A Photographic Experience for the Night

I got home around 10:30 tonight. I guess I'm back up to fourteen-hour days now. You see, I just spent four hours playing with photos and presentation outlines.

Last March, Neal and I gave a few lectures on interdisciplinary orthodontics to some of the restorative faculty. Afterward, one of my old dental school instructors asked if we'd be interested in presenting at the meeting of the Chicago Odontographic Society this fall. We said yes, of course. We were also asked, through our department, if we'd care to give a similar lecture to the second-year dental students. And, again, we did. And it was good.

So next Monday is the day we have to give our presentation to the Odontographic Society. I luckily planned ahead and have recent photos on the two patients I plan on using (as well as their consent). I spent tonight reorganizing the photos and outlining my part of the presentation. This took longer than I expected, but in the process I've refamiliarized myself with the cases, and picked up things I hadn't seen before, most of them good.

I also spent some time helping out Marcela and Siddhi, and listening to music. Such is life.

For fuck's sake, yes! I just want my pedals to work!

On Friday, I took my bike into Upgrade for a repair of the pedal/crankshaft. They said it should be ready the next day.

On Saturday, the guy told me that he'd accidentally stripped out the new crankshaft with my old pedal and would have to find a new one to replace it and get it mounted and it wouldn't be ready until Sunday.

Sunday I waited for the shop to call and tell me it was fixed. They didn't.

Today I called them, they said it was ready. I left school, took two trains at rush hour to get there, and the original guy told me he couldn't find another crank, and would it be okay if he did some repairy thing that I can't remember and use my original crank? For fuck's sake, yes! I just want my pedals to work! Shit, couldn't he have done that over the phone? Anyway, that has to set overnight, so it'll be ready in the morning at 8am when they open. So I walked back out and across the street and down to the subway and waited for the train. I took the Blue Line back to Medical Center and walked the three blocks back to school, getting back over an hour after I'd left.

Tomorrow I have a 7am lecture, so I won't be able to pick up my bike until the end of the day.

Twizzlers Make Mouths Happy

Last night I went to the grocery store in a fit of self-pity and despair and bought myself two cartons of ice cream, a bunch of Baby Ruth bars, and a "family pack" of Twizzlers.

Before this story continues, there's something about Twizzlers and me you should know: I cannot resist them. In fact, I have one hanging out of my mouth as I type this.

When I was a kid, I'd always get the huge family pack when I saw a movie...and it would be gone by fifteen minutes in.

In the summer of 1988 I stayed with my aunt and uncle and cousin in their vacation condo in Sarasota. There was a basket out with a large pack of Twizzlers in it. I knew I wasn't supposed to eat them all, but every time I passed by, I pulled at least 2-3 Twizzlers out of there, until they were all gone, and replaced by....more Twizzlers! Talk about positive reinforcement.

In the summer of 1990, I was at Boy Scout camp in northern Wisconsin. Being the ravening bunch of juvenile delinquents were fancied ourselves to be, we made a habit of stealing soda from the camp store warehouse late at night. One night this kid Brandon managed to pick the lock into the store itself and we went to town, each of us taking about two dollars worth of candy - except for that dumbfuck Brandon, who decided it would be a good idea to take cash from the register. We of course got caught later that night. Or some kid ratted us out. But they found us back at our campsite. We did manage to dump a fair amount of the goods into the woods, which is where the Twizzler connection is - over the next few days while out in the woods, I'd come across a package of Nibs and eat them.

I'm sure you can imagine what my addiction and depression allowed me to do last night.

No, not that! That's disgusting! And would it even technically be possible?

I ate enough that my insides rebelled at me. Uncomfortably. As soon as I got up this morning.
And now I'm eating more.

What I don't understand is why Hershey thought that Twizzlers needed a reclosable top "for freshness." I mean, they're the fakest shit ever! Are they gonna spoil?

The best part is this, on the back:

Did you know...
Strawberry Twists are a low fat candy! That's right, the same great tasting Twizzlers you have known and loved are low in fat, as always. Nothing has changed.
Twizzlers fun you can eat!

Like it's healthy shit! Regardless, there are apparently 18 servings in this bag, and I'm almost done with them. This doesn't make me happy, just full of flavored starch.

"All quitters are romantic."

I let the day be wasted. The bike shop still has my bike. After doing some stuff around the house - mostly reading and listening to music - and taking a nice long nap, I was feeling pretty unhappy with myself, so for the first time in years I went out and bought ice cream and candy and watched With Honors, which has plenty of tear-jerk moments.

No schoolwork done today. Tomorrow night I plan to pick up my bike and then head back and pull a late night at school and hopefully finish the textbook I have to read. Right now I want to sip my beer and listen to music and read something. I have no idea what. I've picked up where I left off in Cinderella's Big Score, but I can only read so much of that consecutively. I'm down to only two books in process right now; the other is The Gulag Archipelago, which I started a year ago. That book is one of the very few Marta-associated items I still have.

I'm gonna go do something and pretend I don't feel sorry for myself the rest of the night.

I'm so proud to be an American. Not.

This is part of the American plan for "winning hearts and minds." I feel safer already. I mean, if an organization bombed my country, invaded, and then arbitrarily started imprisoning people I knew, I might get a little upset. Our government is not exporting democracy, it's exporting fascism.

And it's a bit rediculous that it took four and a half years for a determination that Geneva Convention provisions apply. And the US Military is still targeting journalists.

And so another Saturday passes without any real accomplishment

My bike is still in the shop. New pedals needed, new crankshaft (the shop inadvertently stripped out the new one they'd already mounted) and new bottom bracket as well. This is going to run me close to $200, I think. So I better ride the shit out of my bike again to extract as much value as I can, right?

Last night I went to Samantha's birthday party. That was way more than I expected. I assumed it would just be people getting together and having some drinks at a club or restaurant. But an outdoor lounge party on the river with open vodka bar I was not expecting. Nor the boat trip out to Lake Michigan and then down to the Museum Campus harbor. Considering how much I'd had to drink before I got on the boat, it maybe was a good thing; if I'd gone straight home from the party, I'd have probably been too nauseous to lay down.

As it was, Danny and I ended up being the only two from the boat walking over to the el. In the six years I've known him, we've never gotten to be real good friends, but I think we both realized it would be good to be better friends. We walked and talked and rode the el home, and it was a good close-out to the night. I, of course, got home near 3am after all this and stumbled around for ten minutes before I went to bed and slept for eight and a half hours.

Today I've just been in a weird mood. I updated the firmware on my MP3 player, so of course the interface software I bought doesn't connect now...although the company does upgrade it frequently, and the firmware update was just released yesterday. I spent a while sitting in front of the ol' laptop reading email or news or whatnot. Being bikeless, I didn't feel like driving, CTA-ing, or walking to school to do any work, so maybe tomorrow I'll get something done. But really, I didn't feel like doing that even if I had my bike. I did no writing today despite there being plenty I want to get down. Finding the motivation to put this in was tough. It was weird that the only thing that really made me feel better was eating. So I ate some bread and cheese and read a lot. Then I fell asleep and took a good nap. And now I've found the will to write something before I pack up and head out to WNUR. And so another Saturday passes without any real accomplishment. Let's see if I can kick my Sunday's ass, at least.

Motivation by plagiarism

I've had a weird day and can't seem to find the right mood to write in, so I'm just going to start with a bit of quotation and hope my own words will be stimulated thusly.

On that note, here's Mark Anderson again, from All the Power:

The stench is what I remember most vividly now - burning rubber mixed with wood, paper, and human flesh.

Only moments before, all was different. I had heaved a long, exhausted sigh, buckling up my seat belt while sitting on the runway of D.C.'s National Airport. A long night of last-minute preparations and almost no sleep was now behind me. At last I could relax into a final breather before the trek that lay ahead.

Tomorrow - September 12, 2001 - I would begin the second of three Dance of Days book tours at an arts center in Minneapolis, Minnesota. That meant 8000 miles in three weeks; 5000 of those by car, all by myself.

Still, I was excited. Slipping on some earphones, my thoughts drifted to dear friends I would soon see. I closed my eyes, reclined, and smiled. It would be so nice to get away from my intense work in D.C., reconnect with friends, have time to think, all while seeing the wide expanses of North America again.

My reverie was rudely interrupted by an airport representative who brusquely announced, "Gather up all you personal belongings. We are asking that you leave the plane immediately, as the airport will be closing at this time."

An audible groan passed through the plane. A couple hundred disgruntled air travelers rummaged around their seats, spilling out onto the tarmac to join an impromptu caravan headed to the airport's front doors.

I was probably grumbling more than most. Just another bomb threat, I thought. We'll move outside, stand around for a few minutes, then come back in, go through the whole boarding rigamarole again. The delay would doom me to miss my connection in Pittsburgh. I was exhausted, bone-tired.

Then I walked out of the front doors, into the smoky chaos. In that microsecond, everything else melted away. The smell was terrible, with clouds rising from a point just beyond our view, about a mile away where the Pentagon stood.

For a minute or so, I stopped thinking about my plans. Having grown up on a farm where we often burned discarded items, I knew my scents. That's not just rubber or wood, I thought grimly, that smell is bodies.

For a time, the world stopped. Hundreds milled about on the grassy slopes and asphalt streets outside the airport. People with cell phones began to report that planes had hit the World Trade Center and that it was on fire. A huge explosion had rocked the Pentagon, too, although no one knew just what had happened. One thing was soon clear: there wouldn't be any more planes flying today.

Making my way slowly back into D.C. by public transit, I saw the Pentagon on fire in the distance. I shuddered, thinking both of the many protests I had attended there and of Denise Baken, a friend from my Catholic parish, one of thousands employed at the building.

We rode in shocked silence. Finally, on African-American woman spoke up: "Well, at least maybe we will finally come together as a country now; get over this black-versus-white garbage." A white man in business suit and tie across the aisle quickly agreed. A they chattered on, seeming to find hope out of tragedy, I was left feeling uneasy. Unite around what, exactly? I thought.

I had little time to process these complex emotions. A couple hours (and many quick decisions) later, I was on my way to Minnesota in the only transport I could find: a blue Camaro borrowed from a generous friend, racing to make the 1300-mile journey in time for my first event.

At every gas station, I found the same scene: a dozen or so people huddled around a TV set, watching the day's horror unfold in stunned silence. Back in the car, I took the (for me) radical step of turning on the radio, hoping for some news. When the talk grew too bloodthirsty and jingoistic, I turned it off.

Another response, increasingly visible as I went, was impossible to ignore. As if by silent command, the stars and stripes were going up everywhere, on highway overpasses, on billboards, even on cars. The phenomenon left me a bit nervous, coming from a left-wing tradition that associates such display with right-wing views, with blinkered patriotism.

Somehow, though, this was deeper than simple politics. In the face of immense national trauma, people were reaching out for comfort, for connection, for community. Was it also the sign of a country set against the larger world, sliding toward blind revenge? I couldn't tell. Being a man on a mission, I didn't tarry with my thoughts. I hurtled on, heading west across America, past the fading day, through the darkness, searching for hope in a sea of flags.

In a way, that is where I have been ever since, where all of us on the left have been. While the wheel is still in motion, the short-term result of the terrorist attacks on September 11 was to profoundly solidify the position of a dubiously elected president, George W. Bush.

"Dubya" has cleverly used the tragedy to advance his far-right political agenda. Military build-up, stiff restrictions on civil liberties, and greatly expanded police powers have combined with two separate wars to bring the U.S. to the brink of the nearest thing to fascism since the darkest days of Richard Nixon.

Most frightening of all, this "war on terror" seems intended to be a war without end, not so different from the shadowy clashes that serve to justify the totalitarian state described in George Orwell's 1984. Words like "empire" now roll off the lips, not of radicals, but of Bush administration-linked strategists. In this new day, they barely seek to disguise the imperial flavor of U.S. policy, but rather try to redefine it as a positive good. This is no small transformation, given that much of American tradition recoils from empire, born, as this nation was, out of an anti-imperial revolution.

The mere fact that some are becoming so bold as to step from behind the smoke and mirrors - albeit still cloaked in talk of spreading "democracy" - reveals the depth of our present danger. In this scary moment, the North American left faces its starkest challenge: Will we find a way to reach masses of North Americans, based out of what is best and true in our own tradition? Or will we surrender to an understandable (but self-defeating) anti-Americanism, thereby playing into the hands of the Bush administration?

These point toward a deeper question: Can the United States of America somehow be re-enlisted to the cause of freedom?

Johnny Knoxville is a poser

Last night I went to see a special screening of Jackass Number Two. It was fucking hilarious! Seriously, I was laughing so hard the tears were rolling down from minute one. And one sketch almost made me puke in the theater. A fucking awesome movie. Yes, it's stupid infantile shit, and yes, I'm aware this is exactly the shit that Idiocracy was parodying. It's literally a 90-minute episode of "Ow, My Balls!" Well, maybe it's better since it's not as contrived, and much more spontaneous to boot. Plus, it makes me nostalgic for some of the stupid shit we used to do in high school or Boy Scouts. And I can appreciate a good practical joke, especially when it's played on someone else who signed up for the shit they're getting.

After the movie, Johnny Knoxville and Jeff Tremaine showed up to answer some questions...of course, 90% of the questions were about getting autographs or photos. Lame. Two kids bowed down to them. La-ame. There was one question about Knoxville's scars, and the answer was that he doesn't scar much, he just bruises, and he showed his leg which was solid black and blue. Plus, he nailed Tremaine in the nuts twice, and spent the whole Q&A with his hand protecting his crotch. Tremaine was cool, but Knoxville kept talking about how much drinking he needed to do and shit. It just came off as fake. The two studio suits standing against the wall didn't make it seem any more genuine. Don't get me wrong, I think he's a great stuntman, and well-suited for the type of acting he does, which I enjoy. And I respect the hell out of the shit he goes through to entertain. But his persona seemed forced and rock-starrish, and made me annoyed to have to sit through it.

Laura calls my dental friends "teeth people."

Tonight was the annual CDS New Dentist night. I saw my friend Sam, who I last saw at this thing a year ago. I keep meaning to get in touch and hang out with him and his wife Kelli (who is actually a closer friend to me than he is), but every time I'm up in their neighborhood it's usually too late to disturb a family with young children and stop by. I don't think I've been to their house since they had Marta and me over for my birthday dinner three years ago. (Marta got pissed at me and started kicking me under the table since she wanted to leave. Yeah, maybe I should've heeded that warning sign.) No one else from my dental class but me showed up tonight.

On my way home this afternoon, I noticed my right bike pedal was a llittle off as my foot was making circles with every revolution...When I got home I took a close look at it, and saw that it was stripping out of the crank shaft. I tried screwing it back in, but no, it was stripped a little. I got about 3.5 miles out of my 4-mile round-trip to downtown before the pedal fell off the bike. The bolt on the pedal looks fine, just the bolthole in the crankshaft is stripped smooth. So it looks like I'm gonna have to replace that. I think I busted it going over a pothole or something. I don't know. It didn't get fucked until north of Lake St, and Lake St. is a fucking mess for bicycles. So far since I got this bike two years ago, I've worn out 4 inner tubes, 2 tires, one bike helmet, one set of pedals, and a pair of brake pads. And I broke part of the handlebars last year when it fell off my porch. And now I've busted a crankshaft. Phew.

It looks like I've got a pretty busy Saturday shaping up: fix bike, get tix, meet Laura for a drink. And this weekend I'd like to get some real work done as well, which will be a nice (and welcome) change from the last few. By work I mean both zine stuff and school work.

Regarding the zine: I think I need to practice some layouts to get an idea of how much actual space will be available for text/art/whatever. Then I know how much I need to get written (by myself or others) before actually compiling/printing the damn thing.

Bill Maher talked about how stupid Americans can be in The Onion AV Club. And whose word do you trust? The IAEA or the people who told you Sadaam Hussein had WMD?

More from Mark Anderson:

Nowhere can the subjective and the objective get more confused than whilst cruising on what UK anarcho-popsters Chumbawamba have wittily described as "the Good Ship Lifestyle." Little different than child-star Shirley Temple's whimsical "Good Ship Lollipop," this ride promises us that revolution means you don't have to get your hands dirty: Just go shopping - or not, as the case may be - and it all magically works out! Ahh, if only this were so.
....
This is why the gradual devolution of a potentially revolutionary idea like anarchism into a form of subcultural "lifestylism" is so disheartening. In a way, it is here that the capitalist system finds its photo-negative, a dark mirroring of its own self-obsession. Somehow the Corporate Cool Machine has managed to trick thousands of would-be revolutionaries into believing that wearing lots of black clothing, decorating themselves with patches, piercings, and tattoos, while talking "militant" somehow threatens the system. How ludicrous!

Come on, now, Blue Marble, I've got something to say.

Quickly becoming one of my favorite authors due to his honesty, insight, and positive outlook, here's Mark Anderson, from All the Power: Revolution Without Illusion:

Our society, of course, is anything but balanced. We are driven by the never-ending consumer capitalist clamor for "more stuff." Our imperfections and insecurities - preyed upon by the Corporate Cool Machine to sell their goods - regularly sabotage our greater aspirations. there is no way to realize dreams of transformation without also transforming ourselves.
....
One of my assumptions here is that people, whatever our many flaws, are not all that stupid. Even the mainstream folks we might sometimes scorn as "sheep," caught in the Corporate Cool Machine, can be pretty canny, in their way. Most know that talk is cheap; they check to see if you are living what you are talking about. If not, skepticism blooms easily. If our world seems terribly cynical at times, perhaps that is simply because there is just so much bullshit out there.

...And I want to share this round-eyed devil with you.

I was thinking earlier that I usually post something angry or bitter-sounding. (I think Kate complained about that one day a while ago.) Is it because that's what incites me emotionally to get writing, or is that just my dominant emotional state? Is there a difference? If there were more happy events in my life, would it just inspire me to think about happy things, or would I just be happier? I'm going to see if I can go the rest of the night without getting pissed off at anything, and see how that feels. My home is my castle and all that.

I was looking at the Metro schedule this evening, and there are several cool shows that I'm going to find myself going to:

• Oct 20: Bouncing Souls, Street Brats, World/Inferno Friendship Society
• Nov 3: Lucero
• Nov 11: Lawrence Arms
• Nov 17: Heavens

I'm looking forward to a bike ride up there this Saturday to get tickets. At least three of those shows will involve a lot of singing and dancing, so that's really something to look forward to.

I wonder if my eclecticism further marginalizes me. I have close friends, but I was taken to wondering the other day if I will really meet someone who not only is a good match for me but also cares enough to put up with enough of my shit to stay with me. In other words, am I too weird for someone to go crazy for me? The reason it came to mind is that I was thinking of that feeling you get when you have that emotional connection - the one where I'm apeshit until I can see her again, and she's batshit for me. I haven't felt that in a long time. I've felt it maybe developing in one or maybe two situations, but I was probably too chicken-shit to put it on the line, and I just played it safe. But I have to think hard and concentrate to remember that feeling.

Tonya and John and I were talking at lunch yesterday about how there comes a time when you realize that your current relationship may be on the marriage track. Well, those are my words for it. Tonya was talking about how she realized it wasn't weird anymore that someday she might marry her boyfriend.

I'm also pretty happy with my new MP3 player. Hooray! (For some reason, Sara Nelson's voice just popped into my head for that exclamation.) I'm getting burnt out on writing music reviews, so maybe I'll start on some of the ideas for pieces I've got. Tomorrow, though, I'm going to try and get into the Jackass Number Two screening.

I'm listening to Mike Park's North Hangook Falling over and over tonight, and it's a fanfuckingtastic record. It makes me want to cry, smile, and dance all at the same time.

If you don't want to hear something disgusting, stop reading NOW....

....I hacked up four stinky tonsil-balls tonight. Yuck. Now I'm gonna go pinch one off.

"Ambulence" is a hard word to spell.

From AP: "Bicyclist Awaiting Ambulence Hit Again"

It's been misspelled since last night.

I was lucky customer #XX or something

I just finished reading The Portable Henry Rollins, a book I got for free at a used book store because I was lucky customer #XX or something. Who the fuck knows? I was in Flagstaff visiting Dani and we went to this huge used bookstore before I had to go to the airport, and this was the only book that I really wanted enough to spend money on. So I go to pay, and the register does its prize thing and the girl tells me my sale is free. Too bad it was only ten bucks. Dani was a bit jealous since my one time in the store I win something, and the girl says I should buy her a beer. I still have yet to do that. The last time I was in Flag she wouldn't let me. I mean, yeah, she's actually working for a living, but she's not pulling down loads of cash. Well, compared to me, maybe she is, at that. It still took me close to a year to even get to pulling it off the shelf.

The last part of the book is a short story that made me laugh out loud called "The Shit is on Fire Show." Henry talks about his experience during the 1992 LA riots, and mentions how he was in a cab on the way to LAX to fly out afterward and one of the things he saw:

I thought the best was a computer store. Computer stores are run by people who are pretty smart. The computer store has a single piece of plywood over the door. It says ALREADY LOOTED AND BURNED. TENANTS UPSTAIRS. The place was not looted. It was not burned. There was a roof with nothing on top of it. There were no tenants on top. I can see these computer guys in the back on a virtual-reality trip or just being the cynical geniuses they are. "Oh, there's going to be a riot. I got it, I got it! Do we still have that piece of plywood in the back? Okay just put it on there and tell them the place has already been burned and looted and just put it out there. No, no, no, no, wait a minute, tell them there are tenants upstairs. All right, let's get the fuck out of here." And they leave. Looters come up and there are ample supplies inside and they're thinking they can go in there and get themselves a two-page color monitor, a laser printer, all the goodies, all the software they can stick up their ass and haul home. Man, if you were like a computer guy, that would be the shit, looting a computer store. You would go home with all the gear you need. So, these looters come up with burning bottles of gasoline and sticks. They're ready to loot and pillage and destroy. "Darn, they already looted and burned the place, and besides fellows, there are people who live up there, it says so on this sign."

Luckily there's a McDonald's on the corner. "Yeah, let's go loot that." And they all went down there and incinerated the McDonald's. You know Ray Krock is squirming in his grave. But as much as it's fun to talk about it, I think looting is fucked.

I had another patient not show up today. Nice. I was all set to put on a new type of bracket as well and try them out. Phooey. And I get handed a patient that Silvana took records on a month ago that needs to be treatment planned for a first year resident. Which would be fine if the shit was all together. But it's not; I had to trace the ceph, the occlusion on the models was all fucked up and I had to send it for revision (and do the model diagnostics on *this* file anyway), and I don't have access to the exam findings since they're stored under her login. So this is going to be pretty annoying, I think. The case itself is interesting, so I'll at least learn something. But jumping through all these hoops is annoying, let me tell you.

At least my MP3 player *finally* fucking came. It didn't come with a power cord, but the one for my old player works fine with it, so that's pretty cool. The software is kind of clunky, as it's been uploading my MP3s forover three hours, and maybe it'll finish tonight before I go to sleep. If it doesn't declunkify in my perceptions in the next few days, it's going to be quickly replaced by RedChairSoftware. Still, I am looking forward to it.

I think reviewing records I don't really like has annoyed me. I'm starting to get snarky in my reviews, and my cynicism is showing through here. The Juggins are lifting my spirits now, though. I'm gonna shower and set some marinade going. Aw, yeah...

The cultural sensitivity toward Native Americans that our society is renowned for

Two instances of pop-cultural bias came to light today:

Trish and I were looking at some romance novel I fished out of the trash in hopes of selling to a used book store or giving to a library rather than a waste dump. First, the title is Savage Surrender. Second, the plot is thus: white woman is kidnapped by the Iroquois, falls for one of them, and he for her. I'm sure you can imagine the examples of female non-empowerment contained therein, and also the cultural sensitivity toward Native Americans that our society is renowned for.

We saw a preview for a movie called The Pathfinder, about a Viking orphan left behind after a raid/war against Native Americans "600 years before Columbus." The boy grows up and when the Vikings return he fights them with all the Native American skills he's acquired. I told Trish that the moral of the story is that even though they're the good guys, the Native Americans still need a white man to fight for them. She agreed.

Anyway, bedtime.

Tonight was a low-key production

Trish came over this afternoon and we were able to sit and talk for a while before we had to go to the movies. We talked about how nice it was that it's getting cold and brisk out, and how our two weeks of fall would be over too quickly. I'm just glad I'm not sweating while sitting around.

We went and saw Idiocracy, which was pretty good. Definitely the kind of movie you need to see with friends. I predict cult classic there. Many, many classic lines.

I think a fair portion of my weight gain was short term, as I'm five pounds less now than a few days ago, and it wasn't through any major physiologic weight loss. Regardless, I should work on eating healthier. Marcela said she was going to bring junk food for me; I don't think she heard me say no.

Tonight I didn't feel like doing anything. Reading, watching a movie, nothing. I finally just made myself some hot chocolate and sat on the couch and read a bit. Then I made myself some warm milk and honey, and sat on the couch and read some more. And all the while I was listening to CDs and writing reviews for the zine I'm working on. The worst part about writing reviews is reviewing the ones I don't like. Trying to fairly describe a record and its faults, while listening to a record you already know you don't like, can become irritating.

Soon to shower and bed. It'll be weird in clinic with people gone for the Tweed course this week. But before I go, some transcription:

Henry Rollins, from Do I Come Here Often?

Thank goodness for Bruce Springsteen to keep all these people in line. Hey! Go to work, be the person you hate, suck your employer's ass, come home and drink, it's all right, Bruce Springsteen wrote a song about you. If you didn't get in line and work all day and hate your own guts, then the Boss wouldn't have anything to write about and he'd go out of business.

Getting up early on a Saturday fucking kills your whole day

Silvana had her baby Friday night. Her text message woke me up twice: once at 12:45am and once at 6:45am - I guess it was a resend. I can't hold anything against a woman who just gave birth, though. After what seemed like an interminably long morning session at the ADA building, some of us walked over to NMH to see her. She looked tired, but otherwise very good. She was upbeat and talkative. Gabriella wasn't there; apparently there was some meconium present so she was on observation. But Alex showed us a picture - Silvana says she's definitely her baby since she's got so much hair. Carrie asked me how the hell I knew what meconium was, and I said I'm a big nerd. Later she asked if I learned it during my hospital residency, but no, I just recently learned that tidbit of information.

(For those of you who are wondering, meconium is what is released when the fetus defecates prior to birth. It pretty much consists of bile and amniotic fluid, and is yellow or greenish. The concern is that it can get into the airway before the first breath and cause lung damage immediately post-partum.)

I came home and pretty much crashed. I slept a few hours yesterday afternoon. Getting up early on a Saturday fucking kills your whole day. I spent a good deal of what was left copying my MySpace blog over to Blogspot.

I had dinner with my parents last night. Good food, and the conversation was pretty decent. My dad is growing a mustache, and it doesn't look good. I wonder how long this will last. I told him he needs to trim it a l ittle better, at least.

WNUR went well. I found a shitload of unopened mail in the downstairs archives, including some CDs that I went ahead and played. So I guess that was good.

I actually cleaned up a little this morning; Trish was planning on coming over this afternoon. Boy, does my life sound boring. At least I'm feeling better. Now I'm just waiting for my sinuses (sini?) to finish draining.

Uh, it's high school physics, and I can explain it better than you.

I just moved here from MySpace. Something about blogging on a NewsCorp site with banners bothered me. I don't want Rupert Murdoch making a profit off of me. I didn't know of any other service with MySpace's capabilities, though, so I'm starting here on Google-owned Blogger...and we'll see if I get fed up with Google's business practices - I already don't use their search engine. Make sure you delete your cookies if *you* do, since they put a non-expiring cookie on you and track your search usage.

I twice I took the bus today. Twice it was packed so tight that no one else could get on and people were left at bus stops to wait for the next one. But the monkeys on the bus couldn't quite grasp that if they moved towards the back, more people could fit on. To be fair, people in front did, but there was a ton of room in the back, each time. People are pathetic. It's like using the brain too much is exhausting.

I sat through this all-day lecture by some orthodontist from Georgia. He had some good points regarding practice management, but shit, his treatment mechanics were nothing groundbreaking, even for me, who's treated only 50 or so ortho patients. And this guy said he only figured most of this out after *FOURTEEN* years of private practice. Uh, it's high school physics, and I can explain it better than you. I was, during your lecture today. The moral of the story is you apparently don't really have to know much about orthodontics to have a successful practice.

I ate so much crap today. It was all free. By the end of the day I was so stuffed that I felt like puking. Even 4-5 hours later I'm still totally stuffed. On a related note, I weighed myself for the first time in a year...and I weigh 10 pounds more than I did the last time, and 20 pounds more than I did two years ago...this = not good. Granted, I'm sure a few pounds of it was food I ate, but shit...I need to cut back the junk food big time. This will be good for my wallet as well, eh?

I am feeling radically better. I went out a for a little bike ride and was feeling pretty good. I got Trish a birthday gift and went to Quimby's and had to keep myself from buying too much. Damn is there a lot I'd like to read. Anyway, I have to be downtown at 9am again tomorrow for some research presentations. Bleh.

Unicornography is a great fucking record, let me tell you.

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)...

That Wonderful Military-Industrial-(Senatorial) Complex!

Ryan sent this to me the other day. He gave me permission to repost it. Thanks, Ryan. Here ya go:

I had gone with my dad, probably more than 20 years ago, to see the air show when visiting my grandma who lived a couple blocks from the lake. For the last decade I have always worked on weekends and the extent of the air show that I have experienced since has been a few random jets screaming by while down at UIC.

On Thursday, not realizing that the time was upon us again, I did a quick search to see if the world was going to hell (Korean nukes in the air, Gatorade device made it through, etc.), and quickly found out that the time was again upon us for the skies to fill with our city's own military demo.

So I went to check it out. Partially because it was free. Partially for nostalgia reasons. Partially to just see some crazed action in the sky.

And I was scared and horrified.

I should have expected that I would have that reaction. I know my feelings about this war and war in general, but I had been to one of these before. In my mind it was going to be more like the memories of a McCormick place auto show or a Cubs game (I guess instead of them saying, 'Buy this car,' it is more like...'Look at this refueling jet...Look at this F-16 that you ALREADY BOUGHT, taxpayer!') I could not help but feel terrified by the military jets in ways that I had never been before.

"They are like spaceships."
"It's like Star Wars."

That was a snippet of the conversation between April and myself yesterday as we sat in awe of the billion-dollar jet spiraling through the sky. And they were. As a kid, the jets were just another variety of airplane. They were what Maverick and Goose flew in. They were Iron Eagle. They were protectors. Video game tools for defeating the evil MIGs who wanted to get us...for what...well...that part of the movie is all and forgotten if it ever was brought up at all.

And they are stunning to watch from a purely technological point-of-view. Seeing anything move that fast with such delicate maneuvering and quick response is certainly something you don't see very often in America. To see the sound racing to catch up to the machine that is firing by and then erupting till the ground shakes is indescribable without seeing it firsthand. They fly like X-wing fighters and I couldn't help being overwhelmed by their power and grace, way back when and yesterday, too.

On Saturday, however, they were the very same machines that have made a mess of a country and left us with nothing to say to the world regarding foreign policy and responsible governing. The apache helicopters and F-16's, unlike during the time of my childhood experience, are currently being used on a daily basis to maintain a skewed order in chaos, to murder the 'enemy,' to put holes in people.

I tried to divorce the two lines of thinking, to remove the grace and beauty from the killing, and found it impossible. No way to polish that off or forget the machine's main objective.

If there was a market for publicly displayed ingenuity...like a circus made up of great feats of industrial expertise, I think I could appreciate it. If everyone gathered by the lake to see people jump two hundred feet due to some new boot creation, I could applaud. Or to watch pilots fly impossible maneuvers in celebration of just how advanced our air travel innovations have developed in 100 years, I could cheer and dream about all the good that waits to be invented.

Unfortunately, the only real areas we have advanced so far are militarily (even NASA has its political agendas). There is no money in making people happy...giving them something to dream about. Even the most benign advances in technology will be made malicious if it leads to more efficient methods of combat. And that is where the money is, so the moral choices become clouded in gray areas and green.

Scary shit. I wish I could have watched for those four hours through my eight-year-old eyes with my eight-year-old understanding, and my eight-year-old desire to go home and simulate what I saw with my micro machines.

At least I can gloss over the majority of it.

I got handed a textbook on oral applications of lasers and told to review it for the World Journal of Orthodontics by the end of October. I paged through it and there is very little orthodontic application in there. Woo. At least I can gloss over the majority of it. I have to give a presentation on it in the spring too. Dana gave me some pointers on speed-reading.

So far I'm at a 40% patient failure rate this week. And fucking idiot me, I popped a second molar bracket off while going to clip the wire and had to untie, rebond, and retie the fucking thing. Crapo!

I made awesome filet mignon with a nice tomato and spinach salad for dinner...and for dessert I met Kate and Mark and some others at Delilah's. I do enjoy the beer, even when I pay $14 for two glasses. I enjoy the bike riding too. I was singing at the top of my lungs while biking, which really takes the breath out of you. Whistling doesn't help, either.

Yeah, so the first day back at school wasn't that special. My speed must be picking up, though, since I was able to do procedures in far less time than I thought I would. I thought I'd be running over the time I had and I ended up finishing early for the most part.

I need to figure out a good way to prepare lamb chops for tomorrow night's dinner. I'm in a pretty good mood right now despite being tired. Kate says I'm always pissed off on here, but I would think that melancholia would be the dominant view. Regardless, the mood right now is pretty decent.

Famous Poems Abbreviated by XJ Kennedy:

Once upon a midnight dreary,
Blue and lonesome, missed my dearie.
Would I find her? Any hope?
Quoth the raven six times, "Nope."

***

Whose woods these are I think I know.
Shall I just sack out in the snow
And freeze? Naaaa, guess I'd better go.

More on guns 'n' America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Foolish Things Remind Me of You by XJ Kennedy

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking fucks.

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

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

Boring days and stolen poetry

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

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

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

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

What Humans Do by Wendy Videlock

The candlelit
after-dinner
careful screw,

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

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

the I need wine,
the twisted talking
dirty grind,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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