2010 note: man, now i can't even remember what she looked like *LOL* ah, young love. i'm sure she was uberhot though.



remember renée?

well. due to SOMEONE'S ever-so-clever advice, i took her and her fiancé out to dinner. to like. i dunno. assess my position, see if this is some passing fancy, or truly some mad, mindless lust for the unattainable.

guess which it is.




...ten points for those who guessed the latter!

yeah. okay. so like.


i can't believe this. i have never. EVER. been so smitten by someone so UTTERLY out of reach. Angelina doesn't count; she's COMPLETELY out of reach. Renée is...

well see.

she's not quite completely out of reach. she's out of reach of the sane and reasonable. i.e., the only way to possibly reach her is to go to boston in july, show up at her wedding, stand up during the "speak now or forever hold your peace" line, and scream at the TOP OF MY LUNGS:




like something out of a movie. a comedy at that, after which the father of the bride (who of course will happen to be an ex-heavyweight world champion) will proceed to drag me outside and pound the shit out of me while the devastated bride screeches at me for ruining her wedding and the bridegroom stands by looking amazed and thunderstruck.

so, okay, that option's out. option 2 would be,


it's like something out of a SITCOM now. what am i gonna do, try to woo the girl while simultaneously screwing the guy over? superglue him to his chair and make him miss a date with her? bolt him into his office...



so of course, the only remaining option is:

stand by quietly. let it happen. forget it about it.

which is what i should do. cuz like. guh. it's just a crush, just an infatuation. i mean, i'm sure i've felt like this before; it just wasn't ever this bad because it's never been in a situation in which i couldn't for the life of me act on it.

it makes it worse, so much worse, that i know who the fiance is, and he's a pretty decent guy who i KNOW loves her to death, or at least halfway to death, and like. argh.

he's just a really nice guy! and it's hard to demonize him now, and even though what i SHOULD do now is realize that it's all for the best, all i can seem to do is FIND WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM and compare it to ways in which i'm BETTER than him.



1. i have a brighter future. dammit, i do. he's a fucking software engineer, i'm a doctor. i'm gonna run this fucking hospital one day (really, i am), and he's gonna go on churning out code for the rest of his life.

2. i'm a better conversationalist. i talked; he sat there and ate like a little idiot. okay, fine, maybe he's a good listener then, but i'm a good listener too! argh!

3. i'm not a fucking nerd!!! or well! not as nerdy as he is! he is such! a fucking! nerd! he must be thanking his lucky stars day and night that someone like renée fell on his lap, and...


other narcissistic, cruel, awful things like that.

i am so. blindly. jealous. i don't remember EVER having envied another man so much.

i just can't seem to get it out of my mind. it's wrong, it's a mistake, if i just get it out of my head, i'll be fine.

if had met her earlier, it'd be fine. or later. later, when she WAS married, that'd be fine. just like.

the illusion of hope, you know? keyword being illusion.


weird. i meant to start this entry talking about how fucking HUNGRY i am (because i am), but just sitting here, typing in the time, i was suddenly struck by this fleeting, ever-so-fleeting impression of a dream i had last night.

i can't remember what it was. can't even remember what the impression was. but something triggered the memory, and for a moment (more like an instant) i was frozen on the tiptop of that impression, straining for the rest of it. i wish...


it's frustrating; it's like reaching for something you're about a millimeter from touching, but can't. or worse: like reaching for something round at the top of the shelf, but as soon as you touch it, it rolls further away.

maybe i need to tilt the shelf. how do you tilt a mental shelf?

it occurs to me that i hard ever use capitalization in my entries here anymore. not sure why i do that. i think words come more easily when i don't have to stop and capitalize, though.

all right. NOW. let's talk about how hungry i am.

it's insane. i'm ravenous. i had clam chowder around 7pm, and yet i am utterly, completely starving. i'm sitting here and fantasies of food fill my mind. i'm fantasizing about food more avidly than i fantasize about women. mostly, that's because i've never mastered the art of daydreaming - how does that work, anyway? i hear it's like a semidream; you have some control over what happens, but not total control. you set it into motion and then it kinda unfolds by itself.

i've never, ever daydreamed. to be sure i've stared off into space and let my thoughts wander, but i've never been able to put together something that i could see. except at night, of course, when i'm one step away from sleep.

actually, come to think of it, the bridge into sleep for me is usually music. i can tell when i'm about to fall asleep because i might remember a song, and it'll be very vivid for me.

what do i mean by that? i mean: well, here. take any old song. take Garbage, or Beethoven; something complex and multilayered. try to remember the way it sounded.

most likely, what you'll get is just the melody line. like - You Look So Fine. you'll get the lyrics, the way the lyrics lilt. me, right now, i'm remembering that bit, "I'm not like all of the other girls/I can't take it like the other girls - that you used to know."

(You're taking me over...over and over...)

--heh, anyway. just the melody, though, right?

now, when i'm starting to fall asleep, i start hearing more of it. the background music. the bassline; the electronica; the guitars and the drums. more and more and more. then i either slide into a dream where the music fades off and goes into some sort of visual that i'll most likely forget - or, i'll wake up again.

that's usually because i heard something that woke me up; drew my attention and let my attention fade from the music in my head. then, when i try to recapture what i was "listening" to, it's back to just the melody line.

anyway. that was quite a tangent.

point is: i've never daydreamed. however, i can see clear-as-day, if i just close my eyes, FOOD.

thanksgiving turkeys, gleaming and golden-brown, stuffed with mom's stuffing, surrounded by heaps of creamy mashed potatoes (with skins in) and dark brown, thick, unlumpy gravy. meat loaf soaking in its own broth. ham with those little fruit thingies on top. steak. oh my god. steak, thick and juicy, a little pink at the middle. hamburgers. stacked high with lettuce and tomatoes and bacon and cheese. hot dogs, like those at Top Dog. crisped, a little burnt, hot and delicious with mustard, ketchup and sauerkraut atop. biscuits, flaky, buttery, hot. fish - trout, the way i make it. more fish - smoked salmon, the way my dad's old professor used to make it when he was a post-doc. tender and smoky and salty-sweet. curry chicken. korean barbecue beef and pork. ethiopian food, with those funky dough-things. gyros and hummus. all of it hot and ready to eat and delicious and sumptuous; prancing in front of me, sashaying around all utterly edible and begging to be devoured.

christ. i'm going to die if i don't eat something.


I saw a flamenco dancer perform at lunchtime today on the Embarcadero. I'm not sure what it was for, or what troupe she was a part of, but it was amazing.

I've seen flamenco before when I was younger, back in San Diego, but it must've been at least 8 years since then. Dance is one of those things, where you forget what it looks like if you don't see it. You can't imagine, reconstruct a dance in your head, no matter what. Even now, I'm forgetting what it looked like.

I just know it was incredible. I remember her skirts: deep lurid red, and the sleek sheathe above that. And castanets in her hand, just one of them, and the startling rattlesnake sound they made when she snapped them and moved. And her poise - that highborn look, you know what I mean - chin up, back straight, arms held motionless, waiting for the music. Waiting to move.

And when she did move - I can't describe the dance. It wouldn't do it justice. There was a crowd around her (there are always crowds around street performers), and she was so sleek and muscular. And I don't mean bulging with muscle; I mean muscular the way anacondas and pythons are, that sort of arched strength that you can feel and see in the whiplash motions and the sinuosity of the body and arms. It was like she had no bones, and was sinew and lean muscle all the way through. Not liquid, no - flexed. The curve of her torso; the pull of her arms like some raptor's wings; the grace and strength of her legs, the two forming one shape; the shape of her neck and her fingers.

Understand, this dancer's face was not beautiful in the classic sense of the word. Handsome, perhaps, a little noble. She was tall, with black hair pulled into a tight bun. She had high sharp cheekbones and a long Roman nose, thick black eyebrows and a sultry mouth that pulled down at the corners as though she was displeased, or even a little cruel. But she was beautiful, maybe because she was dancing to set something on fire; maybe because she was so damned confident of her dance, and her eyes which flashed at those watching her, and her castanets that snapped like scorpions' claws. Watching, I thought of bows pulled taut; weasels, whips and vipers; thorned blood-red roses, the blooming queen of flowers.



i'm sure a lot of people have heard that song, Summertime. the immortal Ella Fitzgerald and all that. heck, a lot of people have probably heard the fairly true-to-the-original Summertime by Janis Joplin.

but if you haven't heard it yet? go download Sublime's Summertime. i think it's also called Doin' Time. it's completely different. so, completely different. the words are totally changed except for the original "Summertime ...and the living's easy." it's somewhat reggae-style; the underlying story of the song is different.

all the same? it keeps the faith. it's a summertime made in the nineties, for a nineties summertime. and in the city, not the rural south.

it's a great song. it sounds like summer. maybe it's because it's on the hot side these days that i like it so much. it's something about the cool laidback bassline and the...what, a xylophone? repeating these few notes that, actually, are sampled from the original Summertime. towards the end, if you listen carefully, it's there.

but it's different. it keeps the feel of summertime, but everything else is different.

it reminds me of july days in the city. eating lunch on the steps of town hall, something like that. pigeons clucking around. girls in shorts and tank tops and sunglasses. one of those hot days where the sun bears down, but not unbearably, where you spend the whole day sticky and enveloped in heat, but it's not so bad because it's sunday, and anyway there's not too much to do.

a bit of a humid edge to the heat. well, as humid as california gets, at least. just the kinda weather to lounge around and nod to music in your car, on your front step, look up and look over the cute girl walking her toy poodle past.


well, okay. first off, this isn't another hyperdisgruntled post.

this is...well, i guess this is as closed to depressed you'll ever see me. i wouldn't call it depressed. i'm just a bit - melancholy.

which is strange, because i just finished watching LotR, which usually puts me into a great mood because i love the movie. plus i was just ranting about it a bit ago. but, yeah. melancholy. despite the sunshine outside and the fact that it's the most beautiful day here in weeks and weeks.

i'm awfully stressed these days. wreaks havoc on my mood. this is one of those days i wish it was all already done with, or that i still had maybe another 3 months or so to prepare. heh.

i could, of course, be studying right now, but i can't bring myself to get up and do it. anyway, i have an appointment in 15 minutes, so i suppose there's no point now.


one of those days i just feel a bit disconnected and solitary, even though i'm surrounded by people i know, and even more people are just a phone call away.

heh. anyway.

snoring. fuck.

i left the time up there because it was cool. 123am. usually i like to take it off because the minute i start writing it is, obviously, never the minute i finish. plus i feel all mysterious when i type "past midnight" or "before dawn" up there.

yeah, okay.

so, let's start over: 123am. which means two things. 1. i should be going on a round (already did that, so check); 2. i should be trying to catch a wink of sleep.

it's been a long night. i got until 6am to go. i think this is the worst shift of all. noon to 6am. 6pm to the following noon is worse. and midnight to the follow 6pm is the worst of all.

all right, i lied. this isn't the worst. but all the same it's pretty bad. they're all pretty bad, with the exception of


6am to midnight. all the rest require staying up at ungodly hours, even though, truth be told, the workload is a lot lighter.

except in the midnight to following 6pm shift. that's just hell. you get in at midnight. you're already fuckin tired. you work until 6am and, lo and behold, el sol comes up.

people come in.

they're sick, they're cranky, you're tired, you're crankier, they wanna be treated, you wanna kick them in their ass and tell them to go home.

i know. this isn't your wonderful, idealistic post about the wonders of modern medicine and the joys of healing the ill. but this isn't 2pm on a beautiful sunday afternoon either; this is almost 2am and my ear hurts (see above, but no worries, it's not constant - it's just when i kinda...i dunno what i do, no name for it, but i do it and it hurts), and i've had so much caffeine that i can't sleep and it annoys me.

that's why i'm up, by the way. caffeine. i am very caffeinated, very badtempered right now.

some people think caffeine makes you alert. i say, bullshit. it jacks up your nerves so that you can't sleep, but that wears you out. so you're tired, tired as hell, but you can't fall asleep. that's what caffeine does.

i should've never had all that coffee. stupid thing is, i didn't drink it so i could stay up. i drank it because the idea of a nice cold Spin

(okay, 3 nice cold Spins)

sounded like a great idea then.

you know what's really getting on my nerves right now? there's a patient down the hall who insists on sleeping with her door open. god knows why, but she paid for a single, she can afford to leave her door open. so it's open. it's dead quiet in the hospital, her door is open, and she snores

like a fucking


i swear to god, i have never ever heard a woman snore like that. we're not talking cute little snores. we're talking great big gigantic rumbling snores, uneven, because once in a while she stops altogether (sleep apnea, all that, fuck) and you're like, shit she's dead, and then, oh fuck, here it comes,


i'm telling you. it's earsplitting. it's unbelieveable. imagine the sound someone really really sick might make blowing their nose. now slow that down, drag it out, drop it an octave or two. play that new sound back. blubbering, mucusy, sickening, snotty. like she was breathing through a huge glob of snot stuck right in her larynx.

i listen to it and it makes me wanna gasp for air.

man, i didn't mean for this entry to be a major bitchrant. apparently, though, that's what's coming out of my hands tonight.

GAH! there she goes again. stops breathing - HUGE LOUD FUCKIN SNORE. how can ANYONE, much less a WOMAN, snore like that?

it's RESONANT. it echoes down the hall. i swear, if i were her roommate, i would've suffocated her with a pillow by now and blamed it on some obscure illness. thing is, she's not even that sick. no fucking clue why they're keeping her here overnight for monitoring, though i suspect it's because some asshole surgeon or other is gonna get a demand for taxes this year instead of a refund and wants to make a quick buck.

okay, maybe not. who cares.

this is me signing off.


third entry.

hostility, man. that's what this is tonight. i'm just hostile in general. male pms or something.

sometimes i think society was better off before all these antiviolence rules. sometimes you just gotta let it out. instead all we got are punching bags and gym equipment. big solid manmade things of steel and rubber and foam and plastic that you can beat up and tear into without hurting this nice fragile little shell of a society we've got.

go on, let it all out. kick around that punching bag. tear that nordictrak around. show 'em who's boss. or just lace on some shoes and run. run to get fit. run all over the place. run away.

better yet, be like me. sit here and type futile little notes into some online diary shit while you'd feel a lot better breaking something. a bottle, a window, someone else.

how did things get so bad? jesus christ. now i'm a raving maniac. if this laptop wasn't worth a few hundred dollars and if it didn't assure me a pink slip by tomorrow, i'd chuck this machine out the window and then break every other window with a chair. this place needs some noise.

heh. all right, that made me grin a little. good nuff for me. i'm gonna go do something else. talk, sleep, work out.

least that woman stopped snoring. or if she's still snoring, which i bet she is, she's not being so damn LOUD about it.

i feel better.

cherry trees.


It seems that the celebrated cherry tree out in front of my apartment, subject of so many adoring diary entries about early spring in san francisco, is some sort of FREAK OF NATURE because it blooms in late january/early february when the rest of the nation's trees, now.

I thought for a while maybe it was just San Fran that bloomed early? No luck. Suddenly these days I'm noticing all them cherry trees blooming their asses off all over the place while my cherry tree...

...already has leaves.

Really ugly dark brownish green leaves.

Ah well. Heh. I still love it. I mean, I guess it's all springy/summery for cherry trees to bloom in april/mayish, but there's something about those fragile blossoms blooming in late january, when everything else is bare and cold and the rain freezes your nose off.

Just for a week, though. They bloom too early. Every morning I'd go outside and find cherry blossom petals littered all over the floor, blown off during the night. I bet the other trees last longer.

Poor beautiful strange early-blooming tree.