I'm ashamed to be an American

Fighting terrorism through torture and secret detention, coming soon to a neighborhood near you!

UPDATE: The New York Times weighs in. And, oh, yeah, torture doesn't work.

I finally registered to vote at my new address last night

Well maybe you do but maybe you don't
Exercise your privilege in the right to vote.
Fuck "rock the vote" and fuck all the rest,
What we need to do is throw cans of tear gas.
17% 18-25
It's a total fucking war between us and them,
And our collective middle fingers is what we'll extend.
Fuck Gideon Yago and fuck MTV,
Fuck the state-controlled media that decides what we see.
17% 18-25
FUCK THIS WAR!
You think that you can cope,
You didn't fucking vote,
2 double-0 6,
World War III!
Power to the People!

- The Suicide Machines, "17% 18-25"

March of the Evolutionary Loopholes

My undergrad major was environmental science. At Northwestern, this meant I took classes in many departments: biology, chemistry, civil engineering, economics, political science, geology, etc. Not planning on using my undergrad degree for anything approaching a career, I thought it a great major, since I gained informational background in many areas - a true liberal arts education.

What reminded me of this tonight, though, is the concept of charismatic megafauna, a term I've remembered from the environmental politics course I took once upon a time. It's a reference to animals that have popular appeal and so can form the basis of conservation campaigns and fundraising drives.

In other words, How cute!

Those are the words I heard over and over from my girl friends upon the release of March of the Penguins. I never saw it; I didn't have much interest in a movie about penguin reproduction, especially not with the relentless female chorus of So cute! surrounding any mention of the movie.

Last Friday, though, I was at John's place prior to heading out to the Point to try and light a soaking wet wind-bedeviled birthday bonfire. I was looking through his and Rebecca's DVDs and borrowed a bunch, including March of the Penguins. Tonight I had some time free, and it was the shortest movie available (meaning I could finish it) and so I had some ice cream and watched it. It was nice, it was interesting, and I found Morgan Freeman's narration at times enlightening, and at times way too anthopomorphic, but one thing stands out in my mind.

They really aren't that cute.

I'm not even going to try to write something worth reading

I was thinking the other day, after reading a bunch of random blogs, that my writing has gotten less and less story-like and more and more a list of activities and events that had transpired. It had become so passive. And probably boring.

The funny thing is that this change is probably a subtle and insidious result of my (vain) desire to have more readers. I didn't really give a shit when I started, but MySpace had a rather prominent counter associated with its entry page, and I got all ego'd up in it. I'm going to get back to writing for the art of writing, rather than for some perceived audience.

Right now I'm just exhausted, though, because I'm not self-responsible enough to go sleep on time on the weekend, even when I've got to get up early. I'm too tired to go to Mina's show in Chicago tonight, and I'm not even going to try to write something worth reading.

Low-key night so far

I think I missed the Pilsen Circular Mass tonight. I got to the plaza at a few minutes after six and no one was there, and it was getting pretty overcast. No one else was waiting there with their bike, either. I pumped up my tires and sat for a few minutes listening to music. John Stoner showed up about a quarter past six, and told me that there were heavy showers heading toward the city...I decided to just go home. I also decided to stop by school to use the bathroom, which was a fortunate decision since I got in just after it started pouring big heavy drops of rain. By the time I got out, it had pretty much stopped, and I even saw dusk-painted clouds on the western horizon when crossing north over the Ike.

I had some thoughts on my relationship with food which I'll have to relate at some other time. I gotta run out to Hyde Park for John's bonfire if it isn't too wet, and then over to the Westin for the Bottom Line seminar.

Yeah, so, I live a real exciting life. Sunday I've got to nail down a fair amount of work I need done by Monday.

When you don't control your own government, people want to kill you

Another reason to blame America first: more on CIA illegal domestic activities and torture.

Simple

Sadly, the funniest thing in The Onion this week is a Simple Shoes add that says "Feet stink. I wish we sold beer."

I told them to stop fattening me up

I got my bike back yesterday. $157. That also included the two ankle straps I bought. Hopefully I can go without so much damage to it for a while. Must keep tires fully inflated.

Last night I went out with Trish and some of her friends for her birthday. It was fun, but damn, I was getting tired at the end. We had dinner at Leona's, then went to see Roy Hargrove at the Jazz Showcase downtown. I was so pooped at the end of the night that I just crashed when I got home. This means I haven't showered in two days, so I really must do that tonight.

Marcela keeps buying me food to thank me for helping her out with things. Yesterday it was a bagel, today it was Kit Kat balls. Then Sidhi volunteered to get me food tomorrow. I told them to stop fattening me up.

Aside from having a real busy day, nothing too eventful happened. Tomorrow I need to get my old OrthoPli instruments together to see how much refund I can get from Gary Tippy.

Tomorrow I'm going to meet my parents for dinner since my brother will be in town. The movers are bringing their furniture to their new house tomorrow morning. Friday I'm going to do the Pilsen Mass ride and then head down to Hyde Park for John's birthday bonfire before checking into the Westin for the Bottom Line seminar this weekend.

I wonder when I'll get any work done.

A Photographic Experience for the Night

I got home around 10:30 tonight. I guess I'm back up to fourteen-hour days now. You see, I just spent four hours playing with photos and presentation outlines.

Last March, Neal and I gave a few lectures on interdisciplinary orthodontics to some of the restorative faculty. Afterward, one of my old dental school instructors asked if we'd be interested in presenting at the meeting of the Chicago Odontographic Society this fall. We said yes, of course. We were also asked, through our department, if we'd care to give a similar lecture to the second-year dental students. And, again, we did. And it was good.

So next Monday is the day we have to give our presentation to the Odontographic Society. I luckily planned ahead and have recent photos on the two patients I plan on using (as well as their consent). I spent tonight reorganizing the photos and outlining my part of the presentation. This took longer than I expected, but in the process I've refamiliarized myself with the cases, and picked up things I hadn't seen before, most of them good.

I also spent some time helping out Marcela and Siddhi, and listening to music. Such is life.

For fuck's sake, yes! I just want my pedals to work!

On Friday, I took my bike into Upgrade for a repair of the pedal/crankshaft. They said it should be ready the next day.

On Saturday, the guy told me that he'd accidentally stripped out the new crankshaft with my old pedal and would have to find a new one to replace it and get it mounted and it wouldn't be ready until Sunday.

Sunday I waited for the shop to call and tell me it was fixed. They didn't.

Today I called them, they said it was ready. I left school, took two trains at rush hour to get there, and the original guy told me he couldn't find another crank, and would it be okay if he did some repairy thing that I can't remember and use my original crank? For fuck's sake, yes! I just want my pedals to work! Shit, couldn't he have done that over the phone? Anyway, that has to set overnight, so it'll be ready in the morning at 8am when they open. So I walked back out and across the street and down to the subway and waited for the train. I took the Blue Line back to Medical Center and walked the three blocks back to school, getting back over an hour after I'd left.

Tomorrow I have a 7am lecture, so I won't be able to pick up my bike until the end of the day.

Twizzlers Make Mouths Happy

Last night I went to the grocery store in a fit of self-pity and despair and bought myself two cartons of ice cream, a bunch of Baby Ruth bars, and a "family pack" of Twizzlers.

Before this story continues, there's something about Twizzlers and me you should know: I cannot resist them. In fact, I have one hanging out of my mouth as I type this.

When I was a kid, I'd always get the huge family pack when I saw a movie...and it would be gone by fifteen minutes in.

In the summer of 1988 I stayed with my aunt and uncle and cousin in their vacation condo in Sarasota. There was a basket out with a large pack of Twizzlers in it. I knew I wasn't supposed to eat them all, but every time I passed by, I pulled at least 2-3 Twizzlers out of there, until they were all gone, and replaced by....more Twizzlers! Talk about positive reinforcement.

In the summer of 1990, I was at Boy Scout camp in northern Wisconsin. Being the ravening bunch of juvenile delinquents were fancied ourselves to be, we made a habit of stealing soda from the camp store warehouse late at night. One night this kid Brandon managed to pick the lock into the store itself and we went to town, each of us taking about two dollars worth of candy - except for that dumbfuck Brandon, who decided it would be a good idea to take cash from the register. We of course got caught later that night. Or some kid ratted us out. But they found us back at our campsite. We did manage to dump a fair amount of the goods into the woods, which is where the Twizzler connection is - over the next few days while out in the woods, I'd come across a package of Nibs and eat them.

I'm sure you can imagine what my addiction and depression allowed me to do last night.

No, not that! That's disgusting! And would it even technically be possible?

I ate enough that my insides rebelled at me. Uncomfortably. As soon as I got up this morning.
And now I'm eating more.

What I don't understand is why Hershey thought that Twizzlers needed a reclosable top "for freshness." I mean, they're the fakest shit ever! Are they gonna spoil?

The best part is this, on the back:

Did you know...
Strawberry Twists are a low fat candy! That's right, the same great tasting Twizzlers you have known and loved are low in fat, as always. Nothing has changed.
Twizzlers fun you can eat!

Like it's healthy shit! Regardless, there are apparently 18 servings in this bag, and I'm almost done with them. This doesn't make me happy, just full of flavored starch.

"All quitters are romantic."

I let the day be wasted. The bike shop still has my bike. After doing some stuff around the house - mostly reading and listening to music - and taking a nice long nap, I was feeling pretty unhappy with myself, so for the first time in years I went out and bought ice cream and candy and watched With Honors, which has plenty of tear-jerk moments.

No schoolwork done today. Tomorrow night I plan to pick up my bike and then head back and pull a late night at school and hopefully finish the textbook I have to read. Right now I want to sip my beer and listen to music and read something. I have no idea what. I've picked up where I left off in Cinderella's Big Score, but I can only read so much of that consecutively. I'm down to only two books in process right now; the other is The Gulag Archipelago, which I started a year ago. That book is one of the very few Marta-associated items I still have.

I'm gonna go do something and pretend I don't feel sorry for myself the rest of the night.

I'm so proud to be an American. Not.

This is part of the American plan for "winning hearts and minds." I feel safer already. I mean, if an organization bombed my country, invaded, and then arbitrarily started imprisoning people I knew, I might get a little upset. Our government is not exporting democracy, it's exporting fascism.

And it's a bit rediculous that it took four and a half years for a determination that Geneva Convention provisions apply. And the US Military is still targeting journalists.

And so another Saturday passes without any real accomplishment

My bike is still in the shop. New pedals needed, new crankshaft (the shop inadvertently stripped out the new one they'd already mounted) and new bottom bracket as well. This is going to run me close to $200, I think. So I better ride the shit out of my bike again to extract as much value as I can, right?

Last night I went to Samantha's birthday party. That was way more than I expected. I assumed it would just be people getting together and having some drinks at a club or restaurant. But an outdoor lounge party on the river with open vodka bar I was not expecting. Nor the boat trip out to Lake Michigan and then down to the Museum Campus harbor. Considering how much I'd had to drink before I got on the boat, it maybe was a good thing; if I'd gone straight home from the party, I'd have probably been too nauseous to lay down.

As it was, Danny and I ended up being the only two from the boat walking over to the el. In the six years I've known him, we've never gotten to be real good friends, but I think we both realized it would be good to be better friends. We walked and talked and rode the el home, and it was a good close-out to the night. I, of course, got home near 3am after all this and stumbled around for ten minutes before I went to bed and slept for eight and a half hours.

Today I've just been in a weird mood. I updated the firmware on my MP3 player, so of course the interface software I bought doesn't connect now...although the company does upgrade it frequently, and the firmware update was just released yesterday. I spent a while sitting in front of the ol' laptop reading email or news or whatnot. Being bikeless, I didn't feel like driving, CTA-ing, or walking to school to do any work, so maybe tomorrow I'll get something done. But really, I didn't feel like doing that even if I had my bike. I did no writing today despite there being plenty I want to get down. Finding the motivation to put this in was tough. It was weird that the only thing that really made me feel better was eating. So I ate some bread and cheese and read a lot. Then I fell asleep and took a good nap. And now I've found the will to write something before I pack up and head out to WNUR. And so another Saturday passes without any real accomplishment. Let's see if I can kick my Sunday's ass, at least.

Motivation by plagiarism

I've had a weird day and can't seem to find the right mood to write in, so I'm just going to start with a bit of quotation and hope my own words will be stimulated thusly.

On that note, here's Mark Anderson again, from All the Power:

The stench is what I remember most vividly now - burning rubber mixed with wood, paper, and human flesh.

Only moments before, all was different. I had heaved a long, exhausted sigh, buckling up my seat belt while sitting on the runway of D.C.'s National Airport. A long night of last-minute preparations and almost no sleep was now behind me. At last I could relax into a final breather before the trek that lay ahead.

Tomorrow - September 12, 2001 - I would begin the second of three Dance of Days book tours at an arts center in Minneapolis, Minnesota. That meant 8000 miles in three weeks; 5000 of those by car, all by myself.

Still, I was excited. Slipping on some earphones, my thoughts drifted to dear friends I would soon see. I closed my eyes, reclined, and smiled. It would be so nice to get away from my intense work in D.C., reconnect with friends, have time to think, all while seeing the wide expanses of North America again.

My reverie was rudely interrupted by an airport representative who brusquely announced, "Gather up all you personal belongings. We are asking that you leave the plane immediately, as the airport will be closing at this time."

An audible groan passed through the plane. A couple hundred disgruntled air travelers rummaged around their seats, spilling out onto the tarmac to join an impromptu caravan headed to the airport's front doors.

I was probably grumbling more than most. Just another bomb threat, I thought. We'll move outside, stand around for a few minutes, then come back in, go through the whole boarding rigamarole again. The delay would doom me to miss my connection in Pittsburgh. I was exhausted, bone-tired.

Then I walked out of the front doors, into the smoky chaos. In that microsecond, everything else melted away. The smell was terrible, with clouds rising from a point just beyond our view, about a mile away where the Pentagon stood.

For a minute or so, I stopped thinking about my plans. Having grown up on a farm where we often burned discarded items, I knew my scents. That's not just rubber or wood, I thought grimly, that smell is bodies.

For a time, the world stopped. Hundreds milled about on the grassy slopes and asphalt streets outside the airport. People with cell phones began to report that planes had hit the World Trade Center and that it was on fire. A huge explosion had rocked the Pentagon, too, although no one knew just what had happened. One thing was soon clear: there wouldn't be any more planes flying today.

Making my way slowly back into D.C. by public transit, I saw the Pentagon on fire in the distance. I shuddered, thinking both of the many protests I had attended there and of Denise Baken, a friend from my Catholic parish, one of thousands employed at the building.

We rode in shocked silence. Finally, on African-American woman spoke up: "Well, at least maybe we will finally come together as a country now; get over this black-versus-white garbage." A white man in business suit and tie across the aisle quickly agreed. A they chattered on, seeming to find hope out of tragedy, I was left feeling uneasy. Unite around what, exactly? I thought.

I had little time to process these complex emotions. A couple hours (and many quick decisions) later, I was on my way to Minnesota in the only transport I could find: a blue Camaro borrowed from a generous friend, racing to make the 1300-mile journey in time for my first event.

At every gas station, I found the same scene: a dozen or so people huddled around a TV set, watching the day's horror unfold in stunned silence. Back in the car, I took the (for me) radical step of turning on the radio, hoping for some news. When the talk grew too bloodthirsty and jingoistic, I turned it off.

Another response, increasingly visible as I went, was impossible to ignore. As if by silent command, the stars and stripes were going up everywhere, on highway overpasses, on billboards, even on cars. The phenomenon left me a bit nervous, coming from a left-wing tradition that associates such display with right-wing views, with blinkered patriotism.

Somehow, though, this was deeper than simple politics. In the face of immense national trauma, people were reaching out for comfort, for connection, for community. Was it also the sign of a country set against the larger world, sliding toward blind revenge? I couldn't tell. Being a man on a mission, I didn't tarry with my thoughts. I hurtled on, heading west across America, past the fading day, through the darkness, searching for hope in a sea of flags.

In a way, that is where I have been ever since, where all of us on the left have been. While the wheel is still in motion, the short-term result of the terrorist attacks on September 11 was to profoundly solidify the position of a dubiously elected president, George W. Bush.

"Dubya" has cleverly used the tragedy to advance his far-right political agenda. Military build-up, stiff restrictions on civil liberties, and greatly expanded police powers have combined with two separate wars to bring the U.S. to the brink of the nearest thing to fascism since the darkest days of Richard Nixon.

Most frightening of all, this "war on terror" seems intended to be a war without end, not so different from the shadowy clashes that serve to justify the totalitarian state described in George Orwell's 1984. Words like "empire" now roll off the lips, not of radicals, but of Bush administration-linked strategists. In this new day, they barely seek to disguise the imperial flavor of U.S. policy, but rather try to redefine it as a positive good. This is no small transformation, given that much of American tradition recoils from empire, born, as this nation was, out of an anti-imperial revolution.

The mere fact that some are becoming so bold as to step from behind the smoke and mirrors - albeit still cloaked in talk of spreading "democracy" - reveals the depth of our present danger. In this scary moment, the North American left faces its starkest challenge: Will we find a way to reach masses of North Americans, based out of what is best and true in our own tradition? Or will we surrender to an understandable (but self-defeating) anti-Americanism, thereby playing into the hands of the Bush administration?

These point toward a deeper question: Can the United States of America somehow be re-enlisted to the cause of freedom?

Johnny Knoxville is a poser

Last night I went to see a special screening of Jackass Number Two. It was fucking hilarious! Seriously, I was laughing so hard the tears were rolling down from minute one. And one sketch almost made me puke in the theater. A fucking awesome movie. Yes, it's stupid infantile shit, and yes, I'm aware this is exactly the shit that Idiocracy was parodying. It's literally a 90-minute episode of "Ow, My Balls!" Well, maybe it's better since it's not as contrived, and much more spontaneous to boot. Plus, it makes me nostalgic for some of the stupid shit we used to do in high school or Boy Scouts. And I can appreciate a good practical joke, especially when it's played on someone else who signed up for the shit they're getting.

After the movie, Johnny Knoxville and Jeff Tremaine showed up to answer some questions...of course, 90% of the questions were about getting autographs or photos. Lame. Two kids bowed down to them. La-ame. There was one question about Knoxville's scars, and the answer was that he doesn't scar much, he just bruises, and he showed his leg which was solid black and blue. Plus, he nailed Tremaine in the nuts twice, and spent the whole Q&A with his hand protecting his crotch. Tremaine was cool, but Knoxville kept talking about how much drinking he needed to do and shit. It just came off as fake. The two studio suits standing against the wall didn't make it seem any more genuine. Don't get me wrong, I think he's a great stuntman, and well-suited for the type of acting he does, which I enjoy. And I respect the hell out of the shit he goes through to entertain. But his persona seemed forced and rock-starrish, and made me annoyed to have to sit through it.

Laura calls my dental friends "teeth people."

Tonight was the annual CDS New Dentist night. I saw my friend Sam, who I last saw at this thing a year ago. I keep meaning to get in touch and hang out with him and his wife Kelli (who is actually a closer friend to me than he is), but every time I'm up in their neighborhood it's usually too late to disturb a family with young children and stop by. I don't think I've been to their house since they had Marta and me over for my birthday dinner three years ago. (Marta got pissed at me and started kicking me under the table since she wanted to leave. Yeah, maybe I should've heeded that warning sign.) No one else from my dental class but me showed up tonight.

On my way home this afternoon, I noticed my right bike pedal was a llittle off as my foot was making circles with every revolution...When I got home I took a close look at it, and saw that it was stripping out of the crank shaft. I tried screwing it back in, but no, it was stripped a little. I got about 3.5 miles out of my 4-mile round-trip to downtown before the pedal fell off the bike. The bolt on the pedal looks fine, just the bolthole in the crankshaft is stripped smooth. So it looks like I'm gonna have to replace that. I think I busted it going over a pothole or something. I don't know. It didn't get fucked until north of Lake St, and Lake St. is a fucking mess for bicycles. So far since I got this bike two years ago, I've worn out 4 inner tubes, 2 tires, one bike helmet, one set of pedals, and a pair of brake pads. And I broke part of the handlebars last year when it fell off my porch. And now I've busted a crankshaft. Phew.

It looks like I've got a pretty busy Saturday shaping up: fix bike, get tix, meet Laura for a drink. And this weekend I'd like to get some real work done as well, which will be a nice (and welcome) change from the last few. By work I mean both zine stuff and school work.

Regarding the zine: I think I need to practice some layouts to get an idea of how much actual space will be available for text/art/whatever. Then I know how much I need to get written (by myself or others) before actually compiling/printing the damn thing.

Bill Maher talked about how stupid Americans can be in The Onion AV Club. And whose word do you trust? The IAEA or the people who told you Sadaam Hussein had WMD?

More from Mark Anderson:

Nowhere can the subjective and the objective get more confused than whilst cruising on what UK anarcho-popsters Chumbawamba have wittily described as "the Good Ship Lifestyle." Little different than child-star Shirley Temple's whimsical "Good Ship Lollipop," this ride promises us that revolution means you don't have to get your hands dirty: Just go shopping - or not, as the case may be - and it all magically works out! Ahh, if only this were so.
....
This is why the gradual devolution of a potentially revolutionary idea like anarchism into a form of subcultural "lifestylism" is so disheartening. In a way, it is here that the capitalist system finds its photo-negative, a dark mirroring of its own self-obsession. Somehow the Corporate Cool Machine has managed to trick thousands of would-be revolutionaries into believing that wearing lots of black clothing, decorating themselves with patches, piercings, and tattoos, while talking "militant" somehow threatens the system. How ludicrous!

Come on, now, Blue Marble, I've got something to say.

Quickly becoming one of my favorite authors due to his honesty, insight, and positive outlook, here's Mark Anderson, from All the Power: Revolution Without Illusion:

Our society, of course, is anything but balanced. We are driven by the never-ending consumer capitalist clamor for "more stuff." Our imperfections and insecurities - preyed upon by the Corporate Cool Machine to sell their goods - regularly sabotage our greater aspirations. there is no way to realize dreams of transformation without also transforming ourselves.
....
One of my assumptions here is that people, whatever our many flaws, are not all that stupid. Even the mainstream folks we might sometimes scorn as "sheep," caught in the Corporate Cool Machine, can be pretty canny, in their way. Most know that talk is cheap; they check to see if you are living what you are talking about. If not, skepticism blooms easily. If our world seems terribly cynical at times, perhaps that is simply because there is just so much bullshit out there.

...And I want to share this round-eyed devil with you.

I was thinking earlier that I usually post something angry or bitter-sounding. (I think Kate complained about that one day a while ago.) Is it because that's what incites me emotionally to get writing, or is that just my dominant emotional state? Is there a difference? If there were more happy events in my life, would it just inspire me to think about happy things, or would I just be happier? I'm going to see if I can go the rest of the night without getting pissed off at anything, and see how that feels. My home is my castle and all that.

I was looking at the Metro schedule this evening, and there are several cool shows that I'm going to find myself going to:

• Oct 20: Bouncing Souls, Street Brats, World/Inferno Friendship Society
• Nov 3: Lucero
• Nov 11: Lawrence Arms
• Nov 17: Heavens

I'm looking forward to a bike ride up there this Saturday to get tickets. At least three of those shows will involve a lot of singing and dancing, so that's really something to look forward to.

I wonder if my eclecticism further marginalizes me. I have close friends, but I was taken to wondering the other day if I will really meet someone who not only is a good match for me but also cares enough to put up with enough of my shit to stay with me. In other words, am I too weird for someone to go crazy for me? The reason it came to mind is that I was thinking of that feeling you get when you have that emotional connection - the one where I'm apeshit until I can see her again, and she's batshit for me. I haven't felt that in a long time. I've felt it maybe developing in one or maybe two situations, but I was probably too chicken-shit to put it on the line, and I just played it safe. But I have to think hard and concentrate to remember that feeling.

Tonya and John and I were talking at lunch yesterday about how there comes a time when you realize that your current relationship may be on the marriage track. Well, those are my words for it. Tonya was talking about how she realized it wasn't weird anymore that someday she might marry her boyfriend.

I'm also pretty happy with my new MP3 player. Hooray! (For some reason, Sara Nelson's voice just popped into my head for that exclamation.) I'm getting burnt out on writing music reviews, so maybe I'll start on some of the ideas for pieces I've got. Tomorrow, though, I'm going to try and get into the Jackass Number Two screening.

I'm listening to Mike Park's North Hangook Falling over and over tonight, and it's a fanfuckingtastic record. It makes me want to cry, smile, and dance all at the same time.

If you don't want to hear something disgusting, stop reading NOW....

....I hacked up four stinky tonsil-balls tonight. Yuck. Now I'm gonna go pinch one off.

"Ambulence" is a hard word to spell.

From AP: "Bicyclist Awaiting Ambulence Hit Again"

It's been misspelled since last night.

I was lucky customer #XX or something

I just finished reading The Portable Henry Rollins, a book I got for free at a used book store because I was lucky customer #XX or something. Who the fuck knows? I was in Flagstaff visiting Dani and we went to this huge used bookstore before I had to go to the airport, and this was the only book that I really wanted enough to spend money on. So I go to pay, and the register does its prize thing and the girl tells me my sale is free. Too bad it was only ten bucks. Dani was a bit jealous since my one time in the store I win something, and the girl says I should buy her a beer. I still have yet to do that. The last time I was in Flag she wouldn't let me. I mean, yeah, she's actually working for a living, but she's not pulling down loads of cash. Well, compared to me, maybe she is, at that. It still took me close to a year to even get to pulling it off the shelf.

The last part of the book is a short story that made me laugh out loud called "The Shit is on Fire Show." Henry talks about his experience during the 1992 LA riots, and mentions how he was in a cab on the way to LAX to fly out afterward and one of the things he saw:

I thought the best was a computer store. Computer stores are run by people who are pretty smart. The computer store has a single piece of plywood over the door. It says ALREADY LOOTED AND BURNED. TENANTS UPSTAIRS. The place was not looted. It was not burned. There was a roof with nothing on top of it. There were no tenants on top. I can see these computer guys in the back on a virtual-reality trip or just being the cynical geniuses they are. "Oh, there's going to be a riot. I got it, I got it! Do we still have that piece of plywood in the back? Okay just put it on there and tell them the place has already been burned and looted and just put it out there. No, no, no, no, wait a minute, tell them there are tenants upstairs. All right, let's get the fuck out of here." And they leave. Looters come up and there are ample supplies inside and they're thinking they can go in there and get themselves a two-page color monitor, a laser printer, all the goodies, all the software they can stick up their ass and haul home. Man, if you were like a computer guy, that would be the shit, looting a computer store. You would go home with all the gear you need. So, these looters come up with burning bottles of gasoline and sticks. They're ready to loot and pillage and destroy. "Darn, they already looted and burned the place, and besides fellows, there are people who live up there, it says so on this sign."

Luckily there's a McDonald's on the corner. "Yeah, let's go loot that." And they all went down there and incinerated the McDonald's. You know Ray Krock is squirming in his grave. But as much as it's fun to talk about it, I think looting is fucked.

I had another patient not show up today. Nice. I was all set to put on a new type of bracket as well and try them out. Phooey. And I get handed a patient that Silvana took records on a month ago that needs to be treatment planned for a first year resident. Which would be fine if the shit was all together. But it's not; I had to trace the ceph, the occlusion on the models was all fucked up and I had to send it for revision (and do the model diagnostics on *this* file anyway), and I don't have access to the exam findings since they're stored under her login. So this is going to be pretty annoying, I think. The case itself is interesting, so I'll at least learn something. But jumping through all these hoops is annoying, let me tell you.

At least my MP3 player *finally* fucking came. It didn't come with a power cord, but the one for my old player works fine with it, so that's pretty cool. The software is kind of clunky, as it's been uploading my MP3s forover three hours, and maybe it'll finish tonight before I go to sleep. If it doesn't declunkify in my perceptions in the next few days, it's going to be quickly replaced by RedChairSoftware. Still, I am looking forward to it.

I think reviewing records I don't really like has annoyed me. I'm starting to get snarky in my reviews, and my cynicism is showing through here. The Juggins are lifting my spirits now, though. I'm gonna shower and set some marinade going. Aw, yeah...

The cultural sensitivity toward Native Americans that our society is renowned for

Two instances of pop-cultural bias came to light today:

Trish and I were looking at some romance novel I fished out of the trash in hopes of selling to a used book store or giving to a library rather than a waste dump. First, the title is Savage Surrender. Second, the plot is thus: white woman is kidnapped by the Iroquois, falls for one of them, and he for her. I'm sure you can imagine the examples of female non-empowerment contained therein, and also the cultural sensitivity toward Native Americans that our society is renowned for.

We saw a preview for a movie called The Pathfinder, about a Viking orphan left behind after a raid/war against Native Americans "600 years before Columbus." The boy grows up and when the Vikings return he fights them with all the Native American skills he's acquired. I told Trish that the moral of the story is that even though they're the good guys, the Native Americans still need a white man to fight for them. She agreed.

Anyway, bedtime.

Tonight was a low-key production

Trish came over this afternoon and we were able to sit and talk for a while before we had to go to the movies. We talked about how nice it was that it's getting cold and brisk out, and how our two weeks of fall would be over too quickly. I'm just glad I'm not sweating while sitting around.

We went and saw Idiocracy, which was pretty good. Definitely the kind of movie you need to see with friends. I predict cult classic there. Many, many classic lines.

I think a fair portion of my weight gain was short term, as I'm five pounds less now than a few days ago, and it wasn't through any major physiologic weight loss. Regardless, I should work on eating healthier. Marcela said she was going to bring junk food for me; I don't think she heard me say no.

Tonight I didn't feel like doing anything. Reading, watching a movie, nothing. I finally just made myself some hot chocolate and sat on the couch and read a bit. Then I made myself some warm milk and honey, and sat on the couch and read some more. And all the while I was listening to CDs and writing reviews for the zine I'm working on. The worst part about writing reviews is reviewing the ones I don't like. Trying to fairly describe a record and its faults, while listening to a record you already know you don't like, can become irritating.

Soon to shower and bed. It'll be weird in clinic with people gone for the Tweed course this week. But before I go, some transcription:

Henry Rollins, from Do I Come Here Often?

Thank goodness for Bruce Springsteen to keep all these people in line. Hey! Go to work, be the person you hate, suck your employer's ass, come home and drink, it's all right, Bruce Springsteen wrote a song about you. If you didn't get in line and work all day and hate your own guts, then the Boss wouldn't have anything to write about and he'd go out of business.

Getting up early on a Saturday fucking kills your whole day

Silvana had her baby Friday night. Her text message woke me up twice: once at 12:45am and once at 6:45am - I guess it was a resend. I can't hold anything against a woman who just gave birth, though. After what seemed like an interminably long morning session at the ADA building, some of us walked over to NMH to see her. She looked tired, but otherwise very good. She was upbeat and talkative. Gabriella wasn't there; apparently there was some meconium present so she was on observation. But Alex showed us a picture - Silvana says she's definitely her baby since she's got so much hair. Carrie asked me how the hell I knew what meconium was, and I said I'm a big nerd. Later she asked if I learned it during my hospital residency, but no, I just recently learned that tidbit of information.

(For those of you who are wondering, meconium is what is released when the fetus defecates prior to birth. It pretty much consists of bile and amniotic fluid, and is yellow or greenish. The concern is that it can get into the airway before the first breath and cause lung damage immediately post-partum.)

I came home and pretty much crashed. I slept a few hours yesterday afternoon. Getting up early on a Saturday fucking kills your whole day. I spent a good deal of what was left copying my MySpace blog over to Blogspot.

I had dinner with my parents last night. Good food, and the conversation was pretty decent. My dad is growing a mustache, and it doesn't look good. I wonder how long this will last. I told him he needs to trim it a l ittle better, at least.

WNUR went well. I found a shitload of unopened mail in the downstairs archives, including some CDs that I went ahead and played. So I guess that was good.

I actually cleaned up a little this morning; Trish was planning on coming over this afternoon. Boy, does my life sound boring. At least I'm feeling better. Now I'm just waiting for my sinuses (sini?) to finish draining.

Uh, it's high school physics, and I can explain it better than you.

I just moved here from MySpace. Something about blogging on a NewsCorp site with banners bothered me. I don't want Rupert Murdoch making a profit off of me. I didn't know of any other service with MySpace's capabilities, though, so I'm starting here on Google-owned Blogger...and we'll see if I get fed up with Google's business practices - I already don't use their search engine. Make sure you delete your cookies if *you* do, since they put a non-expiring cookie on you and track your search usage.

I twice I took the bus today. Twice it was packed so tight that no one else could get on and people were left at bus stops to wait for the next one. But the monkeys on the bus couldn't quite grasp that if they moved towards the back, more people could fit on. To be fair, people in front did, but there was a ton of room in the back, each time. People are pathetic. It's like using the brain too much is exhausting.

I sat through this all-day lecture by some orthodontist from Georgia. He had some good points regarding practice management, but shit, his treatment mechanics were nothing groundbreaking, even for me, who's treated only 50 or so ortho patients. And this guy said he only figured most of this out after *FOURTEEN* years of private practice. Uh, it's high school physics, and I can explain it better than you. I was, during your lecture today. The moral of the story is you apparently don't really have to know much about orthodontics to have a successful practice.

I ate so much crap today. It was all free. By the end of the day I was so stuffed that I felt like puking. Even 4-5 hours later I'm still totally stuffed. On a related note, I weighed myself for the first time in a year...and I weigh 10 pounds more than I did the last time, and 20 pounds more than I did two years ago...this = not good. Granted, I'm sure a few pounds of it was food I ate, but shit...I need to cut back the junk food big time. This will be good for my wallet as well, eh?

I am feeling radically better. I went out a for a little bike ride and was feeling pretty good. I got Trish a birthday gift and went to Quimby's and had to keep myself from buying too much. Damn is there a lot I'd like to read. Anyway, I have to be downtown at 9am again tomorrow for some research presentations. Bleh.

Unicornography is a great fucking record, let me tell you.

The moon looks like a tomato.

The moon is a fucking giant orange ball hanging on top of the city skyline right now.

I spent all day listening to Damon talk at the UIC Ortho Alumni meeting. Most of it I already knew, which was kind of boring, but here and there something new clicked into place. Part of it might just be noticing patterns I hadn't seen before. Then a lecture from Diekwisch about the Vienna-Chicago connection with UIC's research history, which was interesting enough. I'd rather have come home since I'm feeling pretty run down, still.

I was noticeably better when I woke up this morning - less mucus, less coughing, less sore swollen throat. I think the throat is coming back a bit now, as I'm getting pretty tired. Soon I will have my chamomile and honey, and take some ibuprofen, have a hot shower and get ready for bed.

Or so I tell myself. I've been writing reviews and reading the Onion since I got home tonight. There's a piece in the Onion about songs that deal with cold war nuclear paranoia. There's a Men At Work song in there, and of course Fishbone's "Party at Ground Zero" complete with video. At least I got fed three squares today, so there's no cooking or anything to be done.

Henry Rollins, from Black Coffee Blues:

He would go to those dances. He could never get the nerve to ask a girl to a dance. Like he would really know what to do when he got her out on the floor. He had tried dancing alone in his room and had gotten so embarrassed that he just had to stop. He watched them though. If you could get points for being attentive, he would have cleaned up. Women were so mysterious and full of shit. He wouldn't have a clue what to say to one if he ever got the chance. The dances went by and he went to almost all of them. He would find the darkest part of the gym and watch them with his back to the wall. He saw a girl who was doing the same thing he was. He checked her out: She was pretty enough. A few times she caught him looking. She was looking at him too after all. He looked at her again and she waved at him. His entire body shuddered. He knew what he should do, and at the same time he knew he didn't have the balls to go over and say hello. He was so shy he could barely answer to roll call in class. He looked down at the floor trying to appear unconcerned and even bored. When he looked up again, she was there in front of him. His heart started to pounding. He thought he might choke. She introduced herself. He managed to get his name out as well. They both agreed that these things were stupid and that they were both there to see how stupid their friends could be and how stupid it was to dance, etc. They decided to try it as a joke. You know, like 'Here, eat this pound of lard, but only as a joke though.'

They went for it in the dark corner of the gym. It was a slow song, something by Three Dog Night. The singer shouted over the music.

"Look at this! We have all the boys against one wall and the girls against the other. Why can't you all be like THOSE TWO OVER IN THE CORNER?!!"

He felt his dinner rising up. They broke apart. She ran off. He never saw her again.

I'm still pissed 'cuz something's getting missed. I raise my fist.

What the fuck?! How can there be different standards for "fair trials" for different people, and still be called "fair"? Or maybe only "other" people from "other" places are held to a different standard.

Liberty is "defended" by torture and secret detention, being put on trial without access to the evidence to use in your own defense, and *making* the law to allow all this *after* the alleged crimes took place. How Orwellian.

With the US government's record on this issue, I'm not too surprised, especially given the current junta we have in power. How easy it is to piss off the world.

I know I'm gonna hear from some "conservatives" that there's nothing wrong with this, as it makes us "safer." "Conservative" in this case should be rewritten R-A-D-I-C-A-L R-A-C-I-S-T. I don't consider myself conservative, but I doubt most conservatives find arrest without charges, secret detention without trial, and lack of legal representation or access to evidence for defense to be in line with their philosophy. And, oh yeah, don't forget, President Bring-It-On! keeps comparing Muslim terrorists to historically oppressive regimes.

The most high-profile terrorist conviction in the last five years was Eric Rudolph. Yes, the fuckwad who bombed clinics because they performed abortions, and the Olympics for, well, I guess performing non-White people. I would like to hear this administration talk about "Christofascists" as much as they talk about "Islamofascists."

KKK leaders aren't being thrown into military prisons that this administration argues are outside American legal jurisdiction. (Isn't Iraq as well?) I happen to think no one should have that done to them, but it's funny that after Eric Rudolph and Timothy McVeigh, white terrorist organizations aren't prosecuted to the same extent some Muslim *charitable organizations* are. Well, not funny, but disgustingly racist.

And fuck, my throat is still sore. Son of a bitch.

All about me.

No patients this morning so I've been reading. After passing out while reading a laser textbook I decided to read some news and blogs.

There's a great piece on Alternet about the ramifications of "all about me" thinking.

Cool points to whoever can name the band and song:

"We look out for number 1 so much, number 2's dehumanized. If you don't believe me take a look out on the street. Human fucking beings living in refrigerator boxes begging assholes like you and me for money just to eat."

So much work for so little sweet, tasty juice

I ate a pomegranate tonight for the first time in twenty-three years. When I was five my family moved to Scottsdale, Arizona. The first house we lived in there had a pomegranate tree in the back yard. There was no grass, no basement or upstairs, but we did have a pool and a pomegranate tree. I remember my parents used to scoop it out into a bowl and I would eat it. I don't remember there being so much work for so little sweet, tasty juice.

That steak I started marinating yesterday? Tonight it was delicious.

My pharmaceutical cocktail worked wonders today. I can breathe easily through my nose, but my cervical nodes are still tender. Sheeeit. I was so tired by the end of the day that I could not stay awake enough to read my textbook, so I came home early and I'm again taking it easy until I go to sleep. Soon, soon...

It was all spent on my immune system

I just confirmed that I have a 7:00am lecture tomorrow morning. Fuckin' A'. At least I know for sure I have a lecture this week, unlike last week when I showed up early and ended up just reading for an hour.

Despite thawing and marinating some beef tenderloin, I ordered some nice rich fatty Italian food from Leona's and stuffed myself. Plus I have more than enough left over for lunch tomorrow. Sweet, right? And only for $17 or so.

I'm slowly recovering. I'm at that stage of recovery where I have enough energy for basal function, but no reserves. I ran up the last few steps from doing laundry and was so tired and out of breath I just *knew* I had no more energy reserves left. It was all spent on my immune system this weekend. But I have appetite again and I guess I'm ready for the week to begin. I ended up taking it easy all day and never got socks and didn't go out tonight except to pick up my food order.

Henry Rollins, from One From None:

There were things I wanted to tell you
I couldn't get it together
I couldn't get past your eyes
After you were gone it hurt to have kept quiet
So easy to not say what you think
To not do what you want
Hard to take rejection
Easy to hurt someone else and not know it
Easy to make it hard

Crikey!

In case anyone was wondering, the Crocodile Hunter is dead. I know it's in bad taste, but is anyone else not surprised that, in a fluke of bad luck, he was killed by an animal that normally poses little or no threat to people?

Still marinating in front of the TV and computer while I practice recuperation. Debating whether to head out anywhere tonight. I think I need new socks. Guiafennesin and lots of fluids may solve my lingering congestion.

I needed to kick my own ass to go do something new

One of my patients had her quincinera tonight. I wasn't sure yesterday if I was gonna go, with my temporary infirmity and all, but I resolved to go on my way home from NUR last night. I figured it would be a new experience, and I needed to kick my own ass to go do something new.

So I put on a shirt and tie and drove out to Stickney for it. She was really happy I showed up, and it was a decent Sunday night. I only knew two or three people there, but it was still fun to watch. My Spanish is so bad I only understood one word in three. But it was interesting to note the cultural differences from the way I grew up. This community was much less affluent, but also had deeper social roots, and an ability to switch between formal social roles and casual relationships that was lacking with most of the large social groups I encountered in my younger days.

I didn't stop at Krispy Kreme on the way back home despite being two minutes away from hot fresh Krispery Kremery donuts and cool chocolate milk. I'm pretty proud of myself for not eating a dozen donuts in one sitting like that.

The rest of my day was spent recuperating in front of The West Wing. Thankfully tomorrow is a day off, too.

I was feeling run-down and don't think I was my usual effervescent self

I spent today being sick. After the diphenhydramine last night, I think I slept for eleven hours. I woke feeling rested but still out of it, with that light generalized myalgia and malaise. I also hocked a gigantic loogie-pebble out of my nose after about five minutes of blowing. It was like that scene in Total Recall where Quaid pulls the glowing red Lojak-thing out of his nose, except mine was a green ball of snot.

Yeah, I know that probably grossed everyone out. Let's see if I can zero out the number of views yet.

When I was a kid, being sick meant staying home from school, watching all the TV I wanted, or my mom renting a video, and making soup and tea or whatever I wanted to eat. Now being sick means missing out on what could otherwise be a really cool day, and not doing stuff, so I can be healthy enough to see patients and get through the stuff I have to/want to do.

So I took it pretty easy most of the day. Finished off my homemade cantaloupe/banana juice and all the chocolate soy milk I had. I don't think I really ate anything, though. I watched something like seven episodes of the first season of The West Wing and started building the giant Lego snowspeeder that's been collecting dust in my closet for the last year.

I met Trish and Laura for dinner in Boystown. It was good to see them both, but I was feeling run-down and don't think I was my usual effervescent self (although I do remember one time we three were hanging out at Trish's and I fell asleep on the floor while they sat on the couch talking). I'm feeling better now, although that may be more due to the ibuprofen/pseuodephedrine/caffeine cocktail I took half an hour ago.

Barnes & Noble actually had a Joe Meno book (on Punk Planet Books, no less) on display in the window. I've looked at the book before, and while it seems interesting, I don't think I'd enjoy it as much as Hairstyles of the Damned. The good thing about Joe Meno is he doesn't pigeonhole himself into one particular style or anything. While that can make for hit and miss for the reader, at least everything isn't the same.

Oh, and my parents are back in Chicago as of last night. I may even see them one of these days.

I think I need to rest my eyes, so baby come with me...

I think I'm getting sick. I've got that general malaise, and the kidney soreness and stuffy head feeling. Not cool, man. Survey says tomorrow may be spent taking it reeeeaaaaaaal easy.

I spent about four hours at Moretti's tonight. Free wings, free pool, free pizza. I think I paid for two drinks. We sat and shot the shit until everyone was too tired, myself included.

Buy.com finally approved my lost item claim; we'll see if it shows up this time since they shipped it by FedEx rather than UPS. And there's around two hundred dollars worth of Lego I want to buy. Hmmmm....

Looking forward to sleeping in on a nice cool Saturday morning. I think my parents made it back to Chicago today. Hmmm.

Whiskey and my face

Last night it came clearly to me that whiskey makes me either grimace or smile, but either way, it stimulates my facial muscles to contract.