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...

Look at Danny's dirty ass!

Before I head out to Neo to meet Liv, Les, and Ryan, here's some photos from last weekend. Enjoy!

After my Saturday night plans aborted, I took a bottle of Young's Old Nick out to the park across the street.

I love Chicago.

These are smart pigeons. Eternal flame at Daley Plaza.

Beer Run! Route map to Three Floyds. Note the Picasso is holding a beer stein.

Three Floyds Bike Rack:

Danny after drinking beer.

Darren after drinking beer.

One for the road. The waitress "didn't see me do that."

Danny needs fenders. Look at his dirty ass!

Danny's anxious to leave.

Darren would like to keep drinking beer.

After a piss break in Hyde Park.

After Sunday night's plans aborted, I looked out my window at the city.

Monday I went to the Pickwick with Liv and Les.

Toro (short for Skeletor) is their rescue dobie. He's a little shy.

Bingo is not shy at all.

He likes to get right in your face...

...and cuddle.

Better = Enthused Indifference

Yeah, so after mooching dinner from the AAWD Specialty Night spread and talking with some people, I'm feeling better. I like Persian food. And cookies. I also ate a bag of candy someone left in the lab from our holiday party. Now I'm just tired. Or, to borrow a phrase from Ryan, I'm feeling an enthused indifference toward the world right now. I talked with Siddhi for a few minutes and she put a few things in perspective for me, too, before pinching my face as she is wont to do. Whatever, I'm going home now, to drink beer and read before I crash for the night.

I want a beer. Or five.

I think I'm overtired. Or maybe it's my cold. Regardless, I'm in a shitty mood right now. I want to withdraw and pretend the world doesn't exist. It's actually a bit of a comforting feeling. My horizons are extremely limited at the moment, and I'm extremely pessimistic.