About a month ago, it occured to me that bjason.com may need to have its registration renewed. I contacted Aplus.net and found out that it went into "redemption status" two days prior.

Fuck.

Okay, so then all I have to do is renew it, right? No, in redemption status it would cost about $200. Okay, so then all I have to do is wait until redemption status is over and buy it at the rock-bottom, blow-out, super-crazy low price? I mean, who the hell wants my stupid domain?

Oregon Names LLC, that's who. They registered it this morning.

Fuck.

I don't know a hell of a lot about this company, except that they exist primarily to snatch up domain names, and they do not sell 'em.

Fuck.

But I do have a phone number, and an address, and a name - mine. I am, after all, B. Jason Ouellette, and that has to mean something. It's not as if this is some wacky domain I failed to trademark, it's my fuckin' name. If they don't acquiesce, then I don't know, maybe our attorney can do something. But, and this is what really chaps my ass, it may end up costing more than the $200 I was reluctant to pay in the first place.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Moral? Stay on top of your domains, kids. This is awful. This is a name I've invested a lot in. I've been recording under this name for a while now. I was planning to finish a record under that name by next summer. I'm getting despondent, and I'm a real greenhorn when it comes to this interwebs thingy. I feel slighted, and I'm mega-bummed. I don't know what to do.

Fuck.

You must check out this zaftig uberdiva right the fuck now. Miss Jackie's videos are more compelling than anything the Big 4 dished out this last season.

Well, except for Lost, maybe.

She watches bad TV, talks to her 3 (or more) cats, chokes on meatballs and cold canned pasta, swills soda like your grabby uncle swilled rubbing alcohol, speaks in a broken, monotone, white-trash, 2nd-grade, midwest pastiche, and - here's the best part - could give less than a fuck about what you think.

She is channeling the departed spirit of Wesley Willis to be sure. Oh, to be so goddamned happy and oblivious. Even if I keeled over from trans-fat poisoning at 37. You go, girl. Somewhere in the world, there's always an episode of Maury playing.

[Gene Balawajder was a teacher of mine at Milford High. The following is a letter I recently sent to the Observer-Eccentric, upon learning of his passing earlier this month.]

There is a subset of quantum physicists, mystics, high school science teachers and other wild minds that continue to promote the theory that outside the infinitesimally small reality we know, there lie an infinite sprawl of parallel universes where all possible realities play out, as solid and unceasing as our own. There is an Earth in which, for example, you hit the Mega Millions and are this moment enjoying a quiet walk on a lovely beach; an Earth in which man is long-extinct, and the giraffe is the reigning sentient species; maybe even an Earth where you received an extra-credit point in your Sophomore-year Biology class for correctly answering an item of trivia from a well-worn copy of Arthur Devlin's "Questions From The Rockpile," that your teacher kept tucked away in his desk for special occasions.

Living day to day in this particular pocket of reality, I will from time to time take a moment to think about all the people who have trod upon my own path, helping clear the debris, to contribute to the sum of my identity. We all do this; we live, we love, we make connections, we move forward, we think back, we remember with palpable joy.

Gene Balawajder rarely fails to join the all-star team of my heart. He was my teacher, he was the clown of our Vocal Music programs, he was a beautiful human being. Gene did so much within the 62-year trajectory of his life, he will continue to inspire me to be a good person, just by being a truly great guy himself. I had the chance to visit MHS a few times after I had left for New Hampshire in 1991, and without our previous roles of "teacher/student," it was as if we were old friends, swapping jokes and regaling each other with the moments that stuck out in our past intersections.

Today, reflecting on the news that has just reached me via email from a friend and MHS classmate, the Earth I envy the most is one in which Gene Balawajder will wake up tomorrow morning to again greet those same students that, on this plane, will feel the void of his absence long after they leave Milford High School to pursue their goals and dreams - goals and dreams that Gene dedicated his life to nurturing. I wish I could visit that concurrent reality right now and thank him personally for the gift of his kind association.

Even if he is a giraffe.