5/21/99 -- Genius is often the product of intelligence and opportunity.  While I don't think Ray is exactly Mensa-quality, he does have his moments.  Last nite he was mentioning to me about an idea he had.  Y'know those in-car computers that call up maps and driving directors for people who can afford em'?  (I've only seen em' in a couple of GS400s)  Well, Ray's idea is to combine that with VCR Plus-like technology.  No, you aren't telling your car to record Felicity for you.  Rather, Ray's idea is that ads in the paper or the yellow pages could have bar codes that people could scan in, and the driving computer could then automatically plot directions for it.  It'd come in really handy if you're looking for a specialty store, or a nudie bar.  Pretty fucking nifty, huh?

Of course, neither Ray and I are engineers.  It could be argued that Ray has a B.S. in Drinking Engineering, but that's not enough.  <SIGH>  Damnit, why the hell didn't I go to CalTech?  Oh yeah, I'm a moron.

Fuck.  I won Dodger tickets last week at work to go see the Dodger-Cardinal game tomorrow.  The seats are really good, and it's an opportunity to see Steroid McGwire launch one off of some overpaid Dodger hurler.  I really don't like the Dodgers.  Anyhow, I took em' without realizing that I had sorta made plans to see Maya and Jenny this weekend, and maybe head out to the West End for 80s Night.  I wouldn't feel as bad about flaking, but then Maya tells me that she's leaving for Suckramento on June 12th.  That means I'll have like two weekends to see her before she bails.  And there probably aren't a lot of 80s Nights up in Sacramento.  They're still stuck in the 1950s, heh.

Ah, I love bagging on any city that doesn't fit my standards of modernity.  Y'know, nice cars, high crime rates, lots of hotties...

I won tickets to see the Dodgers last year, too.  It was against the fucking Pirates, though.  I couldn't name one dood on their team.  I remember getting really drunk though --  I spent like $30 on beer and a Dodger Dog.  I sat next to some secretary from my firm who I'd never met before named Diana.  She's really nice, but every time I see her I wonder if she knew how plastered I was, sitting in my seat chugging cup after beer filled cup, rambling onto Das (who's my official date for all sporting events).  She must think I'm an alcoholic. 

She's got a phat ass car for a secretary: brand new Expedition.  Another secretary has got a Lexus.  Ah, to be a pretty female who can type...

It's Friday.  Shit, guess I'll go home and sleep tonite.  I haven't had a good eight hours of sleep in a week.  I've been getting by on four or so recently.  I constantly feel as if I have a frog in my throat.  I'm hoping its leftover from my cold.  More likely it's caused by smoking so damned much.  Shit, I should quit smoking, but I don't feel like it.  Ray said something back in college that I totally agreed with -- a woman could get him to quit smoking, and I'd do it in a sec for one, too.  Ray's managed to quit without any pussy, and I did it for a long time without one as well.  OK, if the chick smoked, then I'd keep on doing it even more, more likely.  <SIGH> I'm afraid I'd be such a pushover for a woman.  Women think they can change a man, and a man thinks a woman will never change.  I guess the key to happiness in most relationships is how little either person has to change.  If you change a lot for the person, once the fuzzy feeling wears off you start looking at how much of your old self you've discarded, and you're bound to want to long for that and start to tire of all the changes you had just made for your lover.  And sadly, that generally coincides with you growing tired of your lover, period.

What the fuck am I talking about?  Jeezus, I sounded like Phil Fucking Donahue.  And I have no idea how homosexual relationships work, despite my cursory experiences as an observer.  Insert dick here, or stick tongue there; beyond that, don't ask me. 

Sometimes I realize I might come across as a homophobe, or a sexist, or even a racist.  I don't think I'm any of those things, but this is how my mind works.  Sometimes I'm kidding, sometimes I'm serious.  I guess if I say all these things though, at a certain level I must believe it.  What can a pizza do that a black man can't?  Feed a family of four.  Why can't Ray Charles read?  He's black.  <--Shit like that would get me seriously fucked up by any self-respecting black man, or woman for that matter (Pepa of Salt N' Pepa would put a serious hurt on me).  Obviously I don't think that shit's true -- plenty of black men can feed their families, no matter how large (just look at Evander Holyfield!), and nearly all African Americans can read.  Ray Charles can't b/c he's black, (duh!).  But at some point all the liberal wrappings my brain is covered in, and all the kind or open-minded thoughts that run through my head, they all vanish at some point, where I find jokes like that funny.  Same with my comments abouttraitor bitches, cavebitches, and whatever else I write.  I guess I'm disappointed in myself that I find this sort of shit amusing.

On the other hand, those jokes are really easy to remember.  If only I could find a party to tell them at...

OK, OK, last joke to get even with myself: What's long, round, white and hard?  Nothing.

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