Down mitts and neoprene liners were not enough to protect me.

It was ass-tits cold today and it's only supposed to get colder. Although, to think of it, most of it was the wind, since I rode home with a tailwind and was feeling awesome, not hot, not cold, just right, and not having to exert myself too much either. This morning, though, icy fucking headwind. Bitter. Argh. Down mitts and neoprene liners were not enough to protect me. This is life. Live it.

Quote from Howard K:

Anyways, one [thing] that comes to mind is something I've noticed in my rush hour travels along the "Hipster Highway"- seeing people stuffing a big heavy gym bag into their SUV in the morning. Can you imagine sitting in traffic for however long to get to/from work and then spending an extra 90 minutes and a few thousand dollars a year to get your exercise?
Another thing that is great about BikeWinter is that it's theoretically possible to control the amount you sweat by undoing zippers. I get completely drenched in the summertime, just from looking at my bike.
And lastly, is it my imagination or do cars give you more respect than in the summertime? Or maybe they are just driving slower because they're dreading having to leave the car when they arrive at their destination?
Or maybe the drivers aren't talking on their cell phones because they don't want to take their gloves off . . .
Howard

I had a not-too-busy day, although I was occupied enough to not even check my email until 5:30pm. I ran into Dana just after I finished my essential tasks, before I could start any long-term reading, and we ended up talking and going to the Hawk to get dinner. Fun times.

I can't believe it's 9:30 already; I just got home. Actually, when I consider my tiredness, yes I can.

Maybe now I can get some real work done

Another day of procrastination is nearly done. No school reading done, despite the need for progress in both my board review and the fact that I have a mini-lit review due for my orthodontic-periodontic course next week. I'm meeting with my thesis advisor Thursday to sidestep any copyright issues associated with my questionnaire, which means tomorrow I'll have to dig through the stack of research papers on my desk to find the two or three which yielded most of the questions I'm planning on asking.

Erick, the Ormco rep, asked me if I were married, since I was giving Derek (good) advice on dealing with his wife. I said no, I've just learned from past mistakes.

The Lawrence Arms are playing out in West Dundee on March 16. I already have a ticket to see Anti-Flag at the Metro that night, which is good, because otherwise I would end up battling outbound Friday rush hour traffic for about the same amount of fun.

Scooter School opened up on April 27th. I'm going to have to ditch ortho school for that. Worth it. I just need to get my ass to the DMV in the next three months to get my permit, so I can take the class and (hopefully) the licensure exam as well.

I finished reading the novel I bought last week. Maybe now I won't be so distracted and I can get some real work done.

God grant me the balls...

The most exciting thing that happened to me today was falling over backward in a plushly upholstered office chair in a conference room while the rest of my class was getting ready to do our first board-review session.

I think I laughed harder than anyone else.

I think I'm setting myself up to get knocked down again by Laura G. God grant me the balls to say what I need to when I see her next.

I'm going to bed early in an attempt to stop riding the knife-edge of exhaustion I've been on recently.

I'm sure you'll learn to dance and drink and dream, but you might still feel lost

I should have learned from the past and brought something substantial to read to the Loved Ones show tonight. All I had with was Friday's Derailleur, which I read in about five minutes. The Bomb record that was playing between sets was better than the first band, and Jeff Dean, coincidentally, was the guitarist for the next band, Four Star Alarm.

Some kid in a NOFX T-shirt was showing off his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle tattoo. I wonder how he'll feel about that in ten years?

The Loved Ones put on a good set, but despite having only one full length out, they shy away from their previous EP live. Still a ton of fun. They finally added a second guitar player so Dave can riff. One of the best things about that band is Dave's ability to talk shit from the stage. That's what makes a good show, the shit you won't hear on record. I was able to sing and dance and rock out, and it was good.

My MP3 player battery went dead from the cold in the car, so I listened to NPR on the way home and the guy was just going over Iraq war news and making such tongue-in-cheek comments, it was entertaining and sad, since the news was all true.

I've been blogging so much lately that I feel I have nothing to say when I talk to people. Of course that's bullshit, and the only reason I think that is because I still get struck stupid when I talk to Laura G. I've been sleeping all weekend and feel like I can't think straight.

Speaking of Laura G., she texted me last night: "Hey. Whats up love?" That, combined with her broaching that she was free on this coming Thursday or Saturday when I talked with her, leads me to believe she's feeling into me. Of course, as many of my friends will no doubt attest, I'm a sucker for pretty girls who talk nice to me. Anyway, she said she'd give me a call, and I suavely replied, "Please do." I couldn't bring myself to tell her how I felt about plans breaking last week. Well, I'll do it in person, or if there's a third strike this week, over the phone, and let the chips fall.

I think I said something to Ryan on Thursday about ideational and sensate societies, and I'd like to expound upon it, but right now I want to get on my way to bed.

Monday I plan to curse myself for not getting any work done this weekend.

I was thinking that spending my Saturday night alone, reading a book and listening to music, might be considered a little lame by some. But considering the amount of physical exertion and alcohol I've partaken of in the last few days, I'm perfectly happy to sit next to my space heater and read science fiction.

Fuck expectations of activity. Plus, my left knee is still bothering me, although my right shoulder seems to be slowly mending. Go figure.

Tomorrow I'm seeing some Dutch dance troupe with my parents at the Harris Theater in the afternoon and seeing the Loved Ones out at Champ's in the evening. Monday I plan to curse myself for not getting any work done this weekend.

Roll in the Barrel...

My left knee is paining me when I ride. Last night it was even paining me when walking. This is of a very high probability due to the relatively excessive amount of bicycling I've been doing this week. Apart from Wednesday's ride to Evanston, I rode a fair amount on Thursday heading to and from both Dana's place and Delilah's. Plus at least 30 miles yesterday before, during and after Critical Mass. And of course I never stretch, either before or after riding.

Thursday was a blast. A long blast, which resulted in me sleeping a little over four hours that night. Dana was going to come to Delilah's for Ska Night with me, but warned me to call her a few hours before to kick her ass into going. Of course, when I did she complained she was already in her pajamas in her nice warm apartment. I told her to take a nap for an hour, get dressed, pick me up, and I'd buy her a beer. She countered with me coming over and drinking beer at her place and she'd make cookies. Mmm, cookies. So I went over, had a few Tsing Taos, and we made pecan cookies with strawberry jam filling and talked. Fabulous.

I left Dana's a little after 10pm, and headed up to Delilah's. Kate had said she was going to stop by "for one drink" after studying at her boyfriend's, but I didn't see her, although Trish's friend Monica was there with two German fellows shooting the shit about German linguistics. I ended up talking with a few people I knew and meeting some I didn't about music and shit. Once space cleared at the end of the bar by the DJ booth, I sat and talked with Chuck until Ryan showed after midnight, "running on Les time." We hung out and chatted, and some of the Deal's guys showed up - well, over half the band, really, but only Corchrane and Todd were hanging out where we were sitting. Chuck got the demo of their new record and played a few songs; very nice. He told me he'll get me a copy and I can put it online. I told him I wouldn't be doing that, and he told me he'll get me a copy "and you can put it online." He also unloaded a fair pile of swag on me for WNUR's phonathon.

At around 1:30am, Ryan and I finished off the rest of Dana's cookies. I already had a half dozen beers in me, but when he suggested we have some of the Delilah's 13th Whiskey, I thought for a second and said, "Sure." That stuff is pretty damn smooth. We both just sipped our shots, not that they lasted for a super long time. The ride home seemed to go pretty quickly, but I was a little hungover yesterday morning.

Fortunately, I wasn't scheduled to be in clinic in the morning, and spent it just shooting the shit and hanging out a bit. The afternoon was crazy, though. Extra patients showing up and so forth. By the time I got out of there I was starving, and after scarfing down some food at Sbarro across the street, I didn't have to time go home before Critical Mass. Luckily, I'd at least planned for this eventuality and was wearing knee-high ski socks and skate shoes, so I could just roll up my pants to keep them out of the chain.

Mass was great. It was the annual Polka Ride. Whenever people would ask what we're riding for or what this is about, several of us would yell, "Polka!" We headed way out on the northwest side to see the Polkaholics play at the Emerald Isle.

The weather was rather mild (for a Chicago January) when we started, but it started getting pretty windy later, or after we got out of downtown and its fifty-storey windbreaks, anyway. The ride was good; I ended up talking with T.C., who I've met once or twice before.

Smithwick's was on special at the Emerald Isle, and T.C. was talking about how it used to be found only in real Irish places, but now it's everywhere, pretty much, and he commented to someone about how it's pronounced "Smithik's." Right after he said that, some girl came to the bar and ordered a "Smith Wick's." Har.

I've heard a little bit of the Polkaholics; I think we have a demo at WNUR. But their live show was pretty entertaining, especially since the crowd was pretty into it. Most of the punk kids that show up for Mass had disappeared by the end of the ride. Super-fast punk rock polka (and the chicken dance!) made for a good time. After eating some rather poor fish and chips to assuage my burbling stomach, and downing a couple of beers, I headed home, although on a more direct route than the Mass took up there.

This morning I met Laura W. up at Orange for breakfast. It was good, as was the custom juice. I came home, and despite having slept over eight hours last night, napped for over three hours.

Laura G. sent me a myspace message yesterday apologizing for being MIA and say we need to talk and she'd call me sometime today. Why do I feel nervous?

That post I started yesterday morning is going to have to wait a little longer, as I feel too burnt right now to sit and write well.

I smell like ass.

Just got in from Critical Mass. I had a crazy afternoon, and haven't been home since I left for school this morning. At least 30 miles on the bike today, over a third of them in the last hour. Plus high-octane chicken-dancing.

More tomorrow. I also started a rather long post this morning which I had to save as a draft and hope to get to soon. Right now I want to shower, have some chamomile, and curl up with a book in bed until I fall asleep.

You know what's ironic?

I first grew a beard two years or so ago, after Marta broke up with me, to serve as a physical barrier to meeting girls. (I shaved it when it just became too hirsute, and trapping food all over the place.)

Several girls have commented that it's nice and I should grow it again. The most recent of whom is Laura G., who posted a comment about it on the myspace photo of me on my old deck.

There's a Pilfers song called "Shit's All Up In the Air," but I really can't recall any of the lyrics. The title seems appropriate, though.

I need a good show. I need to dance and sing and rock out.

I really don't feel like posting right now. But...

I haven't heard from Laura G. since I talked to her for a few minutes Sunday night. I left her a message Monday evening regarding our plans for Monday night...and that's the last I know. The ball's in her court. Friends that ask about her and get that explanation are supportive. I dealt with the breaking-plans-at-the-last-minute-and-never-calling shit at the end of my last relationship and I don't need it at the beginning of this one. Laura G.'s cool girl, and I'll gladly explain how I'm feeling to her and see if things can improve - if she calls and is serious about things continuing. If I have to dash my expectations to avoid frequent disappointment, that's a bad thing.

Is it really that dangerous to curl up hugging my space heater?

I spoke with Patrick, the GAC rep, about practice opportunities in Chicago. He gave me a few names in terms of both associating and buyout, and also areas where a new orthodontist could develop a good patient base. On my way back from Evanston. I stopped and picked up a bunch of pins to stick in my map of the city. Nice to have taken this one little step, at least.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I rode my bike up to WNUR for the phonathon meeting tonight. On the way back, I stopped at Barnes and Noble to spend the credit I had from returning my brother's Christmas present (after reading). I had no idea what I was going to get, when I stumbled across David Weber's new novel. Since it's published by Tor rather than Baen, his usual publisher, I had no idea it was coming out. The story looked intriguing, but if I hadn't been familiar - and satisfied - with his writing style, I wouldn't have bought it. But I felt I deserved some distraction, so I paid the $1.76 I owed after the credit was spent and it's mine! I can't even remember the title.

So I know I wasn't planning to write much, but I can't help it. I've come to enjoy it, even if a lot of the time it's not inspired in any sense. Today was a good day, owing to the many hours of sleep I got last night after turning in early - I was so damn tired yesterday after only sleeping 5 hours and getting up before the sun. Fuck, getting to school before the sun.

I still haven't reviewed the letter I started writing Monday night.

I think I'm going to head out to the Loved Ones show on Sunday. I need a good show. I need to dance and sing and rock out.

Plans in progress:

• Physical
• Dental exam
• Eye exam
• Tattoo
• Class M permit
• Scooter class
• Class M license
• Scooter
• Custom paint job
  

Snot rocket

Have you ever coughed through your nose and shot snot all over your face? I just did.

"Memorial Day"

Here's to the skinned knees
And sutured hearts.
Here's to the unhappy endings
And all the false starts.
- Paint It Black, from "Memorial Day"

You tell me I've got a problem with thinking, I can chase it away with a problem like drinking!

This may seem like a pretty rambling post, but that's only because I've been getting steadily more toasted throughout the evening, and keeping notes as things cross my mind.

From Varieties of Unreligious Experience: "The Bat wages war on all the insects and nocturnal vermins that afflict man and his fruit trees."

I was thinking this weekend, that Laura G. makes me feel like I'm just getting to know girls again. I'm frequently struck not dumb, but retarded. I have no idea how to progress the relationship. Cue the Skalars' "High School":

Feelings I forget, so I act the fool.
Afraid of what I've got, now I feel like I'm back in high school.
And now I'm on my own...

I'm sitting right next to my subwoofer, and modulate the bass to suit my proprioceptive sense and fear of upsetting the neighbors.

Young's St. George's English Ale is "a dragonslayer of a brew." Not as good as New Holland's Dragon's Milk, but good.

I wish Atom and His Package were still playing shows. I saw him the last time he played Chicago, four years ago. That fucking kicked ass. The punkest fucking thing I've ever seen, and it was a chubby hockey nerd playing karaoke to his own songs. Fucking great. Brilliant. I remember there was a really cute girl there, dressed in black, rocking out to the super-cheesy new-wave style songs he played. I'd seen her before, but I can't remember ever seeing her again. Maybe Armalite will play Chicago sometime.

I'm just buzzed enough right now to feel completely emotionally disconnected from what I'm doing, and be easily distracted by other thoughts that cross my mind.

It's odd to think that my typing skills are improving even as I kill brain cells with alcohol. The cerebellum will keep making neural connections and rewiring my brain. Of course, there is some sense of neuroplasticity declining with age, but I hope to maintain mine as long as possible with frequent mind-blowing, and of course the ensuing self-reflective reevaluation of my own thought processes.

The capacity for self-awareness and self-improvement is what separates humanity from the rest of the animal kingdom. Yes, I realize there is an evolutionary scale of sentience, and even though I don't know whether gorillas and chimps are self-aware, I don't advocate eating them out of caution for the possibility, despite my taste for other meats (bring it on!). I definitely think cetaceans are on their way to sentience if they're not already there, and while whale steaks are apparently quite a tasty delicacy, I must abstain for moral reasons.

I can't be bothered with my life, it causes greivance, too much strife.
- The Fight, "Can't Be Bothered"

I first saw the Fight in the summer of 2003. I remember I stopped by Dani's house on the way to the Fireside, and her friend Fletch was visiting. While I was on the phone with Marta, Dani told her I'd found the love of my life. Hah. The next time I saw the Fight play was Valentine's Day, 2005, a week or so after Marta had dropped me like a sack of old potatoes. I was able to lose myself in the show and escape for the first time since. It was quite therapeutic.

One beer = one piss.

The glass of Tripel Karmeliet I just poured has a very nice head on it. It looks like clouds, and I want to eat it and its insubstantiality. Shit, is that beer tasty. The best I've drunk tonight.

I've listened to the version of "Phoenix City" on Greetings From Skamania so many times that I can whistle along with the horn solos, from soloist from soloist. I'm glad I got to see the Skatalites before Roland and Tommy passed away. It's hard to believe it's been almost four years since I've seen them. Wow.

This has been a pretty full night, even though it consisted of me, music, my beer, and my computer, and no lady friend. I could just be saying that since I'm pleasantly drunk right now. Resolved: tomorrow, I will stay late at school reading board-review shit, even if it means the afternoon nap that will inevitably result.

I was writing a letter to Laura G., and I feel like I'm much more poetic when I'm drunk. I wish it were true while I'm sober. I feel like my grammar's better, too. Go fucking figure. (Hah!) Not only that, but I can remember song lyrics better as well. My mind (AKA God!) works in mysterious ways.

Amusia is an actual neurologic condition; for example, someone suffering from it couldn't place the lyrics and the tune to "Happy Birthday" with each other. While these people are probably ignorant of what they're missing out on, I can't even imagine living like that. I hope that part of my brain is never damaged.

My first memory of using a space heater is when I was five years old in Arizona. I got to warm up in front of it after a bath. It seemed like a big deal. My parents still have that space heater. Right now I have a quiet convection heater under the coffee table I'm typing on and it's warming me quite efficiently, with heat gently percolating around the table.

I saw a flier on the Blackout Shoppers website that had "Reagan Youth" on it, even though they obviously weren't playing. Fucking. Brilliant.

For the first time in my life, I seem to be developing eczema on my torso. There's a patch on my lower right abdomen that is consistently itchy. (Eczema is usually present on face/hands/legs.) I think it's calling for some hydrocortizone.

Speaking of hydrocortizone, there are two instances in the past month where my habit of carrying a tube of it in my bag has been beneficial: Danny's sister Lisa needed some, and Dana had an itchy burn on her arm as well.

One beer = one piss. I'm on to Young's Dirty Dick's Ale. A nice light brown color, light head.

Even though I'm drunk and feel quite warm, I'm shivering. I turned up the space heater to 65 degrees. I checked my phone to see if I missed any calls or text messages, despite the fact that it hasn't left my side in six hours. I feel so alone, but I'm so drunk that I don't care.

From the Suicide Machines songs that I've heard from my MP3 player tonight, I'm amazed by the juxtaposition of melody and pure aggression displayed in their music.

Fuck Merriam-Webster for having a John McCain ad displayed on their website. Eight years ago, I might've accepted McCain despite his Republicanism, but these days he's become a panderer to the neo-cons despite their consistent fucking-over of the positions he truthfully supports (anti-torture, anti-lobbyist, pro-civil liberties). I think it's the only way he feels he can be elected president. Fuck him, he's chosen the Republican party, and they've chosen to slowly destroy the majority of humanity (in the long term) for their own gain. "Join the Movement!" indeed. McCain has seven solid crow's-feet in his smile, and they go all the way back to his hairline. Not that it's a good way to judge him, but he's as fake as Hillary Clinton, just for shittier third-party interests.

Two more hours of our past. I feel like I've tried...I don't know, I don't care, I just sit and stare now.
- The Lawrence Arms, "Hey, What Time is 'Pensacola: Wings of Gold' on Anyway?"

For some reason, the image of seeing some girl wearing a Horror Pops T-shirt in Quebec City just entered my head, despite the fact that it was a year-and-a-half ago.

Apparently, 1/2 beer = one piss, judging from the last one.

I realize I'm getting drunk as pure escapism from the shit in my head with Laura G. Of course, I'm so drunk that I don't care, and I got drunk so that I wouldn't care. It's kind of sad. I still wish she were here. (frowny face) To quote myself IMing with Laura W.:

Darren: I may just get drunk soon
Laura: alone?
Darren: sure, why not
Laura: ha
Laura: i've done it sure
Laura: always makes me feel lousy though
Darren: true

Right now I'm so plastered that I can't stand up straight and I'm drinking water.

This Lloyd Brevette song I'm listening to, I first heard nine years ago. It's funky instrumental ska/reggae. "Stream in the Meadow." Awesome.

The more I drink, the more I shiver. Laura W. will be proud to learn I switched to water once I could barely walk. I can taste the chlorine in the Chicago tap water now.

The Toasters song playing right now - "Freedom" - is a song that I once played in my car while feeling quite lonely and rejected, and driving around the north-northwest suburbs at some point in the fall of my senior year of high school (1995 for those of you unfamiliar with my personal timeline) on my way home on a long depressing night out, the reasons for which I can't remember. The music, I can. The windows were open, too, despite chilly weather.

Despite a decent amount of caloric intake ("dinner") earlier, I'm starting to feel hungry again. And the tap water smells like a swimming pool. Cl- is essential to action potential propagation, isn't it?

I think the letter to Laura G. is pretty well done, but now I'm quite exhausted and still a bit drunk and feel like I should proofread it for redundancy when better-rested. We were supposed to hang out tonight. I left her a message seven-and-a-half hours ago and haven't heard anything.

Modern decadence

It feels kind of decadent to come home at 2:30pm and take a three-hour nap. Granted, I've kept myself pretty busy for the last three hours. Folding laundry, vacuuming, cleaning, dinner, and then I cut up two cantaloup and a bunch of bananas and blended it with some cocoa. The first glass was sweet. The second glass is about 40% white chocalate Irish cream.

"Save It"

Don't save it cause the right time is the one we're in
So no more waiting to begin
Open my heart, going to let it sing
Each grain of sand is everything
The truth is never quite so far
We can never walk away from who we are...
- The Planet Smashers, from "Save It"

Battle damage. Darren 1, Winter 0.

I went up to the Handlebar and as I was finishing a pint, thinking no snow-biking tonight, Carl came in looking for a ride. So he an I headed out to Lincoln Park and the Lakefront path, up north to Belmont and then down to Soldier Field. He fucked up something on his rear rim on our second or third time down the hill in front of the Field, so he caught a bus home downtown. Altogether, probably 18-20 miles in the little bit of snow and slush we had. But fun. A blast, really.

I took a tumble in Lincoln Park just east of Armitage, and broke the end of my right pedal and bruised my left ankle pretty well. Battle damage. Darren 1, Winter 0.

Right now, I'm doing a last bit of laundry before shower and bed. There's a small chance, vanishing as a I write, that Laura G. is going to call to go out tonight, so I'm just continuing my ADLs. Tomorrow promises to be a fulfilling day if I'm not overtired as I'm likely to be. But damn, it was worth it. Hopefully tomorrow will be as well.

Too bad there's no way for me to translate the essence of the horn line of the song I'm listening to into text, to title this post with.

So after some tea and some cleaning and some rocking out, I'm feeling better. (Laura W. told me "labile" was a good mood descriptor the other day.) Maybe it's because the sun set and there's still light snow coming down. I don't think it hit the two-inch threshold to declare snow-biking, but I'm going to head over to the Handlebar later to see if anyone's heading out. If not, I'll have a pint and get some snow-biking of my own in. Actually, I'm still drinking the tea, which is about a third irish cream.

Someone's lighting off huge fireworks over the park across the street right now.

I was thinking the other day that a lot of my decision-making is fear-based. Or rather, fully admitted to myself that it is. Granted, a lot of the big decisions that resulted from this have worked out alright anyway. I think I chose Northwestern for its proximity to Chicago - a city I was at least familiar with, considering my reasonably sheltered suburban upbringing - as well as its proximity to my parents - but not too proximal; I still wanted to get the fuck away from them, just not too far away. Same deal with not studying abroad in college - a bit of that was pure laziness on my part, though most of it was fear of the unknown. There're probably many people I never got to know well due to not only to a pretty irrational fear of rejection, but a fear of the active life they lead. In the relatively few cases where I've gone ahead and challenged my fears, the results have overall been positive, and my life has become fuller for it.

I think I've gotten better in the last few years. (This is part of maturity, right?) Still not perfect, by any means, but what is in this world? At least now I recognize the fear component in my compulsive choices, and can disregard it if it's not rational.

Hell, I've decided to practice in the city since I've grown to adore urban life, and want to be surrounded by its vitality and decay (oxymoronic, I know) daily, even though it's considered a less savy economic decision in the practice of orthodontics. Yeah, it's riskier for me and will take more work, and it's kind of a personal boogie-man of mine, but I'm feeling more and more strongly about it daily.

The same with biking. I've grabbed it by the handlebars (yuk, yuk) and taken to it, despite my initial reticence toward getting into traffic. It's a matter of familiarity and comfort - now when I stick to side streets, it's usually safety-motivated due to traffic intensity. Danny comments how when we ride together, he rides in the traditional right side of the road position and I pull the center of the lane.

I think it was really falling in love for the first time that showed me that I enjoy new things and being surprised, that comfort and controlling my environment can sometimes be an insidious trap. Ironically, that same relationship led me to complacency in promoting my own personal development - it was only afterward, when I found myself once again progressing in the task of living and refining a more ethical life for myself that I realized it. But that's a story for another time, if you don't already know it.

Please save me from the super-powers that I don't believe in.

I just woke up from a 30-minute nap on the couch. The kind where you start feeling sleepy while sitting up, and just kind of topple over to the side with your legs still hanging off in sitting position. I'd like to get some reading for my board exam done tonight, but I really don't see much chance of that happening. Who knows, though; I could very well find myself bored and in need of orthodontic stimulation later this evening. First, though, I plan to do some badly needed laundry and light cleaning.

At WNUR last night, I found myself feeling apathetic toward the show. I don't know why, exactly. I mean, when I can do a really good show, I enjoy it. I think maybe I was just too lazy to really pull a good variety of music. It's a toss-up - most of the kids doing the show don't really care enough to really branch out and explore the stuff they normally wouldn't listen to and do a well-rounded show, but I don't want to put in the time to do it all myself. Maybe I'm just too attached to the show. I want to stay involved at the station, but I don't want as much responsibility as I've taken onto my shoulders. Which means a diminution of show quality, most likely.

I remember that four years ago, when I was still dating Sara, we'd both planned on cutting back. The difference then was that I was working my ass off studying with school and had trouble making free time, and there was a pretty good crew on the show: Phil, Terry, Laura W., etc. Then Sara and I broke up and after that Marta and I started dating and I was pulled back in full-time. And when friends departed the city for further pastures after dental school, and Marta broke up with me, DJing gave me something to do and look forward to. Music in general did, really. Of the people there now, Travis is the only one that ever goes to shows - and even then rarely.

Maybe that's what I need to do now - just cut back and not go in every week. Maybe after phonathon in a few weeks, that's what I'll do. It'll be nice to not have an every-Saturday obligation.

I met my dad for brunch in Wicker Park this morning. He told me that my brother seems to be unhappy with life, due partly to his medical conditions, and partly due to his feeling that my parents pushed him too hard without being supportive enough. I told my dad that neither he nor my mom have been very supportive outside the academic/professional realm, and he shrugged it off as them just wanting us to succeed. Regardless, the meal was good. My dad bought me a new scally cap he found for $10 somewhere.

The gray day outside is really affecting my mood. Or should I say "effecting?" Yesterday it was sunny and I was in a good mood; today the sky is sludgy gray and I have no desire to do anything at all, even though I've been out to run a few errands. I think I'm going to make myself some fortified tea and see if life can get back into me.

The WNUR Phonathon all-staff meeting is Wednesday; I think I'll use it as an excuse to ride my bike up to Evanston - and back. That should be fun. Thursday is Ska Night at Delilah's, and Friday is Critical Mass. Both also fun, especially with some winter biking thrown in.

In other news, my calm-the-fuck-down plan seems to be working pretty well. Of course, I can be easily excited and overly optimistic, two traits which lend themselves to disappointment.

I love Braid's "Collect From Clark Kent." Brilliant song.

Current Satiety

Thursday night I went up to Neo to meet Liv and Les and Ryan for New Wave Night. Liv and Les weren't able to make it; they got a call that their pregnant dobie might be going into labor and bailed on the way out. Ryan showed, so we hung out for a while before I came home.

I was planning on going to the winter bike to work rally at Daley Plaza Friday morning, but Thursday's late night induced me to sleep an extra hour and skip it.

I saw Shawn for his retainer delivery yesterday; he was showing me his practice website as well as the place in Lincoln Park his wife interviewed at. He was talking about Schwa Restaurant and damn if he didn't make it sound so fucking good. Hopefully I'll be able to swing by there someday.

Last night Laura W. and I went to the Melting Pot. It was pretty damn good; I hadn't been there since her graduation party. We demolished our food:


We went to the Green Eye for a pint afterwards since some of Alicia's paintings are up on the walls there. We were both pretty tired, so we headed back to my place for tea and watched old episodes of The West Wing until we passed out. She was going to stay at her brother's place, but decided to crash on my couch instead of driving down to Hyde Park. I went to bed while she was still watching TV; when I woke up this morning, she'd already left.

I hustled up to Filter - where Alicia's paintings are also up - to meet her and Alicia and Cari, stuffed my face, got grilled about Laura G. a bit by Alicia and Cari, then headed up to Circuit City to pick up an SD card reader. If I knew the damn thing only cost seven dollars, I would've gone to get one last week.

Despite a temperature in the 20s, the ride was fun and I was sweaty by the time I got home. I think I need to revise my severe cold weather dress; rather than bundling up too much, I should do some quick warmups before getting on the bike to work up my body temp.

The rest of the day will likely be spent cleaning, relaxing, and (hopefully) getting some ABO reading done.

I'm looking forward to seeing Laura G. on Monday...

Look at Danny's dirty ass!

Before I head out to Neo to meet Liv, Les, and Ryan, here's some photos from last weekend. Enjoy!

After my Saturday night plans aborted, I took a bottle of Young's Old Nick out to the park across the street.

I love Chicago.

These are smart pigeons. Eternal flame at Daley Plaza.

Beer Run! Route map to Three Floyds. Note the Picasso is holding a beer stein.

Three Floyds Bike Rack:

Danny after drinking beer.

Darren after drinking beer.

One for the road. The waitress "didn't see me do that."

Danny needs fenders. Look at his dirty ass!

Danny's anxious to leave.

Darren would like to keep drinking beer.

After a piss break in Hyde Park.

After Sunday night's plans aborted, I looked out my window at the city.

Monday I went to the Pickwick with Liv and Les.

Toro (short for Skeletor) is their rescue dobie. He's a little shy.

Bingo is not shy at all.

He likes to get right in your face...

...and cuddle.

Better = Enthused Indifference

Yeah, so after mooching dinner from the AAWD Specialty Night spread and talking with some people, I'm feeling better. I like Persian food. And cookies. I also ate a bag of candy someone left in the lab from our holiday party. Now I'm just tired. Or, to borrow a phrase from Ryan, I'm feeling an enthused indifference toward the world right now. I talked with Siddhi for a few minutes and she put a few things in perspective for me, too, before pinching my face as she is wont to do. Whatever, I'm going home now, to drink beer and read before I crash for the night.

I want a beer. Or five.

I think I'm overtired. Or maybe it's my cold. Regardless, I'm in a shitty mood right now. I want to withdraw and pretend the world doesn't exist. It's actually a bit of a comforting feeling. My horizons are extremely limited at the moment, and I'm extremely pessimistic.

Insult and injury

I've got a bruise on my shin somehow. I can't remember it happening. My right shoulder is having some ligament pain...this happens periodically, and it's positional rather than strain-induced. This, I think, is due to the extensive bike riding and arm support required on Sunday's ride. My left knee was bugging me too, but it's better now.

I've got about two tons of shit to do today; hopefully it'll get done quickly. This morning's presentation went fast; Nyasha and I were done in 15 minutes, and then when no one had questions initially, we got pimped by my department head for a while. But like I told Louie, I'd rather have someone have high expectations of me and fail to meet them than succeed in meeting constantly low expectations.

My 11:30 patient is fifteen minutes late. The one patient I have that I don't get along with. She did call to say she was running late, though. Ugh.

So crisp it feels like it could break

I just got home and finished dinner. The air outside is so crisp it feels like it could break. The city lights are sparkling clear. The north wind bites into my skin, and I was three quarters of the way home before I started to warm up. By the time I rolled up to my door, I could have gone for miles more.

Today I woke up at four fucking thirty in the morning after five goddamn hours of sleep. I couldn't fall asleep. I was actually just getting comfortable in my bed when the alarm went off at 5:30. I still didn't want to get up, since the bed was warm and the apartment was not. Despite that, and several very boring stretches, today was a good day. I feel good, despite the snot guyser that my left nostril has become and the exhaustion inching its way forward from the back of my skull.

Cracklings and toast for dinner tonight. Surprisingly fulfilling. I think I'll have some chamomile with honey when I'm done here. Last night with Liv and Les I ended up having french toast and bacon at the Pick Wick. The waitress commented on the comfort food aspect of my order, and all I could do was laugh.

Check what Laura G. wrote about Noon O Kabab. I told her it's hard to believe she got all that from our meal. I really don't have good justification for my insecurities. I really want to get to know her better and better. Liv, I think it was, made me the good wish that she hopes it takes a long time. I know it sounds kinda pessimistic, but think harder...

To respond to Laura W.'s (fuck, this is starting to get confusing) comment about feminism: it's hard to escape that there are certain physiological differences between men and women. In some respects, women are a separate group with separate concerns than men, on a purely physical level as well as a class of people that has historically been discriminated against.

This isn't a justification for prejudice or discrimination, and doesn't - and shouldn't - mean anything like one is better or worse than the other. It does, however, mean there are some basic natural inequalities which, in a just society, should be accepted or even celebrated as an expression of our humanity - that of both men and women. Regardless, until something like gender equality becomes entrenched in our society, equality is a "women's issue." The other point I'd like to make is that "women's issues" don't just belong to women, they belong to all of us.

I'd love to live in a world where feminism was unnecessary and humanism as a philosophy explicitly and adequately accounted for the human condition of everyone, male and female. Until that happens, though, I'll proudly call myself a feminist.

We're all a bunch of monkeys

I've described myself as a feminist to many people. I read a piece by Gloria Steinem this morning, and although the overall piece pretty much said that bad people are bad people regardless of gender, I think this paragraph is worthy of repetition, since feminism is pretty misunderstood (I have liberal/progressive female friends who don't consider themselves feminists and sometimes even seem to prefer the double-standard - when it's in their favor):

In fact, feminism is just the belief that all people have the full circle of human qualities combined in a unique way in each of us. The simplistic labels of "feminine" and "masculine" are mostly about what society wants us to do: submerge our unique humanity in care giving and reproducing if we're women, and trade our unique humanity for power if we're men.

Waiting for the great leap forwards

It's 6:30 in the morning, I didn't sleep well last night, I think I'm coming down with a cold, and the sky is barely turning blue. It's 20 degrees outside and I'm going to ride my bike to school. I feel great. No idea why. Here's hoping it lasts all day.

Reality calling to the emotion zone

After electronic conversations with Ryan and Laura W. - yes, this is going to get confusing - I'm feeling much more optimistic. And fed up with myself, but that's my own hangup. Hopefully my emotional state will start listening to reality soon. If anyone else wants to positively reinforce me, please feel free.

Laura G. told me she got home from work just dead exhausted last night. I can't argue; I was feeling that way myself.

After spending half the day moping around and feeling physically shitty and sorry for myself, I went out and got some stencils. I thought that spraypaint required ID in Chicago, but the hardware store told me it's illegal to cell in the city limits. Bullshit. Now I gotta pick up some suburban spraypaint somewhere. I think red and black should be fine for beginners.

I picked up some fruit and some groceries, since I was getting low on a few things. Snow had started coming down by then, but I was driving and the weather didn't penetrate my climate-controlled transport cubicle.

This evening I've made some fresh grape juice/slurry in the blender, and installed the external hard drive I got last week. Tomorrow I need to see about getting a cheap card-reader so I can actually upload my photos I've been taking. I'm heading out to meet up with Liv and Les for a little bit tonight before I come home and crash in preparation for tomorrow's early rise.

Of all the CDs I filed Saturday, I can't find my copy of Rancid's Indestructible or the Suicide Machines' A Match and Some Gasoline. Thankfully they were both burned copies and can be recovered from either WNUR, a friend, or if need be, the inter-web.

Yeah, what an exciting day. Tomorrow I've got a 7am lecture, and Wednesday Nyasha and I have to present a pedo-ortho case, which is always a blast. Feh. Looking forward to some sleep.

A metaphor for my day

I just saw a huge snowflake fall to the pavement across the street and melt.

"Let's get this show on the road," said the coma girl to the excitement gang.

Right now I'm sitting in bed listening to the incredibly odd mix of songs my MP3 player seems to be putting out. I like it. From punk to jazz to reggae to folk to whatever. When Alton Ellis's version of "Change of Plan" came on, I had to put down my book and lay back and listen; to my neurotically pessimistic state of mind, some of the lyrics were right fucking on.

I never heard from Laura last night. I tried calling, but no answer. So she didn't come over as previously discussed. Color me disappointed. Truth be told, though, I was so tired I was passing out by 11pm anyway. I woke up at 7:30 this morning, all tired and sore still, but wide awake. Maybe a little hungover, too, but I did most of my sobering up last night, and rehydrated heavily as well. Those ten-point beers sure can knock you back.

The ride yesterday was a blast. I've known Danny for six and a half years, but we never started to become friends until a few months ago. A fair amount of that was my part, I think. But it was good to talk with him and hang out for a while.

I was thinking of the insecurities I have, and how I seem to need constant reinforcement sometimes. When I was younger, I really trusted no one. Yeah, it was lonely, and yeah, it hurt sometimes, but it was a predictable, manageable pain - unlike that inflicted (intentionally or not) by other people.

By the time I hit second grade, I was in my fourth or fifth school since my family had moved around so much. I felt like I was constantly at the low end of the totem pole, and never really caught up with my peers socially, until finally at one point in high school I decided that the game wasn't worth playing and I could create my own world with whoever I wanted to let in.

This plan didn't work that well; when I was eighteen, my dog Rocky was hit by a car and we weren't sure if we were going to have to put him to sleep or not. I remember laying on the floor with him at 1am telling him he was the best friend I had since he never judged and always listened. But at that point the plan was still better than the old plan of trying to follow the trends and catch up with the crowd, especially since I was so inept at it.

My parents had me seeing a child psychologist both when I was seven and then again at eleven. I just thought it was a normal thing that everyone did every Saturday at first; I can't remember when it really occurred to me that not everyone did this.

When I was eleven, my day had switched to Tuesday. I remember after my mom would pick me up, we'd usually get Little Caesar's or Brown's Chicken for dinner. I don't know if it was a ploy to buy me off, but I came cheaply then. The psychologist, Dr. Crockett, bought me off with candy and soda.

Dr. Crockett wanted me to draw a picture once. Being eleven years old, and this being 1989 or '90, I drew a teenage mutant ninja turtle. Of course, since I didn't want to draw anything for this woman, I drew it very shittily and quickly just to get it over with. After she heaped lavish praise on me and my shitty drawing, I didn't trust a thing that came out of her mouth. That, coupled with my wising up to the fact that she would discuss our sessions with my mom afterward, induced me to really not be honest or completely forthcoming with her.

Ironic, isn't it, that seeing a psychologist induced more reticence in me? I don't know why I stopped going; maybe I stopped making "progress," or maybe I was "fixed."

When I was fifteen, my parents wanted to do group therapy with me so I'd relate to them better. (I say "relate to them" since they've never showed any real inclination to relate to me.) I think we had one session with Dr. Kane. I told them if they wanted me to go back, they'd have to physically drag me. I think they offered to pay me a pretty hefty sum, and I told them I didn't want it.

I think it would be interesting to read the notes from those childhood therapy sessions. I have a copy of my pediatrician's records, and there was a note that my dad was concerned I was clinically depressed.

Two years ago, my family was in Keystone, me with my swollen ankle and my brother sick and my parents skiing while I went stir-crazy. My parents and I went to dinner at a restaurant on the top of the mountain, to which we had to take two gondolas. On the way back, they admitted that my brother did play them off against me when we were young, and they unintentionally gave him more attention because of his immune deficiency. I think I changed the subject and then the trip was over soon after that.

I have the two periodic tables from Doug Coupland's Shampoo Planet taped up on my wall; one of the elements, "Oo" is "moodswing." Smokey Robinson's "Tears of a Clown" just came on, and I remember a quote from Billy Bragg saying that he used to think love was like a Smokey Robinson song, until he fell in love. He said he still listens to Smokey Robinson, but tries to write love songs without love.

I think it's time to get up and shower and definitely eat something. Once I've got some food in my belly, it's much easier to shut out the disappointment and work on developing my solo life.

Sometimes the old way of complete lack of trust is very tempting. Two years ago, when Marta told me I was a burden, it seemed to validate every fear I'd had coming of age. There were so many times when I felt things would be easier for everyone if I wasn't around. Sometimes I still feel that way, that my impact is so minimal it doesn't really matter. When she said that to me, it seemed to justify every moment of shutting people out and never letting anyone close or relying on them. I resolved to be that way again; it seemed like the only response that would prevent me from being a burden on others. But then I fell asleep, woke up, and forgave her since I was so in love.

I'm not heading back down that road right now, though. I guess I'm just too much of an optimist, even though sometimes it feels like I crash and burn rather than soar.

Fuck, I really need to eat something.

Headwind; cold rain to break me

I just walked in the door from the Three Floyds Ride. I'm still pretty buzzed, considering 4 beers at the place and one on the road in the bike bottle. All my fat parts are cold - ass, stomach, love handles - whether this is due to the temperature outside or the fact that Danny and I ended up waiting for a few slow-pokes on the windy-ass Lakefront Path, I don't know. I do know that the ride was a blast, and I intend to repeat it next year, since I love bicycling and I love beer.

The ride down was pretty cool - I was getting tired by the time we got there, but I was also sweaty and probably pushing myself. The ride back, however, was all upwind. I was with the group, but then Danny got caught back with one slow rider, and I stopped to wait for him/them, and to take a leak. (Public urination on the return trip is a common byproduct of this ride.) Anyway, we kept with him, despite his need for breaks, until we got downtown, when he and Danny decided to hit a Dunkin' Donuts and I headed for home. It was drizzling slightly by the time I got back, but the "wintry mix" that was forecast never really materialized.

Anyway, the beer was delicious (as was the food) and I need to shower. Laura's supposed to come over later.

Delroy Wilson, the Cool Operator

I just finished cleaning and lubing my bike chain. (The tire pressure was fine.) It actually looks like metal now - instead of black fuzzy grease - which is pretty cool. I put some new wet lube on there, too, in anticipation of tomorrow's likely inclemency.

In case you missed it (or I haven't mentioned it), tomorrow's the 65-mile round trip Three Floyds Ride, from Daley Plaza to the Three Floyds Brewery and Brewpub in Munster, IN. Danny called earlier, and he's not sure if he's going to be able to make it, since he's a little afraid of the weather. I know the forecast calls for snow and rain, but looking at the latest radar maps, it really shouldn't be that bad. I've probably ridden in worse - granted, not for three hours at a time - and I've definitely done some extended periods in rain and such. Really, once we get going, I'm sure the problem will be overheating, especially with the spiffy windbreaker/rainjacket I picked up a few weeks ago. Danny was getting ready to do some bike maintenance anyway, just in case.

I think I rode close to 12-13 miles today, heading to the House of Blues to pick up tix for Naked Raygun and then up to the Metro to pick up tix for Anti-Flag. So that's at least two shows to look forward to. I got home and needed a nap, which I took after showering and cleaning a few things up.

Laura called me this afternoon, and had just found out that her ex-boyfriend from a year or so ago was flying into town for her party tonight. I think she may have been going to ask anyway, but I volunteered to skip the party if that would be easier on her. She said that would be best since he would know everyone there and I would know maybe one other person. Intellectually, I know that I needn't be, but I can't help being a little jealous. I was looking forward to tonight, too, but that's alright; it's her party and I'll stay away if she needs me to. You would stay too if it happened to you. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night, though, since Laura and I are planning to get together.

I went to Binny's tonight and stocked up on some cerveza; I think I grabbed a pint bottle of every different type of Young's they had. And some Tripel Karmeliet kits w/ glasses, so I can serve my fancy beer in style. I popped a bottle of Young's Old Nick and went to the park across the street, and took what I think is a cool picture of the downtown skyline behind my streetfront. Of course, the fucking connection to my computer isn't working, so until I either go to school or pick up a cardreader, you'll have to take my word for it.

I talked to Dani for half an hour or so, and was able to catch up on things, which is always good. I've always felt I could lay anything out for her I felt like talking about, and it's still comforting to have that, even if I don't need it.

Delroy Wilson is on the speakers right now, and I think the diphenhydramine I took is starting to kick in...

It wasn't until tonight I found out I was right.

I did need to re-fucking-lax. I did. And tonight was great.

I had dinner with Laura and we hung out and talked. And walked her puppy, and kissed her goodnight. Several times.

Ryan, you need to e-mail and tell me what's going on with you.

Up with it came our pain and fear

A strange combination of clarity and exhaustion right now. Maybe I just need to calm the fuck down.

This was the only compensation for waking up at the ass-end of yesterday morning:

Eat your fucking heart out.

I don't know why every post lately has been titled with song lyrics. I think it may be reflective of my lack of good turns of phrase.

Morning's here.

I dreamt I was being chased by a gang of Evanston science geeks intent on beating me up before they'd let me into their clic. One of them was an old man. It was weird. There were several stages to this dream, but I have to leave the house now and can't go into them.

I do feel a little better this morning. Still emotionally labile, and edgy over Laura - but that's because I can drive myself crazy overanalyzing things.

Momentum makes my head ponderous and heavy.

I'm in a really fucking shitty mood right now. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and the fucking camera I got yesterday won't connect with my computer. Well, it's more complicated than that; to see it work you'd think Canon's software wasn't running and that I had no photos on the camera to download. Fucking piece of shit. Well, the camera's cool, but I don't want to have to buy a fucking card reader for it. It's just making me cranky. I want to fucking cry.

I'm really, really tired. I need to sleep, and sleep. Today, I felt alright during the day, due to my diphenhydramine-induced coma last night. I think I shall repeat it tonight.

Laura sent me a bunch of text messages during my 8am lecture this morning. It put a smile on my face. We traded Rainer Maria lyrics once, and then I had "Planetary" in my head all day. It's funny; sometimes I get the feeling like she's too busy for me, and then she sends me a bunch of messages and calls me "sweetie" and tells me I must be a good dentist because I'm "gentle, personable, soft-spoken and cute." It's the cute that gets me. Right in the chest. But then I asked her this afternoon if she was still free tomorrow - as I'd asked Tuesday if she wanted to get together - and she said she wasn't sure.

I'm probably fucking myself in the head over this one. There's a whole treatise I could write on how past relationship patterns were out the window since the moment I met her, but I'm too goddamn tired. I guess my emotions would be much less labile, as well. Aaahhh, I'm sure I'd feel better if I were more well-rested. That's step one.

If this world blew up, I'd finally get a decent night's sleep.

Fucking shit, I'm tired. I hate riding the edge of collapse for days, like I feel I am right now. I need to find time to sleep. Make time to sleep. Exhaustion makes me unhappy and bitter and pessimistic, and I fuck my own shit up without even caring, and I really can't afford to do that right now. There's a sense of being on the cusp of important things, moreso even than slugging my way through school.

I feel like I'm too tired to carry on a conversation tonight. I was on the phone with Laura earlier and really felt like I couldn't think of anything to say half the time.

I told Liv earlier that I really need to sleep more. My exhaustion was really preventing me from focusing on my lectures today. Well, a little bit of it was the temptation of thinking about a certain person...

She looked at me and smiled; I know that smile's for me...

I swear there's some sort of dead animal in my furnace. Whenever the heat is on for a long time, my office/den/whatever-the-fuck-you-want-to-call-it room starts to exhibit the sickly and cloyingly sweet stench of decay. I've looked in there, but I can't find anything. It's a real off-and-on thing, though. I dunno. Weird as shit.

Laura was over after we went out for dinner for her birthday, and her mom wanted to talk to me on the phone. Her mother kept accusing me of being scared, asked me why I liked Laura, and when I said something about being smart and funny, she asked why I didn't say personality. Don't smart and funny refer to that? Why should I be vague? Anyway, the conversation went fine; it probably helped that I had a beer in me. She asked if I was funny, and I said I was "trembling with trepidation." (Once I pointed out the alliteration, Laura laughed) She asked if I had any tattoos or piercings; once I said no, she said I was okay.

I haven't even told my parents about Laura. I suppose I will the next time I have cause to talk to them; aside from my dad calling last weekend some time to ask if I needed new gloves - a 47 second call - I haven't talked to them. I'm sure they'll call within the next few days - my mom can't keep to herself for much longer.

Anyway, Laura and her friend Sarah headed out to celebrate, and I've really got to piss my two beers out. Due to the nap I took this afternoon, I'm not that sleepy, but after I shower, who knows? I'd like to be not exhausted tomorrow morning.

Danny's going to come on the Three Floyds ride on Sunday. I think I'm going to head up to Performance and pick up some good lobster mitt shells to go over my neoprene gloves, since it's supposed to be a freezing "wintry mix" on Sunday, according to the weather forecast. Should be fun.

My Symarip CD is done, and that's my cue to go.

How's your fake life going?

I'm reading Mortified, this book Trish gave me for Christmas that is pretty much a compilation of journal or diary entries from years ago that different people submitted. There was one paragraph that was just spot-on:

I am so tired of fantasizing about all the conversations we could have and then fucking it up in real life. I wish I were as good in real life as I am in fake life.

Thanks for the book, Trish.

I've got a socialism of the heart

I'm beat, but I was able to finish my presentation for tomorrow. I had one patient, and she failed - again. Plus one patient with a displaced wire, which I ingeniously stabilized. The technique was so simple and useful that I'm going to repeat it on other patients.

My chest has been trying to explode since this morning. Dana told me I look different today.

Laura left around 1:30 last night. It was totally worth it, but I was - and am - a bit tired today. Tonight I'm going to try to kick in early.

I had a bunch of shit kicking around in my the last few days that I wanted to get down, but I can't remember any of it at the moment.

Billy Bragg's "Upfield" is getting firmly lodged in my head.

Their faces shown and they were gone and I was left alone
I walked these ancient empire streets 'till I came tearful to my home
And when I woke next morning, I vowed to play my part
I've got a socialism of the heart, I've got a socialism of the heart

I must drink wine now

I headed out to school this afternoon to finish up the presentation Nyasha and I have to give next week. Thank fucking luck that Therese was there to bring up that I have my laser presentation to give in two days!

So the 45 minutes of work I thought I had turned into about 300 minutes of work. Laura called and is going to come over with a bottle of wine. I've been totally dehydrated and exhausted all day, it feels like. Feh.

Yeah, I do kiss and tell. Is it really surprising?

Laura - the new Laura I met last week, not one of the three other Lauras I know - came over last night. She just left. I still have her menthol lip gloss on my lips.

Soaring...

We've got nothing better to do than watch TV and have a couple of brews

Torpor and apathy have taken hold of me. I was going to head up to Evanston for their Critical Mass, but after a nap and meeting my parents at Uncommon Ground for dinner, I'm just sitting in tonight, watching DVDs I borrowed from John. I was thinking of heading out to Delilah's for Elvis's birthday, but after last night's, ah, indulgence, I decided maybe that wasn't the best idea. Oh, if I had gotten ahold of anyone I wanted to ask to go with me, I'm sure I would've gone.

The girl I met last Sunday still hasn't returned the message I left on Tuesday. I don't know when I should let my hopes decay...She was friendly and smiling and gorgeous, and whenever I think about those moments I want to see her and talk to her again. And maybe another hug. And I know next to nothing about her. I'm either going to fly high or crash land.

Life is great.

Pat Robertson is a stupid dumbfuck...

...as well as being bat-shit crazy.

"I found you in Hell. Don't you think I could find you in Jersey?"

After a pretty stellar first few hours of the New Year, today hit like a brick. Not a ton of bricks, though; just one. There were so many avoidable problems regarding equipment during my first patient appointment that it pissed me right the fuck off. Happy Fucking New Year's, now deal with last year's bullshit. Luckily the rest of the day went better. I threw off getting any non-clinical work done and came home early.

I rode home a little after four o'clock. It was still light out, which is a rarity for me. It was kind of nice. I really like the windbreaker I got for bicycling, although I found grease stains on it (as well as two of my couches!) earlier. Ah, well, stains add character.

Since I got home, I've pretty much been listening to Billy Bragg and cleaning my monkey nest. It's looking much better. Of course, I spent almost an hour on the phone with friends (which is kind of a rarity that I miss, now that I've been doing it again).

While I was cleaning, I kept coming across things that remind me of my cousin John. I saw the photo we took in Tremblant four years ago, when the whole family except him was there. He was healthy then, but still rarely spent time with the rest of us, it seemed. Most of the memories I have of him are childhood ones, before he became super-prep venture-capitalist.

I remember when I must have been two years old, and it must have been his seventh birthday party. December, 1980. I remember it was a wood-paneled restaurant, and I was asking my mom where John-John was. "Jon" is a term of endearment in Farsi, and this nickname - universally used in my family - meant "John, dear." I remember when I was barely five and he was nine, and we were at my maternal grandparents' farm in Minnesota. The first time I heard "The last one there is a rotten egg!" was when his fourth grade legs challenged my kindergarten legs to a race back to the farm house across ditches and open land. Needless to say, he kicked my ass in that race. That's the memory that came to mind at his funeral in July, and that's what I put into the memory book. I also found the card with waterfalls on the front that were available at the funeral. That's now posted in my kitchen doorway; the photo's tacky as hell, but it's something I have of him, as much of a commodity as it is.

I had a half-bottle of Riesling in the fridge; it was stoppered with the glass fish bottle-stopper from Ramin's wedding. John was the best man; I remember his speech was written down on notecards for completeness. I have absolutely no recollection of what he actually said.

Fittingly, the glass fish was involved in letting me get buzzed tonight. I was in Minneapolis when I found out John died, and I just wanted to get pissed. I met up with Phil that night (as previously planned) and was suitably distracted watching a cute girl in our group, and had a few beers without going overboard, thankfully. (I did get toasted on Mickey's on the flight to the funeral until the flight attendant took it away.)

I watched What Dreams May Come earlier while eating. Movie heaven is bullshit - but comforting bullshit, in the end.

DInner and a movie

I'm eating a piece of lamb right now, and it's pretty cool to see the artery and vein I just cut through.

What Dreams May Come is making me cry.

I've got one hundred resolutions, but I've got no solutions.

Woke up, it was the last day of the year.
People all around acting pretty weird.
Living off of memories and recalling their regrets,
Remembering the good and bad, planning their amends.
-Youth Brigade, "Last Day of the Year"

Four years ago, I joined my family in Quebec for skiing and multiple nights of fine dining over the holidays. I flew to New Jersey and was planning to drive up with Parvin, Paul, and my grandmother, but my dad forgot his passport and was stranded at LaGuardia the night before, so he drove up with us. Five people, skis, snowboard, and luggage packed into a landrover heading up I-87 toward Montreal. On the way up, I heard on the radio that Joe Strummer had died. After we hit the Canadian border, weather started to turn bad as the sun went down, and by the time we were past Montreal and on our way to Tremblant it was a whiteout. Still we kept on, slowly, and it cleared a bit and we made it OK. Parvin broke her leg skiing on Christmas Eve, which was also her birthday, and so I spent my New Years out in Jersey, helping her out with things.

Three years ago, I spent the holidays with Marta's family in upstate New York. We spent two days at Hossein and Linda's in Andover, Mass., but left earlier than planned since my parents were being pretty bitchy toward Marta. On New Year's Eve, we spent the night at the house of one of her friends. We zipped two sleeping bags together and made one big bag. That's the only time I've ever done that.

Pop open a bottle of bubbly.
Here's to another goddamn New Year.
And outside, two million drunk Bostonians are getting ready to sing "Auld Lang Syne" out of tune.
I sit there in my easy chair, looking at the clouds, orange with celebration,
And I wonder if you're out there.
-The Dismemberment Plan, "The Ice of Boston"

Two years ago, I spent the holidays at home alone. I didn't want to go to my parents' in Oakland with my mom's side of the family there to annoy the shit out of me. I turned down an invitation to go out to Marta's family since I felt that was a bit too dishonest, considering I'd told my family I was on call and couldn't make it (although I could have). On New Year's Day, I picked Marta up at O'Hare. She really had nothing to say to me that whole day. I had no idea why. She appreciated the roses I got her enough to smell them, but she was just blank toward me after that.

New Year's Eve was as boring as Heaven.
I watched flies fuck on channel eleven.
There was no one to kiss,
There was nothing to drink,
Except some old rotten milk someone left in the sink.
And there's no ringing, there's no ringing
On the phone anymore.
There's no reason to call;
I passed out on the floor.
-Alkaline Trio, "Private Eye"

Last year, I spent New Year's Eve at my parents' house in Oakland alone. I was way ready to come home. I got home late on New Year's Day, and although I was supposed to meet Dani that night, she couldn't make it, which capped a pretty disappointing week.

I'm empty of answers,
Don't nobody search me.
The long-neck's a twist-off,
You don't need a church key.
I'm still full of questions
But can't quite see clear,
So twist off another
And bring on next year!
I'm always amazed
By what can take place
Within the space of three hundred,
Three hundred sixty-five days!
-The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "365 Days"

This year, I spent New Year's Eve watching about 5 hours' worth of Billy Bragg footage, and reading some creationist IDiocy for entertainment (although it did more angering than entertaining). I also went to the Metro to see the Smoking Popes and Alkaline Trio play. The Trio played From Here to Infirmary in its entirety, which was sweet. Even sweeter was this girl Laura who spontaneously wiped my sweaty face with the shirt in her hand, and gave me a kiss on the cheek for sharing water with her. We danced some, and got another peck after sharing more water. There was a time I was in the pit and again started doing the robot, only some other girl joined in this time. Awesome. After the show I asked if she wanted to get coffee sometime, and she took my number before I got hers. So we'll see where that goes. A pretty damn good New Year, hopefully, judging from its first few hours. Today I rode about 35 miles, including the rambling 20 with the Chicago Cycling Club ride up to Evanston. It's really only about 45-60 minutes up to Evanston, and maybe I'll have occasion to take advantage of that someday if I have to go up there.

Another explosion of silence.
I think I'm going deaf,
Or maybe I'm just yelling less.
This year I'll try to only listen to myself.
This year I'll try not to think so much.
This year I'll try to stand up for myself.
This year I'll live like I've never lived before.
This is my year for sure.
-The Lawrence Arms, "100 Resolutions"