MF42

This is fun.

Some more. Matt

Cool. Matt

Careful! The last time I got a three day suspension for general rudeness, I decided it was a good time to start learning to skydive. Life will never be the same. Matt

That was seriously impressive! I heard a rumor that somebody had intestinal damage from the flame backing up too far, so I've always been too chicken to try. Matt

Is this secret code for something? I'm just excited that Post Whorse, our mascot, responded to me.

What happened? Did you fall off a Whorse? The mascot lives! Matt

Tomorrow I get my first full-size lotsa-overtime paycheck since I hurt myself back in June.

My parents played the game, and I went along with it for several years after figuring out the truth, just 'cause it was fun.

Sometimes I wish I could live in my hometown again, but keep my current income. I'd be living like royalty. Matt

I grew up in a town of about 30,000 in Oklahoma. Then I moved to the suburbs of Chicago. Culture shock! Could only stand it for a few years before escaping to the boonies of smalltown Wisconsin. Long commute everyday, but it's worth it to live someplace comfortable.

Mornin'. Bitch. Matt

GROAN Matt

You couldn't keep me away! I'd be so annoying, people would be hitting me instead! Matt

I've never been exactly sure what HR people do, other than screw up my insurance and my paycheck every other month. Matt

I'm with ya on the moongazing.

Possibly NSFW, but it's really not too rude, just funny. The objective of the game is to streak naked at public events. Avoid the cops and make your escape in the getaway van. I laughed.

You should chart average end-of-month savings for pre-first skydive and post-first skydive. Matt

That's a good idea. Now that digital cameras have advanced to the point that a fairly small and inexpensive camera can take acceptably high resolution photos, I should probably get one. But dammit, even one of the cheap models costs at least one AFF jump! Matt

Today I saw the sky arrange itself into an exceptionally beautiful display of clouds, colors, and light. I pointed it out to two coworkers who I don't know very well. The first one laughed and asked if I was flirting with him, then went inside without even glancing upward. The second man looked startled and made some joke about it not being a good idea to be high at work. He at least looked up, but only for a second. It occurs to me that those two responses neatly sum up a depressingly common attitude toward the appreciation of beauty. The casually accepted view seems to be: if a man admits to being moved by something not related to women, beer or sports, then he must be either gay or on drugs. Possibly both. This saddens me. Put aside any question of whether it's wrong to be gay or high; that's not the point. My point is I am neither. We are constantly surrounded by and immersed in beauty. It seems to me that you'd have to deliberately ignore it in order to not see it. Why, then, is it so unusual for a sober, straight man to talk about it? Somebody explain it to me. Please. Matt

I vaguely recall some accident investigation several years ago claimed that a diving 747 actually passed mach 1 just before breaking up. It's been a long time, and I'm probably remembering it incorrectly, though. Matt

I love the entire environment of the used bookstore, but will only buy hardcovers there because I share Micro's loathing of molested paperbacks. I also can't stand the paper slip covers on hardbacks; those go straight into the trash the second I get home. I've been a library junky during bouts of poverty, but choose to buy most of the time because it's so satisfying to watch the collection grow, and because I'm a compulsive re-reader. Often I'll read a novel the first time for pleasure, then the second time to study the author's technique. Grue, sounds like I'm not quite as fast as you, but pretty close. An average novel takes me between four and six hours.

Earlier tonight I was finishing up some work on an a plane outside on the darkest corner of the ramp, when a slight movement caught my eye. It was a coyote, watching me from about 30 yards away. She sat still for several minutes, eyes and ears focused right on me. I don't know why. I tried making some polite conversation as I closed up the engine cowling and packed away my tools. I mentioned what a pleasant night it was, and how bright the moonrise looked. I asked after the health of her cubs, because her teats were full. She made no reply, only swiveled an ear occasionally or sniffed at the air. She exhibited a poise that seemed somehow very much un-doglike; a blend of calm and alert, a self-assurance that most people wish they could pull off. I can see why Coyote has had so many stories told about him down the centuries. "Excuse me, Mrs. Coyote. I'll be right back." I stepped inside the plane to collect some paperwork. When I came back out, she still hadn't moved. She continued to watch interestedly as I gathered up my things. What was she learning from me, I wonder? "Well, I'm done here, Mrs. Coyote. Have a good night, and good hunting." I started to walk away. "Yip," she said, and vanished into the night. Matt

While I understand the sentiment that changing any part of your past would change who you are today, can people truly not think of anything they would change for the better? Mine is obvious: I would do the last skydive over, but this time land correctly and skip that entire broken back adventure. Is it being cynical or shortsighted to think that nothing good came of injuring myself? How did a broken back make me a better person today? Matt

Judas Unchained, by Peter F. Hamilton. Hamilton is one of my two favorite currently active science fiction authors. The other one is Matthew Woodring Stover. Matt