My name is Darren Obviate, and I have a purple mohawk and black nail polish.

Last night I decided to check out Second Life. It wasn't that great. It had its moments, but mostly, unless you feel like investing as much time in your avatar's life as your own dreams might need, you walk - or fly - around and try to meet people. It's like a big chat room, only you have to be geographically near someone to chat with them (although you can also IM). Big deal. I just don't see it worth the time. I'd rather have real friends. That said, it might be fun to visit once in a while. The people who actually spend money on there to build virtual homes for their virtual people and buy them virtual shit are just full of ostentation. Is consumerism really bringing people to materialism in an immaterial realm?

I guess if you like online RPGs, you might get a kick out of it. I don't, really.

If anyone joins, or is there already, let me know. We can be friends! (puke!) My name is Darren Obviate, and I have a purple mohawk and black nail polish.

In other news, today I wished I had my computer with me since all the computers were in use and I wanted to work on my thesis. (I got access later) I decided that I really need a bag capable of transporting my portable desktop better than my current messenger bag. Don't get me wrong, it's a great bag that I'm going to keep using; it's just that my computer is too big to be carried comfortably in it. I'd been thinking about it for a while, so I went ahead and ordered a large messenger bag from Timbuk2. $115 with shipping. I can't wait.

Other than that, I feel like I did accomplish something today. As well as have some good conversations with Sadowsky & Schneider, or Stadtler & Waldorf as they've come to be known.

Derek sent me a lead on a practice in Lincoln Park that the owner is looking to sell next year...although he's probably in his early 70s, so he did not plan this well...the area looks promising, although it'd be a lot of single adults, I think. I need to check stuff out more before I commit, but it's definitely an option to keep open.

I can resume forgetting the things I've lost

I was looking through the hard drive on my old desktop to find a place to save the album I'd copied from vinyl, and I found a folder with a photo of Marta and me from three years ago. Apparently, I missed a few things when I sanitized everything of her last summer. Wow, was that a younger me. Longer hair, and not anywhere near as much gray, and I think a little less chubby about the cheeks. Sad that that is the first thing I focused on.

Anyway, I vaguely remembered the night it was taken...obviously a school night since I was wearing scrubs. It was some gathering of Marta's friends that she'd asked me to come to, and I think food was involved so I readily agreed. Just kidding, I'd have gone anyway.

Someone said later how she and I made out the whole time, but really, I don't think we did anything I'd consider making out at all. Yeah, we did kiss, but rather chastely, and not constantly by any means. But hell, I lived 45 minutes away from my girlfriend and didn't get to spend nearly enough time with her, in my opinion. So I made no apologies for that.

It's weird, really. That fall I had a few high-stress things going on. I was going through the final stages of my residency application process, as well as studying my ass off for part II of my national boards, and Marta was getting irritated with me for always being busy with that. The way she looks in that picture is not exactly how I remember her, although to be fair we did have another year or more after that before things fell apart.

There's definitely a part of me that wants to go back to that time, which my faded memory tells me was simpler and happier. It's probably a good thing that the photo's now been deleted for good, and I can resume forgetting the things I've lost.

Just about every muscle is sore in some way, this being a good thing...

The sun has just set. As I sit writing in the rapidly waning daylight, the weekend is fading. The feeling I have right now is strongly reminding me of dental school...

There was a good period of time in dental school where my Saturdays would be spent vegging out in bed until the early afternoon, then watching the taped TV I'd recorded all week. Now, you can imaging that by the time I mustered something to eat and showered to rejoin the living, it would be night already. Combined with the radio show, my sloth just about killed my Saturdays, and then Sunday would be spent sleeping in again and maybe some more of the same, without the excessive TV watching. Although I did watch a fuckload of TV in those days. After Sara moved to Lakeview, there was a period of time where we'd sit in her studio apartment with no views and bask in the artificial lighting and glow of cable TV for practically all of Sunday.

Today I didn't wake up until after noon. I just put on some music and laid in bed, reading the rest of the Transmetropolitan that Laura lent me. It was after 4pm that I finally rolled out and into the shower. I didn't really notice it before, but just about every muscle is sore in some way, this being a good thing as it's a strong indicator of my enjoyment and participation in the Lawrence Arms show last night. (Kate said she was watching me as much as the band)

I've gotten so many ska records in the last week that I was able to do the whole Ska Sound System off them. Crazy. It also made me realize that I need to listen to them and get to know them. Yess.... Right now, I've got Ngobo Ngobo's Daily Talk on the turntable, and while I'm listening to it I'm also recording it to the hard drive for CD conversion. Exciting, right?

I was at my parents' yesterday afternoon, and they asked if I wanted any of my old textbooks. I think they were surprised I took so many - two paper shopping bags full. I mean, they've paid probably close to $150,000 or more for my formal education, and I can't remember half of it...so I figure having the reference books around is a good thing.

I'm debating whether to go out to see Iraq For Sale tonight. I'm leaning strongly towards NO, partially due to inertia and partially because I don't feel like sitting through a documentary that's going to tell me things I already know. Maybe a few statistics, but I just can't handle that tonight.

Right now it's dark outside and I haven't eaten in nearly 24 hours. I have a hankering for fried calamari, but really would like to avoid both paying for it and going out to get it. Maybe for lunch tomorrow.

Maybe tonight will be spent cleaning and listening to music. I'll at least feel like I've accomplished something. But first:

What have I got in the fridge.....?

Good friend, how loud do you want life to shout her answers in your ears?

I'm reading song lyrics and singing along and I feel like all my neurotransmitters are depleted. Or maybe I'm just hypoglycemic.

I feel old.

I got back from John and Rebecca's reception...even Chet Handelman was joking about how he should have brought a flask. But the food was good and the company was good.

I came home and realized I dumped two full loads of clean laundry on my bed before I left. I resigned myself to folding it before sleeping. I first hung up the clothes I wore to the reception.

I saw myself in the mirror.

I'm wearing black dress socks, boxers and a wifebeater.

I feel old.

Freezing rain...

...slants down in icy sheets on some street where someone is cursing what they've done.

I rode my bike home in the cold, cold windy rain without adequate gear and got home freezing.

Apathy and Exhaustion

I've been so tired this week, that I've been really cranky and irritable. Certain smart-asses out there that deal with me daily have been jerking me around with it too, just to irritate me.

Tonight is my chance to recuperate, especially since I've got John's reception tomorrow night and the Lawrence Arms show on Saturday. I'd like to be feeling relatively human next week, which means starting my weekend restup a night early.

I've got a pile of new CDs to listen to, most of which I probably won't get to until next week or later. I skipped out on a CDS free drinks/dinner deal tonight in the name of getting work done, then decided I was too damn tired to get any work done.

I'm going to shower and sleep now. It will feel damn good.

Blow it out your ass!

Imagine Americans celebrating a historical plot to blow up Congress. Imagine some redneck sticking a firecracker up his ass and hurting himself with it. Got it in your mind?

The British have it in real life.

I'm going to go home and sleep now

I'm still at school and it's nigh on 10pm. I did get some work done tonight, although I was pretty damn zonked even after I slept an hour in the afternoon. I also read the Onion and AVClub pretty thoroughly.

The English Beat last night was pretty good. It was warm in there, though. Dave Wakeling has a pretty distinctive voice too. It wasn't the real Beat; I guess it should be called the Dave Wakeling Band. Still, most of the songs they played were English Beat songs. The only complaint I have is that the drummer was very averse to using his snare, and it was constant bass-drum booms.

I'm probably too optimistic about the Democrat victories in yesterday's election. Give it a few weeks and they'll prove they don't know how to lead from the front or take a stand on any of the issues that got the Republicans voted out. It's sad that I agree with some Republican (can't remember who) who said, "The Democrats didn't win, the Republicans lost."

This is my favorite quote from today: "He and I are constantly assessing. And I'm assessing, as well, all the time. By myself." Georgie-boy is growing up!

I'm going to go home and sleep now.

Since I consider a corrupt Democrat as useful as a straight Republican governor...

It turns out the Tennessee Three aren't playing on Thursday. Dana was gonna come with me instead of the English Beat show tonight, but now she can't go to either. So she said she wants to go to the Heavens show next Friday. In a little while I'm going to head up to the Abbey Pub for some dinner and a pint before the English Beat play. I'm planning on going a little late since I don't really want to see Skapone or Kristoffer Ragnstam.

I got home at 4:45 after voting and totally crashed. I voted as straight a Green ticket as I could, then Democrat for the rest. Despite my disagreement with Whitney's concealed carry stance (which would never pass in Illinois anyway), I still would prefer him over G-Rod, who's probably as corrupt as Ryan was. Since I consider a corrupt Democrat as useful as a straight Republican governor, I went Green instead.

Derek put me on his shitlist since his coffee cups got thrown out for being stacked in front of the sharps container near his chair. Sometimes he's just a petulant child. I wouldn't have cared if it weren't four coffee cups, obviously dirty, blocking my access to the container with a needle in my hand. John said he did it to himself in this case. I didn't even know the cups were his. Fuck it. Everyone's on his shitlist for something or another.

The thing about taking a late afternoon nap is that it leaves me in an odd state of consciousness. My eyes feel rotten, and my stomach undone, but I'm not really tired. I'm sure once I throw some water on my face and eat some dinner I'll feel fine.

Somehow, life got in the way.

I was going to go to school this evening and get some work done on my thesis. That's what I was planning, anyway. Somehow, life got in the way.

To start with, I woke up from my nap a little after 5pm. I was so out of it; it was dark, and for some reason, I started thinking it was too late to go and get anything done (not true). Anyway, still groggy, I popped in the Spitfire CD I got last night and picked up my reading of Fallen Dragon. After a while I decided that I didn't really need to go tonight, since - if I remember correctly - I don't have any patients in the morning and can recoup at that time.

I finished reading my book. At least that's done with - now I can get back into my life without the book controlling my thoughts. The problem with good books, I suppose. My plans for the rest of the evening consist of eating some dinner, showering and going to bed so I'm not totally exhausted for my 7am class tomorrow.

I was so exhausted all day; I only slept four hours last night. I got home from Riot Fest around midnight, and then I had to eat something and shower and, of course, remove my nail polish.

The show was good. I'm mollified from missing the Raygun show Saturday night, I guess. I can accept the $19 trade-off the ticket would have cost. There were lots of good sets, but I think the combination of my exhaustion, the Congress theater's general suckiness, and in some cases my lack of complete familiarity affected the quality of the show. The only sets I really enjoyed were Deal's Gone Bad and Naked Raygun. It was good to see Youth Brigade, I just haven't listened to them that much - and they didn't play "Believe in Something," which is my favorite song of theirs. 7Seconds managed to massacre some of their own songs, as well as a cover of "Minor Threat" that removed just about all traces of melody from the song. Both times I've seen them, they've suffered from this, despite being pretty decent on studio recordings.

I also spent $40 on music from Chuck Wren, which means I got a whole shopping bag worth. Crazy guy. It'll probably take me weeks to listen to and assimilate it into the musical memory banks in my brain.

Tomorrow I'm going to see the English Beat and on Thursday to the Tennessee Three with Dana. Wednesday is another sushi day, hooray! Friday is John's wedding reception, Saturday the Lawrence Arms. At some point I need to take my car into the shop, too, since the check engine light just came on today, the temperature is staying way low, and it's due for an oil change, balance and alignment. I have no idea when I'm going to do that - I may have to borrow my parents' car, or forego some WNUR nights. Hmmm. And it looks like I won't be getting too much work done on my thesis for a while, either.

A recap from the past few days is due, I suppose.

The Yue Brew was pretty good. A nice red ale, not too strong, nicely flavored. My personal tastes run a little sweeter, as this was a tad bitter, but not bad. Pretty good actually. Thursday night was spent consuming the 22oz. bottle Isaac gave me and reading Fallen Dragon.

Last night I met Laura and her friend Alicia and her friend Cari. The two of them were trying to set me and Cari up...it didn't work. I know I wasn't attracted to her. Not that she isn't cool; just not my type. I've learned that I can't force the attraction. Cari later asked Laura if she and I were dating...so obviously it was a two-way attraction.

Lucero last night was awesome. They played for two hours. Some girl rubbed my head in the pit. And I think I've had beer spilled on me at every Lucero show I've been to. A lot of fun, and my voice was going by the end of the night.

Since I can't go to the Raygun show tonight, I'm heading up to my parents' to do laundry and get free dinner before WNUR. I just had a crepe with Laura at the Iguana Cafe. Right now I think I need a nap.

If you think that your country can torture its enemies into safety with no side effects, you're a fucking idiot.

I don't understand how "conservatives" can still support the Bush regime. Not that this is surprising any more, but it still disturbed so much that I couldn't finish the article the first time I read it. This is what I'm talking about. The Justice Department filed a motion opposing the right to an attorney because the suspect (who was arrested in Pakistan and then held in undisclosed locations for three years before transfer to Gitmo) might tell his lawyer how he was "interrogated."

On the face, the government's motion is ridiculous. I think any terrorist out there can be reasonably sure he will be tortured if captured, by this point, whether legal or not. And if you read the Military Commisions Act of 2006, then you know that as long as the "interrogation technique" isn't intended to cause bodily harm or death, it's A-okay. As long as it's done in the name of getting information.

If you consider yourself a conservative and don't want to conserve something as basic as the right to an attorney and a guaranteed fair trial (or even the legal fiction of one), how do you reconcile the difference? Because it makes you "safer"? Bullshit.

What makes you safer is people not hating this country. Which is done when they're not mired in poverty and warfare, when they aren't being subjugated to corporate colonialism in the name of the god Profit. It's the same with crime; crime rates are lowered when the standard of living increases.

Even if you don't agree that the US is a corporate colonial power, you have to agree that people with a low quality of life and high mortality rates have more to be angry about and less to lose by lashing out.

And for those of you who complain that they wouldn't pay back whatever aid, don't be so goddamn selfish and short-sighted. For the same gain in your personal safety, it would cost a shitload less than military enforcement.

So I went off on a tangent. Still, if you think that your country can torture its enemies into safety with no side effects, you're a fucking idiot.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!

Ryan called me tonight to give me the good news that Naked Raygun would be the secret guest at the show tomorrow night. He also told me the show was sold out.

I had to give him the bad news: I don't have a ticket.

Fuck.

Is You Is, Or Is You Ain't, My Baby?

When we were kids and Kevin was still pretty young, like 4 or 5, he would get a Tom & Jerry tape to watch every time he had his tri-weekly IV. As a result, I'm very familiar with a whole range of Tom & Jerry cartoons through time.

Tonight at the Abbey, the band played "Is You Is, or Is You Ain't, My Baby?" They introduced it as being a song first learned from Tom & Jerry cartoons as a kid. I appreciated it.

I went to the Abbey primarily to pick up tix for next week's English Beat show and the Slackers show next month, then sat for some shepherd's pie and a pint of Guinness. Right as I got there, Kate called, and when I took my earphone out the earpiece stayed in.

After about ten minutes of digging in my ear with my finger to no avail, I resigned myself to deal with it until I got home and tugged it out with tweezers.

Which I did, promptly, after a frantic search of my medicine cabinet for the damn thing.

For some reason my hands were fucking freezing by the time I got to the Abbey from the Music Box. Well, my right thumb anyway, since the gloves are pretty much peeled to the knuckle on that one. But the ride up to the Music Box and the ride home from the Abbey were fine. Hmmm.

Trish and I tried to meet up for Death of a President at the Music Box, but I went in first since she was stuck in traffic, and then she couldn't find me until the end of the movie. Anyway, we were able to talk a bit, which was good, and it's always good to get hugs. She said her friend Amy wanted to be new friends with me, which is cool.

The movie was excellent. Haunting. Not overtly political either, which is good, as it made its case through example, and the subject matter was pretty attention-grabbing as well.

I got home all sweaty, dripping, shirt wet. Now I'm chilly and must shower before bed.

Soon. Sleep soon.

The Young's is about gone, and the Lucero is petering out.

One last passage (I hope) from Fallen Dragon:

Worst of all, for Lawrence, was the rust. He'd never realized there was so much metal involved with the city's construction, blithely assuming its component parts were all sophisticated modern composite, held together with intricate molecular bonds. But they weren't: metal remained the cheapest and easiest method of fabrication. Templeton had been screwed, riveted, nailed, reinforced and bolted into a cohesive whole like every other human conurbation since the Iron Age. And now it was paying the price of that cheapness in Amethi's Wakening climate. Rust oozed from every structure. It was the city's sweat, exuded from a million filthy pores. Grubby red-brown stains dribbled and wept along each surface, sapping its strength in an eternal drip of oxidation.

Oh, wow.

This is the third time I'm reading this book, but it's just so wonderful right now, I feel like I could cry from joy. Hope can be renewed by art, it's true.

More from Fallen Dragon:

She rested her elbow on the bar and put her chin in her palm to give him a quizzical look. "You're funny, Lawrence. I've never met a boy like you before."

"What do you mean?"

"Half the time you act like you're terrified of me."

"I'm not!" he protested indignantly.

"Good to know. You've got lovely eyes, halfway between gray and green."

"Oh. Um, thanks."

She broke off a corner of toast and popped in her mouth. "Which is your cue to give me a compliment. Any part of me you like?"

A strength of will the he never knew he had stopped him from looking directly at her chest. Instead he gazed right back into her shining gray eyes. "I wouldn't know where to begin," he said softly, and blushed.

For a moment she held still; then a wide smile spread across her lips. "That sounded like a pretty good beginning to me. For someone who comes over all reticent, you've got the moves, Lawrence."

"That wasn't a move. That's what I really think."

A fucking great excerpt...

Peter F. Hamilton, from Fallen Dragon:

They grabbed food from the buffet and talked by shouting over the music. She drank her beer straight from the bottle. They danced some more. Drank some more.

With blood pounding, his skin sticky with sweat and alcohol humming sweetly in hid head, Lawrence folded his arms around her in the middle of all the swaying people. She flowed up against him, resting her head on his shoulder for a slow number. Golden light broke over her, shimmering into deep violet. They smiled in lazy unison. Lawrence tilted his head forward, and they were kissing.

Isaac warned me it's the first batch. It says so right on the label.

Isaac gave me a 22oz. of the home brew he and a friend made in MI today. Yue Brew, it's called. Supposedly a Belgian-style brew, but he warned me it's the first batch. It says so right on the label. I can't wait to try it.

I left it in the fridge in the resident room at school. I can't drink it tonight, like I wanted.

I realized this as soon as I got home, and put a bottle of Young's Chocolate Stout in the freezer with a stein, so that should be a nice little departure before bed.

John and I had a nice discussion about gay rights today. Goddamn is that boy conditioned. Of course, he calls it maintaining the tradition he was brought up in. He seriously thinks that allowing gay marriage will erode heterosexual marriage by semantic effects. I mean, shit, what the fuck is wrong with people? I guess a lot of it is just fear of confronting a world that doesn't match their worldview, so instead of adjusting their worldview, they try and change the world instead. The worst kind of ideologues. That said, John is a super nice guy who would never be judgemental of anyone, and one of my best friends. But, damn.

One of these days, I've got to be rested enough to cut my hair before I shower and hit the hay. Tonight I'm going to shower, sip beer, and read.

Whatever the cause, it cleared me right the fuck out.

I just got back from a bike ride bordering on twenty miles. It was pretty good...it wasn't until the last 4 or 5 miles that I really started feeling winded...literally. I rode north to Granville, and rode back south on the Lakefront Path, which was beautiful except for one thing: the wind. There were times that I felt like the gusts could stop me in about 3 seconds if I stopped pedalling.

The weather today was beautiful...almost 70 degrees, which is fanfuckingtastic for the end of October. Actually, it would be fanfuckingtastic any time. But since I had my research presentation this morning (it went fine, no questions even, and my advisor said she was impressed with it, even), I wasn't feeling a lot of pressure to get work done this evening, and decided to take advantage of the warmth.

Last night I couldn't fall asleep. Possibly because I slept until almost noon and then went to bed at midnight...anyway, around 1am I turned the light on and decided to do some light reading. The book I pulled off the shelf was Peter Hamilton's Fallen Dragon, which is one of those underrated books that no one really hears about. Especially for science fiction. A pretty believable version of the future, with protagonists whose problems are universally human. Fuck, despite all the economically structured warfare and sociological developments in the main plot, it's really about the search for a lost and wasted youth.

Like I said, a light read. I think the first time I read it was while I was studying for Part I of the National Boards.

Anyway, after the resultant 5 hours of sleep that left me, I was pretty tired by this afternoon, so I crashed out for a good hour and a half before the last interview dinner of the season.

GROSS SHIT WARNING: DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT THE FOLLOWING

It seems like every interview dinner results in me getting increased intestinal motility. Maybe it's the caffeine, since I drink like a pitcher of cola. Either that or the oily fried calamari. Whatever the cause, it cleared me right the fuck out. Just thought I'd share.

"Fuck you. This is my costume."

I thought I was being lazy and little surly. I didn't spend any time preparing for Halloween. I would have liked to have a cool costume, but really felt like I couldn't spare the time to prepare/shop for one.

I had the idea Friday night to put on all my snowboard gear and haul my old snowboard around. Then I decided I would be both too hot and too encumbered for it to be worth it. So I wore what I was wearing yesterday to Tara's Halloween party. Granted, sometimes that will pass for a costume on its own. (Some kid was supposed to be new wave, but he really just looked like a hipster.) I put a piece of duct tape on my chest that said in pretty small print, "Fuck you. This is my costume." Everyone who leaned in close to read it laughed and said it was good. I thought it was going to come off as cheap and lazy, which is what it really was.

Maybe my laziness is brilliant?

Some guy thought my nail polish was for Halloween. I had to explain it was a more regular occurrence.

Doing that much time in my school clothes may prematurely soil them

I just showered for the first time in three days. Before you say, "Oh, gross, you dirty fucker!" hear me out. Well, try.

I guess I have a crap reason for not doing so on Wednesday night - I was dilligently (desperately?) trying to find some freeware to either convert DVD directly to AVI so I could convert that to my MP3 player and have something to watch during my boring Thursday night lecture. Last night I was out with Trish and didn't get home until after midnight and just crashed despite the lingering odor of cigarettes about my person.

Tonight was another Critical Mass night. I met up with Danny Kaplan and Steve "It's been a while since I've been to Mass" Weeks, although they had to cut out before the end of the ride - Weeks to catch a train home to Mundelien and Danny when we neared his house a little before 9pm. I stuck it out to the end despite intermittent drizzling and a biting wind out by the lake, but it was fun. I always enjoy making people smile, especially the girls we pass. (Girls are just so damn good-looking!) But by the end, like I said, I was all alone for the six miles back home. I did stop and have some Thai food, which was good.

I'd like to ride out to my parents' house sometime, but I don't have the time to go there and back most days. Maybe Thanksgiving will be a good time. Hmm. I think I should get a bigger messenger bag to tote more stuff for those longer trips.

Riding the bike gives me time to think about things. My mind can wander, stimulated by song lyrics to take strange or unusual turns of thought. I want to try and build more bike riding time into my life. I think I should be able to find time for a ten-mile ride every day without any problems...we'll see though, since I'm usually so tired by the time I get home. Maybe I should just start planning fifteen-mile trips home rather than the two miles or so it currently is, although doing that much time in my school clothes (yes, I said it) may prematurely soil them and may not be as comfortable either.

But back to the wandering mind...it occurred to me tonight that I can't really remember what it feels like to kiss a girl. Not that I won't remember how to do it when I find one to kiss...it's just that I've gone so long without that the feeling is hard to recall. Well, there are two girls I've made out with in the last year and a half, but both of them were horrible kissers, as in suck your face and tongue and you deal with the vacuum-induced capillary lysis. Ouch. Not too hot, let me tell you. So that's one more thing I can feel sorry for.

On a related note, last night I told Trish that I can't remember what it feels like to be in love. I can remember that it was fucking awesome and worth all the shit you have to swim through for it, but I can't remember what it felt like.

Plus, I've got a huge fucking canker sore in my right buccal vestibule adjacent to my lower right molars and it's goddamn fucking annoying.

My bed beckons...and I'm fucking worn enough to heed its call, no problem.

Countdown to Ska Night...

This week has been one of those busy weeks. Just always something going on, so I'm constantly busy but not too busy. Today was more of the same. And more free food. Seriously, cookies and stuffed pizza. Plenty of soda. I still slept during my 4:30 lecture despite the caffeine intake earlier. And because I'm a nice guy, I traded presentation times with Silvana so I get to present Monday morning rather than Tuesday morning. Bleh.

At least tonight, Trish and I are going to Delilah's for ska night and good beer (for me anyway, she's sticking to club soda, I think). First, though, I must work dilligently on my thesis so I have more useful stuff to put into my presentation.

In other news, people are stupid. My favorite part:


Rereading that first line, I really must say that it seems like most weeks are those busy weeks. Someday soon I'll have my thesis under control (really?) and can relax at night some.

Right.

One quick post before I sleep.

Siddhi mentioned something today about how she doesn't feel creative. I said I understood, that I'm too tired to be creative anymore. Working on my literature review, I feel like I can't write for shit. I'm just putting one-paragraph summaries of the different articles I've read into a loose outline form and calling it a review. I'm sure I'll radically rewrite the thing once I can get some sort of consistent thought out of it, but still, right now it's not even worth being called verbal diarrhea.

I'm getting hungry in the mornings these days, and find myself snacking on donuts and so forth. Which has worked out well the last two days, as I didn't eat lunch until 4:30 or 5:00. Today lunch and dinner were one and the same, which means I'll be really hungry when I wake up tomorrow. Maybe I just need to drink more water and fill up...I'm still carrying more excess baggage than I need to, anyhoo. But I already know I get free lunch and dinner tomorrow, so....

I'm going to go to bed now, an hour earlier than usual, and praise myself for attempting to rest. Maybe tomorrow I can get some more real work done instead of throwing in the towel and saying "Fuck this!" at 8pm.

Right.

I want a hot drink right now.

It was so cold and windy today that as I rode to school - without my goggles - my eyes started to hurt. Thankfully I had my goggles in my bag "just in case," and was able to make the ride home in much more comfort.

I finally got a big chunk of my lit review done...I have about 40 more articles to go, but I did the big 10. I think the rest will go a little faster since they're not as relevant and I can gloss over them a bit more. What an exciting week I have ahead!

Our lab at school was fucking cold though. I was wearing a jacket and hat the whole time I was there. The hallway feels OK, but as soon as you pass through the doorway there's a noticeable change in temperature. Come winter though, it'll be pretty hot in there. Weird.

I gave up on finding a Halloween costume. I can shave my head and put on a plain T-shirt and sneakers and go as Ian MacKaye in the Minor Threat days. Really, I'll probably just go without unless I find something good at the store later this week.

I've been listening to Jello Biafra's new 3CD spoken word release. That, combined with reading the issues of Transmetropolitan Laura lent me, has left me feeling a little angry tonight. It didn't help that I've got a lack of quarters for laundry and a full load waiting...

Fa! I got school work done and feel good no matter what right now. Some of the weight has been lifted! Woo-hooooo!

Hesitation used to be the station that I'd get on at. Now it's Asshole, can you envision that?

It's been a few days since I wrote anything, and what a busy week it's been. Right now seems like a good time to resume my procrastination. I'm really supposed to be writing the lit review for my thesis, but can't quite find the willpower to sit down and review the stack of research papers sitting before me.

The prevailing theme in my life this week is exhaustion. I started out exhausted from my trip to Shit City last weekend, and it just got worse. Last night was the first time I really slept until my body awoke on its own. Ten-and-a-half hours. Not that I'm not still tired...I may take a nap later to further my procrastination and restfulness.

Thinking back on this week, though, I'm kind of amazed I made it through in as good a shape as I did. Monday and Tuesday, I was a walking wreck, napping pretty much anywhere I had a chance to put my head down. I got the bare amount of work done that I needed to...

Wednesday, after dinner with our new applicants, I went to a late Deal's Gone Bad show at Cobra Lounge. The $3 12oz. Guinness was a nice refresher from Vegas's shitty beers and even shittier overpricing, so I took a bit of advantage of that, especially since it was a free show. DGB played a two sets, and I was able to run into a few people I've made acquaintance with. Oh, and I was able to dance, too...So while going to a show that let out at 1:30am may not have been the best idea, or anywhere close to smart, it was worth it.

Thursday was another long day...I barely had time to eat lunch even, from all the work I was doing. Then I hauled ass from school to my house for a quick change to shorts and then up to the Metro for the Falcon show. Which rocked. The Copyrights were one of the openers, and while they played a good set, they stuck mostly to stuff from their new record, which I still don't have. The Falcon tore it up pretty well, playing I think every song they've written. In between sets, I got rousted by Metro security for falling asleep while sitting on a bench, and then for even sitting on the floor. God damn. "Who the fuck is Renee Zellwegger?"

By Friday morning, my right ankle - the one I sprained so badly two years ago - was starting to feel pretty sore. By Friday evening, I was again in shorts and out at the Metro for the Bouncing Souls show. World/Inferno opened, and their set wasn't as good as the last time I saw them in early 2005. Part of it may have been the stage height, or the crowd, or the fact that they played primarily songs off their new album which isn't particulary my favorite. None of the really uptempo songs of theirs that I like. Whole Wheat Bread just annoys me, and I spent their set reading a pretty depressing epidemiological study of post-invasion mortality rates in Iraq. Street Dogs put on a pretty good set, though; there's at least one scab on my arm where it ran into some kid's teeth. The Bouncing Souls gave a pretty damn good showing, and after all the teenage boys had worn themselves out slamming into each other, the singing and dancing was pretty sweet too. After show I stopped at the rock'n'roll DQ for a Blizzard. So I went to bed in a pretty good mood, and slept the sleep of the dead.

Earlier this week I met a girl who, from her body language and the way she would touch my arm and hugged me goodbye, seemed to be pretty into me. Granted, she was teeth-benumbingly drunk at the time. In the moment and in my exhaustion, I was pretty into her too, or at least into the idea of a girl who was into me. I would have done just about anything in that situation, and I'm glad the opportunities for anything serious didn't really present themselves. That's because as soon as I started heading home, I realized that I wasn't really that attracted to her at all. Thinking more on it the next day, I realized it's because I didn't feel challenged at all. Not in the sense of attaining affection, but in the sense of being inspired. The simple fact is that the gut feeling wasn't there.

Of course, I'd told her I'd call her, and I would probably enjoy having her as a friend, but I feel like I'd be an asshole for stringing her along, however unintentionally. The question is whether I'd be a bigger asshole for never calling...

Chinga Las Vegas!

I'm back from Las Vegas, and what a trip it was. And just once I'd like to get home from vacation without feeling exhausted.

To start everything off, that fuckhead-in-chief G.W. Bush was flying out of O'Hare Thursday night. Which means all sorts of shit was fucked-up and late. Shana and Rob and I waited in the airport for five hours for a three-and-a-half hour flight, and then when we got on the plane it was too late for them to show the movie, although they were able to play like eight episodes of "Everybody Loves Raymond." Christ in a fucking wheelchair.

So we get to the Venetian around 1:30am and check in. Then we're hungry again since it's been nine hours since we ate dinner, so we hit some cafe in the hotel that's owned by the Cheesecake Factory. Now, I like the food at the Cheesecake Factory. It's usually flavored pretty well, whatever you say about their decor. But this place bit it. $15 for fish and chips, and the chips were fucking shite. Even the fried calamari and zucchini Rob ordered was bland. I mean, how do you fuck up fried calamari?

If you've never been to Vegas, you can probably guess from the preceding that my tale will portray several examples of over-priced underwhelming bullshit.

We were staying at the Venetian, which bills itself as a replica of the real Venice. The truth is, the whole thing is so fucking plastic it's annoying. Having been to Venice, I'd much rather go back, even though I was bored when I was there. At least it was a real city, even if it was full of tourists, too. Just because you have a fake-ass grand canal and your security guards dress like carabinieri doesn't mean you've replicated Venice. Your plastic facade and stench of simulation belie the truth.

Las Vegas is a plastic-and-neon monument to artifice and superficial monolithic greed. Everything is overpriced. There isn't a drinking fountain in the entire fucking city, but every casino has huge fucking fountains out in the desert sun. Me being a frugal bastard, I found myself getting dehydrated throughout the day rather than spend $3 for a bottle of fucking water. And if you read my last post, you've probably figured out that I didn't gamble, although I did watch Shana flush $40 down a roulette table on a whim before we left.

I don't think there's anything authentic in the entire city. It's a chilling vision of the future of Republican America, with everything owned by giant corporations; crowds of people interested in superficial baubles and attention grabbing amusements, like pigeons to the sparkle of broken glass; and flushing their money down their toilet because they can't find the gall to violate cultural mores without permission from some fucking marketing campaign. The whole fucking city is an exercise in branding.

And shit, it was sickly humorous that almost all the people on the Strip who were schilling for the strip clubs and escort services were obvious immigrants. Women and foreigners making money off each other to serve the puerile interests of moderately more well-off Americans.

Everywhere I tried to walk was filled with slow-ass people that were looking at everything but where they were going, oblivious to everything around them but the shiny flashing shit.

On Friday, we went to the GAC party at Madamme Tussaud's Wax Museum. I was standing next to the Andre Agassi statue and some woman said we looked alike. Great. The food was bland - surprise! - and the beer was all weak shit - like the whole damn city! - but the hard liquor was free. I tied a big one on, and managed to fit my fist in my mouth for the first time ever - it left big teeth marks on my knuckles for a while. That last free drink kept me pretty fucked up for the rest of the night. Too fucked up, really.

After the late arrival Thursday night, I just wanted to sleep on Friday. Then that girl Amber that I met at GORP two months ago texted me at 8:45 in the morning. Fuckin' A! Anyway, I called her later in the day and she said was going to the Wax Museum Party and so I said I'd see her later, not really too excited to see her again but not willing to just discard someone who was being friendly.

At the museum that night, Anoki asked where my "girlfriend" was; after I said I hadn't seen her, Shana took my phone and texted her:

Shana, on my phone: Where r u?
Amber: Eating at the palm at ceasers
Shana, on my phone: I miss u!
Amber: [no response]
Shana, on my phone: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!
Amber: [no response]

Needless to say, we were all laughing over this, me included, because, really, who gives a shit about some girl that lukewarm with her friendship? When I saw her as I was walking out on a lecture the next day she kind of acknowledged my wave of hello. Hah.

Note to self: Shana may never touch my phone regarding any girl I'm seriously interested in.

I did have some relaxing times sitting out by the pool, enjoying the sunlight, and/or reading Gilligan's Wake. My dad called to warn me not to give into temptation since Las Vegas is a very tempting city. Don't worry, Dad, the place disgusted me.

The highlight of the weekend was seeing the Pogues and Against Me!, even though the show was overpriced and at the House of Blues. I ended up meeting some skins from Chicago, and making fast friends with some punk kids from L.A. and some Vegas skins as well. But a ton of dancing, not a real heavy crowd, awesome music with group singalongs; just a very classic show. I was asking the Vegas guys if there was any good place to get a beer in town, and they said it sucked, it was all touristy shit. Wow, even the locals can't recommend a good bar.

After the show I was so thirsty I ended up drinking out of the sink at the Mandalay Bay, which houses the House of Blues, and walking the two-and-a-half miles up the strip back to my hotel and collapsing. Sunday was all-you-can-eat buffet brunch at the Bellagio, then a hellacious wait at the fucktarded Vegas airport security only to find another delayed flight. I got home late and spent today yawning and wishing for a nap.

Deciphering my drunken writing in a notebook from Las Vegas

I am plastered right now.

Darren + open bar = fucked up.

I ate and drank so much that even though it's been 2+ hours since my last drink I'm getting more and more drunk. I'm even slurring words in the notebook I'm writing this in.

I guess it's a sign of recovery when I start hiccupping the words...now they're coming fast and furious.

Anyway: Vegas. Tourists. Fat, lazy American tourists, or so it seems. I tried walking down the strip a little bit today to get a feel for the city, but I just wanted to smack all the fat lazy people standing around gawking at all the blatantly obvious tourist shit. Oh, look! A man-made volcano! Big fucking deal. Same with the pirate ship and the rest of that shit.

And gambling. Fuck!

It's like investing in something with zero percent return. Fucking A! Unless you've developed the poker skills, you're a fucking sucker.

Anyway, I'm really fucked up right now. Concentrating-on-not-puking fucked up. The problem here is that the tap water tastes like chlorinated shit and won't make me feel any better.

Derek and Anoki and I were in some club and I only ordered water and they gave me a $5 bottle! Fuckin' ripoff. Yet, if I [illegible] drinking tap water now I'll be praying to the toilet all night. Now, due to my own self-induced inebriation, I have to stay awake LONGER just to keep the nausea at bay.

Shana tonight took my cell phone and started texting Amber with all sorts of shit that made me look like a lech. I guess she was right; if Amber were really interested, she'd have been at the wax-museum event, and if not who cares how stupid I seem?

I've had bile in my throat at least three times tonight. Hopefully I can hold everything down long enough to go to sleep.

Sunlight can do wonderful things for my mood.

I was walking home from the bike shop (routine maintenance this time, thankfully) and it was sunny and windy and cold, and I thought to myself how relaxing it was to just walk and listen to music without a huge amount of time pressure to be anywhere or just do something.

Last night I was talking with Dana in her lab, and she brought up how lucky I was that I love my career. Which is true. I may be draining myself out now with school, and have no life or anything, but it's an investment in my future. I have goals and a vision for my life, and my work actually helps people and gives me some purpose, so I do have something.

Anyway, this weekend will be purely relaxation and just a little bit of learning, so hopefully my mind and body return to Chicago refreshed.

Empty life

Trish called me today to talk and say hi...and I really had nothing to tell her. Not that I didn't want to talk to her, I just had nothing to talk about. My life is really that empty, I realized. It's all school and music, and really, most people don't give two shits about either. I mean, half the time when I go out with people I feel like I was invited as an afterthought or out of pity.

I wonder how bad things will have to get before I get over my shyness and get proactive about making new friends.

$67 is the most I've ever paid for a show by about $40 or so.

I'm getting psyched for my trip to Vegas this weekend...I mean, free four-star hotel, some possibly interesting educational opportunities (NO, I am not talking about prostitution!) and a great show.

So far it's cost me $299 for the airline tix and $67 to see the Pogues and Against Me! on Saturday night. Ticketbastard added something like $12 in fees to a "$52" ticket (House of Blueshit added another $3 "facility charge"). I believe that's worthy of being called financial ass-rape. I'm gonna try and flow as much free food from the conference as I can. Hopefully I can avoid the over-priced club alcohol. Free reception at Madam Tussaud's Friday night, though, so that should fill me up.

I"m fucking excited. The next month is going to be crazy show-wise:
The Pogues/Against Me!
The Falcon/The Copyrights
The Bouncing Souls/The Street Dogs/The World/Inferno Friendship Society
Lucero
The Lawrence Arms
Heavens

I may not have any voice left by Thanksgiving. Rock on.

Anyway, I've got to plan on doing some laundry and cutting my hair before I take off on Thursday. I finally feel like I'm getting handle on my thesis, though, which is nice. I ate a free half-chicken for dinner tonight. It's no wonder I've gained weight.

Jesus helps me trick people.

Laura stayed on my couch after WNUR last night, and was already gone for Mad City by the time I woke up this morning.

After pissing half the day away looking up stuff for my Vegas trip next weekend and looking into records I've wanted to get, and then indulging in some music piracy, I headed off to school.

I discovered another 15-20 research articles I'd filed to be read, so I read some of those, and put some into the circular file. I shot the shit with Chris and Ryan too, and ate a dinner that was probably twice as big as it should have been.

This weekend was pretty good, especially considering the inauspicious start Friday night. It was the first time in a month that I've gotten around to blacking my nails, and it was kinda depressing to take it off tonight. I got to dress pretty light this weekend too, thanks to the Indian summer we've been having here in Chi. The bike jersey I wore yesterday was pretty comfortable and looks odd enough that I'm tempted to get more, but I bet they cost a pretty penny. Today I broke out the camo shorts again, plus a baby-blue T-shirt stating "Jesus helps me trick people." - perfect Sunday apparel.

The new record from The Draft is pretty good, but not great. It's like the continuation of Hot Water Music's decline.

No patients tomorrow, just a ton of boring lecture.

The crust of salt on my skin tells me that the clothes I'm wearing would be best aired out, or even better, washed.

Today's riding almost made up for last night's missed riding. If it were longer with a large group of friendly people it would've been fantastic.

After a long drugged-out sleep, I got up and rode up to the Irish American Heritage Center off Lawrence and Elston to sit in on Laura's class. It was pretty fun. I don't think there's an Iranian-American center like that in Chicago - it would be cool to get more in touch with my ethnic roots. The American rural Christian life of my mother's side I think I've had enough of, however.

Anyway, I rode the 7.5 miles up there, had a decent free lunch, sat in on the class and learned something, talked with Laura a bit, then rode the 9 miles to school to do some labwork and get some reading done.

A productive day here at UIC: I got my unit ready for Monday morning inspection, treatment-planned a case, and finished reading the papers I had out for my thesis. Tomorrow I plan to start putting together either criteria or questions for my surveys and formalizing my protocol...I also need to start filling out the IRB forms, I suppose.

Laura's coming to NUR tonight, as well as some new faces, so that should be fun. Right now I need to ride home and shower and change, as I've gotten pretty ripe with all the riding. I've also got a keen new bike jersey I got as a thank you for presenting to the Odontographic Society (they were leftover from a few years ago). If it weren't so rank, I'd wear it the rest of the night, but the crust of salt on my skin tells me that the clothes I'm wearing would be best aired out, or even better, washed.

In the meantime, ruminate on the irony: the actress playing Mary in the Nativity movie is 16, unwed, and pregnant.

Is there an optimistic turn on the horizon?

Right now I'm sitting in the dark, listening to the old MP3 player (and I mean the old one, not the new one; the old one I save only to plug into the various stereos in my house for random home-made radio stylee) and recovering from the drunk I got myself on. The only chilled drink I had was Irish cream, and I drank most of a medium size bottle while watching a cheesy action comedy I borrowed from Mike last weekend.

That's me when bored and depressed: opiating myself with alcohol and television. The American way. How pathetic.

Eleven to your seven, yeah.

After watching the movie, I lay down on my kitchen floor, watching the full moon with the lights off until I either sobered up or dozed off. I think I did more sobering up than dozing off. As often happens when I'm feeling depressed and lonely, my thoughts turned to my ex-girlfriend. Yeah, I know it's been almost two years since we broke up, but it was my first time really being in love, so there's still some latent emotional sewage to wade through. Overall, I think I've made progress. And for more on that topic, you'll have to find a copy of my zine when it comes out, as soon as I get my shit together and finish it.

Yeah, so I've got a bunch of great ideas. I'm drunk enough still that I feel optimistic enough that if I write tonight it'll be an accomplishment. I'm also at the stage where I don't give enough of a shit, and if I'm not about to pass out at the end of my writing bout, I think I'll put a new inner tube on my bike and go for a ride somewhere. I'm not sure where. At least an hour or so, maybe exploring the north side.

Who the fuck knows where this night will lead?! Drunken romantic reminiscence followed by rambling music-driven bicycling! All on an empty stomach and a bottle of Irish cream! What an exciting life I lead!

I'd trade it all for a friend to sit on my couch and talk with me.

The Broadways, "Rainy Day":

You've been down for so long
The world can really do that to a kid
But you can't dwell on that shit
Gotta make the world the best you can
But there's not reason for crying
Whoa-oh, keep on trying
Drink everyday to make the pain feel like it wasn't really there
Kill dreams in front of TVs
That is just what they love to hear
Maybe sometime...I will get off this fucking couch
I won't let this world drag me down
Kids like you and me will be free
Maybe sometime I won't have to wake up
And see another rainy day
A boring afternoon
There's no prize at the end of this rainbow
No one to love
No one to talk to
So I'm gonna grab my umbrella and run outside
No rain's gonna drown my ambition
Gonna make it this time

I want to cry and throw things

I was all keyed up to go on the Oak Park-Evanston Meet-Up Mass tonight, and I get out of school and I have a flat fucking tire. By the time I got it patched, there was no way I'd be able to get home, put on a new tube and get out to Oak Park on time. Dumb fucking luck.

Right now I want to cry and throw things. The weather is so great for a bike ride, but I'm too fucking demoralized to care anymore. I might get together with Tara later, but I don't hold high hopes for that. Everyone else is busy.

Have a great fucking weekend. Choke on your plans.

The October Fifth Roundup

It was a busy day today. I feel like I really got a lot done, but at the same time realized how much more I have to learn in some areas. I did some new things and some straightforward things. Clinically, educationally, it was a good day.

Tomorrow we have an all-day lecture from a well-respected gnathologist. Or, as Schneider calls them, Goddamn gnathologists! So I plan on bringing some research reading to do. Or something. I figure I'll get sick of this guy's BS rather quickly.

I decided to go on the Oak Park-Evanston Meet-Up Mass tomorrow night. Which means a 7.5-mile bike ride out to OP and then a rambling 15-mile ride back to downtown Chi and then out to the Billy Goat a mile from my house. Cheezborger, Pepsi No Coke!

After my evening lecture and clean-up and then dinner tonight, I was too worn out to do anything. I really have trouble getting back into that work groove. I slept 8 hours last night and it was wonderful!...I still fell asleep in my 8am lecture today. Tonight I'm going to crash out early as soon as I'm done writing this. Well, I'll shower and clean myself a bit first.

Riding around the city I've seen many many beautiful sights. Or photogenic ones, anyway. I wished I had my camera. Sometimes I think I've been influenced too much by commercial images, though. Well, I still think my photos are cool, and I've gotten good feedback on some of my stuff that I think is hackneyed.

Some good spots, for when I find the time to carry a camera and tripod on the bike:

• Halsted crossing the north branch: great view of the downtown skyline with old steel bridge and industrial areas in the foreground. At night.
  
• Division on the Goose Island crossing: another great industrial foreground with famous skyline backdrop, just look down any cross-street. At dusk.
  
• Off my front porch at night. I was sitting out there tonight after my ride home and it was lit so serenely. It was great. It would take some playing with the camera settings to capture it, but it was so clear and oddly contrasted it was beautiful.

Sushi Tuesday!

Today was a good day. Clinically straight-forward appointments, followed by S-U-S-H-I sushi! Sixteen of us took over half of Sushi Para and proceeded to demolish their all-you-can-eat BYOB offering.

The six miles of riding was also pretty nice. It wasn't really enough to get me really worn, but it did work up a nice sweat. The peach Bicardis were pretty sweet, too.

I also apparently have the ability to drive girls wild with my wink. Too bad I don't have the ability to write for shit.

Fuck this post.

The last week or two I've been totally exhausted. Bone tired. I'm having one of my bouts of self-disgust, too, since I've been rather unproductive and too self-indulgent for my own good. High-calorie shit diet, minimal work done, shit piling up, bleh. I can't even think of anything worthwhile to write here.

The only high point the last few days has been totally wearing myself out biking, and tonight I can't even do that thanks to the raging thunderstorm that started on my way home from school.

Tomorrow night I'm having a ton of sushi, at least, so that'll feel good. I think I need sleep and a lack of distraction. I still have three movies left that I borrowed from Mike last night, so eventually I'll be done with this little phase and get back to life.

I hate my TV in a way that I can never express. I am too easily wooed back.

"Thanks for ruining the picture."

At the beginning of August, I went to a conference for orthodontic residents in Ann Arbor, MI. They took a group photo, after making us move back and forth five or ten times. I don't know why the photographer couldn't just move over.

I got sick of it quick:

Don't sit too close to the TV - it'll rot your brain.

I borrowed a bunch of movies from John last weekend, and I've watched them all already. Not that it was a waste of time, but the ease with which I ignored other responsibilities to accomplish this TV watching was scary. It's really a piece of good luck that my VCR conked out on me last spring. The time is much better spent reading or writing or riding.

Being the total aging emo kid that I am, I ended up watching several romantic comedies. The tear-jerkers. It's been a long time since I've watched a romantic movie - or any movie, for that matter - with someone to cuddle with.

I know it's lame to admit to feeling lonely, but sometimes I feel like my whole life consists of dentistry and underground music. I have trouble finding time to really get together with friends (note that I still had time to watch six movies) or even sleep enough, so I don't know how much of this is my fault.

I'm ashamed to be an American

Fighting terrorism through torture and secret detention, coming soon to a neighborhood near you!

UPDATE: The New York Times weighs in. And, oh, yeah, torture doesn't work.

I finally registered to vote at my new address last night

Well maybe you do but maybe you don't
Exercise your privilege in the right to vote.
Fuck "rock the vote" and fuck all the rest,
What we need to do is throw cans of tear gas.
17% 18-25
It's a total fucking war between us and them,
And our collective middle fingers is what we'll extend.
Fuck Gideon Yago and fuck MTV,
Fuck the state-controlled media that decides what we see.
17% 18-25
FUCK THIS WAR!
You think that you can cope,
You didn't fucking vote,
2 double-0 6,
World War III!
Power to the People!

- The Suicide Machines, "17% 18-25"

March of the Evolutionary Loopholes

My undergrad major was environmental science. At Northwestern, this meant I took classes in many departments: biology, chemistry, civil engineering, economics, political science, geology, etc. Not planning on using my undergrad degree for anything approaching a career, I thought it a great major, since I gained informational background in many areas - a true liberal arts education.

What reminded me of this tonight, though, is the concept of charismatic megafauna, a term I've remembered from the environmental politics course I took once upon a time. It's a reference to animals that have popular appeal and so can form the basis of conservation campaigns and fundraising drives.

In other words, How cute!

Those are the words I heard over and over from my girl friends upon the release of March of the Penguins. I never saw it; I didn't have much interest in a movie about penguin reproduction, especially not with the relentless female chorus of So cute! surrounding any mention of the movie.

Last Friday, though, I was at John's place prior to heading out to the Point to try and light a soaking wet wind-bedeviled birthday bonfire. I was looking through his and Rebecca's DVDs and borrowed a bunch, including March of the Penguins. Tonight I had some time free, and it was the shortest movie available (meaning I could finish it) and so I had some ice cream and watched it. It was nice, it was interesting, and I found Morgan Freeman's narration at times enlightening, and at times way too anthopomorphic, but one thing stands out in my mind.

They really aren't that cute.

I'm not even going to try to write something worth reading

I was thinking the other day, after reading a bunch of random blogs, that my writing has gotten less and less story-like and more and more a list of activities and events that had transpired. It had become so passive. And probably boring.

The funny thing is that this change is probably a subtle and insidious result of my (vain) desire to have more readers. I didn't really give a shit when I started, but MySpace had a rather prominent counter associated with its entry page, and I got all ego'd up in it. I'm going to get back to writing for the art of writing, rather than for some perceived audience.

Right now I'm just exhausted, though, because I'm not self-responsible enough to go sleep on time on the weekend, even when I've got to get up early. I'm too tired to go to Mina's show in Chicago tonight, and I'm not even going to try to write something worth reading.

Low-key night so far

I think I missed the Pilsen Circular Mass tonight. I got to the plaza at a few minutes after six and no one was there, and it was getting pretty overcast. No one else was waiting there with their bike, either. I pumped up my tires and sat for a few minutes listening to music. John Stoner showed up about a quarter past six, and told me that there were heavy showers heading toward the city...I decided to just go home. I also decided to stop by school to use the bathroom, which was a fortunate decision since I got in just after it started pouring big heavy drops of rain. By the time I got out, it had pretty much stopped, and I even saw dusk-painted clouds on the western horizon when crossing north over the Ike.

I had some thoughts on my relationship with food which I'll have to relate at some other time. I gotta run out to Hyde Park for John's bonfire if it isn't too wet, and then over to the Westin for the Bottom Line seminar.

Yeah, so, I live a real exciting life. Sunday I've got to nail down a fair amount of work I need done by Monday.

When you don't control your own government, people want to kill you

Another reason to blame America first: more on CIA illegal domestic activities and torture.

Simple

Sadly, the funniest thing in The Onion this week is a Simple Shoes add that says "Feet stink. I wish we sold beer."

I told them to stop fattening me up

I got my bike back yesterday. $157. That also included the two ankle straps I bought. Hopefully I can go without so much damage to it for a while. Must keep tires fully inflated.

Last night I went out with Trish and some of her friends for her birthday. It was fun, but damn, I was getting tired at the end. We had dinner at Leona's, then went to see Roy Hargrove at the Jazz Showcase downtown. I was so pooped at the end of the night that I just crashed when I got home. This means I haven't showered in two days, so I really must do that tonight.

Marcela keeps buying me food to thank me for helping her out with things. Yesterday it was a bagel, today it was Kit Kat balls. Then Sidhi volunteered to get me food tomorrow. I told them to stop fattening me up.

Aside from having a real busy day, nothing too eventful happened. Tomorrow I need to get my old OrthoPli instruments together to see how much refund I can get from Gary Tippy.

Tomorrow I'm going to meet my parents for dinner since my brother will be in town. The movers are bringing their furniture to their new house tomorrow morning. Friday I'm going to do the Pilsen Mass ride and then head down to Hyde Park for John's birthday bonfire before checking into the Westin for the Bottom Line seminar this weekend.

I wonder when I'll get any work done.

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...