Friday, December 20, 2002
Something tells me that this holiday season is not completely reliable.

Thursday, December 19, 2002
I'm at home today.

Well, I work downtown, right? And on the 23rd of December, my department at the UW will be relocating to a building closer to campus. Most of our staff is there, while we're only a handful of people. It'll be a fairly big move. I haven't even started packing. But, I'm not really worried about that right now. I got a call this morning from my mom, asking if I was okay. A co-worker called also saying not to bother coming in today, you know, because of "what happened." I turned on the tv, but couldn't find any info. And I rifled through my address books to find a phone number to call.

Shortly after, I found out that the building I am about to move into burned down to the ground this morning at 6am. All the servers, the payroll papers, desks and chairs,...everything. I work at UW Distance Learning, where we offer university courses online. The hundreds of classes that were on the servers may or may not still exist. But, I'm sure we'll recover. Nobody is physically hurt. That's not even really the sad part, what's depressing is that...

Tomorrow is our annual holiday party and cookie bake-off.

Today, while driving to work, I began thinking about how the whole 'driving to work' series is getting a little tired. So I decided to just drive to work, not thinking about anything, and then see if I could make up something afterward. I found that I could manufacture these blogs at will. Check out these 'synthetic' Driving to Work entries:

Today, while driving to work, I decided to pretend that everything was really complicated. Then I realized that everything *is* really complicated, so nothing really happened.

Today, while driving to work, I pretended that everything was a coincidence. I couldn't believe it!

Today, while driving to work, I made-believe that everyone was pointing at me. I couldn't figure out why. Eventually I just ignored them.

Wednesday, December 18, 2002
My friend and housemate Pierre says profound things about every eleven seconds or so. Just now he said, "I think the definition of getting older is that you start to see your heroes as buffoons."

When I drew it, I could have sworn it was a straight line.

But it was a crooked line.

My recent efforts to decrease my intelligence by physically reducing the number of brain cells in my physical head have worked phenomenally well. I haven't had a thought since Monday. Since I'm duh, I'll post something from Jon Anderson instead (making this his third guest appearance on Le Jus):

I had this weird dream last night that I went to this art installation piece which was like the "hallway of bad vibes". You entered through two heavy sliding glass doors with chrome frames and thick rubber bumpers where they met in the middle. About a third of the way down the hall, there was another set of doors, and a third set all the way down. Everything was very sleek and modern.

On the walls were large framed black and white photographs of the worst kinds of grotesque and cruel acts, like people who had had their faces sliced off and hung up. Like holocaust or torture museum stuff. As you'd walk down the hall and approach the doors, they would start to slide shut and you'd have to push and shoulder your way through them as they tried to close on you. Very weird and disturbing.

Monday, December 16, 2002

Hello, Friends:

Watch out for bacteria; scary stuff. Wash your hands. Especially you, Tiny.

The newest news, however, is that Latvian Bobsledder Sandis Prusis, the Pride of Latvia, has won the 4-man competition at the most recent bobsled World Cup meet. What joy! What bliss!

Go team.

Okay, now: quick, telegraphic, like a beer for lunch:

I went home for lunch. Jehovah's Witnesses. I always talk to them. Phone rings. I say pardon me a second. It's a telemarketer. I hand the phone to the lead Witness. "It's for you." Her holy eyebells ring with surprise. I leave them at the door and walk to my car. Back at work now, with swirling weird karma.

There is nothing like your first kiss from a giraffe.

Why isn't gas in this country $3 a gallon?

It makes sense right? The obscene amounts of pollution and miles of concrete defacing our landscape? Encourage public transportation, support biking, or walking. The bigger the car, the more money you're gonna pay to the common good. It's so simple a solution that even those Europeans got it right. No more complaining about potholes, worrying about grounded ferries. Finally, we'd have extra money for developing new transportation solutions, and developing new fuel sources. Maybe the state can provide everyone with a free umbrella. Cars are a luxury, people.

Good morning,


Friday, December 13, 2002
Rutgers-Reuters (API)--


In a brief but shocking press conference, the idea of Sex resigned today in disgust. "It was the Catholics that put me over the top," admitted Sex. "These bozos have needed to be bitch-slapped for about two thousand years. But I'm just a natural human process... what could I do but sit there and take it?" When pressed, Sex admitted that there was actually a complex mix of factors leading to its pulling out. "America in general really irritates me. Particularly Marv Albert. Things were kind of looking up during the Clinton Administration, with its tacit acceptance of casual fellatio, but then things got Puritanical again. And oh, God... don't even get me started on the Puritans. Are you aware that your country was founded on the values and traditions of a bunch of utter psychopaths? Anyway, I'm out of here. You'll have to find another wonderful thing to twist and pervert. You'll also have to reproduce asexually. That should keep you busy for a while."

Sex closed its commentary by telling reporters that they should "get help" and then giving them the finger.

Hi Juice fans. If you're as tired of me as I am, you'll love this morning's bold foray into performance-art-based literary whatever. Here is a conversation that I had this morning with a stuffed "Eyore":

Me: Hi Eyore. How are you doing?
Eyore: I'm not much of a being, for not much of a reality.
Me: Uh-huh. Do you have any advice for me today?
Eyore: Yes. Love everybody. And kick some alien ass.

While I spoke with Eyore, I 'animated' him by moving his head around as he talked. It was a little bit creepy, but it was basically ok. While this was going on, I wondered how I might explain this conversation to my roomate, in case he was listening.

I decided I would just tell him the truth.

The Kashamitsutashimonotsusonic 400.1 THX digital surround sound Dolby super system. Cream of the crop. If the crop was some kind of seafood chowder, it would be the cream. "Crop," in a rare Turkish dialect, means "coffee"...this is the cream for that coffee. Listen to this, four hundred speakers all implanted into your head, with a subwoofer that you ride on. It's true. This is high fidelity. I wanted to buy this system with my share of all the money we make from this Web site, but found out from the manufacturer that they no longer make the damn thing. Health hazards or something.

Anyways, here's the letter I received today, regarding my inquiry:

Dear Mr. Bratton,

I'm sorry to inform you that the "Kashamitsutashimonotsusonic 400.1 THX digital surround sound Dolby super system" (Tm) has been discontinued. The implant process for the speakers had unfortunate side-effects that were not evident in our initial investigation. President Kazuo Kashamitsutashi has chosen to accept full responsibility for this oversight and has submitted his resignation. The director of Research & Development Kusaimono Gatsuku has also resigned in disgrace.

To eliminate the possibility of future side-effects, our new director Senmen Kazarimono has chosen to moved the riding subwoofer concept to the cutting edge of technology, creating the first cranial sub-woofer, where the human skull itself is used as the resonant cavity. Clearly the contents must be evacuated for this to occur. Currently we are accepting applications for intial trials.

I hope you will continue to patronize our fine line of acoustic products.


Sanbon Onaragadetta
Director of Corporate Communications

Thursday, December 12, 2002
Now I am sighing and looking out of the large and beautiful window in the library. I love the library. It is soothing.

My friends. We need to open our eyes to light. Soup rub tonsil two them.

The other day, while I was writing, a guy came up to me and said, "Hey, how do you expect us to take you seriously if you just joke around all the time?"

I told him I really didn't appreciate him barging into my bathroom like that, but that I would make an effort to increase my credibility. To that end, I present a short subject: The Laser.

The laser works on a principle called the stimulated emission of radiation, if you know what I mean. An electric field inside a long tube causes gas atoms to become excited and shoot out photons in what scientists often describe as an 'orgiastic quantum fuckfest.' Kinky mirrors at each end of the tube (one of which is 'polarized,' if you know what I mean) reflect the photons back and forth until a threshold of energy is reached, at which time the aching beam of light blasts forth from the tube and shoots wantonly over a woman's face in a process called laser hair removal.

Tomorrow's short subject: The Vas Deferens. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Today you get to choose-a-blog. It's either --

A: This morning, while re-entering the earth's atmosphere, I got deja-vu really, really bad. It lasted for almost the whole time that I was in 'radio blackout.'


B: Dream: Aliens invaded and they carried icepicks.

Tuesday, December 10, 2002
I was getting bored, so I started my stopwatch. Now I'm 'racing the clock.'

The pressure is incredible.

I am a creative person, and as a creative person I sometimes do cool, creative things with my amazing creative powers. For example, I made some coffee a little while ago, and while it was brewing, I said to my office-mates, "I just created some coffee out of nothing, like God does."

When they drank the coffee, I felt so special, just like God must feel.

Monday, December 09, 2002
Today I am, for rhetorical purposes, assuming the identity of a tremendously fat hooker. My face looks like a spraypainted ham, and this chair is barely able to support me as I design board games and wait for potential tricks to walk by. Can you see it? Then let's begin.

Weekend in Seattle was super duper fun. Finally got to meet Dave, Becca, Glen and Susan. It was great, and if anything it left me wondering if I'm actually cool enough to hang out with these people. Highlights of the weekend were the Drunken Puppet Show (featuring giant electrocuted squirrel) and of course Daniel's housewarming party. Music was excellent. We ate about five gallons of dip. Dave rolled around on a giant blue ball in the kitchen (I have this on videotape, if anyone is interested).

My thanks to all my gracious hosts who fed me and hugged me and took me out to several mind-alteringly good breakfasts. You have sold me on your dim grey rain-gauge of a city. I'm definitely moving to Seattle.

But now it's back to work. There's a skinny transvestite who's taking all my business.

Friday, December 06, 2002
Over the past 2 days, my friend Jeremy Kirch and I have been engaged in the process of making a turducken. What is a turducken? Well, it is sausage stuffing, stuffed inside of a chicken, which is then stuffed inside of a duck, which is then placed on a bed of stuffing within a deboned turkey, and then cooked for thirteen hours.

Deboned. This is the key. We spent seven hours deboning the chicken, duck, and turkey. It was a mammoth undertaking.

Last night, after Survivor, which I watch each week with five friends, Jeremy and I ate about six pounds of greasy meat. I was left feeling queasy but unabashedly Bacchanalian, aware that I had engaged in the most difficult form of gluttony available to the modern American male. Three of our guests were vegetarians.

Every day that I am home, I wait anxiously for the mail. I am not sure what I think will be in the mail, but nonetheless I hopefully wait and wait, imagining that it will contain letters from major publishing houses telling me that they would like to publish my novel. This of course is not what will happen. Major publishing houses would call, right? But you can't wait and wait for the phone to ring -- this is silly.

So I wait for the mail. Normally, it contains a few ads for credit cards, some junk mail from groups like Oxfam addressed to a psuedonym of mine, possibly a bill, possibly a letter from a relative. Yesterday, the mail contained a damaged priority mail envelope from my parents that had apparently been soaked in water.

But I still hope that one day I'll go to the mailbox and there it will be: The vindication of my life's work, the gentle pet of happiness, the joy that has eluded me ever since I left the warmth and privacy of the womb.

I also check my email every twenty minutes.



Thursday, December 05, 2002
Hello, angst fans. Today I'm engaging in an extra-special departure from reasonable work behavior. The conditions here have finally driven me completely up the wall, and in honor of that, I'm baking a pie. It's the first pie I've ever made. At the end of the day, instead of giving the marketing people further proofs of Harley-Davidson Yahtzee, I'm going to give them the pie.

I'm crossing my fingers that it will have a tender, flaky crust.

Tuesday, December 03, 2002
Today I saw two crows fighting over a chicken leg.