I think a lot of CEOs are like that, but this guy had no morals at all. He started out as a kind of a dot-commer and ended up as a right-wing junk mailer. He had no focus and kept changing the company direction at a whim. Imagine my surprise when I got this weird “Please update your contact information on plaxo.com for <spawn of Satan>.” I guess he sent it out to everyone who he’d ever emailed, including my old co-worker’s mom. Weird.

Hey, so I got another weird author interaction. I got email from Jason Headley about his book Small Town Odds. So far I’ve only read a half-dozen pages and it looks pretty good. I suppose this is like speed dating and if anyone can talk to me for five minutes, a writer can keep my interest for 20 pages or so. We’ll see how it goes.

And the only big thing I can mention is what I had for lunch: 2 hot dogs for $2 from a cart downtown. I think I’m paying for it now.

So, the woman who scares me because she looks like a monstrously buff verision of my ex drives a car that is also like my ex. (Ex girlfriend, not real ex.)

Speaking of which I think I have to go see xXx some day.

I didn’t have to do much to get paid in food this weekend. My buddy Il bought himself a huge new bed, a California King (which caused my sister to call Il “a pimp”) and he needed help getting it out of his garage and up into his bedroom. He said he’d buy me a birthday dinner at The Ringside but unfortunately he didn’t get sheets with his new bed and so we were delayed. Trying to get into The Ringside on a Saturday night without reservations is nearly impossible, but we were trying to sneak in before the dinner rush and missed our opportunity. We had prime rib at Portland Brewing, though. Not as good, but still good.

And today I helped my friend Greg with some wiring to his wife’s new (used) horse trailer. It took about three hours of hounding him to get started, so I figure I could actually feel justified in having him buy me dinner for helping him with this. It took two people: one on one end of the horse trailer with a battery and test leads connected to the trailer electrical cable, and one on the other end looking at the brake lights. I guess Greg was blaming Keeley (his wife) for buying such a junky trailer, but the problem was in the 10-year-old adapter cable. It only took about an hour to fix the cable but, like I said, it took a lot longer to get him to actually start looking at the problem. Dinner was at the St. Johns McMenamins Pub where half of the proceeds were going to Sauvies Island Elementary School somehow.

And that was about it for the weekend.

The Oregon Supreme Court (I think) threw out all 3000 gay marriages that were performed in Multnomah County. I guess the county broke some state law. HEY STATE OF OREGON, I’M RATING YOU ON A SCALE OF ONE TO FIVE ON MY RIGHT HAND. I’M GIVING YOU A ONE. You can guess which finger I’m using to rate the state law. I could go on about this, but let it’ll just make me mad, like everything else.

Here’s something else. This, in comparison, is incredibly minor. As I was walking to work today, a guy was backing up out of an illegal parking spot and just about ran me over. Since he was partially in the crosswalk already, he didn’t have far to express his homicidal urges. So, of course, I said, “What the hell?” and he rated my walking on a scale of one to five and gave me a one. He stopped and got out of his car so I walked back and said, “Look, I’m sorry, but what the hell were you thinking?” He said, “It’s all cool,” which translates to “SCREW YOU, I’M YOUNG, YOU’RE OLD, SO LA-DEE-DAH.” I asked, “Why did you flip me off?” and he made some weird nonverbal noise with his mouth which also translates to, “SCREW YOU, I’M YOUNG, YOU’RE OLD, SO LA-DEE-DAH.” I shake my fist at you, you young punk!

Ah, well. That wasn’t as weird as the author who stopped me as I was limping home in my new Adidas. He wanted me to read (and, of course, buy) his new book. I stayed for the book reading and it turns out that six of us were pulled off the street and the rest of us were family friends of the guy. His pen name is “Andrea Peters” and the book he was hyping sounded like another book I read that I hated, my friend Il hated, and my friend Sun hated or at least disliked. The hated book is called, “The Magus,” by John Knowles and is basically about a guy who likes to mess with other people. Andrea Peters’ book is also supposed to be about a guy who likes to mess with people, plus the thing appears to be self-published. He’s written three books in nine months and I’m not so sure I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I have a stack of books to read already, and two of them need to go back to the library within the week.

I had the Doc Martens on all day and after a while even sitting around made my feet hurt. And several more people told me that they take a while to break in. In fact, only Carolyn thinks they’re pre-broken-in. So back to the Shoe Pavillion I went to buy a pair of athletic shoes. I thought I’d go cheap, but I ended up with a pair of $60 Adidas. But that’s still less than the $130 pair of Asics Gel Kayanos I wore out every 3 months.

I figure I’ll be able to break in the Doc Martens but it’ll take a while.

I know a couple of people read this blog, including my sister and not one of you could tell me, “Break in those Doc Martens or you’re gonna be in a world of hurt, and blister like a son-of-a-bitch.” I’ve attached a diagram with the X marking the three broken blisters, and the one triangle marking the unbroken blister.

Actually, now that I think about it, everyone I know who reads this blog is a woman and is probably saying, “Now you know how WE feel. If only your damn shoes would go out of style in a season, then you’d REALLY KNOW.” (I have no idea what women think; this is just in my imagination obviously since most women don’t talk to me.) In any case THESE SHOES HURT. But since my Asics are worn out, I’m going to keep wearing the Doc Martens like an idiot.

I will admit that I was limping behind a woman in a suit and heels and she looked hot from behind. Usually, I can catch up, but you know how the blisters are. Better this way, I can imagine how she looks from the front and even better she meets the criteria I was looking for: faster than me (even in heels!)

And now you have to listen to the activities of my birthday! HAHAHAHA.

The “boys” took me out to the lunch of my choice, which was Portland City Grill on the 30th floor of big pink (US Bank Corp tower). I had a ginormous hamburger and the restaurant spotted me my bread pudding dessert, so they only had to pitch in $3 a piece for me. And everyone but one also had hamburgers, so it was only $17-20 and I don’t feel guilty about that. I almost feel guilty about the one guy who got halibut and crab, because his total came out to $42, but he’s the one who keeps saying he doesn’t care about money. (He also lives at home with his parents, but he’s not buying them $2000 washer/dryers either.)

After work I went to buy some new shoes in the hail. I’ve been wearing all the pairs of Asics Gel Kayanos that I’ve been hoarding since I quit running, but my daily commute (40 minutes walking is only like 2 miles, each way) kills the shoes in 3 months.

That’s less than I got out of them when I was running in them. I was doing about 20 miles a week and they lasted me 3 months of running plus 3 more of walking. In any case, I asked around at Meier and Frank and Nordstroms, and while Nordies was useless, the guy at Meier and Frank told me to ask the Postal carriers what they wore. He told me about “Postal rated shoes” that looked like “Frankenstein shoes” but last forever. My brother-in-law said his dad wore Knapp shoes as a milkman and that’s what he thought I should get. I ended up getting some Doc Martens for $60 at the Shoe Pavillion. I also had to buy a new brown belt to go with the shoes (this is supposed to be key with the ladies, at least the ones who are DEAF AND BLIND TO MY PERSONALITY AND LOOKS and only observe my shoes and belt) and that cost another $40. They better last a while.

Dinner was steak. I couldn’t exactly say no to steak. My buddy Il is supposed to buy me a steak on Saturday, too. Whee!

So people have been leaving rude comments on my sister’s blog. First was from co-ratlsnk-u3-c1o-113.clspco.adelphia.net (whereever that is) and the second was from dhcp117-123.mcmp.purdue.edu (Purdue University’s Department of Medicinal Chemistry and Molecular Pharmacology). Since her blog is all about cooking and knitting and dressing up her dog, I have no idea why they’re targetting her. I’m guessing it’s one nutbag, but who knows?

Tomorrow’s my birthday and I’ll see what I get. I’m suspecting it’s going to be A LOT OF SPAM. HAHAHA.

I’m a comic book freak from way back, and I didn’t need to see Sin City because I’d already read the books. And of course the over-the-top dialog was better in the books than on the screen, but the movie was pretty good, too. We were there a little early, got a good spot in the middle a little towards the front, and of course people sat all around us. But the weird thing is this guy shook his butt right in my face and then sat down right next to me. Perhaps his gaydar was a little off. After the previews were over and the movie was about to start, I noticed he REEKED OF CLOVE CIGARETTES. So I told Megan, “The weird guy stinks!” and she and Craig moved over.

I should have mentioned this was a birthday dinner from Craig and Megan. We had chicken and dumplings at Joe’s Cellar (a neighborhood diner) and then went to see the movie! Whee!

Well, I just got back from dinner with some guys who came to town for Ben’s wake. I wish I could have met everyone under different circumstances, but it was good to meet everyone. Last night I stayed out until 2:30AM with a few of the guys and tonight I didn’t follow them to the stop after dinner. The wake was today and it was amazing seeing all the people who came out.

OK, so back to my boring life, I went to the gym yesterday with the wrong keyring. Not only did that mean I didn’t have the right keys to get in, but I also locked myself out of the house. Woo.

My friend Aaron was very close with Ben, who passed away last week. I tried to call him earlier today to see how he was doing but got a FAX machine. I had his number wrong. He called me when I got home and we went out to dinner. We both cheered up as the evening went on. I’m sure Ben wouldn’t have wanted to be forgotten, but I also don’t think he’d want us to sit around and mope. We hung out and talked about geek stuff and drank beer, just like we would have done with Ben.

For dessert I had a beer Ben mentioned in the past, Kwak, at Pix Patisserie. I also had the Creme Brulee, which is a combination Pix suggested. I would strongly recommend that you do not drink Kwak while eating Creme Brulee. Kwak is sweet, almost syrupy, but the alcohol cuts any syrupy stickiness. But the sweetness of the Creme Brulee masked the sweetness of the Kwak and left an odd, almost pond-like algal flavor. Kwak on its own is great. And the Creme Brulee was magnificent. Just don’t have them together.

Yay! Megan is visiting this weekend!

I’m a moderator of a closed mailing list for officers of local alumni associations. Somehow I ended up angering this random crazy man via email who then threatened me. It ended up with the random crazy man calling me a jerk, telling me to watch my back, calling me an insulting little twit, and other fine things. The random crazy man is not just random, I’ve since found out that he was a past president of a prominent local alumni association.

I’ve forwarded the threatening email to the Portland Police Bureau.

All I did was post the following:

Subject: Does anyone know <innocent person> of the <alumni association>?
He is requesting to join <our mailing list>

His first reply, to the entire mailing list, was:

He’s the President of <alumni association>, jerk. Just say “Welcome, <innocent person>”.

The mailing list is for club officers of alumni clubs of Ivy League colleges (plus MIT and Stanford, et al) so I didn’t expect this kind of response. All we ever post are book signings, singing performances, lectures, etc. that local alumni associations are hosting. It’s really to let other clubs know about events. So my reply was:

Well, I’ve added <innocent person>, and removed <rude person>@<email place>.com.
Thanks for the feedback.

<rude person>@<email place>.com is the email for <rude person>. I didn’t know <rude person>’s real name until after the whole email exchange.

He then sent me the threatening email:

arrogant functionary. we’ll meet some time. watch your back.

Of course, receiving such an email made me defensive (and not too wise) and I replied:

Nice threat. I’d report this to the police but I figure you’re a coward.

I reconsidered and forwarded his threatening email to the Portland Police Bureau, as well as his ISP.

His final reply was:

Couldn’t get into med school….can’t get a good job….time to get your life together young man.
Don’t ever send out an email asking a question like ‘Who is <innocent person>….he wants to get onto the list I
manage….. you insulting little twit. Respect your elders. You might get somewhere in life.

He emphasizes the point I don’t understand. I am the moderator of this email list. I have no idea of the affiliation of anybody wanting to join the group unless, of course, they’re affiliated with MIT (I am an alumnus, after all). I mistakenly thought I was the only moderator (I am co-moderator) and so the only way I could find out about the person joining (<innocent person>, who did nothing wrong in this entire exchange) was to ask the mailing list. How did I set this guy off?

I guess, like my friend Greg says, I’m a shit magnet.

Addendum:

The police told me that threats, verbal or written, are free speech. I kind of think that means they don’t want to do the paperwork, but whatever.