The moon looks like a tomato.

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

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

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

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

Henry Rollins, from Black Coffee Blues:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All about me.

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

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

Cool points to whoever can name the band and song:

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

So much work for so little sweet, tasty juice

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

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

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

It was all spent on my immune system

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

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

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

Henry Rollins, from One From None:

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

Crikey!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whiskey and my face

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

This institution seems to attract a lot of power-hungry jerks

While I was riding home from Delilah's tonight, the cops had blocked off a section of Cortland just west of the river, and bid me go around. I did, but afterward (I was on the far side of the blockaded section) I stopped and asked the two officers blocking the street what was going on. Twice. The response each time was, "Get going," along with flashing their megawatt flashlight at me. Fine. I did, especially since I had a few in me and could legitimately be arrested for DUI (despite being on a bike). But I'd have been mollified by a simple, "We're making an arrest," or something general along those lines. Seriously. I can respect that most police officers are doing a good job and mean well. But, fuck, this institution seems to attract a lot of power-hungry jerks who lord it over anyone they can. Almost every time I interact with the cops (rather than with police officers) I feel less and less guilty of my "Officer Friendly" shirt with the riot-geared goon on it. Fuck, I think I'll dig it out and wear it tomorrow in commemoration of tonight.

Anyway, Delilah's was pretty cool. Free drinks, plus tips. But still, a few beers and a whiskey for four bucks is a decent deal. Someone got pizza for our oral science research seminar this evening, so I got free dinner, too. Of course, feeding people right before a 4:30pm lecture may not be the best idea. I know I was in food coma for the whole thing. I wonder what the final will be like.

I blended a cantaloupe and banana and it was fucking awesome juice. Someday I will cook someone fabulous dinners.

I bonded these Forestadent self-ligating brackets today, and I will never use them again after this case. Which is ironic, since this is a test case to see whether Damon passive-ligation mechanics will work in an interactive bracket. But the bracket base sucked big time, which is annoying, as I'd position them and literally *watch* them move around on the tooth after I'd stopped touching them. Most of them looked to be in pretty decent position. I guess that'll be a repo/detailing problem. And every non-orthodontist who just read that - which is everyone - has no idea what the hell I'm talking about.

Yeah, so that's my day. Woop-dee-fucking-doo.

More proof that metal is retarded

Read what Dave Mustaine has to say about the forthcoming Megadeth album.

And read this for more right-wing paranoid racism. I doubt Laura Bush or Georgie-boy are going to distance themselves from it, considering Laura there already said, "Senator Burns is a respected voice on the issues facing rural communities in Montana and across the nation."

I gotta go see patients now.

The only problems I have with Bono are his stupid haircut and sunglasses.

One of my patients is a burgeoning sixteen year-old skinhead, and he had me look into a band called Flatfoot 56. I'd seen them play last fall, they weren't that great, but I listened to a song or two and it sounded OK. So tonight I was glancing over their website, and they had a link to Rock for Life...yeah, guess how I responded.

I can respect people who think abortion is wrong. I may disagree with their priorities, but I can understand the sentiment. But these guys are fucking nutjobs. They can't seem to distinguish between sexual promiscuity and abortion. Apparently condoms are abortion. Apparently stopping ovulation with birth-control is the same thing as killing a human being. Hell, they can't even differentiate between inhibiting ovulation or fertilization and aborting the zygote. Illogical emotive reasoning all over the fucking place. For what it's worth, I don't think a ball of undifferentiated cells is the same thing as a human being. I think that the whole first trimester is fair game. Fuck, these people need to read an embryology textbook, and figure out that a morula is not the same thing as a human child. Coincidentally, I read this on WhiteHouse.org today:

No, it doesn't matter either that your pastors, priests, or whatever other flavor McJesus guru you slavishly obey, has now lost this fight so many times, they're now arguing it on the single-cell level.

What's more, they can't seem to understand that "pro-choice" is not the same thing as "pro-abortion." I for one, am very pro-choice, but I don't think abortion is a good thing. Ideally, it would be completely unnecessary. If every pregnancy occurred within a social matrix that would provide for the emotional and physical needs of the parents and child, then we could maybe start a dialogue. (Aaaaaahhhhhhh.........that sounds like socialism, the greatest Satanic evil ever spawned!!!!!!) Unfortunately, we're nowhere close to there, and condemning people for *preventing* unwanted pregnancy on this overcrowded ball of rock we call home is fucktarded. I will admit the line grows grayer as pregnancy progresses, but at the early stages it's a fucking lump of flesh with no working brain just following genetic cues, and our ape-like emotional attachment to our own kind (see, I brought evolution into it too!) is the only thing that enables this bullshit. But I can see the consequences for women who are forced to carry unwanted pregnancies to term, in both a medical sense and socioeconomic sense, and I have no problems with someone choosing to terminate a pregnancy.

Oh, the Rock For Life site also had something about Terri Schiavo, how she was "killed" when her feeding tube was removed. Listen, dipshits, her brain was dead long before that. Her doctors thought so, and said so. Her husband thought so. The fucking autopsy confirmed this. The only physician to dispute this was Senate Majority Leader Dr. Video-Diagnosis. If these fuckers want to define human life as a human-shaped hunk of flesh with a moderately functioning physiology, they lessen the value of human life themselves. The value is in the human capacity for self-determination, something Schiavo exercised when she told her husband she didn't want to live in a vegetative state, and something he respected by trying to let her body die once it was obvious her brain wasn't there any more.

These turds also apparently have a problem with Bono because he thinks condoms can help stop the spread of HIV. The only problems I have with Bono are his stupid haircut and sunglasses. I happen to agree that condoms help stop the spread of STDs.

Oh yeah, I decided I want nothing to do with Flatfoot 56 after looking at this site.

Speaking of right-wing nuttery, albeit of a different stripe, yesterday I read about Governor Mike of South Dakota, who halted an execution because the three-drug cocktail usually given to execute prisoners (isn't it *great* that our society has a standardized method of execution?) doesn't fit the statutory requirement stipulating a different two-drug combination. His concern was that down the line someone may feel they acted wrongly. That's like thinking, I'd feel better about killing that man by shooting him with a .44 Magnum rather than the Colt .45 I did use. Fucked in the head. As soon as they can amend the law, they're going to reschedule the execution. Now, I'm against the death penalty for a few reasons:

1. It has no preventive value on crime, despite theory
2. It's actually more expensive for the penal system than lifelong incarceration
3. In many jurisdictions there have been more exonerations of death row inmates than executions.
4. State-sanctioned revenge killing is a slippery slope that shouldn't have been started down, and should be climbed back up.
5. State-sanctioned killing denies the human capacity for change and redemption.

I'm sure I could think of more, but that was off the top of my head. This nutter is just concerned with how his executioners will feel, wondering if they used the correct tool.

I was really exhausted all day. My single mean patient that I can't stand wasn't so mean today. Not that she was nice, she just wasn't that mean.

I got invited to the Quincinera of another of my patients, which was nice of the family. I think I'm gonna go; it's this Sunday. I've never been to one, and I think it'd be cool to see. I can't for the life of me think of what to give her. We gave her a donut today.

Beyond that, nothing much today. Again, I'm really tired. I had a nice steak and salad for dinner. I think I'm gonna turn in real early tonight.

The idea of getting a dog is strongly appealing to me right now. I need to check with my landlord. Then I need to find one, right?

From Iceberg Town by Joe Meno and Nick Butcher:

We decided to have our fake birthday on a Wednesday because nothing good ever happens on a Wednesday.

It was really nice. Almost everyone in town came. The abominable snowman brought ice cream and the polar bears made a giant cake out of sugar and snow.

Everthing was going fine until we opened the gifts. There was a enormous present from the President of the United States, who did not bother to show up.

When we looked inside, we saw it was only a note.

The note said: "Farewell, awful citizens of Iceberg town. I have taken your pet deer and all your favorite records. By the time you read this, I will already be gone."

Pomegranates and puppies

While today wasn't as insane as yesterday, it still left me exhausted. Part of that is due to my inability to know my own schedule, so when it occured to me as I was falling asleep last night that I may have my first 7:00 am craniofacial lecture this morning, I had no way to be sure, so I got up in time to get here. Of course, no class, so I spent an hour doing reading. Clinic, at least, wasn't as crazy as yesterday, although I did feel a little slow in the afternoon. Regardless, I tried to do some work afterward and just couldn't stay awake. After an impromptu ten-minute nap on my face, I called it quits and came home.

After eating something, I was - again - just feeling low. I spent a little time dozing on the couch, then decided to go get groceries. My exciting life, right? Well, I am excited to blend up some cantaloupe, like Susan did when I was at her place in July. Sweet stuff.

I got some pomegranates too. They're not that big. When I was five and my family was living in Scottsdale AZ, we had a pomegranate tree in our backyard, and they seemed huge to my clutching child hands. My mom or dad would cut one open, and (if I remember correctly) sugar the seeds a bit, and I'd spoon it out of there directly. I bought them more for nostalgia's sake tonight, but I'm looking forward to it, as if rediscovering the innocence of some youthful memory. Well, I am doing exactly that.

For some reason, I started feeling better after marinating a steak for tomorrow or the next day's dinner. Yay. Then I made some tea, which is also pretty nice.

I was looking at pet listings online in the whistful hope that I might be able to find one suitable to my lifestyle, and I ran across an account of watching the euthanization of dogs in a shelter, and I thought about Rocky, the miniature schnauzer we had when I was growing up. He was put to sleep four years ago, and in many ways he was a better friend than most of the friends I had then. Imagining his death, even though it was the best that could be done for him at the time, is kind of disturbing. That's what I'll be carrying to bed with me tonight.

We are social apes - there's no denying that.

You know it's a good show when you're singing so hard your forehead is sore. Or when your right leg is so exhausted you can barely stand, but once the music starts you don't even feel it anymore. When you're dancing so hard you can feel your brain rattling around your skull in its hydraulic buffer.

That was last night's show. It met yet defied my expectations. Thanks, Brendan. Thanks, Chris. I hope your mouth still feels OK.

The family next door had a party on Saturday. I'm assuming it was a 5-year birthday party from the balloons out front, but they had a DJ spinning a pretty good new wave mix. I only heard a few minutes as I stopped home to grab a few things and change my mode of transportation, but it was pretty cool. For once I didn't mind their daytime party music. Not that it happens often or goes late, so it doesn't really bother me at all.

On the way home last night, I saw a Scion billboard that said "*$#! The Joneses." I think this is a brilliant example of the isolationism promoted by car culture. I dont agree with the "keeping up with the Joneses" concept, but the whole "fuck them" concept isn't exactly the best response. Yes, there's no point trying to be someone else, or keep up with their consumption patterns; the idea that if you buy a *Scion*, you'll somehow be independent of that compulsion to consume is geniusly ironic. But we are all members of the human community, and while emulation serves to stifle our creativity and beauty, isolation stifles it just as well. We are social apes - there's no denying that.

Laura said I'm incapable of bullshit. I like that. I don't think it's completely true, but I'm glad I come off as genuine to those who know me well.

My day today was fucking long. Who would've thought? But man, do I feel like I've learned a lot in the last year; helping someone else do something you find basic for the first time is like that. But fuck, I spent all afternoon working with Marcela on this one patient who, frankly, was a pain in the ass. He was up to all the textbook behavioral delay tactics. It didn't help that his mom was coddling him as well. Shit, but that took fucking forever to deal with him.

So after some reading and a roundabout ride to get some stamps so I can renew my car insurance and dental license, I got home and had some eggrolls for dinner, along with a nice glass of green tea with honey. I finished reading Hey Nostradamus! It was a good book, but there wasn't much plot resolution. There was plenty of character resolution, but it was of the more realist non-transformative-life-experience bent. I'm sure that if/when I reread it, I'll get a lot more out of it. But, combined with the gray rainy long-ass day, and my own post-weekend exhaustion, I felt like crying. There wasn't anything in particular. I just was gloriously unhappy.

Sitting and reading and drinking tea made me realize that I don't have an armchair. Despite living here with this furniture for a year, it didn't strike me until now. For the last seven years leading up to last August, I'd always had an armchair that was mine, that I would sit and read in. That would be soft and supportive on all sides, that I could reach out from laterally and manipulate various objects on various surfaces. There was something territorial about it, but not really. It just was full when I was in it. Of course, I recall one ex-girlfriend who I shared it with, but that only made it better. But there was always a sense of completion in the armchair. Maybe I'll get one. I doubt it, though; I don't have room. I have my loveseats and my couch. I have my bed and desk chair. I have the floor. I have kitchen stools, and my kitchen chairs and table. Hell, yesterday I sat for a while in the sun at the kitchen table, reading, leaning back against the wall, and the feeling was almost as good as being in an armchair and relaxing with a book. But only almost.

Three things I'd like to get:
1. Vespa
2. Miniature schnauzer
3. Armchair

Man, am I fucking exhausted. No stolen poetry tonight.

The wearability of these shoes is approaching zero

I'm starting this post with my laptop perched on top of the record library stair-ladder in the library, waiting for Mobay to finish his reggae show. I'm sure by the time I finish I'll be halfway done with Fast N Loud. I just realized that I left my battery charger at home, so this may be cut short.

My last two days have been killer busy, and I think tomorrow will be too. Mostly busy with fun stuff, thankfully. But yeah, busy.

And this Animal Collective CD I'm listening to has a lot of potential to be cool, but is almost annoying in its failure to do so.

Critical Mass last night was a blast. Rob came out again, which was cool. Shana went shopping. At one point the Mass went right by Kristine Larsen's house. I assume her parents still live there, but I haven't heard from her for a few years. Last time I did, she was in Minnesota working at the Capitol. But I remember her house and yard were both pretty cool places to hang out in, and it reminded me that not all urban life is (or has to be) apartment-based. Which bodes well for my desire to live in the city; cool houses are to be found here. Anyway, during the mass I got tons of high fives from oncoming traffic, and a few "Fuck you!"s as well. The high fives were a blast. Fuck, the whole Mass was a blast this month. Better than last time, although that was good too. Last month had some great moments, but this month was better by far. This could be because I was near the front rather than the middle or end from corking like last month. Rob ducked into a liquor store at one point and nabbed a 12-pack. Yeah, it was Bud Light, but I was sweaty so the water tasted good, and it was free.

The Deal's Gone Bad show at the Note was great as well. Really, they've topped from where they were a few years ago. The new album really is long-awaited...

Combined with the Mass, the nine-mile ride back from 5600 North, and the non-stop dancing that is a good ska show, I was soaked with sweat, dehydrated, and exhausted by the end of the night, but damn it was fun!

Laura got into town yesterday, and apparently spent the afternoon getting drunk and sobering up at Delilah's before coming to The Note.

I hung out with Laura some today, then a nap and some reading. Dinner at Uncommon Ground with Laura and her brother, and he made the joke that "All country is good country." I replied that the only genre that could really apply to is punk, since crappy punk is so amateurish that it's even more punk. Place your favorite smiley-face emoticon here.

I picked up a copy of Hey Nostradamus! for five bucks on clearance at B&N. I really liked Coupland's Microserfs, and from the few pages of this that I read, I think this one will be another great. I also got my mom a book for her birthday about how foreign textbooks relate aspects of American History. I read the bit about Viking explorers and Columbus and it seems like a good read.

My parents will be back in Chicago in another week ago. They've left Cali for their road trip already. So we'll see how often my mom calls from the road when she's bored.

Looking forward Silberstein's barbeque tomorrow, and the Lawrence Arms show still has me super-pumped and jumping around yelling and singing to their songs. Even in the car.

The Planet Smashers are one of the few ska bands who can write melancholy ska melodies. That is quite an accomplishment.

And today will be the last day in this pair of shoes. The sole has finally split up the side and detached from the upper to the ball of my foot. The wearability of these shoes is approaching zero, but I did get another year out of them from the first realization that there was a big hole in the bottom. (Yes, that realization did come in the form of my foot getting completely soaked.) Let's hear it for reducing my waste stream!

I was thinking earlier about relationships, and how inanimate objects acquire an association with a certain person, sometimes in a very roundabout way. And when that person isn't around any more, the objects still serve as reminders. This is true particularly with things of mine that have some resonance of my time with Marta. I'm sure that it will fade as other people become important to me, especially if I date someone else. Parvin said to me there doesn't need to be any emotional attachment, just have fun. This is an incredibly ridiculous thing to hear coming from my aunt, who is a decade older than my father. Not for me, but at least I know I'd have her support. Anyway, the associations I had with other ex-girlfriends have all dissipated, and they've been long gone for a while, so I'm sure the unpleasant ones I retain will follow suit.

The line between poetry and intergalactic space aliens is admittedly fine...

...but remains a line nonetheless.

I don't have too much to say. I've had a pretty average day. Nothing fabulous happened, nor did anything horrible. I did schoolwork until 7pm, but have had a pretty easy evening at home. This weekend promises to be *huge* though, so maybe I'll head to bed early.

The one notable thing about my day is that it was *pouring* so hard when I left for school this morning that I was soaked through completely within about 20 seconds, after which time I said Fuck it, let's ride! and continued on to school. After wringing my socks out into a big-ass puddle on the lecture room floor, they were still soaking wet all day, even after everything outside had dried off.

Laura's coming to town this weekend, crashing on my couch, I think. That'll be fun. Plus a ska show tomorrow and punk rock on Sunday. Woohoo.

Today's ripped off poetry:

Arts & Sciences by Philip Appleman

Everyone carries around in the back of his mind the wreck of a thing he calls his education. - Stephen Leacock

SOLID GEOMETRY

Here's a nice thought we can save:
The luckiest thing about sex
Is: you happen to be so concave
In the very same place I'm convex.

PHILOSOPHY: THOMAS HOBBES

Better at thinking than loving,
He deserved his wife's retort:
On their wedding night, she told him, "Tom,
That was nasty, brutish - and short!"

BOTANY

Your thighs always blossomed like orchids,
You had rose hips when we danced,
And the question I always kept asking was:
How can I get into those plants?

ECONOMICS

Diversification's a virtue,
And as one of its multiple facets,
When we're merging, it won't really hurt you
To share your disposable assets.

GEOGRAPHY

Russian you would be deplorable,
But your Lapland is simply Andorrable
So my Hungary fantasy understands
Why I can't keep my hands off your Netherlands.

LIT SURVEY

Alexander composed like the Pope,
Swift was of course never tardy,
And my Longfellow's Wildest hope
Is to find you right next to my Hardy.

PHYSICS

If E is how eager I am for you,
And m is your marvelous body,
And c means the caring I plan for you,
Then E = Magna Cum Laude.

MUSIC APPRECIATION

You're my favorite tune, my symphony,
So please do me this favor:
Don't ever change, not even a hemi-
Demi-semiquaver.

So where will you be in ten years? This the part where you don't say, "Right here."

We went out for sushi tonight. All-you-can-eat sushi with nine people. It was great! I have no fucking clue what I even ate. We'd order and just talk so much that, before I knew it, I was just shoving maki into my mouth. Like I said, great. I really have nothing much to add. Well, I should say that the new residents seem pretty cool for the most part, although I did catch one reading the Drudge Report (ACK!!) He seems decent, though, so I'll forgive him.

Anyway, getting super-psyched for the Larry Arms show this weekend. Raw, unpolished showmanship. I was singing so loud on my bike tonight that the trixies on the sidewalk were looking at me funny coming and going.

Sit next to me; we can talk or just kiss.

I wrote this last fall in response to a friend wondering what her boyfriend meant by "punk rock ethics":

Anyway, regarding punk ethics: I agree with Sylvain that they're derived from the concept of "be yourself," but there's a wider aspect to it. The self-respect and self-direction aspect comes from a recognition that no one person is better than another...which also lends itself to the concepts of feminism and other egalitarian political viewpoints. Zinn and Chomsky are both pretty well-respected in the punk scene, for example. Rebellion of some sort is often the first step in straining for self-recognition and self-direction, although, like many youth-oriented subcultures, there is a good deal of rebellion for rebellion's sake simply to establish a self-identity different from life-long authority figures like parents. Still, violating social mores is both a statement of individuality as well as something of a sociological statement about the objective absurdity of those mores; the main, and in many cases only, argument against mohawks, nail polish, most piercings, tattoos, etc. is based on them being unesthetic. I got a lot of weird looks and so forth when I had a mohawk and painted nails even this summer. Not that I'm not a friendly, intelligent, big-hearted guy, but people in public did kind of shy away from me. Punk rock itself is pretty simplistic, often amateurish, high energy music, which at its inception was a pretty sharp departure from the album-oriented prog rock dominating the mainstream. But the concept of anyone can do it, so try yourself, or whatever kind of art you like, was inherent in its development. Parallel to this developed a culture of self-reliance and a hard-charging attitude, often perceived as "macho." (I disagree with the macho assessment - strong and self-reliant do not and should not equate with masculine any more than weak and dependent should equate with feminine.)

Initially, punk was kinda intellectually vapid and self-centered, as well as having a large amount of undirected rebellion. Some of the early proto-punk bands, though sounding nothing like "punk rock" as most people think of it, were intentionally underground and aspiring to many of the values I mentioned above as being part of the punk ethic. There was a very large strain of sex, drugs, rock'n'roll, stealing, and other assholery in early punk, especially as it was developing in NYC in the early 70s. The British wave brought some more politics, but this was initially due to management (Malcolm McLaren in the case of the Sex Pistols and Bernie Rhodes in the case of the Clash) trying to impose a comprehensive stance to the movement as well, something of an avante-garde performance statement and something of a publicity/marketing stunt, but there was also a kernel of truth to it in the English experience. After the concept was unleashed though, the burgeoning scene took it and ran with it, and in a scene where amateurism and self-direction were becoming aspirational qualities, the concept of matching it with politics took hold and crossed back to the States. The fact that the establishment was cracking down on "punk" as a threat to the status quo, in the form of police raids on shows and such, as well as constant harassment by "respectable" members of society (jocks, preps, etc., and their adult equivalents - yuppies, etc.) probably reinforced the blooming anti-authoritarian political stance of many punks and contributed to the continued politicization of the scene. The hardcore scene that developed took some of this to excess, but also elocuted a clearer "punk" lifestyle of enjoying life while living a life compatible with the concepts of respect for others as equal to yourself and all that follows from that (anti-war, anti-slavery, anti-discrimination, anti-racist, anti-corporate). This sometimes went in different directions, like straight-edge (initially just a personal decision, the straight-edge scene became increasingly hardline and exclusionary, violent and almost right-wing in it's didacticism and condescension) and so forth. I think over time, living a moral lifestyle has become a part of the punk philosophy as a result of this.

As an aside, I've read and heard many iconic punk figures decry the stylistic conformity of punk. "Wall-to-wall mohawks and leather jackets." -Johnny Rotten; "The guy at the show in the 3-piece suit was probably taking a bigger social risk than all the tattooed, mohawked kids there." -- Joey Shithead; etc. John Stabb of Government Issue used to wear flowered leisure suits around to mock the intentional nonconformity of punk fashion. The hardcore scene and a lot of the Chicago punk scene that I've seen to a large extent did away with this - shaved heads, plain clothes, etc. were often the "uniform." Although often personally altered (patches, slogans, etc.) and worn to the point of tatters, it did confer a more individual stylistic bent to it. Plus, it's impossible to deny that people are affected esthetically by their surroundings as well. I think the skinhead girls look really cute with their short hair and jeans. I'd dye my hair if it weren't such a pain in the ass (I've done it a few times). My mohawk was a ton of fun, and it felt cool to play with - and have other people play with, mostly girls. ;) I still paint my nails black once in a while. Am I trying to get attention by this? No, I don't think so. I think it looks good, that's all, just like my bike and helmet are covered with stickers and I have patches and buttons on various jackets and articles of clothing.

There are many books that deal with all this both directly and indirectly, but I think my best understanding comes from 10 years spent in the punk scene without ever considering myself a punk. I guess I was as much as any of those kids, but I never identified with it to that extent. I always tried to pick and choose my traits for myself as much as possible. Was I the nerd reading a text book at the punk show in college? Yup. Was I different from a lot of my peers? Yes. Was it because I was trying to be "punk"? Nope. And so forth.

Does this help? Yes, there does exist some of that assholery you describe as punk, but I wouldn't call it anything like punk ethics, or even punk. It's juvenile rebellion dressed up in poser-punker fashion.

Right-wing propaganda

I ran across this, from the White House website, from May 2001:

Q Is one of the problems with this, and the entire energy field, American lifestyles? Does the President believe that, given the amount of energy Americans consume per capita, how much it exceeds any other citizen in any other country in the world, does the President believe we need to correct our lifestyles to address the energy problem?

MR. FLEISCHER: That's a big no. The President believes that it's an American way of life, and that it should be the goal of policy makers to protect the American way of life. The American way of life is a blessed one. And we have a bounty of resources in this country. What we need to do is make certain that we're able to get those resources in an efficient way, in a way that also emphasizes protecting the environment and conservation, into the hands of consumers so they can make the choices that they want to make as they live their lives day to day.

I've got $500 and 5 bullets in my gun, and if I have to I'll unload every one.

In lamb chop news, I'm a fanfuckingtastic cook. And it's so fucking easy. Seriously: lamb chops, honey, salt, pepper, parsley, onion, red wine. Cover and bake at 350 for 40-45 minutes. Plus little lambs taste much better than cows.

I saw today that the Lawrence Arms are playing in DeKalb Sunday night. I'm there. They have no Chicago shows listed despite having a tour booked for the fall. I'm pretty confident they'll have one, but the crowd outside the city will be different, I'm sure.

This keeping-my-apartment-clean thing takes some time each day, but I'm happy to be doing it.

I've been toying with the idea of getting some people together and making a zine. No real focus to it, just a random collection of whatever. I think it'd be cool. I'm sure it's been done before, but that's the beauty of putting in whatever crosses; it's so subjective, originality isn't important.

Matt can't get over the fact that I sometimes wear black nail polish. Note that I was *not* wearing it today, and he hasn't seen me in it for months. He insists I do it to be weird, not because of any esthetic desire. Now, I agree that it's different. But I also believe our esthetic sense is influenced by what we're exposed to, which is just how our brains are hardwired genetically. And I've been exposed to subcultures where nail polish on men isn't abnormal. Yes, I suppose it does send a message, but I don't know what that is beyond the fact that I'm violating cultural mores. Look! A traditionally female trait displayed by a male! My brain cannot process such conflicting symbology! Maybe making the monkey brains work a little harder to think in reality rather than symbols is worth it. I dunno. I still think it looks cool, not for it's sociocultural implications. I like the contrast with my hands when it's on there.

Now, I don't wear it when seeing patients, and there's a reason. I think it's in the patient's best interest for me to establish a rapport with them, which includes presenting a professional appearance, or an appearance that fits in with the general cultural perception of "health care professional." And I'm sure as that cultural perception shifts, my "professional" appearance will as well.

Yes, I had to morally justify not dressing the sloppy-ass way I usually prefer to for work. But that's better than doing it because those are the expectations we have of you!

I do have a contrarian streak to me though. Fuck, when I was putting Lego sets together I had an urge to not follow the directions, even. Which is either cool that I think that way, or sad that it's such a reaction.

There was something I wrote last fall about the politics of punk which I may repost here. I've gotten good feedback on it. I dunno. We'll see.

In the meanwhile, this is for Ryan. Humanity at Guantanamo by Peter Kane Dufault.

General Craddock suggested that the medical staff had indulged the hunger strikers to the point that they had been allowed to choose the color of their feeding tubes.
-New York Times, February 22, 2006.

We couldn't let them die.
That would be inhumane
(besides leaving us shy
of persons to detain).

Also it's bad PR
(should it come out by chance)
that, treated as they are,
death is deliverance.

And they know that! And so
it's nothing but pure spite
to make-believe Gitmo
is Hell-In-Broad-Daylight!

"Hell"? Hey - each gets to choose
(once hog-tied heel to head)
what color hose we'll use
(before they all turn red)...