I had to go into the office today for the first time in forever. On the 405 north going past Long Beach airport, I was punching buttons on the stereo and U2’s “New Year’s Day” came on. It’s a song I half-like; overplayed, but nice noises. I was thinking how overblown and crummy Bono’s lyrics were. Just as he sang the line “this is the Golden Age, and gold is the reason for the wars we wage”, one of the Air Force’s gigantic new C-17 Globemaster III transport planes loomed out of the haze over me as it left the Boeing facility at the airport, headed out to sea. Soon it will be lugging tanks and guns and scared 19-year-olds to Iraq. Nice MTV moment there, O Demiurge.
My ID card didn’t work at the office and we all made Logan’s Run jokes. Then after some meeting stuff we had a lunch meeting at the Buggy Whip. This is an ancient steakhouse near the L.A. airport that is stuck in 1962. It’s cave dark inside, red leather booths, old waitresses with whisky ‘n’ cigarettes voices. I ate Florida Stone Crab Claws, salad with Green Goddess dressing, and a 22 oz. porterhouse steak with mashed potatoes and spinach. The waitress made gravelly small talk with us. My coworker H. paid since he was taking us out to celebrate his new master’s degree and thank us for covering for him during school times over the last couple years.
I also had to learn the network architecture of our New Big Thing. Fortunately my coworker J., who set all this up, is not only an excellent Internet Roadie who does the networking shit right, but he documented it all meticulously. Thank you J., even more than thank you H. for the pile of meat.
I should have stayed in L.A. and messed around at a record store or something but I came back down through two hours of Hell’s own traffic. Spent $45 on gasoline and a carwash. Went to D’s. I was miserably uncomfortable and upset, and didn’t want to be around my friends at all. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to kill everyone or have everyone kill me. Social interaction lately is a cigarette. I need it; I light it up; and then it makes me sick and I can’t stand myself for doing it again, and I remind myself it’s bad for me and I should stop. Then I need it…