scary dream

i am sick sick sick to death of being in richmond. it totally blows. the room i have in this house is balls hot, and this week is insanely hot as it is. and the lovely girl i room with has the world's cheapest parents, who pay all the bills. by decree the thermostat is set to 78 when we're home. in addition to my bad dream, i was awakened by the sheer force of heat in this suburban nightmare. the 'stat was set to 80. that's EIGHTY DEGREES, FAHRENHEIT!!!! IN DOORS!!! insanity.

but my dream--so i was hanging out at a bar that various people from my past worked at. i wasn't particularly drunk, though i did take my pants off at one point for some reason, and i remember feeling slightly embarassed about it but also that i had to do it. we left and walked out to the car, got in...and were carjacked at knifepoint by south american revolutionaries who wanted the car to get to the airport so they could hijack a plane. they did let me take my laptop--and it turns out if you know some spanish in real life, you can also speak it in dreams (i asked "puedo traer mi ordenator, por favor" and they didn't care, they just wanted to get to that airport).

so we get in someone else's car to go back to the house (and wow, did i ever live in a nice house--same dogs, big backyard, 2 car garage, the works), and i immediately call 911 on my cell phone to alert the police. again, not the car i'm worried bout so much as the plane. i'm explaining all this to the operator when we arrive at the house. my companion starts to unload the car and bring stuff in the house, but i notice when he comes out from bringing in the first load that some shadowy figure is following him. the shadowy figure, it turns out, is the male carjacker (there was a woman too, but she appears to be waiting in the car or something). he savagely...does something to my companion, either beats or perhaps stabs him, its hard to see in the dark. just as this is happening, i'm screaming into the phone with 911 "you have to hurry, they're here, please, they're killing him!!!" the most inept sherriff shows up at the house--alone i might add. he pulls out his gun but is too slow and the guy comes around and holds his knife against my neck. it's wet, so stabbing it was, not just hitting. the sherriff asks the man politely to stop. i hear sirens in the distance.

then i wake up, positively burning up in this hot ass house, heart pounding, mouth dry, eyeballs totaly dessicated. at home, i like it absolutely cold when i go to sleep. i like to be covered with at least a sheet, maybe a thin blanket too, and have my face be cold. i can't sleep in the heat. i swear, i have had more nightmares in this house than i ever do at home. and without fail i wake up between midnight and 3am bathed in sweat, heart hammering in my chest, and the damn thermostat is set at 80. i am so fucking ready to get out of here.

stranger on the bus

in tenth grade i had to read the stranger by camus. i would read chopin's the awakening the following year. at the time i hated them both. i've talked about the awwakening before (how the first time i read it i thought it was lame because she just gave up, how i read it again off the bookshelf at a beach house on the outer banks and finally got it).

the stranger didn't reach me in high school, not in the way it has this time. i've been reading it on the bus ride to and from work. i finished it on the way home thursday, and found myself welling up during that dramatic final scene between meursault and the priest. perhaps it seems more relevant given the type of work i'm doing this summer. i remember the first time not understanding what drove meursault, a guy who seemed pretty normal to me, to do what he did. i remember saying really dumb conclusory shit about it in class (WHAT? the SUN was in his EYES so he KILLED someone?!?).

i have always had a problem with what i used to deem "unsatisfying endings." you know the type, where nobody wins, or where what seems to be the central conflict of the novel is never resolved. i think part of this for me anyway was that i had misidentified what the central conflict in fact was. whereas before i was terminally bothered by (and probably made asinine comments in class about) the fact that the book ends abruptly before we find out meursault's fate, i now realize that it doesn't matter. that's not the point. just like how chopin's heroine's (god i would have balked at calling her that in high school) final act was more a fierce act of individualistic defiance than a mere acquiescence to societal and familial pressures.

i never know how to wrap these thing up, so i'll just send a big "FUCK YOU" to the house of represeentatives for trying to put my man out of a job. bastards.

state library of doom

i was at the state library here in the lovely capital today doing some research. i want to see the records they have in the archives from the various governors who have granted executive clemency in death penalty cases. everyone was helpful until i made it to the archive desk. the effete little napoleon in charge gave me the stiff arm, citing some statutory language about how the governor's papers were under seal for 100 years, but i was more than welcome to return and look at them then.

i guess he didn't realize who he was dealing with. i looked up his little "statute," along with the VA freedom of information act--this took long enough that when i went back he was gone and i dealt with someone who was acutally nice and helpful and let me talk to the person in charge of those archives who could actually explain what the deal was. in the course of talking to him, we both realized that i was looking for the UNsealed, public records of the successful clemency petitions, not the unsuccessful ones. apparently, the unsealed ones come from a different office that does not require the standard 100 year wait. BUT--

he was reticent to just hand the goods over cause there might still be confidential information in them and he said the law is in a state of flux (for example, in about a week, my statutory wait will only be 75 years--woohoo). so now i have to wait for the damn head archivist to get back from vacation to just get a look at some crusty old documents. but according to my man there, they are the complete records--including letters the governor received from families of both defendant and victim, complete case files, recommendations of various important folks like judges and prosecutors, et.al.

so friends, always remember, never take no for an answer from grotty little library trolls.

squirrely

i'm trying to distract myself a little. see, i'm playing in a poker tourney. a large one (as in, started off with 1171 players). the top 30 places pay. this site doesn't tell you what place you are currently in, but i can tell you that there are currently 45 players left. and i just got dealt 77...this could very well be my last hand, so close to the stupid payoff...

woot! okay, on break now. it's a freeroll, well, technically it's a player's club points buy in tourney, but i didn't pay any actual money to get in, so if i make the money, it was for nothing (and, of course, the attendant chicks for free). maybe i'll leave this open and live blog the rest. right now i just wanna make the money (i set small goals so i don't go crazy and get impatient and blow out at 31), but maybe i'll kick ass and you guys will (kinda) get to be there with me.

i should be sleeping, i've been doing this crazy weekend commute, where i leave here on friday and go home, coming back monday morning. i get up at like 4:30 to come back so i can make my bus--just drive straight to the park-n-ride. i could have gone to bed at like 7pm, but i thought that was too early so i tried to wait until at least 8, then i caught my second wind and decided to play this tourney.

14 more outs till the money. when it gets low like this i always think of this johnny cash song, which is a classic. OUCH! just lost a little chink, but made a good lay down. still alive, gotta calm down. i start stealing pots here and there and OH SHIT>>> AA. this could be my last hand. gah, no action. gotta raise with the rockets though. i always get burned when i slowplay aces.

12 more outs. gah! cowboys! big stack puts in a big raise ahead of me and i call. still 11 outs, i'm too young to die! another potential caller is stalling. he puts in a bigger raise, i go all in, flip he shows 77!!!!! kings take it down and i'm a monster!

9 more outs, i have about 117k in chips, average is about 90k so i'm slightly ahead of the curve. almost time to amend my goal.

6 more outs. hand for hand play, damn that's annoying. at least no one's really stalling. i hate that shit. i mean, hand for hand, you gain no advantage by stalling. punk. damn, the smallest stack is 32k.

okay, now we're stalling out with 4 outs to go. no one wants to punk out so close to the money. another good laydown, another narrow miss.

2 more. i can't take it. I CAN'T TAKE IT!!!

okay, made the money. time to go deep. if i can make the final ten, i double what i get for making top 30. i love how after we reach the payout, theres this flurry of crazed activity. it got so tight there right before the cash, then 5 quick outs. with 4 outs till the next jump and 8 people with smaller stacks than me, i think i can wait it out.

i know this is totally anticlimactic, but i'm out (AJ v. 88--he ended up with quads) in 18th place and the adrenalin is wearing off and i need to pass out. i ended up making $37.50 free and clear. not enough to retire on but it's a start.

doing it again...

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celeb gives child normal name

gwen stefani and gavin rossdale have given their child a normal, albeit slightly pretentious sounding name.

w and i have already decided on our baby names; a girl would be papaya courage featherbottom, and a little boy would be tequila blue stingray. what are yours?

freaky

whoa. while idly flipping through my celebrity gossip sites during lunch today i found this. kate bosworth's dog looks almost exactly like my dog. weird.