I ain't missing you at all

I have just been informed that two of my best friends are moving in ...oh, about 15 hours. 1200 miles away. They told me the move was happening eventually. Apparently, eventually means two weeks.

I have appointments all day tomorrow. I'd never make it in time to see them go. Or give them hugs and wish them Merry Part, and Merry Meet again.

That does it. I'm going to hunt up all the embarrassing pictures I can find of freshman year, and post them on the Internet!

That'll show them.

I kick so much ass it isn't even funny.

As of 36 minutes ago, I have not had a cigarette in eleven months. And I don't miss them at all. Not even a bit. I don't miss those nasty, dried-up pieces of deliciousness ever.

I am, of course, lying out my fabulous ass. I miss smoking every day. I want one now. Occasionally, I dream about cigarettes. They dance about me, offering themselves. I ignore the phallic representations and chew gum. A lot of gum. I've even bought those candy cigarettes. They help, but not much. It's been eleven months, so I've bucked the odds, really. But I want a cigarette.

Twice now, at times of emotional duress, I've bought cigarettes. I carried them around for a few weeks, and then got rid of them.

So, that's why I kick ass. I am in continuous craving for a cigarette 24 hours a day. And I have not smoked one. To paraphrase a character from a Mercedes Lackey book, "I'll be damned if I'm going to let a little stick of dried weeds rule my life." In a month, I'm going to reward myself with a tattoo.

This one.


I found it on a ink stamp. It's Van Gogh's moon from the Starry Night. I've been looking at the painting for years and years, and still love it, so I find it unlikely that I'll get sick of having it on my body.

More than the image though, I love the story behind it.

Van Gogh painted The Starry Night while in an asylum at Saint Rémy de Provence. The vista in the painting is the one he had from his window (without the village, he added that with his imagination).
This image, that Van Gogh painted while under psychiatric care, has become one of his best known works, loved by people all over the world.

Just more proof of my conviction that the products of genius are more palatable than the genius him/herself.

Yes, that's an odd and possibly pretentious reason to get a tattoo. But there have been worse ones. Worse tattoos and worse reasons.

Live long, and prosper (he certainly did)

I just found out that James Doohan (Scotty to the uninitiated), died yesterday morning.
I'm not surprised that I cried a bit, since I cried in 1999 when DeForest Kelley passed.
Doohan's family is arranging to have his ashes launched into space (my source on that is the NY Times).
That is just... stellar.

I read a while back that Doohan was awarded an honorary degree in engineering from a university. A rep from the school said something about how "Scotty" made engineering cool.
I like that.
I really do.

It's great to be a geek.

one

This is my first blog post.

Hmm. I don't feel like an idiot yet.

Maybe it happens slowly. As the blogging becomes more addictive or something.

Yes, I am aware of the large amount of idiot bloggers on the internet (not internets, there's only one of them, people!). Even so, here I am, contributing to the chum. Why?

I don't know yet. When I figure it out, I think I'll put it in my blog.