So that's what it's all about.

I think I begin to understand how things are now:


And they say that version two was better. I am not so sure about that. Certainly more interesting to play with... ;)
Thanks to EJ on this one.

Hey, look what I found!

I was digging through my pile of books, looking for reference notes on how to set up my laptop to be able to compile computer programs for one of my classes. I happened upon a stack of papers and books I had gathered during happier days when I was still very serious about someone. I had fallen in love with her while off at college. Sadly, as things often go in the state of relationships, I was more into her than she was into me. While she cared for me in her own way, she wasn't as ready to become serious with me. We left off very cordially, and no matter how much time has gone by, a set of luminous blue eyes surrounded by unruly curly brown hair can immediately be recalled when I let myself walk down memory lane.

Amongst these books and papers, was a small set of poem books by Steven Javan Jones, whose psuedonym is Javan. I did a quick search and found one of my favorite poems by him after breaking up with this young woman was among the ones that he offers as a sample poem. I intend to share this poem with my exceedingly large reading audience. Perhaps it will brighten up your day as it did mine whenever I felt down.

Someday, I will smile - Javan

Someday, I will smile
And find the warmth of that smile
Reflected back at me.
Someday, I will reach out to someone
And find that I only have to reach halfway
For she will be reaching out for me.
Someday, I will find
The true meaning of the word Love
That many use so carelessly.

Some day I will find
Someone with whom I can share
But for now, I must try to know myself
And the world around me
So when the time comes for me to give,
I will know the meaning of my gift.

What's important in finding someone?

A while back, I discovered that I found the appearance of this young (young being relative, she was about three years younger than me) woman very appealing to me, so I went out of my way to spend time with her and learn more about her. I think it had to do with her mediterranean appearance and her very heavy "Brooklyn" accent.

I spent time sitting next to her, talking about things in her life, listening as she told me more about herself. I learned about her failed relationship with her last boyfriend, how he had cheated on her as well, how she came from a broken family, how she had never spent any time in Brooklyn and so on. Often, this time was outside on a bench as she was a habitual smoker.

Being an ex-smoker (seven years and counting!), it's always tough to resist the desire to ask for a cigarette or want that rush you get after the nicotine gets into your blood. Even after all this time. (There are new studies that may hint at the fact that you make well worn mental pathways in your brain that allow you to fall back into old habits more easily. So much for the devil made me do it excuse.) Anyway, I was willing to put up with this temptation to spend some quality time with her. Finally, I got around to saying that I might be interested in something more and she asked me what my astrological sign was. I told her that I was a leo and her reaciton was, "Oh, you're a hopeless romantic." Then she put out her half smoked cigarette, got up and said goodbye. I haven't seen her since. I think she claimed to be a cancer. (Well, there may be some irony in that factoid.)

At the time, I was taken aback. I'm a hopeless romantic? Where on my face was this information stamped? Ironically, her prediction proved true. It appears that I am indeed a romantic person, considering what I like to do when I am dating. But hopeless? Come on, now. I'm not hopeless, just unmotivated. I say that I just need to find the right woman to unlock the me trapped inside of me.

Then, I recovered (somewhat) from that and then thought: Since when did the sign upon which you were born under determine whether you could date a person? What happened to shared interests or mutual respect? What happened to physical desire, compatible personalities, or intellectual stimulation? How does the vague blurb that you read in the daily newspaper tell you that it's okay to date this person, and the person under some other sign is anathema?

Is there such a thing as a logical romantic? I like to think that I am such a person. Or is there an opposite, an irrational thinker? There must be, since in math, there is such a thing as an irrational number.

The leaves, the leaves!

If there's anything I like about fall, it's the leaves on trees turning colors. Conversely, if there's anything I dislike about fall, is raking those same leaves off the ground and bagging them. If only they could bio-engineer trees to keep the leaves and reuse them next spring. Ah well, wishful thinking on my part.

Back to the turning of the leaves. I happened to be heading out east on Long Island this weekend, via the Northern (State) Parkway. (The reason it's called a parkway is because it is supposed to seem like you're speeding down a road surrounded by park land. Slow down and see the colorful leaves, just not in the left lane, thank you!) As I was driving, I couldn't help but observe how beautiful the green trees were, intermingled with oranges, yellows, browns, reds, magentas, and purples. It seemed like I was driving through a corridor of color. I so badly wanted to share this experience with someone.

I tell you, if I ever find the right woman again (If you love her, let her go. If she comes back, she's the one.), I intend to drive the legal speed limit during this time of the year to enjoy seeing the range of colors, perhaps, listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Then take a slow walk in Caleb Smith state park just east of the end of this parkway as we sip on a nice hot fall tea. Then spend the evening before a toasty fireplace. Well, I can dream, can't I?

Slow down!

I realized that I've been posting practically every day for a week now. I think that I am posting so fast that I may be getting overwhelming in volume. Not that this is a terrible thing, rather it is kind of like getting drowned in a cacophony of sound. You don't get to appreciate what you're hearing (or in my case reading/reflecting).

What I plan to do is to continue to write what I am thinking, but not post it immediately. Sort of saving them up for when I will disappear off the face of the earth in preparation for finals week (feels like month for me). I suspect that this will allow me to write the time independent stuff and reflect upon them more before posting. I'll continue to post anything that is dependent on time.

I saw Ragtime, the musical!

I recently watched the musical, Ragtime, at a regional venue. It's about a time in the early twentieth century when there was a lot of tension between the Haves and Have-nots. It was a decent musical, with some great chorus parts and lots of jazzy music (i.e., ragtime) and a very large ensemble. The set was very minimalistic, staged mostly with a projector, scrims and drops. There was even a cool working and self propelled Model T.

What I noticed most of all is how stiff all the Haves (rich white people) were when they danced. (Since the choreography was superb, this may have been intentional.) The way that they danced seemed over-civilized and stylized to the point of being boring. Then, there was a scene when they introduced the major black (and somewhat wealthy) protagonist, named Coalhouse Porter, in this great jazz number that showed an entirely different style of dancing. Every move the dancers made was free, flowing, energetic and extremely expressive of happy emotions. You could really see how happy to be alive they seemed by the moves they made. Sometimes, I do wonder if they were born with the ability to dance, even though I know better.

Such a vast contrast between the two (out of three) major groups represented in the musical. To see the realistic comprimises that people made to protect "us" from "them" was disheartening. I think the most poingant part of the musical was when Brother (one of the Haves, they don't get names for some reason), spurred by these compromises he has seen around him, goes to the poor side of town to find Coalhouse. In that scene, Coalhouse asks Brother what he wants with Coalhouse, and they launch into the song Justice/He Meant to Say, initially sung by the character Emma Goldman and then joined in a duet with Brother. A real tear jerker. I almost shed a tear. Yet, everything that had been sung in that song had been left unspoken. He goes on to say at the end of the scene, "I know how to blow things up."

It got me to thinking. How often have I left things unsaid to those I cared about? I recall times when I held back tears of frustration by not saying what I trully felt to those who had hurt me. There were times when I felt so strongly about something, yet I restrained myself from saying that I cared. And more prosaicly, there were a number of times I kept quiet when I really wanted to shout out, "I think I am in love with you!"

Perhaps you ask why I consider it prosaic? I think that more has been said, sung, written, expressed, painted, and thought of love that to attempt to romanticize it further is something akin to trying to painting a white painted wall white again. It's been done before and only those who painted it know that it happened or mattered at all.

Even though the previous paragraph has some meaning in this post, I am digressing much further than I had intended. I was talking about regret and how I recalled the times I've regretted not saying a thing. Would I be willing to go back to that time when I chose a different path by not saying anything? I don't know. What if the path I have taken has made a difference? Would I have become the person I am, tested by the travails of another's life?

At moments like this when I contemplate things I have left unspoken, I wonder at how different my life might have been.

Grant me Serenity, Courage and Wisdom

Having lived in and around New York City all of my life, I am accustomed to living in a fast paced environment. If the speed limit is 30 miles per hour, people drive at 40. If the sign says walk, you walk, but at a pace just short of run. When someone says they need something now, the needed it two days ago, and have finally caught up to the point where they are demanding it from you. I am not sure where the phrase, "Snooze, and you lose," came from, but it would be very apropos if it were coined in NYC.

One of the quickest ways to irritate me is for someone to take their sweet time to do something when they could have done it quicker and just as well, all the while, keeping me waiting. It's something that causes me to go from Jekyll to Hyde at the drop of a hat. Keep me waiting longer than I think necessary is always a quick way to get on my bad side.

So imagine what it would be like if I moved to someplace south of Maryland? Gentle, charming Southern hospitality aside, I'd probably get arrested for wringing someone's neck for taking too long. I was already grinding my teeth after reading this post. I'd be rolling my eyes at the inane offended-poor-little-ole-me attitude and I would be trying very hard to keep my hand at my side instead of using it to knock some sense into that poor offended person. How does that prayer go?

Lord,

Grant me the serenty to accept things I cannot change.
The courage to change things I cannot accept.
And the wisdom to hide the bodies of the people I kill today for pissing me off.

I forget how the actual prayer goes, but this is the one that is one I am more likely to use.

You know it's not your day when...

You know it's not going to be your day when __________.

In my case, I realized that I should have rolled over and pulled the covers back over my head when I realized that the phone line wasn't working. Then, I banged my knee into the door frame and left a six inch red line of blood under my skin. It's still throbbing right now. I started up my car and I heard a high pitched whine of metal grinding against metal. Then I was pulled over on the way to class because it appeared to the officer that I didn't stop at a stop sign. (I did come to a full stop five feet from the white line, it must have been when he was reaching down for his coffee.)

Fortunately, the rest of the day up until now has been passably okay. As for the phone line, it helps to know a little something about how they work. I discovered that the problem is outside of my domicile. Time to microwave the heat wrap to place on the knee and see if I can still manage to walk in the morning. Then to figure out where else I can cut back to pay for more car repairs.

Farmer or Hunter?

Once again, I was at Panera Bread, battling the endless war on assignments and labs ladled upon me by my professors (Did you know this is supposed to mean "for knowledge"? When did it become "for work"?). I hear this booming deep voice from the other side of the half wall of my booth saying, "Do you never want to have to worry about money again?" My immediate thought was, "Another shyster trying to hawk his get-rich-quick schemes on some unwilling, yet caught in the fly trap of hopes-and-dreams, victim."

Then his voice went low, talking urgently about something that I couldn't hear over the background noises and music. "What an actor," I thought, "he must be a great salesman because he plays on their emotions as if they were instruments." Then he laughed a booming laugh that drowned out all the background noises and the victim laughed weakly along with the guy. I thought, "Take it easy, you're losing that fish!" Then they finished their meal and walked out of the establishment.

Now, I didn't really think these words, but the disgust I felt mirrored the cynical words I used to describe what I felt (I did think that fish line though). As much as I dream of financial independence, I do not long to throw away what I've earned on some risky venture that will do nothing but get that salesman his commision and me flat broke. I'm a farmer, not a hunter. (In fact, my family comes from a long line of agriculturists.) What I mean by this is that I would rather have a consistent but gradual increase in my harvest, in this case, financially. I'm not into the big catch or feast followed by famine prospect as a hunter would be.

No major losses (dot com bubble anyone?) and no serious killings. Yeah, I know that's an investment strategy of someone more than twice my age, preparing for his or her retirement. And the guy who has a hunter mentality will likely be romanticized for his (questionable) skills and receive all the glory during his feasts. All the while, the farmer sort of fades into the background with his inglorious and common labors. (I suddenly have this light going off in my head and I see that there is a horrible sense of irony here. Perhaps, I need a huntress in my life?)

What type of investor/personality are you? A Farmer, reaping consistent gains, or a Hunter, looking and searching for each big killing (s)he can make, and then when the pickings become lean, reminisce about the good old days? *cues in Sinatra's My Way*

What did he say?

This is from Overheard in New York:

Black guy #1: How many credits are you taking this semester?
Black guy #2: 12.
Black guy #1: Why so few credits?
Black guy #2: What do you mean, why so few credits?
Black guy #1: Yeah, why so few credits?
Black guy #2: Tuition, nigga!

--B52 bus

Overheard by: Andrea Quijano

No way! Did he really say that? I am having trouble believing it! It just goes to show, you really are surrounded by dumb people.

For those who don't know, after 12 credits, you are considered as taking a full course load, and all the credits over twelve are gravy. You don't get charged for them!

When did I become so comfortable?

Did you ever get that feeling that you've walked into the wrong place? For instance, you walk into the bathroom and you notice that there are only stalls, an exceptionally large mirror and frilly things around the sink? Or walk into a bar dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and notice that there aren't any females and everyone is wearing leather? (This really happened to me! I turned tail and was back in my car in less than thirty seconds.) Or went to a concert and noticed that you were the only one who didn't have holes in your pants or colored hair?

It just means that you've entered a world that you've never been in before. It's a time where you get to stand up and become the hero or be a zero as it were. Do you boldy go where no (hu)man has gone before? Do you nochanlantly walk into the stall, make use of it and wave to the woman that walks in as you exit? Do you turn red faced and walk out as if you were being chased by angry demons? Do you wink at the leather clad man who is eying you in ways you've never thought you'd be eyed? Do you retreat in confusion and embarrasment upon the realization of where you were? Do you wonder if those people in that mosh pit will come your way swinging?

A life never risked is a life never lived at all, to paraphrase the adage. I sometimes wonder if the more I learn, the less willing I am to walk fearlessly along with my curiousity towards something that I have never experienced before. When did I become someone who decided that being comfortable was enough and that I didn't need to look at what was behind the next hill. At what time did I decide that boldly going where I had never been before was something that wasn't as facsinating as it used to be? Can I pinpoint a time where I submerged my curiosity with the desire to be content with resting on my laurels? When did I enter that viscous cycle that has mired me into a stay at home person? When did I become like my parents?

I think it may be when I started to feel the pressure of responsibility and duty for others encroach upon my freedom to do what I willed. I wasn't ever wealthy, but I always did what I wanted and didn't need money to be happy. It was the thrill of discovering something new or understanding how something that I had never touched before worked. It was the wish to see what was around that corner that I had never been to. When did I lose that innocent curiousity? When did I lose the joy in something new? While I can't pinpoint some exact date that put me into this slide towards enervation, I can see that I may be nearing bottom. It's something to ponder as I lament my lost innocence.

They're sending FEMA!

This cartoon by Dana Summers has been the best laugh I have had about politics in a while. I just have to share it.

What women want?

I was sitting at Panera Bread during the lunch hours, working on my laptop, being soothed by the random noises and words surrounding me as I concentrated on (catching up on) my engineering work. As often happens here, my ears will catch a snippet of conversation that will interest me and I will listen for a while in the guise of looking stumped and concentrating on my screen. Seriously, I have better things to do, but it helps my concentration if I have something to distract me every once in a while. Besides, with my lack of prospects, I need to find some form of entertainment. It's rather funny to see that Overheard in NY was recently in the paper. I don't live in NYC, so they won't get this from me. It really is because our lives are so boring and staid that we listen to (eavesdrop?) other people's conversations. It's not like they're talking quietly anyway.

On this particular day, two men in their power blue dress shirts and slacks sat down at a table and started to eat their meal. As I was working, I overheard a snippet: "It's getting to the point where I just want to hump her." Suddenly, I was all ears. This came from the guy with the tonsured hairdo. The other guy, trying to defend his happy(?) marriage responded that this was something less than safe. Tonsured responds with, "Yeah, I know. You know what my fantasy is? I tell her that I'm going to leave my front door open and she drops in." Tonsured goes on with some very sordid and graphic details and concludes, "This is only a fantasy, you know?" The other guy responds that this isn't likely to happen. After this, I stop listening and go back to concentrating on my work.

The only thing is, I am still thinking on that conversation. My thought was, "Wow, what a pig." I'm a guy, and some of the things he had said simply make all guys look bad. And yet, he's more likely to get the girl than I am. Think of it this way. He's got a job, which is probably stable and he is established. I'm unemployed, living check to check, and racking up the credit card debt trying to pay off my schooling. He's aggressive, and will let that woman know what he wants if he wants to. I will give subtle hints (that are often misread) and see that girl walk out the door without giving me a second thought. His attitude is confident, which lends him an air of "control." On the other hand, I am quiet and shy, and will seem diffident or aloof, making it hard for the girl to get close or feel comfortable with getting into a conversation with me. He'll undress her with his eyes, and I will look intensely into them. He will know what chest size she is and I will know what color her eyes are and whether she has freckles. He will say something that relaxes her, and I will say something that will offend her. He sees her as a bunch of body parts and I see the entire package. He comes off as a self-assured, affluent, and confident guy. I come off as the one you keep an eye on because he might be a stalker.

So, tell me again, why do females go for someone like Tonsured and not me? I pay attention to them, and they get uncomfortable. Or is it as Chris Rock says, "Women are all LIARS." The things women say they want aren't really what they want. Is it really because they want to have the feeling of accomplishment that they saved or corrected someone's wayward habits? I'll be the first to think otherwise because I have listened to conversations when the ones they've "saved" act no different when their significant other aren't around. Perhaps I may be giving them up, but sometimes, curdled milk can't be saved.

Or perhaps, maybe it *is* all a matter of perception. Perhaps, I should perceive less and look at more. Objectify, not identify with? All matter is constituted of smaller parts. If I see the smaller parts better, will that make it easier to see the bigger picture? Maybe I should know if she has a great ass, whether she's wearing a thong, and be able to eyeball someone's chest and know the size and measurement. Or, maybe I should go rent that movie Mel Gibson was in, What Women Want. Will I finally understand what they see in someone like Tonsured? Or should I rent Old School? If I act the jerk, will I suddenly attract women like flies to honey? Or is that type of understanding like trying to touch the stars?

Princess Bride, the Musical?

This is awesome news. They're planning on making a musical out of Princess Bride. I may just have to dig out the DVD and watch it again as I recover.

http://www.playbill.com/news/article/94526.html

I wonder how they're going to do the rolling down the mountain slope scene. I'm sure they'll come up with something.

Besides, I've been dying to say this to someone: "There's a shortage of perfect breasts in the world. It would be a pity to damage yours."

Update on wine making. (Day 8)

Just an update on the post I put up about making wine. I just racked it into another "barrel" or in this case, a glass jug about the size of a five gallon bucket. I became quite light headed from inhaling the fumes (on an empty stomach). They don't tell you what a royal PITA it is to clean the lees out of the primary fermenter (8 gal plastic bucket).

A note to remember when cleaning out the bucket. Put a strainer over the drain unless you like snaking the drain!

Poisoned!

I finally stopped trying to puke my guts out in the toilet. This has probably been the worst case of food poisoning I've ever suffered through. I wish I knew what it was that I ate to take me out like that. I spent all of yesterday in bed or making offerings to the porcelain dieties.

Maybe it was the fish at the wedding. Who needs an emetic when you can eat stuff like that? It tasted great when I ate it. Ah well, on the bright side, I missed out on the torrential rains today.

You know, I'm kind of hungry. What am I thinking?!?

Can I learn to dance?

I went to a wedding today. If I could think of another situation that would feel like happy torture, I would name it. To clarify this, I mean that you're happy for the couple (even if the poor guy is being sentenced for life) yet you are tortured by being the third wheel at a table full of couples and being forced to listen to love songs through most of the reception. No, as much as I wanted to open up the veins in my wrist, I forgot to bring anything sharp enough to do the job right.

Forget about scoping for a possible girlfriend candidate. The ones that are actually attractive enough to capture my eye are either married, seriously dating someone by bringing a candidate of their own to show off at the wedding, or so trashed (from envy?) that they aren't coherent enough to talk to. Yeah, it's tempting to take advantage of them. Except that half of the people there are related to me in some way. How does one know for sure that this isn't your third cousin from your grandfather's first marriage? And to add another reason to not take advantage of them, I was asked to be the designated driver. The rest of the attractive ones that are there came with their family and I know what happened the last time I went after such an attractive female.

To further feel like a wet blanket, the DJ insists on playing every sappy love song that exists. So when everyone at your table gets up to slow dance, you're stuck watching their purses. Though, to be honest, I can't dance very well. I only know how to do the three step shuffle (right step, tap left foot next to right, move left back to where it started from followed by right foot and repeat) as I sway around. However, I don't want to get stuck with the purses, I want to be up on that dance floor swaying with my hip attached to some pretty lady in a silk dress. Talking about something that makes us both laugh.

Perhaps this makes me a hopeless romantic. It could be the reason I am standing against the wall, doing my best to keep it from falling over. It could also be the reason I get asked to drive the poor drunk people home in a rented van. It could also mean that I am more sensitive to the reality that my arms are empty and that I am alone, waiting for someone to come along. Or it could be symptomatic of something else. I wonder how much dance lessons cost.

Expectations.

Yes, I'm displaying my lack of artistical talent for all to see.

The Silken Tent
- Robert Frost

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.

Do you ever feel that you are entrapped by the expectations of others? As egregious as this sounds, I often feel that it is not my expectations for my life that drives me to move on and succeed, but the expectations of others.

Sometimes, it is the loving pull of the parental units that insists that you strive harder, that even doing better than everyone else is not really enough. (Perhaps this is merely a cultural thing.) That not only do you need to do better than everyone, but you must do better than what you did in the past. At times, I feel tortured by this feeling of inadequacy. Will I always feel that scoring the highest score on an exam isn't good enough unless it is a triple digit score?

There are other expectations, such as the expectations of friends, whom, as cherished as they are, weigh down on you when you don't wish to hear about it. Don't take this wrong, I know that often as they rely on me, I do rely on them. However, there are those times that it is inconvienent. For instance, when you are feeling very depressed for whatever reason, a friend calls you to share the news that he broke up with his girlfriend and just wants some sympathy and a punching bag to get the anger out of his system. Being a good friend can sometimes mean that you stay up until six am in the morning listening to him wax on about how things should have been, and you knowing full well that you will have to be at work at nine.

Expectations could come from your workplace. For example, your job expecting you to be on time, even though you haven't slept a wink. Another example would be having the hot, yet clueless secretary of your supervisor's boss demanding that you provide a pointless metric report on how well you have been selling service contracts that you're not allowed to pitch during the work hours, and won't get paid for until the customer sends in a check with all the signed paperwork. Or having them expecting you to just pick up without warning and fly out on the six o'clock flight the next morning for four hours, then drive another three hours to a client's location, fix their machine in four hours, get back into the car and drive another three hours north to your hotel (in total, a 17 hour day including the two hour wait at JFK to board the plane or the 45 minute drive to the airport) and get paid for a mere 9 hours. Then wake up at five in the morning to do it all over again. And upon returning to the office, get berated and accused of trying to get the company in trouble for not taking your unpaid lunch hour.

Perhaps it's not the expectations that grate at me so much as the insensitive ingrates who expect them from me. Maybe I am embittered by the greedy ones who take advantage of those who are willing to freely give of themselves. Is this the reason that my social skills are stunted? Is the root cause of why I can't trust anyone is really due to the fact that I have been taken in, then exploited beyond any acceptable level based on promises that things will improve (conditions never appreciably improved while I was there) and finally discarded when I was no longer wanted?

If so, a curse on those who did so only for the opportunity to get ahead. May their lives be interesting beyond measure, may their efforts lead them to nothing but ruin, may they see their opportunities of happiness fade like the last rays of the setting sun, may the relationships that they treasure turn to faded memories of a happier time never to be attained henceforth, may their friendships become nothing more than distant acquaintances and may they always know for the rest of their living days that the reasons for their losses rested entirely on their machiavellian ambition. So sayeth the meek and humble of the earth.

(Well, didn't that just take a detour at the end? Hopefully, this allows the bile and anger I have felt towards my last employer finally find a release and I can move on with my life. Though, in this case, my vitrification lies wholy on middle management.)

So what music do you listen to when...

Warning! If you have recently exited a relationship, do not read this article!


You have been warned. Read on if you're emotionally stable.

So, onto a topic that will cause some discomfort. What music do you listen to when you break up with someone (or vice versa)? Not that I have recently broken up with someone (which makes it easier to even listen to this music). When you break up with someone, do you listen to what's on the radio? Or do you break out that dusty CD with the music that when you listen to it, makes you feel like someone took a rail spike and jabbed it into your heart? So what do you listen to when your heart aches when it breaks?

Do you listen to something like Reba McEntire's Once You've Learned to be Lonely, Bryan White's Not Supposed to Love You, or Babyface's When Can I See You Again? Would you listen to Brian McKnight's Six Months, Eight Days, Twelve Hours or K-Ci and Jojo's How Long Must I Cry? Perhaps Destiny's Child Emotions or Usher's Let it Burn? Maybe the perenial favorite, The Tony Rich Project's Nobody Knows?

Or do you torture yourself by breaking out dusty albums by Journey, All 4 One, 98 Degrees or Boys 2 Men? Would you start with something like Air Supply or Luther Vandross? Maybe some Marvin Gaye, Barry White or Harry Connick Jr.? Is Shai, Silk, Atlantic Star, Jodeci, or R. Kelly playing on your stereo or portable? Do you salve the wounds with music from Fionna Apple or Alanis Morrisette?

Does listening to Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer or Pantera soothe the raging anger in your heart from being told that you aren't that special someone? Do you start listening to Disturbed or Drowning Pool? What else do you listen to that is cathartic?

Say what you will, the ache of the heart pulls you in certain ways you don't wish to experience. Are you someone who hides and nurses the wounds of a broken heart? Or are you one who likes to poke and prod the festering wound? Do you do something different or adventurous? Do you remove everything important to your past relationship from you life when you decide to end that defaulted relationship? We all have music that we listen to that helps us get over the heart break. So what's yours?

Want some wine with that...

I've decided to take on a new hobby: making wine. (I found another unemployment check, which had gone missing, in a stack of junk mail. So, instead of paying the bills, I'm spending it. Perhaps, I may have money management issues.) Yep, that's me, the pioneering asian wine maker. I told this to a friend and he told me that he had never heard of an asian who made wine. (He has such great trust in me to not screw it up because he is asking for a bottle when it is done.) Well, if noodles can go to Italy, wine can come to China.

Since this is a spur of the moment thing, I found the closest place that sold a wine making kit and bought it. So, now I am feeling much like I am back in the chem lab as I mix various powders into a large 8 gallon plastic bucket. Only, this time, instead of pouring the concoction down the sink when I am done, I'm ultimately going to drink some 20-30 bottles of this stuff. I wussed out and bought a grape juice kit. I further emasculated myself by reading the damnable instructions. They claim it is four easy steps. We shall see.

I'm making something I can't even pronounce: Cabernet Sauvignon   The guy who sold it to me had a strange look on his face when I told him what I wanted to make. I think he was trying to stifle his laughter from hearing me mangle it so badly. I understand it is supposed to be pronounced cab-er-nay sav-in-yon. I made myself tongue-tied trying to pronounce the latter word. (It could be worse, I suppose. I could have asked for the cabinet savior kit.)

I could have made beer. And I could be drinking sooner if I had made beer. I just couldn't resist making something I might drink a few years from now. Besides, if I had made beer, my friends would come over and polish it all off in one sitting. Well, in six weeks, I will find out if I threw away more money or if this is something drinkable. Alright, some people will say that if it's alcoholic, it's drinkable. I happen to like enjoying the taste of things too.

Are we all emotional yo-yos?

There are days where I feel that I am stuck in Limbo. I have been bouncing back and forth between excessive happiness and bouts of depression. I'll have episodes like last Friday's post followed by Sunday's post. Then I would swing back to another exuberant outburst of happiness. I'd really like to get off this emotional rollercoaster.

Actually to be honest, I'd just like to put an end to my search for a significant other. To know that I don't have the distraction of seeing if so-and-so noticed me or if I should speak to so-and-so about this subject. The irony in this attitude is that I know that having a significant other doesn't mean that the rollercoaster ride will end. Rather, it'll just diverge to another section of track, and this track would be of my own choosing.

So today, I would say that I'm somewhere in the middle, and I hope that the ride will stay smooth for a while. I'm almost thankful now that there are not any attractive females in my engineering classes. I would be content to be content. No need for extreme spikes in my emotional outlook. Some might point out that this is boring. I agree, it is boring. But you don't get stress from being boring. Perhaps a lobotomy might fix all of this. Something to ponder.