September 29, 2004

It’s a D/s Life: A Cautionary Note

Sometimes I have to take a step back, and look at things as I did for the first time. I have to keep in mind that one of the most impor­tant aspects of this lifestyle is con­sent. That power flows from the bot­tom up, not the top down.

That I shouldn’t over­step my bound­aries. That in time, more trust will develop, and the rela­tion­ship will grow, and the bound­aries will extend. That with this comes inti­macy, strength, and pos­si­bly love.

That even with all the respon­si­bil­ity, trust, and faith I’ve been given, I must retain my humil­ity. That power does not need to be exerted to be felt.

That I had none of this, and have been given everything.

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September 29, 2004

You Don’t Know Me

On a day-to-day basis at work I have to deal with a mul­ti­tude of con­tacts from all sorts of busi­nesses, such as print­ing com­pa­nies, media com­pa­nies, survey/research com­pa­nies, phone/internet providers, mag­a­zines, tech sup­port depart­ments, mar­ket­ing com­pa­nies, and tons of other ran­dom oper­a­tions either try­ing to get my busi­ness or required by me for a product/service. At the begin­ning of every phone call, every sin­gle per­son I deal with asks me how I’m doing. It’s become a chal­lenge not to shout into the receiver, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME. DO YOU REALLY CARE? I’M A LITTLE WORRIED CAUSE IT BURNS WHEN I PEE! DID YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW THAT?!!”, every time I hear the cookie-cutter ques­tion. The worst is when I have to call some­one sev­eral times in a day to fol­low up on some­thing, and I’m greeted with the same ques­tion every time, as if my com­pany might have been built on a fault line that some­how sep­a­rated between 10:00 and 10:15.

I know that ask­ing is a polite thing to do, and it’s polite of me to ask in return, but it’s extremely dif­fi­cult for me to say things that I don’t really mean. I gen­er­ally only ask my friends how they’re doing, and I cer­tainly only tell my friends how I’m actu­ally doing.

I sup­pose it’s all just a haz­ard of the job. One day, for one of the less friendly, more aggres­sive, rudely patron­iz­ing, dread­fully unim­por­tant calls (such as one I got the other day from a com­pany sell­ing solu­tions for high search engine rank­ings), I’ll go on about some make-believe prob­lem I’m hav­ing. It’ll be inter­est­ing to see how long they can stay on the line, how much the busi­ness worth to them.

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September 28, 2004

Gillette MACH3 Razor with 2 Cartridges

Features:

  • Gillette MACH3 Razor and 2 Cartridges
  • Triple-blade shav­ing sys­tem with an advanced indi­ca­tor lubri­cat­ing strip
  • Razor fea­tures ergonomic han­dle; 3 blades grad­u­ally extend closer to beard, less reshav­ing is required
  • The indi­ca­tor lubri­cat­ing strip has a blue stripe that fades away when blade is no longer optimum*
  • Each blade has a patented DLC com­fort edge to glide effort­lessly across face

*Note: Does not apply to Chinese males with sissy facial hair. Please use eight to twelve months as a gen­eral guide­line for replac­ing dull blades.

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September 26, 2004

It’s a D/s Life: A Beginning

I haven’t writ­ten a con­tem­pla­tion entry in ages. Things have been pushed aside to make way for new explo­ration and comprehension.

For so long, I’ve tried to wait before writ­ing about this. My inex­pe­ri­ence, and pos­si­bly even inse­cu­ri­ties, have caused me to approach this sub­ject slowly and care­fully. Every day a new idea, a new under­stand­ing, a new emo­tion, a new strength. I’ve felt as if I’ve known so lit­tle, but am now begin­ning to make progress in my learn­ing, am now begin­ning to under­stand the immen­sity of this lifestyle.

Now, there are now too many thoughts to go with­out record, and I must write.

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September 25, 2004

The IT Budget Just Got Bigger

I was given the oppor­tu­nity to pur­chase a new machine (with my choice of parts) at work and put it together from scratch, some­thing I had never done before. I’ve dab­bled in cases ever since I played games (the dri­ving force behind much of my com­puter knowl­edge), but never actu­ally assem­bled an entire box from parts.

It’s amaz­ing to see how far along moth­er­boards, and even cases, have come now. Overclocking can be done through soft­ware, as opposed to open­ing the case and fid­dling with jumpers. Fan speed is auto­mat­i­cally con­trolled for a bal­ance of silence and cool­ing. Rail mounted drive bays make hard­ware con­fig­u­ra­tions much sim­pler. Thumbscrews elim­i­nate the need for screw­drivers for a sim­ple dust­ing. Firewire ports, eth­er­net con­nec­tions, video sup­port, even 5.1 sur­round are all built onboard, for the option of extremely clean, roomy, and cool cases, even if they are rather simple.

I man­aged to put the sys­tem together with­out hav­ing to re-seat a card, clean a con­nec­tion, or wig­gle a power cable. My machine is now a P4 3.2E (I sup­pose all higher end Pentium chips now auto­mat­i­cally come with hyper-threading), with a gig of DDR RAM, a 200 GB serial-ATA HDD, and a 128 MB ATI 800XT Pro video card. I also requested another 17″ flat panel, and received it the next day, so I can take advan­tage of the dual dis­play goodness.

Work was good, but now it’s just bet­ter.

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September 25, 2004

The Steve Lam

I used to really, really admire the steve lam. He seemed to have his own style, and not care what any­one else thought. I wanted to hang out with him, get to under­stand him bet­ter, maybe be a lit­tle more like him. I even bought him lunch once (he chose a club sand­wich from the cafe­te­ria), although one time we almost shared a bag of roasted peanuts while stand­ing next to a vend­ing machine.

I’m a lit­tle dis­ap­pointed. Sure, he prob­a­bly still doesn’t care what other peo­ple think, and he has really cool hair that I want SO BADLY, but now it seems like he’s caught up in the whole “indie new york rocker” image.

Image.

That’s what’s wrong with this picture.

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September 23, 2004

No Extra Toppings For Me

I finally told her. She didn’t seem too pleased.

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September 22, 2004

Memories Of Korn

Holy shit, I was walk­ing towards work this morn­ing with the cool autumn air on my skin and the dulled sun creep­ing up, cast­ing tall shad­ows on the grass. Something from Follow The Leader came on (I think it was Freak On A Leash) and I was back in high school again, a shy, ner­vous teenager, wait­ing for the yel­low bus to Catholic school.

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September 21, 2004

Yield To Me

On the way to work I walk adja­cent to a lane of traf­fic, and cars on the high­way can exit onto that street using a lengthy offramp. I have to cross the offramp every day, and there’s a yield sign there for cars com­ing from the high­way, but they never slow down or yield to pedes­tri­ans (unless it’s some­one old dri­ving). Since it’s a busy area, the cars can just keep com­ing, and I’ve spent a ridicu­lous amount of time just wait­ing for the line of vehi­cles to end.

Right now I just get out my frus­tra­tions by pre­tend­ing that I don’t notice any cars com­ing, and tak­ing one step onto the ramp. Most dri­vers don’t care if some­one is walk­ing across; as long as they know that one sees them, they assume that one will jump out of the way. Drivers who believe that some­one doesn’t see them will almost always yield.

This morn­ing, for exam­ple, I pre­tended to be com­pletely obliv­i­ous to two cars speed­ing down the offramp. I made one con­fi­dent step across the path and then quickly looked up, while con­tin­u­ing to cross. The first car sped past me, but the sec­ond car slowed down sud­denly enough to make the tires squeak. The car actu­ally pulled to the side of the road and came to a com­plete stop. I could tell that the dri­ver, a book­ish man with light hair and glasses, was both angry and shaken, and had to stop dri­ving to com­pose him­self. I swear he was about to get out of his car to tell me off, had he not brought him­self under con­trol, and real­ized that it’s not a fuck­ing MERGE sign, it’s a FUCKING YIELD TO PEDESTRIANS SIGN.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t always assume that I have the right of way (although I do believe that pedes­tri­ans are sup­posed to under the Highway Traffic Act R.S.O. 1990, c. H.8, s. 144 (28), unless the car can’t stop in time) and just walk across the cross­walk regard­less of oncom­ing vehi­cles. It’s in every­ones best inter­est to be safe, but I do my part by keep­ing an eye on vehi­cles, and not jay­walk­ing or cross­ing unpre­dictably. This guy, as well as many oth­ers, have plenty of time to see pedes­tri­ans approach­ing the cross­walk but decide to never slow down.

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September 20, 2004

Morning By The Elgin

I was on my way to catch­ing the bus to work this morn­ing, when I passed by a fancy restau­rant filled with patrons at the cor­ner of Elgin and Slater. The patrons were all peo­ple past mid­dle age, enjoy­ing con­ver­sa­tions over break­fast, dain­tily eat­ing their bacon, and tak­ing cau­tious sips of their sun­shine joe.

The first thought in my head was, “How could any­one be so happy at such an ungodly hour?”. Then I held my thoughts (along with my peev­ish mood) in check, and won­dered to myself. Perhaps they spent the night embrac­ing the warmth of another’s body, hud­dled together against the chill of the open night air. Perhaps they were think­ing of their lovers, and could feel noth­ing but strength, think noth­ing but hap­pi­ness. And I liked that explanation.

It’s all enough to make one smile at any time of day.

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September 19, 2004

Wake-Up Call

I woke up this morn­ing, and found my hair rough and my ears cold. I had left the win­dow open last night, and the sun had creeped through fill­ing my room with golden light, as if the chilly breeze was cast­ing the blinds aside, telling me that it was time to get up.

Two eggs, two hash­browns, and three sausages please.

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September 18, 2004

Table Tennis At Pat’s

Thursday, I went over to Pat’s for a long-planned table ten­nis marathon. Before we started, he cooked us din­ner; rib-eye steak grilled on the bar­be­cue, a fresh veg­etable stir-fry, and bruschetta as an appe­tizer. The steak was mar­i­nat­ing all day in a gar­lic and oil sauce, and the bruschetta spread was made using extra vir­gin olive oil and basil that he grew him­self. It’s great to have a friend whose pas­sion is cook­ing and eating.

We ended up play­ing for about an hour and a half, because we ended up speak­ing for so long and I had to work the next day. Every game was close, and every best-out-of-five match went to the fifth game, with a deuce for match point dur­ing three of the five matches. He was lead­ing by one the entire time, but I adjusted my tim­ing and took less risks, and ended up win­ning the final match 12–10.

It was frus­trat­ing to be play­ing in his base­ment because I’m used to a much big­ger area with much bet­ter light­ing. The ball was hard to keep track of, and I didn’t have the same floor­ing to maneu­ver on, so it felt like my legs were glued to the ground. My toes started get­ting raw and painful about half way through, due to the fact that I usu­ally play with my weight shifted off the heel, but I was able to ignore it, con­cen­trate on play­ing, and fol­low through with a nar­row win. I real­ized that the dis­tance I stand away from the table is pro­por­tional to the dis­tance of the table to the wall. Unfortunately, this means that my tim­ing is all screwed up depend­ing on the loca­tion that I play. I need to work on being con­sis­tent in all play­ing conditions.

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September 16, 2004

The Woman At Michelle’s Baguette

Often when I’m at Michele’s Baguette there’s a woman work­ing there, I’d say in her mid-40s, whom I believe is one of the own­ers. She has these really funky streaks of colour in her hair, and they work really well for her, some­thing which is much less com­mon for peo­ple her age. Whenever she hap­pens to be there I want to tell that her hair looks really cool, but I can never seem to find the right time.

Should I tell her as I walk up to the sand­wich stand? Should I tell her while she’s putting my sand­wich together? I always think to myself that I’ll speak up as I walk away if she ever rings me through (because she usu­ally lets some­one else charge me), but the other day when she was the only one work­ing there I couldn’t bring myself to say any­thing. I didn’t want her to think that I was just flat­ter­ing her for extra top­pings or fresher veg­eta­bles. I bet she gets com­pli­ments about her hair all the time.

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September 16, 2004

Bound To Happen

My girl­friend thinks I’m gay!

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September 14, 2004

Hot Disgusting

So there I was, sit­ting at my desk with my pop­py­seed bagel with plain cream cheese, start­ing to get hun­gry. I decide to get some­thing hot to drink, so I grab my change, and walk to the hot drink dis­penser in the kitchen. I grab a pack of choco and put it in the slot of the machine, insert my two quar­ters, and watch the machine inject brown water into my mug. In my head I have the taste of rich and creamy Second Cup hot choco­late, and this is what I’m expect­ing as I walk back to my desk before I take a sip. There were lit­tle solid bits of brown float­ing in the liq­uid, what I assume was just undis­solved choco­late powder.

I take a sip. This hot choco­late is so fuck­ing dis­gust­ing, that it’s hilar­i­ous. It’s not just bland and watery, it goes through lev­els and lay­ers of bad taste. It starts out like instant hot choco­late from pow­der mix with a lit­tle too much water mixed into it. Then there’s a lit­tle hint of ash that fades before the dis­tinct taste of burnt metal­lic cook­ware. The fin­ish is all water, with no other taste what­so­ever, aside from a hint of some­thing that’s too light to be distinguishable.

And as I keep drink­ing this, I can’t help but laugh after every sip. It’s the most vile, most putrid, most comic cup of any­thing I have ever had.

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