h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Woah...sensory overload!

Hey NC!

I read your poems last night, and it took me a while to digest them...of course I loved “Queen Of The Hens”, as you knew I would.

I like your writing style. You have a real talent for describing an event and conveying an emotion to your reader. I particularly liked “Isolation” and “Cleaning OK City”. “Irony” and “Indy the Cat” is great dark humor.

Keep writing! I suspect it serves as some catharsis for you, and as a reader, it lets me explore things in my own life that I’m not ready to commit to paper yet!




But what the hell do I know...I got a “C” in lit class...

"last night" doesn't really apply... unless you now have a shrine to me in your living room, in which case, Dan doesn't live here, anymore... but otherwise, thanks bunches. ...I have never in my life said thanks bunches. ...geez, must really mean it. huh.


Catharsis, yowie! Great word. Isn't that the thing with the snakes on it that doctors wear? Hehe, oh yeah. The other thing. Most of the poems are. ...

... all of the poems are. Most of them are in someone else's point of view, since I generally don't enjoy hurting or killing people.

...didn't say anything about NOT doing it, just said I didn't enjoy it. ...relax.

Anyway, I think it was Keats who called it 'negative capability'. Could be wrong. I don't really write for any higher purpose. I just always am thinking up stuff I feel is funny, and unless I write it down, I forget it. Way it goes.

Have a Day, Jay.
The hunt continues.

Hey Nuke,

Good to hear from you…I was wondering if you had decided to bail out for a while…

Anyway, we’ve missed you around Haikeeba’s Lounge, and by the way, what in the heck was your movie quote from? …flips back through several pages of blog at Haikeeba’s… your last quotes were “Ah, science. The pursuit of knowledge” and “Twelve fifty. Press return.” Never did get it, and we seem to have gone on to another movie. Can’t get that one either, so what the hell…

Oh, and about your poems…I never suspected you of actually acting out your subject matter, I mean not REALLY…(I think), I mean surely your local law enforcement would have gotten a handle on you by now, and you would be in prison…unless you ARE in prison, in which case I never thought of myself as the kind of woman who corresponds with prisoners, but you never know…….BUT…..like I was saying……

Well, I hope you’re around a little more, and by the way, I dismantled my “Shrine To Dan” in the living room, so no need to worry. Yet. Not really.


Jay
There I Go, Smiling At Strangers Again

I'm putting most of my eggs (but not all) in the basket labelled "Dan writes creepy weird poems in other points of views as a form of escapism from his own cruddy life, and one day, will come to grips with that and either no longer need to write because at that point he will probably not need to anymore, having gotten to like his life and all, or he'll start acting out his darkest thoughts in a bizarre Jeykl and Hyde conflict of wills, which will result in his eventual destruction, and subsequent rebirth as a purified creature of logic and spirit."

Relax, I said not all of the eggs...

And no, not in jail. For better or worse.
If crime didn't pay, there wouldn't be criminals.

...looks like payday to me! Read and write to you later!

Wow, what a basket!

You only have one? I have several…

But I have a new one! It’s labeled “Jay’s inexplicable need to step outside of her real life world, family and friends, and into the pseudo life of the world wide web, and interact with quasi-people in an attempt at her own form of escapism from her dull life”.

It’s pretty. I put a bow on it. I like it.


Jay

Only one basket? Please. Can't be a basket case unless you have more than one basket.

My favorite one is a handbasket I stole from a girl named Helena.

Yeah, Helena's handbasket. Good times.

...and yours is hardly inexplicable. Especially when you give the reason in the definition.

Geez, like I ain't reason enough!

Yeah, baskets...so much fun...

Anyway, glad you dropped by for a minute. Hope everything's going good for you right now. I'm about to leave work for today, but I wanted to get in a quick hello...I'll write more later...

Jay

Hey.

I think I'm going to tune out for a little while...my cracks are starting to show, and I must cover them up before anyone notices...

Anyway, may take a day, may take a week, may take a while, who knows, but I'll talk to you when things are better.

Well, good grief...I just re-read that previous message and it sounded awfully...I don't know...


I'm just going to take a day or two to apply a good coating of spackle, and I'll be as good as new. I'll talk to you then!

I can't tell if you're talking about home repairs or getting a facelift. ...but either way, good luck, and talk to you soon, Jay.

Facelift!?!
Home Repairs!?!

Geez, you're no good at metaphores...

No, I was speaking of cracks in my mental stability...as much as I HATE to admit that! You see, I keep all of my baskets in a deep dark closet, hoping they will never see the light of day, but occasionally they have a mind of their own, and wander out and about (especially my old nemesis Self Worth, who is directly related to that favorite of mine Self Doubt) and I have to wrestle them back in to the closet.

YES, I AM A CLOSET BASKET CASE. SHHHHH!

Whew, confession is good for the soul. Anyway, for now, I seem to have tucked them away nicely, and I will continue to pretend that they don't exist.

(Smiles on cue)

And by the way, Facelift!?! Do you think I need one? (Back in the closet, Self Doubt!)

so...I'm trepedatiously assuming all is once again as it should be. That didn't take very long.

Closets are for the birds. Why do you think there are so many heavy pipes in basements, if not to chain things to. I used to be a plumber, and I assure you, those pipes serve no other purpose.

...I did get fired, though...

Just a thought. Welcome back. If that's the way it goes...

And nooo, I'm sure you don't need a facelift! You can't judge a book by it's cover. ...although, that's why they put covers on books... hmmm...

Off to the basement!

No need to be trepedatious…

Things didn’t get as out of hand as I thought it would. As it turned out, the Grandaddy of them all, the Depression Basket only peeked his head out to remind me that he is still the King, and then must have taken pity on me and just sent his minions out to play…

Turned out to be just sort of a lousy-feeling blue mood. I can deal with that.

So anyway, Saturday night I had a couple of Margaritas with my friend, and rented an excruciatingly horrible soppy chick flick from Blockbuster. It kind of helped.

Then I got your message Sunday morning. That kind of helped too. Thanks. And I know you didn’t sign up to be my therapist, so from now on, I will try to refrain from dumping my baskets on you.

…So tell me about basements. I mean real ones. We don’t have basements down here (we’re below sea level, i.e. dig a basement, hit water!). In the movies, creepy things happen in basements. It’s always where the body is hidden. Hmmm…..

See Ya Nuke!

...as a matter of fact, I did sign up to be your therapist. So Nyah!

okay, maybe not, but I have been diagnosed with dysthymia and depression for quite some time, have been through every medication doctors can prescribe (and, umm, some they can't...) so if you ever feel like talking to anyone, I not only know how valuable that can be, but in all likelyhood can probably relate to it. ...unless it's one of those girl problems. Then I'm helpless. But anything else, hey, sock it to me.

Anyway, what does down here mean? I can't think of anywhere that can't support a basement, except maybe an already basement, but that's why you call it a sub-basement. And I'm right in the middle of typing this, so can't check your prsonal space to see where you're from, not that it would do any good, though, because I'd've remembered seeing it when last I looked.

So where do you live? ..don't worry, by the way. I never send chain letters...

Well, what can I say to the old “So Nyah!” retort…

Ok, this thing called Dysthymia. I looked it up on the internet and (geez louise) it sounds like me … Ack! … that’s my crappy-feeling blue mood! It has a name! Hooray! Another basket! The article said “current treatments are psychotherapy (sounds scary) or cognitive therapy (also known as “talk therapy”) is used to alter people’s self-defeating thoughts.” Ok. You talk to me, I’ll talk to you, and we’ll be one big happy, life-loving, smile sharing, arms around the world kind of family…

…it could happen…

On to other things. “Down here” means south Louisiana. Baton Rouge to be exact. Swamp land extraordinaire. Not a basement to be found. In fact I have never been in a basement…not that I think I am missing much…they sound cold dark and scary, just the sort of place that I want to stay out of.

So now I’ve told you where I live, and I swear, if I get just one chain letter…

Could happen. ...the peace thing. Not the chain letter thing. I hate chain letters. I got a shirt from a friend once, it says

"I'm here to kill you. Next time keep that chain letter going!"

I don't wear it too often, but when I do, I get about as many laughs as strange looks.

Way it goes.

So now that I have told you where I live, tell me about you're little area of the world...I know from your PS you live in Washington state, but other than being abundant with basements, I don't know much about it. Paint me a picture.

...or...tell me about the weather right now, if the other is too personal and I'll understand...

Seattle is an international center of mystery and intrigue.

...wait, no. Start over.

Seattle is an international center of coffe and microchips. That's better.

It has a bad reputation for having inclement weather, but lately it's been quite pleasant out.

We have a large asian population, and one of the largest Russian populations (with some Armenian thrown in) on the West Coast, resulting in never having to travel more than a few city blocks to get any kind of food you could want.

From the gold rush days of Alaska, Seattle was one of the last waypoints for all those hopefuls, and the city still has many historic districts and buildings, which often result in a need to be creative with where the roads go, resulting in (traditionally) the 3rd worst traffic in the nation.

But on the whole, Seattle is a rather large city with a small town feel. Many different people, who are generally friendly if need be. There are many things to do, and for me, it is one of my most favoritest of places.

(Gee, I hope the teacher gives me a good grade on this report...)

Oh, yeah, almost forgot, LOT'S of basements!

Teacher says:

"A" for substance

umm..."C-" for style...

Geez! No pleasing some people!
Anyway, as for basements. I actually did a report on basements, once. I'll paraphrase. Already got graded on it. Don't need another bad mark. (Actually I got an A on the report. Teacher's pet...)

There's Karma, and there's Dharma.
Karma: you done a good thing, it'll help you after you die and come back.
Dharma: you've died and come back, here's the help - combined with - you just did a good thing, it doesn't count for karma, but we'll give you a gold star for trying.

Attics and basements are like a combination of these. Attics store your ancestor's hopes, dreams, and projects they never got around to finishing.

Basements are where your current projects are stored, and where you swear you'll eventually get around to them, along with your current hopes and fears, successes and failures.

Sometimes, an old cabinet your great grandfather bought (which then went into your grandfathers attic) winds up in your basement, to be refinished. Hopefully, most of the things in your house, and, if you're very lucky, some of the things in your basement that've graduated, will make their way into your childrens houses, or attics.

Et cetera et cetera, ad regressum, ad infinitum.
Circle of life, and whatnot.

A basement is like an attic. You just have to remember that everything rolls downhill.