12/18/02 6:30 AM PST: There's nothing like the pall of winter to let you really savor a bad mood.

I got rained on pretty serious this week, which was a big surprise from LA. Fortunately, I have all weather gear in the car at all times. Gotten screwed too many times trusting ... well, anything. I like to be prepared.

The computer stopped being overly wonky, but it's still on basic RAM, which is a slowdown. The car, OTOH, goes nuts and blows a "turn signal switch" which sets me back $216 and has me rolling around for god knows how long sans brake lights. Nothing like a little more paranoia. "Please, Marse Ashcroft, can I have some more?"

It's no secret that I hate Christmas. I hate Santa, trees, ornaments, all the little singing happy cherubic children dancing in the snow. Bugger it all. For a number of reasons, some of which are political and some of which are just that as much as misery loves company, it hates to see its opposite number at all.

Anyhoo, I'm on my new "lie to the world" kick, where everytime somebody I have to deal with on a regular basis asks me something (there are three exceptions, all rites-of-passage people) I make all nice and give them a happy answer. Truth be told, I'm not very convincing, I make no effort to sell it at all. However, no one seems to have noticed, for the most part, and they're all happy, which keeps them out of my face, which is all I can ask for these days.

So I've had a really insanely crappy week so far -- a bright, crisp morning standing on Santa Monica Pier waiting for lost relatives while my bowels scream for release and my head screams for sleep (I don't do mornings very well), with everybody worried about losing some one of a kind Egyptian spoon (there are no spoons at a restaurant, that's crazy talk!). Taking a day off of work to get stuck at a crappy restaurant (Buggy Whip, Coach Whip -- there was a whip involved and Black people were not really favored) with people I don't know talking about things I don't care about. Getting a surprise overload assignment on my part time job. Waking up after an hour and a half of sleep to go interview at the Times, and be asked to recreate an ad with (get this) Photoshop 4, Illustrator 8 and Quark 4.04, like it was 1998 or something. Since that was the ad designer test, I wondered if the copywriting test involved a chisel and stone tablets. "Please turn to page MCXVIII ..."

I've barely slept since Saturday, and I was having problems sleeping before that.

Troubles at home? Frustrations at work? Slow progress on personal projects? "All around the world, same song ..." I'm even tired of hearing it in my own head.

I swung by Simply Wholesome with my dawg Daniel, kind of trying to detox myself from the interaction with goofy strangers with contradictory agendas. I ordered a couple of shrimp and crab patties (damned fine eats for two fifty a pop), and the sister behind the counter asked me, "Is that what you really want?" Daniel -- who knows more than he'll say, thankfully -- ducks for cover. I respond, "I want more than we should go into today, so let's stick with this, shall we?" The conversation carried on that level, as I do flirt, but normally only with people who attract me, and despite her aggressiveness (I do so love to feel wanted), she did not move me in any way. Once, the wife got mad at me when I told her I'd gone out purposely flirting just to remember what positive female interest was like. I did note she stayed in anger, and never thought, "Oh, you want positive attention? Check this out ..." Let's move on.

I look forward to a "free" day off or two in the next couple of weeks, finishing some lingering things, and generally trying to avoid human contact. I expect the same phat load of nothing I want that I get every holiday since I was probably sixteen. I mean, even cash would be good. Bah. Whatever.

I march towards the new year, set on vengeance.