It's Time for the Vacillator!

2007-10-24T19:00:00.001-07:00

10-24-07

This is an exercise.

I contemplated whether or not to wait to take the Lexapro until I returned from New York. What if it didn’t agree with my overly sensitive system? What if it made me feel more tense, bereft, and down than I already felt? Could I chance it? The answer was yes, because procrastinating yet again, even for a legitimate reason, was not acceptable.

Tuesday morning, down the hatch. Immediate blurriness, but tolerable enough, like I’d imbibed too much caffeine. Fatigue coupled with an underlying hyperactivity. Driving to work in the west suburbs was odd. The sky was a rare orangey grey color; I can’t recall if it stormed or not. Exiting off the highway, I felt disembodied. The next two days, concentration was something I had to concentrate on. It was difficult to focus on what my boss said. I nodded a lot. It was stressful teaching my classes. I didn’t want to be there and couldn’t convey that feeling to my students. I did let my reading class go very early one day, though. One student asked me if I was hungover and one told me I looked pale. I think that was the day I introduced the word “shitcanned” to them.

Thursday night I went to my parents’ house after work to eat pork chops and mashed potatoes covered in canned vegetarian vegetable soup. My mom simmered the chops for a few hours, and they were from a well-fed pig. Juicy and tasty. They’d take me to the airport in an hour or so afterwards. I felt less floaty but very hyper, but I was also very excited to greet my NYC friends and to see two of them marry.

Needless to say, it was hard for me to contain myself on the plane. I forced myself to peruse an Elle magazine featuring bleached blonde Scarlett Johannson on the cover, but I was disinterested. My leg shook constantly. I am glad I did not start jumping up and down in my seat. I pictured myself running to my great friend Maddog, leaping and engulfing him in a huge hug, but the post-9/ll airport climate isn't conducive to powerful displays of excitement. I settled for a tight hug and smooch.

(While I was walking towards the baggage claim area, I saw a guy named Shimme who used to live in Milwaukee. He was in a screamo band with Davey von Bohlen way back in the day. I didn’t know him but a friend at that time did. He and his presumed girlfriend looked like they never left 1994.)

Maddog and I decided to grab a cab so that we could make it to the Neptune show on time.

How good it felt to cruise down Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn! Cute people were in out mad abundance due to the CMJ festival. The Luna Lounge relocated from Manhattan to that street. The area has really built up. New cafes, bbqs, restaurants. I didn’t have time to try any of them, though.

Upon dropping off my suitcase and visiting the roof where Mr. Maddog pleasured a lady, we headed back out to Union Pool. Neptune! After three years. And there was Dan, a block away from the club, talking to his underage, artsy, cute nephew and his girlfriend. Got a huge bear hug from the man who digs bears and continued on our way. I hadn’t been to a show at Union Pool. Their back room venue is really quaint and welcoming, with a nice old-timey stage surrounded by Christmas tree lights. Mark from Neptune, who I knew back in Chicago seven years ago, and our friend Martin were sitting right inside the door, so I swooped down for a dual hug. SO GOOD to see these people! That’s all I thought. And then I remembered to bust out the lone stick of Wisconsin beef jerky I’d carried with me for Martin and Maddog to share.

Neptune took awhile to set up, but it was worth it, even though the guys didn’t think they played a good set. Technical difficulties or something, but it sounded more intense than the last time I’d see them, so I dug it. A woman whose boyfriend used to be in the band talked to me awhile about academia and jewelry making. Later, after watching some guys from another Boston band bicker about who was drunk and who should’ve been packing up the gear, I started to talking to a cute bald guy about Powers and Dewars. He even told me to have a good night when I left with Maddog. I felt so exhilarated. It is so difficult to talk to strangers in Milwaukee. Or did the Lexapro make it easier?

The next day the weather was working against me. Sultry southern-style humidity in NYC, complete with nonstop rain and drizzle almost all day. I’d taken my pill and gone back to sleep for another hour. That helped. Walking down Bedford Avenue--wow. I was already a little out of it, so when I saw the charcuterie--cheese shop--in the storefront that used to house the independent bookstore/zine shop, I actually stopped and shook my head with squinted eyes. Opened them. Yep, still a cheese shop. Damn, it’s gone! And down the street--the fun dive bar that served the huge foam cups of cheap beer like the Turkey’s Nest was gone, too. Some fancy pants bar was in its place. The same thing happened to the punk bar in 2004. I tripped over the sidewalk while staring at the bar. I don’t think anyone noticed, though. Then I went down into the subway to go into the city.

Chinatown and Soho immediately wore me out, and I cursed myself for walking south when I meant to go north. Has it been that long? I cut over onto Lafayette and couldn’t find the Vice store, so I stopped in Brooklyn Industries instead. Some cute stuff was on sale, but I wasn’t in the mood to shop, really. As I walked past the skater/snowboarder store, I noticed about 40 or so young men, mostly Asian, Hispanic, and black, queued up behind a barrier. A man stood in front of them holding a video camera, a big one, like they use on the news. Mustering my talking to strangers courage, I approached an early twenty something black boy and asked in a very upbeat tone if I could ask why they were standing in line. It was for sneakers called “dunks,” and they’d be there overnight. I wished him well and kept walking, thinking about that episode of Entourage where Vince shells out $5,000 for a pair of custom sneaks for Turtle after he misses out on a limited pair because he didn’t stand in line all night.

Next stop was St Mark’s books, but it was disappointing. They didn’t have the new Arthur Nersesian novel or anything else I wanted. Steve had texted me back though, and so I headed over to a store called 99x that sold Fred Perry, and promptly threw down $150 for a nylon black jacket that was made in China. It is *very* cool, but that was a stupid move on my part. I chattered away at the shop’s owner because I hadn’t talked to anyone in person all day and I was still feeling pretty hyper. I blabbered on about the skinhead and Joe Strummer movies I’d seen, and also scored some Fred Perry buttons and a little key chain eyeglass cleaner thing in the shape of a Perry polo. I decided my shopping was done and then went to the Whitney Museum on the Upper East Side, such a boring part of NYC. Nothing in the entire museum struck me, and I kept texting Neat. Damn distracting meds. I thought I’d be into Kara Walker’s exhibit, as she creates powerful representations of the way black women have been abused and exploited, but it was overwhelming.

Back out into the shitty rain to Union Square, to kill time at Virgin before I met with the professor who taught my postmodernism and ecocriticism classes. I didn't buy anything there but decided I liked the Enon CD. It was great to chat with Bennett about academia, literature, tv, and poetry. He’s really hip and always interested in what other people are interested in. He bought me vegan mashed potato croquettes at Zen Palate, and then we browsed at the Strand bookstore, where I bought Bukowski’s Ham on Rye, Shaw’s Pygmalion, and a dinky backpack that was meant for a nine-year-old. (I really shouldn’t shop when I’m tired.) I also lost my Metrocard. I knew I would if I didn’t take it out of that pocket. Dumbass. Not a New Yorker thing to do.

My pulse started racing again as I went back down into the Union Square subway station, where a pretty decent 7-piece brass band had been playing to an enthusiastic crowd earlier. Now I needed to go to Times Square to see my girl Claire Danes perform in the play Pygmalion--that’s why I bought the book. I wanted to make sure I could reference it if I didn’t understand the play. There were these dorky Midwestern co-eds on the train with someone’s mom, who actually bent over to pick up a penny she saw on the floor for “good luck.” A Jamaican teen mocked her. Kiss it, kiss it, he said! I looked at him and laughed. She didn’t hear.

As gross as it is when you think about it literally, I delight in Times Square at night, just because I’ve never experienced anything similar to it. The lights light up the night sky and the sensation is just really unique.

As it turns out, I didn’t need the book. The play was easy to follow (it‘s about a ‘lowly‘ girl who ‘learns‘ to act ‘upper class‘ and one ups her ‘teacher‘ at the end of the play), humorous and Claire was absolutely great. I was mad no one stood up and cheered, but I felt weird doing it alone. I yelled loudly when she bowed to the crowd, though. I’m sure she heard me! Skinny little thing. It was so fulfilling to get to see her face light up like it did on MSCL

Afterwards I went back to Brooklyn to meet Maddog at Barcade, yes, a bar with lots of arcade games. There wasn’t any eye candy in sight and I was fucking exhausted, so I was not at all disappointed go home and eat a frozen pizza (for some reason the late night greasy spots around the area either close early or are closed down due to the gentrification).

Sleep came relatively easily both nights--Thursday and Friday. It was really surprising, because I was on a strange couch in a living room that was basically part of a hallway and light streamed in the morning. But I got a solid six hours in. Yeah, meds! Saturday was the wedding. I woke up and text-gossiped with Benito for awhile, which was fun. Maddog had to leave early because he was a groomsman, so Chris, Kat and I made ourselves pretty and went up to Union Square together. The wedding was being held at the Manhattan Penthouse on 14th St and Fifth Avenue. It had a gorgeous view of the city from huge windows.

The ceremony itself was short and sweet. Diane looked so pretty walking down the aisle with her dad. I thought I’d cry, but I didn’t. I just felt really happy.

Afterwards there wasn’t a receiving line. We went back into the bar area and were offered tuna tartar, chicken skewers covered with peanut sauce, guacamole, beef something or other, and spring rolls. People started drinking, but it wasn’t even 1pm yet. I had to wait it out, plus I had three calls to return. I had to still see Zack, Kevin, and Nate. Three very different people. How would I pull it off!? The meds still distracted me, and I obsessively checked my phone. I was disgusted with myself but couldn’t stop, and I thought about the email one of my work colleagues sent about a student whose fingers twitch during class while she stares at her backpack which holds her cell phone.

It was a young people’s wedding. We danced, flitted about, danced in between courses (which included tasty ravioli and really good, not too sweet wedding cake). D and D started things off with their dance routine. I wish I'd gotten better pictures. Two quirky Brooklyn performers I love, Corn Mo and Vic Thrill, sang two songs each. D and D didn’t do the annoying bouquet and garter tosses. Hallelujah! They did feed each other cake, though, and we made sure to clink our silverware against our glasses so they’d smooch. There wasn’t a head table, either. The bride and groom sat in the middle of the room at their own “sweetheart table,” which I hadn’t seen before. I was at a great table of folks. I talked to two slightly younger friends about their dealings with anxiety. It was really helpful to hear their stories and have people to relate to.

The whole afternoon was really heartening, because I was in contact with so many nice, productive people who all asked me, “So, how’s Milwaukee?” People in Milwaukee rarely ask each other what is new in their lives. It was refreshing, but also tiring. I repeated myself so many times! But I was glad to be spoken to, and interested also in hearing what was new with other folks. One of Maddog’s friends is the accountant at the new Darren Star (Sex and the City) show. She doesn’t act like an ass because she works for a tv show, yet so many Milwaukeeians won’t even talk to new people if they are unsure how “cool” the new folks are, and by what standards?

After the wedding, Pete, Emily and I walked to 32nd street to go to a roof bar at the top of the La Quinta hotel, and passed a lot of crazy New Yorkers trying to sell cheap knock off bags, sneakers and CDs, and also saw a movie or tv crew setting up. I didn’t even make the hotel connection until we arrived. I don’t think I’d walked down that block, near the Macy’s flagship, until then. It was in Koreatown. We had a blast up on the roof. I caught a slight buzz for a minute and of course showed everyone my friend’s dick photo that is stored in my phone for such occasions. I was scared to drink, but it was okay. When we left, two rickshaws were being propelled through the street, weaving in and out of stopped traffic, its passengers yelling in delight. So did I! The street is really walled off due to its narrowness and consistently tall buildings lining either side. It was dark except for a few street and business lights, so the scene just delighted me. The energy! The spectacle! The rickshaws! New York! Wahooo!

I piled into a taxi-van with the Murrays and their friend. It took forever to get to the East Village because it was going to dinner/movie/show time. We went to Rififi, somewhere you could walk right past, for its soul night. The sign just said subway soul outside. The cheapest beer was a $3 PBR. They were charging $5 for a Brooklyn lager, which is just ridiculous, but I just had one glass of wine, and my newly bald (yeah! Bring on the bald guys!) friend Kevin bought mine, so that was cool. I didn’t go dance, but I talked a LOT. To Kev, about our current life situations, and Nate from fucking high school. So random. He recently had an encounter that made me really jealous when he retold the story to me. Now I am one of his confidantes, so I at least get to live vicariously. Amidst all this chatting, my gaylatearrivalcompletewithfauxhawkboyfriend finally made his grand entrance, which spurred me to emit a spontaneous shriek from my bird lips.

We left Rififi around 12:30 and went to a bar called Lunasa. It felt nice and chill, and I met Zack’s French roommate and his friend. We talked about where the Harley Davidson store was in Paris. They were getting frustrated because they couldn’t picture it, just like how I get frustrated when I get turned around in big cities I used to live in. They probably thought I was a simpleton, but I liked listening to them talk, and hearing about a foursome. Good stories.

Walking to the L at 2ish am after munching on a hot pepperoni and mushroom slice felt frightening. A little too much alcohol, excitement, and energy exerted plus the meds. I was so incredibly jumpy. Plus I think about walking in the dark in Milwaukee and how that is something I just don’t do. There were people on either side of me walking down all of the blocks, but I was still incredibly nervous. The L train stop was as alive as usual, though, at 2isham. Drunk friends jibber jabbering, tired people going home from work, less drunk people dressed up from their nights out. A British guy and some hip looking older New York guy with platinum hair discussing British and New York culture and music. New York has culture, said the American, but the music here’s got no balls….or something like that.

Sunday I awoke to get a good Steve hug and some conversation at a café in Williamsburg. We sat outside and I dogwatched. Dogwatching in NYC is the best. The great dane, the pug looking but not quite pug dogs, the Chihuahuas. Unfortunately we didn’t get to catch up for very long, but it was better than not catching up at all. All my friends are the same, good, with their quirks. Me too. Except now I’m on meds.

Zack was tired and hungover so I decided to rally and train over to Prospect Heights. He’s living not far from my first apartment. I do not miss that neighborhood, really. It’s pretty over by him, closer to the park, but I hated that apartment. I was miserable half the time. It colors it for me. I got to see his Frijole (boyfriend) for just a few minutes, and his friend Colleen, got to check out their Brooklyn abodes (I love scoping NYC apartments. I always ask how much is the rent. Is that rude?)

We went to brunch at the Italian joint I think Rebecca and I ate in. Real deal Italian waiter and owner. Mediocre brunch food. Nothing too great, but it wasn’t overpriced or tasteless, either. We were both spacey as usual…huh? What? Sorry… ha! Then off to the park for just a little bit before I had to sit back on the train for another 45 minutes. It was worth it. I still can’t decide, though, whether I dislike riding trains or driving cars more.

A few more minutes spent with Maddog and Chris before leaving their very cute but very tiny and mouse infested apartment. I got a ride in the van to the airport. That was fun! Chris is a truck driver so he knows all the moves. It’s pretty crazy driving on a NYC highway. I always slouch down when I’m in cabs, so being above the other cars in the van made for a new experience.

I was sad to say goodbye to the guys, but I know it won’t be that long before I return. All I have to do is put forty dollars away from each check for 6 months and I can afford another ticket. I need to do that, too. At this point, I really can’t say whether or not I would like to live there again. It’s such a trade off, the lifestyles, the value. And it’s so far from home. But I definitely can’t let almost 2 years go by again. I’ve been so despondent, so completely entrenched in angst, stress, and anxiety, ever since I’ve returned ‘home.’ The first year I got re-acclimated to this city, so it made sense that I felt off. The whole PhD thing threw me for a loop. And getting older did, too. And this fucked up political climate. A lot of people feel helpless and scared. I’m glad I’m taking something to make me feel more stable. I can tell it’s working, although I can’t wait for the fatigue to wear. I have too much to do, and too much (way too much) to say!

2007-08-20T19:23:00.000-07:00

The day was too short. North Avenue exit, head west. Traffic’s backed up, so why not turn here and look for parking? North on Paulina. Boom! Silver car pulling out, and my dented Cavalier fit the spot perfectly. There wasn’t even a need to do one of those classic Chicago parking jobs where the front driver’s side bumper juts out into the street slightly. Wasn’t a permit parking only, either. No risk of a ticket. The need to urinated consumed. Gallery Café should have a bathroom. Yeah, with purchase of a tiny piece of carrot-pineapple bread for $2.75. The cashier couldn’t figure out how to make change from my ten, but I didn’t get pissed; I sympathized. My usual line: “Yeah, I’m an English teacher. No good at the math.” She laughed and admitted she suffered from the same affliction. Four girls in line ahead of me to piss, then only three, when the toothy yet coiffed young yup graciously let me pass her up. I just drove here from Milwaukee, I chattered. I really** have to pee. Oh, I understand! She said knowingly. You can go ahead of me. I babbled on while her friend finished up in the restroom, about the insane accident I saw on the other side of the freeway. Gnarly. Fire trucks, ambulances, several police cars. One car in the ditch, the other facing oncoming traffic, flung into the median. In my head, I couldn’t believe I was speaking to this looking like that girl, and I was even more amazed she was talking to me.
When I left, headed towards Quimby’s, I passed a store called Akira. 40% Off signs beckoned. I looked at the clothes through the window, glanced at the price tag. $30. A price I can afford! I eagerly entered. Soft wooley green thigh high socks topped with black lace trim caught my eye. At $24, they were definitely affordable. I filed their image away in my head. I had the excitement shopping dizzies. The drive had been stressful. WI drivers suck.

Headed over to the sale racks and fondled some really pretty Betsy Johnson dresses. I just took them in. White Marilyn Monroe style with black polka dots. So pretty. Most of the other items were to fit a midget, but there was a lot of denim on sale. Nothing stood out and not much was in size 30 or above, and I didn’t need any new jeans. Lacoste sweaters on sale for $60 but they were ugly. Cute Ben Sherman dress, though, but it would wrinkle easily and I’d never iron that shit. Then there was the really pretty black fancy dress for $20, but where would I wear it in fucking Milwaukee? I left.

Quimby’s slightly disappointed. I thought there was a new issue of Burn Collector out, but I didn’t see any. Sold out, maybe. I looked for Ben Weasel’s books too, but didn’t seem them. Didn’t ask, either. Was excited by a new Julie Ducette and Jeffrey Brown, but both weren’t of much substance. Ducette’s wasn’t a story and Brown’s story was about a cat, and I love cats, but I prefer his autobiographical graphic novels. Brown had put out a single issue comic I’d never seen, though, so I grabbed that an issue of the East Village Inky, more for a friedn, but I’ll read it first.

Stupid rain falling down on me as soon as I got outside. Wanted to walk down Milwaukee, but drove instead. Tried to parallel park on Milwaukee but failed miserable, panicked, afraid I’d hold up traffic. Randomly turned down a permit only street and parked. Just wanted to check out the used designer clothes store and the new Ragstock. Got a cheap necklace at the first place (Damn! The stretch Miss Sixtys were just a little too tight. But my ass really is big for my frame!) Ragstock wasn’t worth the trip, at all. It’s teeny tiny and features the lamest stuff from the Belmont store. Cheap tween wear. Quickly darted into the Brown Elephant, but realized that I wasn’t of the right mind to shop. Well, I’d realized that at Akira. Admitted to myself it wasn't a good day to shop.

But that feeling. Did I mention it? It was just same old trendy Wicker Park but the feeling of being there, among many people on the street, it affected me. My energy came burbling back, I started getting that feeling that I‘d like to write. Sit in the cafes there and write. I so rarely feel like that when I‘m out anywhere in Milwaukee. People, cars, congestion. Chicago people really aren’t that hot. They look Midwestern. But at least there’s more of them to look at, meet, maybe even, um....

It’s about 2:00 now, should get down to the southside. Well, near southside, between Pilsen and Bridgeport--McKinley Park, I guess. Okay, on Milwaukee, go to Division, jump on highway, it will be quicker. But I spaced and was still on Milwaukee. Didn’t mind. Not much traffic. Passed the Chopin Theater. Going further and further, feeling a little lost, damn! Highway entrance. Oh well, Halsted’s gotta be down here. Sort of close to LPC Group. Chicago…Elston….ah yeah, there. And I knew which way to turn, even though it was a confusing three-street intersection: Milwaukee, Halsted, and Grand. The Loop to my left, industrial vastness to my right. Stop and stall traffic, but it’s okay. It’s not that far.

Here comes UIC. Took a breath. How would it feel to teach here? To be involved in this academic community? It’s a real university….

Then Greektown. I was here once, I always think that, how I was only in this area really one time, well, except when I saw Vagina Monologues there. Who the fuck was I with? I think Theresa and Rachel, or maybe just Theresa. That Blue Line stop was shut down for a long time, I think. Be fun to go back again. Maybe not at night on a weekend, at prime dinner time. Be annoying.

Okay, here’s Roosevelt. Traffic’s moving really easily now. 18th St should be soon. Yep, here’s the Pilsen art galleries. They were okay, nothing really impressive the night I came last Sept. Jen’s seriously stood out, and I’m not even saying that because she’s my friend.

Cermak. Up and over a grated bridge. Slick. Go slow. Archer should be right up there. Okay, cool. Went too far past the address. Turned around. Parked in some random muddy lot. Got out. Realized there was no 2522 Archer Ave. That’d be where the train stop was. I ran 2521 anyway. A nice guy with braces came down and talked to me. He didn’t know what I was talking about, but at least he was nice. Okay, fuck. What to do?? Called Rachel’s house. Tracy answered, thank god! Pulled up the info from her email. The address was 2966!! What the fuck?!?!! So far off! Confused but relieved, I headed west. Crazy little random ramshackle house, so out of place. Some guy let me in and I walked through his shit to the back door, then down below to the basement, where Rachel, Sarah, and Eric, Sarah’s boyfriend, sat. The address was wrong! Whoever emailed it to me-----That was ME! Sarah yelled. You’re lucky Tracy was home I said! I was about to go shopping on Michigan Ave. They all laughed. Ah, anarchists with senses of humor….

Feeling a little light-headed in need of food. Nibble on a peach and have a chicken taco. Help seal up envelopes of books for quite awhile. Vic from the A-zone arrives. Hair much shorter and flippy, still the most bland dresser I’ve ever seen. She is smart. She rebukes some of my dumb chatty political comments. I sort of think her obnoxious, yet I don’t really think through everything I say. I’m not that well-informed. I said Bush was stupid for trying to charge immigrants thousands of dollars to obtain citizenship. She said he wasn’t, that he was smart, he’s getting what he wants done. But I don’t know. I just wasn’t clear. She did that a few other times. It was annoying, but overall it was okay. Just communication failing.

When the baby talk started I just kept thinking: My friend is right! It does never end! Only with radicals, they bring up terms like “co parenting” and use it contexts I don’t understand. Like two couples share custody of one kid? I don’t know. Rachel said she didn’t want to give birth but wouldn’t mind a child. Sarah said she felt the complete opposite way! Vic said she didn’t want either. Goddamnfuckthisbabytalk!

Rachel and I got to catch up a little, but we were working. She came with me to get the Mexican food. Weird not melted warm cheese enchiladas. Cold cheese. Still tasty. Bland rice and beans. Chicago style Mexican. It won’t kill ya, but it ain’t that good! Sarah must have grabbed some hot sauce, because her stuff tasted better. Horchata too, just too add more weight to that ass. Sigh….

I learned from Sarah and Eric that they only pay about $40-50 a month for their car insurance through Geico. That’s exciting…possibilities.

Around 6:30 they decided to call it quits. I really wanted to have a drink at Skylark, cool, huge open dive bar that apparently serves tater tots. But then I’d have to pee, and I’d be sleepier driving home…and Rachel was probably tired from being in Detroit and camping the week before. I didn’t want to sleep there or drive too late in the rain. So I headed back east. North on Halstead. East on 18th St. Boom. Highway right there.

As I rode up the on ramp, my heart beat. It felt full. I was resisting the idea of going home. Loop skyline right there, the cars, that feeling of needing to be aware, not get killed. Just the whole thing. It’s so hard to describe. Tightened throat. Near tears. I don’t wanna go back there! I was screaming inwardly. Don’t wanna. Fuck that place! This is home. Will this be home again? I don’t know! Avoided the rain successfully until Kenosha then it hit, hard. Scary on and off, blurry. Got off at Rawson and ended up north on 27th St, ugly, boring, depressing 27th with all of its random crappy small businesses and dozens of chain stores. Oh yeah, it’s convenient, but it’s…nothing. And there’s no energy here, but there’s angst. Milwaukee drivers are angst-filled. They can’t wait to be done doing the same shit they did yesterday or last week. They just want to go home or to where they go everyday and feel that normalcy.

I don’t.

2007-03-25T17:48:00.001-07:00

Back to work tomorrow teaching the kids! Noooooo! Chicago was SO FUN and RELAXING. I didn’t want to come home. Highlights:

**Going up the escalator from the Chicago Red line stop and having this huge guy in front of me turn around and sneeze at me. A lot of shit flew out of his mouth. Not snot, spit. But damn, a drop of it hit me above my lip. I laughed my ass off. Then this woman who was walking down the stairs said “I *saw* that!” while shaking her head. I kept laughing. “I know,” I replied, “Did he even *see* me?”

Of course some other guy was walking down the street yelling about religion into thin air. Ah, so great, being back in the city.

**Seeing my friend Irie after over five years. He is super nice, squeezable like a teddy, knows the best progressive hip hop (we met him at a lounge where the DJ mixed some rap song with Cory Hart‘s “Sunglasses at Night“ eighties song!), always knows what’s going on, and works at a porn shop that sells pussy molds where he has to fight with crack heads and the last time he did the fucker grabbed his arm, pulled the scab off his new tattoo and fucked it up!

**Later realizing that I probably traumatized my good friend’s girlfriend who dislikes vulgarity and reality by screaming about men who like to fuck women so hard they bleed and what chick likes that I mean I get that some chicks like pain but really to bleed I don’t know about that but whatever it’s cool I just am not into it….She thinks swearing makes one “sound uneducated.” No, lady. Swearing inappropriately makes you seem uneducated. Belting out a good what the fucking fuck amongst friends, or, shit, family, is alll gooood! It relieves stress, damnit!

*Going to the Museum of Contemporary Art for the first time in years. There is a great photography exhibit right now. There were a lot of standouts. They even had some of Larry Clark’s (maker of shocker films like Kids) early stuff. Cool video by this Iranian woman. All good stuff.

*Seeing the Dials finally at the Hideout. Their set was preceded by a Thax Douglas reading. He is an older, chubby gay poet who writes poems inspired by indie bands. Yeah, I know. The one about the Dials had something to do with a snail and was really short. The bitch checking Ids pissed me off, but she was the only person in Chicago during a three-day visit to do! Miraculous!

*Eating pierogis at this new place on Belmont. Spinach and meat are GOOD.

*Getting a pair of Diesel jeans and a cute, short schoolgirl skirt for a total of $12.

*Getting a free button that was supposed to be $2 because the bored, indie rocker cashier was too lazy to ring it up. I threw it on my pile while he was dealing with the clothes and he didn’t notice it until after I paid him. It’s cool to get shit free, but how lazy can someone be? Ha!

*Being on a bus with a take no shit bus driver who totally fucked with a stupid cab driver and watching a bus totally cut off a stupid prick in a purple truck who was turning where he wasn’t supposed.

*Seeing all of my friends, obviously.

*Deciding to cut out drinking for awhile unless I really have a taste for it because it doesn’t make me feel fun at all and doing so will save me money and help me lose those fucking five-to-seven pounds I‘ve been wanting to lose for way too long.

*Eating well, except for my Friday night Jimmy Johns. Seriously. Miso soup and two maki rolls for $6; pierogis; homemade fish tacos with spicy Mexican style polenta and lettuce with cilantro vinaigrette dressing; veggie chorizo with scramble tofu, black beans, tortillas and guac. Yahoo!

*Being around lots of people of varying races and classes, although of course I saw a lot of hipsters and yuppies. None of them really irked me though. People in Chicago seemed so approachable and friendly this trip!

*Listening to my friend totally cuss out some telemarketers on his cell phone.

*Bowling at the recently remodeled Fireside Bowl. I should’ve taken notes. It’s still ugly as hell in there. They could’ve chosen a shade of paint that wasn’t grey or beige. They didn’t change the bar and the beer is still cheap. The bathrooms is the same. But it is not the same. The vibe was so strange. Still crappy but with Depaul kids and yuppies and just normal folks around. Some punkers, a few, bowling. Everyone bowling. No one watching a punk band and posturing. Goddamnit I saw Assuck there. I moved to Chicago ten years ago! So punk! So political! Boy Sets Fire after our house was broken into. Braid a lot. Man. So many bands. There’s still shows there but it’s not often and again, it’s not the same. I don’t like commas tonight.

*Sitting around at Virgin Megastore and people watching. They had a Chuck D doll for sale!

Things that sort of sucked:

+Not being able to see the skull made of melted AC/DC cassettes at the Museum of Surgical whatever due to technology failing and getting a late start.

+Having to run back and forth from J’s to J’s to get my stuff and shower.

+Getting all stupid about a Fendi bag at Neiman Marcus and buying shit at Filene’s Basement that I didn’t need because I was delirious from lack of sustenance.

+Waiting for a half hour to get through the second toll on the way home. Really, how can they tell who has an Ipass or not?

+Coming home to the same old shit.

ATTIDUDE ADJUSTMENT< COMMENCE!

2007-03-20T18:08:00.001-07:00

I was reading Chicago’s Lumpen magazine tonight and was very interested in the article about Chicago perhaps becoming the site of the 2016 Summer Olympics. The woman who wrote it, Burke Bindbeutel, did not mention where she procured her information, but I assume it‘s from just living in Chicago, reading The Tribune, watching the news, etc.

Clearly, it takes shitloads of cash ($2 billion) to ready a city for something like the Olympics, but I never really thought about how it could permanently disrupt a city and displace residents. Chicago becomes more and more gentrified as the years pass, so I don’t doubt that, as Bindbeutel claims, the city and a lot of its residents will be really fucked afterwards.
Apparently, Mayor Daley is going to create an “Olympic Village” on 37 acres on the near south side now, even though he won’t know for a few more years whether or not the city will host the games. This will give real estate companies the ability to convert even more housing into blasé looking condominiums that are ridiculously priced, and doing so will push out a lot of the people living on the south side, which Bindbeutel says is one of the last “affordable” areas (yet not super dangerous, I’m assuming) left. I don’t doubt that, either. I saw Division St and other parts of Wicker Park transform into a yuppie playground within two-three years. Driving along Ashland Ave, you pass dozens of cookie cutter condos. There are still some parts of Chicago left that emit a vibe, but they are quickly disappearing, and it’s just very sad.

I yahoo-searched this “Olympic Village” to confirm Bindbeutel’s report and to get a little more information. According to a January 23rd article on the CBS Chicago web site, an 80,000 seat oval-shaped stadium would be built specifically for the games and then taken down. Also according to the article, the area “would serve as athlete housing for the Olympics, and then become a whole new Chicago neighborhood, with homes, apartments, hotels and businesses when the games are over.” A pricey new neighborhood, certainly.

The city also wants to spend about a billion dollars on revamping Loop transportation. However, the Loop is NOT the area where the transit needs to be improved in Chicago, so to me it’s a waste of money. But, like Bindbeutel notes, housing the games is a prime “public relations opportunity.” The city can be marketed to the visitors from all of the nations.

It seems sort of doubtful that Chicago would be chosen over LA, Tokyo, and Rio de Janeiro. It will be CRAZY down there if is, though. Part of me would be disgusted and want to avoid it at all costs, but part of me would be curious, too.

As a sidebar, Bindbeutel included some comments from a sportswriter named Dave Zirin in which he details some of the nasty asides related to the Olympics. He mentions a 1968 massacre of students in Mexico City that happened because “Mexican security forces” wanted “to make their city ‘hospitable’ for an international audience.”

When I read that quote, I felt shocked. I’ve never heard of governmental police forces gunning down people because of the Olympics, so I decided to research the occurrence.

It was called the Tlatelolco Massacre. It happened after weeks of student protests, on October 2. (The site I looked at, www.bookrags.com, didn’t describe what the students were protesting, but people being pissed off at their government is not uncommon, especially in huge international cities). About 5,000 people had gathered for a “peace rally” that evening, and, apparently, “army and police forces-equipped with armored cars and tanks — surrounded the square and began firing live rounds into the crowd, hitting not only the protestors, but also other people who were present for reasons unrelated to the demonstration.” The goon squads said that the protestors were armed and firing at them, but the site says a 1997 investigation found that they were not armed. The average death estimate hovers around a few hundred, but the government only reported 4 dead at the time. Sounds like how the media reports 5,000 people at an anti-Iraq war protest when it was triple that.

As grotesque as this massacre was, it doesn’t sound like it necessarily happened because the Olympics were happening in Mexico City, although the site does say that the protestors wanted “to exploit” the Olympics due to all the media present. So I guess maybe there might have been more pressure to “subdue” the protests. In either case, I am appalled. It bums me out that things that should just be fun are always tainted by selfish, capitalist and often brutal governments.

2007-03-17T17:26:00.001-07:00

Driving down Farwell towards the nearest ATM I could use that wouldn’t entail incurring a fee. How could I forget? St. Patrick’s Day. Lots of guys crossing the street wherever they pleased. Coatless even though the temperature’s hovering around forty degrees and adorned with at least one green clothing item. I wonder how many fools drunk at 1pm will get hit by cars today. It’s the same at Oakland and North. That bar on the corner was packed with undergrads. I sped past to go get my $11 hair cut ($16 with tip). The same woman who gave me the super short boy cut a few months ago evens out my still very short hair. As she begins, a very loud, very self-entitled man walks in. How long is the wait? he booms, even though there is no one else sitting in the waiting area. There is no wait, the owner of place, a man so old it’s amazing he’s not dead, replies. Well I need someone very experienced to cut my hair! he says offensively. One of the more hagged looking stylists takes him on. I have been cutting hair for thirty years, she tells him defensively.

His name is Miko and he is Serbian, not Russian as I thought at first. He is studying in the MIS program at UWM and he needs a good haircut because he is on his way to Miami. The stylist is handling him well, asking him a lot of questions. She is trying to gain a new customer, because he told her that Cost Cutters sent him to this place but if she does a good job, he might become a regular.

Thankfully, my trim takes all of ten minutes and I get to leave. My stylist is a working class lady that let all of my loose hair fall all over my face and into my eyes. She blew it out with the hair dryer, though. Classy.

Then it’s into the car and out to Stallis. On Locust, some very un-Riverwest looking co-eds traipse about, again with no coats. I think of my friend bartending down the street and how he will have to endure these drunken St Patty’s folks all afternoon and mentally sympathize with him.

When I reach the thrift store I don’t have high hopes. I peruse the shoes, idly thumb through the dusty record bins (so many bins--so much shit! I once came across a huge stack of eighties alternative records someone’s dumped there. A score. But not today). An eight year old boy (estimated) asks his mother about using the bathroom. It’s over there, she points. Oh, good, I thought, I have to go too! A minute later, I hear him tinkling. He must not shut the door at home, because he sure didn’t in the store.

Two loud retarded (literally) male voices keep ringing out atop of the din. One keeps accusing the other of being mean to him, gets mad because he doesn’t know where his companion is in the store. I realize I am more interested in the bric a brac than the hipster purse. I feel weird because my style is changing so much. I am passing over things I would have liked three or four years ago. It constantly amazes me that I am thirtyfuckingthree. It’s a lot different, even, from twentyfuckingnine. I wish my transition would complete itself soon. This limbo process sucks.

I am happy to find some little flying birds to attach to my walls. I also buy a Cheap Trick Dream Police eight track because it’s in pristine condition. I do not know what I will do with it? Sell it to a freak Cheap Trick collector on Ebay? Ha.

I look through the clothes just in case. I am feeling patient, and it pays off. I score an A-Line red stretch skirt from Zara, a store in NYC (and elsewhere) that knocks off designer stuff and charges usually under $100, a lot of items hover around $40. That was $3.99. Even nicer is the $1.99 Banana Republic blue dress shirt with the blazing white collar and cuffs.

Yay.

I head south on 76th street through Stallis. I am scoping out a new ‘hood to move to. I have friends on 60th and Oklahoma, but when I get there I am not very impressed. I don’t get the vibe I need to live somewhere. There’s a lot of amenities nearby, though. I feel disappointed. I continue eastward. I like the area right around 35th and Oklahoma a lot. I feel like I should live further west than that, but the idea is becoming a bit unsettling. The west side feels so foreign. I guess that could be good though. That’s what I told my friend who lives on 15th and Oklahoma. She drove around with me for a bit and pointed out some different little hoods. I still have lots of places to pass through, through. One thing is certain: it will be nice to visit the East Side instead of live there.

At the café, my parents call and want to know if I want to meet them for a St. Patrick’s Day drink. I really, really don’t. I am not opposed to being festive, but I don’t want to be around a lot of people who have been drinking for ten hours. Besides, my leftover rotisserie chicken awaits me. I need to eat it. I am getting hungry cranky, and I have just learned that the cousin of the man I obsessed over during graduate school read at the Schwartz in Bayview last night and I didn’t know. I know I have to let it go, but that feeling when you’ve missed something and can’t get it back is so unsettling. Coupled with that is the feeling of Why couldn’t that fucker just email me and give me a heads up? Promote his cousin. But I am that scary to him. But fuck him, really. Can’t keep going back to the past…which is exactly why I need to move. Badly.

2007-03-12T19:03:00.001-07:00

My friend and I were driving east on North. We were going to do that American thing where you sit your ass on a stool and drink beverages that make you feel sleepy and also make you pudgy. Pudgy Americans, no less. I ordered a fucking Miller product unknowingly and enjoyed it, even (chocolate lager, yum yum).

For dinner I scarfed down a plate full of carbs. Seriously. I had a "jerk" chicken SALAD sandwich. There was about 2 tablespoons of chicken salad on obscenely thick bread. Carbs! For sides, we got friend plantains and fried sweet potato chips. Um, really? Does anyone need TWO friends salty chip sides? Ever hear of a salad, people? I guess they thought the little watermelon wedges offset all of the carbs and salt. SO AMERICAN.

Ahem. Yes. So. Two weekends ago I was really fucked up depressed. Anxious. Couldn't focus. Driving in fucking blizzard conditions on the goddamn highway headed east. One lane. Cars that had hit each other off to each side. Squeezing in close to the car beside me so the fire truck could get through. Just way too surreal. I decided I must exit on Highway 100, which is also conveniently the exit for bullshit Mayfair. I go and I spend somefuckingsixtyfuckingdollars on make-up and body lotion and gel at Sephora. If I spend $36 more I will get a FREE GIFT! Then I went into Boston Store. And I tried on probably 15 items of clothing, possibly twenty. I was having a slight panic attack. My phone rang and that only exacerbated it, due to the name on the caller ID. All of these clothes were so cheap, half off, $7, whatever. I bought three things I think. Then I went home. Then the next day I spend another fifty dollars or so at the other mall on the south side. I went with my mom. Then I went to the big department stores in Oak Creek and spent more money. Yep stayed in one store trying things on for over an hour. Fifty or forty here, seventy there, but the seventy was on stuff I needed, like products and shit. Then I spent $7 on a chicken goat cheese apple walnut salad from Panera. Yeah, healthy, lookit that dressing. Goddamn, the bagel is NEVER going to rescind!

And the day after that I spent $70 on the I-Trip. Fuck!

At dinner, my friend told me how last week he'd gone out to dinner then to a strip club, and his friend convinced the strippers to come back to his house. Then they all did coke together, dude. Partied it up! But it didn't get any sleazier. No strippers stripping in the house. A lot of money spent.

So in the car on North Avenue I started laughing, talking about my shopping. "I get depressed and I shop!" I exclaimed. "I get depressed and do coke with strippers!" he chimed in. "We're such Americans. We're such pussies!" I laughed. He laughed too, and then we said should try to meet up once a week and do something not in the bar.

Oh, the high hopes of Americans!

2007-03-07T19:56:00.002-08:00

Hilarious and Honest, Forthright and Sad Celebrity Profiles

A month or so ago, I read an interview with Lindsay Lohan that was so surprisingly entertaining that I must mention it here.

Andrew Goldman interviewed and scribed the Lohan piece for Elle magazine. The reason why it's a delightful read is because Goldman is unafraid to let Lohan represent herself as a naïve, ditzy, self-absorbed yet very aware young woman. She's a decent actress, from what I could tell from only watching Mean Girls, that is, but wow...it's quite curious how someone can come off like a bubblehead and somewhat savvy simultaneously.

Lohan makes Goldman chase her all over NYC before he finally meets her at a restaurant. He comments, "I was taking a trip through Lohanland, and if I had to pen a travel article on my stay there, it would be one-word short, and in the diction of its indigenous people: 'Whatever.'" Here, he does a marvelous job of conveying that she's an inconsiderate wench while remaining rather polite about it.

When describing her appearance, Goldman states that Lohan is "badly in need of a manicure." My immediate thought was that he *must* be gay. What hetero man would notice a woman's fingernails and actually COMMENT on them? However, a few lines down he remarks upon her "fabled chest." Gay? Straight? Who cares! He said Lindsay Lohan had funky cubicles in print. All I have to say is: Ha!

During the interview, it is clear that Goldman was being condescending towards Lohan AND that he was controlling the interview (or at least that is what he wants his readers to believe). For instance, after she claims that Garrison Keillor said he would write her a sequel to the film Prairie Home Companion, Goldman merely murmurs, "Neat" and continues on with his line of questioning. He makes a similar move after she dumbly states, "I just feel like people need to think more before they act. Even me sometimes." He quickly asks "Could you give me an example?" She takes the bait and proceeds to talk about how she ran into Paris Hilton, with whom she was (is?) feuding, and Paris swore at her because Lohan had called her man Starvros, and blah lala lala la! Finally, after she prattles on about how she doesn't want men she's sleeping with to be with anyone but her, but that SHE herself should be able to fuck others, he responds, "Huh. Interesting…." It sounds like he's being pretty disdainful, and I finding it really, really funny! I really have not laughed so loudly at any other celebrity interview.

Here's a few other instances when he lets her blabber away about her surreal Hollywood life:

1. When she admits, "Well. [I] say things that aren't true a lot, just because it's fun."

2. When she asks, "But you know, it's actually weird when the paparazzo's not there and things aren't being written, because you kind of wonder, Do people not care anymore?"

3. When she talks about Paris Hilton and that Brandon Davis guy PRANK CALLING her…..Yeah.

4. When she says, "People say I got Botox in my armpits! No!" (Goldman hilariously asks "Why would you get Botox in your armpits?" Apparently, it stops one from sweating. Ah, Hollowwood….)

5. Last but not least, when she gets defensive about being seen partying with her mother at the NYC club Bungalow. Goldman: "You never long for a more traditional relationship with your mother?" Lohan: "Mischa Barton was there with her mom!" You can just *hear* a whiney, protesting tone!

Oh, hell, no. I mean, hell, yes! I seriously recommend reading the entire interview if you are ever in a waiting room somewhere and you see the September, 2006 issue of Elle (and yes, she's on the cover).

2007-03-05T19:27:00.001-08:00

In attempts to move away from my latest self-pitying, emotional, and redundant postings, I will start with the trivial: namely, the bullshit line Proenza Schouler produced for everyone's favorite thrifty store, Target.

I am a skeptic voyeur when it comes to high end fashion. I've said this repeatedly. I see its value but I also see its ridiculousness. However, if I won the mothafuckinlottery, I sure would purchase a Fendi and a Gucci bag, and buy one for my girl SassyJ to boot! So, I've always taken interest in the very low end lines big name designers have produced for stores like Target and H & M (I still treasure my Karl Lagerfeld (Chanel) designed silver bracelet that was less than twenty dollars even though it's slowly turning from silver to copper. I think I missed Stella McCartney's line, and I really can't recall who came after her (can anyone help me out?) My memory is shit right now, because I can't remember the last Go! designer for Target, either. Sigh.

Anyway, Proenza Schouler is a two-man team based in NYC. The average price for their high end shirts, skirts, pants, etc is right around $1000. I thought that they would come up with something cool for Target. I waited impatiently. I even thought of going to Target the first day or weekend their line arrived--I really thought the clothes would be fantastic and worth their $35 average price.

Holy shit--I was so disappointed when I saw the ads in my Lucky and Vogue magazines. I saw one, maybe two things I *might* try on. Here they are:

1. Okay, there's no longer an image for the "silk bustier top" but you can see it in the "looks" section. It was a teal combined with navy type color, silk, of course, sleaveless, padded looking boob section reminiscent of Madonna somehow. Pretty fashionable. But still, *not that great.*

2.
I liked the color of this shirt, but it's so shapeless and boyish. Only the rare, rail-thin, waify yet tomboyish yet still sexy girlie can wear something like this and look hot.

I thought that I might see something else I liked when I finally viewed the collection in the store.

There were some pants:

and

(ew! what was i thinking)

With a flourish, I grabbed these two pairs of pants and headed towards the fitting rooms. Then I stopped. I asked myself, "Woud you REALLY pay $35.00 for either of these pairs of pants? They might be PS, but the quality is SO poor. All of the shirts look shabbier than the vintage stuff you used to be able to find in thrift stores....you have so many pairs of pants...put them back. Put.Them.Back."

And so they went, back on the rack. The whole line is so incredibly lame. Striped tops, conservative cardigans, shapeless dresses, boring colors and cuts. I have to wonder: did they run out of time? Were they on a very strict budget? I suppose I could research these questions. In any case, it took me a few weeks, but in the end, I'm glad I could finally just admit to myself that the Proenza Schouler line at Target is complete shit.

Now, their regular line...I would totally sport this:

or this

(that would look cuter on me, sans the hat).

2007-02-24T17:00:00.001-08:00

There’s nothing like reading about desperate people doing the same desperate things that you do to turn you off from doing them! In the Forward to Ian Kerner, Ph.D.’s, self-help book, Be Honest--You’re Not That Into Him Either, a woman (his wife?) named Amy Sohn admits some standard, unflattering female behavior she used to engage in before she wised up and began respecting herself: waiting for the guy to show up, waiting for the guy to call…waiting for the guy to give the woman what she thinks she needs, but might not ever be able to get from him, or any guy, really.

Sohn recounts one night in Brooklyn when she sat at a bar waiting for this guy. She checked her cell phone every few minutes, to see if “somehow, magically, the SILENT RING button had managed to press itself.” It hadn’t, and the guy still doesn’t show up. Sadly, I can relate to such behavior. Looking back now, she comments that “It never occurred to me to leave, not at 9:30 or even at 10:30. All I could think about was that he said he’d come, and I had to wait until he did.”

I remember one time in Chicago. It was cold, March or April maybe. I was sitting in a tiny natural foods café in Old Town (the upper class neighborhood that’s a few blocks east of Cabrini Green). The alcoholic, sexy, rocker guy I’d been obsessing over said he would call me and we would meet up. I sat at the tiny table in the cramped space, my body chilled and tense. I tried to focus on my reading, but every other minute I picked up my outdated, clunky cell phone that everyone ridiculed to see if a call had gone directly to voice mail. It hadn’t. After spending over an hour in there, I called a friend and agreed to go meet him for a drink. But the fact that rocker boy hadn’t called distracted me the rest of the night. In this case, it turned out that he called twice (he emphasized the word “twice”) but he got a message saying all circuits were busy. I had to accept his explanation, as my phone’s signal was often shaky. I shouldn’t have, though, or I should’ve realized that he wasn’t that into me. If he had really wanted to see me, he would have called seven or ten or fifteen times over the next hour or so. Not just twice.

So, my experiences definitely fit in with what Sohn talks about. She says that “the reason pride can be so elusive for women is because it often comes hand in hand with accepting that things weren’t meant to be, and accepting this can be painful, depressing, and lonely. But, the sadness fades” (her emphasis). Again, she speaks the truth. Reading her words did not stir any epiphanies within me, but it’s a good reminder: “the sadness fades.”

Last Saturday at this time (6:30pm), I was fatigued from crying. I had a gurgling, upset stomach. I ended something that lasted only a month, four weekends, eight days, however one wants to describe it. He was my friend. He was my good friend. It had taken time to get close to him, but it happened, and I was happy he was in my life. But he treated me in the way he promised me he wouldn’t; he was insensitive and impatient.

He was seeing someone before me, and he broke up with her to see me, but continued to see her every weekend, as well. I just never felt comfortable with that, but kept squelching that feeling.

Maybe I should have told him right away that it wouldn’t feel like he was focused on dating me if he was still seeing her so quickly. I had no problem with them staying friends, but it seems like he could’ve put some distance between them for a little while. I don’t think she acted well, either. She told me she was okay with me after a long phone conversation wherein I explained my position, apologized, and offered to give her space until she was ready to see or talk to me again. But it doesn’t seem like she was really okay with me, otherwise she probably would’ve stayed clear of him for awhile voluntarily. Ultimately, though, it was up to him to focus on me if he was truly committed to seeing where us dating would lead. But he treated me so poorly! Like some girl whom he’d met two weeks earlier that had been clinging to him, not like a good friend who’s problems and personality he knew well. We might not even be able to be friends, now.

The whole thing sucked, but a week later, I don’t feel any remorse that it’s over. I don’t think it was meant to be. I just wish we could be friends, and that I wasn’t blamed for everything. I don’t know that it’s ever one person’s fault that a relationship doesn’t bloom and stay healthy. Maybe on some rare occasions, but that’s it.

I posted a new online personal, for the hell of it. I really want to meet people through doing various activities, but I might as well seek out all options. I need to be careful, though. I was also reading the new Modern Love collection today (taken from the column of the same name that runs in the Sunday Styles section in the New York Times), and one of the essays made me think about opposites. This woman begins and ends an affair basically via text messages. He was very forward, constantly messaging her and asking if she missed him or if she wanted to have dinner, and if so, when. At the beginning of it all, she thought, “I could already hear my friends citing his enthusiasm as evidence that he was coming on too strong, but I’d had enough of aloof. I found his boldness refreshing.”

I ALWAYS hone in on opposites when I encounter a new man. I think to myself “this guy is so different from the last guy in x, y, and z ways.” I did it today! A man responded to my profile, and his pictures revealed that he is physically very opposite of my last guy, and I immediately became entranced. Since I’d just read this column, though, I was able to check myself. “Okay, yes, that man is different than X, but it doesn’t mean he is better. Don’t excited about someone online before you’ve even talked to him!”

I am hoping I can keep checking myself. Reading about the neurotic dating habits of other people definitely might help.

To be continued…..

2007-02-06T19:33:00.000-08:00

Nov/Dec issue. I think I am subscribed now, via a bday gift, so this will be a regular feature on my blog. I've had this issue sitting around awhile. It helps me remember things if I write them down, so this blog is mainly for me, but I hope something perks someone's interest.

* The "nation's only nonprofit ad agency" is called Serve, and it's located right here in Milwaukee. They did those teen pregnancy ads that drew a bit of attention.

* There is group called Flocabulary out of NYC, of course, that combines vocab lessons with hip hop beats. Their text is at mainstream bookstores, apparently. I might have to check this out, maybe include it in my grammar class and see what the kids think.

* "Ludology" is now occurring at many universities; the term refers to video games as a subject of study.

* A lot of folks may have heard of this site, but if you haven't, and you are a chick who gets pissed when men harrass you on the street, check it out: www.hollabacknyc.com

* You can watch Middle Eastern news in English at http://linktv.org/mosaic

* Organic farms are good for the environment so, in turn, they help attract more bird species and more healthy plants grow (duh?)

* There's a lobbying group that has commercials PROMOTING the release of carbon dioxide (DUH!)

* The company Allerca has scientists fucking with cats' genetic make-up, thereby producing what are supposed to be allergy-free-for-humans kitties that may or may not live "normal, healthy lives." They cost just under $4,000. Uh...

* There is now a film college in Baghdad. Some of the films sound pretty interesting, and of course it's insane what the students go through while trying to complete these films.

* Who is Jim Jones and the Peoples Temple. They were anti-racist and egalitarian but he poisoned people via their kool-aid? What? Am I really clueless for not knowing about this group?

* There's a cute-sounding black and white Polish film called "The Big Animal" that is about some neighborhood folks and a camel. Yep, a camel.

* If you care about transgender issues, you may want to check out a performer named Scott Turner Schofield. Dude is trying to edumacate more general audiences. He was a dyke during high school and was very accepted, but still tried to kill himself two times. I think he feels better now that he is out as trans.

* Okay, this is crazy: There is this small island called Nauru which used to be colonized by Australia, but now the country's autonmous. I don't think I've ever heard of it. About 10,000 people live on it, and 80% of the land has been "denuded" (made bare--isn't this the same as eroded?!) due to phosphate mining! The president admits he has no idea what will become of the land or the people in twenty years. The island prospered for a long time, but went into debt funding some fucking play about Da Vinci that ran in London! It cost them $4 million. Then they lost another $8.5 million in some "bank note" scam. Pretty intense.

* Dance Dance Revolution has been found to help kids lose weight, and to help calm kids with mental disorders.

There are a bunch of features about NASA and some journalist, but I skipped though. I love this magazine! It keeps me informed and makes me feel smart and cultured, although I don't know where I'm going to find that movie about the Polish camel.

2007-02-04T20:47:00.000-08:00

Ubiquitous is ubiquitous!
Apparently, using this term ubiquitous is trendy. I have seen it used in many different places. I should start making a list. Some of the uses just seem a little too...contrived. Like this headline on the Every day with Rachel Ray magazine cover: The ubiquitous Jimmy Kimmel! (DUMB title! I saw it while waiting for my friend to check out at Office Depot) Okay, yeah, I get it, he must be featured on a lot of other shows or in interviews or whatever lately, Jimmy Kimmel is everywhere, but I think they could've come up with something more creative. It's no easy task to scribe catchy, three-six letter headlines, I'm sure, but saying everything is everywhere all of the time is starting to work my nerves.

Man, I'd like to have enough energy to do more than rant when I write...but since I don't right now--what the fuck is up with this product Slimage? Seriously...."get your body back...with slimage!" There's a fucking umlaut (sp) over the a for emphasis, even. For fuck's fucking sakes. I shut the TV off after the commercial started. I'm assuming one is supposed to imbibe it then immediately the pounds crumble off your body--the thighs, the ass, the belly, no extra flesh there anymore. I am feeling pretty flabby myself after eating Palomino food yesterday and sausage pizza tonight, but I will NOT be ordering Slimage!

Finally, this film Black Snake Moan or whatever the fuck it's called--Samuel L Jackson chains Christina Ricci to his house--literally--while she is clad in only her skivvies and ripped half shirt. He does this to cure her of her "itch" to fuck every guy who slighly entices her. Can anyone say misogynist? I think I am going to have to see this fucking movie to back up the above claim, but I don't want to. I don't want to give into raunch culture exploitation of women (I am halfway through Female Chauvinist Pigs right now and I'm digging it)! I don't want to ENJOY oogling Ricci's skinny little half naked frame. But I sort of do. I sort of want to keep looking at her. Mind you, she's also been beaten and generally looks like shit. The film's by the guy who did Hustle and Flow, which I thought was good, but felt a little weird watching it, wondering how the film was researched, if it was at all. Written by a white guy, never a pimp. Weird. Anyway, I am exhausted. Anyone who wants to not want to oogle Ricci also can check out a trailer for the film on its my space site.

2007-01-24T20:33:00.000-08:00

1. My weekend was extremely busy. Activities included: Celebrating my good friend's 40th birthday with a great group of creative, interesting characters. L kept me entertained all night. He bitched about teenagers being stupid during our conversation about teen comedies while a teen was sitting not but a few yards from him. L sort of sneers while he talks, which makes it even better. I exclaimed, ixnay! ixnay! motioning to the teen with my eyes. Pause. Giggles. Looks to other folks sitting around. L is oblivious for a minute, then looks at teen and says tells her she's stupid. Thankfully she was totally spaced out amidst the adult chaotic chatter. She probably would've had a good retort, anyway.

A bit later he told me I sounded pretentious when I described the movie Josie and the Pussycats as postmodern while agreeing with my description. We had great Indian food (veggie) from Bombay Sweets on the south side, as well as southern red velvet cake and there was also brined Indian flavored chicken drummies. Succulent!!! We all left with incense too. A fun time.

Dealing with a back up cat. He kept puking while he was constipated as I was trying to shower and get my friend home and get to BV on time to volunteer....the roads were shit due to the snow. I half spun out in front of a cop. Good thing I didn't hit his car. He had the most hilarious "duh" cop look on his face. Classic. Made it there right at 11am. *Relief*.

Seeing Notes on a Scandal. Oh, I recommend it. Judi Dench is fantastic; Cate Blanchett is good too. The boy she beds has an alluring Irish accent. The scene where his mom beats Blanchett in the face---good stuff! I seriously have a fetish for young boys these days. Not fifteen young, but young. (My cute student from last semester flirted with me BAD in front of some people on Monday. Eeek!) The film works because it's not sensationalist; it merely shows the psychology of two lonely, intelligent woman who let their lonely get the most of their minds. I can FEEL that. I hope I never act on it like those characters did....

Eating Popeye's chicken for the first time. We had to wait for our spicey so it was nice and hot. I thought it was pretty tasty but I didn't like the bacon in the potato gravy. I'll have to try Church's next. I don't care for KFC, although I would like to try that gross chicken potatoes corn gravy cheese in a bowl thing to see how sick I get.

Visiting my J. in the hospital. That boy is one resilient fucker. I am so happy he is up and walking so quickly. He is positive and has a lot of support--I don't know if I know anyone with such alligent friends--he will pull through just fine.

Buying cute jackets at H & M. Helping my friend pick out glasses. Eating overpriced omeletes at Riverbrook ($24 including tip! Fuck!)

Seeing The Big Lebowski FINALLY but then falling asleep during the last half hour. I was really, really tired, it was 2am. I'll see it again, sometime. John Goodman was funny.

Going to this crazy bar Ion on National, right by Steny's. The plants in the small, smudged window, highlighted by neonlights, made me oh-so-curious. The bar reminded me of Racine. Too brightly lit, people drinking too sweet, too coloful drinks, bartenders rocking out to really mediocre rap and alternative hits that blared from shitty speakers, a mixed crowd including some neighborhood locals, some younger hipster kids, some dontfuckwithme white, weathered working class dudes, and two really loud, really annoying blonde girls who invaded my personal space, free shots because we tipped the bartender (he was REALLY surprised) and one of them was called 'sex,' and kiwis and blueberries served with my Stoli vodka and seltzer!

Going to gallery night. I enjoyed it a lot. There were so many people out. I had fun conversation about film with a Milwaukee character, ran into several people I knew. So many people out! I actually felt like I lived in a city for once! Saw some nice stuff. Hate having no funds for art....

Eating at Noodle House on National. No atmosphere because it's all about the food, served in huge plastic bowl/plates shaped like boats!

And....drum roll...tentatively spooning and smooching someone. Man, it's been a long, long time since I've done that and have it not be drunken, fucked up and drama-inducing. We'll see.

Oh! Teaching, too. Interesting kids. I'm excited.

2006-12-20T21:06:00.000-08:00

Jury Duty! Family Issues!

Thank God for Vodka and Jbean! I came home to three pieces of mail I'd rather not have found there in my narrow little box. One was a JURY SUMMONS and two were cards (birthday and Christmas) from my OTHER grandma.

I was supposed to appear in court during the first fucking week of classes--or second? I'm confused, now. Anyhow, it would've been the same week I was supposed to help run tutor training, and, beyond that, who the FUCK wants to be on jury duty? Not fucking me! After jibber jabbing in Jill's ear about it, I looked over the letter more closely and it said I could delay my appearance once up until six months, so I think I will probably do that. I'll mark down a date in the summer, when I won't be working as much. Does that mean they will call on me for certain then, though? Advice from folks who know, please. In any case, I'll just talk about my bias against racist cops; maybe that will keep me out.

Thankfully that dilemma is solved for now! Fucking lame!

Onto the more distressing mail….

In my life, my "other" grandma is the one who did not hurt her back and get snippy with me on the phone last night. My "other" grandma is my father's mother. I have not communicated with my father in any form since I was fourteen. The last real communication I had with my other grandma occurred in 1997 after I graduated from UWM. She wrote me a nasty letter that made me cry. It came out of nowhere. I think she sent me a few cards after that, then she lost track of me. A few years before that she sent cards and called, but it was awkward. I really didn't feel comfortable talking to her. I can't really remember why. I guess because he disappeared, I wanted her to, too, or something. Not that I blamed her for his behavior; I really never even thought about him. I'm not one of those children who dwelled on the fact that one of her parents was never really around. I think it's because he wasn't really around! He didn't tease me. He didn't come around and act afool, which is good considering he liked the pot and the coke.

My other grandma called sassy grandma a few months back and asked for my phone number, and said that she and my dad wanted to see me and they were going to be calling and sending letters. It came as a blow; it's just a complication I don't know if I need. It took her about two months to call, though. I ignored it. She called again in a few weeks. I ignored it for a few more, then just a few days ago I sent her a Christmas card stating what I'd been up to, very briefly, and that if she wanted to write me that was fine, but that I wasn't ready to see or talk to her just yet.

She sent me a letter, the two cards, and a fifty dollar check. The letter is all about how we should all get to know each other again, and how she and my DAD want to start off the New Year by getting to know me, maybe over a dinner date. She said she hated being in the middle and she was the one forgotten. Give me a break. She has enough other grandkids. She also stated that my dad had come to Milwaukee numerous times looking for me, but to no avail. He wants to amend his mistakes, apparently. Really, it's not hard to track me down. Other grandma could've called sassy grandma for number a long time ago if they/he wanted to fine me so badly. It's all just pretty ridiculous, but the kicker was the line, "God didn't hold a grudge." Looking forward to seeing what Jill comes up with….Ha! That line alone makes me really not want to talk to her, but I suppose I will, at some point, even though she misuses commas in a very queer way. Example: Your dad and I, hope the New Year, will bring us, lots of happiness and love and hopefully a family get together. Extra queerly, she darkened all of the commas so they stood out!

This is all such a joke. Yeah, we're going to magically become a "family" now. If I see them I'm going to be like, "What's up? What's going on?" It's not going to be about rehashing the past.

Over the years, I've sometimes wondered how shitty my dad must feel about knowing I exist but knowing nothing about me. That's got to hurt him much more than it does me, especially since he has "stayed single" as other grandma put it, and I have my mom and step dad, who is my REAL father. Man, now I feel fucked up. I really am not looking forward to this, but the lady is old and I suppose I can suck it up and see her before she kicks it. That might sound harsh, and I really don't feel hatred towards them. It's worse--I feel nothing.

Not what I wanted to come home to after having a fun, long dinner with my parents at this bad restaurant Alioto's. They served my step dad $42 lobster tails cold, and he can swallow up lukewarm food easily. They reheated it, and it was okay, and we had a gift certificate, but how lame. It's all kinds of fifties inside, but I don't recommend it. It's just strange and the food is ultra mediocre.

We had this really hilarious conversation with my mom arguing "food is just for energy anyway," and we should not indulge, because that is what makes people obese, with my step dad and I arguing that you should delight in food; it can be an indulgence--good food, when it's done right, reiterating over and over that we weren't advocating overeating. My mom didn't interpret "enjoying food" as delighting in the taste; she thought of it as liking food so much that one wants to keep eating and eating. I sort of got what she meant, but the funniest part was when she said…fuck…I was laughing my goddamn head off. I was surely much too loud! Motherfuckdamnit. I'm sure my step dad won't remember either, as he had a glass of Glennfitich on the rocks, a glass of red wine and some Bailey's at that point. It was one of my mom's prized nonsensical statements, on par with her Christmas favorite "Mallards don't fly!"

I love my parents. I feel better today. I had a really interesting conversation with one of the students in my program, too. Has a shitty home life. He's not beaten or anything, but it just sounds psychologically bad. He kept telling me I am cool and kind. He spins out of control worrying. He focuses on one little thing and dwells for an eternity. He's very spacey and it's hard for him to focus. I kept telling him he has to focus on what he is doing now. He has a goal that is not unreachable but he is telling himself he won't meet it and he's getting all fucked up. Everything I advised him to do I could also apply to myself. It's so crazy for me to be in sort of an advisor's role sometimes when I have such a hard time dealing with my own stuff, but that is good in a way because it means I am still sane if I can help others.

I also had to be a hardass with a student who would've passed my class if he would've turned in his portfolio on time. He wanted me to accept it two days late because he "forgot" when it was due and it was just a "mistake." I asked, "Would you expect your math professor to let you take an exam you missed because you said you forgot about it?" "No," he admitted. "Well, why would you think that's okay for English class then?" He got belligerent and was looking all anxious. Man, no fun! Part of me wanted not to be the hardass, but these students need to take responsibility, and it wouldn't be fair to the other students if I'd accepted it. He told the advisor he thought I'd be cooler about it. Just because I'm a young, spazzy teacher doesn't mean I can't lay down the law! And I told those kids the due date was no joke. Ah, well, shouldn't lose sleep over it.

Hope my poop tea kicks in soon! I'm even more bloated than I was last night!

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Tuesday, December 19, 2006

The holidays... bringing out the best in us all.

I am surely getting old because it's never hurt so much to wrap Christmas gifts. Contorted on the floor, fumbling with the tape, inevitably cutting the paper too short or too narrow for a few presents, impatient and frustrated, the pain made worse by the unbearable gas brought on by gobbling up Fritos and chili cream cheese dip topped with taco cheese at the work Christmas party. As horrible as it is that I was weak and indulged in eating something that disgusting, it could have been worse. I could have eaten some of the rectangular sheet cake that was decorated with frosting two inches high. It was a snowman cake, but it could have easily been mistaken for a sparking Styrofoam snowman. The five tums are just now kicking in. I used the elliptical, too!

I called my grandma about something and she told me about she hurt her back when she was changing her clothes. I thought she was putting on her clothes when it happened, but, since she's an old lady, she made sure to correct me! She is okay, but she had some spasms and said they hurt her. I was distracting myself from what she was saying by watching J. Timberlake prance around on the catwalk during the Victoria's Secret special. I kept telling myself I should be giving my grandma my full attention, but I can't stand to think about her being hurt worse, or…

Then I cried for a minute after I almost wrote Grandpa instead of Grandma on the sticky gift tag. Grandpa's been dead a few years and we never really even mention him anymore. Well, my Grandma does, and my aunt Mary (she married into the family) got upset one year, but the rest of us don't say anything. I think that's weird. I missed his funeral and it tops my regrets list. I haven't gone to his gravesite yet, either. I really should do that.

When I was done crying I got mad again because I was so uncomfortable. I have to sit all day for my job. There's hardly any excuse to move. I don't know how my body will handle that in ten years if it's already pissed now.

Today it was hard to be at work. I am hoping that my moods have been so inconsistent and extreme due to having to restart up my BC pill after a two month hiatus, wherein I used some shit Planned Parenthood gave to me. It wasn't even close to my original pill, the only one that's worked for me. It's crazy to me that they had me wait three hours without telling me that there was a chance I might not get the pill I had been taking. Crazy. I hope I never have to go back there, at least not for that.

Anyway, I sort of snapped at the guy who has had seventy-five surgeries since a drunk driver crashed into some bar and hit him. I have been tutoring him recently, and with students like that, it is easier to let certain behavior slide, but that's actually lame, because folks should all be treated just as folks. He shouldn't refer to me as sweetness or love. That's inappropriate, and it made me uncomfortable, and in positions like mine, one must be clear about expectations immediately or patterns just continue. Of course since I'm a woman, he asked if I was having a "bad day" because he "calls everyone sweetness." I WAS having a bad day, and I'm sure I could've toned it down a bit, but I stood my ground and explained that we should interact professionally. He seemed to get it. I'm glad to help him, as I'm glad to help any other student, and lord knows I've gotten mouthy with plenty of them. The one I thought was so cute and sweet kept telling me he was my favorite. I kept denying it, but not really, because I liked most of the kids, even though I didn't get to know all of them on the same level. He mock got upset, but when he left his office after dropping off his portfolio (his mother had to read one of his papers to him over the phone so he could type it in the center because he forgot it at home!), he gave me a really cute wink. I am done with that, though. That was a bit scary.

I brought a lemon-rubbed Rotisserie chicken to the work party because I was too lazy to make my tater-tot casserole, and really, I didn't want to eat that fatty dish (perhaps it would have been better than CHILI CHEESE DIP, THOUGH!). That damn chicken's lid became loose after I left getting-more-annoying-every-time-I-shop-there Shorewood Pick-n-Save and the juice spilled down both of my pant legs. My car still smells like a chicken.

When we began exchanging the White Elephant gifts, it became immediately clear to me that my Archie Comics Double Digest was a much lesser gift than the rest. My mother told me it should be a gag gift. I knew it was re-gifting but didn't know it should be cheap and silly. Everyone else offered much nicer stuff, like a teapot for one, a funny martini shaker, this queer plush monkey head CD holder, a 'who's in the dog house' hanging key holder, a huge Santa cookie jar (well, that was pretty atrocious), and some other stuff. My gift was still untouched when it was my turn to choose, so I just took my own. People tried to argue with me and make me feel better, but really, I am SURE none of these people wanted a fucking Archie comic. I felt so outside of myself and just wanted to get out of there. I played it off pretty well, although I'm sure I was being a little babyish. I hope next semester is better for me. There are opportunities for me if I want them there, but man, the pay's bad. If I could afford to get the hell out of this depressing city once in awhile, like this past weekend, when GOOD friends celebrated their engagement with what looked like an elegant yet very fun soiree, I think I could better handle living here. I have been meeting nice people, but I hardly see or talk to anyone consistently; it makes it hard to foster connections.

Well, that's enough writing for tonight. I think I am going to go read my Archie comic. I think I sort of wanted to keep it anyway.

2006-12-03T19:21:00.000-08:00

People leave magazines in my building's laundry room and I found two copies of Audubon. Of course I was excited to discover that one of the articles was on the black-capped chickadee's song variations. Apparently, on Martha's Vineyard, the chickadee's call comes in three variations, when across the entire rest of the country, it only comes in one. The bird scholar was describing the birds as having different dialects, and I couldn't help but thing of human language controversies. It was interesting, though, and oooh! do I want to play with some chickadees.

You can hear the song variations at www.magazine.audubon.org/birdsongs

I also read articles about sandhill cranes, Pale Male and Lola, the hawk celebres of NYC, salamanders, and this cool birding/environmental program at the Riker's Island prison. The articles are really well written; you can feel that author's investment in the subject.

I also scored recent copies of Marie Claire and Elle. I've never read Elle, so I'm curious...Marie Claire is sort of cool because it always includes easily digestable articles on social issues; this one included articles on Pakistani women (who get thrown in jail when they are raped and whose girls are left to die during catastrophes if no women are available to help rescue them--10 schoolgirls died during a fire at their school. Firefighters were there, but then the religious zealot showed up and beat the girls BACK INTO the fire--this was in Saudi Arabia, though) and the birth control/abortion controversy in South Dakota (this 71 year old lady flies daily to SD from MN to perform the abortions!). Of course it has celebrity coverage and fashion spreads, too.

I also read a bit of American Airlines' magazine. I didn't know what it was when I picked it up; it's quite well done for an airline mag. Amanda Peet was on the cover and she was talking about her perfect evening and it just made me sick. I am not so much into glamour, but I don't think I've ever really been pampered in my life, truly pampered (clearly, I'm not alone here!). But to read about her perfect martinis, Italian food, the warm pool outdoors, music, her lover. Man! I also learned that Oslo is one of the most expensive cities in the world but you can ski for free. And I got in a history lesson too--in 1966 the Miranda Rights act passed, the Beach Boys released Pet Sounds, and John Lennon made that comment about the Beatles being more popular than God!

I really spent the whole day doing my own thing. I really disliked being around people this weekend, except on Friday--Riverhorse was fun, but fuck that Grand Marnier liquor. I am NEVER doing a shot of that stuff again. The Shriner ceremonial was okay. They were being rude during the speakers and the lining up. There was a cute young Shriner I kept looking at, and then he started looking, and I was going to talk to him, and I tried to smile. It didn't work. But then I thought, my mom never wants to go to a Shriner event again--what if I met this guy and we clicked? Then it'd be all about the Shriners for both of us! Of course, that's just my way of excusing my lameness. I am dreaming of someone who doesn't exist, I think, like Paul. I'm IN LOVE with someone who doesn't exist...or at least someone who probably wouldn't be attracted to me, here in macho Milwaukee....

2006-11-29T07:31:00.000-08:00

Banning the "N" word
I was listening to that writer from MJS, Eugene Kane, talk about banning the "n" word in public schools this morning on the Idea network (somewhat different from NPR, and their stories seem more interesting from what I've heard--90.7). He came up with the idea after the Michael Richards incident. Politicians like Maxine Waters are also calling for rappers to "voluntarily" stop using the word in their songs and in conversation/interviews.

Some callers pointed out that certainly the use of the word is not sanctioned at any school. Some people said that banning a word will not stop the use of it. Really, how can school officials know everytime a kid says it?

Personally, I think the whole thing is silly. I don't understand why, again, rap/rappers are being targeted. The one interesting point Kane did make about their use of the word, though, was that alot of non-blacks think it is okay to use the word (maybe not nigger, but nigga, but even still....) since rappers use it so freely. He thinks that if the word, in either form--er or a--I presume, was emitted less, less people would think about using it inappropriately. He also thinks that blacks need to ensure they are educated about the historical context of the word.

Personally, I take it as a given that even if I hear rappers using either form of the word, that doesn't give me the right to use it. I become irritated/embarrassed when white folks say "What up nigga?" or shout out the N word while singing along to some song, or even worse, when they go on diatribes about how "there are black people, and there are niggers." However, I never really considered the idea that some white people are just less educated about the word and really think rappers' uses of it validate their own casual, not necessarily racist but perhaps unnecessary or naive use of it.

In any case, I don't think that banning the word is going to stop anyone like Richards from being racist. I also think that it's ridiculous that rappers always seem to take the blame for societal ills. I think some of their focus on bling gets old and doesn't send a good message to listeners--having a lot of material goods isn't the key to happiness--but there are so many rappers that have a positive message, too. We just need to address the fact that our society is still really racist, but to me, that's certainly not a surprise.

2006-11-27T20:38:00.000-08:00

Monday, November 27, 2006

Reading

I have been reading more and it feels so good. I'm almost getting back that old feeling that crept over me everytime I started upon a new book, pre data entry and copy editing jobs. I just finished Lisa Carver's Drugs are Nice. I recommend it. At first I was put off by the more polished writing style, but that feeling quickly faded. It was interesting to learn a bit more about her psychology, as I've been saying to people. There is also one section I felt I could really relate to, and I will probably email her about it. If you don't know who she is, she used to write the Rollerderby zine (the second ever personal 'zine) and play for this band Suckdog, who a work friend of mine in Chicago loved and went to see once at the Lounge Ax. I didn't know much about Carver then, but now I'm really curious to check out the Suckumentary. I wonder if Riverwest Film and Video has it....hmmm.

Before that I read Perks of Being a Wallflower. Did I write about that here? Well, if not, it's a teeny bopper book that was published by MTV/Pocket Books, my favorite cheesy imprint (I scored one of the titles I haven't read yet at Half Price last night! And I highly recommend Brave New Girl by Louisa Luna--she quotes Pixies songs throughout and you will really feel like high school when you read it). The book is about this kid who is a dweeb but is really introspective and hooks up with an older crew of friends. He's passive aggressive and smart. I thought it was okay. It, too, made me feel high school in a severe way, and I thought, dang, I could write a book like this. But I am blocked because I can't choose a focus.

Before that I read Pure Mania by Stewart Home. Fuck, I can NOT rememeber if I wrote about that. It's filled with great observations of the pc punk scene in England and it parodies the scene. Good shit.

Last night I scored Carver's book Dancing Queen, which is her ode to tacky Americana, along with the aforementioned MTV/Pocket Books books, Lester Bangs' Psychotic Carbuerator or whatever it is called, and this book On Love by Alain de Bottom. I wanted to write tonight but I feel schizo so I am going to read that now so I can hurry up and finish it and give it to my dear, sweet friend. I was just going to give it to him--I bought it for him--but the first, oddly numbered paragraph sucked me in.

It says (in part): "The longing for a destiny is nowhere stronger than in our romantic life. All too often we are forced to share our bed with those who cannot fathom our soul...Can we not be excused a superstitious faithin a creature who will prove the solution to our relentless yearnings?"

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Sunday, November 26, 2006

Purging

Selling books today. I've carried many of them around for the past nine years. Holding onto my undergrad education. Thinking, "I can't get rid of those; I'll need them again someday." Books I bought because I should have them to be smart. Never read them. On the shelves, fulling intending...It's time to let it all go. I am past the point of forcing myself to read something, even if I'd learn from it. I want to pick up a book because I feel like it, not to prove something to myself. Plus I am broke. I made $103.00 from Ecampus.com. Most of the books were free to me or cheap. I sold a $70 Norton collection of critical theory for $23 that I got free from some girl who worked for them when I was going to grad school. I cringed a bit adding that one to my "buyback list," but if I want to read any more Butler or Kristeva, I can find a way to do so. Library, online. I just need cash. And less shit in my house. I don't want to collect things. I'm going to go to Halfprice in a minute because I just have to get more things out of here, even though they're a bit of a scam. It's so strange. I feel a little shakey. I'm selling/giving some of myself away. And I'm listening to fucking Death Cab for Cutie and I never thought I would like them. I hope I'm not turning emo again.

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Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Politics

During our class discussion on the media's coverage of celebrity "news" last week, I told my students about a comment this British guy made to me a few months back.

We were at the wine bar in Shorewood. He was amazed that he hadn't overheard anyone talking about the war, and he mentioned that in Britian, people tend to discuss current events at the pub. To him, it seemed that Americans were more interested in gossiping and talking about celebrities.

I think this is true among many Americans, although not all. I know a lot of people who discuss current affairs, and I know that in London, at least, the paparazzi are just as intrusive as they are here. However, culturally, many Americans have more immediate knowledge of what is up in Britney's world than they regarding the war in Iraq or the crisis in Dafur. As one of my students pointed out, it's because the media focuses more on trivial news than it does on more important issues.

Clearly, such observations are not unique, but I think it's sad that America's culture is so obsessed with fame, money, and celeb status, and I think it's sad that I have to dig deeper to learn about what is going on in Dafur than I do to discover the latest goings on with JLo.

I am trying to make a commitment to staying more informed. One of my problems has been accessing websites that are easy for me to navigate. Most site layouts boggle me. However, I recently signed up for the New York Times headlines of the day. The format is easy for me to read, and I can just click on the stories that interest me. If I go to their site, though, my eyes just start to cross and I jump back onto Myspace like a lame-o.

I wonder what other sources people find valuable, besides email list servs. I wonder if our culture will ever change. I love TV and a bit of celebrity gossip, as it washes away the stress of the day. However, I think it will be beneficial for me to make an effort to keep up with politics because I want to have more to talk about than celebrities.

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Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Emotional and grammatically incorrect

Affection so fleeting it's the small things that awaken. An incidental touch by a young one drawn to certain silver accoutrements he shows concern, shoots a defensive look at another who disrespects. The touch, the concern, the look, so innocent, so sincere. Feeling liked maybe even admired so infrequently there's always a complication, this situation is worse much worse but there's something that feels so much easier. So aware of consequences, behavior in check must control. So many times maybe could've said not going to control it would've been okay. This time would be the worst time to lose control not losing control just love feeling a little alive alive a little, fuck the melancholy, constant melancholy. Moments are never right, right? Get it but if not one hundred percent, at least a moment with less severe consequences. When will it be mine?

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Monday, November 13, 2006

south park

There's an episode where they parody the James Frey (sp)/A Million Little Pieces/Oprah controversy, but the author of the book (entitled A Million Little Fibers) is a towel, but Oprah can not tell he is a towel, but when she finds out he's a towel, she goes ballastic and encourages her audience to torch him. Meanwhile, her pussy and asshole are all pissed off because they haven't been prodded enough lately. They have these weird male Scottish/British voices. Oprah's pussy (minge) takes her and everyone else hostage, and all of a sudden there's a gun pointing out from her crotch, and....well then they end up shooting out her crotch and asshole, I think. I went in the other room. It got a little misogynistic there, especially the line about it being "the most unruly vagina I've encountered" or whatever that cop said, but overall pretty ballsy and hilarious. That controversy highly irritated me because it was so apparent Oprah was only pissed because dude made her look dumb. She went off on him and his publisher.

You're a towel. No, YOU'RE a towel! HA!

2006-10-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

Weekend Activities

Wine and beer tasting at the Tripoli Temple with my parents. I ate a mini cream puff and that shit was good--I forgot how delectably fluffy and sweet but not too sweet they are. I'm gonna go stand in line at the State Fair next year, fuck yeah! Then go watch a pig judging or something. Quite melancholy, exhausted. Almost finished reading Stewart Home's Pure Mania, which I should write about here.

Migraine on Saturday even after an hour of my wussy little version of "working out." My head did not clear until my second glass of Stoli. Thank you, vodka, for doing what you should. I'm still slightly irritated that I fucked up and missed the Street Dogs, but on my budget, I think I would have been pissed off if I would've paid $16 or whatever to see them for only a little over a half an hour. I wasn't gonna go see Neat down in Bayview either; I get so sick of driving now with the Waukesha commute. But Foundation was boring and I didn't want to miss out. It sure was a good time, from what I remember! I am really am so very happy among my Racine crew, what remains of it. It sucks it has shrunk and conflict has ensued, but Neat, Dawn, Tony, Patience, Jill and I can still have a kickass time all by our lonesome selves. I do miss Jeremy and Tom, though, and I wish Josh would make appearances more often, but I understand. Being around those guys last night was something I really needed. I never have to think about what I say or do because everyone will tell me to shut up or whatever if I'm being too bitchy or spazzy; it's just so fucking relaxing.

It was also fun because my friend's brother was there and he cracks me the fuck up! Plus, he introduced me to a cute, good smelling boy and his cool brother and sister in law. I love meeting--and getting along with--new people. That, too, really boosts my energy and makes me think more positively. I can not believe the trek we made to go get nachos! I'm glad we said fuck off to McDonald's though.

I like crazy nights like last night. I really do. I wish every drinking night could be like that for me. A little less than 4 hours of sleep, and I made it to BV to volunteer on time, cleaned up in there, got my required duties done, and also managed to crank out my midterm reports for school. Getting shit done rules!

I don't know. This weekend, being in two nice houses, being around couples who seem happy and are responsible but still have a good time, it just made me feel better. I want some things, and I have to work for them, I guess. Dull that panicked feeling a bit.

Okay, my cat who was neglected all day is giving me that evil neglected pet look. A quick note to my friend in Italy and I'm off…

2006-10-09T21:01:00.000-07:00

Friday night is killing me (appropriate Bash and Pop reference)

I want to write about Friday night. It's hard because I don't want to get into dramatics. Just running into person after person. Seeing someone I was good friends with in the past sitting two seats down from me at that bar and not feeling able to say hi because of something he did that I had heard about but never had confirmed until I moved back here. Bumping into the girl from the school where I teach and asking her drunkenly if she went to that school. My god, I hope she doesn't recognize me in the halls. She stands out because she is tall and dresses very funky, creatively. Her style is sort of messy but her personality exudes. I like it. It reminds me of me when I was a more idealistic early-twenty something.

I'm listening to the new Samiam. It's not impressing me--seems weaker than their other stuff, even Astray, but I will give it a few more listens. They've never been a very original band, but they always given me that good feeling, (except when I got way into bullshit indie rock for a few years). Whenever I listen to Samiam they evoke positive memories of back in the day. Drinking just enough, seeing shows and acting like tards with people you love the shit out of, swaying to the music with your arms around each other, being young and somewhat optimistic still, all the good clichés. I first heard Soar in my suitemate Vicky's room at UWM in 1993. I LOVED it. I was so disappointed that year or the next when Samiam played a show here but I couldn't go because I was too young. I remember sitting on the Brady St curb and pouting about it.

Yeah, I don't know about this record. But if they play Milwaukee soon, and they're supposed to, I'll go since I've never seen them. Maybe manage to reclaim that feeling for an hour and a half, however altered it will be with age, sort of like what I felt at the Service show.

I drank too much, again. The minute I walked through those familiar doors, I felt uneasy. Too much nervous energy for a place I'm so comfortable in. Someone gave me a wedgie, for real, and someone almost knocked me down hugging me, and then I saw some people from Rattown, and then I got to talk to my Cheezit and T for a bit. That part I liked. And the part where the straight boy kept repeating to Cheezit, "you're cute, but I'm not gay!" Haha! I annoyed Mike from Beer City--that was pretty good. Ex-roommates and apples. I never noticed his dimple before. Bought a dude a shot cuz he deserved one, and of course I had to have one, too. I actually wanted to stay there, but I left, and it just got ridiculous.

I have never been at the hip bar when it's been that out of control. If I remember correctly, the hoards didn't pour in until about a half an hour before closing time. All of the young, obnoxious bodies blur together at this point, but I was cringing. I should have left. I don't know why I did another shot. I don't understand what I was trying to forget about, what I was trying to dull. I didn't intend for my night to end that way, going home at 4am and feeling like complete shit on Saturday morning, being snappish with my friend on the phone. I had planned for a nice, mellow day and I just felt so insanely cloudy headed, impatient, and irritable. Parts of the day were fun--hearing the teen mimic a Milwaukee character, having my friend totally zero in part of my Halloween costume, and the boxing Halloween cat pen from Target is going to improve my mood for months (it has boxing gloves instead of paws, and you push the levers and it punches out at you!!! I brandished it at a tutor I was tutoring today, jokingly, and boy, that was fun). However, I would've enjoyed myself so much more if I hadn't drank like a fool and stayed up so late. Plus I was with someone who is actually capable of having an intelligent conversation, someone I have been actually learning from in some ways, and that's good and rare for me, so that made me more frustrated.

Nothing I can do about that night, but it just felt so fucked up. An acquaintance pointed out that there was a full moon. He said he felt the anxious, angsty aura too. Could have played a part in it.

Well, Samiam's still on and it's still just all right. No worries, I still got Clumsy…and Soar.

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Friday, October 06, 2006

I'm a big, bad shit talker!

Today I spent too much time at work responding to an angry person I once sort-of-dated five years ago when I was living in Chicago. I had written a few things about him on my blog and he was angry and accused me of "shit talking" and went on about how "shit talking on the internet" is so lame, I'm so lame, etc. I used his first name once; the other time I didn't use his name.

A few months back, another dude had gotten upset with me because I wrote about his penis on my blog. I didn't use his name.

Two years ago, I characterized someone negatively yet accurately and amusingly in one of the columns I wrote about returning to Milwaukee for an online magazine (I did so to make a point, but I used his first AND last names because I didn't expect he'd ever read it--dumb assumption, but true, and I won't make that mistake again). A lot of people were very critical of my stylistic choice. I could've conveyed the description in a less insulting manner, to be sure. But if I was a well known male writer in the punk "scene," I don't think people would have judged me so harshly.

Get over it, boys. Writing about someone or something honestly is not shit talking, and even though I said this previously, I'll say it again: I ain't gonna shut up.

I write. Get it? The majority of my posts here are not mind blowing, fantastic, or even well-written, but it's what I do. I can write about whomever I want, whenever I want if that person has come into contact with me. It's the risk folks take when befriending writers. I will feel especially justified in calling people who have treated me poorly a fucking dumbass or idiot asshole, if that's how they've behaved. Anyone I write about can feel free to post a blog about what a fucking bitch cunt I am for calling him ex-idiot retard. It's America, folks. Yes, censorship occurs, but for the most part, we're still free to say or write what we want.

Now, when it comes to people's personal information, I have a different attitude. I would not want to alienate or hurt friends by making public their personal problems even if it would work as great evidence in a piece I'm writing. I would get permission before sharing specific details of their lives, even anonymously, with strangers.

Just now, I felt a little weird reading over the post where I called the Chicago dude a "dumb fucking ass" because I also mentioned my friend's divorce, and here I am mentioning it again. I didn't give specifics, but I did mention his personal business. Hopefully he is not salty with me. I doubt it, but sometimes I probably should be more careful.

One thing I did learn from this internet skirmish today was that perhaps I should try to be a bit more creative when I'm insulting people. I do possess the rhetorical skills necessary to make it clear someone is a "dumb fucking ass" without being so ranty and vulgar. Writing more and writing better consistently is more important to me now than it has been in a long time, so posing a challenge to myself can only help strengthen my writing.

But I stand by my claim. I don't think it's shit talking to write or talk about someone who has wronged you. To me, shit talking is spreading rumors or discussing people who you don't know well and/or when you don't really know what happened during the situation you're discussing (you heard the info third hand, perhaps). I do this too much too, but usually in Riverwest bars with good friends, not on my blogs (another habit to rid myself of, maybe).

It seems to me, that if people are going to be assholes, they shouldn't be so surprised when others need to vent. I mean, really. Next time, don't contact me three times to invite me to see me while your in town and act aloof and hurtful when I show up, don't persist in sleeping with me just to prove something to yourself, and just admit you're an alcoholic and get on with it already!

2006-10-01T20:05:00.000-07:00

My friend Jen from Chicago came up to visit me Saturday afternoon. There was nothing going on, and we weren’t feeling like resting our asses on a bar stool all night, so we decided to rent a movie that we thought would be amusing enough to keep us from falling asleep before midnight on a Saturday.

Everyone raved about Wedding Crashers. Owen Wilson, Vince Vaughn, Christopher Walken--a great combo of actors, no? I've enjoyed Wilson in the Wes Anderson films, and Vaughn was good in Dodgeball, Swingers, etc, etc, etc...I thought that even if the movie was cheesy, it'd be good cheesy. I was so wrong!

I enjoyed the prelude, where they're counseling that couple (was that dude Dwight Yoakum???) The wife snaps, "You keep your mouth shut when you're talking to me!" and Jeremy and John or whateverthefuck their names are point out that the sooner they are amicably divorced, the sooner he can continue screwing his mistress and she can find some hot "Latin" guy to get it on with. I found her comment ridiculous and their advice refreshingly honest and was therefore amused. I expected the rest of the movie to follow suit, but it was complete ass!!!

First of all, the sexism was infuriating. The beginning scene that shows them crashing all of the weddings, and throwing those skinny, mostly naked chicks on the beds, boobies full in effect, girls they wooed with their stupid, played out lines...insulting and just unrealistic. Clearly, I understand that "it's just a movie" but such movies play on male fantasy--that's what generates the interest and the cash. I know that a lot of dudes want more in a woman than a small brain, adoring eyes and a full rack, but this movie continually perpetuated the stereotype that women are gullible and men are conniving sex fiends, which is SO FUCKING BORInG.

Secondly, all of the characters were merely overexaggerations of every played out archetype. The drunk, crazy old grandma, the powerful yet humble politician, the oversexed wife who craves male attention, the sweetheart girl working to save the world, the academic jock who never grew up, the supposed older, wiser role model who is actually a big fucking jackass....etc, etc. BORING, BORING, BORING!

Thirdly, the plot was just way too saccharine. Wilson finally gets the girl by crashing her sister's wedding?!? LAME! So predictable. Lots of movies are predictable. Lots of movies revolve around a familiar plot. But there's gotta be a little something more to make it interesting!

If you are going to play on stereotypes, you have to find a new twist, at least. Make it a little bit smart, a wee bit smart, please! It's like the 40 Year Old Virgin--another dumb movie showcasing boring, stereotypical characters. Mere buffoonery. Take one trait and exaggerate it until there's nothing remotely relatable about the character. Nothing to challenge the viewer at all. That movie was a bit better, but all of Carrell's friends; god, they SUCKED!

Now, I'm all about some fluff, some just for pleasure, no brainer films. I'm not an art-film snob. I love teen films. But most of them are sassier and funnier than the movies I'm criticizing above. Heathers, Mean Girls, even the John Hughes stuff--there's stereotypes a plenty, but all of the movies have a message and a bit more edge.

Movies such as Wedding Crashers simplify life to such an extreme extent. People will deny it, but I think prolonged exposure to such media does affect us. Makes us lazy, expecting much from little effort, makes us believe too much in the American dream and Prince Charming. The key is limited exposure, or none at all. Personal choice comes into play, too, of course. But I think of folks who only see these types of films not by choice but because they don't know alternatives exist. I think it fucks with you. Personally, I can't stand the one dimensional ways such movies present male-female relationships. That's why I try to avoid them.

I'm just glad I got to share my disgust with a good friend. That is the only part of the 128 minutes that was worthwhile.

2006-09-28T08:28:00.000-07:00

uck the Christian Right!
I am sure most of you Milwaukeeians have heard about the incident that happened over the weekend, where a rather large man punched a lesbian and a gay man repeatedly in the face because he had a problem with them being openly gay and discussing WI's impending referendum, which will ask whether or not constituents think we should weave discrimination into our state constitution by banning gay marriage or civil unions (which affect the elderly and other folks, gay or not, who are in long standing relationships).

If you haven't, go to www.jsonline.com or something. I'm sure the story is in there by now.

I saw the footage on the news Tues night and it was appalling.

Then, yesterday morning as I was rushing to work, I pulled up behind a van that held two sketchy, scary looking white dudes (that's how they looked, in their flannels with their weather-beaten, weasely looking faces). The van sported two bumper stickers. One read, "If you are a REAL Christian, you know that Abortion and Homosexuality are SIN." The other one read, "Are you a REAL Christian? I-888-YRU-REAL." (Anyone want to call that number? I sure don't!)

I was seething when I saw this bumpersticker. I understand there's freedom of expression and all that, and I have my own liberal fucking stickers on my junkheap of a car, but what the fuck is up with this SHIT? Crazy wackass religious fucks, beating people (well, ok, I don't know if dude considers himself a REAL Christian, but it's likely...) and making sure everyone knows they feel that homosexuals do not deserve equal rights.

I am getting so, so mad about the referendum. I just don't know that we are going to beat it down. There's a lot of lefties, gays, lesbians, and elderly who will go vote in opposition to it, but I think there are MORE conservative, illogical, hateful motherfuckers who are so much better at mobilizing the masses who will turn up. I think of people who are so fucking apathetic, who will not exert energy on anything that doesn't pertain to them, yet they have nothing against gays, and I am trying to think of ways to reach them without screaming my head off or being preachy. I want to talk to my classes about it too, but I am slightly wary because I am new and need this job, and a lot of the kids are conservative here. I may be underestimating them, though.

I hope those of you from WI who read this are planning on voting against the referendum (and for Doyle, too. yeah, he is a bit sketch with the campaign contributions, but Green is too, and plus Green backs the referendum, and is completley anti-woman, voting in favor of everything from illegalizing abortion to allowing pharmacists to deny birth control). And help spread the word to others you know....

2006-09-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

I am living the 9-5 life again. It's strange. I dislike schedules. I have a hard time getting out of bed. I just lay there, and lay there. I test the clock. It's about 8 minutes fast, but I tell myself it's 10 minutes fast. I usually get up 15 minutes later than I should, and I have to rush around. Then I have to speed. 40 down Capitol, 10-15 over on the freeway, all the way, to make the 35-40 minute drive in 30 minutes. I've been fifteen minutes late once, and five minutes late several times, and I haven't even been employed there a full month, yet. The atmosphere is laid back, so I don't really sweat it, and one day I stayed a few minutes late to finish tutoring a girl. But part of me wonders if I am attempting slightly to sabotage myself. The insecurity I normally carry has been intensified by the low self esteem that comes with adjunct teaching, and I am second-guessing myself like a motherfucker.

I was talking with acquaintances this weekend, explaining how it's even stressful to send emails now that I have the title of "writing specialist." I mean fuck, that doesn't allow me to making any typing mistakes at all. I have made one or two anyway, minor things, and only while emailing to the people I work with directly. I proofread the mass email I sent to faculty and staff upteen times, because I don't feel that I can ask someone else to proofread for me, as the writing specialist, even though those fluorescent lights burn holes in my eyes some days. I'm also preoccupied with conciseness. I have to get that academic conciseness back. I need to write more and more and more.

So that's hard, and there was some tension today. Driving home, stuck in the jam at 894 almost everyday. It fucking blows. I haven't been eating enough, either, and last Thursday I didn't eat lunch when I should have and I was a loony during my reading skills class. An incoherent loony teacher who had to keep asking if she was being clear. Man! Gotta avoid that! Gotta model behavior I expect from my students, because I just advised one to eat before he began his paper. Last Friday. He was so jumpy. He told me hadn't eaten much, so I said, eat! Dang.

They seemed to like the Sex and the City episode. Miranda says "fuck that bitch" twice and Harry's white little ass floats around almost the entire episode, but I forgot about the part where Samantha describes tea-bagging as "You know, when you put the guy's balls in your mouth." Shit. I hope I don't get fired! But I did check in with the English department chair, and she said it would be all right as long as I could justify it educationally, and I could.

I have overly socialized myself the past three weekends. Too much drinking, and talking, and being out and about, and people watching, gossiping, bickering, drinking…This weekend, on Friday, I drank a bottle of wine in an hour at Jana's and then went to a new acquaintance's house and irritated his neighbors with my big, drunken babble. Ah, yes, the mouth of Milwaukee in full effect. I felt bad when I found out yesterday, when I was at Taylor's, of all places, for a charity auction-type-thing (where someone bought me a drink because I kept an eye on his $20 bill that flew into the ice vat--yay!). Friday also brought me to some other acquaintances' house, folks from the p-rock days that I only vaguely knew but always liked. We watched us some eighties heavy metal videos. Dee Snider sure has a huge fucking bulge. My hangover Saturday was severe, and I could not really walk up right until after 2pm. A few of us went to Center Street days in the rain, stopping at Foundation first for a blueberry Stoli and tonic, which really cut through my hangover (must have been the antioxidants in the distilled blueberries, like my friend pointed out!) Those events are allright. It's something free to do, outside, and you run into people you know, but then sometimes that's not so pleasurable.

Saturday night was the oi band's reunion show, which I attended mainly to hang out with friends and support my out of the country friend's bro, who is in the band. I have really little knowledge of oi, but the spirit of that music is extremely contagious. It's powerful in a unique way, I think. Lyrically, it's pretty apathetic (I do understand these dudes were young when they wrote the songs), and I don't always dig that, although sometimes I can…and some of the fans are knuckleheads, but most of the people "in the pit" weren't even skins, they were punks, and there weren't any brawls. The singer for the band is really fucking sexy, too. I sort of just stood back and took it in, getting annoyed only once when a bunch of backwashed Blatz hit me in the side of the face.

Last weekend was slightly similar, the Bayview bash during the day on Sunday, and hanging out with folks from the p-rock days at night. It's been fun, and interesting, reconnecting with these guys, reading mentions of some of them in my journals. Our goofy little crowd that day, me, Brazilians, my sports loving raver dude friends, and the p-rock grown ups. Up too late, though, and hangover on Sunday…which was ok, because my plan for the day was to watch the WB farewell all day with yet another recent acquaintance who I slightly remembered from fucking 14 years ago. Man, there's something going on with all of this. It's hardest with the boys. I don't know if my feelings come from the now or the past. Don't know how to act. Can only let time pass, to see, I guess. But I'm feeling salty I haven't been more productive. I was really wiggy and depressed last week, but I'm feeling pretty good right now, even though I think I'm getting a cold. Next Sat my girl from Chicago is coming to visit, well, one of them, so I hope I ain't sicky then…

2006-09-19T15:27:00.000-07:00

I am in between classes. I am the new teacher at a new school again, and it can be frustrating. Understanding your students takes time, as each school's population differs slightly. They are slumped in their chairs and it is hard to tell whether it's because they disinterested or because they are tired, or hungry, or still feeling nervous themselves. Today was better, though. Even though people didn't speak up a lot, we got a bit of a discussion going about consumerism. I think a lot of the ideas coming up in the readings are somewhat baffling to the students, so maybe they are merely processing information. I do not think it would be good to get too pushy with this group. I think (hope) things will liven up when we talk about their papers in class, which will happen in about two weeks.

I showed them some web sites today as part of our discussion, but that didn't even seem to wake them up, the visuals. There are some smart kids in there, I can tell. I need to more patient, perhaps. Thursday I am going to show them part of a Sex and the City episode, maybe the whole thing. The one guest starring Tatum O'Neal, when Carrie's Manolos get stolen. It fits in perfectly with the unit, and hopefully will make for interesting discussion. Just have to ensure that there's not a lot of nudity or vulgarity in that episode.

As an aside, boy there's a lot of young punx attending this school. Bringing back the memories...

2006-09-12T08:27:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to see Shellac and Uzeda down at MSOE. My good friend Rob set it up. I thought Uzeda's performance was superior to Shellac's. They were more intense, and they sounded better. Shellac were being too goofy for my tastes--well Albini and Weston were. They chit chatted a lot, and while Albini was either tuning or replacing a broken string--I couldn't see--Weston started up this question and answer session with the crowd They were funny, for sure, and it's always refreshing to see/hear a band break down some barriers and interact with the crowd, but it went on too long, I thought. They really jabbed at the dude who asked them what kind of microphone they use to record acoustic performances. Albini said no nerd fodder, no information to post up on your blog! I liked that, cause look at me now, I'm posting on my blog....Someone asked them if they had ever been to outer space and Weston deadpanned, YES, and with his large frame and neon-ish wristbands, you'd believe him. Oh! Another thing I liked is when the audience member were shouting out questions pertaining to the Touch & Go music fest that occurred in Chicago over the weekend, Albini was like, they're just trying to show how cool they are, don't let them shame you hard working Wisconsinites who had family obligations. I'm not quoting verbatim here, but something like that. It's cool Albini totally cuts right through that sort of stupid pretense.

I got to meet two of the people from Uzeda, and the cutest one kissed my cheek. Gotta love European custom! And I got to see several eye candy boys, and I met a girl with these awesome cat tattoos. Really, a good time.

****

Ok so I just heard about the gang rape of that 11 year old HIV + girl. 19 men raped her. Fucking NPR commentator said "had sex with." I HATE THAT SHIT. Saying "had sex with" infers it was a consenual act. Clearly, this was not consenual. Even if the girl agreed to one or two of the guys, she asked to leave the house, and they didn't let her. No matter how fucked up she might be, grown men gang fucking someone so young is clearly sick. There were some teen boys involved as well. Damn, Milwaukee is fucked up. What goes on in these folks' minds? I'm so disgusted, but I should calm down and stop slacking--gotta teach in a few.

2006-09-10T22:25:00.000-07:00

Gonna be the five year anniversary of Sept 11th in 24 minutes.

All night I’ve had the song “Head Spin” by that goth rocker Lucas who’s on Rock Star (Supernova) playing in my head. I watch the show for the brief glimpses I get of Tommy Lee, who is so goddamn sexy, but like Jbean says, once he opens his mouth, well, you cringe because he is so dumb and speaks only in gruff one word catch phrases.

The past week went by pretty quickly. 4 days at the new job, 2 of them teaching, going all right I think. I have two disabled students in my Reading class, and one suffers from involuntary spasms. I asked the class what internal distractions they face while reading, and he called out SEIZURES! HA! I love a student with a sense of humor! I couldn’t hear him though. I said, “Caesars? What?” Dumbass! I need to listen more closely. The whole class called out SEIZURES! Ay ya! I think I’m getting their attention in English class though. We talked a lot last class. I have to get them more involved in the next class.

I’ve been thinking about my friend a lot. He’s really sweet and awesome; really, he’s one of the most thoughtful and since guys I know. His wife is divorcing him for what I think is a reprehensible reason, although if I knew her maybe I’d understand a bit better. But I don’t know. I don’t know that I ever want a traditional, long term relationship, but to drop someone like my friend just seems ludicrous, especially because he didn’t cheat on her or anything that would spur most people to divorce court. I just feel sad, and I’m amazed that he is as functional as he is. I would not be. People treat each other so shitty. I hate it. It’s all I’ve been hearing about lately, although I did spend some time with my married friends who are the role model couple. Gives me a bit of hope, but they’ve known each other forever, and they hadn’t dated a lot of other people so their heads didn’t get fucked up by being fucked with by the other people they didn’t. Not to say it’s easy for them to maintain such a healthy relationship, but I just mean they haven’t been poisoned like some people have. I just block out my feelings. It’s easier that way. Or I blow them out of proportion. Anything to make them less real.

Anyway, so I met my friend back in 1994 when we were both really lefty political PC basement punx. I’ve been rethinking the past a lot since we hung out last Saturday, reading journals and stuff. I regret being so focused on fitting punk police‘s standards, but I don’t regret being passionate about music or politics, even though I yelled about what I believed and tried to force my views on people. I would’ve been more effective if I had calmed the fuck down a bit, but I was (am) smart, and passionate, and those are good, good characteristics.

We went to Chicago on Friday. My friend had her first art opening. Her work is really cool. I hate driving in Chicago, really, really I do, unless it’s in Logan Square after 2am, but I like going down there once in awhile. The energy level is so flat, though. It’s strange. There’s some places, some dive bars, restaurants, and museums of course, that I enjoy, but I really don’t think I’d want to live there again. Taking the CTA and/or driving in that traffic frequently would wear me down fast. We checked out a few other galleries but I didn’t really see anything that impressed me. Her work was actually my favorite, friend or not! They took me to this bar Skylark that offered $2.50 Point beers, which I enjoyed. Totally my kind of place. I’d never been to Pilsen before. Seemed allright. Driving driving to Wicker Park, Gold Star flooded with hipsters. No way. Out the door to Phyllis’s and stupid Pete was there. Dumb fucking ass. I wanted to kick him in his shins hard, and I was wearing my boots! But I managed to abstain. Drove back to Uptown, got caught in obnoxious, unbearable east Division St traffic. It’s where Mothers bar is. Such wanna bes all trying so hard to have a good time partying on a Saturday night in Chicago. Going out on the weekends never was that fun. Thurs, Suns were better. I had to get up at 8am to plug my meter. That’s why I can’t live there. That kind of shit.

In the morning the guys watched soccer and me and Heidi chit chatted while she made yummy eggs and chicken appley sausages from Whole Foods. I’m so jealous of their apartment, but someday….

I didn’t sleep well. When we got back to Milwaukee, I ended up sleeping from 2pm-6pm, then I had to wake my ass up, shower, and get down to Racine for my friend’s graduation party. Lots of family and kids there. So different from our old punk rock scene. One person from it’s dying from cancer. He might have died from crack and heroin, but it looks like it’s gonna be cancer. Fucked up. Benito was so lit up; he flashed his dimple and giggled his drunken Benito giggle all night, kept telling me how fond of me he is. We‘ve known each other about 15 years now. He has these pictures of me and I truly did look like my namesake/nickname, Marcie from Peanuts. Bob and huge, I mean HUGE dorky glasses. Tights under shorts, Pixies tee shirt velvet biker jacket and pleather punker boots cuz I didn‘t wear leather (I was a member of PETA back then). All of his brothers were there and they all have those damn cute as hell dimples. Paul’s is kind of hidden, but it’s there. I had my first S’more in years. We tried playing Ouija board with Benito’s nephew, who’d just finished his first week in high school, but it was too loud, too many distractions, and I don’t believe in that game anymore. I told him he and his friends needed to go play it later in a quieter environment where they could concentrate.

When I got home I smelled strongly of bonfire. It sort of distracted me while I slept, but I was too lazy and way, way, way too tired to shower. It wasn’t so bad. Tony told me I was cute. I think I blushed. He’s so quiet and then he tells me I’m cute. Haha. I’m glad people love me. I love people but bury my feelings a lot. Don’t convey it.
Today there were two bizarre incidents. Rebecca and I walked her dog down Brady St and over to the lake, near the art museum. A kite festival was going on and people were flying some cool, huge kites shaped like squids, centipedes, and scorpions. On the way back, on the other side of Lincoln Memorial Dr, a person dressed like a clown whizzed by on a little motorized car, looked over in our direction with that freshly painted, garrish, scary clown face complete with the drawn on smile, and then looked away. The day was overcast, and I’d just been talking with Heidi about the clown in Stephen King’s book It. *Shiver*.

Bec was gonna make us Bloody Marys, but she needed some tomato juice. I held her dog while she waited in the long line at Walgreen’s. When she came out, we had to pass the tiny terrier variation dog tied by the garbage can. The little midget fuck lunged at Ruby, revealing its sharp dagger teeth, snarling fiercely, and I do mean fiercely for a little rat of a dog. Then its leash slipped from the garbage can, and tried to bite Bec! But I grabbed the leash and managed to pull it away. Crazy little fuck. I wanted to go find its owner to tell him or her that the dog wasn’t securely fastened to the pail, and the owner was older and bat shit crazy. The dog’s name was Peanut. I petted it. It was like Jeckel and Hyde dog. Super awful then super cute. Brady St is still so full of freaks.

2006-08-28T19:16:00.000-07:00

had to co-lead the tutor training day. 6 hrs of sitting under fluorescent lights. i am so brain dead right now. i have energy in my brain but it's like coated over from the lights and all of the sitting. i worked out for a bit when i got home, like 45 total minutes, but i feel nuts. i have not worked anywhere full time forty hours a week since 2001. when i started my first cubicle job at LPC in Chicago after months of being on my feet 40 hrs a week at B & N, i swear i had heart palputations on the bus home the first few days. my body was in so much shock. so much running then so much sitting. i hope i get a little bit used to this. i dont like it. oh well more exercise won't hurt me either.

but i was really impressed with our tutors. a lot them havent tutored before but they honed in the characteristics of a good tutor easily (knowledgeable, resourceful, open minded, patient, punctual, student centered, good at communicating, etc) so many are so young too! it's nice to see serious students' minds at work. i love it! i felt nervous and dorking discussing 'understanding your tutee' cuz i have the adjunct's low self esteem still floating in me. but my boss and the other advisor who is about my age told me i did a great job. still things i will fix next year when i know more but ok i should breathe....day 1 is done, tomorrow is mostly my orientation as new academic staff, day 3 more tutor training but i don't have to say much, then thurs and fri syllabi creation and working on marketing the center.

maybe i should have a can of pabst. yuck. i need some $3 wine.