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Friday, June 18th, 2010
6:12 pm - Time for an update!
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(update)

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Saturday, April 8th, 2006
8:04 pm
1. I've moved back to the States. I live in San Francisco (again).

2. I passed the California Bar.

3. I am working as a federal investigator for the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.

4. I would be so very obliged if you would be so very kind as to click here and sign up so verily:

http://premiumipods.freepay.com/?r=15710678


... see you in 2008!

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Sunday, April 18th, 2004
2:36 am
People often find their own dreams way too fascinating. At least I do. But here are some recent ones that may be of general interest:

Since I've come here I've had recurring dreams about ALIEN ATTACKS. But the aliens themselves are never seen: usually the attack is precipitated by strange signals picked up by our earthbound technical devices, beamed down from the heavens. Recurring patterns of blips and beeps, somehow distinguishable from background noise. They grow stronger and stronger, and eerie things start to happen with increasing frequency. There was one scene where a soldier stationed at some forested outpost heard the muffled giggles of children eminating from the ground underneath an old gnarled tree... he approached for further investigation, to confirm that the giggles were coming from underground. As he leaned in for a closer listen, one of the old limbs of the tree fell off and landed on his head, killing him. ALIENS ARE BAD.

I had a dream on the theme of "cool jobs." Cool job #1: rappelling down a cliff face, not because you want to, but because you HAVE to. Cool job #2: guarding the entrance to a cave with a machete. COOL JOB.

Last night I dreamed about a ruined city. It looked like a Mayan city, except that all of the dilapidated stone pyramids and temples were in miniature, just a few feet high. Archaeologists had confirmed that they were the ruins of an ancient meerkat civilization.



Onto office gossip:

I'm reluctant to engage in much negative office gossip, not because it's "bad" but because it has a tendency to poison the workplace and make for bad working conditions. So in lieu of sharing negative observations with co-workers about a certain insane other co-worker, I'm unloading here.

We'll call him "Mr. S." I find the dude amusing, and occasionally disturbing. He appears normal at first, a respectable gentleman of about 45, but he's downright off-the-fucking-wall. I first noticed his oddness when we were talking about a local woman he'd met (online, through a white-man-meets-Asian-woman personals site) before he came here. The lady was being immensely helpful to him in getting settled (meeting him when he first arrived, helping him with finding an apartment, etc.), which he acknowledged, but he would also make comments about "she's got those Oriental buck teeth, you know?" and "I've always had a fantasy about having sex with an Oriental woman..." I clued him into "Asian/Oriental" thing, but I didn't reprehend him about the questionable morality thing, because, oi, I'm kind of amoral myself.

Then, during our initial training, he asked me, regarding Daniel, our supervisor and trainer, "so, do you think he's a faggot?" Totally blithely, matter-of-factly, delivered in his innocuous regular-Canadian-Joe accent and intonation. I tried to diffuse/dismiss, with "well, y'know, I'm from San Francisco, we don't really think about these things too much, it doesn't really matter..." and he's all, "oh, I know, me too, but, in my experience, those faggots can be really nasty, eh?" Again, kindly Canadian accent.

Speaking of Canadian accent, sort of, there's something very Jeffrey Dahmer about him. First of all, he LOOKS like Jeffrey Dahmer. Normal-looking guy, possibly even attractive in a way (NOT THAT I'M A FAGGOT, EH?), but for a kind of retro/non-fashion sense and big squarish glasses. And there's the accent... I know, Dahmer was Midwestern, not Canadian, but they both sound to me like variations on Wisconsonian. So, normal-looking guy on the surface, FUCKING WEIRDO UNDERNEATH.

And oh yes, he did wind up fulfilling his fantasy about sexxxing up an O-woman, and yes, with the one with teh buckses toofuhzies. He said that they did the deed three times, and all three times with no protection, and she's not on the pill. I asked him, chidingly, whether he's a 14-year-old boy. He said no.

He happens to be a published author of a nonfiction work about certain fraudish shenanigans of epic proportions by the post-WWII German government with regard to certain bonds issued by the pre-WWII German government, so I try to cut him some slack. After engaging in workplace gossip about Mr. S, I usually try to dispel any workplace poisonings with the incantation, "BUT HEY HE'S A PUBLISHED AUTHOR THAT'S MORE THAN I CAN SAY ABOUT ANY OF US, OVER THERE, OVER HERE."

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Monday, April 5th, 2004
7:18 pm - Bah!
FYI: my old e-mail address (@pacbell.net) is now DEFUNCT and DEFUCKT. Please direct all future correspondence to: jesus_fonzarelli followed by an @ symbol, and then yahoo.com.

(Carefully note clever spammer-foiling encoding.)

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Saturday, March 20th, 2004
12:47 pm
I AM NOW OFFICIALLY A RESIDENT OF TAIWAN. DON'T STEP TO ME, OR I MAY GO PEE-PEE IN YOUR COKE.

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Monday, January 26th, 2004
12:48 pm
So, I'm on the ground, and have been for about two and a half hours. I'm currently wandering the streets, as my employer failed to make a proper reservation at the hotel, and there will be no vacancies until noon. I began my wanderings about an hour ago. It's cold out there! Cold and desolate, it being the very early morning and all. I expect things to have picked up by the time I leave this internet cafe.

The flight went quickly. I slept for about half of the 13 hours. Quick and uneventful. And nonstop, which was great. I spoke with a couple poor suckers for whom the SF-Taipei leg was only about midway through their trips. One had started in Houston and was going on to Vietnam, and another was going to Vietnam and then Thailand and then Laos.

My clueless wander-plan, based on no research, was to fill up the next few hours until check-in by finding a cheap watch (after not having worn one in about 6 years), some cheap grub, and an internet cafe. I've been wandering for about 45 minutes up and down random streets, red-eared and leaky-nosed-sniffing. One fellow pedestrian walked up to me and started gibbering in Mandarin. I interrupted him with "bu dong, bu dong" ("I AIN'T UNDERSTAND!") and then "ni shuo Yingwen ma?" ("sprechen die Anglais?"), to which he smiled, waved, said "bye bye" and walked away. Some people stand huddled around small bonfires which they feed with paper, and others are wearing SARS masks.

I lucked into this 24-hour e-cafe. Through broken English, broken Chinese, pantomime, and drawing chickens and generic four-legged animals with X's over them, I managed to communicate to the sheepish but enthusiastic trio that I'd like a coffee and something edible but meatless. I got a triple-decker egg-tomato-onion sammitch on white bread.

Also, it seems like there's a Starbucks and a McDonalds on every other street.

My back is hella tight. I'd really like to lie on the floor and roll back and forth to loosen the motherfucker. Even though I seem to have been sequestered (segregated?) in my own little round-eye room, set off from the main cafe, I won't tempt it.

That is all. For now.

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Sunday, November 23rd, 2003
11:58 pm
Look! It's the art of Jacqueline Williams Butler!

http://www.cromwellbutlers.com/jwb/DCopper.html

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Tuesday, October 7th, 2003
3:14 am - MONKEYS and CHICKENS
In other news, while urinating in an SFSU bathroom stall, I noticed that nestled on the floor underneath the toilet was a foil-backed top of a supermarket-baked chicken roaster container. It looked fresh, with globs of bright orange grease still intact. It’s been a long time since I ate one of those, but I remember well how succulent – how downright delicious! – they are. But still, WHO GOES TO A PUBLIC BATHROOM TOILET TO EAT CHICKEN??? I guess, if you must eat something in a public toilet, it should be something so tasty as a supermarket roaster.

This same bathroom stall has been the source of other mysteries. It was there that I was first made hip to what must be some kind of underground college library tile-grout movement. In the narrow grout spaces between the tiles in the wall, I noticed, in teeny-tiny writing, numerous clever puns on the word "grout." Some which stand out: "Grout Expectations," "The Groutest American Hero," and "The Grout Train Robbery." There must have been at least 30 of them. I have since noticed this same phenomenon in the stalls of the City College and U.C. Berkeley libraries.

And then there were the overtures to homosexual love: "Need dick sucked, 11-2, 4:30" – which turned into a conversation: "11-2, I was here. Where were U?" "Sorry, cum again 1/14, same time." Or a variation on a similar theme: "The guy in the stall next door is masturbating and thinking of you!" I found this both disturbing and amusing.

Bathroom stalls as a source of absolute horror AND mystery: this was a number of years back, at the Harvard University chapel. I had to take a whiz, but when I entered the stall there was, lying in repose over the toilet seat (as opposed to, say, IN THE WATER), a fairly massive black turd. Not too fresh, not too stale. It was JUST RIGHT. I held my water that evening.

More recently was bathroom as scene of most bizarre sight. Down at the Berkeley Marina, some spatially-dyslexic city planner/plumber decided to enclose the urinal in a stall, but place the toilet out in the open, right up against the sink. I went in to relieve bladder, and was greeted with the delightful sight of an old Chinese man, squatting over the bowl with his feet on the toilet seat, perched like some strange bird, poised to lay an egg.

There was one time when I was the source of the bathroom oddity (well, the one time I was said source in a public, rather than a private, bathroom). Camping up in Lassen Nat’l Park last year (infra), the only public showers for miles around were closed for cleaning, and weren’t to reopen for another hour or so. So I went into the bathroom, wetted my washcloth at the sink, stepped to the side, stripped down to skivvies, and proceeded to give myself a bit of a sponge bath. Some people would come in and out, momentarily taken aback but undaunted in going about their business. Others could be seen to approach the bathroom, but upon noticing my goings-on through the little window in the entrance door, spin right around and go the other way. And then there was the brave young lad who tried to overcome his fears, but ultimately failed. He entered, noticed my activities, and headed into a stall. Then, after a few moments of silence (no flushing, no shuffling of fabrics, obviously no sounds of whatever he had come in to accomplish), he exited and walked straight back out. I might have ruined a few of my fellow campers’ morning moments, but at least I was KLEEN (well, at least most of me).

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Thursday, September 11th, 2003
12:00 am

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Monday, November 25th, 2002
9:25 am
Oy. Been up for FAR too many hours.

Today's (well, technically, yesterday's, but part of this continuum of wakeitude) dumb tid-bits:

In line at a Mission headshop. Young but skanky and strung-out woman hovers over the display counter, at the end opposite the salesman and his modest line of customers. She's eyeing a penis-shaped lighter among the other paraphernalia under glass. Frustrated, she rasps out, "CAN I SEE THE DICK?" And then, when the salesman's head perks up, once again for good measure: "CAN I SEE THE DICK?" Needless to say, she did this without a hint of irony or humor. As it was unfolding, all I could do was contain my snicker and think "DUDE. THIS IS RAD." So the Arabic salesman comes to her end of the counter, and points out that there is not just ONE dick, but that there are NO LESS THAN SIX DICKS (say it three times fast: "the sixth dick's sixth dick's sick"). Skanky woman's mind seems to boggle. I try to restrain myself from breaking out in applause.

While searching for parking around the Berkeley campus, in anticipation of moseying unto the U.C. library for some extended study hours, heard an NPR report about my law program. Kind of neat, but not as neat as "CAN I SEE THE DICK?"

Realized how soon I will need to drive down to Big Bear via L.A. for Thanksgiving: TUESDAY. This is too soon. Well, not literally. But in a perfect world, Thanksgiving (at least this year) would be scheduled somewhere around January 4th.

Stopped by the shop whence I bought my computer, the Athlon-machine which is still supposed to be under their tech support warranty (parts and labor) for another year or so. Stopped by, because their phone is offa da hook. Found a little sign in the window: "XYZ-yadda-yadda-bing-bang store is no longer at this location. There is no new address or forwarding number." Fiddlesticks! I'll track 'em down, because I still needs me me tech support, arr. But it's going to be some kind of a pain.

Spoke with Pop, who is still in Costa Rica for another day. His shady shenanigans have finally pretty well caught up with him. :( Not the law, just the shadiness of it all. *cryptic*


Anyways, yes, not much of interest to write. But figured I'd take the old LJ out for one last spin before I truck on out.

I'm a little delerious. Du0d mang, the colours, they are, like, tripping me out as they echo through the canyons of my mind. (Oh yeah. I also was forced to listen to some quaint-yet-retardo Jim Morrison psychobabble today.)

Must sreep.

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Friday, November 1st, 2002
4:06 am
Well. All Hallow's Eve was slightly eventful. Did the Castro, where the mob at times got so body-to-bodily tight that it resembled a mosh pit. After tieing on one too many at the Lexington (#1 lesbian bar!), Alice excused herself to go outside to puke. I saw her head bobbing above the crowd toward the door, and suddenly descend to the right. A concerned crowd formed around where she landed. Basically, she passed out and caused a scene. I got up and meandered in the direction of the fracas and found her dazed and crouching against the side of the building. Numerous strangers approached, offering words of "I hope your friend gets better." Goddamn lightweight.

And Kim doesn't like it when I wear her clothes. She was as distressed when I put on her shoes as when I put on her shirt and claimed to be "a little girl."

Chicks, man.

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Wednesday, August 28th, 2002
9:41 pm - strickly text
I walked out of my front door today just in time to see a double-stroller, housing two toddlers, collapse in on itself, crushing its inhabitants. Before the collapse I'd noticed them about to cross in front of my house, said stroller being pushed along by a guy who, in general gestalt, looked about 16, but with greying hair. So my eye had already been trained on them when it all came tumbling down.

So, superhero that I am, I sprang into action and leapt in great bounds and strides over to the sidewalk. With my manimalistic, strong-like-bull strenf, I uncollapsed the infernal contraption as the father hustled 'round and calmed the cries of yon startled, but apparently unhurt, babes. "Wow," said I as I fumbled with the mechanics of the stroller, "doesn't it lock?" He muttered something about a hinge or joint malfunctioning. He seemed to have been already aware of the defective condition. Maybe it's happened before? Maybe it happens all the time?

As I was down there, monkeying with the unmonkeyable, two thoughts entered my head, roughly at the same time: approximately first, "products liability" -- I've been trained well. Second, "this reminds me of an episode of Jackass." The "father" DID look like he was wearing stage makeup, so as to appear older, more fatherly. But the kids and their shock were real.

Whatever. I saved the fucking day.

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Thursday, August 15th, 2002
12:54 am - Smuggled Camera into Flaming Lips Show!
Contraband:



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Thursday, July 25th, 2002
1:23 am
Back from camping, back from NYC.

Camping: Lassen Nat'l Park and McArthur-Burney Falls State Park. Had feet lovingly burned by the streams of sulphurous hot springs, stood under a frigid waterfall, saw the galaxy on its edge for the first time in years -- even saw a shooting star. My two camping companions, both from China, grew progressively more Chinese as the days went on, such that by the end of the trip they were speaking to each other in Cantonese only. More on that later.

Days in the wilderness provide their own form of education. Whether debating the ethicality of smacking mosquitoes, having one's bowels ripped out from one's trunk by a pack of wild boars, or learning how to masturbate on the side of a volcano, there is much to be gleaned. Being the generous sort I am with my wisdom, I am willing to share the useful life lessons which several days in the sticks granted me:


  • Be prepared to improvise: when showers are nonoperational, stripping down to underwear to give yourself a spongebath in the public restroom is an option. Primary drawback: frightening off fellow campers and would-be toilet users. Some may immediately turn around and hightail it upon seeing you; others may attempt to stick it out, pretending to urinate, before making their escape.

  • There is a time and a place for everything: do not attempt to stir-fry at 8,000 feet.

  • Art Bell is really fucking popular in the nation's hinterlands.

  • Hang onto your ego: as I said, my co-campers got progressively more Chinese as the trip went on. Initially I was recognized for who I am: Joel. By the end of the trip I was being referred to as "Jew" or, occasionally, "Drool." I know this was owing to problems with pronunciation, rather than a comment on what I am or what I do. Lesson learned: to thine own self be Jew.*


Now 4 multimedia extravangaza:





-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

NYC: my affection for this city and its oft-screwballish inhabitants is growing. Until this return, the city held some vaguely haunting, bittersweet memories, not least of which followed the WTC attacks. I was eager to get back, to replace the ghosts of the past with some present-tense experiences. An unexpected invitation (coupled with considerable financial assistance) was my god from the machine. It was a gooood frickin' vacation.

Caught up with some old folks, met up with some new folks. Less boozing and lounging than former trips over yonder. Engaged in a couple touristy activities (visited WTC site, 2 trips to the Guggenheim -- they've currently got a crazyassed exhibition of video works), pogoed & fucked the authority to some punk rawk at Ye Olde Knitting Factory (k1ll p0z3rz!112 *fist in air* *devil's hand-jive* *confusion*). Further details would, I think, bore those who weren't already there. So... pRikz:






* - I realize this makes no sense.

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Thursday, March 21st, 2002
7:59 pm - Sunflower Demise

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Saturday, March 16th, 2002
1:34 am
One thing I've noticed, and which I somewhat anticipated. Ever since I incorporated fish into my otherwise vegetarian diet, I have been markedly less flatulent. I'd heard that vegetarians tend to fart more... and, by the dog, it's true! So I've been on this salmon/tuna kick for a few weeks now, and DAMNED IF I AIN'T PASSING WIND NO MORE THAN ONCE OR TWICE A DAY. And I have to confess, I do miss my old, sing-song, intestinally musical ways. I'd be all *tootle-a-toot-a-floot* and stuff. Now I can manage hardly more than a meagre *poot*.

On another note:


If i was a serial killer i would be Jack the Ripper.

Jack the Ripper, by far the most notorious killer of all time. What would drive a man to kill 5 prostitutes, surgically mutilate the bodies, then stop, to never be heard from again? Most of the murders were pretty much the same, the victim had her throat cut and her abdomen exposed, the intestines were placed over her right shoulder and sometimes a kidney or even the heart had been removed.



Jack the RIpper's murders are still unsolved.



Kill count: 5

Find what serial killer you would be, Take the Serial Killer Quiz now!


Sounds about right. Yeah, I'm down on whores, but I shan't stop ripping.


current mood: nostalgic

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Thursday, March 14th, 2002
12:56 am
HEY WhaT'S tHE deAl WITh RAw FISH aFteR MaNY YEaRs of no meaT AT AlL I fINAlLY ATE SOME saSHimi AND i'm all WTf it'S GOT NO FlavoR and no teXTure I GUEss some peoPle LIke thaT Kind OF THInG I DOn't GET it it's ProBLblY just A FAd.

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Monday, March 4th, 2002
3:33 pm - Sunflower Surprise


P.S. I'm still alive.

current mood: surprised

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Sunday, August 19th, 2001
5:04 pm - * UPDATE * URGENT * UPDATE * URGENT * UPDATE * URGENT *

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Monday, June 25th, 2001
1:04 am - El Da De Los Muertos
Today has been a day of death.

First, two fish died, having succumbed to the dreaded ich. Of the six I've got, they were the two which I had taken to be the most ich-resistant. While the others had presented various ichy spots and growths over the past couple weeks, these two seemed unaffected. But lo! One of them spent last night upside-down, gasping for breath, and I noticed that his fins were drastically and suddenly eaten away -- the left fin was almost nonexistent, and what was left of the right ("left of the right"?) was pretty much skeletal in appearance. And it was all over by the time I woke up. Gill action had completely ceased. Poor li'l' nigga. And I found the other one similarly upside down soon after, dead as a doornail his damn self. ICH! After about a week of medicating the entire tank, I purchased a separate hospital tank for the fish -- just water, a few rocks, a few plants, and the fish, to eliminate most possible places of contamination where the ich parasites might be hiding out. I've left the crabs in the regular tank. The medication that I'll be administering to the hospital tank is potentially harmful for invertebrates.

And then there were the recent passings of Carol O'Connor and John Lee Hooker. Not today, technically, but close enough for anyone insistent on seeing supernatural patterns in natural events.

Doesn't the Tarot tell us that the Death card symbolizes new beginnings? Not that I subscribe to such mumbo-jumbo, but it is true that destruction is attended by creation, and vice-versa. So here's to new beginnings.

Something to bear this notion out is that I discovered a new Taco Bell today, one even closer than the ones I'd been frequenting for years! Right around the corner and up the street, pretty much, tucked away on a stretch of the Mission that I rarely travel.

So, yes, here's to new beginnings. Even the loss of my mother a few years back was a lesson and growing experience. Not a lesson I've fully realized, but I think I'm a little better at dealing with adversity, inconvenience, and letting things go.

So... once again, here's to: new beginnings, and letting things go.

I should write fortune cookies. I could come up with better crap than some of the nuggets of wisdom I've seen. Like the one I've got tacked to my refrigerator:

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