I experience a weird sensation when I think about vinyl records. They remind me of an incident that happened over 20 years ago. My father gave me his old record player. He bought a new one for himself and had no need for the old one. It was not entirely unexpected that he would give it to me. He often gave away his old audio equipment when he acquired something new. I started playing with it right away. Although it had the form factor of a record player, it also had a radio and cassette player built into it. I was able to use those features, but I didn't have any vinyl records.

My father came back a few minutes later and gave me a Petula Clark record. This was unexpected. I thought the gifting process was already over. Also, I had no interest in Petula Clark's music, but I listened to the entire record once just to be sure. I somehow felt very bad about keeping that record. I'm still not entirely sure why. I could have just kept it in storage and never looked at it again, but it just didn't feel right. Maybe it's because I knew that it was music that he liked. It would have been wasted if it was kept in my possession. Returning it to him was very difficult. I also don't fully understand why. I forced myself to. He didn't react much, and I left the room quickly after telling him it's not my kind of music.

Upon further reflection, I can now see some of the underlying psychodynamics. He never talked to me and seldom showed interest in anything about me. The record symbolized a brief expression of his interest in me. He realized that I had no records to use on my record player, and he decided to give me what I believed to be one of his favorite albums. This was the attention that I both yearned for and hated, and I let the hate win. He never offered another record to me again.

It began as an ordinary Monday morning train ride. I checked my watch at every stop to gauge how late I might be for work. At 33rd Street, a passenger got on who had a familiar face. In my half-asleep daze, I wasn't entirely certain if I was dreaming or if she was really there. I still sometimes have dreams about her despite not having seen her in 5 years.

I first met L. 12 years ago at work. She was a manager. I didn't work directly under her supervision, but she was often there at the office. Although above average in physical attractiveness, she wasn't the most attractive employee at the company. Nevertheless, she was the one who got my interest, and despite my failed attempts to suppress feelings. She was already engaged the first time I met her.

In the beginning, my attraction to her was purely physical. That wasn't really a problem. I have controlled myself around far more attractive women. The problem for me was in her eyes. There was something in the way that she looked at me. Her eyes would quickly open wider and there would be a moment of straining to focus, followed by a transition into smiling eyes when she confirmed my presence. It always seemed as if she was very pleasantly surprised to see me. I noticed that she did not have this reaction to seeing anyone else. She also often made an effort to talk to me whenever she saw me, and the conversations were always very enjoyable.

She gave me that same look as she got on the train this morning. I stared at her trying to determine if she was real. A slight jolt from the train brought me to full alertness. L. was really there. She sat down next to me and we had a friendly discussion about what had happened in our lives over the past five years. Not much of it was very personal. It was mostly about work. She got off the train at 77th Street. We said our goodbyes, possibly for the last time ever. I never had the chance to say it properly when she left her job 5 years ago. I still didn't really say it properly, but I tried. Just before leaving, she mentioned how she had thought about me periodically. I remained silent, fearing that I might reveal too much by overenthusiastically acknowledging that I had also thought about her. For a brief moment, I felt that familiar pain. It wasn't one that I felt persistently throughout the 7 years of working together. I was distracted a few times by other women. I even had a 3 year relationship with someone else during that period. Feelings gradually subsided after she vanished, but they briefly came back for a moment today.

I saw her get on at 14th Street. There were a few empty seats, but she sat down on the floor without looking around. This odd behavior immediately drew more of my attention, and I began to notice the blemishes on her skin and the odd grayish color of her hands. I wondered if she was a heroine addict.

She frantically searched through her purse, placing various items on the floor without regard for hygiene. The anguish on her face was ambiguous, something between dread and annoyance. I wondered if she was desperately trying to find her drugs. Her face changed immediately when she found what she was looking for. It was a bottle of perfume. She splashed copious amounts on her neck, followed by copious amounts on her crotch. That's when I concluded that she was probably a prostitute.

After the foundation was applied, her facial blemishes became invisible, but there were still abnormal blemishes on her legs which she did not seem to care about. She spent the next ten minutes applying makeup and brushing her hair. She finished just in time to get off the train at 36th Street. A subtle scent of homelessness wafted in the air as she walked passed me. I wondered if her next client would notice or care.

Snowstorms always make me think of the blizzard of 1977 which lasted from January 28 until February 1. I was only one year and three months old at the time, but it is an event that I will never forget. Despite the heavy snowfall, my mother went out to buy groceries. It was unavoidable. She had to feed 7 people and she knew that waiting would make matters worse. Several more days of heavy snowfall were predicted. My mother took me with her, because I was too young to be left alone.

I don't know how much snow had accumulated. My only measure of height were the benches outside. The snow was around an inch less than that. Many people walked on the benches, but my mother did not. I'm not sure if she considered it too dangerous, undignified, or both. I don't recall what she bought or where we went that day. I only clearly recall what happened when we returned.

Approximately 50 feet away from the apartment building, my mother slipped and fell. It was in an area that had been shoveled. There wasn't enough snow to cushion the fall. I did not realize the seriousness of the injury right away. I tried to help her get up but I was too small and nobody else was around. After a few minutes, she got up and I saw the blood on her pants. She limped the rest of the way, still carrying the shopping bags. Blood dripped down her leg, leaving a trail in the snow. It was the first time I realized that she was not invincible.

I don't remember anything else that happened that day, but I recall that she wore a white plastic object on top of her bandages. In July of the same year, I experienced my first and longest blackout. In September, my sister started going to school. She had been my only playmate and stopped playing with me after that. 1977 was a difficult year.

I saw an article on AcidCow about redesigning money. That inspired me to create my own design for the five dollar bill.

I went on a Western Caribbean cruise with my siblings in 2005. It was the only real vacation we ever had together. My parents never went on vacation. I have gotten together with family members in other cities for special occasions like weddings and funerals, but those were not real vacations.

After two days together, I was already getting sick of being with them. I decided to forgo the nightly entertainment and wandered the ship alone. My first night alone coincided with a full moon. The exceptional beauty of the Caribbean Moon coupled with the joy of being free from mandatory "fun" was a profoundly moving experience. I wanted to capture the beauty of the pink moon, but my camera was inadequate. The Moon appeared white and the sky appeared dark purple in my photos.

This is my digital reconstruction of what I saw that night.

I had a nice space texture that I created for the erdospace Firefox persona and I wanted to expand on it. Firefox personas are limited to a maximum of 200 pixels tall and get covered at unpredictable spots with boxes and buttons. This doesn't give as much room for creative expression as I would like. I initially planned to make a wallpaper, which explains the dimensions of this image, but that too is somewhat limiting, because a good wallpaper doesn't make icons difficult to find. That requires more washed out colors or textures that make easy differentiation between the icons and the wallpaper. I decided to just make this an illustration that serves no specific purpose.