I've been streaming video from my PC to my Xbox 360 for years now.  Regardless of the source's original quality, I've always converted everything into standard-definition, as I wasn't aware there were other options available.  However, it's come to my attention that it's possible to stream HD content as well.  The file sizes are too large for me to go fully HD, but there are some movies where I'd be willing to sacrifice some hard-drive space in exchange for higher resolution.

Anyway, my problem.  Basically I'm trying to stream H.264 HD video files from my computer to my 360.  I've used the Xilasoft converter to change the video from its original format to one that's labeled as being compatible with the 360.  The HD videos don't show up at all when using the Zune software.  Using TVersity they show up but give an error when I attempt to play them.  (I don't have the exact error code handy, but it basically means the 360 can't play the file.)

I've done a bit of research, and so far I haven't found any solution.  Most of what I've found deals with problems unrelated to mine (file sizes, disc format, mac compatibility, etc.).  I've found a few potential fixes, but they seem to maybe take more time than I'm willing to put into it (such as this and this).  So I'm wondering if any of you have any experience with this particular issue...if so, please weigh in with your advice.  Thanks. 

My latest plan is to write a "young adult" novel, targeted primarily towards teenage girls.  People can't get enough of poorly-written books, and I write rather poorly, so it's kind of perfect. 

My plan:

1. Do a bit of research (including, *sigh* reading portions of Twilight)
2. Write a shitty book
3. Get a literary agent
4. Rake in the dough

I just might be the next Stephanie Meyer.  For real.  I can't wait to get started.  This is going to be great.

I may need your help from time to time, loyal friends and blog readers, to help me come up with names and such.  I've never been good at names.  Aside from little things like that, I'm pretty sure I can handle it.  The only thing standing between me and fame & fortune is 350 pages or so of overwrought rubbish.  I'm pumped. 

The cravings are crafty.  They hang back in the shadows and wait.  Wait until they see a vulnerability, then they come springing from behind me, screaming threats and lies, then they are upon me, punching and kicking and biting and garroting.  Wrestling me to the ground and piling bricks on my chest and telling me all the agony can end right now if I just give in and do as they ask.  I fight them off with patches (Thanks Van!), poverty, and laziness (I really don't feel like driving to the store).  I eat Doritos and tranquilizers and try to stay distracted with movies and video games. 

The patch I'm wearing keeps falling off.  The instructions say to apply it to a hairless area on the arms or upper body.  That doesn't leave me with many options.  I've got it on my back, but any movement in my shoulders pulls it loose.  I may have to shave my chest tomorrow to broaden my potential points of application.

It's not really the physical addiction that is hard for me to break.  It's the psychological habit.  I'm a bit OCD I guess (who isn't?), and it's hard to stop doing things the way I'm used to doing them.  I'm finding it quite difficult to break fourteen-plus years of ingrained routine.  But, I've got to.  Because I need to get to steps two and three, and before that I've got to conquer step one. 

Even though the physical addiction is the lesser issue, it's still a fucking issue.  These patches have done wonders for keeping nicotine in my bloodstream, keeping my body from sending the usual "okay, smoke now" signals to my brain.  I've got about a week's worth of patches...not sure what happens when I run out.  But, if I make it a week without smoking, the psychological addiction should be beaten back enough that I can handle the physical withdrawal significantly easier.  That's my theory, at least.

I had dreams last night.  Dreams about smoking.  Several of my friends were there, for no reason other than for me to bum cigarettes off of them.  I'm sleeping as much as I can.  Taking it easy.  A lot of people don't have that luxury when they're quitting.  They have to go to work or classes or raise kids or whatever.  I'm "lucky" enough to have the ability to shut myself in my room and take as long as I need to.  I hope to not have so much free time for much longer, so I'm taking full advantage of it while I can.  I'd be a fool not to.

Speaking of sleeping, my sleeping pill has kicked in.  I know several people who hate pills.  All pills.  I've heard their explanations, but I still don't get it.  But that's a topic for another blog.  (Probably I'll forget, though.)

Oh, I have a question.  What is your favorite Coen bros movie?  I was thinking about it, and I'm finding it kind of impossible to pick a fave.  I'm interested to hear what you guys would choose.  Don't worry, there are no right or wrong answers.  (Well, okay, there are a couple wrong answers.) 

I just read a very interesting blog written by someone I thought was a close friend.  The blog was about me, and painted me in a very unkind light.  Made me out to be a tremendous asshole and a horrible person.  I describe it as "interesting", but it was also hurtful, surprising, and baffling.  But mostly it was interesting...looking at myself through someone else's eyes.  His account of events was pretty accurate, and much the same as the way I remember them.  His interpretation of those events, however, could hardly have been more different from mine. 

Given the choice between giving me the benefit of the doubt, or reading the worst possible intent into my words and actions, people almost always choose the latter.  In fairness, though, I am a strange person.  I'm socially awkward, possess a complex sense of humor, and can be a bit obtuse at times.  Still, I kind of wish that people would come to me and tell me they have a problem.  Give me an opportunity to explain and give my side of things before condemning me publicly. 

God damn do I rub people the wrong way.  I'm really not such a bad guy.  But there is something about me that incites deep suspicion, distrust, and an (apparently resistible) urge to kick my few remaining teeth out of my skull.  I'm somewhat lacking in charisma, in other words. 

A similar thing happened a couple years ago, with another younger, male friend of mine.  Like the current situation, this guy thought I was putting the moves on his woman.  Men have always been uncomfortable having me around their girlfriends.  Seems I can't be trusted.  I thought maybe things would change in that regard now that I'm old and flabby, but somehow my presence is still viewed as threatening.  By my understanding, these young good-looking guys aren't worried that I can steal their girlfriends, as they realize I'm in no position to do so.  No, they simply think that I want to steal their girlfriends.  Which, frankly, I don't. 

I have my own type of woman.  My own tastes, as it were.  My friend's girlfriend is definitely cute.  She's also fairly intelligent and rather fun to talk to.  That doesn't mean I want to fuck her.  Hell, I'm happy for the guy that he's found someone nice to be with.  My friendliness is always somehow misinterpreted as predatoriness, though.  Regardless of the fact that the women I'm interested in are of a different breed. 

Anyway, it's interesting seeing how I'm viewed by others.  Not how they "claim" to view me, but their full, honest feelings.  Of course, it's interesting in such a way as to discourage me from wanting to leave my house or be around other human beings, but no one ever claimed insight could be acquired without consequence. 

Perhaps I should move to an Arabic country, where the men are more enlightened, and drape their women in burkhas and don't allow them to speak.  Sorry, I'm drifting into crass sarcasm now.  That's not my purpose here.  What is my purpose here, aside from, perhaps, killing some time and a touch of catharsis?  I'm not sure.  Maybe I should give a message to my male friends (and bisexual/lesbian female friends).  A message that will be ignored, and will go unheeded, but that I can at least point people towards in the future.

The message is this:  Maybe you think I'm vile and sleazy and immoral.  Maybe you think I'm oozing with desperation.  Maybe you think I'm duplicitous and manipulative and full of false pretenses and general dishonesty.  You are free to think these things.  Just, for the record, I want you to be aware that I'M NOT TRYING TO STEAL YOUR FUCKING GIRLFRIEND.  Take that to heart, and all our lives will be easier. 

Enough of all that.  Let's move on to less unpleasant things.  It's Friday night.  My sleeping schedule is fucked.  My circadians have lost all sense of rhythm.  I just woke up at 10:30 p.m.  My instinct was to go back to sleep, but my brain wasn't having it.  Heat up a microwave pizza and a cigarette for dessert.  Sit around awkwardly, restlessly, sleepy and full of a strange energy.  Get caught up on my MySpacing and listen to B&S.

I've still got the ear infection that I've had for weeks now.  But things aren't so bad.  I've got a bit of scratch, plenty of food, pills to speed me up, pills to slow me down, and plenty of places to go (if only I had some wheels).  I wouldn't go so far as to say life is "good", but it could be a helluva lot worse. 

How about you guys?  Anything of interest? 

As I've mentioned before, I'm growing my hair out.  Personally, I think it looks fine when I cut it super short.  Several people disagree with me on that, though.  And, given that they are pretty much all women, I'm inclined to take their advice and let it get long. 

I've had long hair before.  For a year or two.  (I'm not counting my early-teen mullet years.  That's a different conversation entirely.)  I liked it pretty well.  People often told me that I looked like Jesus, but that's not so terrible. 

Anyway, I'm growing it out, and right now I'm in that awkward stage.  That prolonged period where my hair is completely fucked up and unmanageable.  I've tried gel.  I've tried some expensive cream stuff.  I recently picked up some leave-in conditioner, which I've had mild success with.  But it's not quite doing the trick.

Here are a couple of pictures to illustrate my point.  In the first one, I'm fresh out of the shower, with my hair all spritzed with that conditioner stuff.  It's kind of a sleazy, greaser sort of look.  Not really my style.  But it's at least tamed. 



Like I said, not an ideal look.  But if it would stay all slicked back like that, I could tolerate it until my hair grew a few more inches.  But, the conditioner stuff wears off.  The next picture is me this morning, after getting home. 



As you can see, it's a bit unkempt.  Which is pretty much how it always looks, only it's usually a bit worse.  It curls upwards and sticks straight up and straight out and just generally misbehaves.  Something must be done!  I've tried wearing hats, but I always lose them.  Then I'm left with a bad case of hat-head, which only adds to the chaos.

Here's what I think I need to do.  I think I need to trim the sides and the back.  Not shave it or anything crazy like that.  Just...trim it some.  Get it under control.  Let my bangs and such get a bit of a head start.  Then, once it all grows out a few inches, I think I'll have things under control. 

I'm thinking of doing the trimming myself.  I have the equipment.  But I'll need to manuever the clippers in a straight line, and I'll have to achieve symetry, and I might very well fuck it up completely and have to cut it all off.  But I just can't see paying fifteen bucks for someone to cut my hair for me. 

I guess what I'm getting at, is do any of you want to cut my hair for me?  For free?  Or does anyone at least have some haircare advice?  If it were winter I could just wear a knit-cap everywhere and not worry about it.  But this is getting serious, and I don't think it can wait another five or six months...

(Here is an old pic of me with long hair.  It's low quality.  But it gives some idea of what I look like with long locks.)

My computer is a piece of shit.  I bought it a few years ago.  I would have been better off custom building my own, but at the time it seemed like so much less hassle to just buy one and be done with it.  And besides, I found a Dell coupon code that gave me, like, 25% off. 

I'm sure they didn't mean to sell me a shitty computer.  And I didn't mean to stop making my payments on it.  These things happen.  No one is to blame really.

Anyway, a few weeks ago the fucking thing started acting up again.  Being unresponsive.  Freezing up.  I put up with it as long as I could, but my laziness has its limits.  I finally got around to formatting the drive and reinstalling Windows.  That part's not so bad.  The bad part is all the stuff that comes after.  Reinstalling all my programs and codecs and drivers and getting all my settings back the way I want them.  That's the part that takes forever.  That's what I'm still working on now.

I haven't installed Firefox yet, so I'm using IE at the moment.  It's pretty horrible.  I can't imagine anyone using for any reason other than not realizing they have other options.  (Oh, it just occured to me that IE doesn't have an integrated spellcheck.  Not that my spelling is bad, necessarily.  I mean, I'm average at least.  But it's comforting knowing there will be that little red line if I mangle a word.)  My point is that Internet Explorer is bullshit.  Not a unique statement, but a valid one.

Once I get Windows halfway functional, I'm going to install Ubuntu.  It's a Linux distro that a lot of my friends are pretty wild about.  I'm going to dual-boot with XP...I left myself a 60 gig partition for it.  I wish I could use Linux full time, and be done with Windows and all its problems.  But, I have certain multimedia needs, and I can't imagine I'll have much luck getting Ubuntu to play nice with my 360.

This blog is really god damn boring.  I'd apologize, but you fuckers are only skimming it anyway.  These things happen.  No one is to blame.

I was up all night playing Rock Band.  I only meant to be gone a couple of hours, but when I cracked open my second Four Loko, I knew I didn't have a chance in hell of being home before sun-up.  I did some singing, which I generally don't do.  Because I can't sing for shit.  This is something I'm already very aware of, so having my ineptness quantified on a 100" screen, showing percentages of just how fucking horrible I am, seemed unneccesarry.  (I just mangled that word.  Where's my fucking red line, god damn it?!?)

Still, if you drown your (very logical) inhibitions, singing can be kind of fun.  Set the difficulty to easy, and screech in a tuneless falsetto...that's how I do it.  The best part, though, is the tambourine bits.  It's like playing the drums, kinda, but really, really easy.  I can play the shit out of those tambourine parts.

Get this.  I'm sitting here, typing, and to my left I'm vaguely aware of the ticking of the clock.  I notice it's ticking every second, and it's really annoying.  Then I think about it and realize there is not a clock to my left.  And certainly not one that ticks.  So what's that fucking ticking noise?  Seriously.  Is it some sort of inexplicably rhythmic mouse living inside my wall?  An old fashioned time bomb hidden beside my bed?  I have to find the source.  I WILL NOT SLEEP until I find the source. 

I still haven't managed to quit smoking.  I think I missed my window.  My addiction seems somewhat cyclical.  Last time I tried quitting, it lined up with a downward ebb in my nicotine needs.  And I almost fucking made it.  I've been trying again this week.  Well, trying to try.  But I'm in one of those states of mind right now where I not only don't want to quit, I actually want to be smoking constantly.  Makes it very difficult.  I have a selection of various things to help me quit, but my resources are finite, and I'm reluctant to waste the stuff I've got on what seems to be a lost cause.  Maybe better to hold off...wait for the wheel to spin downward again.  Bide my time.  Have to just see how it goes.

I'm considering a bonfire this weekend.  I have a few people interested.  It all depends on if they are still interested when the time comes.  Doesn't much matter to me either way, I guess.  Bonfires are fun.  But setting them up and organizing them is also a lot of work.  If you're interested, message me in a day or two and I'll let you know if it's on or not.  If no one goes, I may go by myself, depending on my mood.  I quite enjoy being by myself, relaxing with a starry sky and a cozy fire.  Maybe I'll take my sister's dog Rome with me.  He loves it out there. 

Okay, this mysterious ticking is getting to me.  My instinct at this point is to start punching things at random until the noise stops.  But I must fight that instinct.  I mean, it may come to that in the end, but I should at least start with a less barbaric method.  Zune just finished scanning my system for videos.  It found 2,267 of them.  Honestly, that number seems low to me.  But that should be enough for now...should be enough to get through this morning.  I'll probably watch, like, an episode of something, then - with any luck - fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.  Unless I get lucky and have dreams like last night.  I fucking love zombie apocalypse dreams.  They are probably the best of all dreams. 

Okay, I'm off to find that noise. 

Half drunk, middle of the night, sitting in the only empty area of an otherwise fully loaded trailer.  The metal railing jamming into the middle of my back obviously not having been designed for comfort.  Stand up, relocate.  Lie down on top of some of the furniture.  Prop my feet up.  Much better.

There had been some argument when I decided to get out of the truck and ride with the cargo.  Too uncomfortable, they worried.  Too cold.  Too dangerous.  But I'm a man of action.  A real professional.  I knew in my gut that the open air would be glorious.  Lying there, one hand loosely gripping a cargo strap, the other under the pillow under my head, watching the scenery whip by, it was more than glorious.  It was transcendent. 

Things had been a bit rough up in the cab.  I was sweaty and overly salty.  Talking too loud and taking things the wrong way.  There were four of us squeezed together on the bench seat.  No leg room.  No elbow room.  The heat was turned up for the driver, who was cold.  But the heat was being soaked up by my legs, which were jammed firmly in front of the vents.  She stayed cold and I stayed uncomfortably hot.  Not an ideal situation for a two hour drive.  Especially when it's late and everyone's tired and at least one of us is being goiterous. 

And how did we end up here anyway, on the edge of Appalachia, with a trailer full of furniture?   Why had I been drinking?  Why didn't anyone want to listen to my Poison cassette I had so thoughtfully brought along?  Who were all those people earlier, and what were we saying to each other?  Stories of car crashes and crossbow mishaps and God knows what else.  Is this normal?  If the supervisors hadn't vetoed the idea at the last moment, me, Lunchbox, and the K-man could totally have caught that solid wood computer desk that the dudes upstairs were about to drop down to us from the balcony.  I'm, like, 80% sure of that.

The sun was up when I got home, and I couldn't get to sleep.  Blood pressure is all cranked up to dangerously high levels again for no particular reason.  Well, there are reasons.  Just not particularly interesting ones.  Decided to just stay awake, as I had an appointment with my doctor in the early afternoon anyway.  Had a minor freakout in the waiting room.  So very tired, jittery, heart racing, probably looking every bit a meth-addict.  I'd been cool...been feeling fine, right up until I went into the waiting room.

Dude behind me talking loudly about puking blood, and kids roaming around putting me on edge, and fucking soap operas playing on the TV, turned up loud enough that I can't not hear them.  I look for a magazine to occupy me, but they've apparently gotten rid of everything but Parenting and Arthritis Digest.  Eventually I found a tattered NewsWeek, so I skimmed that and tried to will my hands to stop shaking.  Then, out of nowhere, I have to piss.  Not just piss, but piss NOW.  Fuck, where did that come from.  Try to stand up casually and find a restroom, but I jerk out of my chair abruptly and realize that I am, in fact, freaking out.  Half a second later I realize that Kingsley is standing a few feet in front of me at the reception window, signing in.

Try and make small talk.  Jerky and muttering and awkward.  I excuse myself to the restroom.

Doctor stuff was fairly standard.  I asked about Chantix.  After hearing everyone's opinion, I decided to give it a shot.  Maybe it will work for me.  But, in addition to that, it apparently causes very vivid, disturbing dreams.  And if my dreams can get somehow more vivid and disturbing than they already are, I'd kind of like to see that.  Turns out Chantix is really god damned expensive without insurance, so I won't be having any.  Just as well.  I probably don't need any more chemicals fucking with my head.

Sleepy now.  What was the point?  Ah, yes, the point was that it's been a long day, and a weird day, and ultimately a good day.  Good day.

I know a lot of you have struggled to quit smoking.  Have any of you tried Chantix?  If so, tell me all you can about it please.  Did it help?  Did it make you sick?  What was your experience with it?

Once again, I'm trying to quit smoking.  This is becoming almost as much a habit as the tobacco.  My willpower seems to work just fine, so long as I'm unconscious.  Once I wake up, however, I'm soon consumed by a single-minded, desperate need for a fucking cigarette.  So far I've been handling this by simply going back to bed, but that's only going to work so many times before I end up with bed-sores. 

I've made a deal with myself.  There is some Fallout 3 DLC that I want (if you don't know what that means, ladies, let me assure you that it is very sexy, suave, and non-geeky).  If I can go a full day without a cigarette, I will buy it for myself.  I thought it sounded like a fair deal, but my insatiable id needs something more.

Trust me, I know how my mind works.  I know my chances of success increase exponentially if there is some reward for succeeding.  And, yeah, I know there's that whole "being healthy" and "living longer" aspect, but, really, I'm not so into that.  So, what else you got?  Come on, people, bribe me into living healthy.  And, hey, if it works, you won't have to hear me bitching about trying to quit smoking anymore.  Win-win.

I woke up at 6:30 this morning, which should probably be illegal if it isn't already.  Six thirty is too hard for the recently sleeping to handle.  If it's to be experienced, it should only be done by those who have been up all night, in which case there is at least some warning and it isn't just sprung on you.

Anyway, after a couple hours spent filling my body with caffeine and ephedrine and nicotine, I finally felt awake enough to leave the house.  I called up Kyle, who you may remember from my last blog.  He's maybe the only person I know who is as bored and restless as I am, so it was fairly easy to convince him to ride around with me.

First order of business was to sell my gun.  I've been trying to sell it for a while now, but no one would pay me anything close to what it's worth.  So I decided to essentially give it away, because I'm desperate for cash.  Stopped at a pawn shop to hear their offer, and swiftly moved on.  Next was the gun store.  I told the guy he had offered me $300 for it last week, and that if the offer was still good, I'd take it.  He seemed very suspicious, as though I were lying to him about something, but he gave me my money.  Not cash, but a check, which necessitated a trip to the bank on the far side of town.  Because everything has to be as difficult as it possibly can be.  That's the rule.

Stopped at Walmart and bought some hair product.  I've been told they've made some advances beyond gel, so I'm exploring my options.  As I told Kyle, the best product for my hair would likely be my clippers, but since I'm growing it out (for reasons I no longer remember), I need to do something with it. 

Oh yeah, best line of the day.  We're driving down the street, and pass an attractive girl on the sidewalk.  A second after we drive past her, Kyle says very dryly "I'd do her".  Then a 2 second pause, followed by an equally dry, "And she'd be damned happy about it."  Brilliant.

Kind of decided on the spur of the moment to go to Half-Price Books in Centerville.  I asked you guys for suggestions a few blogs back, but sadly I didn't have a printout of the comments section on me.  I looked around for the names I could remember, but there wasn't much to be found.  I bought a few things that I think I'll probably like.  A Sarah Vowell book, an Upton Sinclair book I've wanted to read for a long time now, a Tom Robbins book, and a book by David Sedaris, who I've always irrationally hated, though I'm told I shouldn't.  So I'll give him a chance. 

It's disgustingly hot outside today.  Fucking horrible.  Between the heat and the waking up early, I'm pretty worn out.  I'd nap, but I hate naps.  They're not nearly as great as people say they are.  I've got several options tonight, so I'm not sure what's up next.  Maybe just stay home and do some reading.  Or maybe go drink a couple Four Lokos and fuck shit up.  I could go either way.

I got invited to hang out with some people at a bar in Dayton last night, and since I was restless and half stir-crazy, I was glad to take them up on it.  It was a long(ish) drive, so I enlisted Kyle to come along and keep me company.  I was thinking I probably had a bench warrant out on me, as I never paid that ticket I got a while back and it was overdue, so I kind of thought I might get arrested.  Which would have kind of sucked, but also would have given me something halfway interesting to talk about.  Somehow we made it to Dayton and back without being pulled over, so I still have no jail-cred.  Just as well.

I met some really cool people, and some kinda cool people, and some people who weren't very cool at all.  As soon as we pulled in the parking lot, Kyle and I sat on the tailgate of the truck so I could sip the Joose I brought with me.  Kyle said it was a bad idea, but I figured no one would care.  It took about 30 seconds of sitting there before some squat little fascist of a woman came out and started giving us shit.  Apparently drinking in the parking lot is "illegal" and we "aren't allowed" to do it.  Whatever, lady. 

I was accused of being a stalker at one point, but that's nothing unusual.  If nothing else, I'm far too lazy to stalk anyone, but that doesn't matter.  I just have one of those faces, I think.  A stalker face.  The bartender was giving me a lot of fucking sass about it.  Apparently someone had told her I was stalking my friend Crystal (the one who invited me there and told me how to find the place...).  In the end, we got it sorted out, and she apologized, and also claimed that litigious isn't a word.  She was wrong about that as well.  Anyway, I never did find out who was telling the lies about me stalking Crystal...my guess is it was someone who was way jealous of the way I can tie a cherry-stem into a knot with my tongue. 

Kyle and I were the last to leave the bar, and neither of us feeling quite up to driving quite yet, we went for a walk, and ended up in the playground area back behind some school.  We took turns talking to D on the phone, and for the most part we all had a good time, with a few exceptions.  One, I started running low on smokes, which was bad news as I spent all my money buying drinks for the K-man.  Also, I decided to climb up on this chain which was suspended between two posts...I think I was going to walk it like a tightrope.  Once I got myself up there, I remembered I don't have what it takes to walk across a loosely hanging length of damp chain in the darkness while mildly intoxicated.  I further realized that I was unable to get myself back off the chain without injuring myself.  My buddy eventually came along and helped me down, although he took his sweet god damn time about it. 

The drive back was pretty uneventful, except for when Kyle decided to whip around a slow moving garbage truck at high speed at the precise moment that truck was beginning to make a left-hand turn.  I screamed a little bit, and we missed the collision by a couple of inches.  But, that shit happens, and there's no need to dwell on it, so we didn't.

When I got back home, I decided to drop my mom's truck off to her, and then walk back home.  The road I live on is a nice road to stroll down.  It's all peaceful and tranquil and shit.  The sun was coming up, and there was fog hanging low in the distance.  It was nice.  I took some pictures, which I will stick here at the bottom for you to look at.  They were taken with a cell phone, so the quality kind of sucks, and a lot of them didn't turn out at all.  But, you know.























I only passed a few cars on my walk, since it was so early, and it's not a busy road at any time.  The people I passed looked like they might be uneasy about a strung-out looking guy trudging down the road taking pictures of things with his pink cell phone.  I think it's good for them though.  Give them something to think about, maybe.

I had to go to court this morning.  I wasn't in any trouble; I was only there as a witness over that whole thing a while back where my friends and I got shot at.  So, I went to bed early tonight.  And woke up early today.  Even took a combination of drugs to make sure I'd be prepared for some public speaking (12.5mgs of ephedrine to make me alert, and .5mgs of Klonopin to keep me from freaking out). 

Turned out to be a total waste of time.  It was only a pre-trial, so none of us really knew why we'd been subpoenaed to begin with.  Turns out the prosecutors didn't know why we were there either.  After sitting around the waiting area for a few hours, we were told we could leave.  We'd had a bit of fun for a while, talking to some cute 18 year old girl with braces.  She was up on shoplifting charges for the second time this year, and was convinced she was going to jail.  Tried easing her mind with a little gallows humor and friendly conversation, but she eventually walked off after insinuating we were a bunch of weirdos.  Soon after that the boredom began to settle in, so we were all relieved at being sent home.

A little bit later I went to the gun store to try and sell my rifle.  It's a really nice gun, easily worth six or seven hundred dollars.  But the clerks said hunting rifles weren't selling anymore.  The people around here only want handguns and assault rifles.  They offered me $300 for it, but I turned that down.  If I can't find anyone else to buy it soon, I may go back and take the money.  I have places to go, and I need some traveling money (more on that in a later blog). 

Tonight I may drive to Columbus for some laser tag.  I've been invited and I've never played.  It sounds like fun.  I'll have to be sure to read their policies on pistol-whipping the enemy, so that there are no misunderstandings later. 

I finally got around to checking out the new library in town.  I'm glad we have a library now, so don't take my criticisms of it as complaints.  It's very tiny.  One room, with the space poorly utilized.  The selection of books is depressing.  Almost all garbage, with very little of literary value to be found.  As I browsed to few shelves, somewhat haphazardly organized, I saw books by Dr. Phil and Montel Williams, but couldn't find any Hunter Thompson or Sarah Vowell.  There was plenty of Tom Clancy and Stephen King and Nora Roberts, but no Bukowski or Eggers or even Paluhniuk.  There was a small biography section...I searched it for The Missionary Position by Chris Hitchens - which I really want to read - but, unsurprisingly, it was not to be found.  Given the limited amount of space, the selection on hand is probably just about perfect for my hometown. 

There were a few things of interest that I came across.  A few Mark Twain hardcovers that I'll probably check out in the near future.  A two volume set called Nazism that looks like it might be interesting.  Some assorted things I've never heard of that have the potential to not be terrible.  I ended up leaving with a copy of Appaloosa.  I enjoyed the film, so I'm taking a chance on the book, on the off chance that it's brilliant.  If it's not, well, I've lost nothing.

Anyway, here's what I want from you.  A list of your favorite authors, and your favorite books by them.  The reason I want this is that when I make my list, I expect it will be almost identical to what I would have said, say, five years ago.  I've read plenty of good books in the meantime, but my favorites haven't changed.  I haven't discovered any new authors that have grabbed me and made me want to devour every word they've ever written.  So, give me, say, your five favorite authors, and your two or three favorite books by them.  And maybe you'll turn me onto someone new.  I'll go first.  I can't recommend these authors and these books by them highly enough.

* George Orwell - 1984, Down and Out in Paris and London, Burmese Days

* Dave Eggers - How We Are Hungry, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, You Shall Know Our Velocity!

* Hunter Thompson - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hell's Angels, The Rum Diary

* Neil Gaiman - American Gods, Neverwhere, Good Omens (with Terry Pratchet)

* Kurt Vonnegut - Cat's Cradle, Slaughterhouse Five, Bluebeard

Okay, your turn.  Go!

I spent the afternoon at a friend's house, being active.  Getting really hot and sweaty and sticky.  One of my friends who was there invited me out to open mic night at a bar in Wilmington.  Even though I looked a mess and probably smelled bad, I figured I'd go check it out since I hadn't been in a while.  So, I go, and it's a good time. 

I was hanging out with my friend Leah for a while - listening to music that's probably a lot better than you'd expect - but not long after I got there, Leah went home.  About half an hour later she calls me and tells me she had been pulled over on the way home and had to take a breathalyzer.  Which she passed.  But she said to be careful driving home.  I knew right then that I was going to be pulled over when I left.  I could feel it.  I'm both intuitive and paranoid, and sometimes those two things get a bit muddled up in my mind.  But I can usually tell the difference.  And my intuition was telling me that I wasn't getting out of Wilmington without a run-in with the police.

I leave the bar at around 1:45 and go out to my mom's truck (which I had borrowed).  I was getting ready to leave when a cop turned onto the street and drove past me.  I sat and waited until he was gone.  And I waited some more, until, sure enough, here he comes around the block again.  And again I wait until he turns off.  After a couple more minutes of making sure the coast was clear, I start driving, taking some side-streets, trying to keep a low profile.

At the second stop sign that I come to, I make a left, and a cop coming from the other direction turns and follows me.  Brilliant.  So I drive thirty miles an hour (on cruise-control), and put all my effort into staying perfectly between the lines (which is always so much easier when you're not being tailed by a cop).  I was driving perfectly.  I was driving as if I was the man who invented driving.  I drove without making the slightest error.  I wasn't going to give him any justification for pulling me over.  I was getting near the edge of town.  I was going to make it.  Then the lights came on.  *sigh*

I pull over.  The cop gets to the window fast.  Normally they make you wait a few minutes, but this guy must have sprinted to my window.  Trying to catch me doing something illegal, maybe.  So, he comes up to the window and shines his light in my eyes and asks me how I'm doing this evening.  He tells me my license plate light is out.  Of course it is.  Of fucking course. 

"Had anything to drink tonight?"
"Yes, one drink, about two hours ago." (Which was true.)
"I ask because your eyes are really bloodshot.  Are you tired or something?  Been up a long time?"  (My eyes are always bloodshot.)
"Yeah, kind of.  I didn't get much sleep last night"  (Also true.)
"I'm going to need you to step out of the car, sir.  And extinguish your cigarette."

I look around the truck for a second, trying to find the ashtray.  There doesn't seem to be one.  Then I realize it looks bad that I'm sitting there not getting out, so I tell him I'm looking for the ashtray. 

"I don't usually smoke in here."  (Total fucking lie.  But I'm not looking to get busted for littering.)

I get out of the truck and twist the cigarette between my thumb and finger until the cherry falls off.  Stomp that out with my foot, and toss the cigarette butt inside the truck.  He tells me he's going to have me do some things to make sure I'm safe to drive.  He then starts giving me instructions which he has obviously memorized word for word.  The mechanical manner in which he is speaking strikes me as kind of funny.  I do not laugh.

He tells me to keep my arms at my sides and watch his pen with my eyes, don't move my head, just move my eyes.  So I do as he says, while he shines a flashlight directly into my eyes, and jerks the pen around in quick, irregular motions.  Does anyone ever pass this test?  It seems designed to be failed.  Has there ever been a case where, after doing the pen thing, the cop apologizes and sends you on your way?  Seems doubtful.  On to the next test.

Arms to my sides.  Stand heel to toe.  Wait for his signal, then take nine steps, heel to toe, counting them off as I go.  After the ninth step, pivot, and do the same thing back in the other direction.  Do I understand?  I believe so.  Do I have any questions?  No, I don't think I do. 

The walking test was apparently inconclusive, so it's on to the next test.  This time, raise my foot six inches off the ground (whichever foot I feel most comfortable with), keeping both legs straight at the knees, and keep my foot in that position until he tells me to stop.  And while my foot is in the air, count, one-one thousand, two-one thousand.  I made it to twenty three-one thousand (with a wicked cramp in my leg since the early teens-one thousand) before he's apparently seen enough. 

"Walk to the back of your vehicle, sir, and wait."  I do.

"One drink two hours ago, right?"
"Yeah."

He goes to the cruiser and comes back with a breathalyzer.  After all this pussyfooting around, finally we're going to do what we've both known all along that we were here to do.  The moment of truth.  The climax of our short relationship.  And I wonder what will happen if I fail.  I know, KNOW, that I shouldn't fail.  There shouldn't be any alcohol left in my system.  But what if I'm wrong.  I can't get a DUI.  That would be ruinous on too many levels.  I'd have to go to jail.  Who would I call?  You can't smoke in jail, and I totally need a cigarette.  Maybe I wouldn't call anyone.  Maybe I would just stay in jail until they let me out.  But I have my mom's truck, and she needs to know where it's at and how to get it back.  I stand there silently as the thoughts flood my brain.  I think about refusing to take the test on principle, but that's an automatic DUI, I think, and I feel my odds are better if I just play along.  I just wanted to listen to some music and go home.  God fucking damn it, do we really need to do this?!

"What you do is inhale deeply, then wrap your mouth tightly around the plastic tube and blow into it until I tell you to stop."
"Do you hold it, or do I?"
"I will be holding it."
"Okay".

So, I blow until he says stop.  He walks a few steps away and looks at the results.  He opens the door of the cruiser, and tosses the device inside. 

"Have a safe night."
"Um...okay.  Thanks."  I want to ask what my BAC was, but decide against it.
"You should go home and get some sleep.  Your eyes are hit."
"Yeah, I'll do that."

I take a few steps towards my car, then remember the license-plate light.  The dire emergency that got us into this situation in the first place.

"Hey, I'll let my mom know that that light is out."
"Tell her just to replace the bulb."
"Okay."

And he gets in his car, and I get in mine, and we go our separate ways.  And I drive home, wondering why there are so many tests when the results don't matter.  Either I did fine and he breathalyzed me anyway (meaning the tests don't matter), or I did terribly, but since I passed the breathalyzer my terrible performance on the tests is irrelevant (meaning the tests don't matter). 

I'm pretty sure he wanted to arrest me.  Wanted to "take me downtown".  Turns out I had done nothing wrong and he had just wasted a half hour of my time.  I wasn't in the mood to be indignant.  I just wanted to fucking get home.  I think I should maybe stop driving.  The pigs have it out for me, and one of these days they're gonna find some way to bring the hammer down on me. 

I haven't written anything about religion in a long time.  Anyway, here is an essay by Penn Jillette that I'm sure we can all agree with.  Right?