so i got this email. said it was from someone named jerry williamson and the subject line read: Simply the Best!!. i figured it was another of those pervasive advertisements for porn or big muscles or easy money jobs. but something about it looked too personal, so i opened it anyway.

it certainly wasnt a junk mail (unless this is some new sort of scam that is just totally lame (or maybe really good!)). and it wasnt all that interesting, besides wondering how this type got my email address, but the endnotes made me decide to post it here. this is what i found:

Hello Ryan,
You must have been waiting with baited breath to hear from your old rugby
mate. Now let me see, after the Dublin debacle, Australia, Romania(notable
only for a World record) and lastly, mostly satisfyingly from my perspective
(with regard to your goodself sir) 29-9. May I remind you that this was the
first time that England have ever beaten S.A. three times in a row. I
believe the score was also a record. If your not sick of me by
now................ How are you mate? England's a slightly more boringplace
since your departure, I grudgingly admit. The weather continues to
degenerate towards deep winter- oh for the Southern Hemisphere sun on my
skin. I should be in Aussie this time next year, God willing and a fair
wind. Please keep in touch, if only so that I can continue to rub salt in
the wounds. Seriously though, as the prospect of Australia looms, it would
be top to see you out there, were you to visit. Tell me your (ever
available) opinion on this England team. It strikes me we just keep getting
better and finding new players of top quality. If only our cricket was the
same. I watched your boys bowling at the Indians 2nd dig. I have to say,
even though they did well in the Indian first innings, they looked extremely
pedestrian. Without Donald they lack two things; a World class bowler of
great pace (while Pollock is top quality he not on the Donald speed scale);
a foil for Pollock- they say great bowlers come in pairs and Pollock is
definitely not as dangerous without Donald. Now if you can survive Pollock
you're in the money! Still I'd say there's still a fair bit of daylight
between us. Better sign off now. I look forward to a fairly submissive
reply, remember it's important to be a good loser and you boys are going to
need to remember that in the coming years!
Yours(tongue firmly in cheek),
Jerry

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as a amateur-wanna-be-professional cynic, i figured it was my duty to spread the word.

as i sit in the stall of the ever popular sixth floor restroom, I watcht the hoards of shoes pass by, shoes employed to protect the feet of so many who do not wash their hands.

the blatant contradiction strikes me at the core: how could a man (although I expect the argument is not gender specific) wear shoes for the protection of his feet, and yet not wash his hands after urination or defecation? or put in another light, who among these men would brave the scourges of public restroom floors without wearing shoes?

i doubt that the universitys greatest minds could resolve this puzzling quandry; indeed, many of them are the perpetrators.

they're clever, but im more so.

i watched Heat starring pacino and deniro a couple of nights ago. if you havent seen it im not about to ruin it. theres a scene where deniro and his crew are about to make a score, but he gets surspicious of being surveilled and he notices what seems like an overabundance of similar delivery trucks across the street, so he pulls out.

its this very keen sense of intuition with which i am blessed. as i was making my brief but arduous journey from headquarters to the bus stop early this brisk morning, I, too, sensed that something was amiss. To be sure, the landscaping crew is no stranger to the greens enclosed by mine and other residential complexes. however, my learned eye is adept at noticing the subtle particulars of irregularity. for instance, why should there be a pack of landscapemen eight strong on a plot of grass 200 square feet in area (less than 10% by proportion to the entire green) leaving the remainder of the area untended? moreover, do they really need five lawnmowers for such a menial task? thankfully, i had my wits well about me this morning. other indications include their tuxedos and earphones.

The Gerontology Monologues, volume I

this is a new series featuring bona fide conversations between some random old timer and me. well, to be honest, it wasnt much of a conversation, rather i sat quietly by listening to what i could have sworn was a prepared exposition. indeed, the old woman knew exactly when to look me in the eye, when to inflect her eyebrows, all for emphasis. excerpts follow:

(setting: i stand at a bus stop, the benches covered in dew as an old woman approaches, slowly, carrying a bag and limping.)

(with agitation)Soaking wet. At least with the old benches i could rest on the arm; here i cant even rest on the arm. My bag wont do much good, but i cant stand. I have a sports injury...

(proceeds talking caressing an apparently tender knee)All my life ive worked hard to be healthy. I might as well have smoked, drank, uh, stayed out late nights, uh...well, you know the sort of things...except for certain periods in my life when i decided life was too short to die of AIDS...

...have drunk, not have drank. swim swam swum. its have drunk. i never cared for the word swum...

...i almost took a taxi this morning. but save ten dollars and i can buy a nice lunch. im going to scripps institute, you know. you can get a nice lunch for ten dollars, (disparagingly) twelve with tip. sometimes when im in a crabby mood, why, i just throw it at them. but those cab drivers, boy, they take the longest route they can...i know quite well how to get there...but if you say anything they get huffy...

(meanwhile two adolescents ride by on their bicycles, as the sidewalk is narrow, they ride on the grass behind the bus bench)
...is it illegal for them to ride on the sidewalk? why, they have a bike lane right there. i dont mind children when supervised, but at that age...Hmph.

fair reader, i wish i could have conveyed the full text in all its glory. but such would require a tape recorder. maybe ill invest in one.

i got pinched.

as you well should know, i enjoy public transportation. but occasionally i need to drive to school, should i be late to work or have groceries or whatnot. my school offers a ten day occasional use pass, which, while still being expensive, is far cheaper than a usual parking pass. i used up 8 of my ten uses before the end of october. therefore i had to spread my last two uses out over the remainging six weeks of school. spread them out, i most certainly did.

then ten day pass is a quarter long calendar. to use the pass, you must draw an X on the day you wish to use it. i decided sometime in mid november to cut out black little paper lines, to form my own X. it worked like a charm. i did it like four times and got away with it. well, last wednesday, the wife and i were planning to head up to orange county early so i decided to drive to work. lets just say, i got pinched. i figured if i ever got caught, no big deal, pay the typical twenty dollar parking fine and never do it again.

when i arrived at my car, i found that parking ticket was accompanied by a notice of surrender, or so its called. i am required to surrender my parking pass for a violation of altering it, and the parking ticket fine is $150. my urge is to blow it off, but i think it can affect my future auto registration.

ive learned a lesson, to be sure. always, drive my sister-in-law's car when i want to break the law anonymously.

postscript (or prescript?): my images never work.

it turns out that the above mentioned place of commerce, Barona Casino, uses a, shall we say, somewhat questionable advertising tactic. they employ hidden connotations in their adverts. this is what i mean. the buses here in san diego advertise barona casino on their side flanks. the advert shows a middle-aged, balding man with a somewhat greasy looking mustache and a smug look on his face. the slogan accompanying the portrait is: loosest slots, more winners. every time i see this advert, i see that diabolical greasy fiend smirking at me and the slogan somehow becomes: loosest sluts, easy women. curse barona for such a wretched association. i think its atrocious that these proprietors of evil should manipulate the imaginations of earnest and otherwise unexpecting townsfolk.

so it turns out that the bus drivers are just as idiosyncratic as the riders. today my bus must have come early cus it was not packed at all and there were only two of us at my stop instead of the usual twelve or so. i stood in my usual spot anyways. we arrived at the next stop which is always overflowing. its the stop where the drivers refuse to stop when they deem the bus too full since they lack the courage to regulate and get people to be closer to one another. there were only a handful of people there as well. after that stop there were still seats available, so i sat. to do otherwise would make me look like a self-righteous poopstain and thats certainly not what im all about.

curiously, we approached another stop along the way. there were two people waiting and no one on the bus was standing. yet the driver did not stop. i found out later that his nicotine patch was about to expire and he couldnt wait any longer. at least i surpose thats what it was.

we arrived at the va hospital stop. this is the stop immediately preceding the three main ucsd stops. the busses (is that spelled right?) always pull into the va hospital, its one of the required stops, just incase any old timers need to get on i surpose. but the bus never stops there more than to pick up and drop off. strangely, our driver dismounted his post and stepped outside to light up the remaining three and one half inches of a cigar that he apparently had been working on previously. most bizarre indeed. he took about four deep drags from it and brushed it against his shoe in an effort to put it out. im not positive he succeeded. i couldnt imagine that such a singular solitary motion as he made would be sufficient to extinguish a cigar. nevertheless he put the remaining three and one quarter inches in his shirt pocket and proceeded to drive on.

i guess its true what they say:

one of my favorite pasttimes of late is to read the graffiti in the stairwell. one of the choicest nuggets recorded june 8, 1993 is this:

man when i got here meatball now

i just had an interesting, albeit brief, conversation with happy though fearful bus girl. it went like this: the bus was pretty full, but as usual, the largest cluster is near the front of the bus, so the bus driver asked that we open the rear door to let two board, one of whom was this girl. my custom is to stand on the stair of the rear entrance. she was standing up one step. she asked someone whether the doors are locked automatically while in transit. someone said yes. i engaged her and asked if she were afraid that she might fall out. her reply was that she thinks its good to have a fear of everything. i decided that she was talking out of her butt and decided to disengage her. clearly she didnt believe that. after all, she was smiling and seemed generally happy and anyone who really believes that its good to fear everything is a loon. if she practiced that she would be so preoccupied with potential calamity that she would wear latex gloves never leave her house and certainly not smile. so then she must be a liar. trying to be clever and witty, only at my expense. besides, its clearly stupid to have a fear of everything. theres nothing more to be said about that.

well, no good, she wouldnt be disengaged so quickly. she went on to tell me a story of why they put seat belts on bus drivers seats. i tried to give her a subtle signal by turning the volume up on my cd player, but to no avail. she found her story interesting and that was that. i was forced to exit at the next stop, two stops early of my usual stop.

i have a strange fascination with engaging strangers in conversation. i dont go around looking for trouble, but if someone makes a gesture of engagement, i surely concede. perhaps the most curious part about it is that i choose to withhold my name and i never ask for his or hers. i find a certain satisfaction in sharing a conversation with someone and not feeling the obligation to know that persons name. i choose to identify each one by a physical characteristic or a biographical fact or some other uniquifying quality. so then theres covina who comes from covina, theres the-euro-guy-with-the-bleached-moustache, theres the girl with the curious smile, theres flower-smelling sweater man, etc. these are some of the people who infiltrate my world and i like them just that way. i would most likely grow disappointed to learn their names.

anybody else do this?

it seems that my professors may be among...them. today i was sitting in class minding my own business. this by the way is the class which has two professors, professors G and S. professor S has been with us now for only four lectures. ive never spoken to the man directly, hes had no occasion to look at any of my work, in fact, i ought to be completely unknown to the man. well, for no apparent reason, other than that i gave him my attention today, he decided to make a public mockery of me. calling attention to the fact that somewhere among my distant ancestry there are two brothers who bear the same last name as i professors in mathematics both. well, i attempted to act dumbstruck (a most cunning device to be sure) since (a) i never let on of my associates whether family relations or otherwise and (b) i had never heard of the men. needless to say, this brute wasnt about to leave it alone. he started mentioning things about how that name is a good minnesotan name. in order to quiet him, lest there be other, less knowing spies amongst, i gave a conceding nod. he finished off with, "you are from minnesota, aren't you?" to which i wittingly replied, "no, im from orange county." the class was in stitches and i imagine that my foe is even yet chewing on that one.

i think the spies are out on the prowl. this morning upon arriving at school i headed straight for the freight elevator, commonly referred to as the best kept secret on campus. much to my surprise i found a middle-aged woman waiting for the elevator car. she looked vaguely familiar, thought i couldnt place her. she said hello enthusiastically demonstrating a recognizance and in order that she might try to take the upper hand in the struggle of good against evil. i played it cool, however. she was heading to the sixth floor, the very floor where my office resides, containing the schemes and plans to defeat my foes. quickly i said, "seven please". she was shocked indeed, for she accidentally hit the fourth floor button in a panic. she couldnt have expected such nimble-footed decision making processes from me. we dilly dallied around various pleasantries as the elevator began its ascent. upon stopping at the fourth floor there was a brief pause in our speech. our eyes met and she gave me a cold blank stare, one which assented to my temporal victory while not losing hope of ultimate conquest. the elevator made its way up to the 6th floor and as she exited my ears rang hollow with the sound of the most ominous "cheerio." i, too, thought it most strange.

in an effort to tighten up my own schemes i darted off the elevator on the seventh floor into the mail room where some documents of a most secure nature awaited me.

here is the reply i just received from my letter to Hawaiian Popcorn:

Hello Nolan, this is Garrett with Hawaiian Popcorn, Inc. I have forwarded your proposal to the proper personnel. I will follow up on this
request to make sure that you have been contacted.

Thank you and have a great day.

its nice to know that i have prospects.

worry not, my friends, you may read this post without fear. if this applies to you, you know who you are.

i just got back from the picture house. i went to see The Man Who Wasn't There, the latest release by the coen brothers. The film was wonderful, well, up until ten minutes from the end where the projector gave out and the film burned and sizzled before our very eyes. super drag, but i did manage to get a couple of free passes out of it.

i was enthralled by the film from the first scene where the leading player appears as what looks to me to be an effigy of young sinatra a la guys and dolls era. the theatre itself was b rate, which allows for such occurences as projector malfunctions which become irreparable. the rows were narrow and i had a spring sticking in my butt the whole time. funny, it never occurred to me to move seats. nevertheless i was captive. supposing i had been able to finish the feature, i might give this one three slush puppies.

following is an actual letter i sent to the Hawaiian Popcorn company.

Hello. I am a graduate student stuyding mathematics at UCSD in California. I just completed a midterm yesterday and have come to realize through the experience that I am much more of a Hawaiian Popcorn connosieur than a budding mathematician. If it turns out that this whole graduate school thing doesnt work out for me, I would like to become a sales representative for Hawaiian Popcorn, preferably on the west coast. I have never considered taking a job in sales. In fact, I was previously opposed to the idea. I believe, however, that I would be perfectly suited for this job because I possess excellent people skills and I believe very strongly in this product. My earnest desire is to see Americans from coast to coast embrace the sheer delight of Hawaiian Popcorn. In my experience, people are becoming somewhat familiar with kettle corn but think of it more as a novelty to be found at fairs and the like. Most people I have interviewed are unaware of Hawaiian Popcorn and its availability at their local grocers. A typical conversation goes like this: Me: Here, try some of this. Them: (reaching for a few kernels) It's just popcorn. Me: I assure you, you'll be back for more. Them: (upon tasting) Oh! what is this? Me: It's Hawaiian Popcorn. It's tasty isn't it. Them: It sure is. Me: Supposing you owned a convenience store and I were a Hawaiian Popcorn sales representative, would you put this on your shelves? Them: Yes. Well, that seems like conclusive proof that I'm a good man for the job.