This institution seems to attract a lot of power-hungry jerks

While I was riding home from Delilah's tonight, the cops had blocked off a section of Cortland just west of the river, and bid me go around. I did, but afterward (I was on the far side of the blockaded section) I stopped and asked the two officers blocking the street what was going on. Twice. The response each time was, "Get going," along with flashing their megawatt flashlight at me. Fine. I did, especially since I had a few in me and could legitimately be arrested for DUI (despite being on a bike). But I'd have been mollified by a simple, "We're making an arrest," or something general along those lines. Seriously. I can respect that most police officers are doing a good job and mean well. But, fuck, this institution seems to attract a lot of power-hungry jerks who lord it over anyone they can. Almost every time I interact with the cops (rather than with police officers) I feel less and less guilty of my "Officer Friendly" shirt with the riot-geared goon on it. Fuck, I think I'll dig it out and wear it tomorrow in commemoration of tonight.

Anyway, Delilah's was pretty cool. Free drinks, plus tips. But still, a few beers and a whiskey for four bucks is a decent deal. Someone got pizza for our oral science research seminar this evening, so I got free dinner, too. Of course, feeding people right before a 4:30pm lecture may not be the best idea. I know I was in food coma for the whole thing. I wonder what the final will be like.

I blended a cantaloupe and banana and it was fucking awesome juice. Someday I will cook someone fabulous dinners.

I bonded these Forestadent self-ligating brackets today, and I will never use them again after this case. Which is ironic, since this is a test case to see whether Damon passive-ligation mechanics will work in an interactive bracket. But the bracket base sucked big time, which is annoying, as I'd position them and literally *watch* them move around on the tooth after I'd stopped touching them. Most of them looked to be in pretty decent position. I guess that'll be a repo/detailing problem. And every non-orthodontist who just read that - which is everyone - has no idea what the hell I'm talking about.

Yeah, so that's my day. Woop-dee-fucking-doo.

More proof that metal is retarded

Read what Dave Mustaine has to say about the forthcoming Megadeth album.

And read this for more right-wing paranoid racism. I doubt Laura Bush or Georgie-boy are going to distance themselves from it, considering Laura there already said, "Senator Burns is a respected voice on the issues facing rural communities in Montana and across the nation."

I gotta go see patients now.

The only problems I have with Bono are his stupid haircut and sunglasses.

One of my patients is a burgeoning sixteen year-old skinhead, and he had me look into a band called Flatfoot 56. I'd seen them play last fall, they weren't that great, but I listened to a song or two and it sounded OK. So tonight I was glancing over their website, and they had a link to Rock for Life...yeah, guess how I responded.

I can respect people who think abortion is wrong. I may disagree with their priorities, but I can understand the sentiment. But these guys are fucking nutjobs. They can't seem to distinguish between sexual promiscuity and abortion. Apparently condoms are abortion. Apparently stopping ovulation with birth-control is the same thing as killing a human being. Hell, they can't even differentiate between inhibiting ovulation or fertilization and aborting the zygote. Illogical emotive reasoning all over the fucking place. For what it's worth, I don't think a ball of undifferentiated cells is the same thing as a human being. I think that the whole first trimester is fair game. Fuck, these people need to read an embryology textbook, and figure out that a morula is not the same thing as a human child. Coincidentally, I read this on WhiteHouse.org today:

No, it doesn't matter either that your pastors, priests, or whatever other flavor McJesus guru you slavishly obey, has now lost this fight so many times, they're now arguing it on the single-cell level.

What's more, they can't seem to understand that "pro-choice" is not the same thing as "pro-abortion." I for one, am very pro-choice, but I don't think abortion is a good thing. Ideally, it would be completely unnecessary. If every pregnancy occurred within a social matrix that would provide for the emotional and physical needs of the parents and child, then we could maybe start a dialogue. (Aaaaaahhhhhhh.........that sounds like socialism, the greatest Satanic evil ever spawned!!!!!!) Unfortunately, we're nowhere close to there, and condemning people for *preventing* unwanted pregnancy on this overcrowded ball of rock we call home is fucktarded. I will admit the line grows grayer as pregnancy progresses, but at the early stages it's a fucking lump of flesh with no working brain just following genetic cues, and our ape-like emotional attachment to our own kind (see, I brought evolution into it too!) is the only thing that enables this bullshit. But I can see the consequences for women who are forced to carry unwanted pregnancies to term, in both a medical sense and socioeconomic sense, and I have no problems with someone choosing to terminate a pregnancy.

Oh, the Rock For Life site also had something about Terri Schiavo, how she was "killed" when her feeding tube was removed. Listen, dipshits, her brain was dead long before that. Her doctors thought so, and said so. Her husband thought so. The fucking autopsy confirmed this. The only physician to dispute this was Senate Majority Leader Dr. Video-Diagnosis. If these fuckers want to define human life as a human-shaped hunk of flesh with a moderately functioning physiology, they lessen the value of human life themselves. The value is in the human capacity for self-determination, something Schiavo exercised when she told her husband she didn't want to live in a vegetative state, and something he respected by trying to let her body die once it was obvious her brain wasn't there any more.

These turds also apparently have a problem with Bono because he thinks condoms can help stop the spread of HIV. The only problems I have with Bono are his stupid haircut and sunglasses. I happen to agree that condoms help stop the spread of STDs.

Oh yeah, I decided I want nothing to do with Flatfoot 56 after looking at this site.

Speaking of right-wing nuttery, albeit of a different stripe, yesterday I read about Governor Mike of South Dakota, who halted an execution because the three-drug cocktail usually given to execute prisoners (isn't it *great* that our society has a standardized method of execution?) doesn't fit the statutory requirement stipulating a different two-drug combination. His concern was that down the line someone may feel they acted wrongly. That's like thinking, I'd feel better about killing that man by shooting him with a .44 Magnum rather than the Colt .45 I did use. Fucked in the head. As soon as they can amend the law, they're going to reschedule the execution. Now, I'm against the death penalty for a few reasons:

1. It has no preventive value on crime, despite theory
2. It's actually more expensive for the penal system than lifelong incarceration
3. In many jurisdictions there have been more exonerations of death row inmates than executions.
4. State-sanctioned revenge killing is a slippery slope that shouldn't have been started down, and should be climbed back up.
5. State-sanctioned killing denies the human capacity for change and redemption.

I'm sure I could think of more, but that was off the top of my head. This nutter is just concerned with how his executioners will feel, wondering if they used the correct tool.

I was really exhausted all day. My single mean patient that I can't stand wasn't so mean today. Not that she was nice, she just wasn't that mean.

I got invited to the Quincinera of another of my patients, which was nice of the family. I think I'm gonna go; it's this Sunday. I've never been to one, and I think it'd be cool to see. I can't for the life of me think of what to give her. We gave her a donut today.

Beyond that, nothing much today. Again, I'm really tired. I had a nice steak and salad for dinner. I think I'm gonna turn in real early tonight.

The idea of getting a dog is strongly appealing to me right now. I need to check with my landlord. Then I need to find one, right?

From Iceberg Town by Joe Meno and Nick Butcher:

We decided to have our fake birthday on a Wednesday because nothing good ever happens on a Wednesday.

It was really nice. Almost everyone in town came. The abominable snowman brought ice cream and the polar bears made a giant cake out of sugar and snow.

Everthing was going fine until we opened the gifts. There was a enormous present from the President of the United States, who did not bother to show up.

When we looked inside, we saw it was only a note.

The note said: "Farewell, awful citizens of Iceberg town. I have taken your pet deer and all your favorite records. By the time you read this, I will already be gone."

Pomegranates and puppies

While today wasn't as insane as yesterday, it still left me exhausted. Part of that is due to my inability to know my own schedule, so when it occured to me as I was falling asleep last night that I may have my first 7:00 am craniofacial lecture this morning, I had no way to be sure, so I got up in time to get here. Of course, no class, so I spent an hour doing reading. Clinic, at least, wasn't as crazy as yesterday, although I did feel a little slow in the afternoon. Regardless, I tried to do some work afterward and just couldn't stay awake. After an impromptu ten-minute nap on my face, I called it quits and came home.

After eating something, I was - again - just feeling low. I spent a little time dozing on the couch, then decided to go get groceries. My exciting life, right? Well, I am excited to blend up some cantaloupe, like Susan did when I was at her place in July. Sweet stuff.

I got some pomegranates too. They're not that big. When I was five and my family was living in Scottsdale AZ, we had a pomegranate tree in our backyard, and they seemed huge to my clutching child hands. My mom or dad would cut one open, and (if I remember correctly) sugar the seeds a bit, and I'd spoon it out of there directly. I bought them more for nostalgia's sake tonight, but I'm looking forward to it, as if rediscovering the innocence of some youthful memory. Well, I am doing exactly that.

For some reason, I started feeling better after marinating a steak for tomorrow or the next day's dinner. Yay. Then I made some tea, which is also pretty nice.

I was looking at pet listings online in the whistful hope that I might be able to find one suitable to my lifestyle, and I ran across an account of watching the euthanization of dogs in a shelter, and I thought about Rocky, the miniature schnauzer we had when I was growing up. He was put to sleep four years ago, and in many ways he was a better friend than most of the friends I had then. Imagining his death, even though it was the best that could be done for him at the time, is kind of disturbing. That's what I'll be carrying to bed with me tonight.

We are social apes - there's no denying that.

You know it's a good show when you're singing so hard your forehead is sore. Or when your right leg is so exhausted you can barely stand, but once the music starts you don't even feel it anymore. When you're dancing so hard you can feel your brain rattling around your skull in its hydraulic buffer.

That was last night's show. It met yet defied my expectations. Thanks, Brendan. Thanks, Chris. I hope your mouth still feels OK.

The family next door had a party on Saturday. I'm assuming it was a 5-year birthday party from the balloons out front, but they had a DJ spinning a pretty good new wave mix. I only heard a few minutes as I stopped home to grab a few things and change my mode of transportation, but it was pretty cool. For once I didn't mind their daytime party music. Not that it happens often or goes late, so it doesn't really bother me at all.

On the way home last night, I saw a Scion billboard that said "*$#! The Joneses." I think this is a brilliant example of the isolationism promoted by car culture. I dont agree with the "keeping up with the Joneses" concept, but the whole "fuck them" concept isn't exactly the best response. Yes, there's no point trying to be someone else, or keep up with their consumption patterns; the idea that if you buy a *Scion*, you'll somehow be independent of that compulsion to consume is geniusly ironic. But we are all members of the human community, and while emulation serves to stifle our creativity and beauty, isolation stifles it just as well. We are social apes - there's no denying that.

Laura said I'm incapable of bullshit. I like that. I don't think it's completely true, but I'm glad I come off as genuine to those who know me well.

My day today was fucking long. Who would've thought? But man, do I feel like I've learned a lot in the last year; helping someone else do something you find basic for the first time is like that. But fuck, I spent all afternoon working with Marcela on this one patient who, frankly, was a pain in the ass. He was up to all the textbook behavioral delay tactics. It didn't help that his mom was coddling him as well. Shit, but that took fucking forever to deal with him.

So after some reading and a roundabout ride to get some stamps so I can renew my car insurance and dental license, I got home and had some eggrolls for dinner, along with a nice glass of green tea with honey. I finished reading Hey Nostradamus! It was a good book, but there wasn't much plot resolution. There was plenty of character resolution, but it was of the more realist non-transformative-life-experience bent. I'm sure that if/when I reread it, I'll get a lot more out of it. But, combined with the gray rainy long-ass day, and my own post-weekend exhaustion, I felt like crying. There wasn't anything in particular. I just was gloriously unhappy.

Sitting and reading and drinking tea made me realize that I don't have an armchair. Despite living here with this furniture for a year, it didn't strike me until now. For the last seven years leading up to last August, I'd always had an armchair that was mine, that I would sit and read in. That would be soft and supportive on all sides, that I could reach out from laterally and manipulate various objects on various surfaces. There was something territorial about it, but not really. It just was full when I was in it. Of course, I recall one ex-girlfriend who I shared it with, but that only made it better. But there was always a sense of completion in the armchair. Maybe I'll get one. I doubt it, though; I don't have room. I have my loveseats and my couch. I have my bed and desk chair. I have the floor. I have kitchen stools, and my kitchen chairs and table. Hell, yesterday I sat for a while in the sun at the kitchen table, reading, leaning back against the wall, and the feeling was almost as good as being in an armchair and relaxing with a book. But only almost.

Three things I'd like to get:
1. Vespa
2. Miniature schnauzer
3. Armchair

Man, am I fucking exhausted. No stolen poetry tonight.

The wearability of these shoes is approaching zero

I'm starting this post with my laptop perched on top of the record library stair-ladder in the library, waiting for Mobay to finish his reggae show. I'm sure by the time I finish I'll be halfway done with Fast N Loud. I just realized that I left my battery charger at home, so this may be cut short.

My last two days have been killer busy, and I think tomorrow will be too. Mostly busy with fun stuff, thankfully. But yeah, busy.

And this Animal Collective CD I'm listening to has a lot of potential to be cool, but is almost annoying in its failure to do so.

Critical Mass last night was a blast. Rob came out again, which was cool. Shana went shopping. At one point the Mass went right by Kristine Larsen's house. I assume her parents still live there, but I haven't heard from her for a few years. Last time I did, she was in Minnesota working at the Capitol. But I remember her house and yard were both pretty cool places to hang out in, and it reminded me that not all urban life is (or has to be) apartment-based. Which bodes well for my desire to live in the city; cool houses are to be found here. Anyway, during the mass I got tons of high fives from oncoming traffic, and a few "Fuck you!"s as well. The high fives were a blast. Fuck, the whole Mass was a blast this month. Better than last time, although that was good too. Last month had some great moments, but this month was better by far. This could be because I was near the front rather than the middle or end from corking like last month. Rob ducked into a liquor store at one point and nabbed a 12-pack. Yeah, it was Bud Light, but I was sweaty so the water tasted good, and it was free.

The Deal's Gone Bad show at the Note was great as well. Really, they've topped from where they were a few years ago. The new album really is long-awaited...

Combined with the Mass, the nine-mile ride back from 5600 North, and the non-stop dancing that is a good ska show, I was soaked with sweat, dehydrated, and exhausted by the end of the night, but damn it was fun!

Laura got into town yesterday, and apparently spent the afternoon getting drunk and sobering up at Delilah's before coming to The Note.

I hung out with Laura some today, then a nap and some reading. Dinner at Uncommon Ground with Laura and her brother, and he made the joke that "All country is good country." I replied that the only genre that could really apply to is punk, since crappy punk is so amateurish that it's even more punk. Place your favorite smiley-face emoticon here.

I picked up a copy of Hey Nostradamus! for five bucks on clearance at B&N. I really liked Coupland's Microserfs, and from the few pages of this that I read, I think this one will be another great. I also got my mom a book for her birthday about how foreign textbooks relate aspects of American History. I read the bit about Viking explorers and Columbus and it seems like a good read.

My parents will be back in Chicago in another week ago. They've left Cali for their road trip already. So we'll see how often my mom calls from the road when she's bored.

Looking forward Silberstein's barbeque tomorrow, and the Lawrence Arms show still has me super-pumped and jumping around yelling and singing to their songs. Even in the car.

The Planet Smashers are one of the few ska bands who can write melancholy ska melodies. That is quite an accomplishment.

And today will be the last day in this pair of shoes. The sole has finally split up the side and detached from the upper to the ball of my foot. The wearability of these shoes is approaching zero, but I did get another year out of them from the first realization that there was a big hole in the bottom. (Yes, that realization did come in the form of my foot getting completely soaked.) Let's hear it for reducing my waste stream!

I was thinking earlier about relationships, and how inanimate objects acquire an association with a certain person, sometimes in a very roundabout way. And when that person isn't around any more, the objects still serve as reminders. This is true particularly with things of mine that have some resonance of my time with Marta. I'm sure that it will fade as other people become important to me, especially if I date someone else. Parvin said to me there doesn't need to be any emotional attachment, just have fun. This is an incredibly ridiculous thing to hear coming from my aunt, who is a decade older than my father. Not for me, but at least I know I'd have her support. Anyway, the associations I had with other ex-girlfriends have all dissipated, and they've been long gone for a while, so I'm sure the unpleasant ones I retain will follow suit.

The line between poetry and intergalactic space aliens is admittedly fine...

...but remains a line nonetheless.

I don't have too much to say. I've had a pretty average day. Nothing fabulous happened, nor did anything horrible. I did schoolwork until 7pm, but have had a pretty easy evening at home. This weekend promises to be *huge* though, so maybe I'll head to bed early.

The one notable thing about my day is that it was *pouring* so hard when I left for school this morning that I was soaked through completely within about 20 seconds, after which time I said Fuck it, let's ride! and continued on to school. After wringing my socks out into a big-ass puddle on the lecture room floor, they were still soaking wet all day, even after everything outside had dried off.

Laura's coming to town this weekend, crashing on my couch, I think. That'll be fun. Plus a ska show tomorrow and punk rock on Sunday. Woohoo.

Today's ripped off poetry:

Arts & Sciences by Philip Appleman

Everyone carries around in the back of his mind the wreck of a thing he calls his education. - Stephen Leacock

SOLID GEOMETRY

Here's a nice thought we can save:
The luckiest thing about sex
Is: you happen to be so concave
In the very same place I'm convex.

PHILOSOPHY: THOMAS HOBBES

Better at thinking than loving,
He deserved his wife's retort:
On their wedding night, she told him, "Tom,
That was nasty, brutish - and short!"

BOTANY

Your thighs always blossomed like orchids,
You had rose hips when we danced,
And the question I always kept asking was:
How can I get into those plants?

ECONOMICS

Diversification's a virtue,
And as one of its multiple facets,
When we're merging, it won't really hurt you
To share your disposable assets.

GEOGRAPHY

Russian you would be deplorable,
But your Lapland is simply Andorrable
So my Hungary fantasy understands
Why I can't keep my hands off your Netherlands.

LIT SURVEY

Alexander composed like the Pope,
Swift was of course never tardy,
And my Longfellow's Wildest hope
Is to find you right next to my Hardy.

PHYSICS

If E is how eager I am for you,
And m is your marvelous body,
And c means the caring I plan for you,
Then E = Magna Cum Laude.

MUSIC APPRECIATION

You're my favorite tune, my symphony,
So please do me this favor:
Don't ever change, not even a hemi-
Demi-semiquaver.

So where will you be in ten years? This the part where you don't say, "Right here."

We went out for sushi tonight. All-you-can-eat sushi with nine people. It was great! I have no fucking clue what I even ate. We'd order and just talk so much that, before I knew it, I was just shoving maki into my mouth. Like I said, great. I really have nothing much to add. Well, I should say that the new residents seem pretty cool for the most part, although I did catch one reading the Drudge Report (ACK!!) He seems decent, though, so I'll forgive him.

Anyway, getting super-psyched for the Larry Arms show this weekend. Raw, unpolished showmanship. I was singing so loud on my bike tonight that the trixies on the sidewalk were looking at me funny coming and going.

Sit next to me; we can talk or just kiss.

I wrote this last fall in response to a friend wondering what her boyfriend meant by "punk rock ethics":

Anyway, regarding punk ethics: I agree with Sylvain that they're derived from the concept of "be yourself," but there's a wider aspect to it. The self-respect and self-direction aspect comes from a recognition that no one person is better than another...which also lends itself to the concepts of feminism and other egalitarian political viewpoints. Zinn and Chomsky are both pretty well-respected in the punk scene, for example. Rebellion of some sort is often the first step in straining for self-recognition and self-direction, although, like many youth-oriented subcultures, there is a good deal of rebellion for rebellion's sake simply to establish a self-identity different from life-long authority figures like parents. Still, violating social mores is both a statement of individuality as well as something of a sociological statement about the objective absurdity of those mores; the main, and in many cases only, argument against mohawks, nail polish, most piercings, tattoos, etc. is based on them being unesthetic. I got a lot of weird looks and so forth when I had a mohawk and painted nails even this summer. Not that I'm not a friendly, intelligent, big-hearted guy, but people in public did kind of shy away from me. Punk rock itself is pretty simplistic, often amateurish, high energy music, which at its inception was a pretty sharp departure from the album-oriented prog rock dominating the mainstream. But the concept of anyone can do it, so try yourself, or whatever kind of art you like, was inherent in its development. Parallel to this developed a culture of self-reliance and a hard-charging attitude, often perceived as "macho." (I disagree with the macho assessment - strong and self-reliant do not and should not equate with masculine any more than weak and dependent should equate with feminine.)

Initially, punk was kinda intellectually vapid and self-centered, as well as having a large amount of undirected rebellion. Some of the early proto-punk bands, though sounding nothing like "punk rock" as most people think of it, were intentionally underground and aspiring to many of the values I mentioned above as being part of the punk ethic. There was a very large strain of sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, stealing, and other assholery in early punk, especially as it was developing in NYC in the early 70s. The British wave brought some more politics, but this was initially due to management (Malcolm McLaren in the case of the Sex Pistols and Bernie Rhodes in the case of the Clash) trying to impose a comprehensive stance to the movement as well, something of an avante-garde performance statement and something of a publicity/marketing stunt, but there was also a kernel of truth to it in the English experience. After the concept was unleashed though, the burgeoning scene took it and ran with it, and in a scene where amateurism and self-direction were becoming aspirational qualities, the concept of matching it with politics took hold and crossed back to the States. The fact that the establishment was cracking down on "punk" as a threat to the status quo, in the form of police raids on shows and such, as well as constant harassment by "respectable" members of society (jocks, preps, etc., and their adult equivalents - yuppies, etc.) probably reinforced the blooming anti-authoritarian political stance of many punks and contributed to the continued politicization of the scene. The hardcore scene that developed took some of this to excess, but also elocuted a clearer "punk" lifestyle of enjoying life while living a life compatible with the concepts of respect for others as equal to yourself and all that follows from that (anti-war, anti-slavery, anti-discrimination, anti-racist, anti-corporate). This sometimes went in different directions, like straight-edge (initially just a personal decision, the straight-edge scene became increasingly hardline and exclusionary, violent and almost right-wing in it's didacticism and condescension) and so forth. I think over time, living a moral lifestyle has become a part of the punk philosophy as a result of this.

As an aside, I've read and heard many iconic punk figures decry the stylistic conformity of punk. "Wall-to-wall mohawks and leather jackets." -Johnny Rotten; "The guy at the show in the 3-piece suit was probably taking a bigger social risk than all the tattooed, mohawked kids there." -- Joey Shithead; etc. John Stabb of Government Issue used to wear flowered leisure suits around to mock the intentional nonconformity of punk fashion. The hardcore scene and a lot of the Chicago punk scene that I've seen to a large extent did away with this - shaved heads, plain clothes, etc. were often the "uniform." Although often personally altered (patches, slogans, etc.) and worn to the point of tatters, it did confer a more individual stylistic bent to it. Plus, it's impossible to deny that people are affected esthetically by their surroundings as well. I think the skinhead girls look really cute with their short hair and jeans. I'd dye my hair if it weren't such a pain in the ass (I've done it a few times). My mohawk was a ton of fun, and it felt cool to play with - and have other people play with, mostly girls. ;) I still paint my nails black once in a while. Am I trying to get attention by this? No, I don't think so. I think it looks good, that's all, just like my bike and helmet are covered with stickers and I have patches and buttons on various jackets and articles of clothing.

There are many books that deal with all this both directly and indirectly, but I think my best understanding comes from 10 years spent in the punk scene without ever considering myself a punk. I guess I was as much as any of those kids, but I never identified with it to that extent. I always tried to pick and choose my traits for myself as much as possible. Was I the nerd reading a text book at the punk show in college? Yup. Was I different from a lot of my peers? Yes. Was it because I was trying to be "punk"? Nope. And so forth.

Does this help? Yes, there does exist some of that assholery you describe as punk, but I wouldn't call it anything like punk ethics, or even punk. It's juvenile rebellion dressed up in poser-punker fashion.

Right-wing propaganda

I ran across this, from the White House website, from May 2001:

Q Is one of the problems with this, and the entire energy field, American lifestyles? Does the President believe that, given the amount of energy Americans consume per capita, how much it exceeds any other citizen in any other country in the world, does the President believe we need to correct our lifestyles to address the energy problem?

MR. FLEISCHER: That's a big no. The President believes that it's an American way of life, and that it should be the goal of policy makers to protect the American way of life. The American way of life is a blessed one. And we have a bounty of resources in this country. What we need to do is make certain that we're able to get those resources in an efficient way, in a way that also emphasizes protecting the environment and conservation, into the hands of consumers so they can make the choices that they want to make as they live their lives day to day.

I've got $500 and 5 bullets in my gun, and if I have to I'll unload every one.

In lamb chop news, I'm a fanfuckingtastic cook. And it's so fucking easy. Seriously: lamb chops, honey, salt, pepper, parsley, onion, red wine. Cover and bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes. Plus little lambs taste much better than cows.

I saw today that the Lawrence Arms are playing in DeKalb Sunday night. I'm there. They have no Chicago shows listed despite having a tour booked for the fall. I'm pretty confident they'll have one, but the crowd outside the city will be different, I'm sure.

This keeping-my-apartment-clean thing takes some time each day, but I'm happy to be doing it.

I've been toying with the idea of getting some people together and making a zine. No real focus to it, just a random collection of whatever. I think it'd be cool. I'm sure it's been done before, but that's the beauty of putting in whatever crosses; it's so subjective, originality isn't important.

Matt can't get over the fact that I sometimes wear black nail polish. Note that I was *not* wearing it today, and he hasn't seen me in it for months. He insists I do it to be weird, not because of any esthetic desire. Now, I agree that it's different. But I also believe our esthetic sense is influenced by what we're exposed to, which is just how our brains are hardwired genetically. And I've been exposed to subcultures where nail polish on men isn't abnormal. Yes, I suppose it does send a message, but I don't know what that is beyond the fact that I'm violating cultural mores. Look! A traditionally female trait displayed by a male! My brain cannot process such conflicting symbology! Maybe making the monkey brains work a little harder to think in reality rather than symbols is worth it. I dunno. I still think it looks cool, not for it's sociocultural implications. I like the contrast with my hands when it's on there.

Now, I don't wear it when seeing patients, and there's a reason. I think it's in the patient's best interest for me to establish a rapport with them, which includes presenting a professional appearance, or an appearance that fits in with the general cultural perception of "health care professional." And I'm sure as that cultural perception shifts, my "professional" appearance will as well.

Yes, I had to morally justify not dressing the sloppy-ass way I usually prefer to for work. But that's better than doing it because those are the expectations we have of you!

I do have a contrarian streak to me though. Fuck, when I was putting Lego sets together I had an urge to not follow the directions, even. Which is either cool that I think that way, or sad that it's such a reaction.

There was something I wrote last fall about the politics of punk which I may repost here. I've gotten good feedback on it. I dunno. We'll see.

In the meanwhile, this is for Ryan. Humanity at Guantanamo by Peter Kane Dufault.

General Craddock suggested that the medical staff had indulged the hunger strikers to the point that they had been allowed to choose the color of their feeding tubes.
-New York Times, February 22, 2006.

We couldn't let them die.
That would be inhumane
(besides leaving us shy
of persons to detain).

Also it's bad PR
(should it come out by chance)
that, treated as they are,
death is deliverance.

And they know that! And so
it's nothing but pure spite
to make-believe Gitmo
is Hell-In-Broad-Daylight!

"Hell"? Hey - each gets to choose
(once hog-tied heel to head)
what color hose we'll use
(before they all turn red)...

That Wonderful Military-Industrial-(Senatorial) Complex!

Ryan sent this to me the other day. He gave me permission to repost it. Thanks, Ryan. Here ya go:

I had gone with my dad, probably more than 20 years ago, to see the air show when visiting my grandma who lived a couple blocks from the lake. For the last decade I have always worked on weekends and the extent of the air show that I have experienced since has been a few random jets screaming by while down at UIC.

On Thursday, not realizing that the time was upon us again, I did a quick search to see if the world was going to hell (Korean nukes in the air, Gatorade device made it through, etc.), and quickly found out that the time was again upon us for the skies to fill with our city's own military demo.

So I went to check it out. Partially because it was free. Partially for nostalgia reasons. Partially to just see some crazed action in the sky.

And I was scared and horrified.

I should have expected that I would have that reaction. I know my feelings about this war and war in general, but I had been to one of these before. In my mind it was going to be more like the memories of a McCormick place auto show or a Cubs game (I guess instead of them saying, 'Buy this car,' it is more like...'Look at this refueling jet...Look at this F-16 that you ALREADY BOUGHT, taxpayer!') I could not help but feel terrified by the military jets in ways that I had never been before.

"They are like spaceships."
"It's like Star Wars."

That was a snippet of the conversation between April and myself yesterday as we sat in awe of the billion-dollar jet spiraling through the sky. And they were. As a kid, the jets were just another variety of airplane. They were what Maverick and Goose flew in. They were Iron Eagle. They were protectors. Video game tools for defeating the evil MIGs who wanted to get us...for what...well...that part of the movie is all and forgotten if it ever was brought up at all.

And they are stunning to watch from a purely technological point-of-view. Seeing anything move that fast with such delicate maneuvering and quick response is certainly something you don't see very often in America. To see the sound racing to catch up to the machine that is firing by and then erupting till the ground shakes is indescribable without seeing it firsthand. They fly like X-wing fighters and I couldn't help being overwhelmed by their power and grace, way back when and yesterday, too.

On Saturday, however, they were the very same machines that have made a mess of a country and left us with nothing to say to the world regarding foreign policy and responsible governing. The apache helicopters and F-16's, unlike during the time of my childhood experience, are currently being used on a daily basis to maintain a skewed order in chaos, to murder the 'enemy,' to put holes in people.

I tried to divorce the two lines of thinking, to remove the grace and beauty from the killing, and found it impossible. No way to polish that off or forget the machine's main objective.

If there was a market for publicly displayed ingenuity...like a circus made up of great feats of industrial expertise, I think I could appreciate it. If everyone gathered by the lake to see people jump two hundred feet due to some new boot creation, I could applaud. Or to watch pilots fly impossible maneuvers in celebration of just how advanced our air travel innovations have developed in 100 years, I could cheer and dream about all the good that waits to be invented.

Unfortunately, the only real areas we have advanced so far are militarily (even NASA has its political agendas). There is no money in making people happy...giving them something to dream about. Even the most benign advances in technology will be made malicious if it leads to more efficient methods of combat. And that is where the money is, so the moral choices become clouded in gray areas and green.

Scary shit. I wish I could have watched for those four hours through my eight-year-old eyes with my eight-year-old understanding, and my eight-year-old desire to go home and simulate what I saw with my micro machines.

At least I can gloss over the majority of it.

I got handed a textbook on oral applications of lasers and told to review it for the World Journal of Orthodontics by the end of October. I paged through it and there is very little orthodontic application in there. Woo. At least I can gloss over the majority of it. I have to give a presentation on it in the spring too. Dana gave me some pointers on speed-reading.

So far I'm at a 40% patient failure rate this week. And fucking idiot me, I popped a second molar bracket off while going to clip the wire and had to untie, rebond, and retie the fucking thing. Crapo!

I made awesome filet mignon with a nice tomato and spinach salad for dinner...and for dessert I met Kate and Mark and some others at Delilah's. I do enjoy the beer, even when I pay $14 for two glasses. I enjoy the bike riding too. I was singing at the top of my lungs while biking, which really takes the breath out of you. Whistling doesn't help, either.

Yeah, so the first day back at school wasn't that special. My speed must be picking up, though, since I was able to do procedures in far less time than I thought I would. I thought I'd be running over the time I had and I ended up finishing early for the most part.

I need to figure out a good way to prepare lamb chops for tomorrow night's dinner. I'm in a pretty good mood right now despite being tired. Kate says I'm always pissed off on here, but I would think that melancholia would be the dominant view. Regardless, the mood right now is pretty decent.

Famous Poems Abbreviated by XJ Kennedy:

Once upon a midnight dreary,
Blue and lonesome, missed my dearie.
Would I find her? Any hope?
Quoth the raven six times, "Nope."

***

Whose woods these are I think I know.
Shall I just sack out in the snow
And freeze? Naaaa, guess I'd better go.

More on guns 'n' America

First day of the semester, and things are going ok, despite some equipment problems and a total rearrangement of our clinic supplies.

At lunch, I run across this. It seems to be a recurring theme with me.

It’s kind of relaxing, cathartic, almost Zen-like

For my 6th birthday I got the Return of the Jedi AT-AT toy/vehicle/playset. Along with the Millennium Falcon which entered my possession at one point and the X-wing I got when I was three or four, and the few action figures I had - the first being C-3PO and R2-D2, which I remember receiving in the car while dropping my dad off at his bus stop (or maybe picking him up) one day. I think I was three. I don't think my parents realized my simultaneous excitement for having *Star Wars* action figures and disappointment for not really wanting those two. I wanted something cool, like Obi-Wan Kenobi, who had a cape and lightsaber that retracted into his arm, or Darth Vader, who had a cape and lightsaber that retracted into his arm. Thats what I knew from seeing Paul's action figures, and damnit! I wanted that too!

I remember the AT-AT, how by the time I outgrew it, it had no more cargo door, the motorized guns didn't work, the cockpit had lost its cover, and it was pretty trashed. I used to cram all my Star Wars toys into that one big AT-AT box.

This evening I started building the Lego AT-AT I bought a year ago. It's kind of relaxing, cathartic, almost Zen-like. I say almost because it can get a little frustrating when I'm looking for one piece for 15 minutes.

Laura called from Madison and we talked for over an hour and a half. Actually, I think she did most of the talking, since I was tired and distracted. She brought up how Marta told her I had Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. Sure do! Not ashamed of that one bit. She's coming to the city this weekend for the Deal's and Tossers shows and might be crashing my couch one of those nights.

I spent almost $200 today, so I decided to forego Delilah's and the Bottle tonight in favor of not spending money and starting the semester off reasonably rested. But I have nice new tires on my bike, a good repair kit ready to go, and some other stuff I needed and expect to last a good long while. I did get the shower and windowsills cleaned. Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub away! I was actually just finishing the last bit of that when Laura called.

I'm listening to the "Unsound" comp. Fortunately Epitaph figured out not to call it "Punk-O-Rama" when it's mostly poppy shit and an insult to punk rock, but unfortunately that's because Epitaph is not really putting out punk rock anymore. There is some on here, including the Draft (yay!) but not much new stuff. It's pretty much from established Epitaph bands like Pennywise, Bad Religion and the Bouncing Souls. That's it, actually, aside from the Draft and Some Girls. It looks like there might be a few good hip-hop songs on here, too. I'm ten songs in and the best song so far is by some indie-pop band called Youth Group, whose album I didn't like much.

I need to shear myself. But first some stolen words from Poetry magazine:

More Foolish Things Remind Me of You by XJ Kennedy

Theses on archetypes in rapsters' lyrics,
Menus describing hash in panegyrics,
Cheap vases aping Mings -
Pretentious things
Remind me of you.
Loud slurping noises from the next apartment,
A critic's lecture on what Hitler's art meant,
Dead snakes the tomcat brings -
Disquieting things
Remind me of you.

You came, swell dame, swooped down on me.
Like Visigoths you looted me,
You burnt me down, then booted me.

Lines sliced to little bits by deconstruction,
Loose gobs of fat removed by liposuction,
Toys after children's play -
Sheer disarray
Reminds me of you.
A sculped Discobolus with penis missing,
Forgotten novelists, Surtees or Gissing,
Leftovers growing mold -
Everything old
Reminds me of you.

By God, how odd to call to mind
Those tortures that you tried on me,
How, least of all, you lied to me.

Cheeseburgers gussied up with shrimps and chili,
Victorian bathing gowns, a gilded lily,
Fingers with monster rings -
Overdressed things
Remind me of you.
Fallacious arguments, a dozen doughnuts,
Car windows shot to hell when policemen go nuts,
Suburban lawns with moles,
Things full of holes
Remind me of you.

Fucking fucks.

Those fucking fighter jets are still buzzing my house. Fuckers. Fucking Air and Water Show. Fuck that shit.

Fuck it. I'm going outside to put new tires on my bike.

Boring days and stolen poetry

I had great food at Mirani's last night. Kaveh wouldn't let me pay so I plopped down a twenty-dollar tip. I did manage to get the credit card all done but then he voided the sale.

WNUR went well. Plenty of rocking out to good music, but what else do you do when alone for three hours in the control room? The main speakers are screwy when you turn them too loud, though.

There are some errands I need to run today that I just didn't get to yesterday. At least my apartment is looking even cleaner. I don't think it's ever been this clean. Still a hair messy, but that's just a few papers and CDs.

And now for a little copyright infringement, courtesy of Poetry Magazine:

What Humans Do by Wendy Videlock

The candlelit
after-dinner
careful screw,

the under-the-moon
shooby doo
be doo groove,

the from behind,
the sixty-nine,
the is there time,

the I need wine,
the twisted talking
dirty grind,

the Erica Jong
zipless screw,
the I-got-somethin'-

to-prove ruse,
the primal bang,
the power game,

the long play,
the itchy-ish, sudden-ish
roll in the hay,

the take me away,
the once a month
married way,

the hail mary,
the holy-joe-
I-can't-believe-

my-luck hump,
the side to side
slow pump,

the grudge fuck,
the quick poke,
the hard core,

the tenderest lap
of waves on the shore,
and the gushing rushing

endless coming
of I've never felt
this way before.

Fuck the Air and Water Show and fuck the US military, too!

Goddamn fighter jets keep flying over my house. Tax dollars are being spent to entertain suburbanites and pretty much provide PR for the military and its awesome machinery of death and destruction, and this concept annoys me on its own. The fact that it's physically inconvenient even to live within a few miles of it due to low-flying fighter jocks is just icing.

In other news, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

I got back to Chi yesterday and didn't really feel like doing much of anything. I went out to the Pilsen Mass ride, and the six(!) of us who showed up for it ended up riding around in the rain for a few hours. Fortunately, it was warm. Unfortunately, I got a puncture in my front tire, and patching in the rain is not the most effective procedure. I need to really put together the good repair kit I've been thinking of. I've got just about everything but a convenient way to carry it. Maybe a trip to the bike shop is in order today. Anyway, we stopped for dinner at Mi Tierra and I had to pump up afterward, but at least it was holding well enough to get me the five miles home. I haven't checked it today, but I have a feeling I'm going to have to put in a new tube. I should go buy new road tires, as well, I think. I should clean my glasses too; there's still a dense film from the dried rain.

Anyway, despite going out for the emotionally indifferent bike ride, I've done nothing of note since I got home from Jersey. Well, I finished putting together that Lego model. Y-wing! Now I can't figure out where the fuck to put the damn thing.

I have probably a good hour of cleaning to do, but it's really not much. I just can't make myself do anything. I can't even change the music I'm listening to. I've heard this Good Riddance record three or four times by now, and it's not even a good record. Note to all melodic hardcore bands: don't drop the hardcore in favor of the melody.

I would like to sit and drink beer and watch TV, but I know there's nothing on and that I'll feel worse for having done so.

Thursday I had lunch with my grandmother and Parvin. The food was great. I don't know what it is, but lately I'm really starting to see extra dimensions to the people I've known my whole life. I guess I do know what it is; I'm older and wiser. Still, it's odd to notive behavioral traits in people and putting that together with what I know of their history, but cool. The human mind is one fucked-up piece of organic machinery.

Dinner with Susan and Alex was good. It was good to see them talking and responding, smiling even, although they did have the odd moment of sadness. Parvin and Susan were fighting to pay the check, which was entertaining. I hope to be able to wade in on these someday. I told Parvin she should come to Chicago after my parents move back and she can fight with my dad over the check.

I figure maybe I'll try to get the rest of my shit together today so I can really enjoy my last day of vacation tomorrow. Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi at Delilah's, and then either stick around for Mike Miller spinning Joe Strummer or head to the Empty Bottle for what may or may not be an interesting show. Probably D's in that it's cheaper and probably just as entertaining, and I can leave whenever I want without feeling guilty.

For now, I'll try to drag my ass around and accomplish something with my life today.

Holy fucking shit...

OK. I spent all day yesterday and today helping my cousin Paul with some practice work he had to do for upkeep of his attorney's license, but it was fucking impossible to keep on track. I felt like I could have done the thing on my own faster than the two of us did together. And I didn't go to law school. If I had hair I would have pulled it all out by now.

At least I got to hang out with Sal last night. I think we ate at the same Italian restaurant we ate at when I was out to visit him three years ago, then we ate at the Little Pie Company and walked along the Hudson and shot the shit a while.

Quite dolichocephalic, that lad.

I met Mina tonight; we had dinner at a little Vietnamese place and then ice cream in Chinatown. Who knew that peanut-butter-sesame ice cream would be so fucking great? I hadn't seen her in five years or so, so it was good to catch up. I managed to navigate the NYC subway mostly on my own, so I'm not totally helpless. Although I wish I'd remembered to email Melissa Patenio to see when she was gonna be in NYC. I wanna say it would have been tonight and maybe I could have met up with them after Mina went home. Ah, well.

I'm beat. I've done no reading or much relaxing on this trip. Well, I've had some good mental vacation in NYC, but my brain was hurting earlier after wrapping my head around NJ family law. I'm gonna have some juice and turn in.

Tomorrow I'm having lunch with my aunt and grandma and then I think we're going to some Italian place for dinner. That'll be nice.

My Vegas tix went through, and buy.com says they'll replace my missing shipment. So woo.

OK. Off to juice. I need to see if I can get Dana a black and white cookie tomorrow in the hopes it will keep for four days and a plane ride.

Day 2

I arrived in Jersey with no problems yesterday. Not that I was expecting any.

Lunch with Parvin and a nap on her couch, then saw Susan and Alex at their office; Susie is not doing well, talking about suicide and how she can't escape her miserable life. So I will definitely need to keep in closer contact with her just to provide that extra bit of social matrix. She did let me borrow the T-bird, but the hard-top is on so no convertible. Still a fun little roadster to drive. I had to immediately change the radio station from the paleo-conservative bullshit being spewed, though.

I took the ferry over to midtown, met Laura and her friend Kim for dinner. Waiting for them outside Penn Station, I was struck by how goddamn trendy everyone looked. Fucking New York. Yes, I'm being stuck-up about how cool Chicago is, but everyone looked like they just stepped out of some sort of fashion magazine - people of all different stripes. You just don't get that in Chi - people don't seem to care as much, the Abercrombie/Gap/skank-tank/beer-whore-pants bar scene axis notwithstanding.

Anyway, we had good dinner with a gigantic piece of chocolate cake for desert. Delicious. Then Laura and I headed to the Lower East Side to see the Blackout Shoppers play at Manitoba's. I didn't realize until I was inside and saw all the Dictators paraphernelia that it was Handsome Dick Manitoba's place. Cool.

Blackout Shoppers were great. Hardcore like you don't see much anymore, yet without being all thrashed out. Plus nice guys; Laura knew them a bit. Real small bar, intimate show, no stage. The next band weren't that cool, though. The music was alright, but the lyrics harkened back to the same wasted misogynistic crap that punk was supposedly rebelling against. I don't care how long they've been around, it was still all vapid posing as far as I'm concerned.

I got back to Jersey and Paul asked me for help with his Skills and Competencies coursework. I didn't know how much help I'd be, seeing as I'm not a lawyer, but apparently I was good. Plus if I ever have to file for divorce someday, I'll have had some experience drawing up the documentation.

I need to get something to eat. I'm meeting Sal tonight, and I haven't seen him in three years or so. Cool.

It's fucking early.

Update via notebook:

On my way to the El I hocked a loogie through the chickenwire fence on the Kennedy overpass. The wind was blowing the other way, and when it caught on the fence, my loogie started stretching back the way it came, as if to flout my attempt to deposit it away from the sidewalk. It was beautiful; I watched it as I walked away.

Sitting on the El, across the aisle from me was a woman with the most pristine "casual" appearance I've seen. Manicured, pedicured, hair in just the right ponytail (she even checked it when she sat down to make sure everything was in place), eyes wide open and unblinking with that Botox-I-can't-move-my-eyebrows look. It's freaky. She looked like a plastic doll in jeans and lilac t-shirt and flip-flops.

The Botox face reminds me of Chris Milne. I watched her reflection in the glass for a kind of vicarious nostalgia.

Security wasn't that bad at O'Hare. I had an hour and a half to kill after I got here, and killed a good fifteen minutes of it looking for a Cinnabon. Successfully, I might add. I read Laura's interview with the Blackout Shoppers in Punk Planet, and realized that's the band we're seeing tonight. Looking forward to it.

I achieved mediocrity.

I got my apartment mostly clean. And then gave up. I mopped the floor and everything. Still need to vacuum, though, and clean the windowsills. That will have to wait until next weekend when I get back from the east coast (fuck you!). I still have some papers and CDs to file, too. I did finally manage to mount the window shade in my bedroom. That's right, the one I bought almost a year ago.

Another beautiful day gone by where I spent it inside. By the time I decided to give up cleaning, I was too down-hearted to go out and do anything. I thought about a bike ride, but just felt it would be too crowded. Not that I wanted to insulate myself from others, but I couldn't think of anywhere I'd want to ride that wouldn't be crowded with pedestrian traffic.

I ended up starting to build one of the Lego sets I bought last year. The two foot long Y-wing. I missed Lego. When I was a kid I'd spend hours building Lego. Friends came and went (and still do) but Lego is there for me. Even in elementary school, I remember sitting in my room late at night, listening to oldies with one lamp on in the corner, building.

My parents wouldn't let me have any regular Lego until I turned four, and on my fourth birthday Parvin brought me this big (or so it seemed) set with tons of different pieces to make a million different models. It had a Lego racoon person too, with a beer stein. Odd.

I remember the construction set I had, which I also built and rebuilt.

I remember the first space Lego set I got when I was five. The first theme-specific set I had. I memorized the assembly instructions by taking it apart and putting it back together so many times.

I remember Jim Eckland had a whole town set up in his basement and we all had our own characters. I think they all drove Lego Lamborghinis and carried guns.

I remember Paul gave us a whole ton of old Lego. There were so many wings! You have to understand, space Lego was all I wanted as a kid, and to make your own spaceships you needed *wings*. Well, I did anyway. And now I could make a fleet of them!

I remember I was ten or so when there was a big Lego build-off at the mall. Pretty fucking cool.

I remember my parents lying about what they got me for Christmas because I guessed which Lego set it was.

In the last five years I've put in a lot of time and money just for Star Wars Lego. And I find it worth it. I know I'll be glad I have those sets in five, ten years. When I have kids. It's just a way to hold onto my youth, I guess. Or nostalgia for it. And so I spent a fair amount of time this evening indulging my nostalgia and letting my isolation continue.

In my four nights in NJ/NY, I'm meeting friends for three of them. I kind of feel like I'm taking advantage of my family for lodging, but then I suppose I'd get bored with them anyway after that much time. Parvin did say she was going to make Bogoli Polo for me, and I can meet some people for lunch, I suppose. Still, it'll be good to see Laura, Sal, and Mina again. Worth ditching the relatives for. And it'll be good just get away from Chicago. Leave all my worries behind me. Although I've got business to conduct via phone tomorrow.

I have to get up in less than five hours to go to the airport. Fuck.

Mark Anderson is a good role model

This excerpt refers back to the post "Dogs, guns, girls, and orthodontics" from a few days ago.

Mark Anderson, from All the Power: Revolution Without Illusion:

I also don't believe that technology, as such, is the enemy. Whether humans are capable of using the tools of this modern era responsibly remains to be seen. Still, no more ludicrous denial of human possibility could be imagined than to assume that we cannot. I refuse to believe that people are so feeble.

Well said.

My exciting life: Wonder Dogs and self-disgust.

The house is looking pretty clean. I spent an hour yesterday scrubbing countertops and stovetop in the kitchen. Pretty much a table and couch to clean off, then a lot of dusting, wiping, vacuuming. I had to go get more cleaning supplies last night. I just hope my vacuum filter makes it through.

This is the first time in months that I blacked out my nails. Along with the freshly shorn head, I'm sure this will enable me to squeek through the heightened airport security tomorrow morning. I have to get up at 3:30 or 4 am anyway just to make sure I make it to my 8am flight on time.

I tried to get dinner at Mirani's last night, but they were closed by 9pm for some reason. I had fish and chips with a side o' Guinness at the Celtic Knot instead. Melt in your mouth goodness, all of it.

Vikki came by WNUR last night, so I didn't do the show alone. It made the night better, for sure. I remember this little kid with green hair and ripped up mismatched plaid suit I met four and a half years ago, and she's really grown into herself, so good for her.

I feel old.

I was reading some poetry at dinner:

"Bullet the Wonder Dog Gets a Few Things Off His Chest" by Ron Koertge

I was good enough to knock down a few
desperados and bushwhackers and then keep
them occupied until Roy finished his song.
But Trigger was the marquee beast.
He was gold, El Dorado on the hoof, the blonde
bombshell. American through and through.

Man's best friend? Don't kid yourself. When
we were working, I had to eat Trigger's dust
or ride in the Jeep with dopey Pat Butrum.
And when we weren't working, I was bored.

So I sidled up to a script girl who was
learning Spanish and listened along. My plan
was this: next time a couple of banditos
confronted the impeccable Roy, I'd burst
in before the fisticuffs with Bajer esas
pistolas, y escuchen a la razon.

But the words wouldn't come out. They
were right there on the tip of my long,
red tongue. I howled in frustration and
ruined the shot.

"Somebody," the director said, "get that
mutt out of here." And somebody did, a DGA
trainee with a script in her purse and a
bad attitude.

It's times like those I thought of my mother,
how usually she lay down while my brothers
and I fought for a nipple. But occasionally
she stoodlike she was posing for a she-wolf
postcard. Instead of Romulus, I was the one
tall and strong enough to reach a teat.

"You'll go far," she said to me in Dogtalk.
"But there's also heartbreak and few, if any,
will know the real you."

Copyright violation from Free Lunch no. 35.

I find myself very easily tempted to actions I know will have negative consequences for all involved. Things I would not be proud of doing even were they consequence-free. I do not know why this is. I'm disgusted with myself even though I know I'll give in to the temptations should the opportunity arise.

I think my mailman is either lazy or an idiot. I get no mail all week, then yesterday my box is crammed full of stuff, some of it postmarked two weeks ago. *LIKE MY DENTAL LICENSE RENEWAL.* Some of it was put into other boxes as well, I think, despite my name and apartment number being on my box. Fuckin' A. No Idea says that Chicago is a black hole for packages and I can believe it.

Also, according to UPS, they never picked up my MP3 player from buy.com, and buy won't look into it until the entire expected shipping time has elapsed. Which means Tuesday morning I can get on and bitch to them about it. Fuckers. I'm never buying anything from there again.

Make a new friend!

Oranges (and their ilk) are the perfect fruit for sharing. Is there any other food that's naturally compartmentalized like an orange? Share an orange and make a new friend today!

Silence dissolves all objects.

More cleaning done. Woo. An exciting life I lead.

"What are you doing Friday night?"

"Cleaning my apartment." I'm hot shit.

Did a little bit of reading, both research and fun reading. Grocery shopping, too. I seem to do it every 2-3 months now, even though I mean to go more often. I cleaned out the last of my fridge for dinner and then went out and spent almost $200 on food.

For someone who's stopped drinking alone, I sure did buy a good amount of alcohol. But it's all higher end stuff. I'm excited to break it out as soon as I have someone to share the experience with. I just need to have people over, which seems to be a recurring theme. "Come over and have a drink, and I'll make you food!" That's a standing invitation to anyone out there. Please don't mind the mess, it's improving. Slowly.

Trish called and we talked for 90 minutes or so. Worth the break, or the not cleaning for an hour and a half. She's referring to her ex as "that guy" now, so that could be a good thing. She got into some good rants (not all about him, especially the best ones) which was entertaining.

Today's quote of the day: "I made my husband be a whore." - Robyn Silberstein

More from Art to Choke Hearts:

I don't want a shoulder to lean on. I don't need it. The whole idea of "Someone, that special someone!" is for me a load of shit. I must be fully contained. No leakage, no spillover. Dependency is weakness. It's such a lie. Lying there in bed, in your lover's arms. She's behind me, she believes in me! No one is behind me. I am behind me. I believe in me. I don't need any support group to keep my head together. I know what I have to do, so I should just shut up and do it.

I don't necessarily agree with this, but there have been definite times in my life when that philosophy was so succinct and so right to describe what I felt. For so long I wanted no real contact with anyone else, and didn't even realize it. It took years for me to learn to be honest enough with myself, and even longer with others, that I did need that real contact, that honest and open contact with people I care about and who care about me. This required, to some extent, subsuming my egotistical independence into my social structure, but it ended up leaving me feeling more free. Honesty comes much easier even when it's not the easiest route to travel.

I went to Spain for five weeks the summer I turned 17. I was the only one in our group who felt that the bullfighting was cruel to the bull. I think my peers understood what I was getting at and just didn't care. Thankfully I actually got too sick to go to the stadium bullfight. But this explains why this passage was so great to me:

When I was seventeen, I went to Spain. Nothing adventurous, just a school trip. I stayed in a hotel with a few hundred other bored, horny students from all over the USA. It was as if I never left home. It was a big party where everyone got drunk and nobody got laid. One of the cool things I did was to go to this bullfight. It was me, the students, and all the locals. The locals didn't like us one bit. We always wanted the bull to win. We booed when they stuck the poor bastard with all the knives. There were three fights in all, and they all ended the same way. They would make a big deal of killing the bull slowly, and then the matador would put the sword through the bull's neck and kill him. They would drag the dead bull around the ring. Maybe to rub it in or to ensure that the matador got laid. The last fight was the best. The moment came when the bull and the matador were looking into each other's eyes and the sword was about to plunge. The bull pulled to one side and swept his horn up and ripped out the matador's kneecap and chucked his ass up into the sucker seats. All of us Americanos were on our feet cheering like crazy. The locals were booing at the same velocity. They sent in another guy, and he killed the shit out of that bull. They dragged his ass around the ring three times to let everybody know that you can't win when you're alone scared and crazy, pitted against a bunch of men with swords who aren't drunk and need to get laid.

Rusty blades

The rust looks like blood; blood will corrode the blade.

Eighteen Lines on a Saturday Night

I want to put my arms around you
To smell your hair again
I should have kissed you
But I was too drunk
To overcome my fears
I spent the night watching your eyes
Your lips, and listening to your voice
Feeling your head on my shoulder
And introducing myself
We spent the night talking
Maybe that's better
Stupid jokes and self-revelation
I analyze each moment
And I'm afraid to call you
I suppose I'll see you again
But two months is a long time
For these memories to fill
And I'm afraid to call.

Disturbingly brilliant

I had to share.

From Henry Rollins's Art to Choke Hearts:

She points her finger. His porcelain mask falls to the ground and breaks into many jagged pieces. She looks at the face that she had never seen before. She walks away, leaving him alone with his undoing all around his feet.

****

A fly was crawling across my window. I crushed him with one of the blinds. I watched him crawl with his guts trailing behind him in a snotty little trail. No I didn't stick my face in and clean it up with my tongue. You don't know me as well as you think you do. I watched it crawl until it was too weak to haul its own guts. What a way to go. No complaining, no pleas for mercy. No cries for mamma. A while later I was looking out the window at the drug pushers across the street. I saw the fly again. It was still stuck to the glass by its guts. Another fly was eating him. I wish I could be like that. my girlfriend blows her brains out in the bathroom and I take her body downstairs and live on it for weeks. I couldn't do that you know. I wouldn't have the guts. I thought of that fly again with its buddy standing on top chowing down. That fly has more guts than I do.

****

So I'm hoping to fuck these heavy mothers get off the bus soon before they get any ideas about knocking me around. About two stops later they get up to leave. They filed past me and didn't give me even a second glance. You bet your ass I checked them out. I couldn't believe it. They were fat kooks, and they were wearing all these New Wave clothes that you could tell cost a lot of money. The last one to get off the bus is the one I can't forget. Thick glasses, big butt, with a denim jacket that said THE CURE written in marker on the back. What the fuck is wrong with these people? The Cure? I'll bet those kids raid their parents' liquor cabinet and get out the Lite beer. Whatever happened to juvenile delinquents? It's too late, I think. There should be a law: Anyone under the age of twenty-five will not be sold any weak alcohol products. It's going to be malt liquor, whiskey, or nothing. Anybody who wants to purchase Lite beer will have to be over forty and have the identification to prove it.

There's more to share, but I'm tired. Thanks, Hank, for letting me share your words.

Dogs, guns, girls, and orthodontics

My mom told me last night that they'd found a home for Toby, and hopefully he'll have some good years left. I said if he's got that much time left, why don't they take him with when they move. It really comes down to this: my dad doesn't want to take care of him anymore. I'm reminded of the words of the great Billy Madison, who said, "You've got a thing; you've got a responsibility!" But my dad does what my dad does, and the hell with how anyone else might feel about it. It's been that way since I was younger.

Maybe I should just volunteer to take him in here. It would involve a little more schedule juggling on my part, but it'd be worth it, I think. On a moral level, certainly, if not an emotional satisfaction level. I'd make it work somehow. It might take some doggie valium at first, but I think it'd be better for him to stay with people he knows. A new home will be bad enough without a new pack.

I was thinking this morning about the prevalence of gun imagery in many Leftist political messages. In particular, the interspersion of a rifle, pistol, ammo clips, and shells among the musical instruments in the Monument-Masses tour artwork. Which, despite my pacifist leanings, I find really really cool.

It has a lot to do with my upbringing, I'm sure. This is from an article in Harper's a few years ago: "I remember as a boy that there was nothing quite like the toys of war. Oh, the guns: how they aimed."

But similar images pervade a lot of the imagery that is associated with anti-war, pro-peace, pro-humanity agendas. The Plea for Peace patch on my jacket has a silhouette of man with AK-47 raised in air. The pervasiveness of army surplus wear in the punk scene. The deliberately paramilitary appearance of both the Clash and Anti-Flag, as well as many other bands in between who were anti-aggression/pro-peace in their political statements.

I don't know how much of this is a product of a cultural landscape that applauds the masculinity of strength, often exemplified - and mythologized - as the warrior ethic. This lead to the historical path of war as noble and courageous, of course. Unfortunately, with the advent of industrialized warfare (as well as its disruptive effects on industrial manufacturing, resource distribution and agriculture) the capacity for harm and death to innocents and noncombatants has increased exponentially, and what was often horrible has become that much worse.

I don't believe that the absence of force will ever occur; human beings are way too sociopathic overall. Well, maybe not, but at this point, with our population density and technological level, the probability of some sociopath doing intense amounts of damage approaches unity.

Witness King George II. Witness the fuckheads willing to blow up airplanes by mixing various innocuous liquids into explosives.

The other species of great apes, meanwhile, lack the population density and technology to really do serious damage to each other. Either ostracism or group attacks usually dispel any sociopathic members.

The way it was raining outside, it's literally like someone turns on a hose every few minutes. Talk about sporadic showers.

Dana and I went to dinner tonight and she wouldn't let me pay. I volunteered to make her dinner sometime to even the stakes. Not that I mind free food, but if I knew she was going to pay, I wouldn't have ordered so much. Still, the food was good (Irish pub grub) and the company and conversation were better. She made many predictions for my life, and hopefully some of them come true. She bolstered my confidence.

And apparently I'm a flirt. And I apparently went on a date with someone without realizing it. I thought I was just being friendly and, yeah, she was cute and I was probably attracted to her, but I don't consider a spontaneous trip to get burritos after school a date. I'm not sure how this relates to me being a flirt.

This afternoon, Schneider and I were sitting around, kind of reading research, when I asked what he plans to do when he retires next year. From this we get into discussing biomechanics, treatment modalities, research, biology, physiologic equilibrium of forces, and eventually into politics and religion. I love that guy. Hopefully he makes it out to Silberstein's barbeque so we can have a few beers. Im gonna miss him when he's gone.

When the bell tolls, I'll be fine; they say that living is a lot like dyin'.

For some reason I can't figure out, I'm feeling depressed. In need of sleep, surely, and I'm feeling pretty tired. It may just be that my exhaustion is playing with me. I'm running so close to the edge these days that I'll fall asleep despite being in active situations where I can normally hack it.

And the scary part is that I can't see an end to it soon. Even when I'm on vacation next week I'm gonna be going crazy to meet people and I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but damn will I need to rest up from it. That's almost what weekends are for, right? Mine sure don't feel that way.

It's weird how music can act synergistically with emotion. Songs that might normally make my chest want to burst right now make me want to implode. Maybe it's not synergy. Maybe I just want to feel so full again that its lack is emptiness by comparison.

I find it hard to get off my ass and do anything. I can't even vegetate. It's so weird. I suppose I could sleep right now, but I'd end up feeling listless. I've got plenty of things I need to do, and I'm going to get to them as soon as I'm done writing this, and hopefully just the labor will be enough to motivate my motivation.

Quote of the day: "Fuck the Bible." - Bernie Schneider

I find it odd that Shana is so friendly with me. I mean, I try to be nice, but I do tease her about things all the time, and aside from being classmates we have almost nothing in common. I'm not complaining, as I'll take all the friends I can get - and appreciate them - but it's just unusual.

I added to my "no more drinking alone" rule. Now there are two rules for Darren's alcohol consumption:
1) No more drinking alone
2) No more drinking to get drunk

This doesn't mean I won't get drunk; it means I won't set out to get drunk. The drunkenness will be incidental to the consumption of high quality alcoholic drinks with high quality [alcoholic] company. I just don't like myself that way. It's stupid. And the stupidity on my part occurs before the stupor. I find I was using alcohol as a crutch and image enhancer and it really didn't help at all. If anything, it facilitated the self-destructive behavior I wanted to indulge in anyway. I don't really care if other people think I'm a drunk, but I don't want to be one, and I could easily see myself heading down that road. Plus there have been conversations and situations of which the veracity of my recollections are questionable, and I miss that. And it totally degrades my artistic side.

Plus, I can be silly, rude, loud, and entertaining stone sober.

The new Heavens album is like Matt Skiba fronting The Cure. Which is to say it's got its great moments and its not-so-great moments.

Gimme gimme sopor

For some reason I just got really really sleepy. Maybe it's because I'm four years old and missed my nap today.

I did get a fair amount of apartment cleaning done. The weather was too beautiful to sit at school all buttoned-up in the A/C, so I came home and hung out with the windows open and a nice breeze coming through. Unfortunately I still have a ginormous amount of apartment cleaning left. Still, in general I feel better than I did.

I did end up talking to Amber for an hour while the sun set behind me and I watched the dusk reflected in the city skyline contrast with the darkening eastern sky. It was cool.

While washing dishes I started to think about how great shows have made me feel. Maybe it's because I was listening to FMTM and it brought to mind some of the better shows I've seen. I mean, I've talked about the first time I saw them, but last week's show was great since it was me and one other guy that were there to see them, and it was like a private show, almost. Matt said my energy was keeping him going throughout the set.

Other great shows in the last year:
Lifetime at the Metro - it was like all the kids from the 90s punk scene came out and were having a good time. Super-cool crowd, great pit with almost no violence and tons of dancing, and the whole place was throwing hands.
Alkaline Trio at the Metro - for once not drunk and pretty tight, the energy was great even though the crowd was pretty lame for the most part. I got my head rubbed after doing the robot in the pit. I think I was the only person in the club dancing to Good Fucking Bye.
Against Me! at the Metro - the whole place was dancing and singing. You couldn't move without hitting anyone, but there was no violence, and the crowd held me upright so I didn't even worry about balancing as I danced. Beautiful.
Suicide Machines at the Bottom Lounge - for some reason it was like 110 degrees out on the dancefloor, but that didn't stop me from having one hell of a dance.
Chris McCaughan at South Union Arts - just made me feel warm.
Just about any Lawrence Arms show, especially with a Chicago crowd.
Avail at the Beat Kitchen - nothing like melodic southern hardcore with wall to wall dancing.

There were lots of other good shows, too. I know some great ska shows, but I can't remember the specifics. I just like to dance to the ska. And right now I'm practically asleep.

It turns out I may not get together with Liv before she moves to Madison, after all. Just a lack of time due to my trip to the east coast and her packing and going to Florida for her sister's kid's baptism.

I guess I'll have to go visit her in Madison; heading out to her house is almost a third of the way there already. At least Les is staying close to Chicago. Actually, closer than he is now since he'll be living in Oak Brook.

The last two years have been weird since it seems so many of the people I get to be good friends with move away from the city. At least I'm getting good at making new friends. Eventually some of them will be staying in the city. And of course, at that point I'll move away and need to rebuild my life, just to make the irony sweeter.

I was IMing with Laura and she signed off in the middle with no warning. Weird.

I saw some cool shit today that I wanted to take photos of, then remembered that the good camera is at school for patient photos. And now I just remembered I need to put some cases together to present to the odontographic society.

Tomorrow is another day.

I think it's too much!

Between Dana haranguing me for not having any shows to take her to on her week off, and me finding earplugs in the pockets of just about every article of clothing I own, I'm starting to think I may be going to too many shows.

More later; for now I must clean.

I am experiencing unilateral ulnar paresthesia

I went for a bike ride with Shana tonight. We stopped at my place so I could change out of scrubs, and of course the nuclear mess that is my apartment impressed her. Not in a good way, either. She took photos to show her husband how neat she is in comparison. I think she was scandalized by it.

She was also amazed - in a good way, this time - by my postered walls, so that's another feather in my cap.

I remember I cleaned up after the last break, three months ago. Now next week is a break week again and the mess has piled up. Granted, I did make a deliberate decision to completely neglect it. Which is a decision I can at least respect, especially considering the frame of mind I was in at the time. Still, I'd be much happier with myself if I could get my shit together in this regard.

The distal extent of my left ulnar nerve is tingling. I'm not sure why this happens, but it does when I go for long bike rides. It has to do with my wrist position, since it's only the innervated region of my hand that's numb. I have a feeling I'm getting ligamental pressure onto the nerve root. I think I'll try to experiment with new positions.

I got home and realized I hadn't eaten dinner once again. When I'm busy, I don't really mind or notice being hungry. Anyway, I finished off the last few pieces of chocolate left from Silvana's baby shower as I was writing this.

And yet again, I get home too late to call people living in the eastern time zone. I gotta plan my trip to the coast next week, and make other calls.

Francis let me know that FMTM had a good show at the Note, about 160 people turning out, which was good considering Hullabalooza was in town.

And speaking of Hullabulooza, Shana and I were heading south past Grant Park on the Lake Front Path and the Park was still filled with its detritus.

The bike ride was good tonight, although I had to work on keeping the pace down for Shana to keep up. Once I dropped her off at home I hit a pretty good pace and really worked up a sweat for the two miles to my house. I know I should have changed the knobby dirt tire off my rear wheel, but I like the varying pitch as the knobs hit the pavement as I ride.

The Dreamcatcher

I was laying in bed getting to sleep, when for some reason my thoughts turned to Mike Meyer. Not the comedian, but my high school friend who shared my birthday. And from him, it was a short mental leap to his at-the-time best friend, Jeff Dobbelaere.

Which brings me to the point of this little story, something that I'd pondered on my drive home today but neglected to mention earlier, even when I talked with Trisha for half an hour.

I had some very vivid dreams last night. And the sequence is revealing in regard to my psyche.

First, I dreamt I was at some bar and met Amber (recall, the girl Id just spent a few hours talking to in real life) in the crowd. She'd taken my hand and had me follow her, but lost me when I bumped into Jason Wyrwicz.

Now, some background here: I'd known Jason since we were in 4th grade. We were friends in junior high, and then we both ended up displaced from the public school system to Catholic high school together. There, in some sense, it was geographic proximity and shared ostracism that maintained our friendship. Eventually, we both ended up at Northwestern (along with the aforementioned Mike Meyer) and our friendship was again more based on friendship than tortured high school bullshit. We were DJs together, and I did learn a lot from him. I was fucked in the head a bunch, even though I never drank at that time. Just like I had something to prove and lots of anger, but both the proof and the anger were self-directed, I think. Anyway, at some point Jason joined a frat, drank his life away, and I never saw him again except a few times on the street.

Back to my dream.

I was trailing Amber through the crowd when I bump Jason and lose her. I look up - yeah, Jason was inches taller than me - and there he is. And then Jeff showed up too, I guess because my mind placed it back at my high school reunion in June.

Dreamscape shift. Now I'm driving on a winding blacktop driveway amidst green lawns at night. And parked on these laws, all over, are cars. A parking lot for some large indeterminate gathering. And all I need to do is back off the driveway into a parking space and then I'll meet up with Amber again (don't ask, because I don't know)...and I'm unable to hit the brake. My foot cannot press the pedal. The car is going in reverse, out of control, and I scrape one of the parked cars. I require intense focus to mash my foot down on the pedal, from practically outside the car...and it slows but still moves on inexorably. Eventually I grind it down hard and it comes to rest.

The last time I had the recurring dream motif of being unable to brake was three or four years ago when I really felt like I had no control over any aspect of my life. I didn't figure that out until after they'd stopped.

For it to recur now seems to indicate a deep-seated fear of losing my emotional control. I feel like I'm still kinda fucked up in the head.

Plus, I'm so tired right now, I'm starting to feel depressed.

I don't want to change the world; I'm not looking for a new England.

I just got back to Chicago a little while ago. GORP was pretty good, although there was about one lecture that actually held something new for me. More on that in a bit.

Friday's drive was decent, although it was hot as shit and humid to boot when we got there. It turned out we were staying in the same hallway that Louie lived in his freshman year of college. My brother lived somewhere in that dorm too, but I dunno where. He said it was pretty shitty as far as UMich dorms go.

Anyway, I got to Detroit to find out that the show was going on later than detailed on the Small's website, and I was the only one there at the time. I was nursing a Red Stripe and Sergio from Monument-Masses said hi as they were loading in. Nice guys all three, and they hung out with me - or I with them - until they went on.

Matt, this one's for you, since you were joking about me blogging about the great adventures I had with you: We went to Wendy's! It was awesome! I can never get in there! I guess being with big-name celebrities is pretty cool.

Back to reality, it was just a fun night. All three are pretty smart and intelligent, and it's too bad not many people showed up to see them play, as they put on a kick-ass set. Matt gave me a big hug when I left. I hope their Chicago show was better. So what would have been a good show turned into a great night.

It was 2:30AM by the time I got back to Ann Arbor, so I was pretty pooped the next day - although I think I did get to take a nap at some point. Not sure when, as I was pretty tired.

We started getting pretty bombed at the party last night since we weren't paying. Top shelf shit, and it started to kick in. I got to know the few incoming residents better, which was cool. I also ended up talking with this girl Amber I'd met earlier in the day after running into her near the bar. The last thing I was expecting to happen that night, but it was probably the best part of the trip. We ended up talking and going for a little walk until the place closed at 2am. She was engaging and interesting and had a curious vitality which kept me going despite being simultaneously exhausted, drunk, and caffeinated. It didn't hurt that she was pretty either.

I had lunch with Kevin today too, which was nice. I don't see him much; even when he and his girlfriend were in Chi in June I didn't see them. Today was the first day I met Ciara too, and she's nice. Good for him, I think, so more power to her.

I talked to Trish on the drive home; she's looking forward to her as yet unmet new liberal boyfriend, as she put it. She seemed in good spirits which made me happy. Optimistic Trisha is to be encouraged. I also got pulled over, but just a warning, no ticket. I also had to pull over and take a twenty minute nap since I was falling asleep at the wheel

I'm debating whether I'm too tired to keep up my ADLs tonight. Probably. Maybe I can unpack my shit for tomorrow, but who knows. I might just benadryl it through tomorrow so I can at least start the week rested.

Conclusions that don't conclude

I had dinner with Tara last night, and I hadn't seen her in four months or so, so that was cool.

The Dirty Calypsonians at the Note were good, but not at their best. Tara left early so Kate said she had to come up dancing. I saw her smiling though, so it was good.

I was in Myopic and couldn't resist buying three books, although one is intended to be a present for someone at a future date. Me and used bookstores have a love/hate relationship. Well, it's a pretty one-way relationship, but still...

Tonya and Therese both decided not to go to GORP, so Clara and Li-Hong were looking for rides last night. I've got Li-Hong in my car, which brings us to four. I think it says something about me that I'd rather drive alone for five hours and listen to music than go with three other people. It should be good regardless.

Shana called me at 6:30 this morning wondering if I was up to ask about the ride situation. I'm not up at 6:30 most days, and today I was planning on sleeping in another two hours. This dragged me out of a bit of that sleep, and I got up a bit past 7 O'clock.

Soon I leave. I'm excited for the drive and the show tonight, but not for GORP per se. Let's go.

And I wonder...

...if I'm ever gonna see the horizon eclipsed by billboards and shopping malls.

As if I needed another reason to not shop at Target, *every single billboard* at the Washington el stop was a tacky-assed Target ad.

Thanks for visually polluting my commute, fuckers.

I'm not crazy, just frustrated.

There was a really pretty girl on the train, too. She even made some eye contact with me, but I was too chicken-shit to talk to her. Oh, sure, I can rationalize it by saying that no one wants a stranger to introduce themself on the train, or I was getting off in 2 stops anyway, but really I was just too scared.

I walked home in the pouring rain and got soaking wet and felt alive. I was jumping around rocking out. I fixed my bike tire and then washed a shitload of dishes.

My mom told me they're trying to decide whether to put my dog to sleep when they move. He's still perky, but he's blind and a little cranky since he's *old*. I told her to take him with and do it if he can't adjust afterward.

I forgot to eat dinner again.

I feel like this story needs a conclusion, but there isn't one.

Heat Wave Sequelae

OK, so how the fuck do I have 24 blog views today? Who the hell are you people? I know a few of you who read this thing, but I don't even have 24 myspace friends. Hell, I don't think I really even have 24 real-life friends that would want to read it.

Don't get me wrong; I appreciate the attention, I'm just surprised. Thanks for the votes of confidence, gentle readers. That's how I'm interpreting it.

Ryan was nice about my writing - props, dude.

I think I popped my rear wheel tube this weekend. I have a feeling I hit a curb too hard, but I don't know exactly when. This has happened to me before; one of the hazards of aggressive cycling I guess. I noticed the pressure was light on Sunday coming home, so I pumped it up Monday morning, and it was light again Monday night coming home. I pumped it up Tuesday thinking I probably need to get a new tube, but maybe it's the heat (yeah, right), and last night it was too flat to ride. So I walked the almost 2 miles home at 11pm, still like 90 goddamn degrees out. It could've been worse though. The walk isn't bad. I walked here this morning rather than take the bus; it took about 25 minutes, which ain't bad. I'm gonna hit Upgrade on the way home tonight and get me some new tubes, then hang out in the dingy but moderately cool concrete basement and change my rear tube so I can ride tomorrow.

Maybe I should sell my U-pass next semester since a) I hardly use it anyway, and b) I could use the cashola.

I just realized that was one of the dumber lists I've made.

Still waiting on the new Mp3 player. I have a feeling it'll piss me off for a month or so while I get used to the features, then one day I'll wonder how I lived without it. I think it'll be good; it got awesome reviews, but it seems like every Mp3 player is trying to copy the iPod, and what I consider some of the crappy features of the iPod at that. I'm still trying to decide what to do with my old one. It still works fine except when little movements - like walking - disturb the headphone jack. Perhaps I'll just leave it hooked up to the stereo. Yes, I think I will. I'm a genius.

Ugh, where does the time go? Schneider was talking shit about people to me today. He seems to do that more often, or talk shit about dentistry or the world in general. I'm sad he's gonna be retiring next spring, but hopefully I'll still see him sometimes. I like talking shit with cynical old men.

It's weird; it wasn't until I got to dental school that I really started appreciating what I was learning, and appreciating my professors. Is it something about professional school, or is it something about my delayed maturity?

Anyway, tonight I'm going to sweat my ass off changing tires and cleaning house. Quite a change from sitting in the A/C reading research papers like last night. Suck.

My dad left me a message to make sure I wasn't dead from the heat.

Grab your binoculars and look in my windows tonight; you might catch me doing dishes in my boxers - or less...

Monument-Masses: The Quiet Before

Who would've thought that a simple chord progression would be so beautiful?

Three-Man Socialist Rock Symphony

I'm listening to From Monument to Masses. Awesome. I'm going to see them play in Detroit on Friday. Also awesome. Pretty much three years to the day since I first saw them.

I remember I was hesitant to go to that show. I went pretty much to see Planes Mistaken for Stars, even though I hadn't been too into anything they'd put out in the past three years then. Still, it was Friday, I was leaving Saturday morning to meet Marta in NY for a two-week roadtrip, and feeling pretty optimistic.

So I'm at the Fireside, kinda wiling my time away waiting for PMFS to play, and FMTM gets up there. Says nothing. First thing I hear is samples of early morning news broadcasts, and then the music starts, slowly at first. I can't remember exactly which part drew me off the bench and over to the stage, but it wasn't long and I found myself rocking out.

Three guys were up there, very occasionally shouting something at the mic, but just getting into the music. Building it, adding to it. They'd play a few bars, sample themselves, then start playing over themselves. Really taking effects equipment to new heights as musical instruments. Plus the samples, and rhythm of the whole thing.

Beautiful.

Then, at some point they played a short song, totally beautiful. It started with a line about how everything in America is fucked up and rotten, and then this beautiful instrumental - and I mean beautiful, as in pink and orange sunsets shared with beautiful girls who want to stare into my eyes beautiful - breaks through. No words, just musical sentiment, and it brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to share it so much that I dissociated from the music.

"The Quiet Before" still has that potential to wrench my heart around, only now there isn't really anyone to share it with. But, like any emotional spike, the feeling just can't last, and so must fade.

I didn't stay for more than ten minutes of PMFS's set.