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.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
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.
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:
Well said.
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
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.
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."
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.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
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 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:
"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.
Friday, August 11, 2006
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.
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:
There's more to share, but I'm tired. Thanks, Hank, for letting me share your words.
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.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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 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.
More later; for now I must clean.
Monday, August 07, 2006
I am experiencing unilateral ulnar paresthesia
I went for a bike ride with Shana tonight. We stopped at my place so I could change out of scrubs, and of course the nuclear mess that is my apartment impressed her. Not in a good way, either. She took photos to show her husband how neat she is in comparison. I think she was scandalized by it.
She was also amazed - in a good way, this time - by my postered walls, so that's another feather in my cap.
I remember I cleaned up after the last break, three months ago. Now next week is a break week again and the mess has piled up. Granted, I did make a deliberate decision to completely neglect it. Which is a decision I can at least respect, especially considering the frame of mind I was in at the time. Still, I'd be much happier with myself if I could get my shit together in this regard.
The distal extent of my left ulnar nerve is tingling. I'm not sure why this happens, but it does when I go for long bike rides. It has to do with my wrist position, since it's only the innervated region of my hand that's numb. I have a feeling I'm getting ligamental pressure onto the nerve root. I think I'll try to experiment with new positions.
I got home and realized I hadn't eaten dinner once again. When I'm busy, I don't really mind or notice being hungry. Anyway, I finished off the last few pieces of chocolate left from Silvana's baby shower as I was writing this.
And yet again, I get home too late to call people living in the eastern time zone. I gotta plan my trip to the coast next week, and make other calls.
Francis let me know that FMTM had a good show at the Note, about 160 people turning out, which was good considering Hullabalooza was in town.
And speaking of Hullabulooza, Shana and I were heading south past Grant Park on the Lake Front Path and the Park was still filled with its detritus.
The bike ride was good tonight, although I had to work on keeping the pace down for Shana to keep up. Once I dropped her off at home I hit a pretty good pace and really worked up a sweat for the two miles to my house. I know I should have changed the knobby dirt tire off my rear wheel, but I like the varying pitch as the knobs hit the pavement as I ride.
She was also amazed - in a good way, this time - by my postered walls, so that's another feather in my cap.
I remember I cleaned up after the last break, three months ago. Now next week is a break week again and the mess has piled up. Granted, I did make a deliberate decision to completely neglect it. Which is a decision I can at least respect, especially considering the frame of mind I was in at the time. Still, I'd be much happier with myself if I could get my shit together in this regard.
The distal extent of my left ulnar nerve is tingling. I'm not sure why this happens, but it does when I go for long bike rides. It has to do with my wrist position, since it's only the innervated region of my hand that's numb. I have a feeling I'm getting ligamental pressure onto the nerve root. I think I'll try to experiment with new positions.
I got home and realized I hadn't eaten dinner once again. When I'm busy, I don't really mind or notice being hungry. Anyway, I finished off the last few pieces of chocolate left from Silvana's baby shower as I was writing this.
And yet again, I get home too late to call people living in the eastern time zone. I gotta plan my trip to the coast next week, and make other calls.
Francis let me know that FMTM had a good show at the Note, about 160 people turning out, which was good considering Hullabalooza was in town.
And speaking of Hullabulooza, Shana and I were heading south past Grant Park on the Lake Front Path and the Park was still filled with its detritus.
The bike ride was good tonight, although I had to work on keeping the pace down for Shana to keep up. Once I dropped her off at home I hit a pretty good pace and really worked up a sweat for the two miles to my house. I know I should have changed the knobby dirt tire off my rear wheel, but I like the varying pitch as the knobs hit the pavement as I ride.
The Dreamcatcher
I was laying in bed getting to sleep, when for some reason my thoughts turned to Mike Meyer. Not the comedian, but my high school friend who shared my birthday. And from him, it was a short mental leap to his at-the-time best friend, Jeff Dobbelaere.
Which brings me to the point of this little story, something that I'd pondered on my drive home today but neglected to mention earlier, even when I talked with Trisha for half an hour.
I had some very vivid dreams last night. And the sequence is revealing in regard to my psyche.
First, I dreamt I was at some bar and met Amber (recall, the girl Id just spent a few hours talking to in real life) in the crowd. She'd taken my hand and had me follow her, but lost me when I bumped into Jason Wyrwicz.
Now, some background here: I'd known Jason since we were in 4th grade. We were friends in junior high, and then we both ended up displaced from the public school system to Catholic high school together. There, in some sense, it was geographic proximity and shared ostracism that maintained our friendship. Eventually, we both ended up at Northwestern (along with the aforementioned Mike Meyer) and our friendship was again more based on friendship than tortured high school bullshit. We were DJs together, and I did learn a lot from him. I was fucked in the head a bunch, even though I never drank at that time. Just like I had something to prove and lots of anger, but both the proof and the anger were self-directed, I think. Anyway, at some point Jason joined a frat, drank his life away, and I never saw him again except a few times on the street.
Back to my dream.
I was trailing Amber through the crowd when I bump Jason and lose her. I look up - yeah, Jason was inches taller than me - and there he is. And then Jeff showed up too, I guess because my mind placed it back at my high school reunion in June.
Dreamscape shift. Now I'm driving on a winding blacktop driveway amidst green lawns at night. And parked on these laws, all over, are cars. A parking lot for some large indeterminate gathering. And all I need to do is back off the driveway into a parking space and then I'll meet up with Amber again (don't ask, because I don't know)...and I'm unable to hit the brake. My foot cannot press the pedal. The car is going in reverse, out of control, and I scrape one of the parked cars. I require intense focus to mash my foot down on the pedal, from practically outside the car...and it slows but still moves on inexorably. Eventually I grind it down hard and it comes to rest.
The last time I had the recurring dream motif of being unable to brake was three or four years ago when I really felt like I had no control over any aspect of my life. I didn't figure that out until after they'd stopped.
For it to recur now seems to indicate a deep-seated fear of losing my emotional control. I feel like I'm still kinda fucked up in the head.
Plus, I'm so tired right now, I'm starting to feel depressed.
Which brings me to the point of this little story, something that I'd pondered on my drive home today but neglected to mention earlier, even when I talked with Trisha for half an hour.
I had some very vivid dreams last night. And the sequence is revealing in regard to my psyche.
First, I dreamt I was at some bar and met Amber (recall, the girl Id just spent a few hours talking to in real life) in the crowd. She'd taken my hand and had me follow her, but lost me when I bumped into Jason Wyrwicz.
Now, some background here: I'd known Jason since we were in 4th grade. We were friends in junior high, and then we both ended up displaced from the public school system to Catholic high school together. There, in some sense, it was geographic proximity and shared ostracism that maintained our friendship. Eventually, we both ended up at Northwestern (along with the aforementioned Mike Meyer) and our friendship was again more based on friendship than tortured high school bullshit. We were DJs together, and I did learn a lot from him. I was fucked in the head a bunch, even though I never drank at that time. Just like I had something to prove and lots of anger, but both the proof and the anger were self-directed, I think. Anyway, at some point Jason joined a frat, drank his life away, and I never saw him again except a few times on the street.
Back to my dream.
I was trailing Amber through the crowd when I bump Jason and lose her. I look up - yeah, Jason was inches taller than me - and there he is. And then Jeff showed up too, I guess because my mind placed it back at my high school reunion in June.
Dreamscape shift. Now I'm driving on a winding blacktop driveway amidst green lawns at night. And parked on these laws, all over, are cars. A parking lot for some large indeterminate gathering. And all I need to do is back off the driveway into a parking space and then I'll meet up with Amber again (don't ask, because I don't know)...and I'm unable to hit the brake. My foot cannot press the pedal. The car is going in reverse, out of control, and I scrape one of the parked cars. I require intense focus to mash my foot down on the pedal, from practically outside the car...and it slows but still moves on inexorably. Eventually I grind it down hard and it comes to rest.
The last time I had the recurring dream motif of being unable to brake was three or four years ago when I really felt like I had no control over any aspect of my life. I didn't figure that out until after they'd stopped.
For it to recur now seems to indicate a deep-seated fear of losing my emotional control. I feel like I'm still kinda fucked up in the head.
Plus, I'm so tired right now, I'm starting to feel depressed.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
I don't want to change the world; I'm not looking for a new England.
I just got back to Chicago a little while ago. GORP was pretty good, although there was about one lecture that actually held something new for me. More on that in a bit.
Friday's drive was decent, although it was hot as shit and humid to boot when we got there. It turned out we were staying in the same hallway that Louie lived in his freshman year of college. My brother lived somewhere in that dorm too, but I dunno where. He said it was pretty shitty as far as UMich dorms go.
Anyway, I got to Detroit to find out that the show was going on later than detailed on the Small's website, and I was the only one there at the time. I was nursing a Red Stripe and Sergio from Monument-Masses said hi as they were loading in. Nice guys all three, and they hung out with me - or I with them - until they went on.
Matt, this one's for you, since you were joking about me blogging about the great adventures I had with you: We went to Wendy's! It was awesome! I can never get in there! I guess being with big-name celebrities is pretty cool.
Back to reality, it was just a fun night. All three are pretty smart and intelligent, and it's too bad not many people showed up to see them play, as they put on a kick-ass set. Matt gave me a big hug when I left. I hope their Chicago show was better. So what would have been a good show turned into a great night.
It was 2:30AM by the time I got back to Ann Arbor, so I was pretty pooped the next day - although I think I did get to take a nap at some point. Not sure when, as I was pretty tired.
We started getting pretty bombed at the party last night since we weren't paying. Top shelf shit, and it started to kick in. I got to know the few incoming residents better, which was cool. I also ended up talking with this girl Amber I'd met earlier in the day after running into her near the bar. The last thing I was expecting to happen that night, but it was probably the best part of the trip. We ended up talking and going for a little walk until the place closed at 2am. She was engaging and interesting and had a curious vitality which kept me going despite being simultaneously exhausted, drunk, and caffeinated. It didn't hurt that she was pretty either.
I had lunch with Kevin today too, which was nice. I don't see him much; even when he and his girlfriend were in Chi in June I didn't see them. Today was the first day I met Ciara too, and she's nice. Good for him, I think, so more power to her.
I talked to Trish on the drive home; she's looking forward to her as yet unmet new liberal boyfriend, as she put it. She seemed in good spirits which made me happy. Optimistic Trisha is to be encouraged. I also got pulled over, but just a warning, no ticket. I also had to pull over and take a twenty minute nap since I was falling asleep at the wheel
I'm debating whether I'm too tired to keep up my ADLs tonight. Probably. Maybe I can unpack my shit for tomorrow, but who knows. I might just benadryl it through tomorrow so I can at least start the week rested.
Friday's drive was decent, although it was hot as shit and humid to boot when we got there. It turned out we were staying in the same hallway that Louie lived in his freshman year of college. My brother lived somewhere in that dorm too, but I dunno where. He said it was pretty shitty as far as UMich dorms go.
Anyway, I got to Detroit to find out that the show was going on later than detailed on the Small's website, and I was the only one there at the time. I was nursing a Red Stripe and Sergio from Monument-Masses said hi as they were loading in. Nice guys all three, and they hung out with me - or I with them - until they went on.
Matt, this one's for you, since you were joking about me blogging about the great adventures I had with you: We went to Wendy's! It was awesome! I can never get in there! I guess being with big-name celebrities is pretty cool.
Back to reality, it was just a fun night. All three are pretty smart and intelligent, and it's too bad not many people showed up to see them play, as they put on a kick-ass set. Matt gave me a big hug when I left. I hope their Chicago show was better. So what would have been a good show turned into a great night.
It was 2:30AM by the time I got back to Ann Arbor, so I was pretty pooped the next day - although I think I did get to take a nap at some point. Not sure when, as I was pretty tired.
We started getting pretty bombed at the party last night since we weren't paying. Top shelf shit, and it started to kick in. I got to know the few incoming residents better, which was cool. I also ended up talking with this girl Amber I'd met earlier in the day after running into her near the bar. The last thing I was expecting to happen that night, but it was probably the best part of the trip. We ended up talking and going for a little walk until the place closed at 2am. She was engaging and interesting and had a curious vitality which kept me going despite being simultaneously exhausted, drunk, and caffeinated. It didn't hurt that she was pretty either.
I had lunch with Kevin today too, which was nice. I don't see him much; even when he and his girlfriend were in Chi in June I didn't see them. Today was the first day I met Ciara too, and she's nice. Good for him, I think, so more power to her.
I talked to Trish on the drive home; she's looking forward to her as yet unmet new liberal boyfriend, as she put it. She seemed in good spirits which made me happy. Optimistic Trisha is to be encouraged. I also got pulled over, but just a warning, no ticket. I also had to pull over and take a twenty minute nap since I was falling asleep at the wheel
I'm debating whether I'm too tired to keep up my ADLs tonight. Probably. Maybe I can unpack my shit for tomorrow, but who knows. I might just benadryl it through tomorrow so I can at least start the week rested.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Conclusions that don't conclude
I had dinner with Tara last night, and I hadn't seen her in four months or so, so that was cool.
The Dirty Calypsonians at the Note were good, but not at their best. Tara left early so Kate said she had to come up dancing. I saw her smiling though, so it was good.
I was in Myopic and couldn't resist buying three books, although one is intended to be a present for someone at a future date. Me and used bookstores have a love/hate relationship. Well, it's a pretty one-way relationship, but still...
Tonya and Therese both decided not to go to GORP, so Clara and Li-Hong were looking for rides last night. I've got Li-Hong in my car, which brings us to four. I think it says something about me that I'd rather drive alone for five hours and listen to music than go with three other people. It should be good regardless.
Shana called me at 6:30 this morning wondering if I was up to ask about the ride situation. I'm not up at 6:30 most days, and today I was planning on sleeping in another two hours. This dragged me out of a bit of that sleep, and I got up a bit past 7 O'clock.
Soon I leave. I'm excited for the drive and the show tonight, but not for GORP per se. Let's go.
The Dirty Calypsonians at the Note were good, but not at their best. Tara left early so Kate said she had to come up dancing. I saw her smiling though, so it was good.
I was in Myopic and couldn't resist buying three books, although one is intended to be a present for someone at a future date. Me and used bookstores have a love/hate relationship. Well, it's a pretty one-way relationship, but still...
Tonya and Therese both decided not to go to GORP, so Clara and Li-Hong were looking for rides last night. I've got Li-Hong in my car, which brings us to four. I think it says something about me that I'd rather drive alone for five hours and listen to music than go with three other people. It should be good regardless.
Shana called me at 6:30 this morning wondering if I was up to ask about the ride situation. I'm not up at 6:30 most days, and today I was planning on sleeping in another two hours. This dragged me out of a bit of that sleep, and I got up a bit past 7 O'clock.
Soon I leave. I'm excited for the drive and the show tonight, but not for GORP per se. Let's go.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
And I wonder...
...if I'm ever gonna see the horizon eclipsed by billboards and shopping malls.
As if I needed another reason to not shop at Target, *every single billboard* at the Washington el stop was a tacky-assed Target ad.
Thanks for visually polluting my commute, fuckers.
I'm not crazy, just frustrated.
There was a really pretty girl on the train, too. She even made some eye contact with me, but I was too chicken-shit to talk to her. Oh, sure, I can rationalize it by saying that no one wants a stranger to introduce themself on the train, or I was getting off in 2 stops anyway, but really I was just too scared.
I walked home in the pouring rain and got soaking wet and felt alive. I was jumping around rocking out. I fixed my bike tire and then washed a shitload of dishes.
My mom told me they're trying to decide whether to put my dog to sleep when they move. He's still perky, but he's blind and a little cranky since he's *old*. I told her to take him with and do it if he can't adjust afterward.
I forgot to eat dinner again.
I feel like this story needs a conclusion, but there isn't one.
As if I needed another reason to not shop at Target, *every single billboard* at the Washington el stop was a tacky-assed Target ad.
Thanks for visually polluting my commute, fuckers.
I'm not crazy, just frustrated.
There was a really pretty girl on the train, too. She even made some eye contact with me, but I was too chicken-shit to talk to her. Oh, sure, I can rationalize it by saying that no one wants a stranger to introduce themself on the train, or I was getting off in 2 stops anyway, but really I was just too scared.
I walked home in the pouring rain and got soaking wet and felt alive. I was jumping around rocking out. I fixed my bike tire and then washed a shitload of dishes.
My mom told me they're trying to decide whether to put my dog to sleep when they move. He's still perky, but he's blind and a little cranky since he's *old*. I told her to take him with and do it if he can't adjust afterward.
I forgot to eat dinner again.
I feel like this story needs a conclusion, but there isn't one.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Heat Wave Sequelae
OK, so how the fuck do I have 24 blog views today? Who the hell are you people? I know a few of you who read this thing, but I don't even have 24 myspace friends. Hell, I don't think I really even have 24 real-life friends that would want to read it.
Don't get me wrong; I appreciate the attention, I'm just surprised. Thanks for the votes of confidence, gentle readers. That's how I'm interpreting it.
Ryan was nice about my writing - props, dude.
I think I popped my rear wheel tube this weekend. I have a feeling I hit a curb too hard, but I don't know exactly when. This has happened to me before; one of the hazards of aggressive cycling I guess. I noticed the pressure was light on Sunday coming home, so I pumped it up Monday morning, and it was light again Monday night coming home. I pumped it up Tuesday thinking I probably need to get a new tube, but maybe it's the heat (yeah, right), and last night it was too flat to ride. So I walked the almost 2 miles home at 11pm, still like 90 goddamn degrees out. It could've been worse though. The walk isn't bad. I walked here this morning rather than take the bus; it took about 25 minutes, which ain't bad. I'm gonna hit Upgrade on the way home tonight and get me some new tubes, then hang out in the dingy but moderately cool concrete basement and change my rear tube so I can ride tomorrow.
Maybe I should sell my U-pass next semester since a) I hardly use it anyway, and b) I could use the cashola.
I just realized that was one of the dumber lists I've made.
Still waiting on the new Mp3 player. I have a feeling it'll piss me off for a month or so while I get used to the features, then one day I'll wonder how I lived without it. I think it'll be good; it got awesome reviews, but it seems like every Mp3 player is trying to copy the iPod, and what I consider some of the crappy features of the iPod at that. I'm still trying to decide what to do with my old one. It still works fine except when little movements - like walking - disturb the headphone jack. Perhaps I'll just leave it hooked up to the stereo. Yes, I think I will. I'm a genius.
Ugh, where does the time go? Schneider was talking shit about people to me today. He seems to do that more often, or talk shit about dentistry or the world in general. I'm sad he's gonna be retiring next spring, but hopefully I'll still see him sometimes. I like talking shit with cynical old men.
It's weird; it wasn't until I got to dental school that I really started appreciating what I was learning, and appreciating my professors. Is it something about professional school, or is it something about my delayed maturity?
Anyway, tonight I'm going to sweat my ass off changing tires and cleaning house. Quite a change from sitting in the A/C reading research papers like last night. Suck.
My dad left me a message to make sure I wasn't dead from the heat.
Grab your binoculars and look in my windows tonight; you might catch me doing dishes in my boxers - or less...
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