Argo, don't lie to me now. Is it really after 4:30am? I don't believe you. It can't be. Let's see what hydrogen says. Hmmm... same thing, give or take a bit. (Hmmm... maybe I should run ntp.)

I don't believe it. All the computers must be lying to me. It can't be this late. I've lost time.

After waffling around most of the day doing nothing but being nervous and reading slashdot, just a few short minutes ago, Bitscape finally worked up the resolve to call the aforementioned recruiter on voice, before the end of the business day.

Email reply came back from recruiter just now. (Or rather, I am reading it just now. It was sent over 12 hours ago.)

I stand behind the counter. The ever-present, unnaturally bright flourcescent lights penetrate every cubic centimeter of space. It feels like late at night, because there are hardly any customers anywhere. Even the produce section, which usually features at least two or three stray customers wandering around, appears completely vacant. It's only 6:30pm, on a Sunday evening. Normally one of the busiest times of the week.

2 hours ago, I drove up the narrow, windy road of Flagstaff Mountain in the pitch black dead of night, to arrive at the basement residence of the one and only Zan Lynx.

I wish I could bring my console with me into my dreams. This radiohead music is making me drift into an otherworld.

Tonight's tale begins last week. Specifically, last Friday night. That's where I'll pick it up, anyway.

[This is Part 10 in the multi-part epic describing the wedding I attended at the beginning of August 2002. Previous episodes: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9]

Hurray. The Lounge is back online again. Hopefully, we won't have a server failure again for a long, long time. But just in case another catastrophe occurs, let us remember what another wise man once said: Backing up is the key to life.

This movie takes us back to New York during the middle of the 19th century, when street rivalries between the "natives" and masses of Irish immigrants often became bloody and brutal. Mobs ran the streets. Police and politicans were corrupt, and more loyal to the gangster bosses than the public. And of course, the Civil War was underway, which meant the draft (which only the rich could afford to legally avoid by paying $300). Not a pretty time.

Well, my adventure at the job fair today proved to be a sad excuse for an excursion, if ever a sad excuse for an excursion there has been.

I keep saying it to myself: I will find a better job. I will find a better job. I WILL find a better job. And soon.

Today, I was off work. So this afternoon, I ventured across the plain of Colorado, where I visited not one, but two Temptation Zones, both of which, to my great dismay, appeared to be completely sold out of Buffy Season 3 sets.

I've been feeling kind of bummed out and depressed lately. I realize that the reason has a lot to do with me feeling like my life has hit a dead end. Very little to look forward to, not much to strive for, and not a lot of hope. I'd like to remedy this situation.

Worked at the deli again today. Or, to be more correct, tonight. It was busy, but uneventful.

This is going to be a good week. I know it is, not because of any specific fact or event that I am aware of, but simply because I have decided that it will be. Let it be so!

Here I am again. The middle of the night, sitting in my dad's living room, catching up on the day's web surfing, listening to some classic Garbage, and thinking it might be a good idea to post something of my own. My brain is a little bleary at the moment, but I'll attempt to write something, even if it isn't cohesive.

As of the moment I write this sentence, January 1 is almost over. It will undoubtedly be January 2 before I finish. Although it might be a little on the late side, this will have to pass as my new year's rambling.