Discombobulatory

Alas, here it is Wednesday and I haven't made many posts here in the cellar lately. However, I expect that to change somewhat now that I'm in school again and have more regular access to a computer.

I must say that the last few days at my new grad. school have been nothing short of bewildering. Among the many academic requirements to remember, the forms to fill out, the professors to meet, and the meetings to attend (there's a composition conference that's currently in session), I am still just figuring out what I'm supposed to be doing at any given moment and how I'm going to move this weekend. It has been a struggle. Many of my things remain unpacked. In true college student fashion, I intend to throw out most of what I can. Rather than receive the general and congenial welcome that I had initially expected, especially considering the apparently misleading term of "welcome week," I now feel that the experience can be summarized as "sink or swim." I've only been keeping my head above water for the last few days.

Closer Inspection

I forgot to mention the other day that, among my adventures in travel, I took the greyhound bus from the Big City back to my small home town. The reason for this was my car needed extensive repairs despite my need to be elsewhere; so while the car got what it needed, I did too. And earlier I had already mentioned that I was pulled aside in John Wayne Airport so a security person could wave a wand over my body, not to find contraband or explosives so much as to alert half of the people in the airport to begin staring at me with wide-eyed suspicion. "Lookit here folks," the arm waving seemed to say, "this here is not just your average scruffy looking guy, he just might be a genuine scary person. Be sure to keep an eye on him in the plane." Again, decidedly not a terrorist, I took it all in stride and good humor. After all, I want to be as safe as the next person, yet I think that they could figure out a way to examine people in this manner more discreetly. I imagine that if I had the slightest tint of color to my skin, the experience would have been decisively unpleasant rather than mildly amusing.

The experience was again repeated at the bus station, but with a twist. This time, rather than single me out, the security personnel examined everyone in this way. On my earlier bus trip a week before, there was no examination at all - the bus driver didn't even sell me a ticket, he said that I could pay for it once I arrived in Big City. If I had been more daring and less conscientious, I might have gotten away without paying at all. (Although, being a classic good guy, I paid in full.) While I was able to carry my small pocket knife with me on the first trip, the security personnel took it away from me on my second. It irks me a little, even though they did offer to ship it to me for about two dollars; of course, only after I was already in line.

I can't help but think that there are some class issues at work here. Bus travel, the mode of transportation for the very poor, seems to require (at least occasionally) inspections of everyone. I know that the buzzer for the airport metal detector went off when I walked through it, still I have yet to see a "business man" being examined like I had been. Maybe I would have to travel a lot more to see that happen, or maybe those business guys are incredibly careful about what they carry, still I can't help feel a little singled out as individual at the airport and then singled out as a class member at the bus station.

Bemused in California

So ends my trip to southern California - Orange County to be exact. I must admit, having lived in the Pacific northwest for several years, there are some differences I noted, the biggest of which is the amount of water people use considering the inescapable fact that the place is geographically a desert. Almost every home I saw from the plane has a pool, and a nice one too.

(Speaking of the plane, I was only pulled aside once to have the security personnel examine everything in my carry-on and then promptly parade me through to a special area where they used "shoe sniffers" and their "magic detector wand" to. . . well, I'll just leave to rest to your imagination. Needless to say, although I might look scruffy and disheveled for a man of thirtysomething, I'm decidedly not a terrorist.)

One of the places we visited, besides seeing relatives, was Knotts Berry Farm. Overall, I must admit to liking the place, especially since we got in for half price; and as it was the off season, there were absolutely no lines. My favorite ride was the log ride and one of the roller coasters, but every ride is way too short which I guess is the price for being extremely popular. The apparent emphasis is to get as many people through the ride as quickly as possible.

There is a western theme to a large part of the park, and "the mystery lodge" ride is offensive in that it appears to make the indigenous people of the northwest coast of north america both an entertainment and a exhibit, which theoretically could work I suppose, but the tone was all wrong and the "makeup" for the main performer was horrible. It presents a people as a spectacle, almost as if they were zoo animals.

There is much more to tell, but time is still short, and I still have to move. I need to pack, change my address, and all of that. I did it for my girlfriend about a month ago. Now I need to do it for myself.

Abandonment

It has been awhile, so I figured that I should post something to explain how I haven't abandoned my blog. I still intend to keep it updated, but I've got some big plans over the next couple of weeks: moving, a week long trip to California, and starting grad. school. Therefore, if you don't see any posts, it doesn' mean that there won't be any in the future. Again, there are several things that have happened that are worth writing about, but I can't fit them in here now with the time available.

Kaboom!

After spending a night sleeping on the couch and waking up this morning, I spent a couple of hours wasting time watching the movie "Airport," and then "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen," a film directed by Terry Gilliam. I confess to liking both of them, each a little campy, but especially the second. Gilliam is a true visual artist, whereas most other directors have become mere marketers selling a product they themselves don't believe in.

As I get older, the type of movies that exicted me before are having less of an impact. Action movies like Highlander and The Terminator were among my favorites, something I now chalk up to aggressive teenage hormones. I've significantly mellowed, so while I still can enjoy a post-apocalyptic action fest on a certain level, I'm more interested in the originality of an idea or presentation. The fifth time you've seen a mode of transportation mechanically blow up, from firetruck to streetcar, you get a little bored with the idea.

I remember watching a true cult classic - "C.C. and Company" - latenight at 2:00 a.m. several years ago. (Once movies are older than twenty years or so, you can ignore really bad plots and just focus on how times and attitudes have changed.) The story, which reminded me of "Easy Rider," was mildly interesting in a boring sort of way, focusing, as the hero's name would imply - "C.C. Ryder" - on motorcycles. I was able to recognize it as an action movie, albeit without much action. There was an easily identifiable hero rebelling against "the man," "society," or "whatever you got," who, of course, had an attractive girlfriend. Everything appeared to be building up a final confrontation between the hero and a large and angry motorcycle gang. When the climax of that last confrontation occurred, there was one explosion. One. And a very small one at that. I remember thinking - "that's it?" I'd been programmed by the summer blockbusters to expect bigger explosions, and a lot more of them. Still, I had to realize that people during that time must have thought it somewhat exciting, and maybe even a little shocking. (Although I've read critics had panned the movie even back then.) I guess I've been inoculated against poor action movies. I've built up a type of mental resistance because essentially they're all the same. As an overall group, I believe we've all become a little bored with this sort of movie, but as long as there are still teenagers struggling with their own aggressive hormones, and who also have money to burn, there will continue to be a KABOOM! in the summer movies.

Heat

It has been really hot during the last few days, especially considering that it is now september and things should be cooling off in this part of the country. The heat has been partially responsible for the general malaise I've been feeling over the last two days. While things around me seem to be speeding up (what with my plans to move and all combined with finishing the final tasks at my summer job), I've been personally slowing down - like taking naps and watching television. No-one really likes change when they are relatively comfortable, and it has been a reluctant realization on my part that compels me to admit that I really don't like change, even when I'm uncomfortable. Still, I will force myself forward; I just hope it won't take to heavy a toll.

Into the Internet, ceaselessly rocking

Believe it or not, I'm currently at the grad. school I'll be attending in just a few weeks writing this blog in a new cellar! Typically, like the other two colleges I've actually attended, and a few that I have only visited, the computer lab (aka: the cellar) happens to be in the basement of one of the buildings - the reason for which remains (to me) an unfathomable mystery! Thus, the name Zhaf and the cellar. Rather than find an inviting, not-too-warm place with lots of natural light to compute from, I've learned to seek out the cool, dank recesses of a basement computer lab so I can be bathed in the incandescent blue glow of an electric screen and be comforted by the ceaselessly rocking waves of the Internet.

In thirty minutes, I'm going to look at an apartment that I'm considering renting. This technically being the second day of commuting for me, combined with unsettling realizations I've had since receiving the unanimous advice from friends and family agaisnt commuting, I can now admit how doing so every day would get really old. There is a lot to work out, and nothing is certain, but I continue the search!

Symbols and Transformations

Three things occurred, which taken alone mean nothing, but when viewed within the context of the events of my life during the last two weeks take on a somewhat symbolic meaning. The first, and the most memorable, occurred after purchasing an expensive but beautiful bouquet of purple-esque roses in Big City, the blooms of two of those roses snapped off their stems; The second was the ongoing proximity of Mars, as close to earth as it has been in 60,000 years; and the third occured in the psychology hall of the University I am going to attend in the fall, where I had a major sense of deja vu.

Yesterday, I made the long 2-hour drive to the University and did some exploration. I'm thinking that I may need an apartment down there, but reluctant to make drastic changes, I've been considering commuting instead. I've not made up my mind yet. Nevertheless, among the many things that I did yesterday, besides delivering my undergrad. transcripts noting my reciept of an English degree and besides my obtaining a student I.D., I walked around the surrounding neighborhoods looking for apartments that I might consider renting. Part of my internal struggle over the question of moving is that the rent where I currently live - admittedly a slum - is decidedly cheap. If I rent the cheapest apartment I could find near the University, it would still cost more than the combined price of rent and monthly gas where I live now. I'm also certain that the new place, although close to the college, has more noise, crime, and general rowdiness than where I live now too: It'll be a tough decision. However, this has been the week for changes, so I might just make the leap after all.

According to some, we live in a culture of fear where we overestimate our vulnerability to harm as it is channeled through our prejudice. Could I be projecting and overestimating my own fear? I don't think so, but it is something to think about. Of course, I'll keep you posted on the situation - literally.

Marbled Vanity

The fog hasn't lifted, but oddly, after talking about the inter-tidal formations - metaphorically speaking - of said fog with someone else, I feel slightly better. Even though I haven't accomplished much all day, I really think that I needed the decompression times that I spent this past evening reading through other people's blogs. I realized that I've spent the majority of my time looking at other people's blogs searching for a kind of reflection of myself. Now, I'm plagued with the thought that I could have been a modern-day Narcissus or Pygmalion.

I've always sort have admired the classical Pygmalion story, because, although it apparently wasn't written as such, I take it as an admonition against close-mindedness. Pygmalion, a jerk in an innocent sort of way, condemned the women of his town for what he saw was their utter lack of morals (his capacity for self-righteousness was obviously breathtaking) and consequently, sculpted himself a statue of the ideal woman. Of course he fell deeply in love with it, and the Gods - also being jerks but even more so - rewarded his piously callow stance by granting his wish to make the statue a real woman. Pygmalion is no man to admire, but he is someone to learn from. You, and by "you" I mean "me," can't go around judging people without trying to understand them on their own terms first. You (again, "me") only wind up sealing yourself in a marble block of your own cynicism. Everyone could use a little sympathy, and too often, I forget that.

Fog

I confess that I have been in a moderate slump personally, and it is not that I haven't tried mightily to pull myself out of it. I could blame it for affecting the general lack of housekeeping I have done lately, both literal and figurative. I'm sure that I'll be able to eventually pull out of it, yet I know that it will require for me to try and get back in touch with the things that I think I have lost touch with. If all of this sounds vague, it is supposed to because, after all, if I knew what exactly it was that I needed, then I wouldn't be feeling like I was in a slump.

Work continues apace. Instead of showing up for work in the morning, I decided to go in at night (thank goodness for a lenient boss) and get some of the work I've been putting off done, such as updating more web-images on the corporate site website. Three years ago, when I had a full-time job year round - not like the summer job I have now - I had to work from 3:00 p.m. to at least 11:30 p.m. everyday. Sometimes, when the schedule would change, the whole work crew, including me, would be required to work much later, to at least 3:00 a.m. or so. Often, when the moon was high, I'd drive through the forest and home, noting almost every time the utter lack of people. (I'm reminded of the highwayman poem by Alfred Noyes that begins: "The wind was torrent of darkness among the gusty trees / The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.") It got to the point where I began to feel crowded in places other people might have felt lonely. I did ten years of that. And I think that it has left a mark in my motivation to work more at night than during the day. This spiritual malaise will lift, I'm sure. I liken it to a coastal fog or winter rain storm; everyone knows that these things eventually pass, but noone really knows when.

Party People

A few days ago, at the culmination of my girlfriend's big move across Big City, we went to the block party that was occurring in her new neighborhood. Simultaneously, while we had been busy arranging, packing, and moving all of several years of her life and furniture, a few neighbors in her new neighborhood were planning a so-called "block" party, which pretty much turned out to be an excuse to meet all of the neighbors. It was pure coincidence that it the party was on the last day of my girlfriend's move.

Being a small town kind of guy, spending much of my previous years only hearing about block parties in movies - the medium of our age - I wasn't sure what to expect. Essentially, several older people who could be classified as hippies (and I use the term with a marker of kindness) had cooked a few hot dogs and bought a potato salad to feed an overwhelming number of neighborhood children who spontaneously melted into the streets without their parent's accompaniment. Therefore, much of the party was spent entertaining the children with a pinata and humoring them with candy. Fortunately, the street where the party was set-up had been blocked off at both ends; otherwise, the children surely would have been confronted with their doom in a sudden accident as they were obliviously careening around on bicycles and scooters in a dizzying frenzy. Chaos would be a kind word for the hour and a half that we spent there. Still, I maintained a certain equanimity in the midst of it being the kind of guy who has taken "go with the flow" as a personal motto.

I went away from the experience thinking about the type of people I met there - one was hippy guy who wore a grateful dead T-shirt and seemed nervous; the other was woman who talked about her years being abused by her ex-husband, but who also loved to read true crime stories; and the other was a young woman who had come abruptly to yell at someone she thought had yelled at her own kid (Noone had yelled, and if she had been there with her child, she might have known that). Sometimes it seems difficult for people to get along, and more than anything else, the recognition of the enduring conflicts we, as a society, are still struggling with, makes me feel old and very tired.

My best friend T.V.

Although I don't really feel like writing something (partially as a result of not really having anything to say), I figured that I should force myself to at least write a little. Part of the struggle of learning how to write well for me has been developing the discipline needed to practice everyday. Discipline, as a matter of fact, happens to be my personal arch nemesis; I spend much more time with my close personal friend, the television. Television, an always ready friend, can be a jerk sometimes, especially when I have chores to do. Anyway, most people generally assume that art is created by people who have a natural talent for such a thing. For instance, how often have you heard someone say, " I wish I could do that; I just don't have the talent," or instead of talent they say gift or whatever. I betting at least once.

While it's true that talent does play a role in artistic endeavor, the secret happens to be that much of artistic talent is really skill. For example, a musician will pratice scales to help them develop the fingering to play their instrument. But even beyond that, musicians - even really accomplished ones - will spend a long time practicing a particular musical piece that they want to learn. Writing is like music in that way. If you want to write well, then you must write often. I guess the part of the problem is that most people don't consider writing an art. While it can be used as mere communication, it can also be much, much more. It is to that goal that I aspire. (Geez, I sound like a level ten cornball!) Anyhow, all of this merely explains the reason for my entry today. I'm forcing myself to write, so that I can push myself to better writing. And so I can go to sleep tonight without feeling like I wasted the whole day with my best friend, that jerk - the television.

Burrth-day Sneakers

School approaches, and I'm finding that time is really getting short for the many tasks that I still have left to complete. The least of these projects includes cleaning my house, and on the opposite scale, planning a trip to California with my girlfriend. Somewhere in between I need to finishing reading a text that my grad. school instructors want me to have read over the summer, and clearing my desk at work of the continually mounting pile of projects that need almost immediate attention. The small silver lining to all of this work is that I've gotten a better handle on dealing with constant low-level stress that does not include long naps during the day.

The whole last week was spent at my girlfriend's apartment moving her across town in Big City. Not only did I move the heavy furniture on the day of the move, but I almost singlehandedly did all of the packing the week before. One of the more surreal episodes during this period was the one that occured at the small convenience store/market where I decided to buy well-deserved soda to cool down. As I made a purchase at the counter, a relatively attractive young woman suddenly put her things next to mine on the counter, which included a snickers bar, and loudly announced: "I am buy-ying these sneakers because it is my burrr-thday!" Imagine a voice that sounded like a cross between Chewbacca, an angry bull frog, and a chainsaw, and you get the idea. I probably should have said something like "Happy Birthday," but instead, being really creeped out, I gave a sympathetic, startled smile, and got the hell out of there.

Life is Ridiculous

Just today I managed to finish up most of the grad. school paperwork that I had left undone, including the inadvertantly brutal financial aid report, which - thanks to the Divine Big Guy - the school is going to give me even though I had missed the required deadline by a whole week. Today, I even signed up for my first grad. school classes, but I'm not sure which ones I should be taking, or even if I have to sign up at this point at all. (The person in charge of advising students on this is revising the program, and I won't know for sure about any of this until I show up for classes.) And knowing how the Registrar's office is the most unholy of college departments with the virtually unlimited power to screw up the most careful of plans, I figured that I should get my proverbial foot in the door by signing up for a couple of classes, and then trusting to fate that I will have the ability to change anything later.

Although I'm not one hundred percent sure, I think that, in order to fulfill my eventual graduation requirements, I'm going to have to take another foreign language besides the one I took during my undergraudate years. I've been struggling a bit with deciding which one I should try to learn. Essentially, Life is ridiculous, and I know this because of instances like these. On the basis of absolutely no knowledge whatsoever - on a hunch that may be wrong - I have to make a snap decision that will likely affect the next two years of my life. So, for no reason whatsoever, besides the fact that the class is offered in the afternoon, I decided that I will try to learn German. What the hell. But I hope I remember this in the future - how a thirty second (at most) decision will impact the course of my next two years, because I'm sure it will make for a good laugh depending on what kind of mood I'm in.

Frogs and Ghosts

Personally, today has been a bust all around. I should have gone into work much, much earlier, and I should have not wasted the earlier part of the day watching television and playing video games; I didn't even feed myself properly, but instead I subsisted on potato chips and soda, as if I were still a young teenager with the biological fortitude to handle that kind of abuse. Ugh. Still, I did go to work so I haven't failed on all accounts yet.

As for the television and video games (and I also include web surfing which is pretty much the same thing), I managed to catch a the special reunion show for That's Incredible, a cheesy 80's precursor to the modern reality shows. Like many things associated with my youth, I remember the show being much more cooler and interesting than it actually was. With stories about a ghost haunting a Toy-R-Us, a man who had been struck by lightning seven times, and an opera singing parrot, combined with what they called "action stunts," I can see the appeal to my eight-year-old self. Now, with an adult perspective, I see the show as mostly exploitative, yet also somehow ever-so-slightly innocent, even though I understand, after doing some modern Net research, that the show is indirectly responsible for six people losing their lives(!). No kidding.

I suppose that this was the then modern television equivalent to the "Odd Tales" and "Weird Stories" I would often read in the school library. Tucked in the corner of the youth science fiction section, the section primarily reserved for kids with strong nerdly leanings, these "odd" and "weird" stories - usually a two or three pages - purported to be true accounts of how it rained frogs in a small nebraska town in 1892, or how a deserted mineshaft in the old west has a legendary ghost that is occasionally seen by tourists. I devoured these stories whole, but now I've grown into a full fledged cynic. Which, as far as being a cynic, is - in an odd way - partially responsible for my not wanting to go to work today.

Odd Night

Last night, after a spontaneous convergence of seemingly random events, which some generous people with a mystic sensibility might call Fate, I met up with five other old-time friends in the Big City. My girlfriend and I had planned on only meeting with one of them, but she, our other friend, wanted to see the four others that she knew were going to be in the area for only just a brief while. Let it be known that the only person who lived in Big City was my girlfriend - everyone else was only in town for the day. Most of them lived two or more hours away from Big City.

To be specific: although I had earlier planned on driving that night the hour and half home, instead I found myself sitting in a dusty, somewhat useless and dilapidated barn filled with strangers in a variety of ages listening to the band my four other friends had created. Twelve years ago, I was in that nascent band's creation. My nineteen-year-old self revelled in playing the drums, not having a permanent place to live, traveling long roads to other towns at midnight, and blissfully feeling that all of the world was as open and new as I believed it to be then. And I felt that life would be just like that forever. I'm not, nor was I then, naive, but the good feelings that overwhelmed our small group almost coerced us to consider broader horizons than the work-a-day, bill-paying, child-rearing future. During my two years with the band, I didn't earn any money; I never saw a doctor, and I never bought any that cost more than ten dollars in a given month. As corny as it may sound in our cynical world, I was happy.

Which made last night so odd. Revisiting the past and seeing how we all had changed made me feel nostalgia for our earlier selves, but it also made me feel grateful for the divergent changes that occured in our lives, the changes that were further distinguishing ourselves into different people. Several of my friends had now completed college, had children, and were struggling to create a stability that was antithetical to our early band days. Now, being older is a reality for us, and we no longer live in the same world of the same possibilities.

Wal-Mart Fantasy

The other day, my car being much abused by the constant back and forth road wear I subject it to when I hurtle the seventyfive miles north and south every other day, I decided that - because it had been a couple of months overdue for an oil change - I should at least scrape up the few dollars it takes to have someone else do it. Normally, I take my car to Wal-Mart to have this sort of thing done primarily because I don't want to learn how to do it myself, but also because I think it would cost less to have them throw their wrenches around the underside of my rusting 89' Honda disaster. So, although I was in Big City, I took my car to the city Wal-Mart rather than the country Wal-Mart that I'm used to. There are tremendous differences between the two, one being that in the city there is almost always a police car parked out front, with a policeman inside likely arresting a shoplifter.

I've always thought, that in another life - one without college - I might have worked in the oil changing department at Wal-Mart. Sure, I would have probably gotten cancer later in life because of the constant contact with the oil and grime that would have been inevitably caked onto my hands. And okay, I would have probably hated the long hours, the tough physical work, the grouchy customers who "don't get it," but I still think that I could have done a good job. One of the things that always seems to happen in these car situations, regardless of which store I'm at - it can even be a gas station - men my age and younger will want to talk to me about the intricacies of cars. ("Hey, do you know if that is a Z-80X, V8, with a hemi?") For some reason, I think I really look like a guy who knows a lot about cars. While most guys I knew were reading "auto-trader," a magazine devoted to selling cars, I was honing my inner nerd by playing Dungeons & Dragons in the library with fellow nerds. (I'm pleased to say that I've since given up D&D. My nerdliness is waning.)

On a completely different note, I've gotten my final financial aid award letter from my grad. school of choice, and while I'm going to fall further into the infernal crevice of debt, it will cover all my current expenses. I was really worried that I wouldn't get anything and would have to rely on the teaching assistantship to pay for it all. I could have pulled it off, but my hair might have also fallen out due to poor nutrition caused by a month long consumption of nothing but noodle Ramen. Which, of course, would have been uncool - even for a nerd.

Egret (Hunting)

Today was the day for commuting; not only will I drive the approximately two hours it will take to get to Big City tonight, but I have already made several short trips in my car totaling a coupe of hours already. I spend so much time in my car, at work, and in Big City, that I'm beginning to feel a little weird in my own apartment. (Who is the dude who lives here, and why are their chips on the floor.) I think I have still maintained my equanimity about the whole driving thing, and have even learned how to enjoy a car ride without listening to the radio, especially when nothing interesting is on.

On one of these short trips today, I glanced to the left looking straight into a hay field that had recently been cut within the last several weeks. And while glancing left to look into a field of recently cut hay is normally not worth remembering, seeing an Egret hunting for mice is. These kinds of sights are rare enough to feel surprised about when you happen upon them, and for me, rare enough to think about it during the passing of the rest of day. I suppose some might say that this sight was a gift of grace, while others would say that it is merely nothing. For me, it was pretty cool, but nothing mystical, and I think that the whole experience and my reaction to it somehow sums up my mood for the past couple of days.

The Gates of Cool

After the very minor updates that I made to this site recently, combined with the stark fact that I've now been an inhabitant in the proverbial blogosphere for the past few months, I've started to develop the desire to push my meager and significantly poor programming skills further. Eventually, I'd like to overhaul this site to be more visually appealing and give this site more of what the eternally hip and fatefully cool people call "it." While the realms of cool have never been violated by my mercurial and indivisible aura of nerdiness, I think I could at least approach the gates of cool and imperceptibly lounge around the vicinity. Here's hoping for a better, more tantalizing, vision of digitized paroxysms of delight.

Changes

If you have ever seen this site before, and - for whatever reason - somehow have managed to have miraculously remembered it, then you might notice that I have updated a lot of the information on the side of the pages. I have finally acknowledged that it is summer here on the west coast, after spending the last couple of months trying to ignore it. Regarding some of the old links I would occasionally follow, I've since lost interest, so I have correspondingly removed them. All of the things that I link to now, I have a current interest in for one reason or another.

My overall concept for this particular web design was that I would try to create a three bar design that I've often seen replicated somewhere else. It also fits my impression of what a classic newspaper format would have looked like (like the current Wall Street Journal), and since I do not have any images on the page, I figured that was the style I should try to emulate. The major limiting factor in all of this was, and still remains, my overall lack of HTML knowledge. Therefore, I only a little more than someone who knows nothing. I'm sure the guy who operates and writes Web Pages that Suck would be horrified at my little endeavor. Still, as it stretches my skills as an ultra-novice designer, and is essentially my own creation, I satisfied with it. Eventually I may overhaul it to something more presentable, but for the time being, it will remain as it is.