Cranky-D

Some of you know me personally. I’ve been a long-haired hippy freak since 1991, which was the last time I had a hair cut by a professional. Even before then, much to my eternal shame, I would get it cut in a mullet to keep the hair long in the back, since my 21st birthday (I also got my earring on the occasion of the 21st b-day). Until last Friday.

My long flowing locks and I had a love affair which wouldn’t quit. The length never exceeded a certain amount since the hair broke off at a certain point. Every time I washed it, I had to put on relaxer to cut down on the frizz. Even so, I always had to comb out the inevitable snarls. Every time I washed it, I would have to pull of little balls of tangled, knotted hair. I suppose I could’ve cut down on that by having it cut every now and then, but I was really too lazy and cheap to do that. Even with all the precautions, there was no way either a comb or a brush could pass through my hair after it dried without removing even more hair. So, once dry, there was nothing I could do with it except flop it over with my hand into some semblance of a style.

To answer any questions about my social life, let’s just say that very few women like long-haired guys. I could go into how that fact influenced me, but I’m not sure this is the time for that. I will say that a few found me interesting in any case, but I imagine I lost many more opportunities than I was able to experience. I will also say that I considered having long hair as being a good filter against women who were judgemental. Though, since I am probably just as judgemental in my own way, I might easily have been a hypocrite. I acknowledge that I might still be a hypocrite.

I loved the feel of long hair against my skin. Those of you who have never had long hair have no idea how sensual it is. Even as it annoys when the wind blows, it still provides a sensation which cannot be duplicated. And, of course, doing the head-banging bit was a lot of fun, especially when around my short-haired friends who couldn’t manage to be as out there as I was. And I could always flop the hair in my face for a laugh, or when I felt like hiding.

Now, however, things are different. I had grown too attached to my long hair. I didn’t want to get it cut, ever. I whined in my beer to my best friend about the situation. Pathetic, really. While I could get a job as an instructor while having long hair, the pay is probably at least $30K less than I can get as a professional. Professionals don’t have long hair, and the difference in projected salary means that my debts will disappear far sooner. It’s not fair, but then again, life isn’t fair. So, last Friday, right after the first installment of my 2nd root canal, while my face was still numb, I went in and had that hair cut off.

I didn’t just go for a cut, I got cut short. Shorted than any cut I have had since I was 3 or 4 years old (when I had total buzz cuts, according to photographic evidence). I got a number 4 buzz cut on the sides, with the top being a max of 2 inches to help cover my thinning spot. Dammit, I didn’t know my hair was getting thin, but it is. Thanks, Grampa Schmidt (my mom’s dad).

As traumatic as the event was, or should have been, I’m already liking the result. I actually started liking it only a few hours afterwards. Originally, I thought the sides were too short, but now I think it’s probably okay. I also cut my grey beard off, and I think I look younger. I also think I look, overall, more attractive. Maybe I’m deluding myself. On the other hand, I’m no longer on the outside of society. I’ve conformed to the norm in my appearance. I have always liked being able to perceive myself as being different from everone else, and I have removed some of that difference. Now my differences arent’ as obvious at first glance.

Only a few people I know have seen the change. My best friend said it looks good, but then again, friends will do that. A bartender who is almost a friend said it looked good as well, but who do you believe? I noticed that people on the bus, and on the train, were a little less leery of me, but that could be my imagination. Before, I was usually either the last choice or no choice when choosing who to sit next to on the bus, and the transit police treated me a tad differently. The real test will come the next time I go to the gym, and the next time I visit my favorite beer bar.

I think my hair looks good. I might experiment with other styles, but I think this one works very well. I put myself in the hands of the stylist, and she chose well. She also told me I look like Jesse James, the guy from Monster Garage. I’m not sure if that was a compliment or a statement of fact. I don’t know what to think about that. He isn’t pretty. I certainly wouldn’t mind having his money, though.

Update: Man, does my head itch. What’s with that?

Well, the root canal went about as well as you could expect, except not.

First of all, I don’t like the doctor. He was way too businesslike. He lacked the proper chairside manner which is necessary to make the patient relax. I needed to relax since I had to endure the operation without the benefit of drugs. No nitrous, just pain killers. I’m surprised I was able to hold still as well as I did. The doctor treated me as if I were a piece of furniture, as if he were reading from a script. I can’t complain too much about what he did, since he responded well to my requests/demands for more pain killers. However, I think we both realized that there was one nerve that would not respond to pain killers, and I had to endure it. The pain wasn’t as bad as the pain I experienced before the procedure. It’s more the surprise of the pain. Since he knew which root was causing trouble, he could’ve warned me that he was headed down it so I would know. Instead, once I knew there was a problem root, I got to cringe in anticipation every time a file went down a hole. Furthermore, he broke a file off inside my tooth. He should’ve told me when it happened. Instead, he waited until after it was over. He got all the nerves out, and there is no more pain, for which I am grateful. However, he needs to learn to deal with people better. I think I will tell him that after my next visit, which will be the last time I deal with him.

The next appointment, he gets to try to get the file out. If he can’t, I live with it being in there. I imagine there is a higher likelihood of failure with it in there, which would mean an extraction and a implant. Yet more money. More work I cannot afford.

This whole experience will cost me around $1900. Kids, listen to your uncle dave. Go to the dentist twice a year. You’ll be happier than me, the guy who hates people screwing around in his mouth so much that he puts things off until they get expensive.

I had three bad teeth taken care of about a year and a half ago. It looked like root canal city for two of them, but only one ended up being a root canal. The other just had a really deep filling. That one was fine with the temporary filling, but was always sensitive after the permanent filling was put in place.

The last few weeks, that tooth has been very sensitive to cold. I started brushing a lot more often, and using mouthwash. Too little too late. The last few days there has been quite a bit of pain, and many other teeth as well as my jaw throbbed in sympathy. Especially at night. Ibuprofen in large doses helped. Sometimes.

So, this morning I went in to get evaluated, though I was pretty sure what the verdict would be. Yep, another root canal for me. However, instead of making me wait, I am having the work done this afternoon.

I really hate the dentist. It’s the most exquisite torture for me that you could possibly imagine. I wish they could give me some serious medication to make the experience easier. I think morphine would be an excellent choice.

Still, I’m glad I don’t have to wait. The pain, which is not as bad right now, has come and gone. I really don’t want to experience any more nights like the last two. And I don’t want to spend days anticipating the root canal experience. It is quite unpleasent for dental wussies like me.

Damn, one more post tonight. It’s 5:42am.

I think that most people who are anti-gun have never actually been exposed to a gun. Held one in their hand. Punched some holes in a target.

I don’t feel like providing links, but you can find them if you like. I’ve seen plenty of reports of anti-gun people being converted once they actually held a gun in their hands and shot some targets. Again, I’m not a news site. I provide opinions. If you like, hit some of the links on the sidebar. Kim DuToit is great for gun links about converts.

So many people realize after shooting a gun that a gun is not in and of itself evil. It is a thing. A tool. Yes, it is a tool to deal death. But you must realize that there are times when dealing death is the proper course of action.

I don’t think that another person has a right to deprive me of my life. And, if someone takes your money, are they not depriving you of a piece of your life? I say they are. I say that you have a finite time on this planet, and that if someone takes your money they have taken a small piece of your life. If you’re not armed, or if you are not prepared, it may be worth the trade to give up that little piece of your life. But if you’re a proper citizen, and armed, and ready to defend your life and your property, you should refuse to give it up.

I would prefer that the mere showing of a gun would change the dynam ic enough to make the predators retreat. But if it is not, one should be prepared to follow through. Sure, we’d all like to believe the best of our fellow human beings. But if they’re trying to deprive me of my sustenance, they should be prepared to be disappointed.

If you think the police can defend you, you are deluded. Most encounters take place within seconds. If you are a woman, you should have a gun at all times. I would hope you can get a carry permit for it, but I would still suggest you have a gun anyway. I would much rather you killed a potential rapist rather than live through a rape. And while I don’t know firsthand, I’ll bet almost every rape victim would agree.

Now, I’m a man. I’m a fairly big man, but not all that tall, though I have to believe other people who tell me that. I don’t carry, because I have not got my concealed carry license yet. But I plan to get one. Even so, I’m not much of a target because I tend to keep most people from bothering me simply because of my (perceived) image. I have not endured a real threat in years. I provide this information as disclosure. I’m not interested in bragging rights.

I think every woman should carry at least a .38, and be prepared to use it. There are plenty of nasty guys who truthfully need killing. I think any man who attempts or succeeds at rape or molestation should be killed. I think they should die if they even attempt such acts.

You know what’s even better? Most of the time, I believe, the fact that you are armed or can demonstrate that you are armed will solve the problem immediately. You can run off the bad guys without firing a shot. That is cool. That is how it should be. Be proactive. Understand that your protection is your business and no one else will help you. Unless you are my friend and I am there, of course.

It’s 6:03 am. Woohoo!!

Update
All redundancy in the second to last paragraph has been left for your enjoyment. I said it was an under the influence post.

I mentioned here about a guy who had given me and my father some trouble. I’m not really a fighter, but I also don’t put up with any shit. Not any more, anyway. I guess there’s a whole story there. Maybe I’ll get into it some day.

The guy mentioned has disappeared. He’s been gone for at least 10 days. My father told me about it earlier today in our bi-monthly phone conversation. I would call every week, but we need two weeks to come up with enough to say.

So, he’s gone. I assume someone finally decided that he wouldn’t put up with this guy’s crap any more and sent him to the great beyone. I will not shed a tear for him. He was a waste of oxygen. I sincerely hope he’s pushing up daisies somewhere, or floating in the bay.

Yeah, I have a nasty side.

I checked my father’s alibi, just in case. He said that he didn’t do it, and I take him at his word. If he had done it, he never would have said anything. Besides, the guy in question probably has a long line of people waiting to off his sorry ass.

Yep, I’m a bad person. See you in hell.

Oh, lordy. What is there to say about this contrived holiday?

Okay, I know. I don’t like it. Why? It’s simple. This holiday discriminates against the relationship-challenged. I happen to be one of those persons who lacks a significant other. I really don’t need a holiday to remind me of that fact.

I have only had one relationship that existed during this holiday. I was 18 at the time. I am 40 now. I will take a moment for you to gasp at my massive lack of mojo. I did have the inkling of something when I was 35, and it did develop into something which I still cannot explain but still provides some happy memories. But that all happened right after the 14th, so it doesn’t count in the big book of dave’s lack ‘o love on the 14th of February.

No, I don’t want your pity. I’m stating facts, not asking for sympathy. If I had to trade something I have now that I value for a better love life, I would not do it. I can live with things as they are.

Still, the whole exchanging cards and buying candy and flowers and whatever you’re supposed to do seems to involve a lot of stress, a lot of money spent, and all for a dubious reward. I am probably ignorant, but I dont’ understand why you would wait until one specific day in which you express your love for your significant or soon to be significant other. I would like to think that I would be good enough every day that I wouldn’t have to worry about reaching the finish line for Hallmark.

I am such a liar. I would shower my woman with stuff on this day if I thought it were what she wanted. And maybe I would kick myself for being with someone who required that I shower her with “love” on this holiday of mixed expectations.

Why is it that I post the most really late at night, or really early in the morning (it’s 4:30am), when I have a lowball of Jameson at my side? I will ponder this further.

I’ve been banned from commenting there for some reason. I thought I had posted a comment supporting Andrea, but I admit I was drinking at the time. Apparently I said something nasty, probably due to bad editing on my part. I couldn’t find an email address to apologize. Whatever. It’s still a good site.

Update: I emailed an apology to an adress which I thought would get me through. No repsonse. Furthermore, one of her detractors linked me, which makes it look like I’m in his club. I will not provide a link to his site, since I think it sucks ass. It’s one thing to complain, and another to complain in every damn post. I’m cranky, but dammit, I still have my less cranky side.

I have one subscriber on bloglines. Is the guilty party willing to say something about it? Like, is there something in the content you like?

Just curious. And desperate for attention. You don’t think I paid $30 for two years registration of my domain, and $11 per month for hosting, for nothing, did you?

This is really off the cuff, and definitely not well thought out. Just like you expect. Another 5 a.m. under the influence post.

I was reading here about how history textbooks did not accurately reflect the role of the american soldier in the cold war. Furthermore, the textbooks seem to gloss over the role of the Soviet Union (remember them?) in the cold war. Now there’s a big surprise.

I doubt there are any history textbooks used in any high school which are factually neutral. That’s because the texts are chosen by the local school boards. The bias of the individuals determines the content of the books. Texts in the south have been know to make the “War Between the States” very sympathetic to the southern point of view, just as texts in northern states probably do the opposite. This is to be expected when decisions on content are decided by committee. By the way, I “read this somewhere” and have no interest in providing links supporting my assertions. This isn’t that kind of blog.

I’m also ignoring a slew of other influences in education, notably the obvious liberal agenda of most public schools. This is pretty much a given. It’s also why I would either send my kids (if I had any) to a carefully chosen private school or home-school them. However, there is a solution. If I couldn’t afford either option, I would simply provide alternate information to my children. You can always show them carefully chosen history books which provide nearly unbiased information. I don’t believe you can get completely unbiased information from any source, since it is difficult for us humans to disconnect ourselves from our biases. Also, the much maligned History channel does provide a good deal of historical information if you watch it enough. I’ve learned quite a bit from watching it.

However, I think it’s just about a lost cause trying to get public schools to provide any real historical information. It’s very sad. I think the schools are wasting a good deal of the student’s time with irrelevancies. I wish they would go back to teaching reading, writing, arithmatic, real history, and critical thinking. If they only did those things, we would all be a lot better off.

Yep, another rambling post. I continue to live up to my byline.

I was just checking my “last 300 hits” stats provided by my hosting service. The vast majority are still automated. Many of them are trying to spam my comments, but that isn’t possible, so good luck auto-spammers. The rest are almost always search engines.

I did find one new trackback spam today, so it looks like I have to find another way to avoid the issue. I might just remove trackbacks entirely. No one is using them for a legitimate purpose anyway.

I get a lot of hits for Trebuche, just because I linked to something about them previously. I apologize to those looking for real information. I find them interesting, but I don’t know more than anyone who has watched the history and/or discovery channel.

What’s kind of funny is that I already have a search hit from google for Courtney+Love+weight+gain, and I only posted a Courtney post earlier today (or yesterday if you want to get technical, it’s 4:36 a.m.). Or perhaps they found the hit from my dead pool list.

I’m happy for the few hits that are obviously individuals. Keep coming back, the content should increase. I think I’ve found my groove again.

I have a tendency to put things off quite a bit.

When I moved here over nine years ago, in the fall of 1995, I wasn’t really sure how long I was going to stay. I had only been accepted into the Master’s program in computer science, and for all I knew that would be terminal. My scholastic record is not what anyone would consider stellar. I have quite a bit of talent, but my ability to motivate myself can be troublesome at times. So, instead of doing all the things you’re supposed to do, like changing your driver’s license, getting new license plates for the car, etc., I did none of those things. I figured I’d be here two years and would then move back to sunny southern California.

Time moved on. In 1999 I decided to get a motorcycle endorsement, which meant I had to get a new license. That was trouble-free. I also got a motorcycle around the same time, which I brought from California.

A few years later, I noticed that one of my tail lights was burned out. I couldn’t figure out at first glance how to replace it, since you had to take the inside of the car apart to do it. Since I rarely drive, I forgot about it. Hardly anyone signals properly anyway.

Late last November, I was driving along a local street, on my way to buy a lottery ticket, when I picked up a friend following me. Yep, the cops had finally caught up with me. I got pulled over. He told me he pulled me over for the burned-out tail light, but naturally having out of state plates had a lot to do with it. I said the car was in my dad’s name, and that he had let me borrow it. I did not say how long I had been here. Also, the address on my license was old, since I had moved last September. However, he never asked if that was my current address, and I never volunteered that information. Never volunteer any information that can be used against you. Furthermore, my proof of insurance was expired.

I’m used to minor fines for such things. Not here, baybee. The burnt out light was $120, and the lack of proof of insurance was $180 if you couldn’t prove later you had insurance at the time you were stopped. However, the cop said the fines were often reduced or waved.

Okay, this motivated me. I bought the new bulbs and replaced all the tail lights just to be safe. Once I figured out how to take the car apart, it was easy. The day after my thesis defense, I went downtown to the courthouse, hoping I’d get lucky. It was enormous fun trying to find a parking place. I figured I’d have to demonstrate that my lights worked to get the fine waved. I finally found a spot in the basement of the other courthouse. I forget why there are two, but there are.

I had to wait a few hours with the other poor people in order to see someone. I was armed only with my current proof of insurance and a receipt from NAPA for the bulbs. They are so trusting here that they took the receipt as proof and waved all fines. When she asked about the out of state plates, I explained that I would get the title over Christmas and get new plates in January (which was when my old ones expired anyway). She never asked how long the car had been here, and I never answered. She asked if the address on the license was current. I told her no, I had recently moved, and hadn’t had time to change the address. She suggested that I change it that day, and since I could do that in the same building, I did so. That cost me $8.

I got the title over Christmas. I put things off again until I picked up a parking ticket. I have never had a parking ticket in this town since I rarely drive anywhere. I didn’t realize that the metered spot I took disappeared at 3pm. I was lucky enough, however, to avoid being towed. The car in front of mine was being towed when I got there. Another $33 down the tubes.

I took this as a sign to get the title transferred and get new plates. There is a train that runs fairly close to where I live and ends up downtown, and it is much more convenient than driving and paying a lot of money to park. The whole process of getting the plates was simple and not too expensive. I think I spent $70 or so, because I had to both transfer the title to my name and get new plates. When I was asked how long the car had been here, I said “a few months.” Which is true if “a few” can mean as much as 110. So, that was my only exaggeration (or lie, if you prefer) during my dealings with the city. And since I was not under oath, I didn’t have a problem with exercising my free speech, which in my book includes a right to lie. I did not want to get charged for 9 years worth of registration, which is what would’ve happened. So, my plates expire in November since that is “a few months” before January. After that, I paid my parking fine and took the train back home.

I feel a little better about driving now. I know the lights work, and since I have local plates, no one can blame my driving on being from out of state. Now, watch me end up getting a new job somewhere else, so I can start the whole process over again.

And no, I didn’t do anything about the motorcycle plates yet. The bike won’t even be coming out for at least two months.

Well, the game just ended. I had it on the whole time, and I barely watched it. I spent the time reading weblogs.

I watched a few plays every now and then, but I couldn’t really see the point. We all knew that New England would win. The Patriots. America’s team. G-d I hate them.

I really don’t know why I hate the Patriots. I think it’s because I’ve heard too many people talk them up. One way to bring on the hate is to talk too much about a team. I hated the Steelers for years, even before I ever started watching football, because there was a kid in one of my classes in junior high who always talked about the Steelers. I hate the Cowboys because a friend of mine was always telling me he had a cousin who played for them. I think it was a fourth cousin, which in my book doesn’t even count as related. And I hate Miami just because they deserve to be hated.

I know my hate for the Patriots started when they beat the Rams in what I thought was a poorly-called Super Bowl. I don’t even remeber which one it was, but it was snowing. The hate continued because they kept winning. Now they’re a dynasty, I guess. I can’t wait for them to be brought down.

This whole season was a disappointment. I wanted the Chargers to go further. I wanted Green Bay to go further. Both teams ultimately screwed it up, even though they apparently have some talent. Of course, the Chargers will be going back into hibernation mode again. They only show up for the playoffs every ten years or so, and then go back to sucking mightily.

With football over, there is nothing to do on Sundays. I really cannot stand to watch any other sport on television, except hockey. And we all know how much hockey is being played this year, don’t we?

When I was deciding who to pick for the dead pool, there was one person I knew would definitely make my list. That person is Courtney Love.

Now, unlike many who picked her, I don’t want her to die. I just think she has lived a very reckless life, and reckless people tend to die young. Nor do I agree with many, perhaps the majority, that consider her to be a talentless hack. I think many people, including me, call a musician talentless when they really mean that they think said musician sucks ass. For instance, ask me about M&M, the plain or peanut rapper, and I’ll give you an earful of what I think of his dubious talent.

I have two Hole albums, “Live Through This” and “Celebrity Skin.” I made a compilation CD with all the songs from “Celebrity Skin” and a few choice cuts, including “Doll Parts,” from “Live Through This.” Part of the reason for the compilation is that I bought them used, and “Celebrity Skin” was pretty scratched up. Not so scratched that I couldn’t get a good rip, but almost. I used to listen to that compilation every day when I was interning at a government lab over a period of two summers. I like her writing and her voice. Or, if someone is ghosting for her, I like the ghost’s writing. I believe Kurt Cobain wrote “Doll Parts,” or at least influenced it, but he couldn’t have done much influencing on “Celebrity Skin” since he was long dead before that album appeared.

Yeah, she’s a major mess. Last year was her peak, when she assulted some people, showed Letterman her breasts, etc. I figured with all that drug use, her kid was going to end up an orphan very soon. However, she apparently has hired someone to keep her away from the drugs, so her demise is less assured. She decided her kid was more important than getting ripped all the time. I’m not really sure how I should respond to that. She was getting pretty close to a sure thing, and now she doesn’t even make the dead pool roundups.

The way things are shaping up, I’m going to get a goose egg for a score this year.

This has been cross-posted to the dead pool.

When I set this weblog up, I was a careful geek. I made sure the comments were protected even though I doubted I would really get any comment spam. Or any comments, either, but that’s a whole other issue.

Some time in the past few days, however, I got hit with trackback spam. I googled the topic to see what I could do about it. The first suggestion I found was basically the same one I found to avoid comment spam. The solution is to change the default name of the wordpress files so robots can’t find them, and leave empty files with the default names in place. So, I have now done the same thing for trackbacks. We’ll see if it works.

However, my annoyance is your dubious gain. Since I was already screwing around with the weblog, I have posted a FAQ and Manifesto. They are on the right sidebar, just below the contact information. Read and enjoy, or read and don’t enjoy, or don’t read at all, it’s entirely up to you.