I'm finalizing plans for new tattoos, but I don't want any where they wouldn't be seen, which conflicts with my need for an actual adult job. Curses! I guess I've got to get off my butt and finish In Search of the Perfect Lesbian, so I can become a novelist, and pitch some ideas to Oni Press, so I can become a comic book writer (I'd pitch directly to DC, because I do want to write superhero comics, too, not just character driven indies, but they don't accept unsolicited admissions).

On Friendship...
In Lindsay's mind, I've never been in direct competition with Jake. I was never in competition, because to her I was never even in the game; which, to be honest, I've always felt was unfair to me, that I was never even considered as potential boyfriend material. Anyway, despite the fact that I'm not in direct competition with this kid (some econ major toolbox at Sacramento State... Sac State? So much for Lindsay's professed snobbishness about education), at this moment in time being her friend feels a lot like a consolation prize, and there is nothing in the world I hate more than pity.

On Life "After" Lindsay...
I never had a shot with Bachelorette No. 3 because she's racist. Her parents immigrated from Taiwan and she only likes Chinese guys. And she won't date a Chinese guy if he doesn't speak Mandarin at least somewhat fluently. I found out Bachelorette No. 2 is a Trekkie, a major plus, but I only found out because we were discussing how she really wants to ask this other guy to go see Nemesis with her as their first date. And I don't even like Bachelorete No. 1; I'm only "attracted" to her because she seems to be attracted to me. She's creative, but I hate her ideas. Last night, the Mountain asked me if I'd kissed EPM. Now, admittedly, at a party in September I did have my hand on her ass for over an hour (in two or three little stretches), and later when I sat down on a couch she stratled me, but it was a weird night all around and there was nothing remotely going on. I know how much it would hurt him if I ever kissed her and he knows I never would; so, it was really weird for me that he asked that. Of course, given how odd I've been behaving lately, his concern seems much more reasonable.

One day, I'll regain my perspective, but not today. Today, I need to vent: I would be a good boyfriend. One day, I would have made a devoted husband and an extraordinary father. In light of that, it's so disheartening that none of those things will ever come to pass, and that it'll be up to my sister and brother to make my mom into the perfect grandmother she'd be.

On Friendship...
I say what I'm about to say not out of a lack of self-confidence or a surplus of self-pity, but out of honest confusion: I don't understand why I have any friends. I'm moody, I'm mean, I'm inconsistent, I've got a terrible temper, I'm arrogant, and I'm judgmental. On the plus side, I'm smart, I'm funny, I'm loyal, I'm helpful, I'm wise, and I've got all the right opinions. (That last one's a joke... well, half a joke/half half-serious.) But, it seems like an awful lot to put up with. And yet, I've got friends. I've got a lot of friends. Speaking of true friends, I actually think I have more than most people. I don't get it, but there are a number of people out there who absolutely adore me. Sickos to be sure, but they genuinely like me. I used to doubt this, but then I realized that I was too much to put up with for these people to be pretending; so, they really love me. Who knew. The only thing I'm missing is a girlfriend. By way of contrast, then there's Lindsay. She's had a string of boyfriends who haven't deserved her, but she has very few friends. All her old boyfriends are "useless fuckers," and she already doubts she'll stay in touch with her Berkeley classmates once they all move on. Her undergrad years at UNC were full of lovers and acquaintances, but no real friends. Obviously, I'm biased, but I just can't figure this out: how a person (either or both of us) can be so successful in one area, and such an abject failure in the other.

I write the dark bastard as if he's English only because he seems much more cruel that way, there being no more vicious and malicious people on the face of the Earth than the sons and daughters of merry old England.

Sorry, Dylweed, God won't be up for reelection until A.D. 3000. You'll still be a valuable part of the Star Chamber Council during The Revolution and later under The Empire, though.

As I was logging in at the Blogger page, one of the 10 Most recently Updated Blogs was the Watergirl's. Even more crazy is the fact that two minute's earlier, I'd been at her page reading the weekend's posts. With so many folks blogging, what are the chances that I'd be logging in during the precious few seconds when someone I "know" has just published? Neat!

I've been so terribly unfair to her. She never asked for me to fall in love with her, she never asked for our friendship to be an emotional minefield. She's called me her best friend, and yet she felt compelled to keep her boyfriend hidden from me for months. What a monster I've been.

I hate everything that's happening right now, yet I cannot help but be excited to see her next week.

I'm actually feeling pretty good today, but I'm still going to give the dark bastard his due. The dark bastard, for those of you who may not know, is the name I've given to all my insecurities, self-loathing, and doubt. He's an integral part of me, but I like to refer to him as if he is a separate person. Because the dark bastard is consistent; when I'm happy he tries to bring me down, and when I'm sad he indulges me. This is the only part of the Lost Post that I was happy to see go, but the dark bastard is just going to keep pestering me until I publish it.

And now a word from the dark bastard...
I'm not talking about hope, possibility, or any other unquantifiable measurement here, I'm talking about cold, hard logic. Hope is the lies we tell ourselves when we don't like the truth; logic is uncaring, but at least it's honest. Logically, Wilson is going to die alone. In his life, three girls have liked him. One he liked only as a friend, another he didn't like at all, and though he liked the third and she liked him, they never liked one another silumtaneously. He has liked many girls, with varying degrees of affection. The fat fuck's loved two of them: Skeeter and Linz. Though both considered him a dear friend, neither had the slightest romantic interest in 'im. So, it logically follows that any girl Wilson loves will not love him. Here, two options persent themselves: a) in order to find romance, he must lower his standards and fake affection for a girl he doesn't love, or b) he lives and dies alone. And the bloke's too proud to lower his standards, so, logically, he will die alone. The best part is, though, that he knows this, and yet the wanker will continue to pursue Linz and then the next girl after her and the next girl after her and I'll laugh my fucking head off the whole time. Why? Because of hope. Cruel, taunting hope.

I've been having a very frank dialogue with Lindsay this week. "The thing is, I don't love you the way you want, and so I wouldn't ever be able to make you happy that way." How do I give her up? She's so certain it wouldn't work, but I'm so certain it would.

All the folks I work with think I'm weird. Thank God at least one thing is still right with the world.

I've come to a conclusion: life is unfair, but that doesn't mean you have to accept that. Life will be unfair whether or not you accept its inherent unfairness; so, why take it lying down? Life's unfair, so fuck life. Rant and rail against each little unfairness if you like; it'll be just as unfair if you stay quiet, but at least this way you'll have gotten a good yell out of the deal. Life will always be unfair, but that doesn't mean you have to just grab your socks and take it.

I have just lost the greatest post in the history of the Secret Base. It was personal and it was poetic, I worked on it for over an hour. I tried to post it, but Internet Explorer kept telling me that there was no post, in defiance of the pages of text ahead of me. So, I tried the Post & Publish button, and most of it simply disappeared. Maybe the reading of it isn't so important as the writing. Maybe it is enough that I got some things off my chest. Maybe Ev and the other assholes who invented this fucking blogspot sytem will burn in a special section of Hell.

I had been working on that post all weekend, gathering my thoughts, refining the phrasing in my head, so that for one day at least my blog would have something of significance to say. Clearly, this was a mistake. I shall never again be so foolhardy as to prepare anything for my blog. Back to whatever stikes my fancy in the moment, a sure route to banality and boredom. So, my beloved readers, I am sorry, I tried to give you more, but I was thwarted. I would say that it was meant to be, but fate is for cowards and weaklings.

The election of Rep. Nancy Pelosi as minority leader of the House is the first sign of life from the Democrats in ten years. In 1992, they realized that candidates like Michael Dukakis against centrist Republicans like George Bush; so, positioning themselves in the center via Bill Clinton, a smooth-talking young governor from the right-wing of the party, they were able to recapture the White House after twelve years of Reagan-Bush. In the intervening decade, the Grand Old Party has taken advantage of the generally rightward shift in attitudes to paint itself as the party of the center, and intimidating the Democrats into being Faux Republicans. With unreconstructed liberal Nancy Pelosi now in the party's leadeship, the Democrats are now in a strong position to make a stand on the political left. This is a gamble, especially given Presiden George W. Bush's popularity. However, by playing it safe, by not standing up for truly different ideas, they have already allowed the Republicans to seize complete control of Capitol Hill as well as the White House. I would have thought that a beating like that of two weeks ago would have had the Democrats cowering in fear; it is an uncharacteristic show of backbone for them to take a stand like this. Though I vote Republican, there is a part of me that truly relishes the battle to come. Nancy Peolis is a risk, and it may end very badly for them, but at least it shows that they are trying to get off the mat, and it's always nice to see a man realize he's not yet done.

As the Chinese Communist Party goes through the motions of installing a new group of "leaders," we should all take a moment to reflect on how fortunate we are that in the power struggle of the early '90s, between Tiananmen in '89 and Deng Xiaoping's death in '97, the moderate forces of Jiang Zemin were able to triumph over the hardliners of Li Peng. In a struggle we never saw, and about which most Westerners and Chinese alike will never know, the reason of Deng trumped the radicalism of Mao, and the one-fifth of the human race that is the Chinese were allowed to continue their Long March toward the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

On Friday,

Nancy Pelosi! Li Peng! A beautiful girl in the rain! Saturday's wedding! Old friends! New uncertainties! Seeing and not being seen by all the right people! All this and a special message from the dark bastard, coming up next! You're watching Sports Night on CSC, so stick around.

Thanks to the good people at Amazon.com, I received my preordered copy of Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones in yesterday's mail. Woo hoo! It was the best thing that could have happened to me. Tonight, power pop with the authority himself, Kiel Phelgey, and tomorrow Super Wilson Bros. action after I hang out with Bachelorette No.3. Except for the huge hole in my chest where my heart used to be, things are looking up.

Hang in there, Skeeter. Just like MTM, you're going to make it after all.

"There's a hole in my heart as deep as a well
For that poor little boy trapped half way to Hell."

Thank heavens for The Simpsons.

David and I are going to see Fountains of Wayne in Detroit on Wednesday, and then on Thursday he wants to go to Conor's. Not that he's going to drink anything, but it's good he wants to get used to it so we can go back on trivia night with Zach Nie! and the gang. I love Conor O'Neill's, but it's always a little weird for me to be there with somebody besides Linz, since we have a table there. I hope we'll get to share it over Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I talked to Bachelorette No.3 last night and she really is just as weird as she appears to be. I'm tired of being sad all the time, but I don't know how to fix it. Even before I found out Linz is Jake's girlfriend, things had started to fall apart. I haven't been to trivia night with Zach Nie! in forever, The Newsletter is completely off-schedule, and I'm not even consistently playing with the Flounders. I'm sick of it, which means it's time to get angry. Anger can't help me with Linz, but by Jove, it can fix the rest! Tomorrow, I'm going to kick the crap out of some middle-aged men, I'm going to finish The Newsletter with or without The Plate and Neutral Man, and I'm going to finally buy a damn Fountains of Wayne CD. So what if Justinandemily didn't return my call this past weekend, it's time to let my friends know that they're important to me and I want to see them; or, like Alber & SSG, just cut them out of my life as completely as possible. I going to give Skeeter a call and just shoot the shit. I'm going to have a damned good time on Saturday at the wedding and I'm going to have fun hanging out with Bachelorette No.3 on Thursday. Why now? Because it is never too late. Never. "He was one hundred and seventy days dying and not yet dead."

Hi, I'm Mike Wilson. My full name is Michael Patrick Wilson. I'm The Last Angry Man.

Listen to Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.: Armistice Day is sacred.

One week tonight since the fire in my eyes dimmed. One week since the world lost so much of its color. (Sorry for the melodrama.)

I'm really starting to worry about how much I want to kiss someone. Currently, I have three potentials, Bachelorettes Nos. 1, 2, and 3. Bachelorette No. 1 seems the most interested, but I am not; there's just something all wrong about her. Bachelorette No. 2 calls me Michael, which slays me, but we move in very different social circles. Things could go either way with Bachelorette No. 3; we could date or just be good friends. I don't trust myself, because I'm afraid that what I really want is for us to be friends but that I'm not thinking clearly at the moment so I'll try to make us more than friends. And underlying it all is the question of how I could possibly date anyone feeling as I do about Lindsay. (All of this presupposes that any of the three Bachelorettes would be receptive to my advances, a feat of great hubris on my part.) I will marry Lindsay or die in the attempt. But that could take years; what am I to do in the meantime? Should I wait for her with monkish devotion? Could I casually date, always knowing that it is not the girl I'm with I truly want? Would that be horridly unfair to any girl I'm seeing? Or, is it acceptable to enter and continue a relationship with no intention of it ever being anything but impermanent? I will not have any part in being with someone merely as a distraction. But, if I genuinely like someone, is it permissible to act on those feeling, even though my unrequitted feelings for Lindsay are so much stronger? Would it be kosher to just set Lindsay aside and carry on acting on my other impulses? These are questions I have been gently grappling with all these long months while Lindsay hid him from me. Now brought into sharp focus by her status as Jake's girlfriend.

A little while back, I said something very insensitive about Emma and Bran. For this, I have apologized and I have made a sincere effort to be more considerate. However, Emma's nickname, Ham 'n' Eggs, is based on her soon-to-be-maiden name, Emma Knag. Soon, she will be Emma Blinkenberg. So, I want to start calling her Mrs. Blinky; he's already, technically, Mr. Blinky. My question is: is this offensive to either of them?

I'm actually feeling a lot better, because I've been dividing my time between too-quickly tearing through the Sports Night box set and thinking about all the sex Lindsay and Jake are having. (I have no evidence that they are having sex, but they're dating seriously enough for Linz to risk telling me; so, instead of being anxious about it, I've just accepted that fact that in a probability so high it is essentially a certainty, they are.) And I've been trying to speak more rapidly, in quick Sorkin-esque sentences, dashing between topics at breakneck speed. My thinking goes like this: I have almost convinced myself that jealousy is a waste of time. There are some kinks in the system, but that's to be expected. So, anyway, Lindsay feels the same way about me as she did before Jake came along. She feels about the same way about me as she did once he'd come along, but before she felt their relationship serious enough to merit telling me. She loves me as one of her best friends in all the world, but she does not now and never has felt the same way about me as I feel about her. Just because she likes Jake in a way she's never liked me doesn't mean she has in any way stopped liking me. It's killing me that she feels about him as she's never felt about me (it makes me feel very small), but not as much as it should because I'm learning that jealousy is a waste of time.

So, I'm trying to build up an immunity to the thought of them having sex, and they only way to do that is to expose myself to it. It's not easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. I should be fine seeing her over Thanksgiving, but it's going to ruin me seeing her dressed up for Emma and Bran's wedding after Christmas.

People are a funny lot. The case in point: cheer up notes. Who writes them. Who doesn't. Who sends a non-cheer up note. It's fascinating.

"Jealousy is a waste of time." From Catwoman: Selina's Big Score, written and drawn by Darwyn Cooke. And my thanks to Skeeter, who taught me the real meaning of Christmas... I mean, that jealousy and love are antithetical ideas.

Last night, the Bald Mountararat and I were able to watch Enterprise together for the first time this season. (A Three Musketeers to whomever can tell me from what pop culture item the nickname variation Bald Mountararat is derived.) Enterprise rules, but I'm still terribly apprehensive about the forthcoming Star Trek: Nemesis.

I need a girl, I need a drink, I need something to take my mind off Linz. Except all I see in any girl is that she can't possibly measure up to her, and I've never been able to get drunk. One of these days, the Mountain and I need to go to Conor's anyway, because now that he's twenty-one we can, damn it. My Sports Night DVDs arrived yesterday; now I own the entire series, not just the half-the-show, out-of-order episodes I'd taped off (shudder shudder) Comedy Central. I'm Dan Rydell and Linz is Rebecca Wells; I just don't think it is within me to respond to this situation by being "wonderful" as Danny did. Curse you, Aaron Sorkin!

I still feel like I've been impaled, but sadly that is a lot better than yesterday.

Though I both vote Republican and believe absolutely in my own righteousness, I'm still amazed every time we win any election. Sweet fancy Moses (stolen from Get Fuzzy), what happened? I haven't felt like this since that wonderful day in 1994 when the "Republican Revolution" left Todd Plants stupified and outraged. (In Mr. Riek's Honors English 10, Nicky the Greek and I were teasing him by called him a liberal, at which point he grabbed a dictionary and asked, "What's wrong with being a liberal?" Good times, good times.) In '96, Bob Dole, a good man who refers to himself only in the third person for reasons known only to him, lost to Slick Willy; in '98, we lost ground due to our own stupidity but held on to both houses; in 2000, we got the presidency, but only through the most embarrassing moment our democracy has suffered in quite some time, and then shortly lost the Senate to that weasel Daschle. (Seriously, Daschle? I can only assume he's as dissatisfying to most Democrats as Trent Lott is to all moderate Republicans.) But, I think a lot of the credit for this victory must be ascribed to Democratic ineptitude. Even though most of the illegal activity occured during the Clinton Administration, they should have been able to hang us with the corporate accountability scandal; yet, they did not. Bless them for being afraid to actually be Democrats; because if they're not Democrats they are Faux Republicans, and if they are Faux Republicans, you might as well give the President the real Republicans he asked for. And W, wow. He barnstrormed America and America liked it. I would have thought that the popularity he derived from 9/11 would have faded by now. The thing is, it might have; it might be that the American people genuinely like George W. Bush. I'm told that if you even meet the man, you like him. He's just likable. Clinton was a master persuader, that if you even met him within minutes he'd have you thinking his way; perhaps Bush has a similar power, only he doesn't win you over, he just wins your trust. Today, I feel much better about the 2004 presidential campaign than I ever have before.

On a similar note... take that, Walter Mondale! I miss Paul Wellstone; I disagreed with him about everything, but at least he was the guilty conscience of the Democratic Party.

The three worst words in the English language: Lindsay and Jake.

Once on a Marching Band trip, I decided to sit by myself on the way home to see if anyone would miss me. I stared out the window and quietly sang "The Minstrel Boy" over and over again. When we got back to school, Ham 'n' Eggs asked me if I was okay, and said Skeeter told her I looked as if I'd been impaled. I remember that story because right now I do feel as if I've been impaled. I looked into my eyes last night just before I went to bed and again this morning; I can't put my finger on what exactly it is, but something that should be there isn't.

She emailed me last night. The time stamp puts it at about the time I fell asleep. "are you ok?" It's nice to know the world still has it's sick fucking sense of humor.

"Jealousy is a waste of time." His name is Jake. It's been going on since July, shortly after I left, and she didn't tell me. She said because I'm important to her. The dark bastard says it's kind of her to lie.

Scott Latham has the single worst haircut in the history of Mankind. It was great seing him this weekend, but every time I looked at him I had to stifle a laugh. He's grown his hair out and bleached it, leaving a stringing, dried out, sickly-looking mass on top of his head. He had with him a hat that when worn made him look like the fuckface singer from Puddle of Mudd. Great Caesar's ghost, it was the most pathetic I've even seen a human being look in the whole of my life. I felt really sorry for him.

El Presidente has asked permission to create a link between his blog and The Secret Base. That's fine, unless I start getting a lot of asshole vegans in here.

DO NOT see the IMAX version of Attack of the Clones! The movie was cut from nearly two and a half hours in length to two hours. It was butchered. Honestly, I was really hurt by how disappointing it was.

(I apologize for the inelegence of today's posts. Something's off, but I'm not certain what.)

I had lunch with Mr. Chevy Celebrity today. As usual when I'm getting to know someone, I made him do most of the talking. I'm not at all angry or frustrated with myself, just bemused. I love the sound of my own voice so much, why do I do that? I highly recommend Kabob Palace if you're looking for someplace to eat.

Hyperlinks: I do not have a problem with anyone linking to this page. Whomever wishes to is welcome to read this blog. Just be aware that this is my blog, not yours. I am an abrasive person; so, if you don't like what you read, either stop reading or strike back. Don't ask me to censor myself because you're insecure. Everybody saw Spider-Man, right? "With great power comes great responsibility." By no means do I have great power, but with any power comes a proportional level of responsibility. Don't use the power of the hyperlink if you can't use it responsibily. Other than that, link 'til the cows come home for all I care.

It's All Saints Day, by the way. A holy day of obligation.

I had my first Jell-O shot yesterday! I didn't want it, but as soon as I got to the party Mary (Catwoman), our lovely hostess, bushwhacked me and shoved it into my hand. I would have refused, except she's an adorable drunk; all smiles and stumbling, and concerned that you're having a good time, too. Britta's (Butterfly) costume was amazing, sparkling and translucent, but I was not able to speak to her for long. (Yes, these are all people that I work with, because those are the only people I knew at this party.) Wiz (Shower) looked great, with a shower curtain, simulated water, and a soap dish all attached to his person; now that's a Halloween costume! Anyway, as I was talking to Britta, and making a sincere effort to not let my eyes drop down from her face, Chris (tourist in Hawai'i) struck up a conversation. The things he says are vapid, but that's not what really bothers me. The cadance of his voice is annoying, too, but it's the tone that cuts through my like a knife. "Sorry, kid. It's the laughter of children, it cuts through me like a dentist drill." I honestly cannot stand to hear the man talk. It drives me insane. So, I pulled my patented high school move and fled. No goodbyes to anyone, just a few brisk steps and I was out the door. I was only there about an hour and would have liked to have stayed, but circumstances were quite out of my control.

What can I be next year? A superhero? A punk? A mod? President Lex Luthor? A milk crate? So many possibilities. Jumpin' Jack Pratt, I love Halloween. Holy shit, that's it! I can go as Jack Pratt! Sure, nobody from outside Grand Blanc would get the reference, but who the hell cares what they think? Sweet! Last night, several girls commented that I made a great Elwood Blues because I bear a resemblence to Dan Aykroyd. Maybe they've never seen Dan Aykroyd. (Nobody would know who I am, but a great costume would be Superman villain Manchester Black.)

I'm glad I decided not to add a commenting feature to the ol' Secret Base. From watching other blogs, they seem to malfunction all the time; more importantly, this is my blog. If you want to say something, start your own. Right now, I really really want to link to the funniest thing on the Internet. But I can't because a friend asked me not to. Rassom frassom friendship. It doesn't help you guys, but please know that I just had a good belly laugh thinking about it; so, at least one person's day has been made a little better. But if I can't link you to the funniest thing on the Internet (must... resist... temptation... Skeeter... will... kill me), I can at least link you to something funny on the Internet. Try this, and read Get Fuzzy every day.