I have been on the internet for well over a decade.

Remember when, if you wanted to do something on the internet beyond posting on various BBSes, you'd have to make a fucking website? Well, I do. Thanks to google and the wayback machine, I have recovered some of the more idiotic things I did with my time between the ages of 12 and 15...


In 1997 I started a website called "Goku's Dragonball Cafe." It eventually merged with an IRC friend's page to become... The Dragonball Pitstop! And guess what? IT'S STILL ON THE INTERNET. WTF. Last updated, by me, 22nd August 1999: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Ginza/8217/dbps/. From then on we moved the site to a free-account-without-banner-ads host called hypermart where it took on a much nicer layout. However, hypermart deleted all of its free accounts in 2004. The "reviews" section, however, still works on its own.. Which is hysterical, because it's me reviewing Dragonball movies. And one of them is a .txt file. Oh, I am still laughing.


I made this website in 1998, and continued it until 2000. It was for, yes, my backyard wrestling federation: http://sk8ter112.tripod.com/1aindex.html . Somehow, it is still up, wasting valuable internets.


Well, there's more. I had a Green Day fan site and I re-discovered several old posts I made on various different boards. However, I should really be getting in that hour-long nap before going to London.

Must be the moon

I went outside and tried to take pictures of the moon, because it was absolutely insane-looking. Clouds were passing under it really quickly, and creating some very cool effects with the light it was giving off. However, my camera sucks. A lot. So, I compiled a few shitty pictures – each of which caught a certain part of the awesome-looking-ness of the scene – and compiled them in to an animated gif. Now I have to go to sleep. Waking up in three hours to go to London.

Looking down this road that I'll soon say "I used to call home."

The last time I saw her she had vomited on her own chest while we were locked in a convenience store during a riot. She was sitting on the floor slumped against a row of refrigerators. Next to her was a tall table with tall chairs, around which some men sat and ate, looking out the shop's locked doors at the charging police, the loud and spontaneous fireworks, the chanting demonstrators. Her friends gathered and pulled her to the bathroom to clean her up.

The store clerk stood in front of the locked doors, facing a man holding a four-pack of beer who wanted to leave the shop. They exchanged words I couldn't understand and eventually, he left. And somehow I did as well. I stood on the shop's small porch looking out at the square which the street met at it's nearest end. There was a modest fire – the black bloc throwing into it whatever they could find. A slow moving tank came from another street which met the square, surrounded heavily armed officers in full riot gear. From the far side of the block I was standing on, a small group of muscular men in their mid-twenties charged down the pavement chanting football songs, looking for a fight. And they found it at the square, where police were waiting for them, batons in hand. I turned to the locked shop doors behind me. I knocked. The clerk shook his head "no."

I didn't want to leave the street – I wanted to see my sick friend. To my amazement, a man at one of the tall tables rose in my defense and spoke to the clerk in German. The clerk's disposition changed. I negotiated, smiling. I was let back in.

Shortly after, we walked out again. I had found my friend, the square had been mostly cleared and the fire put out. She walked away without saying goodbye, stumbling and nearly falling, being held up by another of her friends. Quickly they moved out of sight, leaving me to walk the streets with whoever was left.

But when I think of England in the winter I will always think of the long, single road leading to her village quay from my campus flat. It's the smell of trees and cold air; the sound of loud busses passing dangerously close to my right nearly knocking me off my bike; the layers of clothes making unseasonable sweat and stopping at the co-op; a miniscule ferry in a medium-sized river and the bottle of wine, half-drank pot of coffee and window pane i looked past to see it. When I think of England in the winter...

This has been...

The most unproductive day of my life. Except that...

TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY.
WOO.
I'M 24.

OK, see you tomorrow.

tonight...

I made a header image. Well, I made three, but they were all pretty stupid. So I went with a more basic approach... And that's all the energy I have at the moment.

am i mistaken? i thought i was invited.

The entire fight over healthcare in the United States gives me a source of never-ending entertainment. As fun as it is, something came up last night while I was eating a chicken satay that I think is important enough to mention here.

Obama is, in some ways, worse than Bush. Sure, he wants to pass this healthcare thing, he has nice and cushy social programs. But is it not just feed for the trough, painting himself a populist while he silently continues the same illegal wars? At least Bush was stupid enough to make an unpopular war the centerpiece of his administration, which caused a lot of anger.

It is also, for lack of a better word, depressing to see the voices that were so critical of Bush become sudden defenders of the status-quo. The arguments, the protests, the anger—they were politicking. Maybe I knew it back then, on some kind of lower-cerebral level, but wouldn't admit it out loud. Hoped for the best. Turns out it's true. There is no such thing as a critical voice anywhere near the American mainstream. When Chomsky goes (he's getting old, sad but true), we're on our own.

In Firefox v5.5b99 on OS X...

...the comment system on blogger doesn't work. So I have to switch to Safari... Bullshit.

wondering

what exactly do we wait for before making decisions?

sorry 'bout the dark.

So. I am online now, debating whether I should go to SU bar for a half hour. What a life this turned out to be. Nothing to write, just didn't want to let this thing die already.

confused

Pretty confused about what to do for my representation section as of right now. But that's natural, as I'm really just starting it. What's disconcerting about that is that I have only 2 1/2 weeks left to write this section, the software section, the regulation section, and the conclusion, revise it, and hand it in as a first draft. That's a lot of writing and work, and I already have about 8,000 words – the limit is 15,000. I may cut out the software section entirely, which will be a pain in the ass, but its the least significant, most hard-to-classify-within-my-framework part and I am really running out of room. And time.

Maybe this was a bad week to start a blog.

resources

I've been watching a lot of documentaries lately.
Some of them come from these places, and you can watch them too! lolerskates!

• theyliewedie.org/anarchism.org's documentaries list. Ones to definitely see: "Surplus - Terrorized into Being a Consumer", and Chomsky's talk on anarchism. Also: 'Manufacturing consent' 'The Corporation' and 'Money as Debt' if you haven't caught those yet. I still need to watch 'Living Utopia' and 'This is what Democracy Looks Like."

• some more conventional/popular ones. i know i got something from here once. maybe sicko?

• A subreddit for documentaries FTW

The Internet Archive of course has a ton of shit, as well. Especially good for finding (usually full) live shows from somewhat obscure bands. They have old against me!, plot to blow up the eiffel tower, and bear vs shark on there, at least.

This page is "spectacle.co.uk." They have the Debord-inspired documentary 'Call it Sleep' which I really like, and some other great things on there as well. They have a fuckton of videos, but they're kind of unorganized. Stick to the 'Catalogue' section to find full-length documentaries. However, only have some videos available... and often they ask you to purchase the films. So what you do is find an interesting one and google that shit. you google the shit out of that shit. make me proud.

dearly,
mghjr

7047

words and the introduction is finished. for now, at least.
tomorrow: begin representation!

one day i'll have a massive. fucking. brain. and a piece of paper to prove it.



ps. - about the link in the post header. tell me one of those doesn't have life on it. come on, at least ONE has to.

I sent out invitations

So I sent out formal blogger invitations to this to a few people. Well, ok, that's lame. You're right. What can I really say.

But really. Hey. I'm going to try to update a good amount, so if anybody's wondering what's going on – I guess you can find out here.

So if anybody calls, just tell them we're dead!

I am starting an online journal. It is a strange thing to do. Foucault – grand fucking master of sociology – says that journals are a technique of the self, a method through which individuals reconfigure discourse/available cultural information in order to bring coherence and clarity to their experiences – to form a meta-narrative of self. And he's fucking FOUCAULT. So I'm going to listen to him.


But this clearly isn't just for me, if it were I'd write it on paper or in .txt files and store it on a super-secure HDD in my closet. Anyway, It seems the dead bald guy is right, because I guess I am using it for day-to-day coherence. Only because so many go by without me knowing what I did, it's pretty scary actually. Maybe I have early-onset alzheimer's.


I used to do this when I was younger - my livejournal stopped getting serious attention, though, about three years ago. So I'm back again, to the internet.


I'm not sure that I'm self-indulgent enough for this any more, though.

And I bet this comes back, in some way, to make me feel idiotic...
...maybe I should really get on changing my profile picture and 'First Name/Last Name' on here.