence that has deceived us all.

Again, it's not that I really wish ill will towards Sharon. I just wanted them to be out of the spotlight for a while.