A man a plan, a canal, lanacapanama.
According to newsweek and reputable blogs on the internet, my life style is killing me. Apparently I need to head out the the smoky bars, sit around, drink Chimay and swap jokes with the regulars to save my life. Or as newsweek said, I should find a girlfriend who's bubbly nature would compensate for my sleepy awkwardness.

Or failing that, at least there some good events coming up on the calendar. The Star Gate fan club will be meeting in two weeks. It will be a drive out to Chantilly, but hey, it will be an adventure. The local UU has a pretty good looking events calendar if I can get up and go.

I've given up on one of the Amenesty International letter writing groups I used to go to, the other is a schedule conflict with CVS, so I'm mixed--I probably won't make it to one of the AI meetings until December.

I think I'm going to have to wean myself off of using 'puters for a few month or two. After you use 'puters long enough, you start to forget how live without them. I don't know where my phone book is. I pretty much learn of all my social events from organizations that advertise on the internet. I'll be at the mercy of the Express and The Paper. Or I'll relent and use their online calendars and try very hard not to be distracted by boingboing.net. It probably won't happen, I mean, I can't even pay my bills anymore without the internet.

(Ha! Probably lost some readers there.)

I should take some time to actually sit zazen. If I'm going to sit zazen at all, I should find a suitable zendo and sit with other people. My favorite explanation for why I do what I do is that I am subconsciously sabotaging all my efforts to interact with humanity. I get out of the apartment, then spend time with people mostly not talking to them.

Newsweek said that if one finds it hard to think of words to say, it sickens the heart. The words, left with no place to escape, seep into the arterial pipes. First the jagged z's, t's, m's and x's peirce the corenary arterial walls, like little grave markers. The round o's and u's get tangled in the mess. Punctuation marks fill in the last gaps and blood stops flowing.

Interestingly, I'm finding out a limiting factor, aside from the fact that I'm just a scaredy cat, is food. To maintain a steady social schedule, I need to maintain a supply line suitable for an army of one. (Make note to self, buy more MRE's at Whole Foods)

I should give up my Russian fraudster penpal. While I feel rather heroic keeping a spam spewing fraud busy answering my emails, it takes time I don't have. (However, it has been an inspirational activity, too. If some morality impaired Russian can hack human protocols, why can't I, a much better hacker than them, hack the human social code?)

Would 'uv, should 'uv, could 'uv.

In other news, cat has scratched a hole in his head. Now I'm going to have to get serious with putting anti-mite medicine in his ears.