Giro means 'ride', not 'tasty meat sandwich.'


From Rob Brezsny:

"Aquarians: Best days to enhance your sensual wisdom by making love for hours: April 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28."

If that isn't an excellent reason for getting a date toute suite, I don't know what is.

Thursday, April 20, 2000
01:43 p.m.


You'd think that after 14 years of having facial hair, I'd have a grip on things by now. You'd think I'd know that the key to trimming one's mustache is the same to painting: take light strokes and know when to stop. But, no...not me!

One misstroke with the beard trimmer, and half of my mustache is lying in the sink. I have either two choices: wipe the slate clean, or look Amish until the 'stache grows back in.

Anyone calls me Babyface, and I'll beat 'em.

Thursday, April 20, 2000
11:41 a.m.


I have to laugh. Really. That's all I can do every time I think about this. And this isn't the "If I don't keep laughing, I'm going to start crying" laughing. This is the genuine, "Holy Good Gravy, life is absurd" kind of laughing, which is just the kind I need about now.

Was it like this when my parents were dating? I asked them recently, and their answer was about what I expected: "We met people where we worked or went to school." Great. Even if I were gay, I wouldn't ask out any of my co-workers.

But all of this, work, love, romance, family, Tribe, garden, house: they're all swirling together into something odd and wonderful. Somewhere in all of this is...well, what? A new way to live? Maybe the way to live? I learned a long time ago that there's more to life than work, but there's also more to it than love. It's that melange that makes it work; it's the balancing act between all of these different spheres that makes life fun and worth living.

Maybe I feel so odd right now because I've been too busy juggling either chainsaws or eggs, but not both at the same time, and that's boring. Or maybe too exciting, in the case of the chainsaws.

Wednesday, April 19, 2000
10:44 a.m.


And, like that, she's gone. Her ad has vanished, meaning her account has probably been axed because she either a) gave up or b) met someone. I hope it's (b).

Ah, my dear, we'll always have HTTP...

Tuesday, April 18, 2000
11:02 a.m.

Jesus God Almighty!

What she's looking for: It also helps if one understands why the feel of fresh yellowtail melting over your tongue like butter is divine.

Anything else: "Look! There it is again! The invisible hand of the marketplace giving me the finger."

Friends and neighbors, I am in love. Now all I have to do is write to her.

Monday, April 17, 2000
06:50 p.m.


Don't mind the stains on my overalls. It's just a little motor oil and shop mung in digital form.

The thing, see, is that there isn't a way for a man to make a comfortable living working with his hands these days, not the way I see it. There isn't called for skilled labor, the kind that could buy you a house in the 'burbs, put your kids through college and you and the wife into retirement in Florida. I just don't see it happening any more.

So, see, we have to replace our hands with our minds. That's all coding is. Granted, we may get to design the machines we're working on, but that's all we are: digital machinists. And no matter how many degrees and how many syllables someone may spew talking about working with computers, when you get down to it, we are our grandfathers' children: we are the skilled labor of the Way New Economy, nothing more.

That doesn't mean that we can't take any pride in our work, though. We should. But we're certainly not revolutionaries. We're the proletariat. Viva!

Tuesday, April 11, 2000
01:24 p.m.

Brilliance Delivered

There are, of course, few things on this planet that make me more susceptible to Wandering Brilliance than that oldest of urges: wanting to make a pretty woman laugh. As far as I'm concerned, the written word was created specifically to give sods like me an opportunity to lay out carefully crafted streams of words, all with the express purpose of making the object of our affections giggle and turn a few interesting shades of pink.

I bring this up, not to toot my own horn, but to remind all of you that Love And Romance, while they can be painful and make you feel like the stuff underneath the popcorn machine (and, boy howdy, it's nasty), are also excellent keys to the mystic arts. The trick, see, is to keep it light. That's all. Art floats in from on high, and you have to stay light on your feet and open to the world so it'll all come drifting down into your soul, where it will turn itself into something that will make that Katherine Hepburn beauty crack a smile and make you think that you're the bee's knees.

And what did I say this time? None of your damn business. You've got your own words to find.

Friday, April 7, 2000
10:51 a.m.

Bugger this, I want a better world...

Something you should know about me: I read comic books and am not ashamed of it. Comics are a vital, powerful medium (well, they all are, when they're done properly. Television and radio and the web and the bare Printed Word are all powerful tools you can use to blow the kneecaps off the world if you know what you're doing. Every now and then, I think that I do know what I'm doing, but the jury's still out), and if you're about to turn your nose up because I walk into Hi De Ho every Saturday to pick up my waiting books, well, more's the pity for you. You probably wouldn't have a good time at Wahoo's, anyway.

But, to get back to comics, I've mentioned Warren Ellis a bunch of times, and I'm convinced more and more that we, the readers, should demand that he be put in charge. No, I mean he should be In Charge. Run the whole show. The world. Everything.

And all for this simple reason: to take apart the world and let us build it up for ourselves. I am convinced more and more that there is Something Big looming up on the horizon, something that will explode once the Phantom Year ends, and we will all suddenly find ourselves holding onto the toolkit and popping open the hood of the World Machine. We will make this happen. Oh, yes.

Thursday, April 6, 2000
02:14 p.m.

Oh, let there be Joy!

Six simple words for you:

Wahoo's is coming to my neighborhood.

Praise the Lord and pass the limes!

Wednesday, April 5, 2000
04:12 p.m.

Knowledge Gained

Pornography, erotica, call it whatever you want: it's a poor substitute for holding a woman in your arms, smelling her hair, massaging that spot that connects her skull with her neck, and listening to her make those Mmmmmmmmmm sounds that, if I could figure out how to distill, bottle, and sell them, I would make so much money that I'd be able to pay someone to have sex with Mad Giorgiou down the lane.

Monday, April 3, 2000
09:55 p.m.


I tell ya, if it weren't for the latent homosexuality, working for a game company would be no fun at all.

Monday, April 3, 2000
11:27 a.m.

A Strict Regimen

Nutritional Intake for Adam Rakunas, 3.27.00 - 4.1.00

6 pumpkin muffins from the Pioneer Bakery (6 days)
7 Red Delicious apples (6 days)
5 Baja Burritos (4 days, 1 night)
Orange chicken, rice, noodles (2 nights)
Pizza (4 nights)
1 black martini (1 night)
5 Shirley Temples (that same night)
35 maraschino cherries (see above)
Stan Sakai's Usagi Yojimbo (all six days and nights)
1 pair REI Spirit hiking boots (4 days)
2 pair Smartwool socks (see above)
5 pair boxer shorts (one for each day)
1 pair REI MTB boxer briefs (striped)
47 Nobuo Uematsu mp3's (every freakin' day and night)
20.12 gallons water (spread over the entire week...I mean, sheesh. You think I'd pound that much water at one setting?)
1 pair Boreal Ace rock shoes (see below)
17.6 oz climbing chalk (1 glorious afternoon)
1 Ben & Jerry's milkshake (see above)
Between 36 and 42 hours sleep (not nearly enough)

Saturday, April 1, 2000
09:07 p.m.

Plumbing New Depths

I just spent the afternoon doing something truly sad: scanning the personals ads at Nerve. Really. Feel free to mock me for few days.

What's worse is that I had one window open, checking just the ads with pictures, while I had another open checking the area codes of these women to see where they were. Once again, I cursed Los Angeles for being what it is; as much as I love this city and its geography, I wish to God's pants that we could borrow just a little bit of whatever it is that New York and Boston have that we don't. What the hell is it? Culture? Art? Weather? Whatever it is, you guys have plenty out there. I'd be happy to trade you all the taquerias in the city (except for Gallego's...I still need my fix, man) for just one cool thing, like a Tealuxe. Get back to me; I'll have my people call your people.

But, getting back to my Being Sad: I forgot that, once you get over the shame of being someone who browses the personals, you can get some cheap entertainment out of these puppies. Everyone blowing themselves up, trying to sell themselves...and the fact that it's Nerve means that there's going to be a lot of Dark And Mysterious people putting themselves up for sale. I really tried to get into the groove of things over there, but I just couldn't do it. I'm simply too Goofy. I said as much in my ad. Bonus points if you can find it.

Other observations: there seems to be an inordinate amount of pretty and intelligent women in Ontario and Quebec. Hey, any of you Canucks want a taqueria?

And another: there are women advertising themselves who are younger than my brother. And they're pretty. This disturbs me to no end.

And finally: I am still sad.

Thursday, March 30, 2000
03:36 p.m.

The Bad Habit

One of my worst habits is the overplaying of new CDs. I once drove my entire dorm mad because I kept playing Peter Gabriel's Us on continuous loop for three days straight. It wasn't until Cat and Spon upstairs threatened to cut off the power to my room that I relented. Even so, if I hear something new for the first time, I'll sit and spin it for days on end. I'm a neophile when it comes to music; I have to listen to it and absorb all that I can.

The downside to all of this is I also get sick of new music pretty quickly. Something that's New And Exciting for a few weeks becomes excruciating afterwards. For instance, I couldn't listen to Us for about two years after the episode in the dorm. The same for Pearl Jam's Versus, Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes, and even Dr. Demento's Greatest Christmas Novelty CD of All Time, the one with "Santa Claus and His Old Lady" and "Jingle Bells" sung by dogs.

So, I've been doing my best to ween myself from the habit, and it's been going well. I mention this because I just popped in XTC's Upsy Daisy Assortment for the first time in months, and, by forcing myself not to listen to it over and over, I'd discovered what a pure joy it is. I defy you not to stand up and dance when "Life Begins At The Hop" starts up. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Thursday, March 30, 2000
11:29 a.m.


But there's still the nice feeling, the giggling bit of self-indulgence that comes from realizing I can go and say things like "God's pants and haberdasher" and get away with it, 'cause it's my space. This is the scratch pad, the graffitti wall, the Post-It note that holds the Secret Of The Universe but sits next to your favorite Far Side cartoon on the side of your monitor. This is fun people, and if you think it's anything but that, if you think that all of this scribbling on the Web is something Deep And Meaningful, Powerful And Revolutionary, that you're going to change the world by being snooty and highfalutin' online, then you're doing something wrong. This is the bullpen, the proving ground, the friendly cafe where your friends tell stories and do their damnedest to get the biggest laugh out of everyone else. Pass me the parmesan, and I'll tell you all about it...

Wednesday, March 29, 2000
12:15 p.m.


God's pants and haberdasher, but this shit is addictive. I now understand why our culture is gearing more and more towards the sound bite, the news bite, the quick cut, the 3 Minute Pop Song, newspapers with one sentence paragraphs, push 'n' pull surfing, magazines for infants, buy bombs, mind grenades, and ebola handshakes: they're all quick and easy and as easy to digest as popcorn.

Of course, it's all about as intellectually nourishing as popcorn is nutritionally, but there's no need to get into that.

Wednesday, March 29, 2000
12:11 p.m.


I could use more sleep
Eighteen hour days are the norm
Burritos save me

Robyn Hitchcock: god
Bill Gates: the geek's anti-Christ
I sure need more sleep

Serpentine wires hang
Not enough light for gardens
Look! Pink Ethernet!

Coffee: the anti-beer
Yet it brings me consciousness
Cream and nine sugars

This is a wasteland
Misty hills rise at dawn's light
Stay this way for good

Wednesday, March 29, 2000
11:57 a.m.

What it is...

It's not that I've given up on my list or anything like that. I just never liked going and sending out Pithy Little Statements. If you're going to have a list with people, I think you should send out stuff that's worth reading. This stuff, as fun as it is, is not something that belongs on the list; it's all too brief, and there's really no point to it all.

Besides, I never liked it when I'd send out those idea bomb emails. Ideas are like flowers in a garden; they are meant to be laid out for the viewer to admire and absorb, not squished into a tennis ball can and hurled through the window. Ideas, like gardens, require a careful and subtle layout, so as to allow your readers to get sucked in carefully and willingly, to the point that they aren't aware that they've been reading your stuff for the past five hours and that they are completely yours. This is a garden, though the weeds occasionally get in.

Monday, March 27, 2000
03:43 p.m.

Out With It!

This, of course, is what I've wanted to say for the past few weeks, and I can't say it to you. If I do, it's just going to piss you off or freak you out or whatever, and that's just going to make things infinitely weird for everyone. Jesus Christ, I feel like I've gotten back to a point where I've got a good grip on the reins; all of you guys (yes, including you) are part of that.

But I have to get this out. Frankly, I don't think you'll ever read this, and I think it's going to be a long time before I can bring it up on The Ride. But, here we go:

I'm angry and sad at the way everything turned out. I go half out of my mind every time we're together, because I like being with you and I'm filled with the overwhelming urge to kiss you, and that just won't do. It won't work. But I go equally mad whenever you complain about being single or I hear about guys asking you out. I so very much want to whine and say, "But...why not go out with me?"

I don't want to turn back the clock. I've thought about it and thought about it, and I wouldn't trade in that brief time for anything, other than more time. And I want to be optimistic and believe in my magic, but I know that now is not the time, and that Now may never show up.

Right now I just wish I could turn all this off and go back to normal, and get this ugly festering sore out of me. I don't like the person I've been over the past two months, second-guessing and neurotic. The beginnings should always be effortless; it's the maintainence that takes work.

All right. I feel better now.

Friday, March 24, 2000
06:53 p.m.


Do not confuse a bad attitude with cool.
Never let your ass plant tap roots.
Laughter at inappropriate times is necessary for maintaining one's sanity in an insane world.
Drugs are never the answer, but they make a nice crutch.
Tomorrow always comes, so keep flossing.
Play appropriate music as you shower every morning.
Always aim for joy.

Friday, March 24, 2000
12:11 p.m.

Morning Person

Why is it that everything I write or say when the sun is down is bleak and miserable? I've been convinced that I'm more of a lizard than a mammal, but now I'm wondering if I'm really part plant. If I could only learn how to photosynthesize...

I've thought for the longest time that people are more connected to the workings of the world than they like to admit. This goes beyond looking at grade school diagrams of the Oxygen Cycle; the minute your brain makes the connection between chaos theory and tao, you can never go back. This is the first peek under the hood, so to speak, and if you're like me, you want to see more and more. You want to know how it works, simply because it may give you more clues as to how you work.

I bring this up because of my questioning how my mood is affected by the time of day. I really do like getting up with the sun when the rest of the world is asleep. At my first gig, I used to get up at seven and bike the 14 miles to El Segundo, stoked that I had the beach pretty much to myself. I felt the same way about being the first one in the office; all this space is mine. When I show up at 10 and the office is already humming, it feels like I've stepped off a moving train onto the platform.

When night rolls around, though, there's this odd feeling of desperation: must work, must finish, must get home. It gets shifted a bit, though, when something kicks in the back of your brain: why in the name of God's tailor am I doing this? And: who is there to go home to?

After a night's sleep and a cuppa joe, though, that's gone. Does the new day always bring promise of a new start? Do flowers mark the days, or do they only care when their source of food is present? Must work in the garden this weekend and get a better feel for the world...

Friday, March 24, 2000
11:07 a.m.


It's very easy in times like these to go off into a corner, curl up into a ball, turn on The The's "Dusk," and sob like a baby. I really, really, really would like to do that now, but I can't. Not now. Not yet. I cannot give into the despair that's wracking me right now because it's just not worth it. I cannot give into the feeling that I'm hopeless, that I'm a loser, that I'm worthless, that I can't do a goddamn thing and that I'm going to be 140 and alone and miserable. This is the time when the trail has given out, and I have to ride out this fall as best I can, waiting until I hit bottom and can yank myself out of this hole. This is not the time to contemplate psychoanalysis, pharmeceuticals, philosophy. This is the time to wait until I have the chance to climb.

Thursday, March 23, 2000
09:26 p.m.


You really can't see what I've got in my hands. Really. And you're not meant to.

Wednesday, March 22, 2000
10:20 p.m.


The worst part is when you realize that you have to turn parts of you off. I don't care who you are, but that's about as close to death as I want to get.

Wednesday, March 22, 2000
10:19 p.m.


Wrong, wrong, wrong! The secret to life is not I repeat not going to come in the form of prepackaged, glossy-paged, up-from-the-heart-of-a-paid-columnist blurbs. You thought you'd find it all in the advice column? Go to the end of the line!

Wednesday, March 22, 2000
06:48 p.m.


Something else I wrote once:

"Privacy is the soil in which love grows."

Today, I will add to that:

"Outside friendship, however, is the water and sunlight."

Wednesday, March 22, 2000
12:27 p.m.

Occasional Brilliance

Every now and then, I write something so brilliant that it blows my mind. Most of the day, I sit at my desk, and all I can think is "Meowmeowmeowmeow..." over and over again.

And then something will cut through all of that, like a forty megawatt laser through blueberry yogurt, something so bright and amazing that I can only sit back and let it out. I can never lay claim to these things, because they're not mine. They just show up.

I bring this up because I remembered something brilliant I wrote a long time ago, and it was this:

"The greatest freedom in the world is the ability to walk away at any time."

Which was then followed by more meowing, but what the hell.

Wednesday, March 22, 2000
12:22 p.m.


I am alive.

I have to remind myself of that every now and then, especially in these odd months when the seasons change and the entire world gets tossed up in the air like a jigsaw puzzle. In all of this, all of the twisting and turning and weirdness, I am alive and breathing and have the World Spanner in my hands at every moment.

Wednesday, March 22, 2000
12:20 p.m.


I have the funny feeling that I've just been set completely free. I'm sitting here, head cocked, wondering what that thumping sound is in my soul's chest.

Oh, yeah. That would be my heart. Been a little while since I've heard that. Nice to have it back

Wonder who I'm going to give it to next?

Tuesday, March 21, 2000
06:42 p.m.


The whole point of making games is to make a new world.

Anyone who tells you otherwise is a producer or in marketing and is not to be trusted.

Monday, March 20, 2000
04:48 p.m.


A spark is what happens when current tries to leap across a gap. Sometimes, the damn thing just won't work; the gap is too wide. If both sides touch, you don't really see much, either. Juice flows, but it's nothing that exciting.

When there's some distance, some separation, however, and if it's just enough, you'll get something wonderful and dangerous.

I mention this, of course, because the time has come to change the adage, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" to "Distance makes the heart spark more." Just an idea.

Monday, March 20, 2000
04:39 p.m.

Turn It On

I don't know where this is going. I really have never had a clue what was happening, even though I've undertaken mad steps to see if I can take a peek under the hood to see just how the gears of the world work. I have engaged in the beginnings of shamanism, of seeing just what I can find out without resorting to pretension. There is ceremony and reverence and powerful symbols, to be sure, especially because of the nature of this undertaking.

What am I doing? I am casting spells for sole purpose of realigning the World Machine to work for the joy and benefit of my family and Tribe. I know there are ups and downs to everyone's life, but it seems that, for the past year or so, there has been chaos of an unfriendly nature. I do my best not to think in terms of "I deserve," especially since I know that I deserve nothing. I owe the world, not vice versa.

Nonetheless, it'd be nice if a little bit more Joy came walking down the pike, and I intend on doing everything in my power to let myself sit and wait and see what comes along.

Wednesday, March 15, 2000
05:02 p.m.

Heh. "Pita." "Giro." Heh.

Friday, February 11, 2000
04:01 p.m.