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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wearability of these shoes is approaching zero

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...but remains a line nonetheless.

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

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

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

Today's ripped off poetry:

Arts & Sciences by Philip Appleman

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

SOLID GEOMETRY

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

PHILOSOPHY: THOMAS HOBBES

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

BOTANY

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

ECONOMICS

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

GEOGRAPHY

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

LIT SURVEY

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

PHYSICS

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

MUSIC APPRECIATION

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right-wing propaganda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That Wonderful Military-Industrial-(Senatorial) Complex!

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

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

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

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

And I was scared and horrified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least I can gloss over the majority of it.

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

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

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

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

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

Famous Poems Abbreviated by XJ Kennedy:

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

***

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

More on guns 'n' America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Foolish Things Remind Me of You by XJ Kennedy

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking fucks.

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

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

Boring days and stolen poetry

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

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

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

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

What Humans Do by Wendy Videlock

The candlelit
after-dinner
careful screw,

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

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

the I need wine,
the twisted talking
dirty grind,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck the Air and Water Show and fuck the US military, too!

Goddamn fighter jets keep flying over my house. Tax dollars are being spent to entertain suburbanites and pretty much provide PR for the military and its awesome machinery of death and destruction, and this concept annoys me on its own. The fact that it's physically inconvenient even to live within a few miles of it due to low-flying fighter jocks is just icing.

In other news, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.

I got back to Chi yesterday and didn't really feel like doing much of anything. I went out to the Pilsen Mass ride, and the six(!) of us who showed up for it ended up riding around in the rain for a few hours. Fortunately, it was warm. Unfortunately, I got a puncture in my front tire, and patching in the rain is not the most effective procedure. I need to really put together the good repair kit I've been thinking of. I've got just about everything but a convenient way to carry it. Maybe a trip to the bike shop is in order today. Anyway, we stopped for dinner at Mi Tierra and I had to pump up afterward, but at least it was holding well enough to get me the five miles home. I haven't checked it today, but I have a feeling I'm going to have to put in a new tube. I should go buy new road tires, as well, I think. I should clean my glasses too; there's still a dense film from the dried rain.

Anyway, despite going out for the emotionally indifferent bike ride, I've done nothing of note since I got home from Jersey. Well, I finished putting together that Lego model. Y-wing! Now I can't figure out where the fuck to put the damn thing.

I have probably a good hour of cleaning to do, but it's really not much. I just can't make myself do anything. I can't even change the music I'm listening to. I've heard this Good Riddance record three or four times by now, and it's not even a good record. Note to all melodic hardcore bands: don't drop the hardcore in favor of the melody.

I would like to sit and drink beer and watch TV, but I know there's nothing on and that I'll feel worse for having done so.

Thursday I had lunch with my grandmother and Parvin. The food was great. I don't know what it is, but lately I'm really starting to see extra dimensions to the people I've known my whole life. I guess I do know what it is; I'm older and wiser. Still, it's odd to notive behavioral traits in people and putting that together with what I know of their history, but cool. The human mind is one fucked-up piece of organic machinery.

Dinner with Susan and Alex was good. It was good to see them talking and responding, smiling even, although they did have the odd moment of sadness. Parvin and Susan were fighting to pay the check, which was entertaining. I hope to be able to wade in on these someday. I told Parvin she should come to Chicago after my parents move back and she can fight with my dad over the check.

I figure maybe I'll try to get the rest of my shit together today so I can really enjoy my last day of vacation tomorrow. Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi at Delilah's, and then either stick around for Mike Miller spinning Joe Strummer or head to the Empty Bottle for what may or may not be an interesting show. Probably D's in that it's cheaper and probably just as entertaining, and I can leave whenever I want without feeling guilty.

For now, I'll try to drag my ass around and accomplish something with my life today.

Holy fucking shit...

OK. I spent all day yesterday and today helping my cousin Paul with some practice work he had to do for upkeep of his attorney's license, but it was fucking impossible to keep on track. I felt like I could have done the thing on my own faster than the two of us did together. And I didn't go to law school. If I had hair I would have pulled it all out by now.

At least I got to hang out with Sal last night. I think we ate at the same Italian restaurant we ate at when I was out to visit him three years ago, then we ate at the Little Pie Company and walked along the Hudson and shot the shit a while.

Quite dolichocephalic, that lad.

I met Mina tonight; we had dinner at a little Vietnamese place and then ice cream in Chinatown. Who knew that peanut-butter-sesame ice cream would be so fucking great? I hadn't seen her in five years or so, so it was good to catch up. I managed to navigate the NYC subway mostly on my own, so I'm not totally helpless. Although I wish I'd remembered to email Melissa Patenio to see when she was gonna be in NYC. I wanna say it would have been tonight and maybe I could have met up with them after Mina went home. Ah, well.

I'm beat. I've done no reading or much relaxing on this trip. Well, I've had some good mental vacation in NYC, but my brain was hurting earlier after wrapping my head around NJ family law. I'm gonna have some juice and turn in.

Tomorrow I'm having lunch with my aunt and grandma and then I think we're going to some Italian place for dinner. That'll be nice.

My Vegas tix went through, and buy.com says they'll replace my missing shipment. So woo.

OK. Off to juice. I need to see if I can get Dana a black and white cookie tomorrow in the hopes it will keep for four days and a plane ride.

Day 2

I arrived in Jersey with no problems yesterday. Not that I was expecting any.

Lunch with Parvin and a nap on her couch, then saw Susan and Alex at their office; Susie is not doing well, talking about suicide and how she can't escape her miserable life. So I will definitely need to keep in closer contact with her just to provide that extra bit of social matrix. She did let me borrow the T-bird, but the hard-top is on so no convertible. Still a fun little roadster to drive. I had to immediately change the radio station from the paleo-conservative bullshit being spewed, though.

I took the ferry over to midtown, met Laura and her friend Kim for dinner. Waiting for them outside Penn Station, I was struck by how goddamn trendy everyone looked. Fucking New York. Yes, I'm being stuck-up about how cool Chicago is, but everyone looked like they just stepped out of some sort of fashion magazine - people of all different stripes. You just don't get that in Chi - people don't seem to care as much, the Abercrombie/Gap/skank-tank/beer-whore-pants bar scene axis notwithstanding.

Anyway, we had good dinner with a gigantic piece of chocolate cake for desert. Delicious. Then Laura and I headed to the Lower East Side to see the Blackout Shoppers play at Manitoba's. I didn't realize until I was inside and saw all the Dictators paraphernelia that it was Handsome Dick Manitoba's place. Cool.

Blackout Shoppers were great. Hardcore like you don't see much anymore, yet without being all thrashed out. Plus nice guys; Laura knew them a bit. Real small bar, intimate show, no stage. The next band weren't that cool, though. The music was alright, but the lyrics harkened back to the same wasted misogynistic crap that punk was supposedly rebelling against. I don't care how long they've been around, it was still all vapid posing as far as I'm concerned.

I got back to Jersey and Paul asked me for help with his Skills and Competencies coursework. I didn't know how much help I'd be, seeing as I'm not a lawyer, but apparently I was good. Plus if I ever have to file for divorce someday, I'll have had some experience drawing up the documentation.

I need to get something to eat. I'm meeting Sal tonight, and I haven't seen him in three years or so. Cool.

It's fucking early.

Update via notebook:

On my way to the El I hocked a loogie through the chickenwire fence on the Kennedy overpass. The wind was blowing the other way, and when it caught on the fence, my loogie started stretching back the way it came, as if to flout my attempt to deposit it away from the sidewalk. It was beautiful; I watched it as I walked away.

Sitting on the El, across the aisle from me was a woman with the most pristine "casual" appearance I've seen. Manicured, pedicured, hair in just the right ponytail (she even checked it when she sat down to make sure everything was in place), eyes wide open and unblinking with that Botox-I-can't-move-my-eyebrows look. It's freaky. She looked like a plastic doll in jeans and lilac t-shirt and flip-flops.

The Botox face reminds me of Chris Milne. I watched her reflection in the glass for a kind of vicarious nostalgia.

Security wasn't that bad at O'Hare. I had an hour and a half to kill after I got here, and killed a good fifteen minutes of it looking for a Cinnabon. Successfully, I might add. I read Laura's interview with the Blackout Shoppers in Punk Planet, and realized that's the band we're seeing tonight. Looking forward to it.

I achieved mediocrity.

I got my apartment mostly clean. And then gave up. I mopped the floor and everything. Still need to vacuum, though, and clean the windowsills. That will have to wait until next weekend when I get back from the east coast (fuck you!). I still have some papers and CDs to file, too. I did finally manage to mount the window shade in my bedroom. That's right, the one I bought almost a year ago.

Another beautiful day gone by where I spent it inside. By the time I decided to give up cleaning, I was too down-hearted to go out and do anything. I thought about a bike ride, but just felt it would be too crowded. Not that I wanted to insulate myself from others, but I couldn't think of anywhere I'd want to ride that wouldn't be crowded with pedestrian traffic.

I ended up starting to build one of the Lego sets I bought last year. The two foot long Y-wing. I missed Lego. When I was a kid I'd spend hours building Lego. Friends came and went (and still do) but Lego is there for me. Even in elementary school, I remember sitting in my room late at night, listening to oldies with one lamp on in the corner, building.

My parents wouldn't let me have any regular Lego until I turned four, and on my fourth birthday Parvin brought me this big (or so it seemed) set with tons of different pieces to make a million different models. It had a Lego racoon person too, with a beer stein. Odd.

I remember the construction set I had, which I also built and rebuilt.

I remember the first space Lego set I got when I was five. The first theme-specific set I had. I memorized the assembly instructions by taking it apart and putting it back together so many times.

I remember Jim Eckland had a whole town set up in his basement and we all had our own characters. I think they all drove Lego Lamborghinis and carried guns.

I remember Paul gave us a whole ton of old Lego. There were so many wings! You have to understand, space Lego was all I wanted as a kid, and to make your own spaceships you needed *wings*. Well, I did anyway. And now I could make a fleet of them!

I remember I was ten or so when there was a big Lego build-off at the mall. Pretty fucking cool.

I remember my parents lying about what they got me for Christmas because I guessed which Lego set it was.

In the last five years I've put in a lot of time and money just for Star Wars Lego. And I find it worth it. I know I'll be glad I have those sets in five, ten years. When I have kids. It's just a way to hold onto my youth, I guess. Or nostalgia for it. And so I spent a fair amount of time this evening indulging my nostalgia and letting my isolation continue.

In my four nights in NJ/NY, I'm meeting friends for three of them. I kind of feel like I'm taking advantage of my family for lodging, but then I suppose I'd get bored with them anyway after that much time. Parvin did say she was going to make Bogoli Polo for me, and I can meet some people for lunch, I suppose. Still, it'll be good to see Laura, Sal, and Mina again. Worth ditching the relatives for. And it'll be good just get away from Chicago. Leave all my worries behind me. Although I've got business to conduct via phone tomorrow.

I have to get up in less than five hours to go to the airport. Fuck.

Mark Anderson is a good role model

This excerpt refers back to the post "Dogs, guns, girls, and orthodontics" from a few days ago.

Mark Anderson, from All the Power: Revolution Without Illusion:

I also don't believe that technology, as such, is the enemy. Whether humans are capable of using the tools of this modern era responsibly remains to be seen. Still, no more ludicrous denial of human possibility could be imagined than to assume that we cannot. I refuse to believe that people are so feeble.

Well said.

My exciting life: Wonder Dogs and self-disgust.

The house is looking pretty clean. I spent an hour yesterday scrubbing countertops and stovetop in the kitchen. Pretty much a table and couch to clean off, then a lot of dusting, wiping, vacuuming. I had to go get more cleaning supplies last night. I just hope my vacuum filter makes it through.

This is the first time in months that I blacked out my nails. Along with the freshly shorn head, I'm sure this will enable me to squeek through the heightened airport security tomorrow morning. I have to get up at 3:30 or 4 am anyway just to make sure I make it to my 8am flight on time.

I tried to get dinner at Mirani's last night, but they were closed by 9pm for some reason. I had fish and chips with a side o' Guinness at the Celtic Knot instead. Melt in your mouth goodness, all of it.

Vikki came by WNUR last night, so I didn't do the show alone. It made the night better, for sure. I remember this little kid with green hair and ripped up mismatched plaid suit I met four and a half years ago, and she's really grown into herself, so good for her.

I feel old.

I was reading some poetry at dinner:

"Bullet the Wonder Dog Gets a Few Things Off His Chest" by Ron Koertge

I was good enough to knock down a few
desperados and bushwhackers and then keep
them occupied until Roy finished his song.
But Trigger was the marquee beast.
He was gold, El Dorado on the hoof, the blonde
bombshell. American through and through.

Man's best friend? Don't kid yourself. When
we were working, I had to eat Trigger's dust
or ride in the Jeep with dopey Pat Butrum.
And when we weren't working, I was bored.

So I sidled up to a script girl who was
learning Spanish and listened along. My plan
was this: next time a couple of banditos
confronted the impeccable Roy, I'd burst
in before the fisticuffs with Bajer esas
pistolas, y escuchen a la razon.

But the words wouldn't come out. They
were right there on the tip of my long,
red tongue. I howled in frustration and
ruined the shot.

"Somebody," the director said, "get that
mutt out of here." And somebody did, a DGA
trainee with a script in her purse and a
bad attitude.

It's times like those I thought of my mother,
how usually she lay down while my brothers
and I fought for a nipple. But occasionally
she stoodlike she was posing for a she-wolf
postcard. Instead of Romulus, I was the one
tall and strong enough to reach a teat.

"You'll go far," she said to me in Dogtalk.
"But there's also heartbreak and few, if any,
will know the real you."

Copyright violation from Free Lunch no. 35.

I find myself very easily tempted to actions I know will have negative consequences for all involved. Things I would not be proud of doing even were they consequence-free. I do not know why this is. I'm disgusted with myself even though I know I'll give in to the temptations should the opportunity arise.

I think my mailman is either lazy or an idiot. I get no mail all week, then yesterday my box is crammed full of stuff, some of it postmarked two weeks ago. *LIKE MY DENTAL LICENSE RENEWAL.* Some of it was put into other boxes as well, I think, despite my name and apartment number being on my box. Fuckin' A. No Idea says that Chicago is a black hole for packages and I can believe it.

Also, according to UPS, they never picked up my MP3 player from buy.com, and buy won't look into it until the entire expected shipping time has elapsed. Which means Tuesday morning I can get on and bitch to them about it. Fuckers. I'm never buying anything from there again.

Make a new friend!

Oranges (and their ilk) are the perfect fruit for sharing. Is there any other food that's naturally compartmentalized like an orange? Share an orange and make a new friend today!