Log in

No account? Create an account
Eric Glass' Journal

> recent entries
> calendar
> friends
> profile
> previous 20 entries

Sunday, October 19th, 2008
2:16 pm - In which I join the wave goes vague
I am in need of a relatively cheap DSLR. Rather, I am in want, which is significantly greater than need because I am wiling to justify and pursue the interest. The newest camera with hundreds of features I'd enjoy is not currently going to be possible, so I'm looking for something older, necessarily under $1000. Who can suggest something or at least point me at a good place to shop?

(7 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, October 1st, 2008
8:43 pm - In which I succumb to peering
1. Take a picture of yourself right now.
2. Don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair...just take a picture.
3. Post that picture with NO editing (except maybe to get the image size down to something reasonable).
4. Post these instructions with your picture.

I would cut for the image, but no. Fresh, for lack of a more disingenuous term, from the gym and in need of a shower. I want a new camera. I may be getting a newly comped work phone. I should be studying my GRE book and instead find myself plotting evil with food. I need a good game to occupy a bit of my time and fallout 3 is being suggested. Thoughts?

current mood: exanimate

(6 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
1:48 am
Lately, which by the standards of this journal is to say sometime over the past year, I've developed an interest in going to the gym. This is due at least in part to the advent of a free health club membership at work and few excuses not to go, as said health club is less than a block away. If nothing else I get the opportunity to wake up after a day in a cube. At the moment, I try to spend around ten hours sweating each week.

Understand, I'm relatively new to this setting. There were years of Tae Kwon Do, but the rules of engagement are entirely different. To begin, there's the balls. Apparently men, after a certain age, feel compelled to be naked in the presence of others as often and inexplicably as possible. As it stands, rare is the day that I walk into the changing room and can avoid seeing the old, hirsute, and gelatinous wearing nothing but a pair of flip-flops and air-drying themselves in front of the hand dryers. I don't understand the motivation or the mindset and hope to never be so inspired. Or gelatinous, for that matter.

I digress. Ten hours per week has been the goal of the past few months and I discovered rather early on that my old 20gig ipod/badge of generational conformity was no longer suited to the environment. I picked up a nano, which I like quite a bit, but after months of shuffling - hah, see branding verbalized - I've run out of ready suggestions for music to keep me amused. This has led to finally picking up a loveline.com membership and a ready 90 minutes every day. Still, I need something with more of a beat to break up the discussion. I'm open to suggestions, so make them.

I've read things about a recent proliferation of the iron geek; that is, we nerds and academics finding a place amongst the weights and treadmills to complicate the stereotypes of ourselves. Of course, I care as much about the terminology as anything, and I worry that whoever coined the term has mistaken the medium. For one, I am not aiming at iron. As the movies would have it, I want to be carved out of wood.

current mood: Chipper

(2 comments | comment on this)

Sunday, March 2nd, 2008
6:16 pm - No Substance
Wii Number:

(comment on this)

Tuesday, April 24th, 2007
10:10 pm
I begin to think I can never make myself better living here.

Some days even the excusable distraction of the internet doesn't help. Sleep is motivation.

(3 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, November 6th, 2002
4:17 pm - A leper never changes his spots, but you can, with a stick
Recent predictability: For the second time in a week, I've woken up spitting teeth. Rather, one each week, with some surprising regularity. Before this morning, I wasn't going to qualify any of this as predictable, but after this I'm no longer willing to place bets.

Recent unpredictability: I've spent the better part of two months listening to the near-prophecy of a democratic resurgence. Apparently I live in one of the only states to have heard anything about it.

Last week was reconstruction, emergency appointments, and the occasional exposed nerve. This of course came just before I was given a pound of sugar shaped into a skull. It's festive, it's transient native, and...I can't eat it. I'm tempted to use it as a paperweight.

Yesterday was my inaugural root canal. In the spirit of the evening, that is, when will the hurting end, I voted afterward. Diagnosis, improvement, and near immediate reaction...ideally at the least. This was all biased, of course, until this morning when I heard the final totals listing a GOP House and Senate, and, joining in the spirit of things, spit out part of yesterdays root canal. Obviously, we get better every day.

You may consider the above a parable, a political speech with flying props, or the result of anesthetic. Viva la midterm.

Tomorrow, rather than flee the country or slip into a prescription coma, I'm driving to Virginia Beach.

This post has been brought to you by irony and pain killers.

current mood: whee

(comment on this)

Tuesday, August 13th, 2002
4:47 pm
It's raining. Not in the way of summer thunderstorms in the midwest, one sheer immitation of a vertical river, but genuinely raining in the plodding puddle-skip sense. It was raining when I fell asleep, and ten hours later when I woke up. It's grey and warm enough to give a good guess as to the misplaced season...personally, I'm sure this is some extended repayment of all the showers missed in a shortened, violently opposed spring. now, in a wash, it's raining and beautiful. The windows are open to let it all in, and I know where my swimsuit is. I think I'll go play and watch the races down the panes.

current mood: fascinated by gravity

(comment on this)

Tuesday, February 12th, 2002
11:21 pm - Out of context
The past few hours have made up part of a wonderful day. The day as a whole needs a good deal of improvement in most other respects, but what has been done willfully is a gift. Yes, it's oblique, but I'm relaxing after twenty pages of new material. I'll get around to the context later.

current mood: Blissfully sated

(comment on this)

Monday, February 4th, 2002
8:33 pm
It may not necessarily be of much import now, but I did find the ideal album for last week. Low - Things We Lost in the Fire. Enjoy.

(6 comments | comment on this)

Sunday, February 3rd, 2002
11:22 am - Expatriation Homesick Spec Blues
Where does the time go? In short summary, the philosophical debate of the nature of time in anything but a perspective nature aside, my week tends to run along the briefly sketched formula to follow:

Classes: 15 scheduled hours per week, with roughly that again in time spent on assignments.
Work: Between ten and fifteen hours to a week.

It looks appreciably brief, but I can't quite seem to live the life above; everything at the price of something else. If there were more time to be spent here, I'd do so.

No, it's nothing near as tragic and rut-born as I may shape it to sound, but in the cycle of experience and weekly shuffle through unfamiliar surroundings, there are times it seems less of travel and more of a hardship adventure mountain crossing, with all it's associated ignominious hours spent cold, wet, weary, drawn, and any combination of. As there's historical precedent, I don't feel entirely sure of my own restraint at times to do anything less than tear out mouthfulls of the slightly more hapless wanderers.

There is, despite all this, ample time. Time enough for almost everything I'd ever like to do; personally, I'd like to know what I've done with it. Damn.

I still don't know of homesick.

current mood: Fuzzy distortion

(comment on this)

Tuesday, January 22nd, 2002
7:14 pm - Media drunk
The past week has been marked by any number of personal indulgences; not necessarily enough, yet more than I'd held myself to in recent privation.

Reading list as of late: Jude the Obscure, Another Roadside Attraction, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Guards! Guards, Akhenaten; Egypt's False Prophet. Typically, the above would be a slow weeks toils all told. I do find myself looking at that collected e.e. cummings longingly more often than not, though...perhaps next week.

Music begs an explanation all its own. When I first listen to a given album, I'm particular about the conditions. That is, I sit before the stereo, lyrics in hand if provided, and simply listen. Or, perhaps not simply, but only. This has meant hours of true absorption, to the exclusion of the world outside what it presented, learning.

With that in mind, I had time to listen to Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk, and Low. I'll take any more that I can, as soon as possible.

Yesterday found me awake and stumbling downstairs to a dull, rounded screen of flat gray space. Turning on the television over something in theory resembling breakfast, I saw Before Sunrise. Curtains drawn, the noise of a house, neighborhood, and fragile melting of the streets outside faded into the scene in the listening booth. I imagine I hardly have to begin to describe the smile on my face.

At one point, I had a friend who took it upon herself to claim the title of media whore. I suppose it hadn't occurred to me to state things so directly and exclusively in that regard, but I understand the truth of the matter, now as then. Literature, albums, films; all incarnations of art, of story shaped in a given medium. She may have been implying a bit more, but part of the nature of self which drew me to her is well reflected in the shared affinity.

current mood: relative

(4 comments | comment on this)

6:04 pm - When, last scene
Really, days such as yesterday, all of leeching gray-scale and still water...such times are to be quiet and alone, or reveling in the company of friends.

A call last night changed much of my outlook on the day. For companionship, for the familiarity of conversation, the day became more that it had been. A large part of me wants to be tracking through leaf litter in parks, under bridges, and following shelves as they trail geological patterns of strata across eroding cliffs.

It's bound to be spring soon, and I'd like the opportunity again.

(comment on this)

Monday, January 21st, 2002
11:15 pm - Facilitating the downfall of idealogies
Some days, you just don't have much of anything you'd hoped for.

(comment on this)

Friday, January 18th, 2002
7:00 pm - One Two
Best in Show: Invitation

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. To begin, last weekend, or a rough approximation thereof, I was at Ohayocon.

Met Yaya. Plan to talk to her more, if at all possible. Met Michi. See preceding. Saw dozens of people I'd already met, calling themselves Tad, Danny T, Steve, Bitch, Aaron, Marco...the list goes on, whereas my failing, sleep-deprived memory does not at the moment. All apologies to anyone not listed above. Remind me, please?

Then, of course, there was the cosplay. Friday: Ruka, with Juri. I being Ruka, for those of you with such imaginations to think otherwise. Erika, the kind seamstress for all of my costumes this past weekend, was wearing Juri, and immensely popular. Saturday: Tsuguri, with much thanks to Yaya for help on both of the above wigs, and Erika yet again for the costume itself. With preparation time running short, and Nate as the helpful manger/bodyguard, we managed though. Actually, we managed astoundingly well. The skit came off without a catch, and the costumes, performance...all beautiful. For all this, I think we were all expecting the reward being solely personal, as we managed to execute just the skit we wanted, with gorgeous, detailed, elegant costumes. Then of course, we won Best in Show.

Thank you, all. I had fun. Can't wait to try it again. Did I mention I got to spend the entire weekend with Erika? Good company was never in short supply.

current mood: curious

(2 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, January 9th, 2002
3:35 am - Somnambulist two-step
Just sound like a noir novel, doesn't it? Destined to clutter back shelves of the particular brand of used book store which sees patrons as a means to an end, to acquire more books. Far too solid to teeter precariously, these presses of dead tree press themselves under the weight of any dozen others, named like brothers to hold a theme...Morocco Heartbeat, Boulevard by Moonlight...they seem more formidable than the concept of walls that must be behind them all. Smelling of cardboard flooded and left to dry in it's time, with the brittle breath of dust yellowing the outer edges of each page. Not that this is remotely relevant to anything, other than my imagination.

Last night found me in Iowa again, enjoying the company and the work...if only I had started sooner. Next time. Really. It was a wonderful visit, and with a whole con weekend stretching away ahead of me...excuse my lucky bastardry. I'm off to socialize. It's not really out of character, so much as refined to certain circumstances, most of which I find, or primarily recognize, at conventions.

I think I'll go join the cosplay mailing list.

(2 comments | comment on this)

Monday, January 7th, 2002
2:13 am - Rectification of Names
Walking fine lines between ungrateful and forgetful. So fine as to be blown into the eyes of all not present, and obscure the distinction. With that in mind, some notes of thanks overdue.

For Christmas, Erika made me a costume. Mind you, not any costume, but Arima. While still a display of sartorial splendor, patience, and gift, it must be stated that this is Arima. I like Arima. Apparently, I was quite the vocal proponent of the character as well, raising the name whenever the issue of future costumes came up. A gift that I wanted more that I suspected, never expected, that no one else would have devised.

In other seasonally related news, I am now the proud owner of:
a handful of new albums - Beatles, Bowie, Buckley, Fiona Apple, and Yo La Tengo
a book or two, notably The Last Hero and Another Roadside Attraction
A DVD player, complete with the Megami movie. It's been ages since I've bought anime. Pity about the character design. In any case, I have joined the digital age, or gotten closer to.

Should the above have failed to impress upon any that I can be an ungrateful snot, thank you as well. Really, it's a matter of sharing my thoughts with others, even when they're understood. Implied is not voiced, neither more nor less.

(comment on this)

Friday, January 4th, 2002
3:56 am - And you will know us by the trail of the dead
I find myself slipping into old habits, under certain circumstances. I find myself holding three-sided conversations; one for me, one for you, and one for what you see of me. Distancing my own sense of self, to allow others to see that which they want of me. I'm tired of that. I would much rather define myself, in effect telling others directly what to think of me, and actively telling them just what it is I prefer that they see. I care to be dynamic, and there's no sense waiting.

What else would a relatively public journal be for, rather than to express myself, whatsoever I choose it to be? There's irony there. People are absolutely fascinating...all of you.

(comment on this)

Thursday, January 3rd, 2002
12:49 am - If I could bridge transcendence with a word or two
Imbued with a twice removed sense of self and shifting stations; I awoke to a phone call, eventually. It was a friend on the other side. They sound distant, slowed due to the situation. In hazy, vaguely familiar tones were exchanged considerations and silences, separated by something. With resignation and the explicitly doleful sigh of one doomed to situations, they hung up.

I knew all the notes, in retrospect; review often leads to the assumption of intuition, that is, knowing the way of things as they fell, you expect yourself to have known the proper pattern to foretell at the time.

Cryptically enough, they had referenced an email awaiting my attention; bread crumb #2. What I found was something laden with more memories of times past; an effectively direct suicide note. Lacking in poetry to all that but the innate, unearthly intent.

Back to the phone, back to a call, gratefully answered. In the background, the mutterings of a cab and driver bound for a hospital. There's much to be said in that time and place, beset by overpowering reminders of the tenuous presence of existence, and it's loss.

I remember those times distinctly. Calls past midnight to keep me alive, or someone else, as misery with company makes all the tears much more livable than simply berating the sky for the nature of life as you find it.

I remember the times before, during and after that as well. Times without anyone. Times without a self, so much as a personified will to not be. There are few things I've ever found to compare to the echoes of sobs, resonating back when you know yourself to be alone. Unfilled familiar spaces bring back your gasps. Whimpering, obsessively pitiful, when your eyes have dried beyond red and you simply can't. My nose never quite stopped leaking.

Falling asleep, dreading being awake again. Waking up wounded and secretive, when leaving bed, sleep, and solace in emptiness beyond thought. It hurts to wake up. Everyone around tries to help, in the most misguided, kind hearted ways. Here, surrounded by people with the best intentions, who yet want nothing but you to be. Somewhere in their eyes, disappointment in all they can't be for you, remaining dutifully, desperately present; ready to sacrifice themselves to cure what you can't possibly comprehend. They beg an answer that you're cruel to refuse.

All lesser forms of escapism are dreary excuses. Imitations of that which all is bound for,in a glass, a screen, a book. A way of abiding with the present by a promise of a future without this. Anything but this. Hell could not, by perception, if believed or threatened, by a greater sorrow or suffering. Salvation is always promised, never here, and the stoic hope it weights upon is the source of damnation.

And yet, observing this, not for the first time, I appreciate the age I've come into. I'm reminded of the distant time and mind I held, the thoughts in repetition. What was a sojourn is now a story, as some things have come to an end. Knowing, understanding, and having explored to my fulfillment, I won't do that again. It's not a promise, nor meant to be one. That is now a state of was rather than the ever-present expanding immediate.

I tell this all, without names of anyone but myself...some secrets are not mine to tell. Many are still to be held, or shared only in the proper company, in time. Now, however, I remember how much has been...how I bear the marks of passage, shaped by my own hand...yet it's so much less of what makes up myself now. I understand, and have experienced something which, while necessarily related to my present self, are no longer the dominant. I changed. I remember my stories:

For the world is not what it was today,
with evening come to claim it's place
Stop but for a moment to dream of an if,
by means of mythic alchemy
a sun never set upon a shadow
westering forever
And forever is but an instant
balanced between the smallest then and shortest now
when everything happens at breakneck pace.
Eyes unaccustomed to sky chance never to expect an earthly revolution, complete with changing scenery

I'm almost sure to find myself new again. I can't say that bothers me.

(comment on this)

Saturday, December 29th, 2001
12:02 am - For the time I have...
I'd like to thank someone, semi-publicly, for the gift of a paid livejournal account. Since receiving the notification, and for some time before, I've been meaning to write so many things. Time, necessity, and postponed promises have interceded a bit on my end, as well as the personal wariness to write most anything of import without the time any story would be due in it's telling.

Excuses for indecision, really. I'll get better, when I make myself so.

(1 comment | comment on this)

Thursday, December 20th, 2001
1:48 pm - In space, you can still hear Barry White apparently...
In review of one rather delayed entry, a short overview of the Final Fantasy movie, the second time through. Yes, the entire movie is rendered in stunning CG, and it makes for a wonderful action movie, with a backbone of plot and character development. What did come as a surprise with the last viewing was the nature of the seventh spirit. Not to spoil anything too terribly, but somehow I'd been given an entirely different opinion of it's origin the first time. I like the subtle implication, and wonder how many others picked up on this. Yes, I feel a bit daft to have missed it once, but still...good movie. Now, with added comedic potential.

current mood: amused

(comment on this)

> previous 20 entries
> top of page