Some of us geriatric millennials remember the days of squinting and rubbing our eyes in front of a giant CRT screen and clacking away at a keyboard that calloused your fingertips. In those days, the Internet meant something.

The awful process of tying up the phone line and dialing up your ISP to wretched noises emanating from the nether regions of your giant grey and beige box. You paid for Internet by the minute to load up a webpage in hopes to read new text.

People would type in URLs or search them on Yahoo! bookmarking them for later. Some pages had creative use of colour or photos that would slowly load but worth it because it was something new from far away.

It was inspiring. You wanted to learn HTML and basic tags to make your own webpage just to prove to yourself you can do it. You can host your own page on Geocities or Angelfire and people can discover your personality, hopes, dreams, and desires. A little place that you mattered and your voice was heard as many times as you refresh your page counter.

That was the little kick some of us got but then the Internet got faster and computers became more accessible. Why would anyone learn a programming language, pay for hosting, and promote their webpage when a platform can take care of everything so you just focus on providing the content.

The Matrix is a concept appropriated from a science fiction film that was released at the end of the World Wide Web. In 1999, I had no chest hair and a Voodoo3 3000 AGP. Now I have white chest hair and a RTX 4090. Time is a prison you cannot escape.

I just got access back to this website and updated all the themes and plugins. I still got a bunch of cleaning up to do to try to make it faster but I’m glad to be back on the keyboard typing nonsense.

I’m getting back into writing in hopes that it will help with all my other creative pursists and part of “getting back” will be writing for at least an hour each day. Part of this hour of power will be writing a post here. I’m trying to tap into my LiveJournal days where I was happy to plop infront of the computer and spew out a big stream of conscious block of text as an outlet for all the voices swimming around inside my head.

That’s about it. Let’s see what happens. Godspeed.

Being born as part of the Iranian diaspora cased by the 1979 revolution means there’s a lot of family I have never met nor, unfortunately, will never have a chance to meet.

One is my uncle Nooraldin Ostadi from my mother’s side. I know little of my uncle outside of this photograph and a few stories from my mother. Apparently, when my uncle was 4 years old he fell 12 meters off the roof on top of a stray dog which broke his fall and saved his life. The dog did not survive. Besides a few scratches and bruises, he was ok but they attributed his aberrant behaviour to head drama.

Uncle Nooraldin had a rough life growing up as an indigenous and religious minority in rural Iran. He would always get into trouble with the local bullies, teachers, and law enforcement. In his early twenties, he was detained by Iranian police for simply gawking at an aristocratic, Muslim man’s daughter. It’s legend that during his detention for his heinous non crime he kept calling out to the officers to let him use the washroom and when he was denied he pissed under the station’s beautiful Persian carpet at a failed attempt to hide his relief from the authorities. This resulted in many lashes.

I asked my other uncle who would be Nooraldin’s younger and only brother about his final encounter with Nooraldin. It was before my family was getting ready to leave Iran by train from Taft to the airport in Tehran. My uncle said Nooraldin was living in a relative’s orchard tending his pet goat and cats. My uncle gave him some money and took him into town where Nooraldin spent all of it on feed for his animals and a box of cigarettes. My uncle said his final goodbye to his older brother before him and the rest of my family left for a better life in Canada.

I always sensed a deep sadness whenever Daei (Farsi for uncle) Nooraldin was brought up. God rest his soul. My uncle Nooraldin was left behind.

My father was the last to see him in 1999 which was a few months before his death. My father described him as still joking, laughing, and swearing a lot when he visited him in Yazd. Nooraldin showed my father his swollen foot and asked him to go into town to buy some sort of medicine or spirit called Camel Thorn. He then kindly asked my father to buy him some cigarettes.

I’m doing it all. Nofap, Intermitted fasting, and cold showers. I just watched a bunch of videos that the algorithm fed me and now I’m part of a cult of redditers that are determined to break out of the millennial curse. And honestly, all this shit is what religions of many cultures practiced anyways–so what the hey!

I’m on my second week and feel full of energy. Could be a placebo but who cares!? I’m doing something, folks. This is getting personal and embarrassing but I figure I will have to delete this blog or make it private once I force myself to professionally do what I actually want to do in life: comedy.

Then I’ll most likely transform this website into a boring business card type thing with a demo reel, tour dates, bio, and contact page. That’s right, folks! Archive this shit while you can so you can sell it to TMZ. Ha!

I am not sick anymore. However, I am extremely bored which is much worse. I think after a few months of a work routine can create a stale lifestyle. I haven’t created something for myself in a long time. I guess you can say this blog is an outlet and that my boredom started once I began to neglect it. Well, we’re back!

I know this is getting kinda mopey since I got sick but hey–we’re getting back to our LiveJournal roots. I think the positive of getting sick is appreciating health and realizing there were so many things you could be doing when you weren’t sick–why weren’t you doing them? I guess getting sick is like being on drugs, you gain a new perspective from the altered state you are in. I honestly can’t wait until I am feeling better again just to do random shit with my time like go somewhere for no reason whatsoever. 

I got my brakes repaired on my car so I have no excuse but the weather. I also draw parallels with my health to the weather. Do order cheap cialis pdxcommercial.com not try to be cocky or pretend like you know the customer. tadalafil cheap pdxcommercial.com Kamagra Oral Jelly is a popular and effective treatment for hypertension. Go ahead and call your friends to push you out of the mess you’re prices for cialis in. There viagra on line prescription are a number of options available to people in the long run. This winter is shit and I can’t wait until it is spring so I can do things. I know I can technically do things now but the dreary weather makes a great excuse to be mopey. I will keep this momentum going so I can hit spring with a rolling start. Yay!! That’s positive.

Incoming negative rant:

Seriously, fuck people. I’m in a bad mood cause I’m sick despite feeling a bit better today. It’s amazing how irritable you can get while being sick. I honestly can’t stand the people around me in public nor the people at work. I have to take a second to cool off after something ticks me off so I understand if it’s legit or not. It’s so much easier to believe people are piles of shit cause generally they are which means chances are high that I’m a pile of shit too. 

I think the difference is–here we go, let me defend myself–that I am an introvert and keep to myself while others fucking look, talk, and cough without taking other people in consideration.
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Another thing could be the time of day. For instance, Thursdays I start work late so when I commute I’m on the train with people who have a high probability they don’t work regular jobs or at all. They all look and act like pieces of shit. So this is a clear soci0-economic factor I can use as a metric of shittiness. In this case, it’s my fault I don’t  drive in my car and pay the premium to park my vehicle in exchange for privacy and comfort.

Anyways, typing this shit at least helps me vent instead of getting high blood pressure or  doing and saying something stupid in public. In the end, do something creative to help you cope in a positive way.

I’m that guy I hated. The sick person on the train that couldn’t just stay home and prevent all of us from getting sick. That person I saw as weak. Now I’m snivelling into a tissue and looking like a piece of shit.

That’s why you shouldn’t hate anyone or make fun. We always become what we hate at some point in our lives. That’s why we hate it. We see the worst part of ourselves in others. In the occult they call it asshole-projection. No–I made that up.

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Godspeed.