More on guns 'n' America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Foolish Things Remind Me of You by XJ Kennedy

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking fucks.

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

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

Boring days and stolen poetry

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

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

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

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

What Humans Do by Wendy Videlock

The candlelit
after-dinner
careful screw,

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

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

the I need wine,
the twisted talking
dirty grind,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy fucking shit...

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

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

Quite dolichocephalic, that lad.

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

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

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

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

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

Day 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's fucking early.

Update via notebook:

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

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

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

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

I achieved mediocrity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark Anderson is a good role model

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

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

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

Well said.

My exciting life: Wonder Dogs and self-disgust.

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

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

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

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

I feel old.

I was reading some poetry at dinner:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright violation from Free Lunch no. 35.

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

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

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

Make a new friend!

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

Silence dissolves all objects.

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

"What are you doing Friday night?"

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

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

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

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

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

More from Art to Choke Hearts:

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

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

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

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

Rusty blades

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

Eighteen Lines on a Saturday Night

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

Disturbingly brilliant

I had to share.

From Henry Rollins's Art to Choke Hearts:

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

****

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

****

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

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

Dogs, guns, girls, and orthodontics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gimme gimme sopor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow is another day.

I think it's too much!

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

More later; for now I must clean.