Potter's Oil Field

Saddam Hussein apparently had quite a few people in his pocket:

ABCNEWS has obtained an extraordinary list that contains the names of prominent people around the world who supported Saddam Hussein's regime and were given oil contracts as a result.

[...]

Among those named: Indonesia President Megawati Sukarnoputri, an outspoken opponent of U.S.-Iraq policy, who received a contract for 10 million barrels of oil — about a $5 million profit.

The son of the Syrian defense minister received 6 million barrels, according to the document, worth about $3 million.

George Galloway, a British member of Parliament, was also on the list to receive 19 million barrels of oil, a $90.5 million profit. A vocal critic of the Iraq war, Galloway denied any involvement to ABCNEWS earlier this year.

"I've never seen a bottle of oil, owned one or bought one," Galloway said in a previous interview with ABCNEWS.

[...]

Also on the list are the names of prominent journalists, two Iraqi-Americans, and a French priest who organized a meeting between the pope and Tariq Aziz, Saddam's deputy prime minister.

If I were in England or France, I might just go and make myself a "No Blood For Oil" sign. Those protesters weren't all wrong; just on their targets. It wasn't Coalition blood, it was Iraqi blood; it wasn't our Secretary of State making the profits, it was their Members of Parliament. Is it too late to become a socialist butterfly?

As for Father Benjamin, I'm trying hard to suspend judgment. I don't want to impugn unfairly a member of the clergy, and I hope a plausible explanation will pop up on his website any minute. But in the meantime, I only have questions. Even if his motives were pure, why would he take this blood money? Where has it gone? Did the payment coincide with the beginning of his activism, or come after he was already dedicated to his ideas? Did he, ahem, ask for some reward, or was it simply given to him? If the latter, didn't he realize the impropriety of accepting it?

And not least, did someone just knock over that salt shaker on the dinner table?

4:16 AM

Standard of Living

Mr. Dean has already lost the New Hampshire primary, and now seems to be working furiously towards the goal of his campaign entirely, so the following bit of commentary might seem a little stale to the news junkies that have already moved on. Luckily most of my audience doesn't pay attention to current events. Those of you who do, please indulge me:

Was Howard Dean campaigning for nomination or burial in New Hampshire?

Democratic presidential hopeful Howard Dean said Sunday that the standard of living for Iraqis is a "whole lot worse" since Saddam Hussein's removal from power in last year's American-led invasion.

"You can say that it's great that Saddam is gone and I'm sure that a lot of Iraqis feel it is great that Saddam is gone," said the former Vermont governor, an unflinching critic of the war against Iraq. "But a lot of them gave their lives. And their living standard is a whole lot worse now than it was before." (source)

I ask because I cannot believe words like these would elicit any positive reaction in a state with the official motto of

Live Free or Die.

Only by the most pathetic, base, materialist standard could Mr. Dean's statement be true, and even then only with blinders on. Ask yourself: what is wealth good for? Are we Scrooges, collecting money simply for the pleasure of its accumulation? Or is the value of wealth in what it enables us to have and do?

Some of us seek wealth to provide us with security, as a hedge against uncertainty; some of us, to provide a good life for our families; some of us, in order to further our deepest held beliefs; and some of us, yes, in order to acquire pleasures. These are the reasons we emphasize the 'standard of living.' But in a tyranny like Hussein's, all our work would be chimerical: There is no security in wealth when everything you've worked for could be taken away in a moment by an official's whim; even the most sumptuous meal would taste like ash with your wife missing from the table, taken by the dictator's sons; wealth offered for your silence is bribery, which no man of deep conviction could stand; and there is no pleasure on Earth which could assuage you after you and your kin have been hunted down for extermination.

So we can come to an understanding, one the Granite State seems to have had: A standard of living is no substitute for a standard of Life. Which brings me back to my original question again: Was Dean campaigning for the nomination, or for burial? Because if New Hampshire's motto really does present us with our only two options... Well, Howard Dean doesn't seem to have chosen Freedom.

12:46 AM

Golden Globes

So, yeah, I watched the Golden Globes last night. The more I repeat that phrase, the more pornographic it seems, but really I think I like this award show more than any other one on television. The smaller scale makes everyone on the stage seem more real. It also seems to make everyone more funny, rendering a specifically comic program host unnecessary. You get the feeling that this is a warm community of people (television and film) really celebrating each others' good work; it doesn't have the melodrama, or the cutthroatness, of the Oscars.

I was disappointed that Monk kept getting passed up by the BBC import The Office-- this is, after all, the Hollywood Foreign Press-- but all the awards going to Lost in Translation more than made up for it.

I remember sitting in the Arclight last year, watching Lost in Translation, and thinking 'this is already one of my favorite movies ever.' That was cemented when it ended playing The Jesus and Mary Chain's Just Like Honey. I was playing JMC when I rolled into the theater's parking lot-- no, wait, let me back up. I had been playing JMC for about a month, continuously-- every time I jumped in my Jeep and pretty often at home-- when I rolled into the Arclight's parking lot. In my Jeep it was off an MP3 player; at home from a CD I'd burned-- in both cases, the first song on my collection was Just Like Honey. I had no idea the song was in the movie. When it came on in the theater, it was like a religious experience for me. I've only had one comparable moment seeing a film, and that was at the end of Fight Club when they played the Pixies.

So during the Golden Globes telecast, they'd play Just Like Honey every time Lost In Translation won an award-- three times, if I'm not mistaken. Which is, I think, probably three more times than JMC has been played on the NBC television network in the last 10 years combined. Each time made me happy, and made me fall in love with Sofia Coppola a little more.

Three disposable thoughts:

I should have known Jack White wouldn't be there with Renee-- the White Stripes were playing in Scotland last night-- but little did I expect his sworn nemesis, Jack Black, to attend.

They play a song from the movie each time an award is given, while the awardee makes his or her way up to the stage. But why did they pick a funeral dirge for Return of the King?

And finally...

Is it just more, or did Nicole Kidman wear the treasure chest from Pirates of the Caribbean as her dress?

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week, don't forget to tip your waitress...

2:02 PM

Parting the Red Sea

I love stories like this:

Russian mathematicians have determined the legendary parting of the Red Sea that let the Jews flee Egypt was possible, the Moscow Times reported.

The study, published in the Bulletin of the Russian Academy of Sciences, focused on a reef that runs from the documented spot where the Jews escaped Egypt [...] The mathematicians calculated the "strong east wind that blew all that night" mentioned in the Bible needed to blow at a speed of 67 miles per hour to make the reef, said Volzinger, who specializes in ocean phenomena, flooding and tidal waves.

I just wish I had some way of knowing it's credible science. Maps and graphics would be nice. Some independent confirmation? I don't know Russian, so reading the original report is out.

Gotta love the final quote, though:

"I am convinced that God rules the Earth through the laws of physics," Volzinger told the Times.

You, sir, kick ass for the Lord.

2:49 AM

Borange

I polished off the gallon of grape juice only to find my carton of OJ has turned into one giant popsicle.

This mini-fridge I got for Christmas-- it is far more powerful than I first suspected.

12:23 AM

Joe Redux

I didn't attend the funeral today, Joe, I had to go to school. I heard there was a Marine Corps chaplain there talking about you, and a 21 gun salute. I would have liked to see these things. But I dug a hole for myself a long time ago, you know, and ever since coming back to college I've had to see a counselor every semester about my schedule. This semester is the last time I'll have to do that, but that made getting it done just that much more important. I'd hoped to get it done and get out to your service, but I didn't. So I'm sorry about that.

But talking to my parents, who did go, afterwards made me, Joe-- well, it frankly made me a little less sorry. Time has a way of fading our memories, anyone will tell you this. For me, the bad memories tend to slip away a lot faster, leaving only meta-memories, sometimes, a remembrance that some injustices were done, maybe, but nothing specific in the forefront of my mind. Some have a sharper recall, though, Joe, or maybe more painful wounds.

Now the punk rock thing would be to chew you out, Joe, rip you one so hard you'd feel it in the afterlife. The anger inside me would like to me list all the ways you were petty, and selfish, and mean towards my grandmother after she got cancer; detail the insults you hurled at our family; reveal the cruelties I've learned you committed in your first marriage; and maybe top it all off with a choice selection of quotes from you that'd probably make that chaplain doubt your salvation. Part of me wants to do this, Joe, to lay this case out, so that the whole Internet could stand with me and condemn you as a no good, rotten, low-down scoundrel. I think that might feel good.

But I'm not going to do it, Joe. A few years ago, I might have. But I met a girl, who tried to teach me some things, and I've done a lot of reading, which finally taught me them. Among those things I've learned is this, from the Catechism:

2477 Respect for the reputation of persons forbids every attitude and word likely to cause them unjust injury. He becomes guilty:

• of rash judgment who, even tacitly, assumes as true, without sufficient foundation, the moral fault of a neighbor;
• of detraction who, without objectively valid reason, discloses another's faults and failings to persons who did not know them;
• of calumny who, by remarks contrary to the truth, harms the reputation of others and gives occasion for false judgments concerning them.

2478 To avoid rash judgment, everyone should be careful to interpret insofar as possible his neighbor's thoughts, words, and deeds in a favorable way:

Every good Christian ought to be more ready to give a favorable interpretation to another's statement than to condemn it. But if he cannot do so, let him ask how the other understands it. And if the latter understands it badly, let the former correct him with love. If that does not suffice, let the Christian try all suitable ways to bring the other to a correct interpretation so that he may be saved.

2479 Detraction and calumny destroy the reputation and honor of one's neighbor. Honor is the social witness given to human dignity, and everyone enjoys a natural right to the honor of his name and reputation and to respect. Thus, detraction and calumny offend against the virtues of justice and charity.

What this says to me, Joe, is that I shouldn't talk crap about you when there's no needful reason for people to know. There would be no benefit, no lesson for the world at large, for me to vent these things, and so I won't.

Maybe I shouldn't have written even as much as I already have. Honestly, I'm not sure. You could say, probably accurately, that I'm in a transitional period, like Jules from Pulp Fiction. I have new knowledge that's changing my behavior, but the process isn't complete yet.

I have this thing about The Record, though. And I wanted the record to show that I haven't forgotten about what you've done, but that I'm moving past it. You know, this is about reconciliation, I guess. If in my mind I glossed over what you've done, I couldn't say this: I forgive you, Joe. I don't hold the power of the keys, but as a matter between brothers in the faith, following the example Christ gave me, I forgive you, Joe. And now I'm going to let those bad memories slide away, again.

10:48 PM

Joe

We found out last night that my late grandma Elsie's husband, Joe Flores, passed away. Apparently it happened Saturday at the hospital. His funeral is today.

Joe was my grandmother's second husband. He was a gregarious man, one of those types who could always talk his way into special favors and out of traffic tickets. You'd never see Joe without his Marine Corps hat on; he was a veteran of Iwo Jima.

Joe and my grandmother met about a year after my grandpa Rudy died in 1993, and after a year long courtship they decided to get married. The two of them were inseparable for a long time, always out dancing and carousing until late in the night. It was like my grandmother was a teenager again.

Our family fought a lot with the man in the last year. After my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, he didn't seem to be able to accept the change in her priorities. He moved to his daughter's house after my grandmother died, and we really haven't talked to him since then. This, I guess, is why it took us so long to find out he'd passed away.

Despite the problems we had, I'll always remember the joy Joe brought back into my grandma's life after my grandfather passed away; the sparkle he put back in her eyes. For that I have to thank him.

Requiescat In Pace, Joe Flores. And of course, you old Marine, Semper Fi.

8:31 AM

More Thoughts on GOP Hacking

Of course, being a computer nerd, or rather, ahem, an IT professional, the actual method by which this intrusion took place is a little more interesting to me than what was obtained. The Boston Globe article has a few details:

A technician hired by the new judiciary chairman, Patrick Leahy, Democrat of Vermont, apparently made a mistake that allowed anyone to access newly created accounts on a Judiciary Committee server shared by both parties -- even though the accounts were supposed to restrict access only to those with the right password.

Excuse me, but it's not a glitch when you don't set a password. Last I checked, a glitch was defined as "a minor malfunction, mishap, or technical problem." It'd be a glitch if, say, Microsoft Word flipped out and accidentally printed a copy of your memo on the GOP printer. It's not a glitch if you don't set a password on your account and your political rivals decide to log in as you for over a year.

This kind of idiocy begs the question, was this really an accident, or did it happen on purpose? A Slashdot poster has already posited the idea of it being a kind of honeypot trap by the Democrats.

As someone who has added hundreds of user accounts, take it from me: it's nearly impossible to "forget" to set a password, especially if we're talking Windows here. It's possible, even likely, that the technician told the Democrats involved, "hey, your account is setup, don't forget to choose a password later," and that the Democrats, like office managers everywhere, simply never did it. But again, this is not a glitch. It's bad security, the same as "forgetting" to lock your door.

If it had in fact been a case of unlocked physical doors, it's obvious the Republicans wouldn't be able to put up any kind of defense. "Well, your office was unlocked for a year, so we came in after hours and made copies of your memos. We told you last summer, but you never locked up, so we figured it was okay." It's only because we're talking about computers that the GOP gets to fudge. And that's just plain ridiculous.

8:41 AM

Gate Scandals

Finally, a scandal that warrants the -Gate suffix:

GOP staffers spied on Democratic computers.

Or "pried" as the article's headline puts it. Whatever.

The suffix is pathetically overused, attached to scandals and pseudo-scandals involving everything from free limo rides, sexual favors, and fresh water fish, to even Obazziz.net. But if this story develops at a scandal, it at least parallels Watergate. Gosh, illegal intrusion in order to get political intelligence. How old fashioned.

8:18 AM

Stop Waiting For the Pope To Die

This is one of those unexpressed chips that landed on my shoulder while Angst Dei was down.

Over the holidays it seemed every article I read that even made mention of the pope implied that he was going to kick the bucket any minute. The media has become a flock of vultures circling the Vatican. You get the feeling that they're disappointed every time he appears in public and doesn't just keel over.

And you know the people writing these articles aren't Catholic. I remember listening to NPR while driving to New York in the week after 9/11. They were broadcasting the memorial service at St. Patrick's Cathedral. They had an ex-priest doing commentary, and the hosts of the show were asking questions. They were absolutely clueless. What's communion, again?

The story has no meaning to them. The Pope is just an old guy in a position of power, to them, or maybe a comedian who inexplicably refuses to give up the mic.

They certainly have no sense of the apocalypse. I know, it might be a forgery, we should follow the Augustinian tradition, blah blah blah, but anyone who's read St. Malachy's list can't help but wonder why anyone's in a hurry to burn through this pontificate.

It would be rude-- maybe rude isn't the right word-- it would be insensitive even if the Pope weren't a famous figure, to have this death watch going on. At this point he must feel like Snake Pliskin or Mark Twain.

It was quite refreshing to see the spate of stories surrounding John Paul's comments on Mel Gibson's movie. Finally comments on what he thought or felt, rather than the palsy in his hands. Keep this up people, and please, stop just waiting for the Pope to die.

11:14 PM

Black Math

So I'm taking a statistics class this semester, one of the prerequisites of which was a 'C' or better in Intermediate Algebra.

For whatever reason, the mathematics department has decided to administer what is usually their entrance examination to most of the mid-level math classes, including, of course, the statistics classes. The results aren't binding, and they don't count towards our grades, so it has to be for research purposes.

I took the test today. It was the worst I've ever done on a math exam. I got maybe 8 out of 50 right-- basically, all the ones I was capable of answering at all. I recognized most problems, but could not remember how to solve them. Among these concepts: factoring most polynomials, dividing polynomials, square roots of polynomials, the quadratic formula, absolute values in inequalities, figuring out the slope of a line, converting equations into parabolas, and vice versa, graphing circles, most functions, solving for multi-variable equations, and logarithms.

I feel like I've forgotten the face of my father. This is pathetic. I really am... I really am turning into a humanities major.

9:17 PM

The DMV, With Scalpels

In his January 19th column, John J. Reilly says that the United States "is going to have a universal health care system eventually" and goes on to posit vouchers as the way to have a manageable one.

In this he echoes a sentiment I've been seeing a lot lately. Historic Inevitability is making a comeback on the issue of health care, but I don't understand why.

My one experience with socialized medicine involved the infamous bad toe. I clipped it just a little too close before going to Australia in May of 2000, but put off trying to get it fixed until I got there. My experience here in America made me think this would be a minor issue. At most, I thought, I might have to wait a few hours in a hospital lobby, but out of a planned four month trip that wouldn't be such a big deal.

I found a doctor near the hostel that took cash payments. When I walked in his office, it seemed normal. Assistant behind a desk, tile floor, the normal selection (if Australified) of lobby magazines. When I was called in to see the doctor, though, I couldn't believe it. There was the normal hospital bed in the corner-- the one with the paper that rolls out over it-- but the rest of the room was like the office of some obscure professor in the bowels of a literature department. Bookshelves stacked with rotting tomes, a messy desk, was that an ashtray? Carpet? What? Is this sterile?

I talked to him and he seemed singularly unknowledgeable. He didn't even ask to see the toe. I had to offer. And far from being able to clip my toenail himself, he said he'd have to get me an appointment at the local hospital. He prescribed me some antibiotics, presumably to justify his fee, and told me to talk to his secretary. When I did, she called the hospital and informed me the earliest they could see me was in one month.

One month? What? Have you seen my toe? She was nonplussed. Apparently this was normal for them. But unacceptable for me.

So I waited for the doctor to come out from his next client. And I asked him about this month thing. He furrowed his brow. I think his words were... "Yes, that does seem... excessive." He instructed the secretary to call his friend-- aha, pulling a personal favor!-- and got me an appointment for two weeks hence.

I'm not really sure what happened next. I know I walked out of there and picked up the antibiotics. Maybe I drank part of a bottle of Jack and dug it out myself. No... no, I ended up coming home early, a day before the appointment would have been, and came home. The day after I landed, I went to a hospital here in Los Angeles. A few hours later, I came back healed.

One anecdote does not an argument make. That might have been a crappy doctor. But the hospital scheduling was unacceptable. And the blaise attitude could only have come from a member of a large, entrenched, protected bureaucracy. For a lot of people, that might be okay-- it's better than not having access to healthcare at all. But don't think that once we socialize medicine, it will be like everyone has Kaiser. It's more apt to be like the DMV, but with scalpels.

5:34 PM

No Surprise Here

Post-Hypnotized Peter

What Office Space character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

4:03 PM

It's not lost on me. All those times you told me I should stop drinking so much soda.

Every day, it seems, I'm becoming more the man you wanted. But every day, it seems, the gulf between us gets wider.

I wonder whether I'll see you again, one day, and the light will be back in your eyes. But I doubt myself. Maybe I'm just asking, do you love me? I already know the answer to that song.

2:33 PM

Two Things

One, when I woke up this morning, I realized I missed having feedback. So I signed up for a commenting service. You can now comment. Please do.

Two, I think blogger is making me inane. No, no, that's not right. Maybe the correct thing to say is-- blogger is bringing out my inner inanity.

2:22 PM

More Grunge Than Ever

In my continuing, if sometimes unconscious, effort to be ever more like Kurt Cobain, I have apparently decided to develop extreme stomach pain. That's right my friends, I may have an ulcer!

The symptoms started last Wednesday or Thursday, but I dismissed them as indigestion. This was complete conjecture on my part, as I've never had indigestion before. I'd have described the feeling at that point as Hunger Pangs x-Treme! At any rate, whenever I ate, the symptoms went away. I must have eaten every six hours Friday, because I didn't feel it much.

Now fast forward two nights of heavy drinking in Vegas, baby! On Sunday mor-- uh, afternoon-- I woke up hungry. It was nearly two when we finally got to the buffet at the Mandalay Bay, and I was nearly doubled over in pain. It was here I described what had been happening to my friends, and they all clued me in that it was an ulcer. It was like a lightbulb turned on. Of course it was an ulcer. Why hadn't I thought of that?

And here I'd spent two and a half days doing the opposite of any doctor's advice. Admittedly, those were a fun two and a half days, but I'm surprised I have any stomach lining left.

After feeding my ulcer tri-tip steak, cornish game hen, a variety of rolls, and, uhh, some waffles with maple syrup, it decided to leave me alone. We waited around for Red Square to open, Rudy and Dave split a flight of vodka-- I did not participate-- and we headed home.

By the time we reached Barstow, about 8:30pm, I was grimacing again. But eating at McDonald's made it bearable.

Since then? Well, after a consultation with my mom, I started taking some ranitidine (generic for zantac). Since Monday I haven't had any symptoms, but I will be continuing the pills.

It's like a lifestyle change. No alchohol and no caffeine... I went to the store and bought a bunch of juice. Grape juice tastes good. I haven't had it in so long, I forgot how much I used to enjoy it.

1:36 PM

Rest In Peace

A lot of people have lost loved ones this year. That is not lost on me. The families of our lost soldiers, marines, airmen and sailors deserve special mention.

But this is a small memorial for my family's losses this year. It's been a hard year for us. I wrote down, just around last New Year's, my expected themes for 2003. Death was one of them, and it did in fact seem to hang over us.

People talk about long years and short ones. It's an indication of my year that I thought my aunts died in 2002. Mary Alice, my mom's sister, died of complications from diabetes. No, that's not supposed to happen. Marianne, my great aunt on my mom's side, died a month later. I can't seem to recall the reason, now.

In October, we almost thought we'd make it through. My grandmother Elsie-- my mom's mom-- diagnosed with cancer in January, and given an outside limit of 6 months expectancy, was doing great. Then it came crashing down, all of a sudden. She got bad very quickly, but plateaued, unconscious, for a few weeks. It's a testament to how strong she was, that she lasted so long.

The other night I had a dream about her. It's first dream I think I've had of her since her funeral. She had beautiful, long white hair again. The chemotherapy had made her go bald, of course, and though she was cute in her hats, and maybe even a little punky when her short hair was spiked, it wasn't the same. We hugged in my dream. I miss her. I don't know what else to say. I still miss her so much.

And then, I think, not six days later, maybe the night after my grandmother's funeral, we got the word that my grandfather Ted-- my dad's dad-- had died of an aneurysm. Now I'm not going to revise history, here. We weren't too close to my dad's side, for a plethora of reasons. But I will say that his wake was probably the best family gathering we've had on that side. Some might say that's another tragedy, right there. But it's... it's helped me see some things in a different light.

And then last came my great-grandma Pascuala, so unexpectedly. They said she got up like any other day, made oatmeal for breakfast, fed the dog, and then-- in the bathroom she had a sudden heart attack.

Maybe it's strange, maybe it's not, but I was stoic until I went to her rosary. When I saw the pictures, though, of her and my grandma Elsie and grandpa Rudy, with my sister and Nicole, just the ways I remember her-- it was like a dam bursting open. I could barely-- I had to choke out the hail marys.

Pascuala had a full life-- she lived to be 94. She saw so much.

At the funeral I realized how hard things must have been for her, though. She had five sons-- all but my grandpa Rudy, the eldest, died before they reached their mid twenties. Of course, at some point, she must have dealt with this, accepted it-- but she must also have thought, well, that it wouldn't happen again. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her, then, when my grandpa died back in 1993. Her last son. And then, again, when Marianne, one of her two daughters, passed away back in May. Your children are supposed to outlive you. Who imagines they'll be 94 and attend their child's funeral? It's unfathomable. But it's happened.

So those are the five. My writing just seems entirely inadequate. But I wanted, at least, to say: Mary Alice, Marianne, Elsie, Theodore, Pascuala, rest in peace. We love you and we'll see you again.

1:33 AM

Why It's Been Gone

For a while I didn't have anything I wanted to post. I wasn't sure what angstdei.com was supposed to be for, anymore. Someone, Stephen King perhaps, once said that the least productive time for any writer to write was when life was interesting. Sometimes you're too busy living to write down ideas about life. Certainly the last few months felt like that.

Then again, I once wrote that I write most when I feel melancholy-- and the last few months have held for me more than an average share of that emotion.

At any rate, the hosting bill for angstdei.com came due, and I didn't feel strongly enough about my site to pay for it. I could have at several different points, I'm sure. But I decided to make other things a higher priority.

U2 says nothing changes New Year's Day, but this year I'm not sure they're right. I feel renewed. I feel different. This year is going to be a change. An improvement. My great grandmother died just after Christmas, and her funeral was New Year's Eve. Maybe I got the sense, that day, that things had bottomed out. Since the clock struck 12:00 that night, I've felt that things must be, can only be, headed up from here. 2004 is going to be filled with a different kind of church service-- three weddings of my friends.

With the change comes a renewed desire to write. The news has begun eliciting once again that old, familiar reaction from me-- "I need to say something about that."

But because my hosting situation isn't likely to be resolved very soon, I've decided to temporarily set up shop on the conveniently free blogspot.com.

So here's a shot of methadone, tiding the junkie over until he can score some heroin again. My ego likes to think you're the junkies, waiting for my words-- mine is the original and longest running site among our friends-- but I know that, on the contrary, I'm the one with the habit.

I hope you've missed me, internet. I've missed you.

1:30 AM