february 2002 -
I did not win $193,000,000.00 this weekend, so I'll continue to write this journal. Had I won the California SuperLotto Plus, doubt may have emerged regarding the future of Evaporation. I would've tried to keep my vast new wealth a secret, but eventually, no matter how close to the vest I kept my winnings, news would leak out, either through my press agent or via the passengers on the Gray Line Tour that would cruise by my new mansion. There would've been a flood of requests for fat wads of cash from the distant little people, you know the kind, the hangers-on and toadies, not to mention the neighbors who pretend they don't read this. Then there are the neighbors who read this and admit it but reside on the other side of Whitecliff or Gainsborough Road which essentially dooms them to another social class wherein the etiquette surrounding money is not quite as refined as the one we enjoy here in the more tactful territory to their north, and I suspect I would've had to be curt with them. And curt is just not me.
Also, had the jackpot been mine (well, not all mine, I would've split it with the wife who I'm sure would put her 30% to good use), and I decided to continue writing here, I would have become an insufferable journaler. The jolly, easy-going fellow you read before you now might well have succumbed to the lure of direct statements in lieu of the soft-edged oblique references he so deeply depends upon now for his safety and peace of mind. He would've been able to actually put his money where his mouth would've been, and do it to a frightening degree. He would've brought fear and loathing to the online journal world with his impromptu visits (via his new Gulfstream V bizjet) to the homes and workplaces of diarists to confirm the veracity of their postings and condemn the porousness of their critical thinking. He would secretly employ henchmen to winnow out the unworthy via subterfuge. Mad with power, he could say things like "Bring me the header of Alfredo Garcia" and get away with it.
It may be your good luck that mine was bad.
Despite my relative poverty, and in fact because of it, I have embarked on some long-term projects which will require me to be not only secretive regarding their nature, but more absent hereabouts as well. That's my assumption, at least. I may end up lurking about with the same frequency after discovering I go batty when I can't enjoy the thrill of instant publication. So, we'll see. I may need this journal more than I'm willing to admit right now.
And let me apologize immediately for pulling the infamous "I'm doing something but I can't tell you about it" routine. I have always felt it's a niggardly thing to do, particularly for an online journaler, but heck, these particular projects are idea-driven little pets that need to stay in the backyard for the time being until they grow up and are trained enough to go safely out the gate. They're too young for me to risk having them get run over, and I'm too old to have such projects become roadkill from the git-go.
At this point, you know as much as I do about the frequency of my future updates. I've cast my fate to the wind. I will leave it up to Nature to decide how long it will be before it all gets blown back and sticks to my face.
"$29.00" -- Tom Waits -- BLUE VALENTINE
"Money is paper blood."
- Bob Hope