dance, the demon whispers.

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24 september 1997

8:18 p.m.

Dear diary, I visited mom Monday night. It had been so long since I'd been out there, I nearly got lost before I'd realized there's now an extra traffic light to contend with en route. To celebrate the historical visit, mom planned out the evening with her usual "I've missed you" flair... Reheated beef tomato and four hours of bad television. Really bad television. If anything makes me wonder about my genetic bond with my mother, it's our taste in entertainment. It's all mindless entertainment, sure, but there are varying degrees of mindlessness. Actually, I can barely remember what I was subjected to. Blocked out by post-traumatic stress syndrome, probably. I'm pretty sure "Kung Fu" was in there, as well as "Walker: Texas Ranger" and "Rescue 911." Pretty much USA's infamous überboob lineup (come to think of it, at least I was spared "Baywatch"). I don't know if we saw or just talked about "Touched by an Angel" -- she said it's one example of how TV can still provide "quality programming." Try as I might, I couldn't stifle a truly evil laugh. She looked at me like I'd kicked a puppy. During one commercial break, I flipped around and came across The Traffic Channel. (The city now broadcasts from its traffic cameras on public access -- I guess there's been a downswing in the raving lunatic population). Even that was starting to look pretty cool. Relief came, ironically, from an unannounced visit by my cousins. Now, my mom's biggest pet peeve is people who come by without calling first -- a dislike I've inherited. Unfortunately, it's a regular practice of our kin... something that led to one of the most notorious Christmas letters in family history. Anyway, my aunt had some avocados to unload, and sent over her kids (knowing they were less likely to be barked at). And to my mom's chagrin, conversation had to be made. Their eldest sister just started classes at Tulane, and was immensely enjoying being away (an additional benefit being the prompt dumping of a loser boyfriend referred to only as The Neck). The middle kid, just starting her senior year in high school, dreams of following her man to Western Washington. The youngest -- I don't know how old she is, but probably much older than I think -- was content to spend the evening terrorizing Cat. It's hard to believe it's been less than half a year since they lost their dad. I would never dare say they're done with their hurting, but I was glad to see they were moving on comfortably, strongly. I left when they left -- ending an evening that was probably more exciting than my mom would've preferred -- netting a monster-sized bottle of laundry detergent, a case of ramen and thirty bucks. I've really got to visit more often. Boy am I in trouble. There's a new Björk album out. Stumbling across Sarah McLachlan on "Rosie" tonight has me sold on her latest effort. And Greg's been gushing about the last Pizzicato Five disc (which I didn't buy because I got the title mixed up with an earlier album). At least I lost my taste for Fiona Apple. I'm still weirdl fascinated by her Calvin Klein-esque video, though. Money. Must get money. I hear the police department's hiring... I realized a few days ago that I've never gotten a job by looking for one. Dumb luck and occasional nepotism account for any paychecks I've managed to earn. I think I'll try walking around with a target on my head for a while. I've got a date -- as the cheesy posters say -- with OS8. I stopped by the bookstore last week to play with the Macs on display (the funky green eMate 300 in particular), and had a chance to see the much touted update to the Macintosh operating system. I don't know exactly what impressed me about it. The basic look was new, but nothing to write home about since I use Kaleidoscope to get even wilder looks. The integrated internet suite is meaningless to me, 'cause any geek knows how to find exactly the same stuff for free online. And with the guy behind the counter more interested in pushing IBM Thinkpads, there wasn't any "suggestive selling" going on. It just felt snappier -- quicker, slicker. It probably isn't, but I'm also one of those people who swears a clean, recently vacuumed car runs better than a dirty one. What can I say, it was shiny and new. Momentarily forgetting my cynicism over endless "software upgrade" scams, I decided to get it. I held on to enough sense to not give any more money to the bookstore, though. So, I ordered it online (reluctantly accepting half a dozen cookies in the process) -- further asserting my mastery of the 'net thang -- and now I've got a new brain for my baby sitting here on a little plastic disc. I don't look forward to sorting out the mess it'll probably make of my computer's current setup. A setup carefully tweaked to work exactly how I want it to work, perfected after months of clicking, dragging and crashing... just waiting to collapse like a house of cards. Nervous, I waited to hear some encouraging words from Mac guru (and fellow Kaleidoscope fiend) CJ. She could run a space station from her desk, so if the change didn't leave her sobbing on the floor, then dammit I can handle it too. On the other hand, if you don't hear from me for a while, watch the news for the horrific story of a Waikiki moped rider fatally brained by an airborne Frooter. I can't believe they're advertising "Magic: The Gathering" on MTV now. At least they know their target market. What gets me is the slogan: "All you need is a brain, a deck and a friend." Most of the "Magic" players I've ever had the misfortune of tripping over are memorable specifically because they were lacking in both non-deck categories.