Anything, but Toast loses

Once in a while I lose it. Those whiles are getting longer and shorter inbetween.

For New Years, Mish has decided to goto some hundred-dollar rave at the Docklands and I'm tempted to tag along. Is it still a rave when sanctioned by the state and costs a fortune to get into?

Maybe it'll be like a glorified cocktail party, except with techno. Populated by suburbanite yuppies like me who've never been to the legitimate thing and want to social slum it for one night, chasing down e in the bathroom stalls.

This is what happened, lord forgive me for spilling the beans, dear. Alex said I want to date you and I replied no. This is what happened, Alex is my best friend and I can't help but be angry at him for bringing all that extra-platonic bullshit into it.

Does sexuality figure into every situation? Yes, and one is dismayed at how poorly one can control it. You could goto a bar with the expressed purpose of picking up and get a thrill at having succeeded. I don't know, I would. Harnessing and utilising your sexuality is a powerful thing. So when things go awry, when you realise people have been regarding you, in the large part, as merely a member of your gender there comes a sort of limpness, a defeat in your battle to be treated an intelligent, equal human being.

The other thing that happened was an earthquake in Southern California. I hope my friends are okay, though we've hardly spoken for ages. I noticed even CNN had lost to the overwhelming ego of the medium when the voice-over stressed more that I was watching a scoop, a special special report. That I shouldn't tune to any other station, because they had the lady in the derailed train on the phone.

Of course, there is a difference between professional pride and this obvious degradation of content and respect for the news they cover.