Dill is one of the spices of my childhood. Like ambrosia sometimes.

How offensive would you find blackface today?

Referring back to the post I made this weekend about the movie 300: my mom sent me an e-mail with a link to pictures of the Iranian Norooz (New Year's) Parade in NYC. Two images to view: here and here. Feel free to view the rest.

I was a party in Jersey five years ago and I was sitting with an Iranian professor of sociology and he asked me if, as a half-Iranian, I identified as Iranian or not. I replied that I hadn't identified as Iranian until when in second grade I innocently answered the question of what kind of name my last name was and ended up getting chased at recess because of it. The taunts of "Terrorist!" followed me all through high school. After speaking with him, I read his book: The Making of an Iranian Community in America by Maboud Ansari. Although a bit dated, it struck me as inherently true, and there were many things I hadn't considered. His explanation of dual marginality struck me, and I definitely identified with it, choosing what many seem to consider a marginal lifestyle myself.

At least our New Year is based on some astronomical event, like the spring equinox.

A few years ago, some dumbshit foreign policy grad student from University of Chicago had the gumption to tell me that he doesn't believe racism exists since we're all one race. Dumbshit. I agree that we're all one race, but racism is out there and it isn't going to go away for a long fucking time, unfortunately. I'll never tell my kids to deny their Persian heritage, but I hope I never even have to consider the choice.

The only problem I have with people celebrating their cultural heritage is when they use it an excuse to set themselves apart from the rest of us for either selfish or "moral" reasons.

Drunken banking

It's very interesting to do online banking while drunk. I was doing arithmetic out loud. I'm going to read "bad" literature for the rest of the night. Maybe I'll get hungry enough to eat something.

It won't be safe to go out at night when the nerds of junior high unite!

The Onion has a review of the new Revenge of the Nerds DVD. When I was seven or eight, I went to see Ernest Goes to Camp (starring Jim Cleaver as Ernest P. Worrel) and one of the previews was for Revenge of the Nerds 2. It consisted of a fine study with classical music playing until a plush leather armchair swiveled around and Ogre let out his classic "NEEEEEEERRRRRRDDDDSSSSS!!!!!"

The Piraat's feeling pretty good. Tomorrow's Ska Night. I need it, sadly.

Fucking piece of fucking shit.

To top it off, three of the light bulbs of the four in my kitchen burnt out. And they're fucking long-life bulbs.

Remind me never to buy any car from a company that makes something called a Jeep Patriot. I guess that means no Mercedes once I make my millions.

I run head-on into traffic in the afternoon. I've logged the longest miles alone at night inside my room.

Fucking shit day. First we get the announcement of a new dress code for our department only. We're already the best-dressed department in the building, and now we get the news that we have to wear shirt and tie every day. Stupid. The tie especially, since they have been shown to collect bacteria within a few wears and are rarely ever laundered. Plus, it's also been shown that patients do not make any differentiation in quality of care based on appearance.

I got my bike back from the shop. $227 for a tune and several new parts, and the fucking chain is skipping more than it was when I dropped it off. The chain derailed at least a half dozen times on the half-mile ride home. I thought it was marginally unsafe to ride in traffic last week when I took it in, but now it's definitely unsafe. The real pisser is that Critical Mass is in two days and I need to find a bike to borrow. Maybe I'll even buy a second bike since I ride enough and it would be nice to have a spare. It's a pain in the ass to drive or take CTA sometimes.

I've had a 26oz. of Piraat in the fridge for a month. Tonight's the night for it. I want to cry and punch walls.

Sing along. The Revolution is just a T-shirt away!

Driving up to Madison on Tuesday, it was a sunny day and I was cruising through the cornfields of northwestern Illinois, and Billy Bragg's "Waiting For the Great Leap Forwards" came on. It gave me shivers. I played it again. Shivers again.

It may have been Camelot for Jack and Jacqueline
But on the Che Guevara highway filling up with gasoline
Fidel Castro's brother spies a rich lady who's crying
Over luxury's disappointment
So he walks over and he's trying
To sympathise with her but he thinks that he should warn her
That the Third World is just around the corner

In the Soviet Union a scientist is blinded
By the resumption of nuclear testing and he is reminded
That Dr. Robert Oppenheimer's optimism fell
At the first hurdle

In the Cheese Pavilion and the only noise I hear
Is the sound of someone stacking chairs
And mopping up spilt beer
And someone asking questions and basking in the light
Of the fifteen fame-filled minutes of the fanzine writer

Mixing pop and politics he asks me what the use is
I offer him embarrassment and my usual excuses
While looking down the corridor
Out to where the van is waiting
I'm looking for the Great Leap Forwards

Jumble sales are organised and pamphlets have been posted
Even after closing time there's still parties to be hosted
You can be active with the activists
Or sleep in with the sleepers
While you're waiting for the Great Leap Forwards

One leap forward, two leaps back
Will politics get me the sack?

Here comes the future and you can't run from it
If you've got a blacklist I want to be on it

Its a mighty long way down rock 'n' roll
From "Top of the Pops" to drawing the dole

If no one seems to understand
Start your own revolution and cut out the middleman

In a perfect world we'd all sing in tune
But this is reality so give me some room

So join the struggle while you may
The Revolution is just a T-shirt away
Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards

Celebrate your cultural bias at the movies!

There was a time years back when I was studying in NU's Core library and needed a break, so I picked up the copy of Frank Miller's 300 to read. As with just about all of his works, it was very violent and graphic, with stunning colors and panel spreads.

I received this article from one of our family friends:

3/16/07
THE TRUTH BEHIND 300
By Cyrus Kar

For many Iranians the cinematic movie 300 may come as a shocking revelation. But to those of us who came up through America's school system, the Battle of Thermopylae, which is what the movie 300 is based on, is as familiar as George Washington's fabled "cherry tree" incident.

The Battle of Thermopylae was of course written by the classical Greek author, Herodotus, who lived in the Persian city of Halicarnassus. His book, The Histories became part of Western folklore only recently. It wasn't until about 1850 that America embraced Herodotus as the leading authority on Persian history.

Before 1850, however, the West had a very favorable impression of the Persian Empire. That's because the West's main source for Persian history was the Bible and the Cyropaedia, written by another Greek author named Xenophon.

But the Cyropaedia glorified the monarchy of Cyrus The Great, and in the wake of two bloody revolutions fought by America and France to liberate themselves from their own monarchies, a major campaign began, around the mid 19th century, to promote democracy throughout the rest of Europe, and Herodotus was the perfect propaganda tool.

Herodotus was a democratic groupie and was quickly ushered in as the "Father Of History." Around 1850, his Battle Of Thermopylae came to symbolize the West's struggle for democracy against the powerful forces of Persia's monarchy.

The story is easy to buy into: 300 brave Spartans saved Western democracy from 2.7 million evil Persians. But aside from the fanciful numbers which need decimal-point adjustments, this whimsical tale has far graver consequences than a mere biased account of history.

The Battle Of Thermopylae has been the single most powerful wedge, which has divided East and West for over 2 millennia. In a time when East and West should be reconciling their differences, along comes the movie 300 to drive that wedge even deeper.

What is most disturbing about this movie is not that it lacks historical accuracy. It is not that Xerxes, the Grandson of Cyrus The Great and loving husband of Esther, is shown as an oversized drag queen. Its not even the outdated racist cliche of casting the Persians as Africans and the Spartans as white, blue-eyed Chippendale dancers, when in reality the roles may well have been reversed.

What is so distressing about this movie is the realization of the tremendous power Hollywood wields in determining a people's identity. It is the same nightmare Native Americans endured during the whole 'cowboy-movie' genre.

But for those who are quick to dismiss 300 as a fleeting fantasy flick aimed at the insignificant, 17 to 24 year-old male video-gamer, think again. First there was Alexander, now 300, next could well be the Battle Of Marathon, another one of Herodotus's glowing accounts of ancient Persia.

Herodotus is accepted blindly by virtually all Western demographics. Even the New York Times is not immune. Here is how it described the Persians in its April 20, 2004 issue on the Battle Of Marathon:

"the defeat of a ruthless state (Persia) that had enslaved much of the known world from the Balkans to the Himalayas."

"the ancient Greeks defeated the Asian invaders (Persia) and saved Europe in what scholars call one of the first great victories of freedom over tyranny"
- William J. Broad, (NY Times)

What stretches the limits of hypocrisy is that there isn't a single shred of archeological evidence that the Persians ever owned slaves. Yet we know that slavery was an integral cornerstone of Greek society. Aristotle's manifesto even sanctions it. Persia, which was once a haven for runaway slaves from Egypt, Greece, and later Rome, is today branded as a slave-hungry empire by cultures which were built on slavery!

What makes Herodotus's propaganda so difficult to refute is that its peppered with facts. But in reality, its a desperate diatribe. Perhaps his biggest ploy is his attempt to equate democracy with freedom. These two words are used virtually interchangeably throughout his book. And the West has swallowed it hook-line-and-sinker.

But America's founding fathers new better. They were not swayed by Herodotus. They implemented many safeguards to protect freedom from the pitfalls that mired Athenian democracy. Even Winston Churchill said, "Democracy is the worst form of government except for all the others which have been tried."

Democracy may well be the best form of government. But what makes America great is not so much democracy as it is its Bill Of Rights. And this is exactly what made Persia Great. Democracy can often lead to tyranny by the majority as was the case in democratic Athens, where women, slaves and foreigners did not have the right to vote.

In monarchic Persia, however, women enjoyed a level of gender equality unmatched even to this day, and slavery was not practiced. The fact is, Persia's monarchy was more free than Athens' democracy, all because of Persia's Bill Of Rights.

No one exemplifies Persia's freedom better than Herodotus himself. He describes Athens as the bastion of freedom, yet he chose to live in Persia. Xenophon, on the other hand, who actually lived in Athens, reminisces enviably about the monarchy of Cyrus The Great?

Herodotus claims Persia had enslaved most of the known world, yet we know Herodotus was not a slave. He traveled freely throughout the empire, openly criticizing it.

Why did Herodotus not live in Greece? Because Persia - the empire he is so quick to demonize - afforded him the very freedom to publish his scathing report of it. People want to live where their god-given rights are protected, regardless of whether its democratic or monarchic.

These god-given rights were first drafted into law by the founder of the Persian empire, Cyrus The Great. In fact, ancient Persia may well have served as the blue print for America's Bill Of Rights. Both Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, the architects of America's Constitution, were great admirers and owned several copies of Xenophon's Cyropaedia.

Today, no other country resembles ancient Persia as closely as does the United States. If any country should sympathize with, rather than celebrate, Persia's quagmire in Greece it is the United States. Few events in history mirror America's war on terror as closely as Persia's war on Greece.

The Greeks had been carrying out terrorist attacks on Persian holdings for years. They had attacked Persian cities, set fire to Persian temples, disrupted key trade routes, and pirated merchant ships crossing the Bosphorus. They incited rebellions inside Persian provinces, but perhaps most abhorrent to the Persians was the ease by which the Greeks broke their treaties and betrayed Persia's trust.

Rather than resort to violence, however, Persia tried to keep the Greeks in check by financially supporting Greek politicians who were "pro-Persian," much the same way America fights its proxy wars. But what finally triggered Persia's wrath was an act rarely mentioned in the West, though well documented, even by Herodotus (7:11).

Persia's 9/11:

In 498 BCE, Athens carried out a terrorist attack on Sardis, a major Persian city, which made 9/11 seem like child's play. Aristagoras, an Athenian, set fire to the "outlying parts" of Sardis trapping most of its population "in a ring of fire." (Herodotus 5:101)

More innocent civilians died at the hands of Aristagoras than Osama bin Laden could ever hope to kill. And just as most of the world supported America's retaliation against Al Qaeda, so did it rally in support of Persia's attack on Athens.

The Spartans were not even targets of Persia's attack, until they violated a universal protocol by killing a Persian messenger who Herodotus claims was asking for Sparta's submission but in reality was probably sent by Persia's king, Xerxes to convey the same message George Bush sent to the entire world after 9/11: "you're either with us, or against us."

The Spartans were Greek Jihadists who lived only to die. They were by all accounts ruthless savages who murdered Greek slaves known as "Helots" just for sport, cultivated a culture of thievery and rape, and practiced infanticide, as the movie 300 rightly points out in its opening scenes. Sparta was not even democratic. It was an oligarchy at best. Despite knowing all this, the West continues to hail the Spartans as the saviors of Western democracy.

Yes, the Spartans died fighting a foreign invader. But so do countless Iraqi insurgents, yet few of us would consider them good guys. Those who do are then not much different from Westerners who cheer for the Spartans. Rooting for the Spartans merely because they were underdogs, is like rooting for Osama bin Laden today.

History is no longer written by the victors, it is written by filmmakers. When will the children of Persia rise up and fight back using the same weapon Hollywood has used for years to denigrate the legacy of their ancestors? When will we abandon our defensive posture and begin to write our own history again?

Perhaps the movie 300 was a necessary wake up call. But Persia bashing will never disappear on its own. It is the main villain in the Western saga. The only way it will change is through the power of film.

Alex Jovy's epic movie about Cyrus The Great could have done wonders for the Iranian image. Instead it sits idle for lack of money. My documentary film about Cyrus The Great (www.spentaproductions.com) has languished for the mere want of $400,000.

Iranians are the most affluent minority group in America. If we set our minds to it, we can achieve anything. This Nowruz, I hope all Iranians will resolve to finally unite in an effort to redeem the reputation of our ancestors.

Happy Nowruz,
Cyrus Kar

While not 100% on the money, it's still plenty good food for thought. Then I read this week's Savage Love, and Dan Savage had this at the end of the column:

With nothing but time on my hands this week, I slipped out of the office and went to the movies. Have you seen 300 yet? It's about a handful of lightly armed ancient Greeks — the Spartans — who take on the mighty, massive Persian army. Some feel the film is homophobic; some feel it's a conservative, pro-war piece of agitprop.

Homophobic? It's Ann Coulter on a meth binge.

The Persian army is an armed gay-pride parade, a threat to all things decent and, er, Greek. The king of the Spartans — among the most notorious boy-fuckers in all of ancient history — dismisses Athenian Greeks as weak-willed "philosophers and boy lovers." The Persian emperor? An eight-foot-tall black drag queen — mascara, painted-on eyebrows, pink lip gloss. Emperor RuPaul is positively obsessed with men kneeling in front of him. Why gay up the Persians? So that straight boys in the theater can identify with the Spartan king and his 300 soldiers — all of whom appear to have been recruited from and outfitted by the International Male catalog.

What isn't up for debate is the film's politics. The only times the Persian army doesn't look like a gay-pride parade in hell, it looks like a crowd of madly chanting Islamic militants. And if the Spartan king has to break Spartan law to defend Spartan freedoms? Well, sometimes a king's gotta do what a king's gotta do. Because, as the queen of Sparta points out, freedom isn't free. And, yes, she uses exactly those words. George Bush is going to blow a load in his pants when he sees this movie.

'Nuff said.

I massacred the afternoon to the sound of rain drumming against parked cars.

Rather than give a synopsis of my week, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.


Bingo:


Dobie pups:


The monkey pup:

Puppy piles:


Skeletor:

Devil cats (actually very sweet, for cats):


I went to a comic shop for the first time in years while I was in Madison. I ended up spending almost $60 on graphic novels. Now that I've read them, I can feel the old addiction returning, but I don't think it's worth it.

I also saw this manhole cover in Madison, on the way to the Old Fashioned from Laura W.'s place.


Chicago is beautiful when you're burnt out from studying. Of course, the most distinguishing thing about our skyline is the Sears Tower, which is why it shows up all the fucking time in my pictures.



This seen on the ride home. Worth pulling over for.



On the road with me:

I dropped my bike at the shop for a tune-up, and it may need a new chain and cassette as well since it's skipping in the back. I need to clean up my hidey-hole.

I took two or three naps today. I lost count. Can't seem to focus. I really want to eat sushi tonight. I'm debating getting take-out and taking it out somewhere else. I dunno.

Anyway, walking home in the drizzle this afternoon, I felt very positive. About what, I'm not sure. I'm feeling a lot of stress about my ABO exam, but Dana already told me I'll ace it. I'm sure I'll do fine, as long as I can keep up my studying. I'm trying to keep a positive attitude, as I slipped into a negative place for a long time and didn't even realize it until a few things brought it to my attention in the last few months.

Too tired...

...to write much at the moment. Went to Madison. Came back. Studied all day.

I've got plenty to complain about, and have had plenty of Big Thoughts. And some good pictures. All of which must wait until my life gives me a chance to relax.

Despite being a corporate marketing tool, this is an example of why I suddenly think William Shatner is awesome. The other two reasons are his Has Been record and the Scofflaws song about him. Star Trek can suck a turd.

"Did you just zap Daddy?"
"No, no, no, n- I did zap your daddy."

Certain spatial regions of my brain are suffering neurotransmitter depletion.

I studied all day today and my mind is fried. Of course, "Studied all day" really means "got out of bed at 11:00, out the door by 1:00, downtown by 2:00, maybe 2:30, then studied five hours minus water breaks and a 20 minute refreshment break and of course a 30 minute nap."

I was heading downtown and waiting at Division/Ashland when I turn around to look at the car behind me, and Maritza was driving it. I hadn't seen her since we finished dental school three years ago. So she pulled over and we chatted for a little bit. It was a pleasant surprise. You don't get that driving around. Plus it was a kick-ass gorgeous day.

I'm heading over to Les's place to play with the dobie pups in a bit. Tomorrow I hit Madison for a day or two.

And listen, about those bitter songs you sing: they're not helping anything; they won't make you strong.

Yesterday I sat in the sun in my living room and read Girlfriend in a Coma. I heartily recommend it to emo kids or anyone into post-apocalyptic existentialism.

WNUR was skeletal last night. All the vinyl's been packed up for the move.

I think I may be getting a little nostalgic for the old studios now that their time is at an end. I saw this on the wall by the production studio:

Since I was taking pictures, I thought I'd document this piece. It was a rather crude rip-off of Tank Girl a fan of the show made. I laminated it to the wall with packing tape years ago and there's no way it's coming off intact.

The pillar of doom:






I was at school all day today, getting shit done. As you can see, I got a lot done.

Tomorrow I can study more. I think I'm going to sneak into Kaplan's study area downtown since it's quiet and conducive to getting shit done.

Oh, yeah.

I forgot to mention it's spring break and I've got a ton of work to do.

Destiny is what we work toward. The future doesn't exist yet. Fate is for losers.

There was an office sale notice sent to our department. This is the first paragraph:

Large town with diverse patient base and a wide range of large retail stores (Best Buy, Sears, Home Depot, Office Max, etc.)

Oooh! Let me the first to make on offer! Is there any place without those types of stores close by? Even bumblefuck towns aren't far off from that. Maybe if there was a Wal-Mart, I'd be more interested.

The last few days have been fucking insane. Well, not really, but busy. I think I just studied on Wednesday, then came home and made myself a shitload of food and forced myself to eat it all...

Ryan K.'s Annual St. Patty's Party was Thursday. He cooked up a ton of food.

After a shitload of conversation, and a ton of corned beef and cabbage, and potatoes, too, of course, and six or seven drinks, I hauled my ass home for a little sleep. I hadn't seen Ryan or Les in a long time, and it was good to hang out with them.

Of course, it can't be Irish(-American) without soda bread...

...or Guinness.

You can sequentially watch Les devour meat




And here's an unfortunately blurry picture of a Green Guinness Waterfall. (Best shot I had.)


Anyway, I felt mildly hungover all day yesterday, but things went well. I didn't start feeling normal until I'd wolfed down about three thousand calories or more. I told myself I was going to go to the Big D/Anti-Flag show, then come home, shower the stink off me, and sleep. Well, I did go to the show, and it was a blast. Big D played mostly ska songs off their new album, which I dig much more than their old stuff. We did a long-ass interview with them...it lasted almost all of Anti-Flag's set. Dave said it was fun, almost like a free-jazz interview style. Let's hear it for my lack of professionalism! Anyway, as soon as it was done, I ran up into the middle of the crowd for the last five Anti-Flag songs, and still got hot enough to have to take my shirt off for most of what was left.

I hit Delilah's on the way home to rinse the two MGDs I'd had during the interview out of my mouth. I don't know if it's a good or bad thing that I've started to become one of the guys hanging out by the front door. I didn't leave until one o'clock, when I decided that my increasing exhaustion would counteract any sobering up I had yet to do. Came home, crashed, slept 10-11 hours, and crawled out of bed around 1:00pm.

I borrowed Coupland's Girlfriend In a Coma from Ryan. He told me he didn't really like it. I read several chapters in it this morning while summoning the will to leave the bed. There were several great lines, and overall the book is pretty good so far.

Destiny is what we work toward. The future doesn't exist yet. Fate is for losers.

Daylight savings is fucking killing me.

I'm listening to the latest record from Set Your Goals. It has absolutely no defining characteristics, except that the band's named after a Civ album that came out twelve years ago. I literally can't tell the songs apart, and they have no individual sound. Bleh. The only reason I'm listening is because they're opening the Anti-Flag/Big D show Friday. Actually, I'm not even listening to it anymore.

I woke up at four in the fucking morning today. I didn't have to get up until six. My stomach was bothering me. Even after it went away, I just tossed and turned. I've got a bug up my ass about something. Don't really know what, though.

I got to school before the fucking sun came up today. At least it was warm. I had a few extra minutes, so I stopped at the scenic overlook of Paulina and 290:


CDT fucking killed me Sunday. I lost track of time studying, and then fucking couldn't wake the fuck up Monday - yesterday. It's felt like fucking Friday all week, and it's only fucking Tuesday.

As I was getting ready to head out to the Pisces Party on Saturday, Barbara called me and asked if I would hang out with her friend's sister, who was in Chicago for the weekend. So I picked her up and we headed out to the party for a while before heading over to Delilah's for a few drinks and conversation. Sunday she and I went to Jak's Tap, which, while lame, has a pretty decent beer menu. It's no Hopleaf or Delilah's, but you can get pitchers of some damn good shit for a decent price. Anyway, new friend made, and she's thinking of moving to the friendly windy city. I'm a Chicago ambassador - of sorts.

I had dinner with Trish on Sunday. I told her I was pretty much ready to call things off with Laura G. - not because of any antipathy, but just due to a waning of interest. Not having heard from her in a week, I wasn't sure how she was feeling about the situation. Turns out she was thinking along the same lines, as she e-mailed me today to let me know. So that's actually something of a relief, as it saved me the stress of bringing it up. I was just going to the let the thing drop unless she got in touch with me.

I went for a bike ride in the warm weather last night - 56 Fahrenheit and wearing shorts and t-shirt? Damn straight! - and after picking up a pair of bike gloves and looking at MTB shoes and pedal clips, I ended up at Delilah's right about 9pm. I had Scottish pine ale, where they use pine needles instead of hops. It was fucking good. I had a shot and then moved onto the $1 Schlitz. Roundabout 9:30, I asked Foster if I could DJ off my MP3 player until Mike Miller and his Spanish DJ friends showed, and ended up playing songs for 30 minutes or so, then showing the Spaniards how to work shit. Ended up sitting and talking with some SHARP that had just transplanted from SoCal for a bit, and giving the nonviolence talk to this guy with missing teeth who admits to having plenty of violent run-ins with Nazi boneheads out west. Ended up getting home around midnight. Pretty fucking dumb when I've got to get up at 6am. Miller said he's going to put me on the schedule sometime for a punk/ska/whatever night.

The goddamn heat's still on at school. It was easily eighty fucking degrees in there. I was sweating my shit off. It sucked. Tomorrow should be 20 degrees or so cooler, thankfully. My thyroid's still upregulated.

I finally uploaded the pics I took in Florida the other week. This is me right after I ran over a quarter mile of beach from the hot tub to the Gulf of Mexico. It was cold. My balls were trying to climb back into my fucking kidneys.


Of course, the pool seemed very warm by comparison:

By the time I got back to the room, Tonya and her on-again-off-again beau Greg were abed...I think the expression on her face looks like something out of Calvin and Hobbes.


After sitting in the sun the next day, we headed to the airport and ended up waiting around a few hours. BORING. The floor space was plentiful.


No, we didn't coordinate shirts. Fuck off.


It's hard to believe it was snowing lightly a week ago. It was over 70 degrees today. Fucking Chicago, I love this shit.

Two or three drinks later, I'm sitting in her car drunkenly trying to explain my life situation.

I rode home in the sun this afternoon, wearing only a T-shirt. It was so fucking beautiful, I took a nap for an hour and headed down to the DMV to get my motorcycle permit. I aced the test, now all I have to do is learn to take the road test.

Kate came over last night and we hung around drinking beer and talking and listening to music until midnight, when we decided to head out to the Liar's Club for one drink. Two or three drinks later, I'm sitting in her car drunkenly trying to explain my life situation to her in the 10 minutes it takes to drive back to my house. Needless to say, I came home and crashed. It was good to see her, though; apart from the Lawrence Arms show we went to four months ago, I don't think I've hung out with her in a long time.

I may just stay in tonight and relax. Clean, read, rest. I need to package Dani's CDs for sending and get my ass to the post office by noon tomorrow to send it. Tomorrow's the Pisces Party, so I have a feeling I'll be tieing at least one on and consequently really should take it easy tonight and relax. My weekends are like work days sometimes, and vice versa.

I've had the worst kink in my back, and today it's been ridiculous. Maybe I should just fall asleep on the floor.

R-O-C-K Rock

I finished (re)reading Hairstyles of the Damned last Friday right as my flight pulled up to the gate. Perfect timing. One of my favorite sentences:

...soon enough we started kissing. Then she giggled and said, "Your name's not Darren, is it?" and I said, "No, it's Brian," and we both laughed and she wrote her name and number on the back of my hand, and then, like I said, I called her and got nervous and lied.

And then, ten pages later:

I felt my heart become small and shriveled like a baby bird left to burn alone out in the sun. I turned and stared at Gretchen who was blushing. She looked so fucking cute blushing it made me want to punch a wall.

I love that fucking book.

I'm sitting here listening to Bill Haley and burning CDs for Dani's birthday. It's hard for me to decide what music to give her these days...mostly because I can't remember what I've already made her a copy of. But I came up with a pretty good list of things she'd like, or should at least hear.

I met a friend at Handlebar last night on my way home, planning to have only one drink...three hours, four drinks, and several good conversations later, I came home and crashed. I've been so tired this week...no wonder it's been flying by.

Cool thing today - one of my patients that I was worried about having seriously bad iatrogenic sequelae came in with things looking perfect. Next time I do a procedure like this one I plan to follow up a little more closely for safety's sake. Dodged that bullet.

I was thinking, during one of my lightly working periods today, that I've been in a rather pessimistic mood for a while. As in months. Maybe not pessimistic, but definitely cynical and negative. No one really called me on it, but someone a few weeks ago called me on some of the secondary effects. Hopefully I can be more positive. I'm all about positivity, or at least would like to be. I'm not sure exactly what was stimulating the negativity - was it some subconscious need to push people away? Perhaps. Or maybe it was a way of compensating for feelings of inferiority. Also lame. Hopefully I can learn to avoid it. We'll see.

I feel positive right now. I hate those dark feelings, but sometimes they're just so easy and comfortable.

A lonely liver, suspended in liquid.

Q: How many Budweisers does it take to get stinking drunk?

A: I don't know. I had 9-10 Saturday night and wasn't close.

Q: How many Tripel Karmeliets does it take to get stinking drunk?

A: If I have one more I will be. The first one's made me about as buzzed as those Budweisers did.

Someone left a shitload of stuff in the basement of my building. Queen mattress and box spring, bicycle, styrofoam packing pads, etc. It was in the way of me getting my bike out this morning. I dragged the mattress and box spring out of the way, and as I was bringing my bike out, I tripped over the styrofoam and proceeded to purposefully smash the shit out of it with my work shoes.

Matt and John and I were discussing romantic movies today. Matt discriminates between romantic comedies and "chick flicks." Whatever works for him. Being quite emo myself, I have no problem with the concept of liking chick flicks. I'm watching Someone Like You. Ashley Judd is quite pretty.

I know this world is topsy-turvey. I know this world has lost its mind.

My sunburnt face is giving me that crinkly burning sensation everytime I express the song lyrics I'm singing. It's quite a pleasant distraction, oddly.

My bike ride this morning was wonderful.

I got home from the airport last night in a pithy mood...I didn't feel like doing anything. I'd been reading and listening to music for hours and hours already, and had had plenty to drink already that weekend. (Plus, I try to shy away from turning to alcohol for escapism.) I popped a benadryl and started watching an old Adam Sandler movie until I got too sleepy. This morning I at least woke up rejuvenated physically, but still felt quite blase.

I was laying out in the Florida sun yesterday, with a cold offshore wind blowing. Feeling almost cold, I got sunburnt. I regret nothing. I laid out in the solar warmth and listened to this steel-drummer the hotel had hired. Songs I remember: "Three Little Birds," "Monkey Man," "Jericho," "Don't Worry Be Happy," and "Margaritaville." I suppose the last two were pretty obvious choices, but to hear old calypso and reggae songs was not what I was expecting, and it was kind of pleasant as well. It was good to get away from this city for a few days, just to have the mental break. I didn't really get to rest much, and the courses were long and only a little informative, considering I've been getting into this mindset for a while.

I've been thinking and wondering how much of human social interaction is hardwired into us evolutionarily and how much physiological benefit is derived from it - consider also that psychology is just neurophysiology we don't understand yet, as one of my professors told me. I know I've said before that we're all social apes. I almost want to study primatology.

Bleh.

That is all.

This post is a sucky synopsis post, but I'm tired and dirty and a little drunk, so whatever.

Have you ever had one of those days where all you wanted to do was read further in the book you've been reading, but things kept getting in the way? I had one of those days. I got assigned a new patient this afternoon, and of course she needs a bunch of stuff done before I can even start treating her, stuff that should have been caught a while ago. And of course that added a few more hours to my day, taking records, running about trying to schedule other appointments for her with other people, and reviewing the records. Feh. Next week I'll start working up the case, which should at least be interesting to treat.

So that kept me at school until about 7pm or so, and after that I headed downtown to pick up a ticket to the late Naked Raygun show in April. I got a flat tire half a mile from my house, so I ended up walking the rest of the way. Of course, I'll be getting in late Sunday night and knew I wouldn't want to fix the damn flat then, so I did it tonight. I got home around 8, put away clean laundry, packed, then went to change my tube - I could clearly see where the tire and tube had been punctured, and they were pretty small, so who knows where the actual puncture took place. Regardless, I decided to clean my chain as well as fix my tire, and my hands - as well as certain spots on my shirt - were black by the time I was done. Trish let me know she was at Delilah's and implored me to join her, which I of course did, not having seen her in two months, and not having work tomorrow. I wish I had more time to spend with her since I don't see her enough, but it was still good.

I still haven't read any today - beyond a Punk Planet interview during my lecture this morning. Suck on some Life After God:

Our conversations are never easy, but as I - we - get older, we are all finding that our conversations must be spoken. A need burns inside us to share with others what we are feeling. Beyond a certain age, sincerity ceases to feel pornographic. It is as though the coolness that marked our youth is itself a type of retrovirus that can only leave you feeling empty. Full of holes.

.....

We will talk some more if it is a warm day and the city before us will glow gold, a dozen construction cranes transforming its profile almost by the hour. She will say, "Thousands of years ago, a person just assumed that life for their kids would be identical to the one that they led. Now you assume that life for the next generation - hell, life next week - is going to be shockingly different than life today. When did we start thinking this way? What did we invent? Was it the telephone? The car? Why did this happen? I know there's an answer somehwere."

.....

One of Kristy's bigger worries is that she'll continue her pattern of desiring only the unattainable and then one day, well, in her own words: "My ability to fall in love for real will just sort of atrophy and then I'll replace my apacity for love with sentimentality - you know - knitting bibs for my sister's kids; sobbing over puppies; going overboard at Christmas and wearing red and green dresses; vanity mirrors surrounded by inspirational decoupage plaques. Should this ever happen, Scout, please, please telephone the Symbionese Liberation Army and have them come and kidnap me."

.....

Some facts about me: I think I am a broken person. I seriously question the road my life has taken and I endlessly rehash the compromises I have made in my life. I have an unsecure and vaguely crappy job with an amoral corporation so that I don't have to worry about money. I put up with halfway relationships so as not to have to worry about loneliness. I have lost the ability to recapture the purer feelings of my younger years in exchange for a streamlined narrow-mindedness that I assumed would propel me to "the top." What a joke.

That's all you're going to get. I'm going to Florida for the weekend. I need to get away from here for a bit. Plus I get to sit through two days of practice-management seminars. Woo.