Hey look--I'm writing in my journal and I'm not depressed for a change!

This past weekend, Monica took me to a "Talk and Tour", hosted by the Southern California chapter of the Society of Architectural Historians (for whose newsletter Monica is Assistant Editor). It was at a beautiful home in Laguna Beach and wow, what a gift it was for Monica to take me there! It was the first time I'd ever been in any home that one might find profiled in any of the architecture magazines I often flip through with a sigh, such as "Dwell". You can see it right now on the SAHSCC home page--the home of Jan and Paul Muņoz.

The use of materials, the way they handled the difficult plot, the ingenuity of it all and the beauty and remarkable usability that resulted were amazing to me. Unlike most track homes, nothing was covered in dry wall. The structure of the house was bare, and since they knew they'd be building it that way they made sure to pick interesting materials and ensure quality workmanship where normally one would be able to just slap shit together since it would never be seen. It was a real geek's dream.

I say "geek's dream" as opposed to "architecture geek's dream" because the experience isn't unique to this realm. Talk to any fan of horology and they won't point you to Invictas or Breitlings, instead you'll end up looking at the IWC Engineer or what not. They admire things for craftsmanship, as opposed to "bling". Same for car guys--why cover up all that steel with leather when you could be showing off the amazing welds!? Hood doesn't clear the massive turbo you just installed? Fuck it--cut a hole in the hood! Show it off!

Perhaps it's better described as an "engineer's dream". Engineers are all geeks anyhow. I guess I haven't lost my roots.

This house really blended my love of good engineering with my love of good design and I'm realizing that they go hand in hand. I need to find some way to harness this realization into something that can get me away from my current vocation and into something that I'll really love to do.

It's time to start doing some design exercises. I'm going to start with a really simple idea I thought of on Sunday--painting.

Each time I painted a room in this house, I ended up buying a bunch of separate quart cans of paint in different shades, searching for the right one to use on the wall. As a result I have a lot of leftovers. Paints that are just dying for someone to love them. I figure, why not paint something with them as an homage to the possibility of each that was never realized? I talked with Kristine and she tells me that it should be okay to paint with latex paint on canvas, but I shouldn't expect it to be too durable.

That's okay, I've never painted before. I'm sure it'll be shit. Either way I'll keep you updated.

In other news, it was Wen's birthday this past weekend so we went out for some drinks with her friends. Wen's a bit of lightweight, which made the night fun almost instantly. Her friend Christine is an amazing dancer too--I guess her mom is a ballroom dance instructor and Christine picked up the chops. Check out her poise as she teaches Wen a step. My mother dreams of the day when I might look like that on a dance floor, minus the long hair and tits...and any cross-dressing tendencies. Not that I have any. Right now.

Wen and I went to Yamashiro in Hollywood for dinner. Peter had brought it to my attention before and it was a good recommendation. When you approach Yamashiro you realize immediately that it's a Japanese restaurant designed for and by The White Man. It's beautiful in its old Japanese design, but definitely feels artificial. Everyone that works there is white, naturally. I recommend anything that requires you to use a fork and knife, although I didn't try the sushi so I can't say either way. Try the Earthquake Cab with the filet mignon. It's a better match than their "miso soup".

The view is fantastic though. You can get an idea from these photos. Notice the false color in the first image. I like the composition in that one better, but the lighting in the second one does a better job of capturing the scene. Alas.

This weekend I'm taking a trip to Seattle and Vancouver. In Seattle, I'll be popping by Matt and Megan's, along with visiting Susanna. I want to visit Vivian too but I don't think I'll have time. :( I'm heading up to Vancouver to visit my family up there--Elaine just had another baby last month, so that'll be cool to see.

The one thing that will suck is that the last time I was up in Vancouver was for our family reunion--the one I took the ex to and where everyone teased me about getting married. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to avoid the "so what happened!?" questions so I'm trying to think of some succinct way of stating What Happened. I think my explanation will be something in the color of the following:

"Well, it was a problem of expectations: I expected her to do what she needed to do to get to where she wanted to go in life, and she expected me to not have any expectations."

"Well, it was a problem of expectations: I expected her to put up with my shit, and she expected me to not be an asshole."

"Well, I'm an intolerant jerk and she left me for all the right reasons. I'm glad she didn't stick around any further as she didn't deserve the bullshit I put her through."

Somewhere after that I'll break down into a shuddering pile of broken bones and weep all over my good shoes. Yeah, that sounds good. Let's see what the aunts and uncles do with that! :D

I decided to sort through my photos tonight. I haven't organized them in over six months, so there were a bunch of folders lying around on my computer named things like "142CANON" or "100NCD80". During the process I ended up starting at 2000 and clicking forward through the years. Lots of smiles, memories, and wistfulness.

Then I got to the second half of 2005. Then I started going through the pictures of us.

It's been four months. One-third of a year. I thought I was getting better--I've been having a lot of fun, concentrating on work, filling the days and nights with friends new and old. Plenty of wine has been drunk, plenty of dancing has been done.

So how can I have a night like this? It's the end of August all over again. It really isn't going to be over for a long time, is it? No joke--it could take years. I could be fucked up over this for years despite all efforts of myself and others to repair things. I am going to be having to fill every waking moment of my day with distraction in order to avoid these feelings that fill me when I'm idle. When will it end?

There are others in my life ready for my reciprocity on the feelings they're feeling and all I can do is... revert. Regress. Relapse. I don't get to Retry.

Worst Christmas ever. Someone slap me out of this, please. It's 4:30 AM, tomorrow's not going to be easy.

I had a text exchange with Monica tonight on the usage of texting as a medium for serious conversation. The attempt to actually have this conversation via text was proof to me of my point--that texting can't be used for real dialogue.

Texting is meant to quickly impart information. "Be right there." "See you soon." "4:00 @ Edwards". It is not a means to learn something about someone, to discuss your loves and your fears; your dreams and your failures. It has been usurped by the MySpace generation as a way to avoid having to actually talk to people though, and just like MySpace, it fails at imparting any sort of truth in words, any amount of art in pictures. It joins its plebeian bedfellow as a low-effort way to wink at a girl digitally (within 160 characters or less).

So, naturally, that's what I use it for.

I tend to stress it out though--I don't use shorthand, I type like I would here, only a hell of a lot slower. It makes it even harder to have a real conversation, but I can't communicate in single characters. "R U GOIN 2 B THERE"? OMG WTF?

I value conversation--there's nothing I love more than talking with people. I hate phones, of course, because to me, verbal conversation is more than just verbal, there's body language to consider. Every medium has its achilles heel I suppose. Emails are slow and if you are misread, it can take a long time to recover. IMs are fast but you need to use smilies. Texting is for words you're not afraid to throw away.

How one can expect to truly know someone through texting, I can't imagine. At best, I use it to tie myself to the people that I really would like to know more about. It's a tenuous tap on the shoulder, a clearing of the throat after class, a brushed hand in the blue candlelight of a movie theater; a hope for meaningful conversation in the future.

There's a lot to be said on communication, and the lack of understanding between individuals. I'll stop there before I start waxing sentimental over recent events.

I had my first dream about it this morning. It's the first dream I can recall having since it happened.

I am by myself at a Xiao Fei Yang restaurant. This in itself is interesting since we don't have any Mongolian hot pot restaurants in San Diego, and I only know of them through Christine. The restaurant is a pretty fancy one--which also doesn't make sense for this style of food.

The ceilings are vaulted, the columns are all painted decoratively and most of the big tables are in their own separate alcoves along the walls, decked out in chipped flagstone and dark woods. It's a place for cool people--it's fancy and hip, but classic and non-fusion all at the same time--young and old alike are here. The waitresses are smooth-skinned, pretty young women with a hint of intensity, all wearing beautiful light dresses that are low cut to their navels, disregarding OSHA and equality as only the Chinese dare to do. I am seated in the center portion of the restaurant at a large round table. I am by myself.

Being single hasn't done anything bad for me. I'm looking pretty good, feeling even better. I have ordered my food and am waiting for it. As I'm pouring myself a nice fancy tea into an aroma cup, I hear someone call me from the left. It's A Friend, perhaps someone that I've just met recently? Someone that I'll meet in the future? I grab a second tea cup, pour out a glass, pick up mine and hers and take it over to her table to chat. She is laughing at me for falling asleep while trying to watch a movie at someone's house a couple nights ago. I play it up and remind her that I haven't been sleeping much, what with all the partying we've all been doing. She's a flirtatious one, and I'm winning.

My food has arrived and my waitress is looking my way, so I walk back over to my table. I'm feeling pretty darn good as I sit down and start throwing stuff into the pot. Life's not going too bad. I'm in command of things, I've got a fun car waiting for me to get back in and drive away, people that rely on my on a daily basis, and the waitress is giving me eyes.

Then, I hear an unmistakeable cellphone. I freeze and look up. Two tables away, she's there, looking down, putting it away. She hasn't seen me. She's with Jane, Rebecca and Peter, along with her mom and dad. My mouth make some dumb exclamation out loud, and they all look up. I am a deer in headlights.

I saunter over to the table, they all say "hi" and pull out a chair. Small talk begins, everything seems okay above the tension and I try not to stare at her, but my cool is slipping, the firm knot of my reality is unraveling and the room is fading away, the restaurant changing into a normal hot pot restaurant, crowded, humid, cheap tables, rickety seats, paper napkins, disposable chopsticks, sounds of the kitchen to hopefully drown out anything further I may say.

But, her parents have asked the question...will you get back together with our daughter? Using every last ounce of composure I have left I laugh and chuck my eyes over to Christine as I say, "oh, well I didn't think there was any chance for that."

Christine lightly says, "yeah..."

I have nothing left. I bow my head and cover my eyes as though I'm scratching my forehead. It doesn't fool anyone though, as my shoulders give me away.

I wake up with some of her last written words to me floating through my mind: "...I loved you." I'm propped up on my bed, the light is on, a dead laptop on my lap. It's eight in the morning and I've fallen asleep without putting myself to bed again. One week later and I still haven't learned how to sleep. This is all-too-familiar territory that I was hoping not to revisit in my lifetime.

I can't fall back to sleep, I still don't feel normal. Still can't eat, can't stand to be alone. Trying to force myself to be alright, trying to remember what it's like to be just myself, without her. I'm two years out of touch with Eric Lai and the skin's a little tight. I have to make it fit, I have to make it work. She's gone, I'm happy for her, this is the right thing for both of us, she's brilliant, she sparkles, she's free, she's happy without you, she'll rise higher than you could have ever thrown her, you'll be happy for her, you'll be happy with yourself, you'll be fine, stop imagining her at every party you go to, stop wishing she was there to share all the beautiful new memories you're creating, stop thinking of her at every waking moment, stop blaming yourself, it's not your fault, you're not a bad person, you do know how to love, you do deserve love even after all the pain you've committed, you'll be better, you'll be wiser, you'll shine, I'm sure of it, I know it, it's all logical, I need to get used to it, need to accept it, but I'm just not there yet.

Apparently, they serve pizza unsliced in England. I've visited two gourmet-ish pizza places on this trip and have had to wrestle with geometry each time. It's a lot harder to cut straight through the center of a pizza than it looks; I've ended up with a lot of trapezoids.

Traveling alone is lonely. I've never explicitly realized it before, but all those trips to DC, Omaha and other places in between or farther-flung... they were lonely. Perhaps I didn't notice it before because I was single at the time, at least in mind if not in heart. When you're alone you realize a few things. You realize that it's not very fun to eat good food by yourself. You realize that there's not that much point to sightseeing when there's no one to share it with.

You also realize that when you're not talking, you eat too fast and end up biting your cheeks throughout the meal.

There's no one here for me to snicker over the street names with. What possible meaning could "St. Mary's Butts" have beyond the obvious? There's a large air of mystery and history in that name and there's no one to chuckle and ponder it over with.

I always say that I love traveling alone, but really that's not true--every time I traveled abroad I was traveling to meet someone. There was a companion, a sibling--someone. There was a point to going. Along the way I got my share of worldy sights, took in the wonders of other countries, and that was all fantastic.

Having someone to share your experiences with is key. Otherwise, you're just searching, I guess.

Life has crept up on me. I'm always busy, always tired. I realize now that I used to write in the blog because I had a lot of time to think. That time's pretty much gone now. The last time I had a lot of time to think was over two years ago it would seem. Back then, I didn't have puffy cheeks and a size 30 didn't feel alarmingly tight. I'd sit down with a laptop and the words would just flow. Thinking back--the last time I wrote anything interesting in here, MySpace and YouTube weren't The Internet.

Now, I'm in a career. More importantly (amazingly, fantastically) I'm in a relationship. I don't have time to think, don't have time to be pensive, moody, crass for literary's sake or really, entertaining at all. Is this bad? Well, I've got a girl I love dearly, and I miss her a lot. One thing substitutes for another!

But what does that say about me? I've wanted to write, I've wanted to do something artistic, and now I'm not devoting any time to those activities. It takes a cold night alone in England to realize this and feel more of an itch than the simple "I'm working too much" statement usually creates.

What's there to love about me if I'm nothing but a working machine (or perhaps a porsche accessory)? What's that got for Christine? And what am I doing to myself?

While I was waiting for Christine tonight I decided to drive over to UCSD and take a look around. It had been a while and I marveled over Eleanor Roosevelt College. They're digging up the Price Center, they've taken away a lot of parking, built a ton of new buildings. Something's going up by the Faculty Club.

I felt a ton of nostalgia. Man, I fucking HATED UCSD while I was there. I was so focused on myself and everything that was bothering me then that it all went by so fast. It's been almost eleven years since I started at UCSD and the time I spent at my hated school still seems so vivid in my mind, certainly more vivid than the six years since.

Everything changes. UCSD reminds me of that. La Jolla Village Square reminds me of that. Everything is a "remember when...", a "wow when did this change?" What seems like was just a few years ago has become ancient history.

La Jolla doesn't feel real to me anymore. I feel out of place there--everything I remember is aged or gone. Yet even a year ago I don't think I would have felt this way, this morose, this sad about the past. 2005 was such a lightswitch year--everything changed so suddenly and at times I think the light turned on, other times I feel like it burned out.

I miss the past. Looking at it through my grounded lens of today, with adulthood holding me in place long enough to see the movement around me, I can feel nostalgia, regret, longing. It's been a long while since I've been able to stop and think--I've been staring down at a brisk pace for so long and I'm not accustomed to where I've ended up.

It's late, I'm just feeling the late-night depression--a classic case. Change is good, change is inevitable, but I'm still not done dealing with the past. There's so many things I wish were better, reconciled--things that bother me on a daily basis and I don't know how to come to terms with them.

I should be happier than I've ever been right now. I'm in such command of my life that I might as well have four stars pinned directly to my soul, but when I stand still and let it pour over me, I still feel like everything hurts.

Shit, I just realized that this sounds like I'm starting a mid-life crisis.

This past weekend I went down to Tijuana for another race with Mike, Rob and the rest of the gang from RRE/RRM. It had been a while--scheduling conflicts and such with the race and with myself kept me away more than I'd realized.

I had almost forgotten how much I enjoy hanging out with the guys for these races. Mexico reminds you of two things: how easy it would be to live as a king, and how fortunate we really have it in the US. After being in Mexico all weekend, Mira Mesa looks like freakin' Rancho Santa Fe.

For as corrupt as our politicians all are, there is no fucking comparison with Mexico's. It is so blatantly obvious that the money is not getting to wherever it needs to go--public works, education, landscaping, etcetera and it irritates me to no end that there are people in the world that would allow their subjects to live in such squalor.

Anyhow, the weekend was kinda iffy. We took second place, but that was pretty much by default due to the high attrition rate of Open Class racing. We were fielding two cars and one broke pretty much everything that it probably could have. Axle first, high-dollar dog box tranny second, high-dollar sequential shifter third, then to top it all off, the clutch gave out during the race on Sunday.

So that was basically a lesson in the old car modification adage that if you strengthen one part, you're going to quickly discover other parts that are now overstressed and can't keep up. Except the tranny--there was no reason for that to let go seeing as how that was the supposedly-beefy part. It cracked the friggin' bell housing in half, and I don't know what to say about the shifter really.

As for the big, bad, blue Evo, everything went well right up until the actual race. Ignition problems after a few laps which meant we basically had to limp through the race to a second place finish since, well, there was only one other car in our class that survived. I guess it was probably a bad omen when the shift knob came off in Rob's hand during the warm-up lap...

But, things could always be worse. If the ignition problems hadn't occurred, Rob probably would've been driving at 140 MPH through that turn when the friggin' front-left wheel decided it was time to come off, rather than the relatively-slow 80 MPH he was pulling under the checkered!

So, all that happened, and then the brand-new 1GB SD Card I got especially for the trip decided to corrupt its file system when I got home. WHY GOD WHY!?! I've managed to recover about 50 pictures out of almost 400 and a bit of video, but only from the first day. The file pointers in the FAT get progressively more screwy as you go through them. Hopefully the data recovery shop I'm sending the card to will be able to pull out a good percentage of the data. I'm really bummed because there's some great footage on this fucking card and it's a big fucking disappointment for myself and all others involved.

But regardless of all that, we had fun. I will be down there again in August, helping regain our pride and standing when we come back with two cars, ready to race again. Everything can break and we'd still come back.

My final thought on Mexico involves the two sad, grubby little kids that were running around collecting cans from garbage bags. Giving them money didn't really help (them, or me), instead their eyes and smiles lit up as I took pictures of them and showed them the results. Which left me with a broken heart.

"Good afternoon, officer!"

"Hello. License, registration, proof of insurance."

"Sure. Here--uh, actually, I don't have the registration papers yet."

"Just got it, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Just "trying to see what she can do", eh?"

"Aheh, yeah, actually this is the first weekend where I've had any time and sun to drive it around."

"..."

"So, mmm, how's your day going?"

"I pulled you over because you've got paper plates and were driving very...aggressively.

"Ah. My apologies."

"I can smell your brakes."

"Aheh...really?"

"You know, we had a GT crash around here just a couple nights ago. You know, that new one styled after the old GT40? Wrecked both ends and the undercarriage."

"Ouch, is he okay?"

"She is fine. But she might not have been. If you want to race around, you take it to Qualcomm."

"Ah yes, actually, usually I head up to the tracks north of LA."

I'm giving you a warning. Slow down."

"Oh! Thanks! Sorry for driving like an asshole."

"There's a lot of nice cars that come through this area, and while the car might be up to it, we can't know if the driver is up to it."

"Right! Yessir! Thanks again!"

Okay, so all you crazy friends of mine are doing this Abs Diet thing and lemme tell you, you're all making me feel like a big, unmotivated slug! Bastards, all of you!

It makes me feel more and more old to see everyone around me do such "adult" things but then at the same time, we're all changing and I am feeling the urge to be more healthy myself. Actually, Travis, I did like that list of "power foods" you pointed out in that one Men's Health magazine and it WAS fairly inspiring. I went out over the weekend and bought a ton of fruits and have been eating them instead of drinking OJ in the morning. I also bought some oatmeal and have been eating that in the morning for breakfast. Not Abs Diet, per-se, but certainly healthier.

When I lived at home, mom was always shoving fruits down my gullet and I miss that. One thing I HAVE been fairly proud of is the fact that I HAVE been getting some form of food into my face most mornings ever since moving out. I feel that breakfast is A Good Thing, and I tend to take my time in the mornings nowadays.

I complain lately that I'm getting "fat". Yeah, everyone laughs about that, but seriously it's disturbing that I've gained ten pounds over the past few years and it's all just flab around the waist. The new job ain't helping either--we go out for lunch almost EVERY day and you all know how healthy THAT can end up being. I'd love to trim down but right now I have other concerns that have kept me from joining all you crazies (and Kristine, that's the most I've ever seen you write, ever!). First off, I'm having health issues. I have a cyst that I've needed to have removed from my abdomen for like, oh what over a year? It's grown a bit, which doesn't concern me too much because I've visited my doctor twice and he's very nonchalant about my little friend, but it's time for it to go--the fucker's bugging me.

On top of that, my jaw muscle on my right side has been sore for over a week. If I massage it a bit the pain goes away but if I move my lower jaw from side to side I can feel that something's not right. I don't know if I'm clenching my jaws too much at night (I haven't been sleeping very well) or what but I probably need to get that checked out as it's not going away.

Lastly, with all the traveling, it's not likely that I'll be able to follow the diet. So, to all you nutjob fitness freaks, I say "congratulations!" You all are seriously impressing me with your resolve and enthusiasm. I ask but one thing: Please don't forget that life is meant to be enjoyed. I'd hate for this to be the complete end of our fabulous Original Pancake House and Extraordinary Desserts soirees! :)

I'm a bit distracted these days, what with the new job, England, Taiwan, Boxster, turning 30, etc. There have been a lot of changes in my life over the past half-a-year and I see more over the horizon. This is going to be a big year for me and I'm both nervous and excited. Tricia, I want to thank you for being fabulous. I'm glad I've been helpful to you over the years, and I'm thankful to be able to have you to bounce things off of as well! I love you babe, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!

How many times can one man complain about air travel? I might as well not even bother. Let's just whip out the checklist:

• Crying, colicky, eardrum-shattering baby in the same row. -- CHECK.
• Extreme turbulence. -- CHECK.
• Zero elbow room. -- CHECK.
• Flight attendants slamming doors and carts in the kitchen area -- CHECK.
• Asshole behind me giving an insufficient back massage. -- CHECK.
• Dry, sickly air. -- CHECK.
• Animal turds masquerading as food. -- CHECK.
• Fucknuts leaning on my seat, food carts banging into my head. -- FAILED, SUBJECT IS NOT SEATED IN AN AISLE SEAT.
• Center seat. -- CHECK.
• Princess Diaries 2 -- FAILED, BY THE GRACE OF GOD.

All this, and I'm only over Detroit. AGHAGLIHGLAIHGOAIHGOIHEGHGHGHGGHH@!

England had better be one fucking fantastic country. After two weeks of intense preparation and one day of air flight I'll need something to put the steel back in my weenie; I am spent.

Next time you head to the federal building up in West LA, keep in mind that it's locked down like a prison. No cell phone usage, no cameras allowed. You're not allowed into the building until about ten minutes before your appointment time too, so be prepared for sunshine.

If you're coming up for a passport renewal, bring a book, otherwise you may find yourself with nothing more to do than, well, update your journal.

I came up last night and stayed at the Holiday Inn at Sunset and I-405. I do not recommend you do the same...

In other news, the car shredded its balance shaft belt on Saturday--

--Okay, so now I'm at Noah's New York Bagels out in Westwood. They told me I have to come back at 1:00 to get the passport. While I was waiting for my number to be called in the passport agency, this old Korean man came up to me and started talking to me in Japanese. I had seen him and his wife earlier trying to get help at one of the counters and I guess they noticed that I was paying attention.

I helped him fill out his wife's passport application, which was frustrating as once again it showed how many stupid words I've forgotten in Japanese. Simple things that everyone learns, like "work"; "what city were you born in?"; "When were you born?"; "when did your wife become a naturalized US citizen and do you have her naturalization certificate with you because you'll need it in order for this to be processed." I knew that one was gonna bite me in the ass someday!

But it felt good to be useful to them, they were grateful. It kind of made me angry that we don't have people to help out in more languages though--I mean shit, I go anywhere overseas and there are people there to speak English to me. I know that English is pretty close to becoming a world-wide language but still...all it took was a crusty, weak-sauce version of Japanese for me to be able to communicate with these two on some level that could put them at ease. I know that none of this is some grand epiphany, we all know how much Americans suck with language (what's that joke about "trilingual, bilingual, or American"?) but this was one of those personal moments where it hit home in an Adam Sandler sort of way--"Look at her--she's, she's *OLD*!!!" Someone help 'em out for fuck's sake!

I hope they understood me when I tried to tell them that they'd have to come back in three days to get the passport--they're leaving for S. Korea on Friday for a trip. Good thing they didn't try to break out their Hangul on me, I barely remember any of that from that class I took two summers ago and as they were talking to each other I could pick out tiny wisps of memory that told me, "shit, you should know that word...or syllable at least..."

As I was leaving, I heard a security guard telling one of the passport agents, "you guys had better get a translator in here real quick--we've got another guy coming in here that's trying to talk to everyone in Chinese or Japanese or I-don't-know-what" so maybe they do normally have a translator. Good.

It's a bummer that we're not more language-savvy in this country.

So I've been busy lately. Everyone knows why I think. Anzus is so far proving to be a great place to work. I get along with everyone, they get along with me--life is good. They like me enough to be flying me out to England next week at least!

This is shaping up to be quite a year. Finally on my feet financially, the house is at a liveable point, new car in May, travel, exciting work, turning thirty.... I could ruminate on all this for hours but I think I've written enough for now.

What a fucking waste.

It's my last day at SAIC. After five years, I'm finally trying something different.

One of those "different" things would be actually telling people at SAIC about this website.

To those people, I'll say right now that this journal is pretty tasteless and I don't recommend reading it. It's also boring. Go look at my pictures instead or something!

Oh and for all the programmers, yes, the site sucks and isn't dynamic in any way, shape or form. I'm lazy.