There was a time and a place that was all full of mistakes, and a face that was all full of shit. I was frustrated and angry.

Phil called me Friday and told me he'd been accepted to Northwestern for his PhD. He still needs to make up his mind whether to choose NU or UCLA, but I have the feeling he's been leaning towards NU for a while. So hopefully, for my own selfish sake, he'll end up back in Chicago. Dani's probably coming back in August, too. And Rosa came back to town last fall. Friends that dispersed in 2004 seem to be returning.

I've been reading Doug Coupland's Life After God lately, and there's a lot of quotables in it. For example:

I left the hotel shortly thereafter and, very soon after that, I fell in love. Love was frightening and it hurt - not only during, but afterward - when I fell out of love. But that is another story.

I would like to fall in love again but my only hope is that love doesn't happen to me so often after this. I don't want to get so used to falling in love that I get curious to experience something more extreme - whatever that may be.

The Punk Planet benefit was pretty damn fun last night. I spent a good long while laughing my ass off at the comics battle, and ended up winning a box of swag in the raffle. Let's hear it for free swag. Included was a copy of Hairstyles of the Damned, which I read in one day on my way home from the Navajo reservation a year and a half ago. I loved that book; I wanted to be in it. I've meant to buy my own copy to reread, but there was always something else calling me that I hadn't read, even though I think I bought copies as presents for friends over time. Well, for the $7 I paid at the door, I was entertained, won a bunch of free shit, and got a copy of the most recent Punk Planet issue as well. I made out like a bandit.

To top it off, I walked outside to my car at the end of the night and the thin dusting of snow made it seem so goddamn peaceful. The feeling was awesome, knowing I had a handle on my immediate work situation, was going to get a decent amount of sleep and didn't have a hard day coming up. I felt so warm, like I could conquer the world. Seeing all the flurries and the dustings of snow we keep getting the last few days has really cheered me. And the bike riding has been perfect winter riding - I don't get sweaty and don't feel cold.

The day that I read Hairstyles of the Damned is the day I received free from some huge used bookstore in Flagstaff The Portable Henry Rollins for being their whateverth customer or something. Only time I've ever been in that store. Dani was jealous. I told her I'd buy her a beer. I didn't have time, since my flight to Phoenix was cancelled and I had to take a cab from Flag down there to catch my flight back to Chicago. I don't know if I've ever caught up on that, though I've seen her since, and been out there to visit her again too. Whatever, next time she's in Chicago.

Her birthday is Thursday and I haven't sent anything yet. I should get on that.

My dilemma: I have a presentation to give next Wednesday morning, but the Pogues are playing Monday and Tuesday night. It's $50 a show plus asshole charge, but I'm still tempted to go to both shows. I just don't know. Maybe I can get the presentation set to go by Thursday; I'm going to Florida on Friday and won't get back until late Sunday. Hmmmmm.....

More from Life After God:

The radio stations all seemed to be talking about Jesus nonstop, and it seemed to be this crazy orgy of projection, with everyone projecting onto Jesus the antidotes to the things that had gone wrong in their own lives. He is Love. He is Forgiveness. He is Compassion. He is a Wise Career Decision. He is a Child Who Loves Me.

Stinky

You know you've been going out a lot when all your chairs are covered with jackets or sweatshirts airing out their smokiness.

Would you still love me if I were in a knife-fight?

I can't understand why every review I've read of Lifetime's newest record says it's like they picked up right where they left off. Bullshit. Have these reviewers heard Jersey's Best Dancers? Or even Hello Bastards? The new one sounds right at home on Fallout Boy's record label, to my ears. I heard Jersey's Best for the first time and it made me want to jump around and rock out and sing along with words I couldn't understand. It still does - though I know a fair amount of the words now. This makes me want to, well, nothing. I have to concentrate to tell when one song becomes another. I'm back to the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir now.

I was thinking, while pushing my way through the 4-inch piles of slush on I-94 last night, how I've yet to let go of my fear of being alone. I don't mean temporarily, but for a lifetime. I guess it's a pretty common fear, although I think lots of people are in denial. I remember after I broke up with Marta, my friends would tell me with certainty that I'd find someone else. Then I'd go to work and treat patients who were at the tail end of middle age and still single, and think that there isn't someone for everyone. There's no such thing as soulmates, but I've never believed that, I don't think. I even had a patient who started going through a divorce right when Marta broke up with me, so we'd discuss love lives for a few minutes every time I saw her.

(For the record, it's almost impossible to see dried tears on someone's face after they've been crying, and with practice it's easy enough to put on the I'm-feeling-fine mask. Cue Billy Bragg's "The Tracks of My Tears," which is a song I wish I'd known back then.)

Anyway, while the fear of being alone for my life may be somewhat rational, it may serve as a negative influence on my actions and spur deeds with irrationally selfish goals. I can't pinpoint any instances of this, but I can sense its liminal possibility.

I was thinking about the function of blogging in my life. I know reflexivity is so post-modernly modern right now, but bear with me. When I'm feeling well and fabulous, I'm usually out or off doing something and even when at home, can't be bothered to write more than a few lines. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but I feel it's accurate for the most part. There was a time when writing something was a part of my regular routine, to the point where it almost felt like an obligation. I know I have an addictive personality, and I don't need another vice. Plus, I was writing shitty stuff. A synopsis of my day, while perhaps interesting to those who know me well, is not very literary and even then probably not that interesting. I've been trying to at least make things meaningful to Joe and Jane Reader should they not know me. Or entertaining if not meaningful. I know I have an audience of a handful of people, but it can't hurt. At least I won't compulsively blog, like some people compulsively check e-mail. (Before anyone gets insulted by that - I once had my Eudora set to check for incoming messages every minute, and play the Dukes of Hazzard theme every time there was a new message. Drove my roommate crazy and wasted a shitload of my time, it did. Now I occasionally have to tell someone I didn't see their e-mail yet because I haven't checked mine in a few days.)

Moral of the story: blog reality is definitely skewed toward the pessimistic and should probably come with a disclaimer. The question that's posed itself to me recently is: Does pursuing these pessimistic/depressing/whatever trains of thought distract me from a more positive track? I have a feeling it does. Consequently, dear reader, you may be seeing less frequent posting here.

Now, in a bit of reflexive humor, here's a quick synopsis for you: I spent many hours doing labwork for Wednesday's presentation both yesterday and today, and I'm burnt out on it but effectively done. I'm leaving for the Punk Planet benefit show at the Hideout in a few minutes. My fortune reads: "You will pass a difficult test that will make you happier (in bed)." There's a tender knot on my ankle where I banged it taking a tumble while snow-biking five weeks ago.

My own kind of manicure.

I superglued the heels of my shoes back on yesterday and I've got this dab of cyanoacrylate stuck to my thumbnail. I keep trying to pick it off, and of course it won't budge.

One last kick in the balls.

I guess winter wanted to give us one last kick in the balls. Last night I was riding home around 9:30pm in the sleet/slush/snow. It wasn't a bad ride at all, although the snowflakes so beautifully drifting down would fucking swerve suddenly and smack into my face; this is how I learned they weren't snowflakes, but fucking ice-balls. Ride, see beauty, smack!, repeat.

The highway was a fucking mess, don't even get me started. People drive like fucking idiots. Fuckin' A.

Been doing work all weekend. Sectioning teeth from the cast yesterday was almost zen-like. Music was on, my arms were sawing with the perfect pressure to keep cutting but not bind the blade in the stone, and my mind was able to disengage and marvel at each little grain of yellow dust I generated while my voice gave words to the songs I was listening to. Wonderful.

"Face Values"

A decade ago, I worked at Blockbuster Music during my freshman year of college. When I'd be closing up, I'd often put on the Suicide Machines' Destruction By Definition and be dancing and rocking out while I cleaned up. For some reason, the only time I'm reminded of this is when I hear "Face Values" off that record.

You've got no friends, so you're lonely
It does not have to be this way
Just be yourself, the one and only
It takes some time but that's okay
Alright, no need to fight
'Cause everybody's different and there's nothing you can do about it
Just because I dont look like you or act like you
It doesn't make me any better or worse
I used to be just like you
Instead I found better things to do
Than worry 'bout what the others think
Or wonder if there's something wrong with me
You hate yourself cause you're not out there
Well understand that this is wrong
You're better off doing your own thing
Being yourself and being strong

What an exciting life I lead...

I slept ten and a half hours last night. I feel great. I'm going to wash up and immerse myself in preparing my presentation for next week for the rest of the day.

There's more I want to write, but I can't justify taking the time.

I was spitting and drooling all over myself. It was wonderful.

There's nothing quite like coming home sweaty from a below-freezing bike ride. I just got home, obviously. Fun night. See below.

I thought I had the winter biking wardrobe issues conquered, and then I overdressed for my ride up to Delilah's last night. I got to the bar and was really sweating, even though I had unzipped my windbreaker and let my one long sleeve shirt hang out in the wind. Then tonight, wearing about the same thing, I froze my fucking dick off during Critical Mass (due to the slow riding pace) and then of course sweated my sack off riding at speed post-Mass.

I met Laura W., Alicia and Alexis at Delilah's last night for Ska Night. The cops were blocking Cortland off again around the Finkl steelworks. I don't know why they do it so frequently. Alicia and Laura showed up at D's later, and I didn't realize they had arrived until Laura rubbed my fuzzy head from behind. Alicia seemed surprised Alexis was there. Alicia asked me to make her some mix CDs - I have the list somewhere, and hopefully I can get to it in a decent period of time. Laura and Alicia didn't realize how late it was and had to leave suddenly, and I ended up with Laura's almost full Duchesse. I moved down the bar and sat and talked with Chuck for a good long while, as usually happens when alone at Ska Night.

Chuck gave me a copy of the new Deal's Gone Bad record. He gave me a copy of the LP dub version of Go Jimmy Go's latest as well, but I had to give it back since I had no way to carry the damn thing home on my bike with no bag.

I really need to start cooking for myself again. It's been a while, aside from frozen gyoza and gourmet sausages. That simple shit doesn't count. I guess part of the problem is that I'm so damn tired, or get fed elsewhere. Yesterday I dined on a half bag of baby carrots, free pizza lunch, and whatever leftover chex mix and pretzels Chuck and I begged from Delilah's at the end of the night.

On the ride home I was singing Lawrence Arms songs so profusely, I was spitting and drooling all over myself. It was wonderful.

The topic of friends reading my blog has come up in conversations with several different people this week. I had one friend tell me she felt voyeuristic the few times she's read it, and another tell me she had to pretend she hadn't read it so she didn't ruin some story I was telling - I told her the story wouldn't have been ruined; don't worry, the blog would be hidden and secret if I intended it to be...

Dana called me last night and we talked for a good while. She has a positive outlook on so many things, it's often very refreshing to talk to her. (Sometimes overly optimistic, like the time she told me the girl I'd talked to for one night in Michigan was going to be my future wife. Uh, nope. But the optimism was appreciated at the time.)

I get new mysterious grease stains on everything. How did grease get on my left fucking knee last night? How did it get onto the top surface of my rear bike rack? How did it get onto my nose earlier? The great unknown...

I finished Bill Bryson's A Walk In the Woods last night. I picked it off my shelf since Ryan K. had mentioned he'd read it and really enjoyed it. At the end of it, I was thinking of how Ryan used to walk all over the city late at night, when he wasn't working and was out late a lot. I suppose it can be rather relaxing, the simple physical exertion and repetition of it.

I was telling Alexis last night that biking around the city makes me, or maybe more accurately, lets me see it differently. Every trip I make doesn't have some nondescript "in-between" but rather a constant change of locale at a rate that allows it to be experienced. Plus I'm not encased in a 2,000-pound climate-controlled cage.

I need to superglue my shoes again to make sure the soles stay on.

Last summer, I was wearing my "choose your weapon" shirt, with a bike and tank , at my grandparents' farm town. All the loving Christians in my family loved it (truthfully). Of course, they all still vote for Bush "because he's a good Christian." Puke.

I was handing out the remainder of the Special Export that Kamiar gave me during the Mass tonight. At the end, I was standing out in the middle of Chicago Ave drinking with a bunch of punk kids, who in turn shared their homemade honey wine and invited me down to Happiness House for both more wine and rock music.

They had a huge cooler full of homebrewed honey wine, generously spiced with ginger, and I ended up discussing the nature of revolution and social change with some squatter girl, and how human psychology and lasting change dictate the slow conversion of large numbers of people and progressive cultural change. It was nice to talk with people who see the status quo as something worth changing and improving, and can visualize a different world worth taking action for.


I didn't get any pictures of the first guy to play, but it was some guy with a banjo, and it was a pretty fucking great showing. I have a newfound respect for the banjo, especially when played fast and loud with raw vocals and a great sense of humor. Some disco/dance-punk band played next, and they were pretty fun as well, although the whole band was a one-off for this show I think. They played "Going to Georgia," which made my night.

Right now I'm fucking zonked, and I've got a ton of work to do this weekend for my presentation next Wednesday, especially considering that Dana asked me to go out for her birthday on Tuesday night. I need to shower and sleep.

I like my bike.

The great thing about this warmer weather is my hesitancy to bike is dispersing. I went to the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir show at the Empty Bottle tonight, and met Alicia's friend Alexis there, and her friend Romi. The show was OK, but a little short. It was also free, so who am I to complain. The conversation was pretty good too.

The ride home was a blast. Not even long enough for three songs to play, but I was singing at the top of my lungs the whole way, except when I ran out of breath. I'm sure it set dogs to wailing in my passing - my singing voice is not what anyone would call "great."

I'm looking forward to Critical Mass this Friday. I need to make sure I can strap the remainder of that case of Special Ex to the back of my bike to freely distribute.

And hey, I actually got shit done today. Of course, I realized I have more shit to do than I thought, but some emotional momentum was developed...

More laugh out loud...

Again from A Walk In the Woods:

It would be just my luck, of course, to be savaged by an animal with a flea collar and a medical history. I imagined lying on my back, being extravagantly ravaged, inclining my head slightly to read a dangling silver tag that said: "My name is Mr. Bojangles. If found please call Tanya and Vinny at 924-4667."

I think the date was May 9, 2003.

My aunt Susan and uncle Alex used to live in Saddle River, New Jersey, until a year or two ago, when they moved to a penthouse in Fort Lee. A quarter mile from their place was a rather grand garden shop. And by shop, I mean outdoor nursery, complete with ponds, fish, concrete sculptures, plants, etc. You could drive around inside the grounds, it was so big.

Four years ago, I was in town for my cousin Ramin's bachelor party. Ramin is John's older half-brother; his house was maybe a half-mile away from this place. John and I were both staying at Susan and Alex's, his parents' house. The bachelor party was Saturday, but he and I were both in town on Friday, and the things I remember about that day are the way he would be sending email on his Blackberry while driving down busy streets (pretty fucking stupid, in my book) and stopping by this nursery on the way back to his parents' house for some reason I can't remember. Maybe he wanted to buy something for them, who knows.

I hadn't remembered that in all the time since until tonight. The phrase, "Sunfish Pond," in A Walk In the Woods is what brought it to mind, since this nursery had a huge koi pond in the front, which was rather peaceful.

I think the date was May 9, 2003. The next day we played paintball with my uncles and cousins and then had a huge dinner in the basement of some Italian slaughterhouse in Manhattan's old meat district, then to some "gentlemen's club" where I wished I was back in Chicago with my girlfriend at the time. That Sunday was Mother's Day, but my dad had flown back to California, and John had as well. I had a mother's day brunch with my aunts Parvin and Susan, my grandmother, Ramin, Lisa, and Paul. It was gray out, and then I had to fly back to Chicago. Marta and I had a huge fight that week, and she did one of the things which - at that point - I was totally incapable of doing; she didn't give up on our relationship even after I had, and it shocked me in a way I hadn't been before.

Am I becoming an indie rocker?

I've been grooving so much on the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir the last few days. And some of the best records I've been into lately have been by non-punk/post-punk bands. Am I becoming an indie rocker? Is it possible? Well, there's no fucking scene, just a bunch of people standing around.

Who gives a fuck, really? I likes what I likes. When I start pigeon-holing myself is when I start to miss out on the good stuff.

I could really use a good punk record, though. Anthony had Minor Threat and Bad Brains on when we were doing station packing last night, and I was air-guitarring and singing along the whole while.

Fuck.

Fantabulous!

I stole the Alkaline Trio b-sides set Remains from WNUR. It's not like the Rock Show will add the fucking thing anyway. Whether it makes it to the Fast n Loud stacks, we'll see. Half the songs (the best ones) are already there on the various comps they were originally released on.

I'm following a Tripel Karmeliet with Young's Double Chocolate Stout, and for the first time the chocolate grabs me every time I tip my glass up. Fantabulous!

I was just thinking of my tendency to become self-reflectively moody, and what a fucking rut it can put me in. Sometimes being sad is so much easier than being happy. You don't have to worry about becoming more depressed.

Sleep, and the lack thereof.

I've napped an aggregate of two hours today (or more), most recently in the form of a 75 minute nap in the lounge here at school in the quite possibly mistaken belief that I'd get some work done tonight. I've looked at my little to-do list, and I've knocked a fair amount of stuff off it today during the day, but right now apathy is setting in firmly, especially since I have one patient tomorrow and the rest of the day free.

I woke up before the sun again this morning. At least this time, my alarm was set to 5:25am so it wasn't too much earlier, but I need to work through whatever shit in my head is waking me up so early. I did feel like I slept better last night, though. Maybe it's just lingering nervousness from my censure last week.

My 7am craniofacial lecture this morning was on the psychological implications of craniofacial deformities. Aside from the lecturer's voice being audibly nervous (which surprised me, since she's a clinical psychologist), there were several things which struck me despite my struggles to maintain consciousness.

I started thinking about my cousin John and the way he reacted to his illness, and even what I know is mostly inferred from second-hand reports of what he did and said. Depressing thoughts, especially when I'm already feeling tired and a lack of sleep.

Children with congenital disorders are often treated differently by their parents, even siblings - or maybe especially siblings. This rung true with my experience with Kevin and my parents; even my parents admit they treated us differently, with a greater focus on him. The other point that caught my attention was the development of health care anxiety in the kids that are constantly going from one doctor to another for team care of varying problems; I started wondering how much of that Kevin had. Fortunately for him, he was able to have most of his IVs done at home by the same few nurses, and was lucky enough to mostly just visit his pediatrician and immunologist without requiring extensive physical procedures and surgeries. Still, he did occasionally use his predicament as an excuse to lash out against something.

The lecture also mentioned something about kids not knowing how to cope with social problems. No shit. I sure didn't as a kid. Sometimes I still don't, although I think I tend to avoid the preprogrammed responses I see many of my peers make.

Matt was giving me shit about my phone being old today. I told him he's not the first, but planned obsolescence isn't justification for purchasing an unneeded replacement.

Fuck me.

This week is already the longest week ever, and the sun hasn't even come up on Tuesday morning. Fuck me, I don't know how I'm going to get work done.

Laugh out loud...

The best line in the book I'm reading - on Ryan K.'s suggestion - so far:

"You don't let me talk to any women again, of any size, at least until we get out of the Confederacy. These guys have all got guns down here. You promise?"

And it's nonfiction.

This old post has been on my mind the last several hours.

Seems like another wasted day; sometimes I think I think too much.

Sometimes I get so focused on avoiding the repetition of past mistakes/follies/blunders that I create whole new ones that are much more far-reaching than I could imagine. And sometimes I get so comfortable with myself that I lose control of the personality traits I'm not too proud of and get caught up short in multiple situations. I'm still sorting out whether those two sentences are related.

Katie told me she couldn't stand Phil and doesn't know what she's going to do if he comes back in the fall. I told her he just needed to get his radio on and he'd calm down - or something like that.

How come I always realize I'm starving right as I'm getting ready for bed. I had one slice of pizza for dinner. This glass of beer is my goodnight kiss.

I've been listening to the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir at home, and the Broadways, Lawrence Arms, and Suicide Machines on the road. On the way home tonight, the Broadways' "Dropjaw" came on. Guess the opening lines...

I'm staring another busy week in the face

It's been a few days, no?

My week has been altogether awesome and shitty at the same time. Well, not at exactly the same time; there were altogether shitty moments and altogether awesome moments.

Awesome moments included a lot of hanging out with Laura G. Late night hang-outs, a fucking kickass dinner we cooked together - really, she did about 90% of the food preparation and kept me busy with other things - several hours of lazing abed, and, oh, the conversation. Very smitten with that girl, I am.

She was touched that I had fresh flowers for our dinner, and she loved the cheapo plastic vase I got at the grocery store four years ago for its character. Even when I pointed out that it was a cheapo plastic vase that I got at the grocery store four years ago, she said at least it wasn't some plain clear glass thing.

Dinner was fucking awesome. She even put together a menu.

I put candles all over my place - I'm out of candles now, by the way - and a lot of old ska, reggae, and soul songs on, and it really made my fucking day, especially since my day was pretty shitty until she came over.

I spent most of my day with her yesterday. She called me up to go get breakfast before I even got out of bed, and afterward we came back to my place for napping and just lazing around. It was a blast. She blows me away.

I was able to meet up with Phil last night. It was fucking great. Stories were told. Laughter was made. Musical discussions were had. Beer was drunk. He met my girlfriend. Seriously, I think he and I were riffing off each other all night long. Phil managed to both irritate and make friends with the WNUR kids. It took us almost 20 minutes of Fast n Loud to get to our second song...

Friday I went to a hardcore show in the basement of Humility Gallery in east Pilsen. None of the bands were that great, but the vibe and the energy were totally worth it. Punk rock is probably the only genre where attitude and energy can get you past the not great music mark. But fuck it was cold. My feet were almost numb from the concrete floor when I left. There was unmelted snow by the door, and a few of the bands were playing with gloves on. The kid working the door mentioned he'd seen me at shows a few times and actually called out my Broadways jacket (which I wasn't wearing that night).

I cut my hair for the first time in a few weeks. It feels good to be short again. I hope Laura G. still rubs it as much as she was yesterday.

Topping out as one of the shittier parts of my week, I was threatened with expulsion from my residency. I was given my first and only written warning for being "intentionally rude to a faculty member." I think my tone may have been off, but what I said was, "Dr. Grubb, let Shana finish." And as Dr. Grubb was rebuking me for my comment, Shana was mouthing, "Thank you," to me as she waited to resume her second case presentation of the day. She thanked me again later. So I don't feel guilty, especially since Dr. Grubb is a politician and egotist who'd already said some publicly demeaning things to and about me. So yeah, I could have said it more nicely, but when someone giving a presentation is thanking me for asking someone else to allow her to continue, I don't feel like I've done much wrong.

As it is, he still hasn't replied to the apology email I sent him, and I've written a much longer draft email reviewing some of the run-ins we've had - I'm going to have one of my classmates read it for tone, since I am definitely not being very objective about this. This episode has made me incredibly keyed up the last four days; I'm not sleeping well, and I'm running through a million bullshit scenarios that I know intellectually aren't going to pass, but good luck convincing my emotions of that. I go to bed feeling ecstatic and wake up with my mind telling me how I'm going to continue being insulted until I react and have my career derailed. I know it sounds ludicrous. It is. But I feel I'm walking very close to the line of what constitutes "unacceptable" behavior, and could easily lose my temper with him again...

Today's been particularly shitty. I woke up feeling like shit again, after sleeping five hours. I sat in bed and read The Lord of the Flies from beginning to end, which is not exactly a pick-me-up either. Anyway, by the time I rolled out of bed I had absolutely no drive to do anything, not eat, not read, not drink. The perfect activity would have been sitting by a fire watching things burn. I can pass hours that way, plus the dry heat is never unwelcome, especially in the winter. But since that wasn't available, I moped around with my brain spinning out scenarios of my career derailing and it started me onto a bit of a despondency. I'm wishing I spent more time bashfully resting my head on Laura G. when she was here yesterday.

Ryan K. and Laura W. have both expressed doubts as to whether it's a good idea for me to be so candid about my insecurities or feelings toward Laura G. since it's very possible she could be reading this after linking from my myspace page. I've considered whether or not it's a good idea myself, but I feel I've worked too long to be able to be this honest with myself to hold back. I don't want to feel I'm repressing something just because it may not place me in the most flattering light...and I have the confidence now that Laura will bring it up with me if there's something written here she doesn't feel good about.

Right now I'm staring another busy week in the face with no progress made on any of the work I'm letting pile up. I've got downloaded music from Lifetime, Bill Haley, and the Scotland Yard Gospel Choir to listen to, though. Who the fuck knows. Nothing's getting done tonight, that's for damn sure. Hopefully I can get some sleep. If not, hopefully it's because Laura decided to come over after work and we hang out until the early morning again.

Stress-Induced Emotional Paralysis

Laying here gripped by inertia
My chest caving in and I can't separate why
Bumbling my way through
What I thought would be so easy
Can't I disengage my mind and coast on through my experiences?
Thinking in terms of endpoints
Trying to refute the dynamic continuity of life
Wondering what I've fucked up and what I can set right
But still my inertia holds me
I fall asleep joyfully
And wake up with twisted guts
And rapidly racing thoughts
I want to escape from the world
And feel selfishly safe

Maybe "Shut up; I'll tell you later," will work.

A few things.

I rode my bike to school this morning, there being only 3-4 inches of snow on the ground. Stupid me, I turned off Ashland, which was relatively clear, and cut south on Paulina, which was a little bit of hard-pack in the tire tracks. Plenty of slipping and sliding, which would have been fun if I wasn't sweaty and late.


I rode my bike to school this morning, there being only 3-4 inches of snow on the ground. Stupid me, I didn't check the weather forecast in the last few days and didn't realize it was supposed to keep snowing for the next 32 hours. I lost my U-pass a few weeks ago, so if I took CTA home I'd have had to both pay and walk my bike in the snow a ways. Luckily, Ryan was able to give me a ride home in his Jeep.

I taught the dental students this afternoon. It was fun. I really enjoy teaching, and it's weird to have them looking at me as if I'm possessed of amazing skills in orthodontia. My, how the tables have turned.

I still haven't told my parents about Laura G. My dad just called to ask me out to dinner with them on Thursday, for his and my mother's day late Valentine's Day date. He also said I could invite someone to come with, and I answered with a noncommital, "I'll see." I think Laura will have to work, but I will ask her. How to explain to my parents? I dunno. Maybe "Shut up; I'll tell you later," will work. I have a pretty severe lack of emotional trust in my parents; I think I've been let down by their lack of support too many times in the past to risk relying on it any more.

I'm still somewhat reticent around Laura. I'm a little intimidated by her confidence and adventurousness. Two things I've never really felt strongly about myself. Don't get me wrong, I think they're great, they make her even more attractive. But I'm discovering I fear she'll find me unexciting and boring.

What the fuck is up with my insecurities? Whenever I'm able to strip away a layer of my shit, there's something new looking up at me. Is this normal?

I've been sharing her watermelon lip gloss, in the fun way.

I realize it's been a bit since I've posted anything, but I've been busy. Right now I'm fucking tired, too. I'm yawning about every fifteen seconds, so I probably won't write too much.

Thursday, Laura G. and I went to Twist for tapas and ate a shitload, drank a bottle of wine, and then headed over to Margie's for sundaes. We sat next to each other and talked and generally enjoyed contact with each other. We fell asleep on my couch until she had to go home.

Friday she ended up not having to work her second job, so we got some food and again fell asleep talking on the couch before she went home and I went to meet Laura W. for the show at the Note. Saturday we played phone tag all day and still managed to talk for over an hour during the course of multiple phone calls. On a related note, I had to get the text message add-on for my cell phone plan. (I still prefer real voices, though.)

Today we hung out all afternoon, even though a good portion of that involved napping again. We went up to Alicia's opening at the Charleston in Bucktown, and then to Swim Cafe for the Big Yes! Yes! Valentine's Day Show, which was pretty damn fun.

Those who know me well know that I'm rarely at a loss for conversation, but I still feel a little self-conscious around her. This is probably because she's much more outgoing than I've ever been, and because I don't want her to feel intimidated like I know other of my friends have felt around me as they got to know me. I'm getting better, though.

I suppose I should take a picture of her sometime so people can know what she looks like, but until then, suck on this, which has absolutely nothing to do with Laura G.

"Drive"

Posted to the bikewinter listserv:

hnk wrote:
> One last comment-- apparently this is "drive like an asshole" week-- I
> must have missed the announcement on the news or wherever

Due to the extreme popularity of the event, they stopped making the announcements and finally decided to simply make EVERY week "drive like an asshole" week. In a striking display of efficiency, they've renamed the now-daily event simply "drive."

I travel around like a sailing swan...

She knocks me down - in the Naked Raygun sense of the word.

No representin'.

One of the things that annoys me about these ass-freezingly cold winter days is when I'm wearing a great fucking shirt and no one else sees it. No one saw the Slackers shirt I wore today, and it looks good, even if it is a few years old. I couldn't represent. Oh, well. I did upset Shana last week with my "Idiot Son of an Asshole" shirt.

I actually got sweaty on my way home today. A new front fender got put on the bike, and I managed to get chain grease all over the white waffle-shirt I was wearing. It looks cool.

I told her I'd probably spend my night drinking beer and listening to music.

Rohini mentioned today that I looked sad; I told her I was feeling maudlin about my prospects for the evening. My date was postponed and I ended up writing - after reading the articles for - two of my reviews due on Thursday, although at the point I spoke with her I was still on the reading phase. I told her I'd probably spend my night drinking beer and listening to music.

I fell asleep on my arm for so long, there was an impression of my ear and stubble in the skin. It reminds me of the mesh impression of my shirt on Laura G.'s face when she got up to leave last Thursday. Thinking of her smile right now almost makes me want to cry, but I'm not sure from what.

The front fender of my bike broke off yesterday; it probably became too brittle from the cold. It snowed today, 2-3 inches. This means that when I came home at 8:45pm, many of the streets were slushy. Combined with the lack of a front fender, this demonstrated the potential to seriously dirty up my legs. Normally I wouldn't give a shit - stains are memories, after all - but I'm wearing nice enough pants for school. I rode home very slowly, and my MP3 player was giving me trouble - probably because I dropped it - so I had no tunes either. This all put me in a pretty bad mood.

I got home and checked the MP3 player; it seems to be working now, so no warrantee run (yet). That cheered me a bit. I heated up the filet mignon - steak and potatoes! - left over from Sunday, and opened the bottle of Three Floyds' Gumballhead Beer I've been eyeing since my trip to the liquor store Saturday evening. And it was good, and I felt better for the most part. I'd rather be taking Laura G. out for drinks like I was excited to do yesterday. Right now I'm spending my night drinking beer and listening to music.

Was it inevitable? I dunno.

I talked to Laura G.; she's going out of town on a retreat tomorrow, so our date got pushed back to Thursday.

Florists have been located. Fingers have been crossed.

Current forecast: ass-cold with a high probability of positive thinking.

I went out to dinner from school tonight, planning to return and grab my bag and shit and ride home, but we got back after the building had hit lock-down. Now, in the past I could always yank one of the doors open past the lock, but they recently replaced that door. Goddamnit! Ryan was nice enough to give me a ride home and pick me up in the morning in time for my 7am lecture, despite it being early for him. "It'll spur me to get some shit done," he said. Nice guy.

Tish Nihill asked me to see if I have any cases she can display on the OSCE exam she has to administer to the dental students, so I need to look into that tomorrow. I was able to get my hands on two of the three articles I need to review for Thursday.

Laura G. and I are supposed to get drinks tomorrow. Or rather, I offered to take her out for drinks, and she told me tomorrow is good. I have a (tiny) nagging suspicion that it'll turn out for nought, though, but I can hold out hope.

Since my bag and shit got left at school, I really have no work to do, even if I wanted to - and I never do at home. So really, nothing much changed, except I didn't have to freeze my snot on the way home tonight or tomorrow morning.

I'm feeling a bit tired, plus I had a 22oz margarita with dinner, so I think I'm gonna hit the shower and bed so I can be rested for my date tomorrow despite getting up an hour or more before dawn. But first check out this piece by David Rovics which was posted to the Chicago Critical Mass listserv.

Insanity and Beer

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. I think I'm driving myself insane over Laura G., and for no good reason. I just wish she'd keep in touch better, since I feel like I'm left hanging. I think I'm just getting impatient because I want to spend more time with her and get to know her better. Shit, I know she's into me, and is just really busy and maybe not the best respondent. Time, time, time, time, time. Repeat. Get that into your fucking head, Darren.

I spent over $130 on beer last night, and then had to go warm up the car during Fast n Loud so it wouldn't freeze (the beer, not the car). Travis's beer froze after leaving it out on the steps for 45 minutes. My beer was safe.

I went to my parents' little dinner party tonight, had some super-succulent pepper-crusted filet mignon. Couldn't imagine a better steak. Kamiar gave me half a case of Special Export since he didn't want to take it home. Cheap beer to hand out at Critical Mass, maybe? We'll see. I don't think I've ever bought beer in cans.

Wardrobe (mal)function.

I got dressed today. It's fucking cold. I put on track pants, and thick socks, and my thickest sneakers. And a wool hat. Except my hat and shoes are blue and my socks are bright orange. Today is the Stupidbowl and the Bears are playing. I'm kind of annoyed that I inadvertently dressed to show support when I have none, but fuck if I'm going to change for fashion's sake.

Books, Vitality, and Decay

I went to my parents' place last night, primarily to do laundry, but also a free dinner wasn't looked down upon. I ended up snagging six books off their bookshelves, to add to my to-be-read shelf - if there's any room left on it. Those six are:

Eric Berne, M.D., Games People Play
George Orwell, 1984
Michael Harrington, The Other America: Poverty in the United States
Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of the Leisure Class: The Challenging Analysis of Social Conduct that Ironically Probes Misused Wealth and Conspicuous Consumption
John Kenneth Galbraith, The Affluent Society
Paul Krugman, The Age of Diminished Expectations

Add that to two the two books I'm currently reading:

Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago
Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene

And consider the rest of the shelf:

Making Stuff and Doing Things: A Collection of DIY Guides to Doing Just About Everything
Lost In Darkness: The Journal of Ordinary Thought, Spring 2002
Chicago Review 51:1/2, Spring 2005
Chicago Review 51:4 & 52:1, Spring 2006
Tri-Quarterly 122
Other Voices 43, Fall/Winter 2005
JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion
JRR Tolkien, A Tolkien Miscellany
JRR Tolkien, The Book of Lost Tales
Lawrence Pintak, Seeds of Hate: How America's flawed Middle East Policy ignited the jihad
Andre Dubus III, The House of Sand and Fog
Paul Krugman, Peddling Prosperity
William Golding, Lord of the Flies
Thomas Gallager, Paddy's Lament: Ireland 1846-1847, Prelude to Hatred
Barry Polansky, DMD, The Art of the Examination: Why Patient Care Goes Beyond Clinical Correctness
Michael Albert, Parecon: Life After Capitalism
Another Chicago Magazine 46
Douglas Coupland, Life After God
Douglas Coupland, Polaroids From the Dead
Robin Shepard, The Best Breweries and Brewpubs of Illinois: Search For the Perfect Pint
Jon Savage, England's Dreaming: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock, and Beyond
Bill Bryson, A Walk In the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail
Hatred of Capitalism/ A Semiotext(e) Reader
Brian Morris, Ecology and Anarchism: Essays and Reviews on Contemporary Thought
Clinton Heylin, From the Velvets to the Voidoids: A Pre-Punk History for a Post-Punk World
Insiders' Guide: Off the Beaten Path: Chicago
Frank McCourt, Angela's Ashes
William Cronon, Nature's Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West

Obviously, I like to list and organize things. Be glad I didn't put that in alphabetical order.

Vitality:

Decay:

The Art of Languaging; Keep It Simple, Sugartits.

Finally done with the at times interminable two-day lecture on The Alexander Discipline. Which really isn't as ridiculous as I thought it would be. There were a few good things I drew from it. One of their "principles" was "Keep It Simple, Sir," or "Keep It Simple, Sweetheart." Moody (the lecturer) pointed out that yes, it was a PC version of "Keep It Simple, Stupid." Neal, sitting next to me, promptly asks me, "How about 'Keep It Simple, Sugartits?'" And today's great quote was Moody talking about communicating to patients using "The Art of Languaging." I can't make this stuff up. Seriously, I wish I could, because it's some funny shit.

We got done around 3pm; I spent two hours mapping out every AAO member orthodontist who practices in Chicago. Or rather, just getting a list of them off the clunky-ass website. I still have to map them out on my wall.

I tried to take a nap, since it'll be a 20-hour day for me after I get home from WNUR, but despite feeling tired, no sleep came. Fuck. Tomorrow will be a groggy day, and I think I have a paper due on Thursday morning. I'll find out on Monday exactly what I have to read, I guess.

Smart people underperform when it's too goddamn early.

I'm going through the registration for the American Association of Orthodontists Annual Session in May. There's a course titled "Why Smart People Underperform: Attention, Distraction, And Productivity." This may seem like a good course, but was it really a good idea to schedule it at 8:00am? I sure as hell didn't even look at any of the courses that started before noon.

As it is, I only registered for the free reception. I'll look around and get ideas of equipment and work on my practice vision. And explore Seattle with other ortho nerds, looking to get a feel for the city and outside of some beer.

Right now I'm starving, so dinner, shower, and bed are all calling my name.

Today's gonna be a boring day, I know it. I'm not interested in what i'm doing, I show it.

Well, today was a boring day, I know it. Nothing really new or groundbreaking was presented. I dismissed most of the claims made by our two presenters due to the research I'm familiar with. I fell asleep sitting up and woke up when I almost fell out of my chair sideways.

I have to be back for more by 8am tomorrow. Fuckin' A. Not only does this kill most of my Saturday, but it does a good number on my Friday night as well. It's not like I had any big plans, though. I played solitaire for a bit, read a few things online. I'm yawning now, so I may just drug myself to sleep a little early tonight.

This morning during our morning seminar, I pointed out a clinical need for a procedure to Dr. Grubb, and he proceded to tell the story of how his youngest daughter's boyfriend called to ask permission to marry her. He had told me this story yesterday, and my comment then was to ask why the boyfriend didn't call him by his first name; his response was to ask how many girlfriends whose parents I'd addressed by first name I was still together with. His response to my clinical challenge was to relate a story which ended in him making fun of me. I started referring to him as "John-Boy" and had to define "vindictive" for him later on.

I forgot to eat dinner last night, and I can easily see a repetition tonight.

It's fucking cold. My heat is still staying off, but I'm sitting next to my space heater. I'm doing OK, but I'm loath to go out anywhere.

I wrote this Wednesday night between showering and falling asleep. I don't know what it's worth.

"I kissed you," she pointed out.
When her arms went around me
in the dead night
drawing me from my excited sleep
making me the little spoon
the feeling was mutual.
I think.
A physical display of affection.
In retrospect
how large a role did lonely longing play
in her part or mine?
And why has she disappeared
after a week of fun and flirting?

This doesn't really apply right now, but I had it written down and felt something should be done with it.

The smell of her lingering on my shirt

This is kind of pathetic, but it worked out well for me. After I told myself I'd wait for Laura G. to call me, I was looking at her myspace page and she'd written something about feeling lonely and whatnot, so I gave her a call. She called me back while running errands in her pajamas, and ended up coming over. She was tired as hell since she's been working like crazy. She said she was about to fall over, and I said that was no problem, just fall in my direction.

We sat on the couch and talked and flirted. She called me "love" and "honey" in such a way that I barely caught them. She burped loudly while drinking beer. We kissed some. She asked me to pet her. We fell asleep, entangled on the couch listening to music, and then she had to go home.

I know I'm probably setting myself up for disappointment, but when I think of how I feel - and how good she looked sitting on my couch in old sweats with her hood over her head, and how she'd gently grab onto the front of my shirt when we were laying on the couch, and her dimpled smile, and the brightness of her green eyes, the smell of her lingering on my shirt - I don't care.

A few weeks ago, Liv told me to not worry about anything like that, since it won't really change how things work out. She was right; the fact that I've stopped expecting anything to really happen over the last few weeks actually made it easier for me to relax and be myself tonight. It was good.

Patience, grasshopper.

Now that I think about it, I have enough free time and definitely enough work to do to keep me busy most of the time that I don't have social plans in the works. Rather than feel sorry for myself and pine over Laura G. like I did for a bit last week, I can spend the time and get shit done. Getting myself busy has always worked well for me in the past. I know there's an element of escapism to it, but at least in this case the escapism is at loggerheads with my procrastination. It'll feel good to have less shit hanging over my head anyway.

Speaking of Liv, she sent me photos of Eszti's puppies today. Fuck, I wish I could go and just watch them right now.

I have an all-day lecture tomorrow and Saturday. It should prove educational, informative, boring, dogmatic, and ridiculous, I suspect. I mean, Hell, it's called "The Alexander Discipline" and it's being presented by two of the Drs. Alexander (of many). Some of their principles rub me the wrong way already, such as their focus on centric relation, having "mandibular incisors balanced on basal bone," and (I think) feeling wisdom tooth extraction aids retention. Non-dentists (or even non-orthodontists) will probably not understand why I feel so, but those positions have the weight of history behind them, with absolutely no quality research in support. And people have come to fighting over them. Crazy, I know. I'm obviously in the skeptic/"that's bullshit!" camp.

Ok, I just did some text message flirting, and now I must go to sleep or I will be super-deadsville tomorrow.

Down mitts and neoprene liners were not enough to protect me.

It was ass-tits cold today and it's only supposed to get colder. Although, to think of it, most of it was the wind, since I rode home with a tailwind and was feeling awesome, not hot, not cold, just right, and not having to exert myself too much either. This morning, though, icy fucking headwind. Bitter. Argh. Down mitts and neoprene liners were not enough to protect me. This is life. Live it.

Quote from Howard K:

Anyways, one [thing] that comes to mind is something I've noticed in my rush hour travels along the "Hipster Highway"- seeing people stuffing a big heavy gym bag into their SUV in the morning. Can you imagine sitting in traffic for however long to get to/from work and then spending an extra 90 minutes and a few thousand dollars a year to get your exercise?
Another thing that is great about BikeWinter is that it's theoretically possible to control the amount you sweat by undoing zippers. I get completely drenched in the summertime, just from looking at my bike.
And lastly, is it my imagination or do cars give you more respect than in the summertime? Or maybe they are just driving slower because they're dreading having to leave the car when they arrive at their destination?
Or maybe the drivers aren't talking on their cell phones because they don't want to take their gloves off . . .
Howard

I had a not-too-busy day, although I was occupied enough to not even check my email until 5:30pm. I ran into Dana just after I finished my essential tasks, before I could start any long-term reading, and we ended up talking and going to the Hawk to get dinner. Fun times.

I can't believe it's 9:30 already; I just got home. Actually, when I consider my tiredness, yes I can.

Maybe now I can get some real work done

Another day of procrastination is nearly done. No school reading done, despite the need for progress in both my board review and the fact that I have a mini-lit review due for my orthodontic-periodontic course next week. I'm meeting with my thesis advisor Thursday to sidestep any copyright issues associated with my questionnaire, which means tomorrow I'll have to dig through the stack of research papers on my desk to find the two or three which yielded most of the questions I'm planning on asking.

Erick, the Ormco rep, asked me if I were married, since I was giving Derek (good) advice on dealing with his wife. I said no, I've just learned from past mistakes.

The Lawrence Arms are playing out in West Dundee on March 16. I already have a ticket to see Anti-Flag at the Metro that night, which is good, because otherwise I would end up battling outbound Friday rush hour traffic for about the same amount of fun.

Scooter School opened up on April 27th. I'm going to have to ditch ortho school for that. Worth it. I just need to get my ass to the DMV in the next three months to get my permit, so I can take the class and (hopefully) the licensure exam as well.

I finished reading the novel I bought last week. Maybe now I won't be so distracted and I can get some real work done.

God grant me the balls...

The most exciting thing that happened to me today was falling over backward in a plushly upholstered office chair in a conference room while the rest of my class was getting ready to do our first board-review session.

I think I laughed harder than anyone else.

I think I'm setting myself up to get knocked down again by Laura G. God grant me the balls to say what I need to when I see her next.

I'm going to bed early in an attempt to stop riding the knife-edge of exhaustion I've been on recently.

I'm sure you'll learn to dance and drink and dream, but you might still feel lost

I should have learned from the past and brought something substantial to read to the Loved Ones show tonight. All I had with was Friday's Derailleur, which I read in about five minutes. The Bomb record that was playing between sets was better than the first band, and Jeff Dean, coincidentally, was the guitarist for the next band, Four Star Alarm.

Some kid in a NOFX T-shirt was showing off his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle tattoo. I wonder how he'll feel about that in ten years?

The Loved Ones put on a good set, but despite having only one full length out, they shy away from their previous EP live. Still a ton of fun. They finally added a second guitar player so Dave can riff. One of the best things about that band is Dave's ability to talk shit from the stage. That's what makes a good show, the shit you won't hear on record. I was able to sing and dance and rock out, and it was good.

My MP3 player battery went dead from the cold in the car, so I listened to NPR on the way home and the guy was just going over Iraq war news and making such tongue-in-cheek comments, it was entertaining and sad, since the news was all true.

I've been blogging so much lately that I feel I have nothing to say when I talk to people. Of course that's bullshit, and the only reason I think that is because I still get struck stupid when I talk to Laura G. I've been sleeping all weekend and feel like I can't think straight.

Speaking of Laura G., she texted me last night: "Hey. Whats up love?" That, combined with her broaching that she was free on this coming Thursday or Saturday when I talked with her, leads me to believe she's feeling into me. Of course, as many of my friends will no doubt attest, I'm a sucker for pretty girls who talk nice to me. Anyway, she said she'd give me a call, and I suavely replied, "Please do." I couldn't bring myself to tell her how I felt about plans breaking last week. Well, I'll do it in person, or if there's a third strike this week, over the phone, and let the chips fall.

I think I said something to Ryan on Thursday about ideational and sensate societies, and I'd like to expound upon it, but right now I want to get on my way to bed.

Monday I plan to curse myself for not getting any work done this weekend.

I was thinking that spending my Saturday night alone, reading a book and listening to music, might be considered a little lame by some. But considering the amount of physical exertion and alcohol I've partaken of in the last few days, I'm perfectly happy to sit next to my space heater and read science fiction.

Fuck expectations of activity. Plus, my left knee is still bothering me, although my right shoulder seems to be slowly mending. Go figure.

Tomorrow I'm seeing some Dutch dance troupe with my parents at the Harris Theater in the afternoon and seeing the Loved Ones out at Champ's in the evening. Monday I plan to curse myself for not getting any work done this weekend.

Roll in the Barrel...

My left knee is paining me when I ride. Last night it was even paining me when walking. This is of a very high probability due to the relatively excessive amount of bicycling I've been doing this week. Apart from Wednesday's ride to Evanston, I rode a fair amount on Thursday heading to and from both Dana's place and Delilah's. Plus at least 30 miles yesterday before, during and after Critical Mass. And of course I never stretch, either before or after riding.

Thursday was a blast. A long blast, which resulted in me sleeping a little over four hours that night. Dana was going to come to Delilah's for Ska Night with me, but warned me to call her a few hours before to kick her ass into going. Of course, when I did she complained she was already in her pajamas in her nice warm apartment. I told her to take a nap for an hour, get dressed, pick me up, and I'd buy her a beer. She countered with me coming over and drinking beer at her place and she'd make cookies. Mmm, cookies. So I went over, had a few Tsing Taos, and we made pecan cookies with strawberry jam filling and talked. Fabulous.

I left Dana's a little after 10pm, and headed up to Delilah's. Kate had said she was going to stop by "for one drink" after studying at her boyfriend's, but I didn't see her, although Trish's friend Monica was there with two German fellows shooting the shit about German linguistics. I ended up talking with a few people I knew and meeting some I didn't about music and shit. Once space cleared at the end of the bar by the DJ booth, I sat and talked with Chuck until Ryan showed after midnight, "running on Les time." We hung out and chatted, and some of the Deal's guys showed up - well, over half the band, really, but only Corchrane and Todd were hanging out where we were sitting. Chuck got the demo of their new record and played a few songs; very nice. He told me he'll get me a copy and I can put it online. I told him I wouldn't be doing that, and he told me he'll get me a copy "and you can put it online." He also unloaded a fair pile of swag on me for WNUR's phonathon.

At around 1:30am, Ryan and I finished off the rest of Dana's cookies. I already had a half dozen beers in me, but when he suggested we have some of the Delilah's 13th Whiskey, I thought for a second and said, "Sure." That stuff is pretty damn smooth. We both just sipped our shots, not that they lasted for a super long time. The ride home seemed to go pretty quickly, but I was a little hungover yesterday morning.

Fortunately, I wasn't scheduled to be in clinic in the morning, and spent it just shooting the shit and hanging out a bit. The afternoon was crazy, though. Extra patients showing up and so forth. By the time I got out of there I was starving, and after scarfing down some food at Sbarro across the street, I didn't have to time go home before Critical Mass. Luckily, I'd at least planned for this eventuality and was wearing knee-high ski socks and skate shoes, so I could just roll up my pants to keep them out of the chain.

Mass was great. It was the annual Polka Ride. Whenever people would ask what we're riding for or what this is about, several of us would yell, "Polka!" We headed way out on the northwest side to see the Polkaholics play at the Emerald Isle.

The weather was rather mild (for a Chicago January) when we started, but it started getting pretty windy later, or after we got out of downtown and its fifty-storey windbreaks, anyway. The ride was good; I ended up talking with T.C., who I've met once or twice before.

Smithwick's was on special at the Emerald Isle, and T.C. was talking about how it used to be found only in real Irish places, but now it's everywhere, pretty much, and he commented to someone about how it's pronounced "Smithik's." Right after he said that, some girl came to the bar and ordered a "Smith Wick's." Har.

I've heard a little bit of the Polkaholics; I think we have a demo at WNUR. But their live show was pretty entertaining, especially since the crowd was pretty into it. Most of the punk kids that show up for Mass had disappeared by the end of the ride. Super-fast punk rock polka (and the chicken dance!) made for a good time. After eating some rather poor fish and chips to assuage my burbling stomach, and downing a couple of beers, I headed home, although on a more direct route than the Mass took up there.

This morning I met Laura W. up at Orange for breakfast. It was good, as was the custom juice. I came home, and despite having slept over eight hours last night, napped for over three hours.

Laura G. sent me a myspace message yesterday apologizing for being MIA and say we need to talk and she'd call me sometime today. Why do I feel nervous?

That post I started yesterday morning is going to have to wait a little longer, as I feel too burnt right now to sit and write well.

I smell like ass.

Just got in from Critical Mass. I had a crazy afternoon, and haven't been home since I left for school this morning. At least 30 miles on the bike today, over a third of them in the last hour. Plus high-octane chicken-dancing.

More tomorrow. I also started a rather long post this morning which I had to save as a draft and hope to get to soon. Right now I want to shower, have some chamomile, and curl up with a book in bed until I fall asleep.

You know what's ironic?

I first grew a beard two years or so ago, after Marta broke up with me, to serve as a physical barrier to meeting girls. (I shaved it when it just became too hirsute, and trapping food all over the place.)

Several girls have commented that it's nice and I should grow it again. The most recent of whom is Laura G., who posted a comment about it on the myspace photo of me on my old deck.

There's a Pilfers song called "Shit's All Up In the Air," but I really can't recall any of the lyrics. The title seems appropriate, though.

I need a good show. I need to dance and sing and rock out.

I really don't feel like posting right now. But...

I haven't heard from Laura G. since I talked to her for a few minutes Sunday night. I left her a message Monday evening regarding our plans for Monday night...and that's the last I know. The ball's in her court. Friends that ask about her and get that explanation are supportive. I dealt with the breaking-plans-at-the-last-minute-and-never-calling shit at the end of my last relationship and I don't need it at the beginning of this one. Laura G.'s cool girl, and I'll gladly explain how I'm feeling to her and see if things can improve - if she calls and is serious about things continuing. If I have to dash my expectations to avoid frequent disappointment, that's a bad thing.

Is it really that dangerous to curl up hugging my space heater?

I spoke with Patrick, the GAC rep, about practice opportunities in Chicago. He gave me a few names in terms of both associating and buyout, and also areas where a new orthodontist could develop a good patient base. On my way back from Evanston. I stopped and picked up a bunch of pins to stick in my map of the city. Nice to have taken this one little step, at least.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I rode my bike up to WNUR for the phonathon meeting tonight. On the way back, I stopped at Barnes and Noble to spend the credit I had from returning my brother's Christmas present (after reading). I had no idea what I was going to get, when I stumbled across David Weber's new novel. Since it's published by Tor rather than Baen, his usual publisher, I had no idea it was coming out. The story looked intriguing, but if I hadn't been familiar - and satisfied - with his writing style, I wouldn't have bought it. But I felt I deserved some distraction, so I paid the $1.76 I owed after the credit was spent and it's mine! I can't even remember the title.

So I know I wasn't planning to write much, but I can't help it. I've come to enjoy it, even if a lot of the time it's not inspired in any sense. Today was a good day, owing to the many hours of sleep I got last night after turning in early - I was so damn tired yesterday after only sleeping 5 hours and getting up before the sun. Fuck, getting to school before the sun.

I still haven't reviewed the letter I started writing Monday night.

I think I'm going to head out to the Loved Ones show on Sunday. I need a good show. I need to dance and sing and rock out.

Plans in progress:

• Physical
• Dental exam
• Eye exam
• Tattoo
• Class M permit
• Scooter class
• Class M license
• Scooter
• Custom paint job
  

Snot rocket

Have you ever coughed through your nose and shot snot all over your face? I just did.

"Memorial Day"

Here's to the skinned knees
And sutured hearts.
Here's to the unhappy endings
And all the false starts.
- Paint It Black, from "Memorial Day"

You tell me I've got a problem with thinking, I can chase it away with a problem like drinking!

This may seem like a pretty rambling post, but that's only because I've been getting steadily more toasted throughout the evening, and keeping notes as things cross my mind.

From Varieties of Unreligious Experience: "The Bat wages war on all the insects and nocturnal vermins that afflict man and his fruit trees."

I was thinking this weekend, that Laura G. makes me feel like I'm just getting to know girls again. I'm frequently struck not dumb, but retarded. I have no idea how to progress the relationship. Cue the Skalars' "High School":

Feelings I forget, so I act the fool.
Afraid of what I've got, now I feel like I'm back in high school.
And now I'm on my own...

I'm sitting right next to my subwoofer, and modulate the bass to suit my proprioceptive sense and fear of upsetting the neighbors.

Young's St. George's English Ale is "a dragonslayer of a brew." Not as good as New Holland's Dragon's Milk, but good.

I wish Atom and His Package were still playing shows. I saw him the last time he played Chicago, four years ago. That fucking kicked ass. The punkest fucking thing I've ever seen, and it was a chubby hockey nerd playing karaoke to his own songs. Fucking great. Brilliant. I remember there was a really cute girl there, dressed in black, rocking out to the super-cheesy new-wave style songs he played. I'd seen her before, but I can't remember ever seeing her again. Maybe Armalite will play Chicago sometime.

I'm just buzzed enough right now to feel completely emotionally disconnected from what I'm doing, and be easily distracted by other thoughts that cross my mind.

It's odd to think that my typing skills are improving even as I kill brain cells with alcohol. The cerebellum will keep making neural connections and rewiring my brain. Of course, there is some sense of neuroplasticity declining with age, but I hope to maintain mine as long as possible with frequent mind-blowing, and of course the ensuing self-reflective reevaluation of my own thought processes.

The capacity for self-awareness and self-improvement is what separates humanity from the rest of the animal kingdom. Yes, I realize there is an evolutionary scale of sentience, and even though I don't know whether gorillas and chimps are self-aware, I don't advocate eating them out of caution for the possibility, despite my taste for other meats (bring it on!). I definitely think cetaceans are on their way to sentience if they're not already there, and while whale steaks are apparently quite a tasty delicacy, I must abstain for moral reasons.

I can't be bothered with my life, it causes greivance, too much strife.
- The Fight, "Can't Be Bothered"

I first saw the Fight in the summer of 2003. I remember I stopped by Dani's house on the way to the Fireside, and her friend Fletch was visiting. While I was on the phone with Marta, Dani told her I'd found the love of my life. Hah. The next time I saw the Fight play was Valentine's Day, 2005, a week or so after Marta had dropped me like a sack of old potatoes. I was able to lose myself in the show and escape for the first time since. It was quite therapeutic.

One beer = one piss.

The glass of Tripel Karmeliet I just poured has a very nice head on it. It looks like clouds, and I want to eat it and its insubstantiality. Shit, is that beer tasty. The best I've drunk tonight.

I've listened to the version of "Phoenix City" on Greetings From Skamania so many times that I can whistle along with the horn solos, from soloist from soloist. I'm glad I got to see the Skatalites before Roland and Tommy passed away. It's hard to believe it's been almost four years since I've seen them. Wow.

This has been a pretty full night, even though it consisted of me, music, my beer, and my computer, and no lady friend. I could just be saying that since I'm pleasantly drunk right now. Resolved: tomorrow, I will stay late at school reading board-review shit, even if it means the afternoon nap that will inevitably result.

I was writing a letter to Laura G., and I feel like I'm much more poetic when I'm drunk. I wish it were true while I'm sober. I feel like my grammar's better, too. Go fucking figure. (Hah!) Not only that, but I can remember song lyrics better as well. My mind (AKA God!) works in mysterious ways.

Amusia is an actual neurologic condition; for example, someone suffering from it couldn't place the lyrics and the tune to "Happy Birthday" with each other. While these people are probably ignorant of what they're missing out on, I can't even imagine living like that. I hope that part of my brain is never damaged.

My first memory of using a space heater is when I was five years old in Arizona. I got to warm up in front of it after a bath. It seemed like a big deal. My parents still have that space heater. Right now I have a quiet convection heater under the coffee table I'm typing on and it's warming me quite efficiently, with heat gently percolating around the table.

I saw a flier on the Blackout Shoppers website that had "Reagan Youth" on it, even though they obviously weren't playing. Fucking. Brilliant.

For the first time in my life, I seem to be developing eczema on my torso. There's a patch on my lower right abdomen that is consistently itchy. (Eczema is usually present on face/hands/legs.) I think it's calling for some hydrocortizone.

Speaking of hydrocortizone, there are two instances in the past month where my habit of carrying a tube of it in my bag has been beneficial: Danny's sister Lisa needed some, and Dana had an itchy burn on her arm as well.

One beer = one piss. I'm on to Young's Dirty Dick's Ale. A nice light brown color, light head.

Even though I'm drunk and feel quite warm, I'm shivering. I turned up the space heater to 65 degrees. I checked my phone to see if I missed any calls or text messages, despite the fact that it hasn't left my side in six hours. I feel so alone, but I'm so drunk that I don't care.

From the Suicide Machines songs that I've heard from my MP3 player tonight, I'm amazed by the juxtaposition of melody and pure aggression displayed in their music.

Fuck Merriam-Webster for having a John McCain ad displayed on their website. Eight years ago, I might've accepted McCain despite his Republicanism, but these days he's become a panderer to the neo-cons despite their consistent fucking-over of the positions he truthfully supports (anti-torture, anti-lobbyist, pro-civil liberties). I think it's the only way he feels he can be elected president. Fuck him, he's chosen the Republican party, and they've chosen to slowly destroy the majority of humanity (in the long term) for their own gain. "Join the Movement!" indeed. McCain has seven solid crow's-feet in his smile, and they go all the way back to his hairline. Not that it's a good way to judge him, but he's as fake as Hillary Clinton, just for shittier third-party interests.

Two more hours of our past. I feel like I've tried...I don't know, I don't care, I just sit and stare now.
- The Lawrence Arms, "Hey, What Time is 'Pensacola: Wings of Gold' on Anyway?"

For some reason, the image of seeing some girl wearing a Horror Pops T-shirt in Quebec City just entered my head, despite the fact that it was a year-and-a-half ago.

Apparently, 1/2 beer = one piss, judging from the last one.

I realize I'm getting drunk as pure escapism from the shit in my head with Laura G. Of course, I'm so drunk that I don't care, and I got drunk so that I wouldn't care. It's kind of sad. I still wish she were here. (frowny face) To quote myself IMing with Laura W.:

Darren: I may just get drunk soon
Laura: alone?
Darren: sure, why not
Laura: ha
Laura: i've done it sure
Laura: always makes me feel lousy though
Darren: true

Right now I'm so plastered that I can't stand up straight and I'm drinking water.

This Lloyd Brevette song I'm listening to, I first heard nine years ago. It's funky instrumental ska/reggae. "Stream in the Meadow." Awesome.

The more I drink, the more I shiver. Laura W. will be proud to learn I switched to water once I could barely walk. I can taste the chlorine in the Chicago tap water now.

The Toasters song playing right now - "Freedom" - is a song that I once played in my car while feeling quite lonely and rejected, and driving around the north-northwest suburbs at some point in the fall of my senior year of high school (1995 for those of you unfamiliar with my personal timeline) on my way home on a long depressing night out, the reasons for which I can't remember. The music, I can. The windows were open, too, despite chilly weather.

Despite a decent amount of caloric intake ("dinner") earlier, I'm starting to feel hungry again. And the tap water smells like a swimming pool. Cl- is essential to action potential propagation, isn't it?

I think the letter to Laura G. is pretty well done, but now I'm quite exhausted and still a bit drunk and feel like I should proofread it for redundancy when better-rested. We were supposed to hang out tonight. I left her a message seven-and-a-half hours ago and haven't heard anything.

Modern decadence

It feels kind of decadent to come home at 2:30pm and take a three-hour nap. Granted, I've kept myself pretty busy for the last three hours. Folding laundry, vacuuming, cleaning, dinner, and then I cut up two cantaloup and a bunch of bananas and blended it with some cocoa. The first glass was sweet. The second glass is about 40% white chocalate Irish cream.

"Save It"

Don't save it cause the right time is the one we're in
So no more waiting to begin
Open my heart, going to let it sing
Each grain of sand is everything
The truth is never quite so far
We can never walk away from who we are...
- The Planet Smashers, from "Save It"

Battle damage. Darren 1, Winter 0.

I went up to the Handlebar and as I was finishing a pint, thinking no snow-biking tonight, Carl came in looking for a ride. So he an I headed out to Lincoln Park and the Lakefront path, up north to Belmont and then down to Soldier Field. He fucked up something on his rear rim on our second or third time down the hill in front of the Field, so he caught a bus home downtown. Altogether, probably 18-20 miles in the little bit of snow and slush we had. But fun. A blast, really.

I took a tumble in Lincoln Park just east of Armitage, and broke the end of my right pedal and bruised my left ankle pretty well. Battle damage. Darren 1, Winter 0.

Right now, I'm doing a last bit of laundry before shower and bed. There's a small chance, vanishing as a I write, that Laura G. is going to call to go out tonight, so I'm just continuing my ADLs. Tomorrow promises to be a fulfilling day if I'm not overtired as I'm likely to be. But damn, it was worth it. Hopefully tomorrow will be as well.

Too bad there's no way for me to translate the essence of the horn line of the song I'm listening to into text, to title this post with.

So after some tea and some cleaning and some rocking out, I'm feeling better. (Laura W. told me "labile" was a good mood descriptor the other day.) Maybe it's because the sun set and there's still light snow coming down. I don't think it hit the two-inch threshold to declare snow-biking, but I'm going to head over to the Handlebar later to see if anyone's heading out. If not, I'll have a pint and get some snow-biking of my own in. Actually, I'm still drinking the tea, which is about a third irish cream.

Someone's lighting off huge fireworks over the park across the street right now.

I was thinking the other day that a lot of my decision-making is fear-based. Or rather, fully admitted to myself that it is. Granted, a lot of the big decisions that resulted from this have worked out alright anyway. I think I chose Northwestern for its proximity to Chicago - a city I was at least familiar with, considering my reasonably sheltered suburban upbringing - as well as its proximity to my parents - but not too proximal; I still wanted to get the fuck away from them, just not too far away. Same deal with not studying abroad in college - a bit of that was pure laziness on my part, though most of it was fear of the unknown. There're probably many people I never got to know well due to not only to a pretty irrational fear of rejection, but a fear of the active life they lead. In the relatively few cases where I've gone ahead and challenged my fears, the results have overall been positive, and my life has become fuller for it.

I think I've gotten better in the last few years. (This is part of maturity, right?) Still not perfect, by any means, but what is in this world? At least now I recognize the fear component in my compulsive choices, and can disregard it if it's not rational.

Hell, I've decided to practice in the city since I've grown to adore urban life, and want to be surrounded by its vitality and decay (oxymoronic, I know) daily, even though it's considered a less savy economic decision in the practice of orthodontics. Yeah, it's riskier for me and will take more work, and it's kind of a personal boogie-man of mine, but I'm feeling more and more strongly about it daily.

The same with biking. I've grabbed it by the handlebars (yuk, yuk) and taken to it, despite my initial reticence toward getting into traffic. It's a matter of familiarity and comfort - now when I stick to side streets, it's usually safety-motivated due to traffic intensity. Danny comments how when we ride together, he rides in the traditional right side of the road position and I pull the center of the lane.

I think it was really falling in love for the first time that showed me that I enjoy new things and being surprised, that comfort and controlling my environment can sometimes be an insidious trap. Ironically, that same relationship led me to complacency in promoting my own personal development - it was only afterward, when I found myself once again progressing in the task of living and refining a more ethical life for myself that I realized it. But that's a story for another time, if you don't already know it.

Please save me from the super-powers that I don't believe in.

I just woke up from a 30-minute nap on the couch. The kind where you start feeling sleepy while sitting up, and just kind of topple over to the side with your legs still hanging off in sitting position. I'd like to get some reading for my board exam done tonight, but I really don't see much chance of that happening. Who knows, though; I could very well find myself bored and in need of orthodontic stimulation later this evening. First, though, I plan to do some badly needed laundry and light cleaning.

At WNUR last night, I found myself feeling apathetic toward the show. I don't know why, exactly. I mean, when I can do a really good show, I enjoy it. I think maybe I was just too lazy to really pull a good variety of music. It's a toss-up - most of the kids doing the show don't really care enough to really branch out and explore the stuff they normally wouldn't listen to and do a well-rounded show, but I don't want to put in the time to do it all myself. Maybe I'm just too attached to the show. I want to stay involved at the station, but I don't want as much responsibility as I've taken onto my shoulders. Which means a diminution of show quality, most likely.

I remember that four years ago, when I was still dating Sara, we'd both planned on cutting back. The difference then was that I was working my ass off studying with school and had trouble making free time, and there was a pretty good crew on the show: Phil, Terry, Laura W., etc. Then Sara and I broke up and after that Marta and I started dating and I was pulled back in full-time. And when friends departed the city for further pastures after dental school, and Marta broke up with me, DJing gave me something to do and look forward to. Music in general did, really. Of the people there now, Travis is the only one that ever goes to shows - and even then rarely.

Maybe that's what I need to do now - just cut back and not go in every week. Maybe after phonathon in a few weeks, that's what I'll do. It'll be nice to not have an every-Saturday obligation.

I met my dad for brunch in Wicker Park this morning. He told me that my brother seems to be unhappy with life, due partly to his medical conditions, and partly due to his feeling that my parents pushed him too hard without being supportive enough. I told my dad that neither he nor my mom have been very supportive outside the academic/professional realm, and he shrugged it off as them just wanting us to succeed. Regardless, the meal was good. My dad bought me a new scally cap he found for $10 somewhere.

The gray day outside is really affecting my mood. Or should I say "effecting?" Yesterday it was sunny and I was in a good mood; today the sky is sludgy gray and I have no desire to do anything at all, even though I've been out to run a few errands. I think I'm going to make myself some fortified tea and see if life can get back into me.

The WNUR Phonathon all-staff meeting is Wednesday; I think I'll use it as an excuse to ride my bike up to Evanston - and back. That should be fun. Thursday is Ska Night at Delilah's, and Friday is Critical Mass. Both also fun, especially with some winter biking thrown in.

In other news, my calm-the-fuck-down plan seems to be working pretty well. Of course, I can be easily excited and overly optimistic, two traits which lend themselves to disappointment.

I love Braid's "Collect From Clark Kent." Brilliant song.

Current Satiety

Thursday night I went up to Neo to meet Liv and Les and Ryan for New Wave Night. Liv and Les weren't able to make it; they got a call that their pregnant dobie might be going into labor and bailed on the way out. Ryan showed, so we hung out for a while before I came home.

I was planning on going to the winter bike to work rally at Daley Plaza Friday morning, but Thursday's late night induced me to sleep an extra hour and skip it.

I saw Shawn for his retainer delivery yesterday; he was showing me his practice website as well as the place in Lincoln Park his wife interviewed at. He was talking about Schwa Restaurant and damn if he didn't make it sound so fucking good. Hopefully I'll be able to swing by there someday.

Last night Laura W. and I went to the Melting Pot. It was pretty damn good; I hadn't been there since her graduation party. We demolished our food:


We went to the Green Eye for a pint afterwards since some of Alicia's paintings are up on the walls there. We were both pretty tired, so we headed back to my place for tea and watched old episodes of The West Wing until we passed out. She was going to stay at her brother's place, but decided to crash on my couch instead of driving down to Hyde Park. I went to bed while she was still watching TV; when I woke up this morning, she'd already left.

I hustled up to Filter - where Alicia's paintings are also up - to meet her and Alicia and Cari, stuffed my face, got grilled about Laura G. a bit by Alicia and Cari, then headed up to Circuit City to pick up an SD card reader. If I knew the damn thing only cost seven dollars, I would've gone to get one last week.

Despite a temperature in the 20s, the ride was fun and I was sweaty by the time I got home. I think I need to revise my severe cold weather dress; rather than bundling up too much, I should do some quick warmups before getting on the bike to work up my body temp.

The rest of the day will likely be spent cleaning, relaxing, and (hopefully) getting some ABO reading done.

I'm looking forward to seeing Laura G. on Monday...