I need to work out! I went to work today so I again have to fight the twin demons of laze and fatigue.
I want to eat but nothing is ready, well Mom offered me fufu, but really, I'd as soon eat refuse. I cave in every once in a while and eat it but I try to minimize the damage. Mom likes it because she can make the stew once and a week and subsequent meals take only a few minutes to prepare. I can't decide if I like fufu less than moin-moin. (Nigerian dish of ground beans served with oatmeal) I'd say it's a tie.
Miami played Florida today. I was cheering for Florida to knock off the Hurricanes, but only so that the Longhorns could take the title.
For whatever reason, today I feel as I have just recovered from a long illness and have suddenly regained my strength. I think there has been a break in the clouds overshadowing my life, even if I can't say why. Oh well...

I slept really well last night! Wow!
I need to start looking for a job again. I have work, but my job(s) right now are not a be all end all solution.
I checked the statistics and my web site has visitors other than me! I am fairly certain I know who most of them are. A couple of random people get linked in from Blogger but it's mostly friends of mine. Hi Everybody! I should probably try to dwell on happier subjects so they don't think I am on the verge of suicide. I just get extremely pissed.

It's a blog. It's not special. It's not any more unique than any other blog, but that makes it special in a weird perverse way. Read it any way. Oh and EAT THE POOR!

My Dad just asked me "You can't sit and talk and laugh here like a family?" Honestly, the answer right now is no.

You know an interesting feature I could put in the blog? A daily thumbnail of my desktop picture. Or maybe a screenshot of my desktop... The problem with that is I always maximize every window so it fills up my screen, and I keep my desktop completely barren on purpose. You wouldn't see anything useful or entertaining. Oh well...

Howard Fineman has a reasonable analysis of the current political landscape. Essentially it is business as usual.
I must have a low opinion of human intelligence but the ingenuity employed in naming blogs amazes me. The actual blogs often leave much to be desired, sort of like movies with cool titles and trailers but are actually just medicore films. Even so, I read good blogs more often than I expect too. Actually, very seldom do I ever see blogs with unimaginative titles. (like Who is Idahosa Edokpayi?)
I have a confession to make. I am addicted to hotornot.com. I don't actually spend alot of time rating people or checking my rating. I like reading the profiles and seeing what they say. Hotornot also has a "meet me" feature which has demonstrated to me how little discrimination I employ when choosing potential dates. I think it is a sign that I am shallow and superficial; I don't mind being shallow and superficial - I do mind the creeping suspicion of dumb/naive that comes with it. What is worse, is that the entire problem is in my head. 99% of all my problems are mental. I have always felt that if I could master the mental aspects of a challenge my body would always follow - I am actually capable of anything. Don't laugh! I have superpowers! :) Who else do you know who has ever dropped a pen and kicked it back into his hand, and reflexively catches every object thrown at him?
It's friday night and I am home. I am sinking deeper and deeper into the sands of loserdom. Somebody get me out of here! I should at least workout (which I have neglected to do since Tuesday) but I am feeling sleepy and lazy and don't want to do it. I have to get up early again to work tomorrow with my good friend Ed - he wanted me to be at his house at 7 am, but we both know that would never happen. I should go to sleep then, but I went to bed early yesterday and got up at 4:44 am! Horrible! I've been up since. (Well except for sleeping in Ed's van on the road while traveling in betwen jobs. Next Monday can't come soon enough!

I had something really smart to say until I saw that picture of Crystal again. Everytime I see it I try to divine what it is, exactly that I think is so special about the picture.

Oh NO!

I use webshots to set my desktop picture randomly and every so often a picture of Crystal, a friend from UTD, pops up. I put it in webshots because... I don't know why. Actually I know why, because she's beautiful. She's one of those girls who could never admit to being pretty out loud (well for that matter when I am told by girls that I look good I always deny it too) but she is. Which only serves to make her more appealing. Last time I spoke to her about it, she pointed out that one of her eyes was slightly larger than the other. Nobody cares! There is something intrinsincally beautiful about the two pictures of Crystal I saved. I can't say what it is and I am not a photographer, but something about the dress, the way she is standing, and the hairstyle... I don't know. You could probably show it in a gallery though. I am having trouble actually locating the original. :( After hypervenitlating about her picture, I am sure my audience (of three people) would love to see the picture. She's way to short to model, (well runway anyway) but there's just something about her you know? I honestly don't have a crush on her. I am just amazed everytime I see that picture. I might as well put it in the blog too.

I am sad. Robert Wright may have finally persuaded me that missile defense is unnecessary. September eleventh was a graphic illustration of his contention that missiles from hostile states are not the greatest threat. Attacks from hostile individuals are. I still contend that just because nation-states are not the only threat doesn't mean they can be ignored. Large armies provide no real defense against scattered terrorists and we should probably not build larger armies to fight them, but missile defense could be part of a strategy to prevent other nations from taking advantage of our smaller military. More missiles and fewer men? Mind you this defense is only because I like missile defense. I just hate being wrong and conceding defeat to a liberal like Robert Wright!

It just occurred to me that the blog might be something of an anachronism in the future. Computers will likely be small and portable and storage space will have increased more than a hundredfold. Storing simple text when you could store high resolution video and audio would be silly. People could make digital movie logs. So...what do I do? Make a movie?

Also the web is ****ed.
I hate what my life has become, a mere shadow of barren existence. My family operates seamlessly around me as if I wasn't even there. In fact, if not for the fact that I eat and defecate, my existence has no impact on anyone at all. If I were to stop being, it really wouldn't matter. Of course my family would go through the necessary motions of grief, but because that is what families of the deceased and or missing do. They love me, but people love their dogs.
I have friends but I don't see them, and everybody knows that people you don't see don't exist right? The telephone doesn't ring, the answering machine holds no messages (mostly because the stupid thing was off!), and the email inbox remains empty. I know I am young, but really, if I wasn't here who would care?
I need to get a life. I need to work out. I need to make new friends. (how I don't know as I don't have any viable social meeting place) I need to get out of the house.
Now that I've said that, I have an idea for a book. I'd call it Dystopia and it would be a book in the form of a blog about the future and all the bad things that are going to happen there. I'd need to research futurists predictions of what the future will look like, emerging trends, and likely geopolitical scenarios. A great place to start would be futurescan. Before writing the book I'd have to create a virtual universe for the protagonist to live in. I'd generate a profile for the blogger including things like height, weight, eye color, ethnicity, pets, favorite color, political ideology, favorite sport, nationality, etc. I would have to write a short history of his life up to the point of the first entry in the blog. I'd have to document the geopolitical landscape of his world. I would have to compile a list of predictions about his world and how it was different. Obviously, the predictions would be mostly bad things since his world is a dystopia - the opposite of utopia. More accurately, his world will be dystopian. Bad things will have happened but with more nuance than the world of Neo in the Matrix.
At the very least, writing Dystopia would be something to do. I wouldn't have time to kvetch about how horrible my life is.

I just lost a post. I am pissed.

If you're not reading Robert Wright you should. I believe he's wrong but that's beside the point. The world is on the verge of becoming a very less than happy place and America has already been blindsided by it once. The future (or at least the future as the good folks at Wired are imagining it) could end up looking very much like the Matrix or Blade Runner or worse. Man is curently busy perfecting the weapons for his own destruction. Will Woman be able to stop him or will she be busy picketing Hootie Johnson's golf tournament because he wouldn't let her join the boy's club?
Girls, I've seen the boy's club and it isn't all that great. Start your own and I'll join tomorrow!

I read Kausfiles religiously and often read other blogs that he links. This lady almost had me as a fan until I read something about Andy Grove, the head honcho at Intel, being a corporate statesman. Andy Grove is a merciless and paranoid taskmaster. His very presence is enough to reduce grown men to tears. I'd shoot a dog before giving it to him. I've been cheering for Intel's demise for years. Intel at one time was a monopoly just as insidious as Microsoft until AMD declawed them. They are also the perfect example of why the government should not get involved. The market is catching up to what many thought was an unconquerable beast.

You know, strange as this may sound, it has never been my intention to ever date a model.

Someone please shoot me if this becomes one of those lame poetry and feelings blogs. Tomorrow I'll eat some red meat and try to grow some manhood back.

I didn't choose to love you,
Love for you was bred in me.
I didn't choose to hate you,
Hatred grew in me unwonted by the days.
Now I must choose to leave you,
My heart lies in shreds by the way.

I really want a new suit. I like this one and this one, but I'd sacrifice children to the river god for this one. I suppose liking clothes and shoes as much as I do makes me a woman, but a woman who once dislocated a former football player's jaw with one punch.

Nothing is more dispiriting, more soul scarring than dead love. People who love you because they know they should, but almost would rather not, who you in turn love because you can't help it but almost would rather not. We love each other with our lips and minds but not with our eyes and hearts. People who you desperately want to run away from but feel tied to as if by an umbilical cord. People who if you felt anymore love, confusion, and pain because of them you just might shoot yourself; at least then what you felt would be simple.

Parents prefer that you listen and not watch. Children always watch but seldom listen.

By America's definition and measure I am black in skin color only. I don't talk black, I don't think black, and I don't feel black. I am first and foremost an American. My family is Nigerian, and I am a Nigerian citizen but the Nigerian culture I have absorbed as compared to the American culture I have absorbed is very small. Anyone who has heard me speak knows I have an odd, unplaceable accent, and I am a college graduate. I am
sure peole are also aware of the rate of incarceration of young black males. The fact that I have graduated college makes me different from 90% of the 23 yr. old black males in Dallas and probably 70% of young black males nationwide. I don't fit the norms of this country in any way other than that I am foreign. The people I have the most in common with are other children of recent immigrants and Nigerians in particular. I don't associate much with other Nigerians though so my peer group is really small. I feel like an oddball in just about every social setting I am in. So new social settings aren't really that big of a deal since I am an outsider most place that I go. I don't fit, I won't ever fit, and I am tired of trying. (Doesn't mean I'll quit though.)

I am tired my wrist hurts and I don't feel like blogging tonight. :(
Having thoughtful email conversations wears me out. I thought of several intelligent things to write tonight while replying to email but I can't think of any of them now. I was actually exhausted before I sat down at the computer but I am bushed now.
Substitute teaching is delayed for now until I can get in touch with the office to find out why the system won't accept my social security number. Bummer...

I don't care what anyone says, Alex Rodriguez is the best player in baseball. If I was Tom Hicks I would have probably given him 50 million a year. I am a Rangers fan and yes I am bitter.
What is it with blogs that have titles in English but everything else in another language? I pick one at random to read and surprise! It's portugese. Really I should be able to muddle through it because I can (or at least should be able to) read Spanish. Oh well...

Humanity abhors a void.
The most important grounds on which I reject atheism and evolution, is that atheism is ugly. There is no poetry, no beauty in the belief that man arose from the primordial ooze. The thought that ultimately, my ancestor had no opposable thumbs and no ability to speak is repugnant to me. The idea that our world is the result of an extremely fortunate accident is uninspiring. What scientists propose is about as likely as winning the lottery every day for a year. Has anyone asked why enormous amounts of time are necessary to account for the rise of the universe? Because if a million monkeys typed on a million typewriters long enough eventually they would have to produce Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace to satisfy every eventuality.
Even scientists and atheists who reject God as the crutch of a weak mind worship their own gods. Science is their god; Darwin and Stephen Hawkings are their prophets. Even if the matter of the universe was once concentrated in an infinitetismal dot that exploded to produce our universe, where did the dot come from? The matter of the dot just is? The universe is eternal? If they answer with claims like that they sound like God in the Bible saying he is and always was. Unconciously even they are crowning a new God even if their God is the dot from which all matter arose.
What is worse, certain scientists, like Stephen Hawkings, have made their worship of science more explicit, saying that science can explain the metaphysical. These men and women seek to destroy the magic of everyday living and dethrone God and destroy religion (religion can die for all I care though) and replace God with science and religion with education and position the scientist and educators as high priests of the new religion.
Should they succeed they will have failed. Science is based on skeptical analysis of known facts. Should they acheive their goal of inspiring everyone with blind acceptance of science as the only answer science will have lost its most vital asset - people who don't accept anything less than the truth. Science as a religion will destroy science as science.

Here a few more things that I could tell you: that I am human and I want to be loved, and that several people will be very angry should they ever read the last post.

What is this blogodex thing and how do I get one? I submitted my site to the blogodex project at MIT, but a blogodex seems to be something more. As soon as I figure it out I'll post more links.
The question I have is why does anyone care that I have a blog? My friends certainly don't, my family does but mainly because they are my family. If my family didn't care then I would really be up a tree. I am a semi-talented writer and possess a decent sense of humor but so does nearly every other blog author whose blog I have visited! Every blog seems to be owned by an aspiring writer with rapier sharp wit, engaging personality quirks, and actual entertaining lives. Do you know what I did in the last three months? I rediscovered the joy of television! I watched every minute of Road Rules: Chicago (in one day!) and watched the better part of an entire season of Buffy! While these people were busy meeting the movers and shakers of the world, loving, living, and learning I was watching Trading Spaces every day! What can I do to make this blog unique?
I could make this blog a repository for gossip about my church. The problem is that most of the really shocking things have already happened and I no longer speak to the gossipers very often. I could tell you I was once busted for skinny dipping with some friends at an apartment pool late one night by the pastor of the church who then told my mom. I could tell you that a young girl in the church had sexual intercourse with somebody she met on the job, got pregnant and married the young man, and both attend the church today. I could tell you about how a deacon in the church who has eight children commited adultery with a woman in the church and the woman had a little boy, divorced her husband, and left the church. I could tell you that the deacon now teaches sunday school again in the church. That an assistant pastor (whom the pastor has referred to as a wolf from the pulpit) and took a family in the church with him. That the father in that family had commited adultery (several times), started drinking, and attended strip clubs with a young man in the church. That a group of young men in the church (me included) once left church visitation to go to a nudie bar. I could tell you that the pastor once protected a man in the church from prosecution for molesting his step-daughter. That the man did it repeatedly and that his sons picked up on his behavior before the step-daughter reported him for doing it again. That the same girl married a young man in the church, then cheated on him with his friends, and at one point slept with so many diferent men at once that the child she conceived could easily have been fathered by any one of them. I could tell you that they aborted the baby. That the young man she married cheated on her too with a girl he had been expelled from the christian school for french kissing in a car when he should have been at work. That he decided that for the amount of trouble he was in he should have slept with her after all like she wanted to. That he did later after convincing her that he loved her and would marry her. That he took her virginity and innocence with his charm and good looks. That he did it to several other girls too. I could tell you that his wife was the first woman who turned the tables on him. That upon hearing that she was seen speaking to an old flame that he attempted suicide aboard a Navy carrier and was disharged from the Navy. That they have a beautiful baby girl with the same name as public high school girl who once attended the church. That the high school girl was a minor and had sex with a young man in the church who is older than I am. That the young man she had sex with so shamed his parents that they had to leave the church. That he once called the church claiming to be John Stossel from ABC investigating the church on charges of child molestation. I could tell you that a young man was so frustrated in the pursuit of a young woman by her uncle that he eloped with her. That he took her right off the church parking lot no more than 20 minutes before church. I could tell you that one of my brother's best friends growing up once sexually molested his sleeping female cousin. I could tell you that a good friend of mine went to Bible school in Florida and was arrested for selling drugs on the church parking lot. I could tell you that he married a girl in our church and has a son and another on the way. I could tell you that the preacher distrusts and maybe even hates and fears him. That as the price of not making my life a living hell while I remained in the church he required me to no longer speak to him or the rest of the people associated with him. I could tell you that he offered one of my friends financial help for doing the same. I could tell you that I gleaned most of my information from the pastor's sermons in which he named no names (just as I name no names here) but described the situations in enough detail that anybody who was reasonably aware of what was going on in the church can do what I have done. I could tell you that the pastor loves his church dearly and would die for them. I could tell you that my church is respected nation wide by churches of its ilk.
I could tell you a lot of things but I don't know if I will.

Now that I have posted the nice links I will proceed with a not so nice one. Men no longer have a monopoly on the "angry" adjective.

Really great poetry I was referred to by Blogger.com. I really liked the post titled God's Message to Women.
That said I feel as if I could use an editor or at least a refresher course on high school grammar. I spend half of my time now fixing typos and wondering if I am supposed to italicize, put in quotes, or use bold text. Perfectionism is its own punishment.

Sunday is a day of rest, so I am going to take it easy tonight.I've been really active this week, but that's mostly because I've been having so much fun. All the people who read this blog, (all 3 of them) should have a happy and safe Labor Day.

On the way home from church this morning, my mother and I were discussing the correct pronunciation of my last name and she told me some interesting things. All Nigerian names are sentences in a Nigerian language. My first name, Idahosa, means: "I am listening to God". My last name, Edokpayi, means: "Only the edo tribe is worthy of glory". My middle name, Igbinoba, means: "I have seen the king". My other middle name, (given to me by maternal grandfather) is Irubo for "a child is better than wealth". My paternal grandfather gave me his name as my first, and an aunt named me Igbinoba because she really had seen the king. All my names but Omoviro are Benin.
My mother told me a little more about my family history and why my Dad is so proud of the family heritage. The king (the oba) in benin had a castle surrounded by a moat, and all the important people - his servants - lived within that moat. The people who lived outside the moat were merely villagers. I suppose that is why my family chose such a proud name.
What is more, I am the first son of a first son. By Nigerian tradition I am to inherit the family possesions and become the next leader of the family. Weird huh?

And Venus is the venus razor from Gillette.

I went to see the musical today with Marcela, Crystal, and - God love me I don't think I ever really knew what his name was. In no way could this be termed a date, more of a meeting of the lonely hearts club.
I made it to the musical an hour late, but it didn't seem to matter, everybody was happy to see me and Crystal was more than happy to explain what I had missed. The show was titled 42nd Street. I really regret missing the chorus girl asking if she could be a star through her singing. The man she asked stared at her breasts and replied, "If you can make them sing too!" The guy-whose-name-I-never-knew-and-was-too-polite-to-ask-again spoke only Spanish and didn't understand the joke, so Marcela had to explain why everyone was laughing. Being a good church girl the explanation was most likely rather difficult for her, but then Marcela seems to have a knack speaking about embarassing topics.
I had never been to a musical before and my first impression was that the story was contrived and ridiculous, but the singing and dancing were worth the price of admission. Most musicals are apparently just excuses for talented performers to wear scanty sequined costumes, sing upbeat music to the accompaniment of an orchestra, and dance in tightly choreographed formations.This a good thing. Britney Spears, N'Sync, and the Backstreet Boys do the same thing (without the pretense of a story) and make tons of money doing it.
The award for funniest quote goes to Crystal for saying, "Your bum is your booty." I took second place with my answer to Cystal's observation that a lady attending the musical was pregnant, "She can't help it she's pregnant!" Crystal replied that she most certainly could have. It's amazing what I talk about with people who I meet at church. Crystal kept admonishing Marcela for talking about how much she likes her Venus, ironing her stomach, and how she got a bruise when the hanger hit her breast. Good church girls are not supposed to talk that way.