Good news everywhere: my company's getting bought out via hostile takeover is a dead issue, the judge dismissing the Paula Jones case means the end of the whole Kenneth Starr Inquisition may be in sight (Salon has an excellent editorial about that today), my cold is fading and I can walk at normal speed again, another record day for the stock market - and G & D may even be having a reconciliation!

Today I discovered and have wasted much time reading this morose young guy's journal: "Brotherhood of a Terminal Loner" - the link'll put you into a middle entry, but you can easily navigate anywhere from there - he does things with frames that frustrate me because I don't understand them! (Not yet, anyway.) Although his content's generally entertaining, his limited vocabulary gets tedious - can't these kids use anything except "kicks ass" to show delight and appreciation? (Amusingly, for extra emphasis his expression once [for a band he likes] was "kicks ass and takes names" - for yucks, that's the type of manager I tell people I'd be - as if.)

I'm listening to the Julee Cruise CD I got a couple weeks ago - wonder what happened to her? I've had the "Twin Peaks" soundtrack since it was new, so was familiar with three of her songs - her own record ("Floating Into The Night") has those as well as several other nice tunes. It's grown on me.

The above oblique reference to David Lynch reminds me that I've been meaning to articulate the resemblance between my current working environment and "Eraserhead" - that is, the background sounds. Since the base I work at (more detail & links in this previous entry) has an operational airstrip (right outside my window) and a dozen wind tunnels, the day is punctuated with various industrial and aeronautical roars of various durations, which drown out the usual steady office hiss & hums. Sometimes it sounds just like that film, although the dialog's not as weird ("They're not even sure it is a baby!"). Not that I'm any great fan of that film - in 1982 an artist acquaintance at a party held forth so movingly about its charms that I went, since it had became big enough by then to have non-midnight screenings. It twisted my brain so painfully that when next we met (at a gallery opening of his work, actually) I waited until he was standing in the center of the room, briefly alone, and I stomped up and punched him in the chest. I explained why <1> and stalked away. Kind of a bonehead move - I liked his paintings a lot, and wish now I'd bought one - except for a strange, brief bumping-into at a gas station one night a few months later, I never saw him again. But a year ago, when I first moved out here, by chance I walked into a strange store down in San Jose ("Time Tunnel") which sells 'collectibles'. A black & white video was playing on an antique television - you guessed it. I was mesmerized; must have hung around watching for an hour. I went right home and found this site which explains Lynch's vision.