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.

2006-08-27T20:15:00.000-07:00

Friday I went for a walk down by the lake with my friend Jen. She has a gimp knee so we stopped when it popped. Ooh, Tyra's on TV...Farrah Fawcett was on earlier and looked like a drag queen a steroids. I decided I needed ice cream, well custard to be exact, so we headed back north to go to Kopp's. On the way, my battery light went on--ugh, Ray Liotta. Pock marked motherfucker! He makes me feel yucky. So of course the impending charge on my credit card distracted me the rest of the night. I'll already be living on my card for the next month. I am so sick of thinking about that and hearing myself complain about it but being broke, super super big time broke, for even just a month, sucks, as we all know. I ate a hamburger at Kopp's too. They charge $.55 extra for tomatoes. Not for avocado or something that's actually expensive, but for tomatoes. Lame. The burger didn't taste as good as I remember it tasting. I don't think I'll go back to being a big burger eater, only when it's free or the cheapest thing when I need cheap. The banana walnut chocolate chip artery clogging, belly bloating dessert was very good though.

I think I missed best supporting actor--I wonder if sexy Jeremey Piven won. Yes, sexy, I don't care that he has hair plugs.

After Kopps, we went to Foundation, which I was hoping to avoid for at least a month, but there wasn't much else to do and she wanted to see Cheezit. I started babbling about my car immediately upon arrival, and a cool lady and an extremely loud laughing man threw some advice my way. At 7pm, when my minutes kicked in, I called my stepdad. We determined it was either my accelerator or the battery itself. Fuck. Couldn't go to south side to hang with the boys, but Jen wanted to watch a movie anyway, so we saw Heathers at my house. Bob Newhart's still alive? Oh. Funny, Conan just said something like "the majority of callers want you to live." Ha. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. I liked the Heather Chandler character. She was the extreme bitchy high school debutante. The actress who played her died several years ago. Gonna have to research that.

So Saturday afternoon was way too hectic. I like slow, lazy Saturday mornings. Ran the car down to the bank so my stepdad could check out the car. He used this charger device to determine it was probably the accelerator. Thankfully the Firestone on Wells is open weekends, so I was able to drop it there and pick it up at 3pm. In between I had to go pick up Jana and Ben at the airport, drop them off, and then go back home to chill. I was really feeling drained and anxious simultaneously. New job that's why. The Office won best comedy, bleck. I don't get into it at all.

Saturday night I went to Cafe Lulu, Cactus Club and Red Dot with my cool friend Linda, who is engaged to someone I met when I was 17. We were both lamenting the fact that we live so far apart, as we have a lot in common. It does suck because I need more high energy friends to go out with. More more more! At Lulu, (they have GOOD, homemade rhurbarb pie, yummmm!) this Milwaukee rocker relic wannabe was stalking patrons, asking if they were gonna stay and watch his band play later that night. He was walking around in anticipation, rubbing his drumsticks together frantically. The poor waitress felt she had to apologize. I told her not to worry as I recognized him and told her I could handle him just fine. I also saw a friend from back in the p-rock basement days, a real sweetie who is still sooooo cute. And married. Man! But I always like to be reminded good people still exist in Milwaukee.

We saw Couch Flambeau at the Cactus. My energy level began draining quickly after I downed the swill Vodka they served me along with flat seltzer. Fuck that. I'd rather not drink than drink shit, I've decided, although I do have approximately 11 more cans of Pabst to consume before I can really move forward with that plan.

Afterwards we went to the Red Dot for a bit; it's down the street from Champions. It really lacks breathable air inside, but the patio is nice. Might be better for the winter months, the inside bar.

Right now I'm ridiculously tired. I think it's the new BC pill, it sucks. I am tense about the tutor training tomorrow, which is dumb, as I'm only co-leading it. I hardly had to do anything to prepare. I feel lazy because of that, I don't know. I just will feel better when I get a groove going.

24 won best drama, if anyone cares.

2006-08-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

feeling upbeat...feels strange
I feel optimism, slightly, the little bit I can allow to creep in, and trepidation as well. I have responsibilities, starting tomorrow when I assist in orientating four groups of twenty-five students to the AIP. I will be seen as a professional, someone with a title, someone who knows shit. Who will be expected to know shit. Eyes will be upon me, my own the most scrutinizing of course. A slight thrill came over me while I was perusing the Writing Lab Newsletter archives. Researching and reading will now be part of my job duties, not just something I have to cram in after running around adjuncting then working at home, my eyes drying and straining, looking at the computer. There will be people situated all around me that I can go to, in person, with questions, exclamations, proclamations, discoveries. They, in turn, can come to me. I wont have to rely on emailing people who are too busy or just do not wish to be bothered. Adjuncting sucked. So many must still do so. I am so fucking lucky to have escaped. I have to work my ass off though, as I dont want to lose this position. I have to build up that inner confidence, allow my energy to propel me instead of stifling it. I have to take initiative. Thats the key word here, initiative. I have to trust myself that I do know shit, and that I am creative. I have to let go of relying on advice from published writing theorists and LIU professors--its time to take charge in my own way. But I can rely on those in my department sometimes, too. I cant forget that. But I cant be meek. I cant be trite. I cant wait for others to approve. I need to stop looking back into my past and look into my future. Damn, this is the cheesiest, most blog-like blog Ive ever posted, I think. I hope I can build this momentum. In the meantime, Im way too elated to sit down and read articles entitled Promotional ideas for writing centers and Great and Not-So-Great Expectations: Training Faculty and Student Tutors.

2006-08-17T08:23:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday I rode my bike to my favorite place, Estabrook Park. I rode down Olive St and meant to access the park via the little dirt trail carved out between the trees that you can enter off of the street instead of having to bike down to a more "official" entrance. I saw a properly attired North Shore teenage boy (white polo, brown khakis, black sunglasses, short, wavy brown hair) down there, his mountain bike thrown to the side. He was standing there, looking slighly confused and awkward, perhaps contemplative. I was going to go down there, but then he quickly jerked around, saw me, jerked back around the other way to stand in a "dude that's about to take a piss" sort of way. Clearly, he needed to pee but was unsure where to do it. I don't understand why he chose a clearing as opposed to creeping further in the woods, but that's just me. There are bathrooms in the park, too. I almost yelled that out to him, but instead I just giggled and walked my bike up to the next little in-road to the bike trail and park.

More exciting than this sighting was that of this bird:

It's a Downey Woodpecker, and boy they are cute! The one I saw was of course poking a tree, looking for bugs. They are so curious the way they move. I was just telling my friend yesterday. They spread their bodies flat on the surface, and they outturn their little legs, which are furry feather covered, and they scroll up and down the surface, side to side, up and down again. Their bodies look like a small rodent when they move that way. It's quite a sight.

This woodpecker is cool too, but I've never seen one:

Also, people, check out www.cuteoverload.com. Ridiculously adorable!

2006-08-13T19:23:00.000-07:00

8-13-2006

I need to consult the calendar for this one. Reverse chronological.

8/12

Attended Morning Glory craft fair with my mother downtown. When I arrived I found out she’d been waiting on the corner for almost 20 minutes. Guess I went about making those pancakes too leisurely. My stomach murmured at me. Guilt. I didn’t admit how late I’d left because when I arrived I stood out front, not on the side. She thought we were both merely waiting for one another. I normally am not so dishonest with my mother.

After the fair we browsed at TJ Maxx and Linens-n-Things. A real adventure of a day. I found a navy, light blue, and white checked quilt to throw atop of my futon and some matching navy pillows. I paid for the pillows, mom paid for the quilt. Afterwards, we stopped at the best-priced produce stand I’ve visited in Milwaukee, right there in the Grand Avenue Mall. Asparagus is $1.99 a bunch! The same price’ll get you a large box of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries but they were sold out by the time we got there--I saw the lone box sitting on the crate as we entered TJ’s, but I didn’t expect it to remain. The guy who runs it is a cute Mexican with an anarchy symbol tattoo.

Returned home and eagerly dolled up my futon. My living room now looks like, well, a living room. Still needs more pictures though. My metrosexual friend is supposed to help me with that. Ate more garlic chicken and veggies smothered in chicken juice. Watched too much TV. But I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Half-heartedly searched for materials to use in my classes.

8/11

Spend most of the work day composing a ‘poem’ about the dumbest man I’ve let caress my boobies. Too bad he did it so well. First night off in too long. Baked three large chicken breasts I’d purchased on sale for a grand total of $2.43. Much needed vegging occurred.

8/10

Chicken wings with Chad, Eric, Bec, Scott, two other people I don’t really know, and then Jen showed up near the end. Glad Chad had ordered extra because I hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t walked either. Napping was more necessary. Wings and a Bloody Mary. Not a good idea. At 6:47 my phone rang and it was the ex-idiot from Chicago. He’d myspaced me two days previous, stating that he’d be riding his bicycle up to Milwaukee on Thursday with a friend, and upon arrival would be “using party as a verb.” He sent me his number. Fully not expecting to hear from him, I’d sent along my number also. I was excited. He was downtown. Come to the bar I’m at! I exclaimed. He’d just arrived after biking for about eight hours so he wanted to chill first. Yeah, makes sense. I told him I thought I’d be done with the Rollins/X show around 10pm. That guy drinks Pabst, plays bass, freeloads, and acts like a wanna-be rock star for a living. I couldn’t believe he could bike that far. Around 8pm, Jen and I left for the Rave, such a bullshit venue. They made us walk all the way around to the side entrance, walk down some stairs, wind around and then walk back up some stairs, only to end up where we would’ve if their stupid asses would have let enter the wide open front entrance doors, and my friend has a gimp knee! Grrrr. Some terrible opening band was nearly done playing when we got there, so we sat in the side bar. Ran into a friend’s very lively brother, and then Ed stuck his finger in my ear and of course I had to make a dumb joke, then almost immediately thereafter Bec found me.

Rollins was predictably boring. Ex-idiot texted me at 8:56pm, informing me that they were “going to at random-then? call me if I don’t pick up I’m on tha bike.” Nice, I thought, keeping me updated and everything. The minutes dragged on for me and of course it took them a full half an hour to change over to X’s set. Jen was feeling pretty miserable due to her early morning migraine, but Eric and Trish were all couple-y and gleeful, though. I don’t get jealous though. I’m too bitter to even be jealous these days. Numb is perhaps a better word.

We left around 11pm after I have pooped approximately two times in The Rave’s Women’s Restroom. Fucking gross, but there was nothing I could do. Goddamn chicken wings. I’m so glad that music was playing loudly.

When we got to my car, I had a ticket. Well, I wasn’t sure. My mind was racing around its neurosis track. I was so curious to see the Ex-idiot and see what happened. Jen didn’t think it was a ticket. I ignored until after I dropped her off across the street from her vehicle on Van Buren. Fucking $30 ticket. Didn’t see the No Parking sign. Preoccupied. So jumpy at that point; he wasn’t responding to my calls or text. I rationalized: He was in Bayview, and my cell often gets shitty reception there, so maybe his did, too.

I drove down the wrong way on LMD. Fuck! What was wrong with me! Tired, buzzing, jacked up, TIRED. I finally got down there and wondered which bar he’d be at: Garibaldi (sp), Cactus, or Palomino. I’d seen a picture of his bike on his myspace profile, and there it was, outside the place featuring a Tater Tot Po’Boy. Searched inside, almost didn’t see him. And then there he was, redfaced from the sun, sideburns with hair upturned so sweetly. Tighter jeans than usual. He greeted me aloofly, like the hipsters he despises would. I told him his phone was acting up, but he said no, he’d just left it his bag. (Even though he knew I’d be calling around 10:30-11pm, as I told him in the text.) Five year hiatus from in person contact and that was the greeting I got. I bought a drink, so I wouldn’t look too uppity, and sat down among him, his friend, this girl from fucking Racine (she’s nice, but fuck Racine), and two fucking dingbats--don’t know why they were there. The dingbats were screaming about going to the Smiley Face Café because Girls! Drink! Free! I leaned over to the Idiot and told him authoritatively that he’d hate it there. We weren’t conversing much. He didn’t ask me anything about myself, as usual, but I asked him. I think I make him feel dumb. That’s not hard though, because he is.

I tried to convince him to just spend an hour with me somewhere else because he’d hate that place, but instead he cut me off in mid-sentence outside, next to his bike. Those dummies were screaming to hurry so he jumped in their car, even though when I said I’d drive him somewhere he responded defensively, I HAVE THE BIKE! What Are You Doing In An Hour? He asked. I’ll Be At Home, I said, irritated. I’ll Call You In An Hour. I Won’t Be Around. We each walked towards our cars, not looking back, no goodbye.

So pissed at the waste of time, the waste of gas, the waste of a hopeful feeling. He always acted weirdly around me in public, but I forgot about that, since we no longer have a romantic attachment to one another. I just didn’t think I’d have to worry about that type of dumbass behavior. Fuming, I called Eric, who offered to hang with me after he and Trish ate grilled cheese sandwiches. That was nice. They’re nice. But I needed alcohol asap. So, I drove to Foundation because I was pretty confident I’d run into at least one person I liked and could vent to, and I did.

I cried on the way home. Exhausted. Drunk. Let down by predictable behavior that was so predictable I could not predict it.

At 4:53am that fucking jackass called me and wanted to know what I was doing. I shouldn’t have answered the phone but I was standing in front of it. Dumbfuck. I told him I was going to sleep. He told me they’d rushed to the bar only to not be let in. I TOLD YOU! I gloated. Ha. After that I was sort of glad I answered the phone. Jesus Christ. His late night call didn’t surprise me at all. Drunks drunk dial, and sometimes they even show up on your doorstep. I wonder if I would’ve let him in if he would’ve done the latter, not the former. I hope not. He’s deleted now. Too bad I can’t delete him from my memories as well.

8/9

Traveled down to Chicago with Jana, Erich, and Jerod. They were going to see Tom Waits. I was going to meet up with an old friend from Chicago, who’d just returned after two years in Boston, one in Atlanta, and hopefully see two other friends as well. Jana tried to cram me on top of Erich’s lap, telling me the car seat for her son doesn’t move. That was pretty funny. Thankfully she agreed to drop it off at the house. I’d sat bitch two nights previous. Not again. Please, not again. My back still aches! Erich and I amused ourselves by trading back and forth some silly celebrity magazines. They certainly help pass the time. Nicole Richie and Lindsay Lohan at their skinniest are scary, ugly bitches, that is for sure.

We drank some cellar temp imported alcoholic beverages at our old Friday night hangout, the Duke of Perth, on Clark St. Their prices went up, their menu changed, but their beer didn’t, too much, except for they traded Young’s Oatmeal Stout for the Double Chocolate Stout. I ordered a Bellhaven instead. Seeing Hilly standing outside the bar didn’t feel strange at all. It didn’t feel like five years ago. It felt natural. Good. Booting some people from past from the curb, that need to go, and bringing in others who need to stay. I almost had forgot about her fry fetish, until she muttered, “you have more fries than me!” when we received our dinners. Aw, my little tater tot girl. After much chit chat and more joke telling from the boys (A chicken and an egg are laying next to each other. The chicken’s languid and smoking a cigarette and says “I guess we answered that question.” HA!) Hill and I headed down to Reckless and then to Ragstock together. Tried to hit Chicago Comics but they’d closed. Back to her place to have some beers and meet Jen T and Jonas. Their apartment is so beautiful. That’s all I’ll say. One day I’ll get a good one too. We were both very worn out and loopy, but it was still a good time. JT and J showed up like an hour later, Jonas getting his ass all lost somehow. It was nice to be sitting with my Chicago friends again. So different from my Milwaukee crew.

We got back to Milwaukee around 1:45am, one day left of socializing, could I do it?

8/8

Just work and an outing to where I’ll be teaching (FULL TIME! Wooo hooo!) but that’s enough for the day. I met with the woman who used to have my job, and she was cordial. Finally met the associate dean who had passed me the info on the position, and he has a pierced ear and wore Vans. I don’t think I’ll have a problem fitting in, especially after my direct boss said to me (in response to me thanking him for suggesting me for the job) “Yeah, you were my third choice.” HAAAHH! I love a sense of humor. Excellent! Oh, and the dean informed me indirectly that I’d been chosen over a recent Ph.D from UWM. Motherfucking vindication! Who needs you, UWM? NOT ME! HA!

Grueling rush hour drive home. Almost got in an accident due to the spazzy drivers ahead of me. My heart was in my throat. The commute’s gonna be a bitch.

8/7

Queens of the Stone Age in Green Blah, Wisconsin. I drove up with Chad, Scott, Keith and their friend Dan who’s moving away shortly. The Queens played at Oneida Bingo Casino, but before we headed there, we stopped over at Lambeau Field for a little tailgating action during the Packer practice. Yep, there’s a practice field behind the stadium, and the Packers sport just their spandex shorts and Jerseys---no padding--and practice plays. The street’s closed down, bleachers are set up, and so are portapotties. After gnawing on an Italian sausage pattie burger topped off with pepper jack cheese and some other picnic food, oh, and buying my grandma some Packer earrings (why does the ’s’ fall off Packers when using the word as adjective?!?), I got to see Brett Favre’s surprisingly tight butt run a few yards.

Then it was off to the show. Oneida is an eyesore, and the show was in a tent in a lot adjacent to the casino. For thirty dollars I got to see a band in a tent. Wonderful. The band were, in a word, tight, and that’s really all I have to say. Josh Homme told the bouncers they were paid to do what he told them to, which I don’t necessarily think is true, but it was sort of funny. He’s really not that sexy.

8/6

Volunteered at Broad Vocabulary (haven’t gone yet? Well hurry up!), then home to nap, then it was time for Sonic Youth! They were fucking great. This band the Go Team opened and I was really impressed by their energy and their want to entertain the crowd via plain old enthusiasm, not pretense, and synchronized dance moves. The black girl singer was really hot in her skirt and knee socks combo, and she had some moves. Acoustics were bad but they were fun anyway.

Sonic Youth opened with Schizophrenia. Nice. Then it was mostly songs from Rather Ripped for about an hour. They played Kool Thing, a real stand out. Stage lit just right, Kim dancing around in her cute, white mini dress and white tights. Yeah, a stand out. First heard that song 15 fucking years ago, that’s crazy to me, and the band had been around for about 10 years then. Fuck. I’M OLD! Ha. But they sounded great, my whole body felt, I danced and danced. And ripped apart my friend’s earring with my rhinoceros ring. And danced. And drank a reasonably priced Point beer. After they played 100%, though, the show went downhill for me. That dumb dude jumped on the stage and dived, Lee Renaldo got pissy at security then apologized, and to me, the energy was gone. They only played for an hour and a half, and played only 4 or 5 songs that weren’t from the new one. Ah, well, the first hour alone was worth it. Cute moment when Kim put her hand on Thurston and just shook him while she danced, and he played guitar. You could see beyond their rock star personas to the intimate friend/partner/lover relationship they have. Renaldo’s hair’s so gray. Steve Shelley never sings. Never thought they’d excite me as much as they did in high school. They did.

8/5

Trip to Kenosha Outlet mall with my mom. There’s new stores. I’d never been even though I lived in Kenosha and Racine for years. The new Coach store was fun to visit, all of the ladies so excited, scoping the 20% rack, tittering in excitement. I tried to get my mom to buy a purse, show those uptight Shrine ladies, but she wouldn’t. I got some lace up flip flops sort of Roman-style, a pair of stretch skinny jeans from Pacific Sun of all places, a pair of light weight green cord skinny pants from the Gap, who had good deals and yes their politics suck but they were $15 and I told the clerk about Art vs. Craft and almost knocked out the grandpa standing too closely behind me in line, and a cute halter top from Izod. I decided DKNY is trash.

I ate my first hamburger in 15 or so years. Made sure to throw all of the fixings on that shit. I pooped, but because I had to. The meat didn’t make me sick. Yeah! Best corn on the cob of the season thus far, too.

After I left my parents’, I met Jen at Foundation. Cheezit wouldn’t accompany us to Lulu to hear the Mexican/punk polka band but he’s an old man and it’s to be expected. We had a nice time catching up anyway, and at Lulu my friend’s dad bought us our drinks. I didn’t drink rail all night, and that’s the only reason I wasn’t worse for the wear on Sunday. I tried some coconut vodka with seltzer. Dumb. Had some pineapple juice added in, but should’ve gone with that originally. Yuck. Later at the bar, my friend went off on the pretentious guy who kept trying to change his mind, and my friend made some funny analogy about drinking grape juice with beer. “You like King Missile and I don’t. You might like grape juice in your beer, but I might not. King Missile is like grape juice in my beer!” Ha! Alcohol-fueled debate between two opposing personalities. A good spectacle.

8/4

Hungover. Hysterical. Ridded myself of the presence of someone from my past. Several people can only be memories now. It’s dumb and dramatic but I want and need to move on. Too much baggage from my old life here, I’ve realized. Holding on to too much, not realizing I can let the grip loosen and still be who I am. My mental health wanes too often. Gotta reel that shit in. I have a job with a title for fuck’s sakes! For the first time EVER! Bopping up in down in chilly Lake Michigan for an hour and half and then eating very many slices of pepperoni, sausage, and black olive pizza and imbibing sweet chilled red wine proved for a restful evening. Came home and watched TV. Slept well.

8/3
Wings. Found out my father’s mother had contacted my grandma. Wanted my information. Address, number. Grandma didn’t know what to do so she gave it to her. It shocked the shit out of me. Haven’t seen my dad since I was 14. Haven’t heard from her since she sent me that ridiculous, insulting, hurtful card for my undergraduate graduation. They are/were memories I don’t think of often. She wants to bury the hatchet. She’s 81 years old after all. He’s 59. Owns some property now. That’s good, ex cokehead dad. Supposedly they are going to contact me. She wants a lunch, he is gonna send a letter. After becoming quite alarmed for a bit, I chilled. Believe it when I see it/hear it. Upon retelling all of this to my mom, though, something hit me: my dad was an addict for years. But I’m the furthest from that. I’m not addicted to anything except for frequent obsessing and cheese. I never noticed if he was high on anything. I wouldn’t have known. My mom said maybe I just have more her in me than him. Maybe. Interesting.

Met someone who is pretty much a stranger for a drink. Tried huckleberry vodka. Yummy stuff. He invited me to see Billy Idol wave his fist and cry Mo’ mo’ mo’! VIP and more vodka for free. Idol’s got a great body and is attentive to his audience. He likes to hand out water. Steve Stevens was pretty rocking. They covered Jump by Van Halen, played a really nice version of Eyes Without a Face complete with a bit of flamenco guitar, and they even played Ready Steady Go! Got to see Cheezit totally geek out during the show, and he was so hyper afterwards. It was cool to see him so happy and sociable, so his age, just living a bit. Foundation afterwards. I’d met Cheezit’s good friend way back in the hanging at the coffee shop amongst the Goths and punks and hippies days. Haven’t seen or heard of her since probably 1991 or 1992. Interesting lady Cheezit wasn’t sure if I was good enough to meet. Well I have, so ha! Drinking too much, blueberry stoli and lemonade, beers, whatever. Young Ones watching at Cheezits. I still just can’t get in to that show. They just yell too much. I can’t handle it.

My past and present have been converging really seriously lately. Well parts I’m trying to purge. I am curious to see what happens next. It has got to get a bit better. The dysfunctional can’t win. No. That won’t do, at all.

2006-08-02T22:08:00.000-07:00

Is there extra alcohol in Bell's Amber? I mean really. I had one, then a Riesling wine, (Reisling? eh), and I was all buzzing and singing Vacation all I ever wanted, Vacation had to get away loudly, serenading my friend and her dad. Then I ate some vegetables and wished they were meat. Man, what's become of me? The ice cream shoppe closed before we could procure such desserts, but that's ok, because ice cream atop of wine, beer, cole slaw, and cucumber sauce probably would've sent me straight to bed clenching a huge glass of water and a bottle of tums. Instead I went to the Foundation to say hi to Cheezit.

I took the highway and exited at Locust. Headed south on Bremen and motherfuck, there's a cop on a motorcycle half blocking the street. I'm all hopped up, blaring Sonic Youth's Dirty Boots, so I ignore him and attempt to drive around him. He stops me and starts yelling at me for driving on the wrong side of the street. But I was trying not to hit your motorcycle! I exclaimed. I mean, duh, dude! Well can't you see the street's blocked off! he scolded. God I kept expecting him to demand me out of my car to walk the line. But since I look so innocent, and kept telling him I was just too distracted by my music, the Sonic Youth, he let me pass. He seemed jumpy and tense. I drove up Weil and down the alley to Foundation, where there was one spot awaiting me. Thank God. Otherwise I would have had to gone home. I don't walk more than a fourth of a block from my vehicle to the bar in that hood. And seeing multiple squad cars down Center just shows fucked up shit's still occuring. Maybe it was just some dumb drug bust or something. I'll have to check the papers and web sites tomorrow. Good thing I didn't have an extra glass of wine and hit that motherfucking cop though. That'd look GrEAT on my record, being a teacher and all....

2006-08-02T08:03:00.000-07:00

I was not very engaged by A Scanner Darkly. I wanted to avoid it due to its weird animation stylings, because I'm just not nerdy enough to get excited by all that, but Robert Downey Jr lured me in. His character was the most interesting because he was so overly articulate and really his scenes were the only ones that held my attention. I had high hopes for Woody Harrelson too, but as my companion noted, "Woody didn't have much to work with." His character was just too minor. So was Rory Cochrane's (sp). That dude just played a big time Substance D dope fiend and maybe was just meant for amusement. Winona Ryder was as insipid as usual. The first I've seen of her since her infamous shoplifting breakdown. The only thing she's tolerable in is Heathers. She plays an undercover cop, as does Keanu Reeves. Keanu gets addicted to the Substance while hanging with RDJ, WH, and WR, who is actually his girlfriend. I don't think he knew she was narcing like himself until the end. I got a little lost during the last half hour or so. I was really tense watching it because the a/c was cranked so high in the theater, so maybe if I watch it again I'd get a better sense of it.

During the previews, they showed one for this movie The Road to Guantanamo (sp) and I was cringing based on the few minutes of footage I saw during the trailer. It's based on what happened to three Middle Eastern dudes a month after September 11th. I will not be watching that movie. I hate that our country is responsible for such inhumane treatment of people. Really, you will have to have a strong stomach to watch that movie. I could read about it but not watch people be treated that cruelly without becoming hysterical.

2006-07-31T21:12:00.000-07:00

Similar topic, different day!
The power went out only on my floor of the old, generic building for roughly a half hour and, of course, Antsy American emerged. It is 100 degrees in Wisconsin and all, but my God. I could live in Lebanon for fuck’s sake. I always have to tell myself that. I could live somewhere that’s being bombed, war sanctioned by the USA or Israel, country‘s whose leaders (note: I said LEADERS) are way too selfish, ethnocentric, and power hungry, or I could be homeless, or, shit, I could be pregnant with an HIV positive child, or I could have a rare ailment that causes me to constantly slap myself (I was watching Oprah today). I watched the 5:30 news because I was too lethargic to do much else before my 8:00pm Internet date, and the footage of Lebanon jarred me. I will never, ever understand how powerful politicians can allow such carnage. How can they watch limp bodies being laid upon stretchers, covered with thin sheets or heavy blanket, and think, “Hey well, fuck it, the other side’s not doing things my way, so I guess it’s just too bad for the innocents dying.” I mean really. The only war that has ever made sense to me is World War II, even though it too was atrocious. I can’t stand it. Israel always has to have its way and so does the fucking US of A! But sitting here so privileged with my new a/c blowing chill air on me, loyal, affectionate kitty at my side, food stocked in the refrigerator, car outside the door, parents’ house a half hour south, good friends minutes away, I can’t say that I would trade any of my American conveniences. I just wish I didn’t become so impatient after only being inconvenienced a few moments. We were talking briefly yesterday about today’s “instant gratification society;” that’s what my friend’s lady termed it. Yes I scorn my needs but I am a product of my environment. Super sped up, post postmodernism, where technology rules all, time is money! Money is time! And I need it now or I won’t be happy and I can get it now and those who can get it to me fastest earn the most money. Those who produce it quickly are in the lead. Those who have it first are those with the means, they’re the ones many wish they could be. The media pushes the products in our faces everywhere we turn. Don’t even try to tell me you ignore it, you don’t watch tv or go online. It doesn’t matter. You get gas for you car, you go grocery shop, you leave the fucking house. It surrounds us, it’s in us. Some people are better at resisting the urges, but the pull’s always there, unless of course you live in a small town, a really small town. Forgot to mention sure there’s places you probably can escape. But it’s really not going to happen in any average to large size city. Yep products of our environment. Good to recognize, keep it in check, don’t feel so guilty but don’t get so fully sucked into it. When I do I buy something I can’t afford. Like my $200 Habitual jeans. Because I had to have them, right then and there, instantly, because I wanted to feel good, because I was feeling let down by people, so the consumerist act cleansed me. Dangerous. But I am able to resist such urges very well most times. And now I have another pair of jeans that make me feel sexy sometimes. Man, where I am going with this???

War….I hate our foreign policy. But I don’t want to live anywhere else besides maybe a few cities in Europe or Sydney, NSW, Australia. I like my American conveniences damn it. I don’t want to run through rubble. I don’t want my lame building to be bombed. I’m too privileged. But what can I do? I don’t really have extra money to send to the Red Cross or anything right now, and I don’t know how trustworthy such organizations are, as they seemed to be engaged in some scamming after Katrina. I can self reflect I guess. I can educate myself. I don’t understand Hazzabullah (sp) and I need to find a resource to explain it to me. I have to combat my angst, anxiety, and lethargy. This whole past week has been boozing and socializing and TV watching. I was attempting to shut my brain up. America makes it easier to do nothing than something. That’s the part that’s hardest to resist.

2006-07-17T20:48:00.000-07:00

Acting extra special extra extra American-like. I'm an impatient American most days but today, well, I reminded myself of Sam McPheeters in that one column he wrote for Punk Planet several years back. Working at home in an apartment that is cookie cutter claustrophobic is grueling most days. But working at home in an apartment that is cookie cutter claustrophobic on a day when it's over 90 degrees outside and your air conditioner is failing you is especially irritating. Sitting still and sweating inside with air conditioning running. Watching a soap opera while working. Leaving on Dr. Phil just to hear other peoples' voices (today a young woman confronted her mother on her crack use) and actually being enticed by Oprah's show about dressing to accentuate your body, with a particular focus on the right fitting bra. One lady was a 34A and had been wearing a 36D or something. I don't understand. But I'm in here in and it's sweltering and I am just determined to buy a new air conditioner AS SOON AS I GET DONE WORKING BECAUSE I NEED IT RIGHT NOW. I CAN NOT TOLERATE THIS HEAT ANYMORE. I AM JUST TOO SWEATY. THE FUCKING LAP TOP IS MAKING ME SWEAT MORE. MY DESKTOP IS FUCKED. I NEED A NEW A/C THIS FUCKING IMMEDIATE INSTANT. I am an AMERICAN! So first I head to the gross place because it's the closest, then I desperately try two other chain stores nearby even though I''m pretty convinced its a lost cause. I call my mom and ask her to call Target on Chase. They're out. I'm peevish. Very, very peevish. Why don't these stores have enough air conditioners for everyone!? They should.*I* need a fucking new air-conditioner. My last stop would be Sears, I promised myself, because I could not allow myself to completely succumb to impatience. They had a few left there but only 5300 BTUS and my step dad had just called from the Oak Creek Colders, where he could get one at 10000 BTUS for only about $40 more than the model at Sears. They had three total a/cs left there. I didnt bother with the mom and pop Ace I like to purchase things from. I called my step dad back and gave him the go, and turned around to hop on the freeway to drive down to pick it up. I just wanted to get it over with so my apartment that soaks in the sun so so much could perhaps cool down. And I want a house. My own house. A new house. Or a newer condo that's not a piece of shit. With some central air in it. I am 32 and days pass me by I feel nothing accomplishing nothing applying for jobs a lot lately but still there's no guarantees I just want to make like $30-40K per year. God that's so little and it still just eludes me. Tired of making do tired of relying on my parents tired of just about everything. Floating around in this unproductive abyss headaches all the time cant read cant write no insurance. WHINY FUCKING MESS! But if I can just get that a/c it willll alllll beee bbbetter. Yeah...
The box is bigger than I can handle but I insist on taking it to my apartment alone. I somehow manage to manuever it out of my car and into the back doorway of my building, and then I proceed to slide it around the corners until I am in front of the elevator. But then this stupid bitch walks in through the front door and beats me to elevator. We can't both fit in there with my huge box and so I sit and glower at her even though I can't see her because of the way she is standing. I don't have 3 minutes to wait because I AM SWEATY and I AM AN AMERICAN! The stupid bitch then peeks her head around and asks if I need help. A real bitch, huh?!? She's acting less like an American than me, but I tell her no. I am always determined to finish such arduous tasks alone. I'm single. I always do this shit. I ride my bike home with groceries in the basket and hanging from each one of my bikes handles. I've fucking carried a heavy desk home from the Office Max in Soho to my Brooklyn apartment. I have border line carpel tunnel but I will lift some shit when I need to.

I tear that box open and wrestle with the unit. It's way too large and heavy for me to lift. But I do. My back still aches. I have cut knuckles and a scratched up inner arm. I fuck around with the instructions for awhile, which just holds me back from completing my task. I finally heave the thing up in the space where the inefficient a/c used to rest, the one that leaked water over the place after I took it down. I excitedly plug in the a/c. I hear this loud sound, sort of like bbreakkka breakkc uuurhghghg breakka urugh. No a/c should sound like that. I turn it on and back off. My fan stops. The bathroom lights gone out. I've blown a fuse.

And I deserve to have to sit around in my underwear all night. I deserve the discomfort because I'm a FUCKING American. I call my step dad to tell him the thing doesn't work and he is up here in a half hour with a new one. It's on right now and its a little cooler, but not as cool as I would like it.

In Sam McPheeters' column, he'd recalled how after learning the Taco Bell item that he had ordered vegetarian had meat in it--he'd learned this by biting into the item--he drove back to the drive-through and screamed his head off at the Taco Bell employee. I think he also recalled snapping hard on a utilities representative on the phone. After describing these instances, he amusingly berated himself for flipping out over such trivial inconveniences. He berated himself for his Americanness. It was truly a great column, one of the only things I enjoyed in Punk Planet for months. I wish I had a copy of it now. I was so pushy at Sears. There was a crowd of people milling around the a/cs and I just pushed through them all and interupted people. Annoyed the sales clerks. But I had no time to be waiting while they helped other customers.

I truly disgust me. Oh well, though, at least I managed not to yell at any strangers.

2006-07-12T08:10:00.000-07:00

Voter ID laws

Like many other states, WI conservative lawmakers have been trying to mandate that voters present a state-issed ID when they vote. At first I thought such a law was inoffensive and unproblematic. Who doesn't have a driver's license or state ID? I thought. Then my friend who is passionate about this issue explained that a lot of poor people who do not drive and rarely stray far outside their neighborhoods don't have IDs. I still couldn't quite understand not having some sort of ID because it's needed all over the place, but in this instance I needed to step out my own experiences for awhile, just like I encourage everyone else to do! I ended up agreeing with her that requiring an ID to vote seemed a bit biased against poor people.

On NPR today there was some talk of ensuring that acquiring an ID is free, but some said that processing paperwork could actually still remain pricey. No prices were quoted though. The commentator pointed out that neither side's argument can be substantially supported. There's been no widespread reports of "voter fraud" and there's not a lot to support that proponents of Voter ID want to oppress the poor. However, in Milwaukee last election, there were Republicans placing flyers in black, poor neighborhoods that said people can not vote if they have unpaid parking tickets. A stupid ploy, and yes, you have to be quite ill informed to believe that, but such a move does somewhat support those arguing against Voter ID. But then again, Democrats slashed Republican van tires so those people would have a harder time voting, so neither side is innocent.

I'm still a little unsure where I stand on this. Someone in favor of Voter ID tried to say on NPR that being required to show an ID brings a bit of "integrity" to the voting act that would entice more people to come out and vote. That made no fucking sense to me at all and of course he had nothing to back himself up. I just didn't buy it. And the general public aren't the ones engaging in voter fraud. Who the hell tries to vote more than once? It's the politicians that engage in the fraud. I say we just focus on paper trails and stop worrying about the IDs, I guess, even though I do think it's in anyone's best interest to have an official ID, just to have even in case the cops fuck with you. I mean a lot of poor people manage to wear designer clothes and stuff like that, so certainly getting an ID should be a priority. If this does go through, hopefully there will be groups educating the populations that would be most affected, and let them know there's another reason to get a damn ID!

2006-07-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

Something I do to lessen my angst is to walk and bike at Estabrook Park. I ALWAYS have a few good wildlife encounters, whether it’s with a woodchuck, snapping turtle or just a baby bunny or chirping frog. Yesterday particularly rocked because I luckily viewed a great blue heron as it was fishing for minnows in the Milwaukee River. It was literally just a few yards away from me, and it never budged as I crept closer. Normally I trot down the rock stairs just to watch the people fishing and the water cascade, but watching the heron was much more engaging. Its legs are so super skinny and spindly; its beak is long and wide. I must have peered down at it for a good 20 minutes. It only flew away when an obtuse jogger ran by not even noticing it, but even then it only flew out to the middle of the river. I had to fight the urge to intentionally startle it--I love to watch them fly, because they are so awkward yet majestic with their huge wing span and prehistoric features. But I resisted my stupid, selfish human urge and just watched. No matter, because another heron sat underneath the low branches at the pond on the other side of the park, and as I was engaging in my routine of scaring frogs so they’ll chirp and leap (juvenile, yes, selfish, yes, but also very enjoyable), I excited it and it flew off, again, so close. I felt bad, but I didn’t see it there.

Of course I saw about fifteen rabbits like I always do, and a few were the tiny ones. They are so skittish and adorable! Lots of robins, a few kingfishers--I saw one dive straight down, head first into the pond but I don’t think it retrieved a fish--mallard ducks, crows, and seagulls. Plenty of squirrels, no woodchucks this time though. When I was lingering behind the pond, I heard a huge screeching noise. It wasn’t a squirrel or chipmunk (saw two of those); I thought maybe it was a bird but it sounded really peculiar. So I crept closer to the trees separating the pond from the bike trail and caught a glimpse of a red squirrel. CUUUUUUTE! Those things are smaller than half of a grey squirrel’s size, and they move much faster. This thing was just racing from branch to branch, wailing at the top of its lungs. I’m not quite sure what was provoking it, maybe it was me, but it was loud before I even came close. Discovering it was a nice surprise.

I really could just sit and observe wildlife all day. Someone should pay me to do it. I’d be a much more relaxed person! My original intent upon entering college was to major in environmental science, because I was very adamant about protecting the environment, but I scrapped it because I am dumb at science and math. It’s really unfortunate, as I could be doing something more active and less stressful right now. But I can still be an old lady bird watcher, and that works too.

2006-07-08T22:09:00.000-07:00

My friends and I all vacillate between coping and not. One of them suggested that the rest of us move closer to her so that we can get to each other easier when we need help. Which is often, it seems. I like this idea in some ways; forming your own little community or family in addition to or perhaps in place of a biological family. Being cooperative and shit. We are all so neurotic. We are bothered by minute details and sometimes it feels like we have to pussyfoot around each other. Maybe that’s mostly me because I am so “sensitive.” Anyway…you don’t need to be married with kids to feel accepted in secure--it’s not the only way. I know this. Sometimes I feel towards some version of it. Not necessarily getting married, but partnering up with someone and maybe even being a step mom/adult role model. I can’t imagine a child coming out of me. Neurotic only child procreating? Doesn’t feel right to me. I think I’d just be nervous all of the time. And I wouldn’t want the responsibility all of the time. But getting to be around a kid or kids sometimes might be all right, I think, as I enjoy being around the 4 year old, 9 year old, and 13 year old who belong to other people. What am I talking about here? Oh, options. People marry and you don’t see them as much if you aren’t married. It’s happened to me a lot. I think I’d seclude myself a little bit if I finally partnered up with someone whose presence and support quieted my neuroses rather than riled them, but I hope I wouldn‘t become one of those people that dismisses their single friends’ problems as trivial, or someone who just could never “find the time” to socialize with those friends. But for now it might be nice to really take the initiative as friends to help one another. I can’t make someone who is “right for me” appear out of nowhere, and I really, really, really, really can NOT allow myself and go out and get drunk and fool around with guys I shouldn’t, anymore. If I want to get to know ago, no genital exposure the first time we hang. Kevin told me that, he is right! Ok I know I sound like a warped version of SATC’s Charlotte, but it’s something I think I might try…because the other way hasn’t worked out for me. And…oh yeah. So centering myself, hanging out, helping out friends, writing MORE substantial essays/stories, and challenging my comfort zone….this is what should be my focus now.

Ok now completely switching gears….So Friday I got my ugly tattoo covered up! My friend Verity kicks ass and you Milwaukeeians should give her some business. She’s on my friends page and I am gonna post the tat pics very soon. 3.5 hours! My first real tat, very very colorful. I like it a lot, but am anxious to work towards creating/finalizing an actual real piece. Afterward I battled the throngs of dumb, drunk, slow moving fucks at Summerfest. Allright, that’s harsh, as most of the people weren’t acting like assholes, there were just a lot of them, but still…MOVE! Get it NYC style people! SassyJ and I saw Cheap Trick--one of the few remaining real rock bands that can still rock it. I was really eager to see them before one of them gets all sick and croaks or something. Way in back we could see but the sound was shit, so we moved closer up on the side where it sounded really gooood. They played my favorite song, Taxman, Mr. Thief and it was not quite as good as on the Music for Hangovers CD, where they include “the bridge,” but it still sounded fantastic. After gobbling down a five dollar chicken pesto sandwich and washing it down with a small cup of Sprecher Micro Light or whatever it’s called, I felt pretty relaxed as opposed to near dizzy from lack of food and a bit of loss of blood. Of course they busted out with the crowd pleasers like The Flame, Dream Police, I Want You to Want Me, Surrender, and Dream Police. They played some stuff from their new album Rockford which sound pretty good, and they did their cover of Big Star’s song “In the Street,” aka the That ‘70s Show theme song. A few songs seemed too sped up, but overall they sounded good, to me. My fucking dumb ass wore this plasticy jacket from Old Navy that just facilitated the sweat, so the saran wrap covering my tat came off immediately. I was so paranoid someone was going to spill beer all over it. Probably wouldn’t have hurt it but I would’ve been upset. Some ugly spiky haired little dork spilled his shit on my on the way out and looked at me like it was my fault. So of course I had to tell him he was ugly. Ah, Summerfest, bringing out the best in us all! At least 2 of 3 times were more than tolerable. Oh! Also on the way out, I took pleasure seeing the cops escort out four bonehead frat boy types, you know, backward caps, baggie jerseys, jean shorts two sizes too big, sneakers…one’s drunken blond girlfriend was running alongside them yelling drunken at the cops, and what looked like one of their mothers, seriously, trailed behind them, looking equally drunk, but dazed. Classic Summerfest moment. Another good one was seeing one of the Milwaukee Characters my friends know come sauntering down the aisle, doing the drunk Summerfest groove dance, puffing on a cigarette and holding his cup of beer during The Flame, and then watching him choose which aisle of seats he was going to continue sauntering down in hopes of finding an open space so he could stand and actually see the band. Fucking funny. I couldn’t see shit, but managed to check out Zander in his cowboy hat and sunglasses, covering up that fried ass hair and face (I saw them REALLY close up in a Wal-mArt in Hales Corner awhile back--did I write about that?) and Rick Nielsen came to my side of the stage a few time. He’s a great front man, and he takes care of his home town.

Today I had the opportunity to hear Alison Bechdel, a very smart cartoonist, read from her new graphic novel, Fun Home, at Broad Vocabulary. She showed some slides and narrated them, and then she also explained the extensive process she uses to create each panel. It was really interesting to hear her talk about that. She’s just very nice and cool, and she even drew a little mini self portrait of herself (I think?!?) in my omnibus of her work I asked her to sign. Afterwards we went down to Palamino for very tasty bloody marys, and then over to a Polka Festival near my friend’s house. Holy Shit! They had a silent auction set up and it was the kitschiest, queerest, downright strangest and I hate to say it, lamest selection I’ve ever seen. Gift sets of Brut and Jovan Musk for Men! Toiletries that looked years old and like they came from the dollar store originally! Dozens of Christmas dolls and decorations. The gifts baskets for a cat and a dog were the best things I think I saw! Don’t mean to insult the people who donated the stuff; it was just bizarre! I think the bids were really low anyway, just to raise some money for the churches.

My friend was bummed the rib dinners--and that’s one pound of bbq ribs along with a baked potato, roll and corn on the cob--were sold out by the time he tried to order, but he seemed satisfied with the Klement’s Italian sausage. As we sat and ate, a grandpa squeezed past my other friend, and spilled a little Pepsi. He looked at her and exclaimed saucily, “Oh too bad! I missed ya!” Haha. Wrinkly old sassy old man. I love it. Then the Mexican preacher comes trolling past everyone, selling fiver raffle tickets for a dollar. The prize? A HUGE bottle of Jack Daniels. Yes. All of this, I saw it! Milwaukee’s South Side, it’s good for people watching. For some reason I thought it would be funny to drink a wine cooler, but it was just gross. Alcoholic jolly rancher.

So the finale of this grand event, for me at least, was when the “honkiest polka band around” began playing, and all of the old couples and little kids started busting their moves. This one guy was wearing these tight, dark jeans with white stitching and actual eagles embroidered on the flares, along with an eye catching belt and a tee shirt that read POLSKA tucked in. Another guy was wearing this too obvious hair piece. It seemed like he was trying to gain the look he had as a young man, which was sort of sad, but he was so cute dancing around, and once he walked past me and smiled at me. I love all of the grandpas! My last favorite was so confident and actually hardcore with his moves. He moves his granny all around and even did little kicks. Fierce! But watching this watered down revelry only proved interesting for a short amount of time. I liked it though. Got to try and respect how different people live and enjoy each other.

2006-07-04T10:21:00.000-07:00

Shrill drunk 5 inch wide chick at the bar trying to push her way in between a 3 inch space between me and the boy who must have just turned 21--he really looks 16.

Reminds me of the time I pushed my way into a crowded subway car in Chicago--a Green Line train I think, no--Brown line. Because it was after work and I wouldn’t be headed west on the Green line after work. I shoved everyone with too much force. I thought I’d seen others behave similarly. I thought it was acceptable to push your way. No, I was wrong. I think you can nudge people, not push them. But for some reason I got really pissed off when the men inside shot me disapproving stares, said some shit like Calm Down. FUCK YOU! I trilled, projecting stress cued up from another 8 hours of unfulfilling work in a city that didn‘t envelop me easily.

This narrow, inebriated girl tried 2, 3 times to wedge herself in a space that would not fit even a nymph-like 9-year-old girl. I felt that specific form of irritation provoked when someone invades my personal space, the kind where my whole body goes on the defense and if I were a cat my hackles would be raised, a feeling that didn’t even emerge at Summerfest an hour previous. But I didn’t act. I knew she was all lit up, no point to succumb to irritation. I felt validated though, when the teenage looking 21 year old cried out, “Whooooaaa!!!” in a tone that did not suggest anger or irritation as much “It’s time to go!” Leave he did, with his equally fresh-faced friend. And the whiny, shrieky girl repeated to her friend, over and over, “THEY WERE LEAVING ANYWAY!”

2006-06-29T09:08:00.000-07:00

Corn Mo opened, much to my delight. He's so funny, snarky, yet humble, and I've never heard him be so chatty before either! He played a second set later on too, complete with a karaoke presentation of some crazy Jewish song he performed with his rock band at some bar mitzvah. His voice really can match any of the rock-opera sounding people like Freddie Mercury (he covered We Are the Champions) or Meatloaf. He talked about how the first time he came he was running to the bus. Poor young boys and their uncontrollable wood. He talked a lot about penises actually, and made fun of some old ladies. I always enjoy him. I wish I wasn't so tired otherwise I would've waited around after the show to see if he wanted to visit some MKE bars. Maybe someone else did though. The crowd liked him. The whole show was pretty good, except that there was a really long half hour gap between Corn Mo's 'warm up the crowd' set and the beginning of the actual show, which was similar to some of the events I'd seen in NYC at the Parkside Lounge (think that's the name). Pontani Sisters didn't impress me that much becuase they just danced, no acrobatics, although Shank's Stage isn't really large enough for al ot of that. They looked good though; the one girl had tattoos in odd places which I enjoyed viewing.

My favorite performer was Miss Trixie and her Monkey ...forgive me if the names aren't exactly right this morning. She and the moneky guy did some acrobatics and during the first act she had these feathers, and busted out in little pasties covering her boobies. Monkey was fucking hilarious. He sang this song, a play on some popular song (sorry, tired) and he even stripped down into this funny monkey costume that revealed his buttocks; nice to see a guy get involved in the nudity once in awhile. He totally got up and sang to one of the gay boys who loves Cheezit and put his booty in his face. Tyler Fyre did his sword swallowing routine and pulled my acquaintance Crack on the stage with him. I wish he didn't have so much clothes on. I remember him being tatted and looking good with less on. The Kitten Deville woman did more of an old school routine, I think, although I really dont know what I'm talking about. It dragged on a bit too long but was very amusing. Oh and the band used to play at Otto's Shrunken Head when I lived there. Made me miss Brooklyn for sure. It was nice to see an actual event though. Here's some pics--they're fucked up and blurry because no flash was allowed, but I like them anyway.

2006-06-26T21:35:00.000-07:00

I have learned a few things during the past two months. The first is to take ownership of my feelings. The second is to not go without any action for so long because the pickins are slim because it makes it harder for me to get back in the game. Last summer I was extremely unhappy with the pickins. There were four contestants and one random make out. None of the five were suitable for dating. One was too insecure and did that whole “ilikeyoualotandthatfreaksmeoutsoimgonnaturnitonyouandmakeyoufeellikeshitbecauseim
Scared.” I’d had enough of that and it made me bitter towards him, unable to be pleasant and give it another shot. One was a friend who will always be that. Until he’s 35, at least. The third one was cute but his conversation irritated me. I didn’t really give him a chance though. Part of me thinks I should have slept with him for fun, though. He was cute. But I think I would have been embarrassed to tell anyone. That is the thing, though--sometimes I could maybe do something without reporting it to the whole fucking world. The fourth guy was a fucking alcoholic retard who kissed weird, and the fifth guy was too elusive afterwards and he’s the only one I wanted anything physical with. During that summer I refused to try and sleep with anyone I didn’t think would last. I don’t think I can afford to behave like that anymore. I mean I’m not gonna get with just anyone, but just because my friends might not approve or because he might not be someone I want to date or parade around doesn’t mean I should rule him out. I’m not talking sluttiness here either. Just not going so damn long and feeling so out of sorts the next time I finally get a bit naked with someone. I get too into my head and make too big deal out of shit. I don’t know if this makes sense, and that irritates me, but I’m hungover and slightly delirious and that’s what the edit function’s for.

To continue…I keep talking about this because it’s so on my mind but it’s also so hard to avoid/control… I definitely need to drink much less when I am socializing with men I’d maybe like to molest. As anyone knows, it makes it much harder to put the brakes on when you should. The part of my brain that wants my mouth to open and say “no, we shouldn’t do this right now, we’re not comfortable enough with each other yet and trying for a friendship’s more important” just gets squashed by the starved part of my brain/body that is reacting to someone who I really like as a person kissing my neck! But I kneeewwww somewhere deeeeep down we weren‘t ready for that and I am sure I sent a few mixed signals at the bar, even though I really had no intention of trying to actually get busy this guy. So that friendship or whatever it was is fucked now. I think. Not all my fault of course, but still, I KNNNNEEEWWWW. I know when things are a bad idea usually but I want the attention/affection even fleetingly and I’m always so convince it’s going to be fleeting so I don’t think as much as I should before I act.

Owning my feelings. Okay, the guy I’m talking about above knew I had a little crush on him. So that’s cool. I had let him know and I knew he was unsure so I tried not to pressure him. The other guy….old friend. Saw a completely different side of him. I was very confused. I did wait to act, had to process. Weeks went by. Wanted to see if I felt the same the next time I saw him. Even tried to hang out one on one not at the bar so I could tell him what I felt, that that girl was a fool. Well he came over, he smelled good, and I could have tackled him right there in my courtyard. I so rarely feel attracted to anyone that when I do I just become overwhelmed! But there’s gotta be a way for me to calm that shit. Am I hoping for the impossible here? How does anyone manage that? So I think I just go with those feelings and try to get some action before the attraction dies and I am bored and lonely again. But I really wanted to talk to this guy before any make out occurred. I had it all planned and then the alcohol again. I’m not sure when I really could’ve fit in what I had to say seeing how that day went. I wasn’t processing because I really just did want the make out, to see how it felt with him. And now it’s been a month and I don’t know if I will see him or hear from him again for a very long time. I just wanted to tell him I appreciated his attentiveness and intuitiveness. I had so much to say, but suddenly I can hardly remember. Because from what I’ve gleaned, telling him would overwhelm him and push him further from me, and I want my friend. But again that’s not all my fault; he did not resist me or seem uncomfortable with me all over him at all and he has had some difficulties lately but he still has access to a phone.

It’s the ones I pick, too. I have some leftover issues from not getting with who I wanted to when I wanted when I was younger. I’m hoping some of that psychological stuff has been purged a bit now. It doesn’t feel like it but I can work harder on this.
I need to map out how I’m going to recognize my feelings and deal with them more productively. One way to make it easier is to spend quality time with people outside of the bar. It’s hard to do that in Milwaukee, even with my friends. But effort can be made. Maybe if I feel myself sort of crushing on someone, I should first write about it, process it a few days. Then confess. The times I have confessed earlier on it’s been a bit better. Holding back and then acting crazy or getting too emotional does not work, believe me. Well I am curious if anyone has thoughts on this. Just take a lesson from me if you’ve never hooked up with someone you’ve known forever, avoid doing it without talking first. Really. I never thought it could turn out so strange and sad.

2006-06-12T20:33:00.000-07:00

What’s up, Milwaukee?

First, if you ever had any desire to become a welder, machinist, or tool and die worker, now’s the time. There’s about 1500 jobs in those fields available throughout southeastern Wisconsin, but since there’s very few workers skilled in those trades, the jobs are there for the taking. An article in JSOnline.com today reported a UWM study that found the city’s job training programs lacking in effectiveness. Huh, go figure. I mean, if people aren’t into those types of jobs, they shouldn’t be forced to go to school for them, but really, there are probably tons of people who would be interested if they had access to meaningful, instructive, hands on training. One local business trashed MATC’s welding program. I don’t know if it sucks or not, but MATC did respond to the criticism and seem interested in improving their program as quickly as possible. The article stated that there’s a successful job training program in Pittsburgh that “customizes its entire curriculum around local employer needs [something Milwaukee’s failed to do] and lures trainees from the inner city by conducting classes in a funky arts-and-music facility.” This program sounds cool in a way, and clearly inner city folks need more job training options, but it’s not good to try and track mostly one group of people into a certain type of job. I just think of all the working class kids in the 1950s being sent to shop and being confined there. And how do the folks learn all the skills they need to do shit like weld in a “funky arts-and-music facility?” I’m not quite clear, but I might research on this place a bit. Milwaukee needs to get people more invested in their futures. It’s too busy trying to become mini-Chicago, though. I’m glad Governor Doyle asked for this study, now we’ll have to see if anything actually happens.

Next, I read a pretty long piece about the goings on in MPS “big high schools.” It lacked substance, in my opinion. It described a lot about what the author observed in various schools, and he included a few teen voices, and a few teachers’ voices, but it mostly just seemed to blame either the students or the teachers for lacking initiative/effectiveness, even while praising some students and teachers. Nothing was mentioned regarding the red tape that ties teachers’ hands and covers their mouths. Certainly there are tons of ineffectual teachers, but that the article didn’t even mention the lack of resources (well, besides the dwindling arts programs) made it seem a bit unbalanced. Few suggestions for improvement were made, also. It just left me wondering what the point of it was. Everyone knows most public schools are pretty messed up--so what to do??

Finally, my friend sent me an uplifting blurb about Milwaukee and crime. Check it:
“Violent crime incidents reported to police rose by 32% in Milwaukee last year, according to numbers released by the FBI this morning. Reported violent crime in the city was up in all categories, except rape. Homicide was up by 40% and aggravated assault jumped by 57%, the FBI reported.” I’m glad rapes are down, but I’m not looking forward to spending another summer paranoid even while biking along the lake when it’s super shiny sunny, as robberies happen every damn where, mostly after dark, but not always. Supposedly the Mayor and His People and that Touchy Feely Police Bitch are working on shit, but I’ll hand over praise when I see results. It’s pretty obnoxious, though, that “Milwaukee police purchased a $7 million computer system but encountered numerous problems with it last year. Officials have said those problems are being worked out.” Yeah, so I guess that’s why nothing’s being done. They’re all sitting around trying to reconfigure their computers. “Yo, Stan, we gotta go check on a shooting.” “Yeah, in a minute, I gotta reboot and get those last twelve shootings entered first.” Nice. Violent crime is up all around the country, and a Boston criminal justice professor says it’s probably due to the “renewed strength” of the NRA (yeah, those waiting periods are such an infringement on the right to bear arms) and on lowered policing budgets (what the fuck is up with that?).

2006-06-12T11:41:00.000-07:00

Bullshit internet legislation

The house voted something like 300 to 100 to allow phone and cable companies to both refuse service to web sites whose content they disagree with and to allow sites that can afford to pay higher fees privileges in terms of quicker access to their customers, etc (meaning that a small non profit might have to "wait" to reach their internet friends because someone like Disney could pay way more.) A guy interviewed on Democracy Now said it's pretty much like allowing certain people to pass through a toll booth before others. It's total bullshit. The senate will be voting soon. Go back to http://www.savetheinternet.com and get involved! Amy Goodman also asked the guy (from alliance for community media, I think) if she thought this move was payback to the companies for allowing the illegal NSA wiretapping. He said yeah. I don't know about all that, I just know this is another suck.

2006-06-04T20:57:00.000-07:00

Penises, etc

This weekend was busy for my brain. The first thing I want to talk about is penises.
I have encountered three in the past month. They shall be referred to hereafter as Penis A, Penis B, and Penis C.

Penis A belongs to someone who probably wouldnt be too comfortable with me writing about him here so I wont say much. That experience was basically just a drunken, exhausted, hours of foreplay quick fuck that I basically am forgetting about for sake of preserving whatever friendship I have with the owner of this penis. It had been a really long time since Id played with a penis before this night, my choice, though, so it was awkward for me. Awkward and alcohol induced. I get really passive when I am tired and drunk and really dont give a shit about whatever penis Im encountering. Ill lay there and let the guy feel me up forever and thats it. I dont like that I get like that, but fuck its 6am and Im drunk. Fuck! If you get me while Im a certain level of buzzed and not as tired, thats another story. But this penis interaction was so blurry. I was like, is this thing completely hard? Itd just been so long. Thered been some make-outs but no penis exposure, forever. Awkward! At least it got me back in the groovea bit. And of course its nice to be fondled for a long time.

Penis B belongs to someone I care about a lot, someone who really gets me, someone I didnt allow myself to be attracted to until very recently. He surprised me awhile back with his intuitiveness. He can sense how I feel sometimes, apparently, and he actually cares, and asks me whats up, and presses me if I give the stock reply: Nothing. Most guys dont do that with me because they want to hear me talk for as short of period of time as possible. He understands that I care about him too, hell tell me things he wont tell everyone, I think. His arm around me feels so amazingly good. I was confused about how I feel and now Im not, but I cant reach him, and its very very frustrating. I met his penis after a long afternoon/evening of drinking. I did not want to drink all day with him. I wanted to be chill and talk to him about how I felt. There was so space for such a talk. We were with his buddies, drinking German beer, then that 180 proof shot. I was all over him and after he drove his friend to St Francis and all the way back to my place on the Northside, it was on, briefly, and I was a lot less inhibited. But I had my period. So it didnt happen. Im glad, because I dont want just to get drunk and fuck this guy. I didnt want to just get drunk and fuck the previous one, either. FUCK YOU ALCOHOL. But I cant get a hold of him and my head hurts, and its not personal, but it sucks. We are both affection starved, maybe on different levels and definitely for different reasons, but I think it could be good, even just for a little while.

Penis C. Oh christ. I could write a whole essay/story/rant about this guyThe third makeout drunk in a fucking alley on Friday. Dumb, dumb dumb. We both know by now that we just arentwe just arent supposed to fool around. I think we just irritate each other. The first time I instigated it not really thinking about it, buzzed out on vodka, and it was very exciting for me, good getting jacked up against the side of a house, drunken frisky makeout (apparently I was very bitey that night, he just informed Friday, a year after the first makeout occurred---the owner of Penis B does not like biting but I might just have to bite him again, if I can, so he can pull me hair some more). The second time was like six or seven months later, just for his convenience, just to kill some time before his job. That pissed me off. I dont like lacking control. I let him feel me up and kissed him a little but I didnt want anything else. Also I just wasnt feeling hot. I didnt think wed ever grope each other again and was ok with that, because we had dinner a month or two later and things finally felt more normal between us, our interactions felt more friend-like, which I wanted.

But then, Friday. MORE ALCOHOL! Whiskey with seltzer and lime. Fucking good shit! After the Eagles of Death Metal showlocal bar, met some new women who were cool and put up with my shrieks for a few hours. Penis C was there and we engaged in some verbal sparring. We have such a contentious relationship. A bit more than acquaintances, not quite friends, really, justodd. I could feel that he might pull one of his moves on me again, and I needed the distraction and I guess with him Im just so curious. Like are we gonna get it on or what? Like, properly--and properly for me means fucking somewhere with walls--not in a yard or alley, especially not an alley (ok maybe a secluded, safe yard would work if it was really in the heat of the moment but this was not, this was a distraction for both of us). Im not starring in some late night USA up all night movie. I dont think Im prudish, either. Maybe he thought I wanted to stay the night, or have him stay the night when I said you need to take me upstairs or come over? I didnt specify that I didnt care about that. But whys all that gotta be on me? Im so sick of having to be responsible for everything when I talk to a guy. Anyway, he wavered between thats too predictable and I have a wedding in the morning. He feels good and all, and his penis, when I finally allowed him to whip it out, was nice and soft, but he is just one of those guys who wants things the way he wants it, when he wants it, and that just pisses me off. Being bent over the hood of my car is slightly hot, but also uncomfortable and really Im just gonna be inhibited in an alley with detector lights shining in my eyes! I should have just gone home. I am a little mad that we couldnt really get crazy in a way where Id be comfortable. But just a little, I dont really care anymore. About his penisthis was just another alcohol fueled experience. I just need to feel a bit more special, I think, even if its just for one night, three hours, six hours, whatever.

So. Clearly, I am tired of only making out/fondling penises/being fondled when Im drunk. God its got to get better than this. Speaking of sex though, Eagles of Death Metal are good rock--and the singer is sexy. The bassist (I thinkBrian?) came to Foundation and was there when me and Penis C were in the bar. Brian signed a girls ass. I said hi. He was very cordial and even introduced himself to me.

My weekend was so crazy. Friday has so many layers, just in concern to all of the people I ran into. My girl Jbean and I got to rock out finally after so long. Too bad we didnt have more time. But she had a guest and had to get home, and I was getting tired. I only planned on meeting Cheezit for a little bit (he told me that fucking bullshit bird probably attacked because it thought my hair looked like a squirrel. Step up from a rat, I guess!). But it happens. Saw all these people from the past, Milwaukee characters, BV ladies, people from UWM who I just dont think like me very much. Maybe because I screamed so much in class. It makes me sort of sad, but I dont see what I can do about it.

Saturday I was so whiskey hungover but I helped transport three wonderful cats from a bombed out bomb shelter apartment in the ghetto down to the southside pretty quickly after I awoke. That neighborhood irritates me, the ghetto one. There a bunch of nice houses in it, and I could tell a lot of the people are just average people, yet my friends were greeted with a drug raid and cops in riot gear. Not too sad that I missed that.

I went to Riversplash that night and it was awful. I dont know why I think I can stomach events like that. The music is just so bad. And the Midwestern yahoos and their apparel choices. Im a judgmental bitch, I know, but what an eyesore the crowd was, in most part. These women in their unflattering tight skirts and high heels. Why dress up when you are walking on beer sticky hot concrete all day? So dumb. Men with mullets. Muscle guys. Yuck! Greasy hair. Ew! And that patented late afternoon beer buzz dance waltz those people do. Their hand extended, Miller or Miller Lite spilling out over the rim of the plastic cup as they sway to a Kinks cover. So, so hard to watch. It was kind of cool to see the one lone roller derby girl getting in some practice, though. My friends friend was nice, at least, another teacher with good politics. I just cant go to something like hungover and hungry again.

Okay so I am calm about Penis B right now, but that probably wont last long. I think I will just try to focus on my curriculum and course construction class and beginning to prep for teaching this week. I still havent ordered books for my three classes at the one school. No teaching during summer numbs my brain. ITS THE ALCOHOL! Why cant I grow the fuck UP?

8:51 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Friday, June 02, 2006

fuck that bird!!! for real!

yesterday the same kind of bird scraped my scalp with its nasty lice-ridden bird claws again. could it be the same bird? fuck that fucking bird for real, molly! it flew off and perched above me so i threw some sticks at it, not my ipod, because i guess i dont want to break my ipod. so today im gonna go bike to big bay and take my walk there. i will totally freak if a bird fucks with me three days in a row, especially since it's 6-6-6 day next tues. i am not about to star in omen part 7 remade version fucking birds fucking with me!

1:24 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

Thursday, June 01, 2006

fuck you bird

yesterday i was walking by the lake and this red winged blackbird flew over my head and sunk its bird claws into my hair. then everytime i went back up it flew over my head, too close, again and i had to run! i am NOT one to run from birds and rodents; i generally like them a lot, especially birds. maybe it was the lavendar lotion? in any case, that bird better not fuck with me today because im sick and ill knock it out with my ipod.

2006-05-21T19:37:00.000-07:00

English Only My Ass

Another legislative attempt to define America as an “English Only” country hit the Senate floor last week. And it’s bullshit. I ran across a pretty interesting piece on said bullshit written by an AP writer, Adam Geller. He briefly recalls the history of the language debate in the United States, which is helpful, and he includes some statements from language scholars, although those from Walt Wolfram, a very well known linguist, are frustratingly vague. Geller quotes Wolfram as saying, “‘Language is never about language,’…‘Why should it be any different in the United States?’” and “‘It's never about the language,’... ‘It's always about the cultural behaviors that are symbolically represented by language. That's what scares us,’" which will appear vague and meaningless to the average reader. However, Geller’s quote from Dick Tucker, “an expert on language education,” helps to clarify what Wolfram is most likely getting at (I can pretty confidently assume here, as I’ve read some of Wolfram’s work). Tucker notes, “‘The discussion is ... related to fears of immigration issues. I think it's related to a worry about the changing demography of the United States. I think it's a worry about who will continue to have political and economic influence.’"

Yep. Fuck those Latinos and their Spanish speak. We better enforce English only rules right now before they take over the country. And fuck blacks who use a lot of hip hop slang (I’m not talking about Ebonics--they’re two separate things)--they’re idiots. ([But it’s okay for white people in commercials to use hip hop slang to sell shit.)]

Please.

Making symbolic efforts like this are such a waste of time and taxpayers’ money. Anyone with any bit of sense clearly understands that those without an average or above average command of standard spoken and written English (aliens, legal immigrants, or born and bred Americans) normally do not possess much cultural power. Let’s think here, Bush, et al--how many Mexican immigrants who speak very little English are running the corporations that you work for? How many old Polish grandmas who arrived here too late to truly pick up on the English language (we most easily/naturally acquire language habits when we are young) are running for local office? Clearly, there are people in power who are ignorant, inarticulate and ineffective (Bush himself included)--but people who hardly speak English (I’m not referring to English speakers with accents) clearly do not make up the ruling class.

So. It’s pointless to keep having this debate every few years. All this talk of people coming here and refusing to learn the language is so hypocritical, too, because an embarrassingly large amount of Americans who only speak English, myself included, traipse all over the goddamn planet and are accommodated by the speakers of foreign countries. If anything, our schools should be teaching children to become bilingual as early as possible. It’s happening (my friend’s daughter is in a Spanish immersion school here in Milwaukee), but it needs to happen more.

Some might argue that the government should no longer “appease” non-English speakers by translating governmental forms, etc, into foreign languages, but doing that would just create more problems. It’s just like halting all aid (yes I realize it’s an already small amount and it’s not enough) to those who are poor or mentally or physically disabled--maybe people get sick of ‘having to pay for’ for others, but if we didn’t there‘d be more health problems, which would spread to privileged people, too, and…yeah. In cities like Chicago or NYC, you have to have translated signs in the subways, because otherwise there’d just be pandemonium when there are service changes. And I can’t be sure, but I doubt that doing these translations doesn’t cost too much. But God Forbid any money is taken away from starting illegal wars and engaging in illegal wiretapping.

Do I think non-English speakers have an obligation to learn English as proficiently as possible? Yes, if they want to achieve as much as possible in society. But many need extra assistance, because for some of the older people, it’s so incredibly hard to learn a new language late in life. If you doubt me, you go try and completely master Spanish, French, Polish, or Mandarin in a year by taking classes at an American college. You won’t be able to. People don’t need more stigma placed upon them--they need more access to programs that will help them learn the language. So, unless we are going to close our borders to all aliens/immigrants--that the government focuses solely on Mexicans is bigoted--we have to help people learn the language, not just make some dumb fucking rule about how country is “English Only.” As another one of Geller’s cited experts, James Crawford, states, “‘Language conflict is something that we've really largely avoided in contrast to many other countries [because] ‘English has been such a dominant force that assimilation has been very rapid.’" There’s no need to make it an issue now. We should focus on bettering our educational system and creating more effective job training programs. But where are the Democrats? Why aren’t they pushing harder? I do not feel mobilized by them at all.
But hopefully people will keep speaking out. I’m just disgusted by this English Only bullshit. And remember, if you get annoyed by those who don’t speak English, you can either 1) Help them out in that grocery store line if they appear flustered or 2) If they are an asshole, take comfort that you most likely have more opportunities than them.

2006-05-16T19:08:00.000-07:00

Oh yeah, I post more blogs on Myspace now. I try to paste most of them here also, but I don't really think anyone reads this blog!?!?

2006-05-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

A few things.

1. Fuck a Ph.D. I want a life. But that doesn't mean I can not/will not do important work. Adjuncting is such a perilous profession, but my being in the classroom means something to my students. I can not adjunct for more than a few more years, because I, well, I need to pay off loans and bills and can't do it on an adjunct's salary. But today, when I saw three students in a room this morning and later a fourth, they all gave me such a response. Having students thank me for working their asses IS so rewarding. I don't need the emotional, physical, financial, and psychological stress that comes along with earning a Ph.D. I don't want to take those fucking prelims and I don't want a committee monitoring the way in which I write a book, even though I'm sure a lot of the feedback would be constructive. Last night I filled out my tranfer credit form, had it all ready to send out, stamp in place. Then I leafed through the 2005-2006 Graduate Student Handbook. I once again digested the requirements. That foreign language requirement would be a bitch, too, and unnecessary for someone focusing on composition theory and practice. I became engulfed by the same feeling that's washed upon me every fucking time I think about prelims, orals, and the dissertation defense: Panic and revulsion. That was it. I've had enough. Now I have to work hard in a different way. I must learn how to better work with developmental writers, whose psyches are so much more fragile than 101 students', whose are also quite fragile, so that tells you how really very fragile the self esteem of basic writers is. I must assess my successes in the classroom and document them diligently so I can compile a portfolio to present to future potential employers. I must learn more about how to make use of technology in the classroom, which I will be doing by taking two two-day seminars this summer. I want to earn some kind of inexpensive certificate that would certify me to teach ESL and/or ABE courses. I just need more patience, more confidence in myself, and above all I need to become more assertive and network more. The upcoming literacy conference will be a good place to practice.

2. I am done grading. WAHOOOOO!!!!!!! About 90% of my 101 students improved immensely and like I mentioned about they even thanked me for working their asses. Some people who were earning low Cs at the beginning left with a B or A. YEAAH!!! I can teach, yeah I can!

3. I have gas. Again. I'm tired of the gas. It's from everything, even vegetables. I have gas less when I eat cheesy carby foods. It's very irritating.

4. I am stiff. I need some more exercise.

5. I was very excited and surprised to discover that the kickass Michelle Tea's latest written work, a novel entitled Rose of No Man's Land, was featured in a March issue of People magazine. The reviewer gave her cute lesbian punk ass three stars too. In People! That is amazing. Her writing always resonates with me and she makes me think I can write real stuff. I need to do that this summer. Less beer, more writing. Yeah! Will go start reading the book now, I think. Here's a link with a lot of info about her:

http://www.purpleglitter.com/michelle_tea/

2006-05-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

That melancholy feeling enveloped me today. I’m unhappy. Most of my close friends are generally unhappy. I really do not know anyone who feels content, especially in regards to their work. I am so intensely unfulfilled, because even though I control my course content and teaching methods to some extent, there are so many outside factors I do not control, and I would not want to control all of them. At one school the curriculum for the developmental writing courses is extremely limited and narrow. Developmental writers are the ones I want to focus on, because they need the most help. But they also need the most time, encouragement, and techniques that work with students of high skill level don’t work with them. I struggle to figure out how to bridge the disconnect. I am angry in every class because I dislike the textbook I must use. The one that is forced upon me. I am forever photocopying supplements that still leave the students confused. They need the most help with grammar and sentence structure and that book is of NO help. But, really, truly, I need to learn how to use technology in my classes. I can take them to this cramped computer lab and demonstrate methods. The amenities are not a plenty at that school. My other problem is that teaching part-time leaves me lacking in support. I want to teach FULL time--I long to connect with other teachers, to problem solve and kevetch with them on a regular basis. Teaching and going home to my tiny apartment and working alone, it’s no good for me. No full time teaching job without a PhD though, at least for quite some time or unless I‘m really lucky. I don’t want to get that Ph.D. I just need to learn more teaching strategies. I don’t need to read more theory. I need the practical help. I don‘t even have a portfolio that documents my teaching successes prepared though, I don‘t use technology enough in the classroom, and I honestly haven‘t spent as much time prepping for a lot of my classes as I might. I always hear my friend‘s voice in my head, reminding me that it takes a few years for people to catch their teaching groove, and I‘ve taught about 3 years now, but the first two I only taught a class a semester as a Master‘s student. I hold myself back indulging in my insecurities. It is hard to focus because my time is split between teaching, what I want to do, and this editing job, what I have to do to “Make Fucking Ends Meet.” None of my friends want college teaching to be their careers. I feel like I am constantly floating without anchor. Life swirls around around me. I am not a part of it. But that’s my melancholy mood talking. I need to find a way to keep a hold of that anchor. I’m so unhappy most of the time. There are good times I have with friends and family. There are times when I socialize and drink and it’s still amusing. But most of the time I feel floating. Becoming more frustrated. But whining isn’t going to change anything.

Now, let me think of my friends. One has a BA and is a talented artist but she faces the quandary of trying to promote her work and make new stuff being fatigued to work a 9-5 job at an unorganized small company. She works really, really hard. But when you are a new artist, you can’t make a living off your art. So her life is split between Making Fucking Ends Meet and trying to manage her time to be productive. She is thinking of going back for a bit more schooling, like a certificate. Like me, she feels like she needs something more. A bit more skills. Like me, she is split.

Yet another friend admitted to me she doesn’t really feel content often, either. She has a child to love, which I’m jealous of sometimes, in a way, even though I can not be a mother. Well, I have no man, so I can’t even make a baby, but a baby most likely is not for me even if I ever do meet a man who I want to see/speak more than a few times a week. But when you have a child you have responsibilities, your time is filled, you can become so elated just hearing them talk, watching them play. She has a Master’s. Her work, which is unrelated to her degree, gives her time off, but she needs a bit more action, it seems. She doesn’t have to work a full 40 hour work week, which helps alleviate stress, but she‘s smart and creative and maybe she just doesn‘t get to apply those skills with as much vigor as she would like. Maybe. She‘s not sure what it is, me either.

I have another friend who is constantly bogged down with her activist job and a million varying commitments. I don’t know how she just doesn’t fall down from exhaustion sometimes. She is so there for her friends. I can not do all what she does. Not many can, but I don’t think she should push it so much.

There are other people I am acquainted with. People who work 9-5 jobs and proceed to drink and smoke weed every (other) night. Who are single. Two of them lament where they are at. Dislike their jobs, live with roommates or in a small apartment. But they don’t know what they want, what will make them happy. You go to the bar after work and there’s so many people drinking away their dissatisfaction. Some people aren’t there every night, but may of them are. We are so bored in Milwaukee. We need that buzz to move us along, to get us to interact with one another.

I keep thinking there are people in Milwaukee who do more than this but I haven’t found many. I will keep trying though. I don’t want this life, all the uncertainty and tension from day to day. I trained to start volunteering at this place the other day, and even doing that bit of training made me feel better. Like I’m contributing. I’ll be able to contribute there because it’s welcomed. It won’t be like at the schools where I teach where I feel inferior to the full time staff, at one school, or where I don’t have any support, the other school. I can come up with ideas and maybe implement one or two of them. I would love to be able to run some type of literacy program where people can just drop in. But where would the funding come from? How would I live on such a salary? It just seems that for so many people I know what would make them happy doesn’t pay much at all.

But I know some people who seem to be doing what they want. The married couple in Georgia--freelance editrix who actually makes a living from it and her husband who writes/markets/designs/does web stuff/don’t even know what success he’s completed now, Harvard degree, etc. A guy I know published his own book without even taking a loan. He promotes himself very well. I have another friend who is kicking ass doing research for his psychology degree and is being recognized by governmental bodies. He acts like it’s no big thang, though.

The people that I know who are doing what they want have worked harder at than me. I know this. I’m not inferring that they are always happy. But I hope that they feel a sense of accomplishment. I know for me, I need to build up more perseverance and patience. I am horrible at taking initiative. I don’t know what I think will happen to me if I “put it out there” more fully. It’s my insecurities. I am battling the bitches, but it’s hard. It’s hard for everyone who has them, and everyone does, in one aspect of his or life…I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately, but that’s a different topic for a different blog. That whole American dream myth shit is bullshit, I know, but I also know I need to get more focused and work harder, and maybe some of the people I know do too if they really want to be happier. A lot of us are lacking relationships also, which can greatly contribute to a feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction, but that’s only a third of the equation. Significant other, friends, career…People need each other to get past these roadblocks though, and if few people around you are motivated in the way you need to be, it can also be hard. Bootstraps equals bullshit. It’s much easier to get ahead by not working towards your goals alone.

2006-04-30T18:15:00.000-07:00

Note: I HATE that I can’t really describe anyone because people will get mad. That’s why I don’t though.
Thursday.
Sometimes the Foundation sucks any remaining energy out of me, but sometimes it’s one of the places that makes Milwaukee uniquely Milwaukee. Thursday nights there are good because the Riverwest freaks and regulars are more populous than the UW queer frat-hippie hybrids. DiNo and TC were sitting at the bar when I walked in, which was great. I expected the only person I knew would be Skeletor Madman--have I nicknamed him yet???--and that’s ok sometimes, but approaching 10pm he’d be pretty hammered, most likely, and those types of conversations aren’t exactly relaxing. DiNo was jumping and squealing due to her excitement upon discovering a kickass house for rent in Bayview. That lady certainly can convey excitement/spazz out on a level equal to my own. Sometimes I think she surpasses it!

When they left, Cheezit was done with his shift so he sat down. I try not to talk to him at rapid fire speed for at least a half an hour after he gets done because I understand he needs to chill a bit after serving drinks to both amiable social drinkers and obnoxious alcoholics for several hours. Note that I didn’t say I don’t talk to him at all. I really don’t know who can just be sitting with someone and not say anything for that long, especially me. Man I hate how I feel like I have to throw in these self-deprecating remarks. Anyway. The vodka these days has been not been provoking the high energy buzz it used to, and I was thinking of just jetting, but then Yells A lot arrived, which was really surprising because Thursdays aren’t a night she goes out, generally. Some gay boys were flittering around her. That’s when things began getting fun.

But before that, oh damn--the nicknames--my Vacillating Arch Enemy, I guess, he came in. I could sense him behind me, there was a finger…in my ear….half way in there but bam! I grabbed it and pushed it away. I whirled around, gloating that’d I thwarted his wet willy attempt. I am the QUEEN of thwarting the wet willies, and I am also the QUEEN of distributing them. VAE has some sort of ADD and maybe Turrette’s, for fuck’s sakes. He can not stay one place for long. He’s definitely not the type to just sit on the bar stool for hours. He moves around the room, poking this person, chatting with that person, yelling in my face that my haircut fucking sucks because I can’t make it into two ponytails that protrude reservedly from my head like how I wore it in seventh grade. Cheezit, I pleaded, my haircut is cute. I guess, Cheezit replied skeptically, even though he told me earnestly and honestly that it was cute three weeks ago when he also told me to grow some eyebrows. Of course I reminded him of this in my shrieky voice. So then VAE is asking about our internet connection and suggesting strongly that we go download some footage from this Minutemen movie that had shown earlier that evening. I’d forgotten about it and Cheezit had to work. Two seats opened up next to us. Let’s move our chairs! I instructed Cheezit, so that Yells A lot and her friend could sit next to us. I shouted for them to sit, and they did, but then this lanky pale hair dyed black hipster with hat blocked the space for our seats. Then some other hipster fool got in the way. Cheezit easily grows impatient during such situations. We sat. Then hipster two left. Go Jen go! Cheezit prompted. We pulled our stools just two spots down the bar.

The two short skinny gay admirers admired Cheezit while I reported to him my latest boy news and that I’d gone to a counselor. He hoped I hadn’t paid for that shit, because, as he put, if I did I should just be paying him. I really can’t do anything but laugh in those situations. I asked him if he thought I owed him a chicken dinner. Quick, earnest head nod. He wasn’t joking, I could tell, because his eyes were not smirking. A lot of people probably owe you chicken dinners! I asserted. Quick, earnest head nod. Then he’s conversing with someone else and the crinkly eyed gay I didn’t know introduced himself. I remembered him from 1997. He said so, he’s your boyfriend, referring to Cheezit. NO! He’s NO ONE’s boyfriend! I said, the honest truth. Well I saw you holding hands, the gay said. Oh my god! I shouted. You must be projecting your feelings onto me bigtime, he and I would NOT be holding hands. Oh he said. I said you’ll have to fight Peaches Fan for him. Crinkly eyed said I have to fight everyone for him. I have to fight him for him. Hahahahhahahaa! I laughed. I leaned over to gesture to Cheezit, and Crinkly Eyed freaked out. Don’t tell him don’t tell him don’t tell him! Like he can’t sense it, I thought to myself. I won’t! I promised Crinkly Eyed, not even bothering to try to explain how it came to be that I was allowed to sit next to John and babble seductively (haaa!) in his ear.

Of course, the minute Crinkly Eyed went to the bathroom, I turned and reported the conversation to Cheezit, who completely delighted in hearing about it, especially the line about how he’d have to fight himself for himself. Ah, to be so coveted! By so many people he doesn’t have any romantic interest in. That must be a real pain in the ass. (Seriously--it can make you feel awkward. I know this from limited experience.) While all of this was happening, VAE engaged in THREE more attempts at wet willy-ing me and I thwarted them very very well. Once I felt him looming behind me and turned around just in time. I don’t remember the third time anymore, and the last time was when he was on his way out. I just sort of casually glanced over my shoulder, and there he was with his finger in his mouth. I pointed, hahed! I doubt he will try that again. But I wonder what else he will do. He better not talk shit about my hair anymore, though.

2006-04-17T17:55:00.000-07:00

Easter Weekend

Friday: Worked a half day because I put in more hours on Thurs because classes were canceled for Easter. 80 degrees in Wisconsin in April. Managed to be somewhat productive and took my car down to an independently owned shop to get an oil change and a tune up. Sassyj and I checked out two girlie stores on Farwell but I didn’t see anything that I liked.

The hot weather was making me so antsy, but I was so tired. I went home afterwards and rested for a bit, then made a very mediocre, nutrition less meal and got in a quick walk down to the lake and back. Couldn’t decide what to do. I hate that feeling. Call this person, call that person, go to this same place I always go, go to that other place I always go, stalk friend who works at bar. No, not appealing. There was someone I really wanted to hang with but something made resist making the call. Just not a very fulfilling day, although I did talk to someone else who seems somewhat fun on the phone. Seems. Don’t know yet.

Saturday: Woke up to a missed call from Sassyj, who was about to take her about-to-turn-four-year-old-son to the zoo. Then, she suggested, we could go shop at H & M, as we hadn’t checked out the new store at Brookfield Square yet. I had to race to get ready--didn’t even get in my morning poop! On a Saturday--but it was worth it. I got to feast on some leftover Dinotots (Dinosaur shaped hash browns featured on the kids’ menu at Baker’s Square, but I’d recommend them to anyone) and macaroni and cheese. I hadn’t been to the Milwaukee zoo in 10 years at least, maybe longer. It was not aesthetically pleasing because the leaves haven’t sprung from the trees yet, but it was cool watching Ben react to the animals and I LOVE bears and got to see a black bear--it woke up just as I was about to leave--and the tiger was really cool. I always slightly cringe at zoos because really the amount of space these animals have is way too limited, but I still think it’s good for kids to learn about animals.

I spent way too much money at H & M. I enjoyed doing so, don’t get me wrong, but I still feel a little guilty. Oh well, let’s see if I can hold out and not go there again until fall. We ended our long day by chowing on some Taco Bell. Bad! But gooooood!

I was soooo tired after being outdoors in the very pleasant high sixties weather and experiencing the there‘s-so-much-I-want at H & M rush, so I rested for awhile when I got home, then went to Blockbuster to rent Crash, and Stage Beauty, starring Ms Danes (it’s average--it’s set in the 1800s when women weren’t allowed to act on stage, and Billy Crudup’s character was a well known actor who played Desdemona in Othello, and his whole identity was called into question after the King reversed the order and Claire’s character and other women were allowed to act on stage. Of course it was more about the man’s identity confusion, but it was still pretty interesting, and slightly amusing at times) and my phone starting ringing and vibrating--2 calls and 2 texts in like 15 minutes! I ended up meeting up with a friend from Racine who was looking very cute, and we had some drinks at Comet, with another boy from Racine I recently met who is very Racine-like (sassy mouthed), and hung out at Riverhorse, Foundation and Uptowner.

On the way back to our cars, this fucking Arab guy slapped me on the ass so hard it stung for about an hour. I really should have punched him or at least kicked the fuck out of his shin--what else can a short, petite girl do?!?!--but I just cussed him out. I was pleased the guys didn’t get all macho, but was amused that one of their main concerns was “How could he do that when she’s with two dudes?” Men and their egos! ;)

When I got back to my house, I saw the bunny that hangs out in my courtyard all the time--no surprise but still pleasant--AND I saw a hunchback raccoon leisurely hanging out! I love animalz!!

Didn’t get a lot of sleep but somehow managed to get through Easter Sunday at my grandma’s. It was the usual--my uncle farting at the dinner table and throwing insults in my grandma’s direction, to which she responded “Up your ass, buddy!” Oh, grandma! My role model! I ate half a fucking rotisserie chicken, two servings of potatoes, carrots, green beans, two helping of that really bad for you fluffy pistachio pudding shit with fruit which queerly tasted so good, tons of olives and celery, a piece of cherry pie and a smidgeon of apple pie, and later I even tasted the dead pig! Ham! Man I just want to eat a lot of meat.

When we were leaving, my grandma offered some of my deceased (hi grandpa!) grandpa’s wildlife/nature/etc books. I took the two I remember frequently perusing as a child-- Hamond Nature Atlas of America and Birds of America. I don’t need any more books, but memories of my grandpa, I’ll take.

2006-04-14T22:51:00.000-07:00

I like the Utne Reader. This issue’s features focused on the evolving ‘definition’ of love. The editor’s note was nicely written. Her observations that “a good [relationship] is based on self-respect, clear intent about priorities and purpose, and commitment to growth. But even with a relationship built on the best foundation, the fact remains that love is essentially risky. Our only safety lives in gratitude for the lives we share and for the miracle that we continue to love, against all odds” is not particularly original, but well said. We have to respect ourselves and our mates/friends/family members and communicate. COMMUNICATION. It’s so crucial. Why do we not know how to do this well? Such reminders are well warranted.

I learned, from the magazine, that $10 billion is spent per year by the UN, while $1.04 trillion is spent on military expenditures. Again, not too surprising, but the numbers are pretty insane.

This might be embarrassing to admit, as a feminist and leftist, but I never knew why people adorned their cars with those hateful Jane Fonda traitor bitch bumperstickers until I read this issue. I knew she participated in something anti war, but I didn’t understand why she was individually such a target of hatred; well, I guess it’s because she led that FTA (Fuck the War) tour during the Vietnam War. Hmm, so people hated on her, even though thousands of people, including GIs, attended? Typical. The woman’s got to take all the blame. Fucking unpatriotic heathen whore. So dumb.

This really set me off--A single person working a minimum wage job would have to put in 72 hours per week to earn $19, 223 a year. We all know min wage isn’t shit, but, again, to have it all laid out like that--that’s so scary and sad. Even if it were a married couple each working such a job, and they only worked 36 hrs per week, that ain’t shit, especially if they have children. This country makes me sick.

There’s a really cool sounding documentary called Desire that follows a group of teenage girls and highlights issues of class, race, gender, the usual stuff, but it sounds really interesting because apparently the girls and the filmmaker experience confrontations. I want to check it out and maybe show it to a class.

Billy Bragg is cool. I liked his comment, “The left just reacts to things as they turn up rather than having an overarching ideal for what society could be.” How apt and succinct. The left does need to get it together. The right has their skewed vision. We have to compromise, come together, and shape ours.

There’s a bunch of stuff about democracy in the iss I haven’t read yet, too. Very informative, articles aren’t too long. I used to diss the Utne for just being a compilation of previously published articles, but now I find it convenient. I don’t want to search all day on the internet trying to find digestible news. I want it to be presented to me.

Tangentially, an all white Milwaukee jury voted that the cops that beat the hell out of a biracial man last year were not guilty today. And the cops may have turned up the dead bodies of 2 young black kids who’ve been missing awhile. Someone probably will get shot tonight because the weather turned warm. This fucking city….

2006-03-19T19:35:00.000-08:00

I’ve been a depressed, moody, bitch. I spend too much time in solitude, in my head. Not much challenges me, except how to deal with my neuroses and insecurities. I just watched Ghost Dog. Maybe I should study Buddhism again. Tangential, I know. Something about centering one’s self sounds good. Learning how. Not a big fan of rules, though. I don’t know if I want to teach anymore. There’s those few hours in the classroom that can be fun or educational, for me, too, but most time is spent reading over reading selections, coming up with activities and assignments, and grading--all admin stuff. I hate admin stuff. And then there’s the obsessive bitch sessions teachers engage in. It’s just not seeming like very exciting work. It’s so obsessive and I’m already neurotic. Should I use this reader? Or this reader? Or this reader? Or that reader? Or the other reader? Should I make my own reader? What should I do? Did they like the reading? Did they learn from the assignment? Huh? Should I change it or keep it the same? ACCCCKKKKK! For many teachers of writing, or anything else, the teaching comes second to research, publishing, and standing out amongst one’s peers. I don’t give a shit about research. I just want to help people write better. I’m not good at making the connections between theory and praxis. It’s so lonely for me!

Should I give up? Maybe, but what will I do?? My degree is in the teaching of writing. I’m in debt from earning this degree in the most expensive city in the country. I don’t think I can give up so easily. Adjunct teaching is for shit, though. So solitary, then I just worry about well the class went. Not every day, but often. I don’t really have anyone to bitch to, either, as none of my friends are adjunct college teachers. I know that when I do talk to someone, I feel better. But still, a life of grading and bitching? I don’t know. It’s very frustrating. I’m getting this feeling like I really want to start a magazine, but I’d have to take out a loan on top of the thousands I already owe. And a magazine’s a risky venture. Me and Bec have been discussing brewing our own beer and selling it. We’d just drink it all. Ha. No, that would be cool too. I need to figure this out. I’m so unhappy. The lack of affection in my life just compounds matters, too. I go out and feel like there’s a bubble, a thin layer of ooze, something, that’s keeping me with connecting with people. I am invisible. And moody and bitchy! Maybe it’s just winter in Wisconsin that’s provoking all these salty, upsetting feelings. I am going to a day of the annual college composition conference in Chicago at the end of the week. I don’t really want to in some wyas, but I should. Talk to some experienced composition people. Listen to some panel discussions. See if I become inspired….

2006-03-08T19:48:00.000-08:00

I last minute decided to go to dinner with E, Yells Alot and her daughter, but the latter two stood us up, so we met with E's dad and his cologne splashed friend at Lulu. It was a fun time, but that fucking reisling wine was too strong and it did not mix well with my rustic tuscan goat cheese onion and sun dried tomato salad. i feel slightly sick and nuts now.

The highlight of the two sixty year old+ gentleman's conversation was near the end of our dinner, when they began razzing each other about rushing home to look at "nuns in bondage" on the internet.

2006-02-26T18:59:00.000-08:00

Weekend.

Friday: Work, HUGE Spinach Pie and chunks of Feta at Oakland Gyros and Nice Convo with E…who dithers when shopping for candy. Funnily, she, a non-driver, suggested it might be a bad idea to park in the Walgreen’s parking lot and I cockily waived her worry aside, only to find a $40 ticket slid under my windshield wiper when we exited the Walgreen’s, which we did visit, but not right away. I wonder where they’d put tickets if I just removed my wipers every time I parked somewhere sketchy…

Then to the Budget Cinema to See Walk the Line, as noted below…

(Christie Front Drive)

Saturday: Cleaned the House. It Needed It. Found two Monet Pictures that weren’t Filthy or Cracked or Scratched! Walked to Schwartz’s to Comment on Students Papers, but had to Settle for the Stone Creek Coffee Across the Street.The very cute red-haired boy in my old program at UWM came in a few minutes after I did. He had a little stubble going on. Couldn’t believe he talked out of class like he did in class. No MORE theory! Ayyyyi! But he’s so cute. And smart. I can break it down, but it just gives me a headache; I don’t wanna talk in theory speak. There’s no need…Talking to him just reaffirmed my awkward social status: part smarty pants academic, part working class punk rock who gives a shit chick.

(Queens of the Stone Age)

To the grocery store to buy a Swanson Fried Chicken Dinner. I know it’s overloaded with sodium and fat but I love that damn frozen chicken. It is so tacky and bad it’s comforting. Return phone calls. Hurriedly eat and finish commenting on remaining 5 papers.

Go to Bec’s and then down to 6th and National to See the Vagina Monologues. Lackluster performance. Everyone read while sitting down and reading from scripts. Some of the women’s voices carried--the monologue about all the different orgasm moans women emit is always enjoyable (Bad Religion) --but some of the women’s voices just didn’t carry, and some of them hardly made eye contact with the audience. At least it was only $5 and the cash went to this organization (more Bad Religion) that helps abused women.

On a whim decided to stop by Foundation quickly. Tony the Sergeant was in Town so I talked to him for a long time and for little bit to The Scot. I really wanted to get some advice from WCZ but it didn’t work out too well. My old neighbor Jesse came in too. The DJ played Big Star. Then it got too loud for me, and the alcohol started to hit me--just a bit, but enough for me to know that one more would push me to that emotion edge alcohol’s been pushing me too (Minor Threat) lately…Goddamn the Lonely! Goddamn the Cowards! Goddamn the Games! For nothing! Fuckkkkkk! At least I got a new lady friend I can commiserate with….
(Velvet Underground)

Sunday: Work! Lots of Work! Work at Schwartz, Reconfiguring the Stitch Syllabus. I crammed too many lessons and readings too closely together. I always push too hard. I have to understand they aren’t on the same wavelength as mean. They can’t process all the rules regarding academic writing, quote use, organization, and grammar, as quickly as me. One step at a time. If I slow it down and show them steps, I’m sure their writing will improve too. There’s a few strong writers in my classes though> they at least possess a decent vocabulary. I hate teaching the traditional academic essay, but it’s still in use, and it does have some value, and a lot of their teachers in other disciplines will expect traditional academic essays, so….it’s my job. So lots of work. Then to the store to hang for a bit, and type up the comments for the students so that they are more legible. Think I got it together for Tuesday, we’ll see….lots of thoughts whirling around the Jen brain but gonna stifle the bitches with Grey’s Anatomy now…. VU just ending.

2006-02-24T22:36:00.000-08:00

I finally saw Walk the Line tonight, for $3.75 at the Budget Cinema in Oak Creek! June Carter Cash is my new hero. She was such a sassy bitch, just like me. I loved it when she told Johnny, "It's not even quarter til the right time." I'm gonna use that one some day, I swear. I also loved it when she threw the beer bottles at her drunken louses of bandmates. And that she didn't give into him more quickly. Reese Witherspoon was pretty good. Joaquin was good too, but he's played similar roles, that of a tortured man, and his facial expressions just looked like Joaquin's, not Johnny's. It made me want to learn more about both of them though. I'd give it a C+/B-. It had a really cheesy, formulaic ending. Guess that's to be expected...It took those two so long to get it together. He was all fucked up. But they had it...the next 35 years proved it. It wasn't one of those things where one person saves the other and the saved person abuses that care, takes advantage I mean, and leaves. This meant something real. SO rare. I would have liked to seen more about the recording of the albums and less of his drug problem though. And also Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis were so blatantly miscast. Why the fuck didn't the director see that? Some dude that looked like a skinny Brad Pitt with bad bleached orangey blonde Depeche Mode hair for Lewis and that scrawny wanna be from One Tree Hill as Elvis? Sure Johnny has to stand out, but when the audience should feel like they're seeing all of these old great musicians....not just June and Johnny.

2006-02-22T19:26:00.000-08:00

Something I forgot to add: Over the weekend, a very typically Midwestern looking man emailed me on that web site, and in his pictures he was surrounded by typically Midwestern looking people, and although I am undoubtedly Midwestern, I am atypical, and so are the people I surround myself with, but his email was respectful; he thought we had something in common. I couldn't quite tell what that could be, considering his obsession is sports and mine are teaching, writing, and rock, but I emailed him back anyway. He wanted to chat, but about what, he couldn't tell me. "I'm open to anything," he wrote, and asked if I used any messaging services. I'm on AIM, but I don't just randomly give out my AIM ID to just anyone. Granted you can always later block the person, but it just seems like a really lazy way to get to know someone. I asked what he thought we had in common, and he still just talked about chatting, so I said look, the convo would need to start here, and then, no reply...Either I was being too difficult, or he had nothing to say. I am inclined to think it's more of the latter, but it doesn't really matter anyway...I am more proud that I let my guard down a little instead reacting like usual--ignoring the guy because he doesn't fit the standard profile I like guys to fit into...

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I appreciate the three thoughtful and one vulgar comments people posted in response to the previous entry. Want more comments!

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Tonight I went to this event at Club Girabaldi called drinking liberally. People just get together, drink, eat chicken wings, and are supposed to talk politics. I went with E, TC, Yells Alot, and The Purveyor of Drunken Sluts (PDS). PDS knew the most people. One of his female friends sat down and asked if Yells Alot's real name meant anything. TC leaned over and said it meant Edna in Chinese. HA! A little while later, another one of PDS's lady friends stopped by and I admired her. She was much older than I but so put together looking, coming from work maybe. She had short, choppy, cropped blonde hair dyed brown underneath, a dusky shade. I like your hair! I exclaimed. She looked at me like I had told her "you are an ugly, stupid bitch," and asked, "YOU DO? Do you WANT it?" in this shocked/condescending type of voice. Okay... I did not speak to any strangers after that, but not because of the lady with the hair issue. I wish I would have. I'm sure some of the people in attendance were interesting. But like PDS pointed out, the event/meeting/whatever needed organization. Someone should've given a little schpiel about the past two weeks' current events, nationally and/or locally, and moderated a brief discussion to provoke conversation. I might go back though, when I'm more socially inclined, even though I was not too impressed with the flavoring of the chicken wings. Everyone was right; Point's East's are better. But we got served at Girabaldi in about 15 minutes or so.

I feel sad and off kilter tonight. I have a student who is taking his frustration out on me and it's preoccupying me. I didn't do anything wrong though, and I'm confident about that for once, so I'm basically just mad that I can't allow myself to feel confident about my teacherly behavior.

Last night I watched the figure skating finally. Those girls are cute. And some of those male speed skaters were hot. The American Silver and Bronze winners...let me get some of that! They are on the right and left of the Italian Gold winner. I don't think he's cute, but he just won a Gold medal, so surely he could give two fucks about what I think...

2006-02-19T21:12:00.000-08:00

sexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexsexnosexnosexsexsexsexsexsex

I’m sick of thinking and talking about the shit. I’ve been talking about it with a few different friends on and off, forever. People are pissed off because they’re not getting any from anybody they wanna get some from. There’s no options. No one can meet anyone they like. Everyone’s boring or ugly. In Milwaukee, people don’t know how to get laid. People are uptight. No one trusts each other at our age because everyone’s been fucked over too much. Everyone’s suspicious of anyone who just smiles at us or says hi. The guard goes up. It’s an understandably vicious yet very stupid cycle. We’re fixated on someone from the past, however recent, maybe someone who is not good for us, who doesn’t care about us, who isn’t all that great. We ignore potential options due to dress or a particular mannerism or one thing the person’s said. In short, we’re all just a bunch of whiny, picky bitches.

Or are we?
People rant about sex all of the time, and a lot of the time we say that we just want sex, we don’t want a relationship, we don’t want anything from the other person. But for me at least, there’s got to be some level of respect. And I’m not just talking about during the one nighter. Afterwards, too, if you see the person around. That’s the damn problem with Milwaukee. It’s too easy to run into people the next fucking day. People have too many mutual friends. Someone always sees someone talking to someone and then there’s talk. If you try to talk to someone, someone’s going to see and then it’s all, X tried to hit on Y and Y was/was not into bleh bleh bleh. Shit talking motherfuckers don’t make things any easier. Certainly me mentioning this indicates my own insecurities, but shit, who wants to be known as the chick/dude who hits on everyone? That’s just foul. Like that one guy who stuck his tongue down my throat on my birthday that year. I thought dude was gonna peck me. I was inebriated. And he just behaved all sleazily. If I’d had my wits about me I’d have smacked him up. But I was too gone and too happy, really, to get too mad. But he has that rep. He’s just gross. I don’t even think he remembers me because he still leers at me when I see him out. He’s The One to Avoid. No one wants that. And for a chick to act like that, well, her rep would be even worse.

I’m ranting and would prefer not to be, but I’m just frustrated. I’m sick of talking about this with everyone and, for myself, not having the power/confidence I need to get what I want; I’m sick of my cool smart friends and myself not being able to find anyone who shares our interests and level of intellect, and I’m sick of Milwaukee losers. Seriously. This was my night recently: Some man in his mid to late thirties becomes taken with me even while I’m shrieking/rambling about retarded bullshit, and he’s not bad looking, he’s got a dimple, even, but when he gets up off his bar stool he can hardly stand, and it’s only 8pm! He’s saying things like “Jen’s remarkable!” Who the hell says that about me? I get, “Jen’s a spazz!” “Jen talks too much!” “Jen’s neurotic and needs to calm down!” That’s what I get. But this dude is all about me, and gives his number to WCZ to give to me… just a crazy drunk.

So then I go hang out with this guy who’s an acquaintance…we’d made out once before, awhile back. I’m thinking he’s just gonna shoo me on my way in a few minutes because there’s no reason to think otherwise based on the past few months of interaction, but he doesn’t, and then it becomes clear it would be acceptable for me to remove my layers of long undies and thick socks and jeans, and that goddamn eyesore of a sweater I wear because it’s warm and has an interesting looking collar, but my head just can’t let me. 1) I don’t feel sexy in the bulky clothes; 2) I have a lot on my mind; 3) I am bloated from eating three extra chicken wings. And that, friends, is my patented fucking luck. It can’t be one of those times when I’ve had 3 beers and have relaxed and have that buzz that makes me feel wound up. No. Of course I’m all fucking preoccupied and don’t feel the slightest bit hot.

But I’d be lying if I said that was all it was. It was pretty apparent that the only reason the guy wanted to hang out with me was to kill some time before he had somewhere to be, and I just don’t want to be some guy’s convenience. I’ve said this before to friends, but I think just writing and sharing it this way is helpful for me. It’d be one thing if I messed around with the person frequently and we had formed some sort of unspoken groove and perhaps were actually friends, but that wasn’t the case with this person. From my perspective, even though I tried to get there (albeit awkwardly at times), we’ve never had that moment where it clicks, where we were both like, ah, ok, I get you now, or at least, I‘m beginning to get you, even though we see each other and speak with each other quite often. And that makes me uncomfortable. I guess I‘m being utopian again, thinking you can sporadically fuck someone and also actually and truly be their friend. I don‘t know. I just want to feel somewhat special, even for just one night or those few hours, if it‘s gonna be random. I don’t want to feel like someone’s convenience. And I don’t want to feel like I can’t ever approach a guy like that and have my advances accepted. I can’t stand for sex to only occur when the guy wants it to. That’s my pride. So maybe it’s that people who have lesser standards and a lesser sense of pride get laid more? And obviously people who are sexier and better at playing the game. I don’t know. I’m just fucking sick of this shit, and I don’t understand why it’s so hard to find someone who would want to either sit under the covers in my bed next to me while we read books or tear off all of my clothes, or maybe even do both, sometimes…

2006-02-14T20:04:00.000-08:00

The second time I take the G, I can’t remember my stop immediately. All I know is it’s the one after Clinton-Washington. Last night = two coincidental run-ins, one at MKE and one at LGA. As I am walking to my terminal at Mitchell, I see this tall, lanky, older punk dude dressed mostly in black walking towards me at a near frantic pace. Phil Janke! I vocalize the name. Jen Threat! He responds in kind, while continuing to race past me. But then he abruptly stops, turns around. Asks who’s in town. Just go to the Riverwest bars, you’ll find the same people in the same place as you left them. He nods knowingly, probably thinking it was unnecessary to ask. I ask how he’s doing, where he’s living, although I think I knew. Brooklyn, he says. Of course; that explains the walk. I mention I’d recently moved back from the same place. The exchange occurs in about 2 minutes.

When I arrive at LGA, Jason is waiting for me. My skittish Milwaukee self didn’t feel comfortable taking public transit alone after 10pm, in the dark, through Queens. (I couldn’t afford cab fare.) We take a different bus that goes straight to a GEVF stop. I marvel at the numerous amount of Christmas lights and decorations still adorning the Queens walk-ups. We eat the freshly baked Midwest Express chocolate chip cookies. Me and Maddog.

As we descend into the tunnel and begin walking towards some seats, I see Frank, the sexiest short man I’ve ever met. He’s Italian, his clothes are stylish, and they fit. He’s the best friend of this guy I sporadically dated, and he works for CUNY, is married and has a baby. Frank! I shout gleefully. Frank turns around, looking a bit stunned--he can‘t really believe he‘s just run into me, either. We hug, begin the normal chit chat: How’ve you been? What’ve you been up to? I can’t believe we ran into each other here!!???>>>What the fuck? Where you coming from? He was coming from band practice and just randomly hopped off one train to wait for a another, hoping to reach the upper east side of Manhattan more quickly. Frank seems a little hopped up, but maybe hearing my screechy voice ring out in the tunnel just threw him off guard. I beg him not to tell our mutual friend that I’m in town, as I won’t have time to see him because he lives in Staten Island and works in Jersey. There’d just be no time. But Frank is laughing, asking, How can I NOT tell him? The run in Queens is too good to forgo mentioning. Franks does tell him, and I feel slightly guilty when I ignore his probing yet vague text on Sunday night.

***

My first full day back in NYC and I’m full of energy. On the Q, an express, the fastest, best way to get from downtown Brooklyn to anyplace up til 57th St in Manhattan. Only five stops in Manhattan total, I think. It crosses over on the Manhattan Bridge or the Brooklyn Bridge, whatever’s further east. It’s one of my favorite views of Manhattan. I’ve never not looked at the downtown skyline when crossing over. Just had lunch near LIU--it was the Fulton stop. How could I ever forget? When I entered the atrium of the Humanities Building (we called it the H Bldg) I was in awe at the transformation. Used to house the shabby bookstore but now it’s all deep red walls, polished wood paneling. A beautiful glass enclosed art gallery is in its center. On display are large black and whites of random well known personalities--Ronald Reagan in a politician’s stance, Michael Jackson when he still looked human and black, a young, pouty Mick Jaggar standing next to some woman. The door is locked so I can’t get a closer view. Two people are waiting, they tell me, for security to come open it, but I can not. It looks so extremely different that I can not find the elevators, even though they are in the same place. I go up to the 4th floor, to see who is milling around the English Department. Probably only the departmental assistant, but that’s good enough, as she is one of those truly warm, bubbly individuals who manages not to be annoying with her general happiness and everyday enthusiasm. When sees me, we hug, and catch up briefly. Nothing’s physically changed on the 4th floor.

On to the HEOP office to meet Susan, a writing specialist who had hired me to teach a intense 8 hour per week summer English class for students enrolled in HEOP, which prepares under prepared entering high school students for college the summer before they begin. I loved those students (Henry Diaz! Juanita!) and that department (like a family). She is under the weather but not so much so that she can’t take me to lunch! I see Dr. Kamel, the director, and Joan, one of teachers and counselors. Too bad sassy Althea’s gone for the day. On our way out to Green Apple, the only place to get nongreasy food within at least a mile radius of LIU, ok maybe a few blocks, but that area is all about the grease, whether it slides off the pizza, Chinese food, soul food, Jamaican food or Junior’s deli’s fries. We have homemade garlic mushroom soup and some bread tips, share stories about grad school, hers from longer ago, and she coughs loudly when she wants the waitress’s attention…

***
Back on the Q at DeKalb, headed to the Herald Square H & M. Skinny pants skinny pants must find skinny pants! No luck, though! Everything except for ONE shirt at H & M sucks. They’ve customized their jeans to look akin to Diesel’s to justify charging $50 a piece instead of $30 or $40, their normal prices for jeans. Lame. Across the street is Forever 21; I’d been waiting for it to open before I left. I energetically sprint across 34th St and enter. It’s full of really tacky shit. I look over the entire store but honestly can’t find one thing to waste money on. Still have 45 minutes. Daffy’s is across Broadway. Discount clothes! This pair of stretch jeans with FRESH printed on the ass are cute, but too tight. All the accessories are silver and gold, and not because New Year’s Eve was last week. Why can’t that trend die? I haven’t really seen anyone on the street or in the subway whose caught my eye fashion-wise, either. Only one tousled-haired girl with cowboy boots (worn with a skirt, not tackily, atop jeans) in H & M, and a skater-punk chick with attitude at Broadway and 34th St, but no else really interesting thus far. I’m so desperate for skinny jeans I even try the 3rd and 4th floors of Macy’s (Designer and Junior Trend). There’s really never anything impressive in that monolith, except they do have some nice bags. It’s just so queer to be shopping, round the bend and bam! There’s a mini Starbucks right there, or McDonald’s, or Au Bon Pain. Used to come here to meet Jose in the fur vault. Feels like forever ago. Macy’s, NYC, didn’t do well by Jose.
***

Back on the Q, enroute to Deborah’s house in Brooklyn; the map says she lives in Prospect Lefferts. Not far from Prospect Heights, where I lived for the first year and a half of my three year stay in two different apartments in two side by side ratty buildings, where I got mugged, where that guy asked me if it was possible for him to eat my pussy while I waited for the bus. As the train docks back at Dekalb (the crush of the people, the mommies, daddies, children, shopping bags, lovers, already wears on me), I have one of those reminiscent visions. Me, Val, and Placencia at Junior’s in the back room, the one that also houses the bar, natch! Sitting at that table, ordering flavored martinis (watermelon for me) buzzed and laughing before or after class, a plate of fries surely placed firmly in front of Val, perhaps gravy on them even though she‘s vegetarian. I feel it. I feel it. For those few seconds--it’s so visceral it startles, and makes me melancholy.

Deborah’s house is impressive. It’s all hers, hers and her husband’s and eight-year-old son’s. It’s a 3-story, with pristine vintage woodwork, chandeliers, and a tiny but suitable backyard with a koi pond that‘s accessible via the kitchen sliders. Their Christmas tree is still up, and under it sits some Legos or race cars, and the new Barbara Erhenreich book, Bait and Switch. A true academic with offspring’s home. She makes tea, and her son and his friend race all around the house. I see many Lego creations, meet the turtle and see the newt. We discuss composition theory and I dish about the famous professors who are leaving my program, making me want to stay. She’s working on a textbook, and will be busy at the composition conference. She tells my old roommate will be presenting. I haven’t kept in touch with him. I’m freezing, but the house is so wonderful it distracts me frequently. Deborah tells me I look good. So did Susan, Jason and Diane. Maybe I do.

***
On the Q again. I am so spaced out that I forget the N train’s express too, when I get out at Canal to change for the local, and end up at 14th St. No time to check out what and who is in Virgin. Prince St is just two stops southbound on the R, so I dash downstairs to make the one that‘s just rumbled through. I have a about a half an hour to kill before heading to the restaurant, so I head down Broadway to check out what’s on after-holiday sale at Bloomingdale’s. Nothing of interest. Disappointing all around, even the bag selection. There were hardly any salespeople milling around since it was nearing closing time, and it seemed like it would be easy to steal the $800 pair of pants that were stocked outside of the women’s restroom, which is really fancy and clean. Nice light turquoise painted walls and big mirrors, of course. I don’t steal, though, I don’t take such risks even though corporate America’s bullshit and there‘s probably some hidden micro cameras anyway. I just change my pad in the bathroom, sip some water from the fountain, and head out.

Northbound back to Prince, turn left. Where we’re celebrating Martin’s 30th is across the street from Chanel. Chanel’s stuff, except the couture line, is so bland and conservative. Dinner was all about below average, overpriced food (how can you fuck up a veggie burger and a brownie a la mode?) and great company. I see Pete, our prized singer/songwriter, for the first time and throw him off guard with my potty mouth. He tells me that he forgot that he has to swear when he’s around me. The great influence I exert…

Dinner ends and about a fourth of us go to Boogaloo, this intimate street level bar/club in Williamsburg, near the Marcy St JMZ, across from where Kev/Josh/Jason used to live. Sketchy area. The train is elevated in that area and the tracks line Broadway. It’s extra dirty, and all of the take out restaurants and bodegas are extra dirty too. But there’s plenty of white hipster kids, including us on some level I suppose, down at Boogaloo. Vic Thrill’s playing, and we’re on the list, which I appreciate, since I’m on the $100 for four days in NYC budget. The band is always so upbeat and danceable. I need an alcoholic beverage to help me unwind, though, due to running all day.

I enjoy my only run-in with Robin, the young graphic novelist who’s gotten a bit of attention for his work and has flattered me with appreciated compliments from time to time. We discuss how we can’t make ourselves try to feel anything about the opposite sex. We always seem to relate on that level. Say bye to Jeffery D, who co-founded an independent book publishing company; he was preparing to do the relocate from NYC to LA thing. I’m off and on distracted by a really cute, tattooed, flannel wearing young guy running around with an unattractive woman sporting bad eighties style long hair. Jeffrey D’s woman tells me he’d moved there from bumfuck Oklahoma or Nebraska or Idaho and has lost over 100 lbs and is just kind of floating around. An interesting way to begin one’s twenties, one level, it the reason’s because he has no or lacks connection with his family, maybe not so great. Get to twirl my red lipped patterned flared skirt around the claustrophobic dance floor a few times with a smiling birthday boy, but then the Miller-induced fatigue sets in. I hate that beer, but again, I‘m on a budget. Robin and Pete walk me home, and much enjoy my comment about the Strokes member on the billboard. Fucking gawlfling fag hair ugly fuck! Get a haircut! Guess I’m never too tired to curse or shriek. Jason’s given me his bed and his Spongebob for the night. I hate to take it but my lazy, Milwaukee, driving everywhere so I don‘t get my head shot off self is too worn out not. Such a gentleman.
* * *

Saturday afternoons in NYC, for most people, are generally very busy. People walk around. People watch. Explore. Do errands. Brunch. Get tea. Go out to dinner or dine at a friend’s. See a film. See music. Go the park. Shop. Study. Work. Whatever. Any individual’s schedule varies, but, especially for the twenty something crowd, unless you’re really burnt out from work and/or partying, Saturday’s a busy day. I yearned for one of those Saturdays. But it was cold. So cold for me to walk all over Williamsburg alone trying to find a way to get to the East Village conveniently, as the motherfucking L train wasn’t running all goddamn weekend. The disappointment set in.

Managed to get Steve out for brunch, met him by the Nassau G in the safe, lively Polish neighborhood where I spent my second year and a half, and it was great to catch up over a heaping, steaming batch of tofu scramble, but we were right by the door. And it was just cold. You’re hunched over in most eateries anyway, everything’s always so crowded, and being hunched and cold makes it all the more tense. And people can be shortsighted and stand there and linger with the door open. Gotta love Steve, though, leaning over to slap that shit shut.

Steve was busy and fighting a cold. No one wanted to get to the city via the G into Queens, up and around. I never watch movies, and I desired some Dev & Diane time, so I went over there and we watched Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle or whatever the eff it’s called. Nice enough, really, enjoyable, especially seeing cutie Lil D bust out her big ole accordion, gossiping with Dev and seeing the crocheted doll’s his sister had knitted to remarkably resemble the two of them, but it just doesn’t feel like one of my NYC Saturday afternoons. Later, though, a few people are up for trekking to the JMZ, Chris the trucker punk and Cat his lady friend and Dev and I. We traipsed over to Old Devil Moon, one of my favorite comfort food restaurants. Still feeling so fucking cold. Passing St Mark’s Bookshop but no time to stop in. Still not like a Saturday, then. Excessively long wait for food at Old Devil Moon, but at least everyone seems to dig their food...I do. Peanut. Butter. Pie.

Afterwards we stop off at Josh and Dave’s place on C and something, maybe C and 4th St. They’ve been together for ages and had just had some great luck: one lost his job right before applying to grad schools and the other got hired full time a place that grants partner benefits to homosexual couples.

Now they have a NYC apartment; it’s in a kickass building where all the interior walls are painted with murals. There’s several floors, but no elevator, so perhaps that’s part of the reason for the murals, to keep people focused on something while trucking up all of those stairs. Josh always has comix laying about and toys. I get my hands on this light up frog. It glows. I stick it under my shirt and randomly blurt: I’m ET! Fuck you guys! Everyone laughs, and then I say some other funny shit, which prompts Chris to declare that that they should write down everything I say. Maybe they should! We have to get back to the neighborhood tavern, Redd’s, so we have leave before I’m ready. I manage, though, to get some good shots of us and those walls on the way out.

The thing with Redd’s, back in W’burg, is that the vibe is either festive as hell if you have a good buzz going, or chill to the extent you have to fight not to fall asleep on the leather couches. Maybe it’s just me, I guess, but... It’s got several TVs mounted to the wall behind the bar, which I always dislike, and nothing ever changes, not the clientele or the jukebox. That’s the draw in many aspects, as is Eric, the bartender, a really direct yet laid back guy who is also very easy on the eyes--the flawless skin! Goddamn it’s hard not to touch that skin sometimes. (The first story he ever told me was about his friend getting hit on by Joan Jett at Meow Mix, and how that woman’s girlfriend got all pissy--not because her lady cheated on her, but that her lady got naked with Joan Jett and she did not. His communication style reminds me of old school punk-skate guys I used to hang with but Eric’s more intelligent and less of a dick. I always think of him when I watch Timmy-centered South Park episodes, because the first time I saw one was at Judy the food stylist’s house in Gramercy, with him, Martin and a few other folks, after we‘d gorged on wonderful food.)

Unfortunately, I’m worn out again. My lazy driving everywhere Milwaukee ass! It takes me goddamn forever to finish my wine, to the point where patient Pete becomes impatient with me. We walked back to his and Jason’s place together, while Jason stays to play air drums to the Melvins with and talk to Michael some more. I have no desire to remain at Redd’s, even though it’s part two of Martin’s bday celebration. Maybe I am craving a more wild NYC evening, some debauchery that I can‘t afford. When did I turn into a tourist?

* * *
Sunday is breakfast at Kellogg’s. The only reason to go to that greasy pit is tradition, because the guys have always gone there, and convenience, because it’s a block down from the Keap St house and the employees know Jason and Dev, so we never wait long to get a seat, even when it’s crowded. This time, it’s Dev’s food that has remnants of someone else’s dish in it. Then it’s off for some culture at the PS 1 Contemporary Art Center in Long Island City, in Queens just past the Queens/Brooklyn border.

We get there and the NYC feeling emerges. Yay! Culture! Milwaukee has a little but hells, no, it can’t compare to NYC with its one art museum and decrepit, financially unstable public general education museum with the IMAX theatre! The Center

is in an old public school, hence its name, and the entrance is vast and striking. There’s an arch, and this huge vast space where I guess the playground used to be, and it’s all covered in gravel. It could easily feel prison-like but it just feels…unique. The work of Peter Hujar, who was David Wojnarowicz’s partner in the ‘70s and/or ‘80s, is on display for the first time ever. Black and white photography, portraits of eccentrics like John Waters and of gay performance artists. Captures the era. Then there’s Stephen Shore. His shit is awesome. Tons of 6 x 4 (or 5 x 7?) shots, in color, of early 1970s America. A lot of the shots were taken in rural areas and were really striking, even shots of things like dirty toilet bowls, or greasy pork chops on a tupperware plate. People in compromising positions in their garish‘70s clothing. Really good visual, nicely arranged. Could stare for awhile longer. Finally there’s Jon Kessler’s postmodern mind fuck inspired by post 9-11 media and governmental inflicted fear and consumerism. It’s so bright and loud, all these gadgets and TV screens, surveillance cameras that reflect the image of the viewer onto the little mirrors added into the mechanical sculptures. There’s the postcards of the cityscape pre 9/11 rotating. Some terrorist looking person flashing on TV. All the TVs.

Feeling drained, so drained one of the Center’s employees asks me if I feel ok as I’m sitting down with my head in my hands. Very thoughtful for a NYC employee who gets paid shit. That’s something I notice here. It’s unsurprising but still perplexing: Even though most of them do not appear rich, virtually all of the Center’s patrons are white and all of the security employees are African American, Puerto Rican or Dominican.
***
Back outside for photographs. It’s not cold today. In fact my sweater is too warm. Should’ve had this on yesterday. Some of the group heads home and me, Diane and Pete head to Manhattan. I want to window shop on Fifth Avenue. Pete and I go into the St Paul or whomever’s cathedral, the one across from Saks Fifth Avenue and Banana Republic. It’s really gorgeous inside, I’ve never been, for some reason, but my flash isn’t working. I like viewing it as much as I like viewing some of the on sale Dior items ($6oo for jeans) at Saks. Check out the H & M and Zara but I can’t find a damn thing and I’m bummed. Skinny pants! We pass Trump Tower, the new Fendi flagship, we go in, everything’s ugly, pass Louis Vuitton, Bendel’s and Bergdoff Goodman are across the street, there’s Armani Exchange and places like The Gap. And Tiffany’s, too. So many people passing the time or actually spending money. Mostly all white. We end up a block of so from where Central Park begins but there’s no point going over there, because the trees are leafless and dull. We stand there debating about where to find the train (I should shut up, I don’t live here anymore) and then I see her. This skinny black woman clad in only a ripped trash bag, pacing in circles with her arm, hand outstretched, eyes barely open, cracked out of her mind or needing to be cracked out of her mind, here on Fifth Avenue. I feel sick. A year ago in Milwaukee I couldn’t understand why E was so insistent about helping this drunk passed out person by the bus stop, my NYC mentality was intact, you just have to walk on by. But now I think I must have more of a small city mentality because I want to call someone to call and help this woman. It’s too cold for just a garbage bag. I hadn’t seen anyone looking quite that destitute, ever, during my NYC and Chicago stays, except maybe the guy locked in between a door and the metal grate blocking thieves‘ access to the door, covered in paper and filth, but he had clothes on, at least.

I know I can’t call the NYPD about a homeless crackhead. I feel guilty though, knowing I’m on my way to get a slice. Warm food. Then it’s off to Martin’s to hang at the loft with him, Christine, Michael, Jason, Pete, Poingly, Chris, Cat and Dev and Diane. And me. We’ll sample the Wisconsin summer sausage and cheese I snagged from my parents. But once there I’m irritated with the boys, who want to play a game while watching football. My hackles are up and they know it. It’s just not social to have the TV on unless everyone is enjoying what’s on. So I segregate myself with Christine and D, who is raking in the clothes today, as now Christine is passing off a bunch of things that she doesn’t wear anymore. I score some great scarves, but stupidly leave them and my only score thus far, a $5 Yoshitomo Nara calendar, at the Turkey’s Nest later…

Something feels off, and I’m getting upset, but what am I hoping for? Everyone needs to chill as they have to work tomorrow. Am I just edgy because I’m just a visitor now? I can’t stay and I’m sad and projecting? I can’t tell. All I know is something feels different again. I passed on going to O’Conner’s, my favorite NYC dive I talk about frequently, the cheap hole in the wall in Park Slope, with the great jukebox and the hardworking, good looking bartenders, because it’s a pain in the ass to get there and everyone’s tired. But I need something more before I leave! Thank GOD for my Maddog, and Steve. They both agree to accompany me to Turkey’s Nest, on the Greenpoint/W’burg border, a REAL dive that serves its big Budweisers in Styrofoam cups. They have Buck Hunter too, but Jas and I don’t even play.

I call crazy club promoter Bob, who is already there, along with his sweet, foulmouthed friend Ben. I had a few NYC-style escapades with Bob and I always appreciate him for that, but he makes me mad because he is so drunk all the time, as part of his job, really, so he‘s always been really tired when we’ve gone out, except for on our date, as most of his down time is spent recuperating from the binge with X rock star/partier extraordinaire/millions of friends and acquaintances the night before. But he’s fun and has good stories. He tells us how one of the guys who works at his club is dating Kate Moss, and how some 18 year old model who looks like Bjork combined with graphic novelist Phoebe Gloeckner got all naked in his bed but he resisted. Ben makes some smart remarks about the background of the Parisian friend of Bob’s who ‘s also visiting. I like her spunk. Her companion is so stereotypically French, wearing a black sweater and looking pale and put off, with his pencil thin mustache. And the Corona flows. We all take jowler pictures, except Steve, who left earlier, but not before giving me one of his patented super squeeze hugs. I keep thinking the walk back is going to suck, but it so isn‘t. It feels more…right…walking home from the bar with Jas.
***
My last day and I’m frantic, running all over Soho and to St Mark’s (without even stopping at Mondo Kim’s!) with Christine then meeting Jason. Gotta find the skinny pants. The Levi’s that the woman who owns the great, tiny punky shop on Bedford recommends to me don’t look good on me like they do on her. Need some stuff at Pearl River, that’s done…now racing to Trash and Vaudeville because that’s where I can get my rock and roll pants, where Joey and the rest of the Ramones used to shop…maybe Marky still stops in sometimes. This burnt out old rock dude with equally burnt, over bleached hair runs all around finding me sizes in red and black pants. He’s really gross to view, with his ass crack creeping out of his skinny but too low rise pants, but he is so sweet and charming, telling me I look thin and could go tighter when deep down I feel like I look like a stuffed sausage even though I know that is not at all how I appear. I’m in bossy Jen mode but my friends graciously put up with it. I just want us to get back to Brooklyn to eat more comfort food together. I want me some fried chicken! And I get it at Union Picnic, this old school diner joint. It’s good and too much food. Shit shit shit. And I do. Racing racing back to Jas’ and saying good bye….I’m just ready for Milwaukee, now, ready for home, tired of racing, walking. Want my tape filled car. The bus through Queens doesn’t take long and I only have to spend a half hour waiting to board. I’m ready to see my parents, cat, and most of all, my certifiably insane Milwaukee friends.

2006-02-05T18:49:00.000-08:00

I saw Brokeback Mountain last night. It was the first time I’ve gone to the Oriental since I returned to Milwaukee, a whole year and a half ago now. Yells A lot gave me an expired free pass and the petite, young, white boy box office clerk with thick cornrows didn’t challenge me. I had to wait awhile for my friend to arrive. Almost everyone entered shivering and muttering or shrieking about the cold wind. It’s winter in Wisconsin again, after a ridiculously and somewhat historic mild January where the temperature hovered right around 40 for the entire month. There were a lot of undergraduate aged girls and boys, wearing their too lightweight trendy faux vintage coats and heels or chucks. Heels or Chucks with the coats. Then there was a middle-aged interracial couple, who I am sure still experience a lot of bullshit dating here in Milwaukee. One obviously gay pair. A man escorting his two teenage daughters to the 10pm showing. The new Woody Allen film Matchpoint was showing as well, but I would not pay to suffer through a Scarlett Johansson performance; that chick is overrated.

When my friend showed up I was happily astonished to see her all rocked out in a black leather biker jacket, chain wallet, black Chucks and a Cheap Trick tee shirt. Every other time I’ve seen her, it had been her 10-hour teaching day and somehow we had never even really mentioned music while conversing, probably because, like I told her, we are usually too busy complaining about the state of the American educational system.

The only preview we saw, due to her late arrival, was an obscure one for the new Steven Soderburgh (sp) film which is about some workers in a doll factory. The gimmick is that the cast is made up of entirely inexperienced, no name actors. Could be interesting, but the last Soderburgh I saw made me sickly dizzy, so maybe I’ll wait for the DVD.

Brokeback Mountain starts off very slowly. Heath Ledger does a great job with his voice. His character, Ennis, is a typical macho man, a man of “few words,” a guy who doesn’t think he warrants listening to. Ledger’s voice is really gruff and he doesn’t enunciate his words well. A real working man’s discourse. And he’s consistent in it too. I found it really impressive, especially since Ledger’s Australian. Jake Gyllanhall’s character, Jack Twist, is more verbose and silly. Watching the opening scenes just made me horny, them all shirtless at times, all buff in their well fitting Levi’s. The first love scene, really the only full on SEX scene between them, comes right at you. Ennis has to sleep in the tent with Jack because it’s freezing, and Jack just grabs his face, and they wrestle with each other’s hands. Jack unzips; Ennis follows, albeit looking more disconcerted, and spits on his hand, rubs it on his dick, and then plunges into Jack’s orifice. It’s a pretty short scene, and all of the following scenes only show them making out awkwardly and macho-like, smashing each other’s faces with their hands. The film spans about 20 years, and it just goes on and on, and apparently they only see each other once or twice a year. Sadly, my analytical skills were resting, as I was so tired I felt delirious after the movie ended, all two hours and twenty minutes of it. So I really can’t offer a full critique. I liked it. My friend was irritated that Ennis gave into the homophobia of the times, even though he divorced and never remarried (Michelle Williams from Dawson’s Creek played his wife, and she is as skinny as a person-size doll; it’s disgusting; my friend said someone needs to throw a biscuit at her!), while Jack stayed married but offered to divorce and live with Ennis somewhere they couldn’t be found. I thought it made sense. The nice Scot I met last weekend was at the Landmark afterwards, and he said he didn’t feel why they felt so connected, which I am sure makes sense, but I guess I just assumed it was the lonely that pulled them together, and the connection stemmed from that. It was too long probably. I can’t decide. I wouldn’t have minded if I had had to pay to see it, though.

We didn’t stay at Landmark long because I needed sleep and the Landmark sucks, except for the BuckHunter game. I scored my highest score ever! Almost 5,000 points, and 4 perfect sites in a row. Never have I achieved so well! Damn I shot those elk. Maybe I was inspired by the scene in the movie where Ennis shot and killed an elk so they’d have more to eat than canned beans.

It was blustery outside when we left, and my little Chevy was skidding all around up desolate Downer Avenue, and I flashbacked to 1996 or 1997, when my ex-roommate who shares my name and I ventured out in a blizzard to see a horrible Greg Araki (sp) movie; a horrible for shock value only film starring Rose McGowan. God it was terrible. I think Perry Farrell had a cameo. We would have left except for the storm, which we ended up walking in because the bus of course never comes.

So tired I almost cried, a day overspent, socializing. I just wanted a warm cat and a warm bed, but when I got home my cat was all constipated and ran around yowling. He got so upset in the litter box, the litter stuck to his nose. And he woke me at 7am and at 8am, screaming for water because he can’t drink from a bowl because he’s a cat and HAS to be difficult. I hit him with my lavender eye pillow, told him to get the fuck out. Not hard, I wouldn’t hit him hard, I tapped him though, GET OUT ASSHOLE. That kind of behavior has annoyed most of the men who have slept in my bed; well, actually, no man has slept in THIS bed yet. I always worry about that though, about my cat’s behavior annoying some guy away from me. That’s why I prefer a cat lover. More importantly a Jen lover. Man, yesterday was a long day. But today was productive. I typed thoughtful comments for my basic writing students who shared some fucked up shit with me. I ran some errands, splurged on the first season of Entourage, bought some shitty food since I could justify it by thinking about it was Super Bowl Sunday and a lot of people would be eating way shittier than myself. Super Bowl night’s always a good night to stay in the house. Saw the Stones during half time though. I still like them even though I should just laugh at them.

Ah, fuck, the work week begins again tomorrow. Next Friday there’s a party in celebration of Valentine’s. A scary party for me to attend, but I should, I will. Otherwise I’m being querulous, not productive, and I have to push myself to try.

2006-01-25T20:06:00.000-08:00

And the doctoral school frustration persists. The latest debacle involves my school’s and/or the Federal Government’s ludicrous, bureaucratic stipulation that all grad students must register for FOUR credits or be denied aid, even though one course is THREE credits. They want you to take one other measly credit just to receive funding. Sounds like an easy way to make an additional $600 or whatever dollars per grad student. Obviously most grad students take six or nine credits, but sometimes a grad student like myself may need a break and wish only to take one class before she loses her mind. So, I’m just not attending classes this semester. This could bode badly for me though, as the English Dept prefers students applying for TAships to be registered for classes. Oh, well. I’m standing by my convictions. Entering, brand new students who receive TAships obviously weren’t taking classes while they were first applying (this is my second application; I lost my spot so an entering Master’s student with Sociology background as opposed to Comp background could receive a TAship for sake of diversity), which I mentioned in my letter to the committee who will be reviewing my application. So, I’m taking a risk. In a way it seems petty of me, because I could just sign up for this one credit seminar and be done with it, but my gut is screaming no, fuck the bureaucracy, you shouldn’t even be having to pay for these courses at all. So I’m listening to my gut (which is also slightly gassy now, even though I ate a tasteless, low fat main course. Maybe too much garlic in the homemade oil and vinegar dressing).

After beginning to cry while on the phone with a financial aid advisor, and then calling a friend who has listened to me kevetch endlessly about this subject while full on sobbing, I decided I just needed to have some goddamn faith in myself. Okay, so I don’t earn a Ph.D. Yes, finding full time employment as a writing instructor at the university level will be more difficult. On the other hand, MATC seems like it hires every few years, and they pay fantastically, they have great benefits, there’s a teacher’s union, and they give you raises almost every year--I would be set upon retiring. However, who knows how long it would take me to become hired full time there? It could take such a long time. That’s what scares me. This living paycheck to paycheck bullshit has got to end sooner rather than later. I’m 32 and I want to pay off debt, not accrue more debt or live on student budget if I am not even a student anymore. There’s got to be a way though. Whereas if I earn the Ph.D, I would be assured full time employment in five years due to the reputation of my program, unless, course, the economy is totally fucked.

Sometimes I think I am just codependent on the university. But more often I think that I do want and deserve this stupid Ph.D, and that I could learn a lot more about teaching and rhetoric if I stay in this program. If I don’t get that TAship for the fall, I’m out. I have a professor pulling for me, so that will help greatly. I have a feeling it might work, but…if it doesn’t, I have to prepare myself.

I am in my second week of teaching at one school and my first at another; it is going okay thus far. I feel okay. I don’t lack confidence like I did last year. That course I took and the people I interacted with last semester helped me so much. Another reason I want to stay…the basic writing course is still a challenge, and I realized that I am still piling on too much work. They need so much time to process. I need the readings to be a bit shorter. There is so much to cram in. They do not like having to be there for so many hours in a row, but at least I am high energy, I keep them laughing. Just have to ensure they are also learning from me, well.

2006-01-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

Tuesday morning I spent getting all worked up. Usually when I do so, I am overreacting, and I inwardly know that, so that when the situation is not as dreadful as expected I am relieved and call myself silly. Tuesday, thought, I was extra worked up because I knew there was no possibility that the afternoon’s activities would not be unbearable.

Attending or working at universities always entails a certain amount of dealing with the administrative bureaucracy which is not enjoyable. You don’t get paid on time, or as a student, your financial aid disappears, you have to make calls, stand in line, explain yourself repeatedly, and ask questions you should not have to ask. At one of the schools where I teach, the administrative matters are doubly intolerable. You have to wait, no one knows anything they are supposed to know because duties are scattered across different people and different departments and none of those people communicate properly, and you have to wait! Apparently at this school, everyone takes their lunch around 2pm, even though they leave work between 4-5pm. Everyone. So, I waited 20 minutes for one Admin Asst to return to tell me the copy code and give me a key because the other two had no idea. They talked about it for a few minutes but neither could figure it out. Then I had to ask for keys. She made me fill out a form and take it down to the key lady in the basement, who was thankfully pleasant, and told me to exchange it for a new key. The key lady, who has been working there for 25 years, asked why I was there. I said, they told me I had to turn in my old key for a new one. Are they crazy? Maybe, she replied, and told me I didn’t even need to bring down the form.

The Admin Asst also had no idea about how to use the writing lab. She is the Asst for all the Writing Instructors to visit but she doesn’t know. No one fucking knows anything. The previous week I’d received an email saying that part-timers can only access payroll forms on this web site that is separate from the school’s main site, but no specific web address is given, only a key word. So I write the person back and she tells me all I should do is type this key word in the web browser and the site would pop, which is obviously ludicrous because all sites end in a .com or .edu or .org or something like that. So I write her back again and she tells me to call IT. Then I realize that the site is probably only accessible from the school’s own computers. Yep. I was seething about this one. How fucking stupid! How can this person not know. It was really hard not to write her a snotty email, but I knew doing so would not really be productive, so I played it passive aggressively, which I prefer not to do, but seemed to be most appropriate in this case (I said that I was sorry that I had bothered her but it was just that her email didn’t say you can only access this site from the school’s computers, but I wasn‘t really sorry, I had every right, but she needed to know that she should‘ve included that information.) She actually wrote me back to tell me that she didn’t know that. Well, shit, people, find someone who knows what is up to communicate with part-timers who don’t even receive a handbook, only a few typed sheets about photocopying, phones, mailboxes and pay dates.

On top of that, I had to buy a parking permit, and that office was also closed. Of course the woman working there was one of those overly chatty types. And of course the woman in front of me had lost her plastic permit and took all damn day to explain it. And of course I find out that, in 2006, this office has no credit card machine, and if I want to use my card I have to go to the other building and pay first at the cashier’s office! Or go find cash, which I don’t have. I have 30 minutes to get to the north side for a meeting, but the office closes in 30 minutes also and if I don’t get the parking permit, I won’t have anywhere to park during my 5-hour, once a week, basic writing class tomorrow. So I run to the other building, and of course a student stops me, the running person, who is obviously in a hurry, to ask me where a damn classroom is. Read the wall signs! I say. I finally find the cashier’s office and there is a DMV-style line snaking out of its doors. All loudly chatting undergrads!!!! I have to get this permit. So I suck it up and pay the fee to use the ATM, draining my account of funds I really do not have at the moment. I race back to the other office, and the crazy who lost her permit, which just hangs from the rearview mirror, is STILL in there talking about her fucking missing permit. Thankfully, the newly hired full timer in the English department who appears annoyingly put together stands behind me in line, so I begin chatting her ear off. She was friendly, also helpful, as so many faculty at this school, at least those I’ve encountered in the copy room, just ooze a dontfuckingtalktome vibe. The environment breeds it though. Like the woman who stood in front of me while I was sitting in the first office waiting for the Asst to come back so I could get my copy code so I could copy my syllabus and all the necessary accompanying handouts. Like she was going to get service first after coming in after me. But I played friendly with her too; a good move sometimes, and when I hopped up when the Asst arrived back from lunch, she rightly let me get my necessities first. She is lucky I did not cuss her ass out like I did the fat, greasy, 70s glasses wearing, needlessly condescendingly security guy at yet another office I had to visit.

I finally get my parking permit, and the woman keeps talking so much that she can not make change. $40-$25=$15! I am no math whiz, and in fact, have become flustered while giving back change at Shriner Bingo, but it took this woman about 3 minutes to figure it out, and she didn’t see the ten dollar bill and had only a few ones, and I had to tell her about the $10, and then finally, sweating and starting to smell, I can leave and race out to my car, to try and make a 25 minute drive in 20 minutes, only to be stuck behind 8 school buses full of asshole high school students waving their torsos out of bus windows and standing out in the street. I made it to my meeting 10 minutes late, but thankfully the woman in charge, who has clout, did not seem perplexed, because at least I’d made in time to listen to her love to listen to herself talk.

The next day, I taught my very long class, and learned that the textbook had been updated, so I showed up a different addition than the students. Yes, apparently it is too much trouble to tell an instructor who has told you that she has not taught at the school for a semester to stop by for a new copy of the book.

Thankfully, the students deal with the same inept bureaucrats and Admin Assts that I do, and we had enough other things to cover, so they understood.

Whew.

2006-01-15T19:05:00.000-08:00

I am so fucking frantic, even though I got outside a bit today with Sassyj and her son it was windy and felt so good to me but chilly to them, dressed not warmly enough. I don’t know enough about children sometimes. Errands driving store driving south side back home eating turkey thanksgiving turkey deli slices sleepy syllabus writing hurry two days left writing and rewriting adding more detail more specific expectations printing the readings for the first currents events reading and discussion; MLK Jr Letter from Birmingham Jail and a JS piece about that fucking mob beating. Dude was buying crack. Still doesn’t make it right. So too much turkey now it’s lemon ginger tea and soon foundation for drinks which I shouldn’t do but I cant fucking calm down in the house it’s been impossible all week. Dunno if it’s the NYC energy still in me, the quick walking rush everywhere pace. Dunno could be. Bought my new grade book feeling so teacher dorky why can’t I fully and comfortably don this role? Must try must try because I can DO this shit I can do it it will be meaningful. I feel so good about discussing MLK on the first day of the weekly 5 hr long class, since it’s MLK Jr Day tomorrow and all. Certainly cliché but a necessary one; students should be exposed!

Man I haven’t even had time to write about my NYC trip which sucks. The feeling might be gone by time I have time. At least I have some notes to start me off. Got back and immediately began Milwaukee style socializing. Tues to redroom to terrorize Stoic with Yells Alot. Fought with Stoic about Thin Lizzy. Man they inspire passionate hate, as well as devoted admiration. Weds to Polish Falcon with The Promoter, such a good good Milwaukee evening. The Falcon is so tackily charming, its old school/old timer patrons equally. Sitting too close to us was Whispering Jeff, a man who talks so fucking loudly you want to put in earplugs but not leave because the shit that comes out of his mouth can be highly amusing. Talking all about the guys his age who are dried up prunes now because you know there’s no content they don’t do shit they’re repeaters, the same story repeats all the time. Talking about fish fry at Klingers the owner’s try to bust his friend’s gut by forcing so much fried cod down his gullet. I kept picturing my friend’s equally loud and insane father blowharding alongside this guy but turns out Purveyor of Drunken Sluts can’t stand this whispering Jeff. Competition? My Promoter friend is so awesome but so so out of reach. I know that most times and sometimes I just get wistful and then other times allow myself hopefulness and that’s just silly. Gotta move on. Friends is ok though.

Thurs was chicken wing bday night for Sassyj at Steny’s, a horrible yet spacious bar featuring many pool tables and various other video and pinball games (golf but no buck hunter the fools!) that allows patrons to drink free when it’s their birthday, and not swill either, anything they choose! Sassyj downed a steady supply of Heineken all evening while wearing her ‘warning: I drink for free‘ fluorescent orange crossing guard vest mandated by Steny’s management. I ate chicken their sandwich it was not good. The wings were tolerable that’s the only thing I’ll ever eat there but even eating four or five fucks up my gut. So addictive though those little chicken wings.

Friday was working all day then really just sleeping through the night starting at 7:30. I was just worn down. Need to feel more used to being busy, shouldn’t fuck me up so much. Saturday syllabi writing hell all afternoon break to head to store to find TC and DiNO to find out the plans….I was set up on a date like get to know each other thing. Very thoughtful of DiNO. Drinks at Lulu, such a lovely space, so adult and just all around good, then fucking huge pancakes and good true hash browns at the Bayview diner and our waitress slapped this college looking boy upside the head as we were paying up. Knew him well I suppose. Date was ok. We talked more to TC and DiNO than each other, he was nervous (and skinny! God!) I guess I was quiet calm, noisy and verbose as usual but calm about the event taking place. don’t know, was nice, we’ll see. Need some gotta get some more immediately though, gotta hatcha plan. This franticness needs to dissolve!

2006-01-03T13:02:00.000-08:00

In the latest issue of US News and World Report, Michael Barone, comparing the "Wal-mart Model" to that of GM's business model, states that a main difference between the two is that most of Wal-mart's employees do not receive health care benefits whereas with GM in the 1970s, all full-time workers received such benefits. Ok, duh. He then comments, "That made sense when almost all workers were men supporting families. But it is a poor fit with a labor market in which many workers are women, teenagers, or retirees seeking extra income."

There are two problems here. One is whether or not he means that all three groups who work for Wal Mart are solely "seeking extra income." But the bigger problem that is, in any case, his comments overlook the fact that most women work just as hard as men to support their families. Also, has he not heard of single mothers? Or even of men who are single without children? Maybe he just is one of those people who likes to simplify and generalize. In any case, I remember when you could receive health benefits upon working 25 hours or more per week. Sure some places probably have this set up, but such businesses who do are surely dwindling more and more. To infer on any level that most people working at places like Wal-mart are doing so just for exta income or that they don't need or deserve any benefits due to their gender or age is discrimantory and frustrating.

I do realize that this magazine sides towards corportate and governmental interests, but its columnists are not usually so sexist and ageist. My guess is that this guy has a nice comfy house, relatively new model car, and his own health benefits. Fuck him!

2006-01-02T19:06:00.001-08:00

I just watched two movies that I found interesting. First was Anything Else, which is significant because it is the only Woody Allen film I’ve viewed in its entirety. It’s the one with Jason Biggs from American Pie. He is a Jewish comic writer and he is dating this aspiring actress, played by Christina Ricci. I guess Allen is known for creating these highly neurotic characters. It does get a bit grating sometimes, but to me it’s mostly amusing, probably because I am quite neurotic. (I’m sure that statement is quite shocking!) The NYC setting enticed me. So many great panoramic views of the island from many different vantage points. Allen played another comic writer who doubles as Biggs’ sort of older life-mentor guy. He’s crazy and bashes in some brute’s car window because the brute stole his parking spot. Ricci can’t have sex with Biggs anymore because she is having some psychosocial drama all of the time, but he is obsessed with her. Jimmy Fallon has a bit part as her ex boyfriend. Danny Devito plays Biggs’ agent. It ends with Biggs leaving NYC to pursue his career in LA. Ricci says to him, upon hearing the news, that people who are big losers in NYC often become millionaires out in LA. Something else happens at the end too, predictably perhaps, but I do not want to spoil the entire ending. Another good line, I thought, was when Biggs tells his shrink that he has so many problems that committing suicide would not solve them all. Stockard Channing is pretty amusing as Ricci’s mom too, snorting coke off of Biggs’ laptop. Biggs really pulled off his role, considering how he is known for much fluffier films. I enjoyed it.

Then I watched House of Sand and Fog, with Jennifer Connelly and Ben Kingsley. All of the actors were good. That movie fucked me up. It’s a tragedy in the modern sense, I guess. Commentary of what happens when people get too wound up about material possessions, but goes deeper than that. Whites mistrust Middle Easterners, Middle Easterners stereotype and scorn Whites. Very very intense, complex stuff. So much about race relations, longing, despair, the human need not to be alone, the need to provide for one’s family, the need to change one’s dull life. So much stuff. It’s subtle too. The ending is very dramatic, and perhaps a tad unnecessary. I do not wish to spoil it though. This is one of those films I could really write about. It really moved me. I cried for fuck’s sake!

I am going to watch State and Main with SJP and William H Macy next. I think that’s the one where Macy goes full frontal, but maybe not. Seemed like an interesting cast. I remember hearing a lot about it. I never get to be sloth like and just lounge and watch movies like this, and it’s a bullshit dreary day, so I’m going to milk it.

New Year’s Eve was ok. I did not experience or invite drama, so really, it was a success. Dinner with four friends, three of whom I am quite comfortable with, and a lot of vulgarity and titty flashing and picture posing. Passing the time in a fun and affordable way. Nothing wrong with that. I did not feel anything when the clock struck midnight though. I just worried that I would not be able to finagle my car out of the Chicago style parking spot I lodged it into. Fucking Brady St area. Dick Clark was a joke. We watched him for about five minutes. Due to his stroke, his voice is all fucked up. Not to be harsh, but it’s really time he retired. Around 1am I stopped by Foundation to see TC and DiNO and to see who else was there. The Plumber oddly was sitting with them, and two other people I knew were sitting in the same bar stools they were sitting in about 6 hours earlier. No interesting men in sight, but DiNO informed me that she has some freaky tattooed friend that she wants me to meet, which is very nice. I stayed there for an hour and went home. To my cat. Not all that bad, I guess.

On New Year’s Day, I hung out at this cool, spazzy and snazzy couple’s house in Riverwest all afternoon. They put out a great spread of food, such as quiche, smoked salmon and whitefish, bagels with all of the fixings, sweet potato stuffing, shrimp and grits, made to order waffles, fresh fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice and this wonderful, light praline cake topped with fresh whipped cream and raspberries. They had tons of cans of Pabst and bloody Marys too. A very good crowd of people, adult people, socializing and eating. I quite enjoyed it. When E. and her friend arrived, they announced that a guy they knew had gotten punched out by a woman in a bar on New Year’s because she was so sick of him arguing with her about the amount of hours she said she worked at a cranberry farm. That’s pretty funny. The Plumber had gotten surly with me because he drank too much and was lonely and needy. Let New Year’s get the best of him. Then WCZ arrived and told us that he had just seen some guy peeling himself off of the pavement at a local park. Hope he understands the significance of the fact that he is still alive and smartens up. Ah, New Year’s. Gotta love it!

2006-01-02T19:06:00.000-08:00

I just watched two movies that I found interesting. First was Anything Else, which is significant because it is the only Woody Allen film I’ve viewed in its entirety. It’s the one with Jason Biggs from American Pie. He is a Jewish comic writer and he is dating this aspiring actress, played by Christina Ricci. I guess Allen is known for creating these highly neurotic characters. It does get a bit grating sometimes, but to me it’s mostly amusing, probably because I am quite neurotic. (I’m sure that statement is quite shocking!) The NYC setting enticed me. So many great panoramic views of the island from many different vantage points. Allen played another comic writer who doubles as Biggs’ sort of older life-mentor guy. He’s crazy and bashes in some brute’s car window because the brute stole his parking spot. Ricci can’t have sex with Biggs anymore because she is having some psychosocial drama all of the time, but he is obsessed with her. Jimmy Fallon has a bit part as her ex boyfriend. Danny Devito plays Biggs’ agent. It ends with Biggs leaving NYC to pursue his career in LA. Ricci says to him, upon hearing the news, that people who are big losers in NYC often become millionaires out in LA. Something else happens at the end too, predictably perhaps, but I do not want to spoil the entire ending. Another good line, I thought, was when Biggs tells his shrink that he has so many problems that committing suicide would not solve them all. Stockard Channing is pretty amusing as Ricci’s mom too, snorting coke off of Biggs’ laptop. Biggs really pulled off his role, considering how he is known for much fluffier films. I enjoyed it.

Then I watched House of Sand and Fog, with Jennifer Connelly and Ben Kingsley. All of the actors were good. That movie fucked me up. It’s a tragedy in the modern sense, I guess. Commentary of what happens when people get too wound up about material possessions, but goes deeper than that. Whites mistrust Middle Easterners, Middle Easterners stereotype and scorn Whites. Very very intense, complex stuff. So much about race relations, longing, despair, the human need not to be alone, the need to provide for one’s family, the need to change one’s dull life. So much stuff. It’s subtle too. The ending is very dramatic, and perhaps a tad unnecessary. I do not wish to spoil it though. This is one of those films I could really write about. It really moved me. I cried for fuck’s sake!

I am going to watch State and Main with SJP and William H Macy next. I think that’s the one where Macy goes full frontal, but maybe not. Seemed like an interesting cast. I remember hearing a lot about it. I never get to be sloth like and just lounge and watch movies like this, and it’s a bullshit dreary day, so I’m going to milk it.

New Year’s Eve was ok. I did not experience or invite drama, so really, it was a success. Dinner with four friends, three of whom I am quite comfortable with, and a lot of vulgarity and titty flashing and picture posing. Passing the time in a fun and affordable way. Nothing wrong with that. I did not feel anything when the clock struck midnight though. I just worried that I would not be able to finagle my car out of the Chicago style parking spot I lodged it into. Fucking Brady St area. Dick Clark was a joke. We watched him for about five minutes. Due to his stroke, his voice is all fucked up. Not to be harsh, but it’s really time he retired. Around 1am I stopped by Foundation to see TC and DiNO and to see who else was there. The Plumber oddly was sitting with them, and two other people I knew were sitting in the same bar stools they were sitting in about 6 hours earlier. No interesting men in sight, but DiNO informed me that she has some freaky tattooed friend that she wants me to meet, which is very nice. I stayed there for an hour and went home. To my cat. Not all that bad, I guess.

On New Year’s Day, I hung out at this cool, snazzy, cute couple’s house in Riverwest all afternoon. They put out a great spread of food, such as quiche, smoked salmon and whitefish, bagels with all of the fixings, sweet potato stuffing, shrimp and grits, made to order waffles, fresh fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice and this wonderful, light praline cake topped with fresh whipped cream and raspberries. They had tons of cans of Pabst and bloody Marys too. A very good crowd of people, adult people, socializing and eating. I quite enjoyed it. When E. and her friend arrived, they announced that a guy they knew had gotten punched out by a woman in a bar on New Year’s because she was so sick of him arguing with her about the amount of hours she said she worked at a cranberry farm. That’s pretty funny. The Plumber had gotten surly with me because he drank too much and was lonely and needy. Let New Year’s get the best of him. Then WCZ arrived and told us that he had just seen some guy peeling himself off of the pavement at a local park. Hope he understands the significance of the fact that he is still alive and smartens up. Ah, New Year’s. Gotta love it!

2005-12-29T12:26:00.000-08:00

12-29-05
Fun day yesterday! Wilz, WCZ and I ventured to the Milwaukee Art Museum (MAM) because on Wednesdays Milwaukee County residents with proof of residence handy receive free admission. We skipped the Rembrandt special exhibit due to lack of time and my paltry funds. Our first order of business was to play follow WCZ down the hallway. It led to the coat check and restrooms, which was great because I had to pee!
We then spent over an hour on the first floor, which opens into rooms upon rooms upon rooms. I became overwhelmed after awhile due to the dry hot air swirling about; the 19th and 18th century artwork began to all melt together. MAM has a beautiful Monet piece. I tired of searching for it online, but here is another one I enjoy that has similar coloring:

I also was very taken with the piece, “The Two Majesties” once again. Here it is, but this image does not do the actual painting justice:

The modern art collection is lacking, in my opinion, but it does feature one of Andy Warhol’s brillo pad cubes.

The Julian Schnabel piece is an absolute eyesore. There is a lot more good stuff on the first floor but Milwaukeeians should see for themselves!
Upstairs features the Pabst wing. Only in Milwaukee can a section of an art museum be sponsored by a beer company…There is a lot of queer folk art, “useful objects” and “entertainment” pieces, including a small painting of Nathan’s hotdogs in Brooklyn! Funny to see such a dirty, unappealing place kind of romanticized in that way…memorialized? Which word…well the upstairs back section is truly amusing. I laughed a lot, and I do not really know how appropriate laughing in a museum is but some of art is really really fun(ny).

Upon leaving the museum, we caused confusion in the parking structure because we attempted to leave out of the automated monthly pass user only stall and about 4 cars had to back up, and then we had to follow them way out the other end of the parking structure. Since I am a tard, I attempted to lift the level blocking us in, which was not a good idea. They need to mark where to go a lot better, me thinks. Oh well, just a cause for more laughter.

Afterwards, we all ate food at my house and drank some chardonnay, followed by Budweiser, and watched the “Helen Keller” episode of South Park that features the gimp necked turkey and then we settled down for some 80s teen action as featured in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. A classic.

I really like having people at my house. I need to do more often. Especially in winter because my place is cozy and warm; it’s not so good in the hot summers.

Following our movie viewing, we headed to the Foundation for a few libations with Wilz’s brother. Me being me, I decided to accost the Foundation regular who is currently on leave from army duty in Iraq. I made some casual banter with him, asking him how his holiday and if he ate a lot (I did!). He said he ate a good amount, and then I asked:Did you eat some pussy, too?

I think momentarily SassyJ was channeling through me!

The soldier (well, sergeant) responded casually as well, stating no, he did not and then made his way to the toilet.

Apparently, WCZ interpreted my foul mouthed comment as a signal that I was interested in the army sergeant. He is not bad looking or anything, in fact I have a drunken photo I took with him in the summer during my friend’s bachelorette party, but I really didn’t ask him that for any particular reason except to amuse myself by seeing his reaction. I was impressed that he did not flap, but later he came over and asked me why I asked him that and I said that well you know I’m just mouthy ask these guys ask them I’m mouthy! He admitted he was taken a bit off guard. Ha! Success. Apparently, I was a bit bored, as WCZ and Wilz’s bro were engaged in their own, private, best friends forever conversation, part of which centered on in-jokes about masturbation. (!)

When TC and DiNO arrived to my delight a little later, the army sergeant proceeded to tell them about my mouthy comments, which only served to amuse them, so I did succeed in amusing both myself and others!
***
And on a completely tangential note, I checked UWM’s site for my grades today and they were there: my GPA is 3.835; I received an A- and an A and I could not be more pleased, considering how tumultuous this first semester as a doctoral student has been for me, and considering that I wrote the bulk of my final papers in 2 days each.

2005-12-26T18:56:00.000-08:00

Birthday/Christmas Weekend

Friday: Birthday. 32. Chardonnay at 6pm with Bec and SassyJ after a three month hiatus (too long!). Bec’s dog, Ruby, is very cute. Did not enjoy the puppy nipping but she will grow out of that and she calmed down pretty quickly. I know amusing shit was said amidst the personal but all I can remember is that I was talking about one of my activities for the week, which was to compare the Banquet frozen chicken dinner to the Swanson one. The Banquet one is fucking $1.25, it’s hardly even chicken. So many calories and so much sodium. Swanson won, of course.

They bought be gifts, which I didn’t expect. That was really sweet. Huge citrus/cilantro candle, cute green scarf, and a rocker belt.

We ate dinner at Casablanca. Good huge appetizer of all of the Middle Eastern dips, plus pita. The potato salad was particularly good. Eating while buzzed is fun, the food tastes so good, although it’s not good on the stomach. Fucking holiday bagel is currently in full effect. Of course, I ordered chicken with almond rice and it came with a salad. It was so much fucking food; I wish they’d charge $4 less and give me less food. A belly dancer clad in red with the bad blonde hair emerged just as we were about to leave. As she stood mere feet away from me, with her back towards me, I became mesmerized. How she moved her lower abdomen/back muscles, so quickly, back and forth, so in sync. Of course my friends had to tell her that it was my birthday so gyrated close to me. I attempted to mimic her for Bec and SassyJ’s amusement but my muscles need some more training! That shit hurt! Some little girl with a big pudgy gut was sitting at the bar, rising up in her chair, also attempting some belly dancer moves. Such a pudgy little gut she had!

Afterwards, I went to Foundation to wait to be picked up and transported for drinks down at The Palm, where my good friend’s band mate thoughtfully purchased me a birthday glass of wine. TC, E., WCZ, and DiNO and I had a tard-a-riffic time; E. brought me sweet, moist cupcakes, which I had mentioned months earlier and they bought me a magazine subscription, which was very nice.

Told my story of the roughneck running down icy Center street in a dress coat and dress shoes, running off his anger, watch out, roughneck running! A good mellow time though I was feeling really hot and sleepy, wish I could have had more of a crazy buzz. All and all in was a very acceptable birthday considering the last minute plan change; missing The Muppet Movie at midnight did not disappoint me.
* **

Christmas Eve. Oh god, as usual, an evening much shouting and vulgarity, even from Grandma. She told some story a lady once told her, goes something like this:

Lady: Well my mother tells me she is going to the doctor for a pap smear.
And I say mom, you’re 82 years old, why would you need to go for a pap smear?
Lady’s mom: Well I could still use a good tickle you know!

Or something insane like that. Who the hell knows how that got brought up! I go into the dining room and there sits a stack of movies from my uncles; all share the theme of RATS. My 81 year old grandma has been watching insane Rat flicks like Willard. Jesus fucking christ.

So much extra food this year too. My mom made a HUGE FUCKING VAT of tuna fish salad. It’s a favorite of mine, with the celery and the pickles, but fucking shit, look at the size of this dish!

Sadly, between the 7 of us we nearly finished the shit off in two days, well ok we ate a little tiny bit over half of it. No more mayonnaise for me for weeks. I ate 2 little slivers of the cow and felt guilty but I just wanted to try it. I feel bad enough eating the birds. I have to deal with this flesh consumption thing. And let’s see, pistachio pudding with fruit and nuts, tons of sugar cookies, pumpkin pie that I made, olives and pickles and celery, and chocolate candies and nuts. Christmas is too disgustingly gluttonous!

More vulgar jokes, one was a sucking dick innuendo that I even got involved in, too embarrassing to repeat here, then my step dad says something about using the tongue and I said well now I think you are talking about a woman, and he turned red! Lots of jokes with my mom and her inarticulateness. Pictures of my uncle drinking his Jack Daniels.

Opened up gifts at home, got my laptop computer, some extra stuff, my casserole dish. They wrapped up some more little stuff for me which was nice. My mom didn’t like the simulated opal necklace my step dad got her, not unusual. She can be so ruthless! Liked my seafood and CHICKEN cookbooks a lot also. And my popcorn popper. CHICKEN CHICKEN CHICKEN! Wanna make fried chicken!

Christmas day I was crabby. Ready to not be sitting and eating bad food anymore. Forced a Budweiser down as soon as I got to my grandma’s to thwart the arrival of bitchy Jen and thankfully was successful. Was not at all interested in hearing the entire family scream the television set due to the Packers’ ineptitude. Fucking *!(*U(*U ! yells my mom! Shit sucking something yells my aunt! Over and over! Blelelele you son of a gun! From my grandma, with a few mumbled murmurings thrown in by my uncle and step dad. Stupid fucking losing Packers.

In the last minute or so of the game, while we were playing Texas Hold Em (my step dad had lost his five dollars by then), the Packers got the ball! If they scored they could tie this game against the Bears! And Favre threw the ball! IT went far! Someone caught it! He ran and ran. My mom beat her hand on the table so hard her wine glass toppled over and she covered my grandma’s new corral covered outfit my other aunt sent in cranberry apple wine! And boy did my mom fly into the other room before my grandma got a good look at how much wine she spilled. The game ended with Favre throwing an interception. Damn he needs to retire.

2005-12-11T20:45:00.000-08:00

I have started drinking more than necessary again these past few weeks. Stress induced. First I decided not to continue with my graduate studies, as mentioned below. Then, I received some news. Important news. The freshman writing curriculum will be tweaked next fall. A different professor will be teaching the course new writing instructors at UWM must take. Things will be changing. I think I will like the program much more now. Maybe. I hope. Can’t be sure. Really can hope. So I formulated a new plan last Thursday night. I will take one class in the Spring, one I will have to pay for, but it sounds like an interesting class and I have to be in school to be considered for a TAship for next Fall. If I am not granted at TAship I am definitely leaving UWM. I’m not paying for more than one year of coursework. It’s ridiculous. I am more than qualified for a TAship. I’ve taught for three years! So it’s in their hands I guess. I’m going to get letters for my application, I’m going to try hard. I think I should try. I haven’t been trying hard. I don’t try hard enough. Damn I’d achieve so much if I did, because I do pretty well when I just do the minimum. If I hadn’t received this news, I’d be filling out a withdrawal from study form. It seems meant to be, somehow.

Friday was four hours at Foundation chatting WCZ’s ear off and talking to my ex-neighbor who is a sorta garage rock band that I like. A Racinian was performing DJ duties. I drank 2 huge glasses of wine during a very enjoyable dinner at Villa Roma with the monkey, the monkey’s mom, and E. 2 huge glasses at the bar. Too much. My bagel is going to start expanding again and I’ve been managing to keep it at bay! Fuck the bagel! I want a mini bagel.

Saturday was waking up late and therefore getting a late start on Project 1, presentation due Monday night. Then I went to UWM by myself to see my friends’ hardcore band. A benefit for an animal rights group at UWM. They kept projecting those gruesome videos on the wall, of cows hanging from the ceiling of some barn, building, I don’t know. Hanging upside down, a rope tied around one hind leg. Pigs being stepped on and bludgeoned. It’s a fucking absolutely fucking horrible thing to see. Seeing that kind of shit is what made me go vegetarian so many years ago, and now I am lame again and eat chicken and turkey and fish. Maybe I should stop. I don’t want to though. Even if I did stop eating meat, there will always be more people who eat meat. The animal abuse will not cease. There has to be another way to fight this. Humane treatment of the animals before slaughter. It shouldn’t be such a difficult context. Fucking America.

Anyway. I felt old at the show, but inwardly glad that new kids are building on my old scene. I still like that hardcore RAWR stuff every now and then though. Helps release some angst. During my friends’ band, some kids started a circle mosh pit during their last song. When the band stopped, the pit abruptly dispersed. Pretty funny stuff.

After that show, I went home to eat a fucking CHICKEN pot pie and chill a bit before heading to the Mad Planet to see this band Red Knife Lottery that I’d heard was good the night before, from my ex-neighbor. Got on the guest list. They were good. Such young kids, but good energy, no pretense. They will only get better, too. I was so tired, but stayed chatting with the ex neighbor and then my one who got away showed, looking all nice and dressed up, trying to kill me I guess. My head’s still a little spinny from that encounter. I thought I forced that shit to die but apparently not. Lucky me.

So it’s Sunday now and I haven’t done a damn thing on my project. Got distracted at the Crackpot in the early afternoon. Enjoying my friend’s zany dad because I haven’t seen him in so long. Him and all of his talk about slutty girlfriends. He wanted to make sure he was caught up on all of my gossip. My head was pounding all day. Guess seeing 6 bands in one night could do that to an old lady like me. Tomorrow I guess, will get up early, worked the editing job tonight so I’ll have to work less tomorrow. I need to get some fucking rest, but first will watch the episode of South Park where Cartman’s cat is in heat. Kittty what are you doing what is wrong with you kitty baaaddddddddddddd kitty!

2005-12-05T19:44:00.000-08:00

I like this:

More research/commentary later.

'Girlcott' Members Meet With Abercrombie Brass Over T-Shirts

http://news.yahoo.com/s/wtae/20051205/lo_wtae/3103959

Mon Dec 5, 6:20 PM ET

Teenagers who were offended by T-shirts on sale at Abercrombie & Fitch and launched what they called a "girlcott" met with company brass on Monday. Some of the T-shirts went too far, according to some young women.

The shirts boasted slogans such as:

"Blondes are adored, brunettes are ignored."

"Give me something to scream about."

The T-shirt that got the girls so upset in the first place said, "Who needs brains when you have these?" -- the words written across the chest of the shirt.

One of the protesters said, "Just being in high school we have enough to deal with -- without having to walk around looking at my own peers just degrading themselves and demeaning themselves. Just how much more negative can you get?"

Representatives from a group called the Women and Girls Foundation were invited to Abercrombie & Fitch national headquarters, in Columbus, Ohio, on Monday, to offer up their own ideas for T-shirts.

Messages like, "Your book or mine?" and, "You're just jealous because I have a 4.0." were put forth.

The girls said they hope the company gets their message.

"The money's coming out of our wallets. We're putting our money down for their products. So, they've got to make it better," one girl said. +

2005-12-01T18:05:00.000-08:00

I sit down with a group of four other people to discuss Ruth Behar’s ethnographic memoir The Vulnerable Observer: Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart. The people in my group are smart and funny. Everyone in the class, as far as I can tell, is smart and funny. We begin discussing the questions posed to us. I start to feel a nervous, fretful pang in my belly. Can I really leave this behind? This camaraderie? No one else I know will sit down with me and earnestly discuss an academic text/although certainly I could form a reading group composed of academic ex-patriots…

It is so comfortable, sitting and discussing. Sitting and discussing. Not doing anything; sitting and discussing. I only get worked up once, really. A record for me. I don’t feel that tense feeling either. I just sit, and discuss. The fretful feeling slowly subsides.

It disappears completely after a few minutes of large group discussion. Our professor, who is dynamic and caring, one of those professors is aware of her power, but also (seems to be) truly committed to her students and to working towards equality within and outside of the academy, points out mournfully that Behar is just so sad. She’s sad. This book is sad. She’s so freaking sad.

She is sad. And her sadness (and uncertainty; her vacillation) only serves to validate my decision to leave the academy behind, finally. Because I don’t want to be her.

In a chapter about a Mexican woman whose story Behar is attempting to “tell,” she writes, “As a Cuban immigrant kid, I grew up in a series of cramped apartments in New York, so when Marta tells me she loves to come to my house, that it is her dream house, I understand, but feel odd that the things I have acquired are inspiring wanting and longing in someone else” (91). That Behar would rather pose as the guilty successful than embrace her success exasperates me know. I am so interested in my own exasperation because all through undergrad, and even until a few years previous, I would understand her guilt, because I come from a working class family and never really lived in the lap of luxury when I was a child (obviously, though, my experience was not the same as or as severe as her own; I was an only child and had plenty of space, and although the food I ate wasn’t gourmet, there was enough of it, always, and I don‘t know it came quite that easily for Behar). But now I disavow such guilt. I wish not to be broke forevermore. I will not live in a dangerous neighborhood for sake of cheaper rent (In undergrad, I‘d never have lived in Shorewood. Never.) My god, I want there to be a day when I’m not renting. That was one of only reasons to go through this Ph.D program; for all the stress it creates, I would gladly receive a large salary, finally, to buy a home, and help my parents when they become elderly.

So for Behar, and so many other academics, to constantly force themselves to feel regretful, or to pose feeling regretful, for having some money and living relatively comfortably, just pisses me off now. I’m not going to be one of them. I have a nice apartment now, but I have no savings besides my 401K. I have no money for travel, for the occasional fancy dinner, for a night out at the theater, for the very occasional extravagance. I have no need to be rich, but I would not balk at earning $40K a year, or maybe even more (and that goal is so low compared to many Americans). Maybe what I'm saying is tad tangential, but damn. I would not feel bad that I no longer had to wonder where the rent money comes from.

In her last chapter, Behar recounts what I see as a courageous action she performs at an academic conference. But before she goes into it, she asks why she is there, at the conference. She clearly does not desire to be there, doing this academic work, again. But she “reminds” herself that she is there to take a stand. To me, these confessions are the most sad. Certainly we all have moments in our professional careers when we feel beleaguered, let down. It’s not rosy all of the time. But it seems to me that academics, especially those who come from working class backgrounds, are female and/or are “minorities,” (I hate that fucking word and I also hate “people of color;” both are patronizing) ask themselves more often than some other professionals why they remain in their profession. Where, at four-year-universities, there’s in-fighting all of the time. There’s hypocrisy that runs so deep. It wears people down. There is rare joy, rare pleasure. For me that joy comes from feeling that I am writing well. I do not need a Ph.D to write. I do not need to feel bad anymore.

No, I will not be. The academic who has to remind herself. Why she is there.

2005-11-27T12:04:00.000-08:00

This weekend was full of distractions, drinking, and sleep. Friday night crept into Sunday morning quickly. Home at 4:45 am. No reason for me to have been driving my car after all of the that vodka I drank. I was drinking because I was happy. This decision has brought with it a surge of powerful energy. I have felt dead since June 26th, 2004. Until last week, for the most part. Dead. Lifeless. Forcing most enthusiasm. Feeling little faith in my abilities. Having so little time to work to improve my personal essay writing (the academic shit I have down; informative, expository essays are no problem. It’s the personal that fucks with me.) But the energy is galloping back with a vengeance. In “Beyond Ecology” by Neil Evernden, he talks about “the individual as a component of, not something distinct from, the rest of the environment.” He also discusses this fish called the cichlid. The fish is small, but it’s a bad ass. It makes itself think it is as big as its territory so it can compete for sustenance; “the fish is no longer an organism bounded by skin--it is an organism-plus-environment bounded by an imaginary integument.” (An integument is, according to Definition Number 5 on www.dictionary.com, “an outer protective covering such as the skin of an animal or a cuticle or seed coat or rind or shell.”)

When I first read this essay, I was living in NYC. The essay emboldened me to lap up the energy the people on the subways and in the streets provide, to swim with the other sea creatures, as opposed to darting from them, letting them annoy me, wear me out.
Now, instead, my feeling recalls the essay (for the past two days, at least): I am the fish and I am part of the environment, my familial environment, my social environment. I do not feel outside of the happenings; I feel inside of them; I’m taking part. So often I feel so “distinct” from my surroundings. I am a petite, over excitable, 32 year old woman fighting to possess more confidence and drive, and I am making myself bigger, wrapping my arms around my grandmother’s home and its visitors, my family, and around the entire bar and everyone in it.

What I need to be watch out for is the little fish engulfing absolutely everything and leaving little room for others to breathe. Sometimes, though, it’ll be the others who need to become cichlids.

Friday. The vodka. The good new feeling. Super spazzy Jen in effect. Accompanying my friend M to a show so he could make contact with someone who was interested in him. He was unsure of his interest, but he not rash. He made an effort. He was smart about it. People always have their guards up because we’ve all been so burned by those we’ve dated, attempted to date. Those who like us but are afraid, and vice versa…But I was impressed at how rational he was about it. You have to at least try, sometimes, even if the person is not generally your “type.”

Back to the bar that is too comfortable to me. I am not going to meet new people in that bar. Just new acquaintances, maybe, but I keep going back. Happily, my friend and favorite bartender, WCZ, was still sitting where we had left him. The one who got shot in the ass by a thug the night before Thanksgiving hovered in the back. M and I “berated the pitfalls of the opposite sex” as my Maddog so aptly puts it. And we antagonized the one who got shot. A few people said it was kharma, but they also made clear they wouldn’t be joking if the victim had been seriously hurt.

Things get blurry with the fourth and fifth vodkas. (Milwaukee bartenders make such strong drinks!) My good feeling is transitioning into rowdy craziness. But that’s ok, because then my hot acquaintance Ms. S arrives and she can hardly stand. I grope her at the bar. T comes in moments later, smiley and looking dapper. WCZ hugs him, happy that the person he can so easily converse with has finally arrived. My feeling does good when I literally ensconce T in a little Jenny bear hug and pronounce that I never want us to fight again! He says all is ok, and a wave of relief overwhelms me briefly. I had been wanting to ensure that things were all right, but I hadn’t known how. Sometimes drunken, spur of the moment simplicity works best.

When last call rolls around, the owner is playing Thin Lizzy, three songs in a row, including “The Cowboy Song.” I grab my young acquaintance and attempt to dance in the aisle but we are so trashed we just fall around. T okays a small after bar at his place. I tell the bartender that he MUST come, and I convince WCZ by brazenly/obnoxiously trotting behind the bar and telling him passionately that he, too, has to come! Ms. S brings her hipster hairdresser friend who is moving to NYC and is talking about it in that naive, pretentious way that people who are about to move to NYC do. (I can talk shit because I'm sure I sounded the same way four years ago.)

I am at my limit now and should not be drinking anymore. The little fish is in everyone’s lap. Everything is drunkenly surreal and crazy, and I hate that I not be able to accurately convey the scenes and the feeling. So hard for me describe feelings. At the end of the night, when T becomes weary and politely lets me know, the guys separate from the ladies. They walk while we carry on, all a little too much to handle at this point, and I end up at the hipster’s house briefly. I shouldn’t be there, but I want to make sure Ms. S is okay, and she is, she has her friend. I go home shortly after, falling in the slush as I try to open my car door.

The next morning, I awake hungover and paranoid. What did I do? Did I make a foolish spectacle of myself? The feeling can’t push through the hangover. I make some calls and discover all is well. This time.

I have to make some food now. I have to read that fucking theory. I could just stop now, I suppose. Don’t turn in the projects, maybe even stop going. Does it matter that I paid over $3200 for these classes? I’ve never given up on school though, and in 26 days, I will forever retire my role as full-time student in a formal academic setting. More time to be spent writing. Good shit, better than what is written here. (I hate how this writing reads, looks, feels.) Writing that doesn't center so often on bartime shenanigans and neurouses. Writing that better resembles that of Katha Pollitt, bell hooks.

I want to be a cichlid, albeit one who imbibes a little less vodka, swimming amongst the other urchin.

2005-11-27T10:05:00.000-08:00

An American cliché that I really wouldn’t trade.

Thanksgiving Day, 2005, begins with a phone call to my parents around 12:15pm.
My step dad answers.
“Do you guys have Cool Whip ™?”
“Well lemme see…no Cool Whip.”
“Ask Mom if Grandma has it.”
“Helen, does your mother have Cool Whip?”
My mom, in the background announces that [my aunt] “Mary is bringing the Cool Whip and the buns.”
I get ready to hang up the phone but then hear my mom making exaggerated, shrieky complaining sounds. She yells, “Come save me Jenny!”
“What is wrong with her?! She sounds nuts again!” I say to my step dad.
He says something about oysters that I can’t completely understand, and I tell him to tell her to calm down, I’ll be there in 45 minutes.
***
I arrive in Oak Creek with my pumpkin pie an hour later. Their townhome smells like turkey, as my mom bakes it now and we transport it to my grandma’s. We are also bringing an Apple Pie in the Bag ™. As usual, my mom is in the half bath that is off of the kitchen, teasing and mercilessly hairspraying her hair. My step dad is getting anxious to leave. He has to pass the time somehow, so he is up in the den. He runs downstairs to ask her a question about the Christmas gift is ordering for online from Macy’s; he wants to know if she prefers the tote bag or the cosmetics bag as the free gift that will accompany the perfume purchase. She goes upstairs to make her selection. Oddly, I forget to ask her what she chose, but I was more curious to know why my mother was behaving like a tard earlier, so I ask:
“What was the deal with the oysters earlier, Mom?”
We both hover around the kitchen island.
“My house smelled like Thanksgiving and he opened a can of oysters!”
I just smiled. That is so my mom to protest the slightest infringement on her delicate constitution. And that is so my step dad to eat something quick and disgusting for lunch instead of taking the time to heat up a can of soup or scramble some eggs.
***
We arrive to my grandmother’s house in Kenosha, near the Steam Baths, my former elementary and junior high schools, and Tenuta’s Italian grocery and spirits around 2:15. My uncle, aunt and my aunt’s mother will be arriving within the hour. Grandma has not put out her vegetable snack tray this year, but we make do with some Claussen’s garlic pickles, my favorite kind. They, too, offend my mother.
My mom and I help my grandma with various kitchen tasks like baking the rolls, making the gravy, setting the table, scooping out the store-bought jello (we didn’t even have cranberry sauce this year!) The turkey is a fifteen pounder, a Butterball, of course. It is the moistest turkey I remember having in years (even though for the previous 10 or so years, I didn’t always eat turkey or, like the time two years ago in NYC during our Friendsgiving feast and Judi the food stylist’s turkey dinner, I snuck pieces of it and ate it guiltily because I was “mostly vegetarian”).
Our dinner went on as it usually does. People ate greedily, although we generally added “please” or “thank you” when commanding someone to pass the stuffing, gravy, butter, or salt. It is slightly tense at times when my working class, pizzeria owning aunt fed the dog she cares for with my uncle, named JD (for Jack Dudeck), carrot chunks from the table. My step dad can not STAND having an animal lurking near the table. I don’t blame him, but I always worry he is going to go off on her about the dog like he did that one year, which resulted in her leaving in a huff.
Always during our family gatherings, crass jokes are made. People cuss, and fart, and then make fart jokes. (My uncle, who I refer to as a “Harlier” due to his penchant for buying brand new, shiny, Harley Davidson motorcycles every other year, is the premier farter, but I believe he did not fart at the table this year.)
The crass talk was surprisingly scarce this year. However, my aunt’s mother, sporting a blue fleece sweatshirt splashed with tie-dyed smiley faces, made one attempt. She began to make a comment but then switched gears because “it was too nasty.” My mother, looking to avoid conflict when there isn’t any, and also knowing full well anything goes, said not to say it, then. Meanwhile, I’m shrieking that it being nasty has never stopped anyone before, and my cute, sassy 82-year-old grandma, clad in a pink sweater, gray slacks, and the pink and gray socks adorned with an image of a deer on them that I bought her for Christmas last year, yells, “If it’s nasty, I wanna hear it!”
My aunt’s mother makes some comment about how men walk off kilter because they have three legs (I have no idea what prompts her to bring this up).
My grandma, unimpressed, aptly notes that “Well, we’ve heard worse!” and I turn to her and say, “I’ve heard you say worse!” We all laugh.
Later, we all consume too much pie, and my uncle, who outweighs my little step dad by 100 pounds, sits next to him on the couch, both of their bellies flopping out over their waistbands as they stare at the football game that’s on TV while my mom, Aunt and I wash, dry, and put away the dishes and I pack up bags of leftovers.

2005-11-18T13:28:00.000-08:00

11-14-2005

I really enjoyed hearing Jonathan Kozol speak tonight. He’s written several books--or narratives, as he terms them, about the plight of inner city schools in America. He was also fired from teaching 4th grade once in the 1960s, I believe, because he taught a Langston Hughes poem, which wasn’t part of the curriculum. I have only read Savage Inequalities.
*****
It was an assigned text in my English 112 class. I took that class in 1993 and I still remember that book and how its stark depiction of the differences between the inner city school and the affluent school across the way--literally just across the state line, I believe. I recently read the excerpt from his new book Shame of the Nation that is featured in the September issue of Harper’s. I want to read it in its entirety when it becomes available in paperback. Even though I’m a college teacher, issues of inequality in our schools affect me because they have affected many students I have taught and will teach. And these inequalities simply piss me off. It’s fucking 2005. “Minorities” aren’t really minority now are they? Blacks make up almost half of Milwaukee’s population. Hispanics follow them, and Hmongs follow them. So probably at least half or God no more than half of Milwaukee’s population are “minorities.” It’s so ridiculous that we--mostly, but not solely, middle class, educated whites--have to keep theorizing about “minorities” like they are some alien species that needs to be examined, especially when it comes to children. It seems like such common sense. Treat all children of all race and class backgrounds equally.
*****
But Kozol reports that in America, there’s a form of apartheid occurring--his term. Most inner city/urban schools are composed around 90% if not more of Latino and African American students. Most of these schools have much less financing than other schools in the suburbs or wealthier urban areas. For example, Kozol recounted that the school system spends $11,000 per child in The Bronx, but in its northern suburb, which is a ten minute train ride away, the school system spends $19,000 per child and there is a 0% child poverty rate, which is unheard of in urban areas. Kozol talked about schools where the children/teens tell him to come in see their cafeterias, many of which are housed in dank basements. Their schools often have failing plumbing, so sometimes even the bathroom facilities are beyond sub-par, and/or the building’s roof leaks. If you think I’m exaggerating, just find that Harper’s article or his book. It’s all there. At one school he mentioned, there are 7 lunch periods because there are so many students. SEVEN LUNCH PERIODS. The first one starts at around 9:30am! Nonsensical! This may be the school in LA that houses 5000 students. And I thought there were a lot of kids at my high school (around 2700). We had a huge cafeteria, pretty small class sizes (around 20, if not less--some of these urban schools pack in 40 students per class.) We had the nice salad bar that also worked as a taco salad bar and baked potato bar. We were able to purchase ice cream cones and other sweets for desserts. Upper classmen/women could leave campus. I can’t imagine what’s available at some of these schools, and it’s so strange to think that in a way I was blessed by being able to go to that suburban school that I detested.

Kozol also threw in several barbs at George W. and the rest of the “arrogant politicians,” which the packed crowd of Milwaukee area teachers appreciated. He staunchly critiqued Bush for feeling that he is calling for something new when he says teachers must “strive for excellence.” Kozol commented something like, “Does he think we [teachers] are somehow innately programmed to strive for mediocrity?” and went on to lambaste Bush for calling for high stakes testing but not even providing all schools equal materials and means to go about achieving such “high standards” (not that Kozol is in favor of such standardized tests.) He also asserted that the politicians who criticize teachers so easily should try to teach a class one full day in our shoes, although he then admitted that Bush should not be allowed to enter a classroom! He sadly reminded me that in schools these days, there is no room for the children’s (or the teacher’s!) “tears,” “laughter,” or “joy,” something bell hooks writes about passionately in Teaching to Transgress. There has to be room for students, especially little ones, especially teens grappling with hormones, especially teenagers wondering what to do with their lives, to experience openly emotion in classrooms and not just be dictated to in order to do well on some stupid tests that hardly measure a student’s capabilities. I think teachers across America would have to collectively revolt to achieve a major change, but then George W would just replace them all with robots. It’s a very fucked up state of affairs. I feel limited enough teaching First Year Composition; I can not imagine how these public school teachers get through the day. As he concluded (after an audience member had to be removed out of the bookshop by paramedics!), he said he was passing on the torch to all the young teachers he saw in the audience and that he was counting on us. That inspired me; gave me a bit of validation that is hard for me to find these days.

2005-11-09T07:34:00.000-08:00

Tutoring yesterday. One of the students taking the class I SHOULD be teaching next year comes in, completely overwhelmed, eyes blood shot, just worn down. He is making himself crazy trying to make sense of an essay about the discourse of gene action and trying to figure out how it relates to this other difficult essay about scientific discovery. He at first resists using the dictionary but by the end of the session he grabs for it. I help him make sense of the text, a little, show him how to break down a difficult passage (well, they all are). But mostly I advise him to stop being so hard on himself, to give himself a break--take the night off from this essay--and to just work with the few passages he can actually understand. I can relate to feeling so frustrated, on a student level, but on a teacher level I start to get mad. I understand the purpose of assigning difficult, theoretical readings to students right off the bat; they need to be challenged, especially at my school, which does call for academic rigor. Their readings aren’t going to get much easier as they move on, so they should learn how to work with difficult texts and how to make connections between seemingly disparate topics. But when choosing such difficult texts, it would seem to make sense to concentrate on subject matter that is more general. In the lower level classes, their readings are about affirmative action and teaching middle class values. The readings are lengthy and complex, but they’re about stuff students have heard about to some degree (and I guess some of those essays don’t need to be SO complex; they are graduate level readings). Gene action, however, is not something people outside of the sciences have general knowledge about. Seeing this student and others so frustrated is not easy. I know I am going to get mad next year WHEN I teach, even though I understand the departmental rationale.

2005-11-03T08:15:00.000-08:00

You've got to me kidding me. This WI rep (Mark someone from New Berlin) is on NPR defending his stance against gay marriage by saying that allowing it will make the institution less "unique." He seriously compared marriage to something that is "rarely given out" like a "gold medal." Granting marriages is rare?!? He's saying marriage is the "cornerstone of society" and that the "man-woman marriage has worked great!" Marriage needs "mean something." Now he's saying that yeah, there are problems within straight marriages and they need to treat their marriages more like "gold medals" that are special. Fucking hypocrite. If these people were so concerned about the state of marriage in general they would be enacting legislation that affects straight people who want to marry also. He is also admittedly worried about "maintaining the status quo." There. At least he said it. When are these goddamn fools going to wake up and walk out of their bubble and realize no matter what discriminatory laws they pass that people will be diverse in their actions, thoughts, beliefs...and that that is okay. We don't all have to be THE SAME in order for society to be productive. So frustrating. People and their fear. FRUSTRATING!

2005-11-02T20:08:00.000-08:00

2 November 2005

Today:

Work. Interspersed with naps and several pooping adventures. I have to wonder if it’s the vitamins.

Tutoring (paid). 2 hours. 3 students. One is slightly resistant and impatient each week, but he is not confrontational. Another is one of my classmates. No difficulties arise; I have no afterthoughts, unlike yesterday. The student wasn’t really articulating what she wanted help with and I wasn’t really getting that she was being passive and deferring to my “authority” as the tutor who “knows best” in this really timid, girly, middle class way until near the end. We did get something accomplished, but it made me a bit more aware of the different communication styles students have (and I can’t be bitchy and judgmental about the fact that she was passive and girly and middle class. Not when tutoring or reflecting upon it).

Why does my left eye keep twitching?

Food. Chili hummos red bean chicken wrap from the union. Not bad.

Class. Discourse Analysis. Topic: Discursive Psychology. Interesting to me because the were was talk of “the self” and the measurement of peoples’ attitudes. I am obsessed with theories about the formation/construction of the self because my self is especially fractured (all of our selves are constantly in flux due to postmodern schizophrenia and/or other factors, supposedly [convincingly to me] but I do feel that some people are somewhat more stable than others)…
Forum: It’s about bilingual education and breaking new ground, building bridges, forging new pathways…something like that. Hoped for some impassioned words, some idea of how to help with the change. But her talk was mostly just history and she was tired. Maybe the question and answer session would have actually been the worthwhile part this time, but I had to get up. I went with a classmate, and another classmate showed up, and a crackpot acquaintance was there also, so it was slightly social. But what to do about this language issue. So hard to penetrate the societal views. Language is power, it’s a social construction, we form ourselves in part (or wholly, some would argue) through our speech acts. It’s so complicated. Standard English : yes. Room for “other” dialects/ways of speaking (thinking) also: Yes.

Library: Return books I checked out this morning about feminism and discourse, feminist linguistics. Poop. (4 hours later! Not 10 minutes or a half an hour later!). Find an additional article about the discourse/construction of women’s glossy magazines in Australia. Run into another classmate, chat lengthily, share some concerns. I explain that I am “bitchy” in class but “a lot of fun” outside of class and invite him for a beer sometime. Not to flirt but to reach out. He’s not from here. I feel alienated enough, and I have friends and family here…

Home. Haven’t pooped yet. Water the cat. Check the email. Need to exercise but am feeling really lackadaisical. Thinking about politics. Judge Alito and the Christian right and Guantanamo bay prisoners (sp). The closed session the Democrats finally called and Bill Frist’s reactionary outburst. Yeah, Reid challenged you. Finally someone grew some balls. Get over it. Damn it’s about time though. Come on get stronger Democrats. I don’t have a lot of faith in them but they are the lesser of the two evils. There are some pretty cool reps too: Kohl and Feingold are pretty progressive, that Nancy lady from CA is cool, Maxine Waters rules although I haven’t heard much about her in a long time. There is so much shit happening; it’s tough to process it all. I am listening to the news a lot more now while I work and I’m working, and checking email, so sometimes crucial tidbits fly past me. That’s why it’s better when I read about the news, but I don’t have a lot of time. NPR is allright. It doesn’t annoy me as much as it used to when I was younger. I listen to Democracy Now too and I found these half hour shows connected to the leftbusinessobserver web site, so I got to hear an interview with this woman who wrote a book called Female Chauvinist Pigs which I am very interested in reading. And the editor of the Progressive magazine also does interviews that he pod casts. That access is cool.
I am very afraid about this Alito thing. Fuck that guy, fuck Bush. I need to work to retain a woman’s right to reproductive freedom, but why is that one of the main issues all these crazies continually focus on? Why do they have to work so hard to tear that law down when people are starving and the poverty rate is soaring? They believe the bootstraps myth obviously, but they must not understand that it’s simply not possible for everyone to become middle/upper class. There aren’t enough jobs, even if many more people were better educated, etc. That’s complicated, I need to research that idea but man. I can’t believe we have 2 more years of him. But Kerry was so wishy washy…something. If Gore runs again I may really have to move to Canada….

2005-10-18T11:47:00.000-07:00

Awkward.

Hour 6.5. It’s the same room the last meeting was in, the one that went over. They are a unit, I am not. Neither are these two other guys. I know one of them, sorta. Well, he’s in my class. I read over his project proposal earlier that morning. Hour 2. The organizer of the meeting grapples with the wine and the cheese. He asks for help. Another member of the unit heeds his call, but organizing the cheese and crackers takes so much longer than it should. I try again, jumping into a conversation about the riot-grrl-looking girl’s new hair cut. I get a one sentence response and am shut out. To make things worse, I notice that the famous professors have arrived. I do not idolize them, but I don’t necessarily want my first meeting with them to be when I’m delirious. The unit members, we who are fragments, we all hover awkwardly until finally--finally!--the cheese cutting is done. I have a plateful and some peanuts, and some bland Chardonnay. Food! But then I look up. The long 3-4 people tables are in a square. The only seat that is not in the spotlight is next to the male famous professor. Great. Well, fuck it, I have to sit somewhere. I sit. We begin. It’s just a reading discussion. We relate what we have read to our work, or what we want to work on. 12 people total. The expected amount of ridiculousness ensues. The moderator is chastised for not moderating. The moderator chastises others for moderating. The famous professors pipe up whenever they feel like it. The female professor lets her dress shoes slide off and there are her nude panty-hosed covered feet. Wine is passed around. I hear some of what everyone says but not all because I keep flipping though my book, Bootstraps. I feel dumb because everyone is familiar with that text. Oh, well. I am fading, fading. Revived when the famous and also married couple (did I mention this) bicker from across the room and the male professor says he is drunk. Then the obviously gay guy, not part of the unit, he speaks. After the moderator “calls on him” by yelling at the established member to shut up and let the “new guy” talk. And he has an article about punk rock and pedagogy in the writing classroom. I am riveted. IsooftenthinkaboutincorporatingpunkintotheclassroombutthenIcringe
notwantingtocoopitmorebutitissofarbeyondcooptingohthisisinteresting. Someone else in my program, interested in the p-rock. He critiques the author for ignoring how issues of class, race and gender come into play (or are ignored) in p-rock. I pipe up. I wait til he’s done. But I pipe up, yelling about punks’ lack of self-reflection. I tell about the girl from middle class Madison suburbia who just started calling herself working class because she detested the middle class. It’s not that simple. I’ve always remembered that. Plus the famous scholars are obsessed with class. The next girl speaks and one from the unit motions so unsubtly to the moderator--she does the signal for cut her off! (Slides hand across throat). I bust her, smile. No response. Busted. And finally it’s me, and I say my piece. I have to close my eyes sometimes when I talk in class, to focus. When I do look around I get some nods. And then I say something about MATC and how I should’ve fucked shit up. The famous professors don’t react to my cursing. It sails right past them.

2005-09-11T18:09:00.000-07:00

Race relations in Milwaukee. They ain’t good.

Saturday’s scenario spurred many thoughts about this complex, tiring, worn thin but still so relevant issue.

The very most eastern border of Milwaukee is Lake Michigan. The neighborhoods closest to the lake are, unsurprisingly, mostly white, mostly lower to upper middle class, and many residents of Milwaukee’s East Side neighborhood are students and/or TAs and professors or other professionals/artists. Cross the Capitol Dr, Locust St and North Ave bridges and you’ll find yourself in the Riverwest neighborhood, which is not predominantly white. It’s a mix of Caucasians, African Americans, Hispanics and other ethnic groups. Many college students and artsy/punk rock musicians and their followers live in this neighborhood amidst the families. Some of the punk rockers have families of their own now. This neighborhood is consistently plagued with petty and serious crime. One of the latest incidents involved two youth beating someone with a brick and videotaping it. Sometimes the crime filters further east, and certainly it thrives further west of Holton St, the western-most border of the Riverwest. West of Holton, all the way west until around 60th Street (of the North Side, not of the South Side; my boundaries aren‘t as precise as they should be), if not further west, depending on what street one drives westbound upon, the neighborhoods are comprised of almost solely African Americans, many who are of lower economic status.

A friend of mine lives about west of Holton St, but not further west than the freeway. We stopped by his place the other night so he could run in and grab some cash and check on his cats. While he was inside, an older African American woman sitting outside of the adjacent building started yelling to someone I couldn’t see from the car about how it was none of his business. I hadn’t heard the “white boy” part. My female friend who stayed in the car with me picked up on it. (We later learned that he’d asked her “You working today, on a Saturday?” because the building also houses a children’s day care.) When our friend was on his way back out to the car, the African American woman began saying to him repeatedly that it wasn’t his business. He stepped closer to her, trying to discern what she was trying to say and why she sounded so belligerent. She repeatedly told him to mind his own business, emphasis on the business, and asked who he thought he was, and told him that he should get off of the block. “Neighbors” he replied wearily, as sunk into the back seat of my car, meaning that “I thought we were neighbors and it was appropriate to speak casually to one another.” We drove off as she glowered at us, so clearly despising us, especially our male friend for daring to traipse upon her block, based only on our skin color.

He was attempting to be conversational, but she was having none of it because he was white. She was clearly just a very angry, bitter and bored person. She emanated it. She might be terrible to other African Americans in the neighborhood too. In short, she wasn’t worth getting upset about. But me being me, I got upset anyway, about issues tangential to the actual incident. This scene made me angry about the inequality between the races/classes that STILL FUCKING EXISTS, especially in terms of education, angry that my friend had to bear the brunt of someone’s hatred and angry that I feel I can do little to nothing to change the racism and classism that is so ingrained into American culture. Milwaukee is an awesome city, but it’s segregated and violent, and becoming more so each passing day it seems, and the only response offered by the mayor and police chief thus far is hippie rhetoric about how everything will be just fine if we all stop being so darn angry. Yes, that advice is really going to encourage unity and less gunfire in the city. Thanks, New Age Guru politicians.

So all night while I was at the bar and bowling, some of these thoughts popped into my head:

That woman was so ridiculous. What she said was so uncalled for. My friend is hardly an oppressor, but on the other hand

Black people get treated poorly all the time by whites. We should just grin and bear it sometimes, but on the other hand

Randomly going off on white men or women on the street instead of going off the true culprits (local and national politicians and big business one doesn’t have easy access to) is a complete waste of energy and is not helping blacks get more job opportunities or better educations, but on the other hand

Black folks who are also poor get slighted in their educations unless they are very lucky so many just don’t possess the high level critical thinking skills that would allow them to understand that governmental officials and big business enforce racism and poverty on a level that individual citizens like my friend can not dare match in power, but on the other hand

People who get good schooling and come from middle class or even upper class backgrounds do not necessarily have high level critical thinking skills, either (Namely the religious right!)

And so on.

My point here is that the issue is complex. It stymies me. I don’t want to blame the African American woman alone. I have to also blame a society that intentionally keeps POOR people, many of whom are people of color, from opportunities and/or fighting back. But I also think that people of all races have to make more of an effort to understand that not all white people are devils, nor are all black people or all Hmongs or whomever. That effort has to be made by everyone. Maybe whites should make a tad bit more of effort due to the racism that prevails in this country, but all people have to get involved. It can’t just be one group.

And for some reason, for me, it all comes back to education. Maybe I’m naïve, but I still believe that if everyone had the best, most critical thinking-centered education available, the tensions between people of different backgrounds would dissipate greatly, and people would become more empowered to fight for equality instead of fighting for further separation. In order for this miraculous event to occur, however, everyone is this godforsaken country would have to be entitled to an equal education, but everyone is not currently entitled to one. It’s complete and utter bullshit that property taxes fund public schools because it’s then a given that students who live in poor areas are at a disadvantage from the time they are five or six years old. This lady irritated me, and I don’t know that she was justified for being so dismissive and rude because she has probably been treated like trash by numerous white people but I also know that I can’t vilify poor and/or uneducated people until everyone has equal access to better better better! educations.

I want to help break down the barriers. I hope I can do that by focusing on literacy while earning my Ph.D and using it to teach those going for a GED and those going for a Master’s degree, or those who just want to come into the center I hope to someday create simply to learn…for themselves.

2005-08-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday Night, 5:30pm-2:00am.

Milwaukee has always been producing beer, shit beer and tasty beer: Schlitz, Pabst, Miller, Leiniekugel’s, Sprecher, Lakefront, Blatz, beer, beer, beer. Most Milwaukee residents drink it fairly regularly or not at all. One can not purchase alcohol after 9pm so if one runs out, one goes to the bar and spends double or triple the money one would spend drinking at home. I often used to pontificate that Miller controlled Milwaukee's econonmy. Drinking is a past time in most places but in Milwaukee it’s extra prevalent. My resolve is always to drink less; I have too much to do.

So, Saturday night.

Stop One: Foundation’s Back Booth. Foundation is a staple bar in Riverwest. It used to be the punk rock bar, but it now attracts more of a mixed crowd on weekend nights. It's the most affordable and tolerable bar I know of, so I frequent it more than I'd like to. Our first discussion revolved around the definitions of Third Base and a Home Run. Everyone agreed that a Home Run equates to penetration but I asked, “What about lesbians? Does that mean they’ve only hit a ‘home run’ if they fuck one another with strap-on dildos?" I was thinking that our definition shouldn’t be heterosexist. Someone said for the lesbians it could be finger penetration, whatever, but it had to be penetration. I accepted the theory, unconvinced, for sake of letting the discussion finally die. But I got them back when I brought up the business practices at Point’s East Pub. The bar disallows the carrying out of leftover chicken wings bought and paid for. I think that's fucking ridiculous. If you pay for something you shouldn't be barred from taking what you haven't used home; you shouldn't have to sneak it out. Myself and one other person argued the policy was bullshit but we were outnumbered; we just "agreed to disagree."

Beer: Pabst.

Stop Two: A friend’s co worker’s graduation party on the East Side. I latched on to the 31 year old woman who is part Chippewa Indian and who has just completed her BA to avoid potential tension at the other side of the table; fortunately, we had topics in common to discuss: school and NYC. She was actually impressed that I was starting work towards my Ph.D, which was a nice change of pace, since most (not all) of my friends and acquaintances say very little if not nothing and then change the subject when I mention it. The food needed flavor--salt!--but it was free and pretty healthy. The “moon bounce” contraption, a huge children’s tent rented for the occasion, provided me the opportunity to revisit my ten-year-old self. I crawled into the little entrance hole amidst my friend and five or so teenagers. It was like a padded, contained mosh pit, with our limbs flailing around, me having a really hard time holding my balance, colliding into two the teens and knocking them over and landing atop of them, ending up with a scratched up ankle. If I hadn’t just relieved myself I certainly would have peed, everywhere.

Beer: Lakefront Pilsner.

Stop 3:

Circle A to see a band play. Circle A is this teeny, tiny bar located desolate Weil Street, also in Riverwest. It's as affordable as the Foundation, but not quite as popular. While there, one gets feels the comfort one would experience while hanging out in a friend’s living room combined with the fear of potentially being robbed either within the bar (which happened a few weeks back when five thugs charged in with guns) or while walking to one’s vehicle or bicycle. An older (40+) tattooed woman I’ve seen linked up to all of the rockabilly boys on Myspace was sitting next to me. No judgment really intended, but damn, I hope I'm not still traveling the bar circuit regularly when I hit 40. I want a house, or at least larger-sized apartment in a pretty neighborhood if I’m back in NYC, a pug dog, and a cat, preferably the one I have now but that‘s wishful thinking, and maybe a steady man. Sure I’ll socialize, and I'll still see live music, but hopefully not in the same old places.

Beer: Leinenkugel’s

Stop 4:

The Palm, the south side bar mentioned two entries previous. Two lady friends yelled my name loudly when I walked in, which was pleasurable, since I like them and all. Something about the Palm always makes me wish I'd gone home instead. It's odd, because I enjoy the bar, and the company, and the beer selection--everything. Maybe it's because the bar is so far from home; I know I can't really indulge. Conversation there centered on some bands, Lucero, Drive by Truckers, and a hawk--maybe the same hawk!--that is making bold appearances in both the ghetto and at the yuppie family beach. Anolder gentlemen was lurking and staring. When he sat down, there was nothing we could do because he was the bar owner’s father. He leaned back in his chair and swished his wine around, thinking he was a big shot, and maybe he was, back in his day, but not now. He asked our male companion how he was able “control” 2 women like us. We laughed in his face.

When we managed to escape the hard up geezer and exit the bar, one of the players in the Racine drama from last weekend walked up. We hugged, due to awkwardness, I think, because we don’t really know each other. He asked jokingly if things would “be ok” and I started in, asking why he doesn’t seem to party with his wife. This was his second weekend night out at all hours with his buddies. “Well she‘s at home with the kids,” he explained.
Ah.

Beer: Samuel Smith Nut Brown Ale.

Stop 5: My retardo friend‘s porch in the semi-ghetto. As I pulled up in front of his house I felt uneasy because I could not see him on the porch, so I called. He was hidden back there, hidden away from the view of thugs. Good positioning. We talked, belched, farted, fidgeted and discussed “devils,“ his term for the ladies who make his head crazy, peoples‘ beeswax that I can not repeat here, and I learned that he is entering a jalapeno eating contest the next day. He can do twenty in a minute (and as it turns out, he won!).

Beer: Blatz.

On Sunday I walked around, well sat, really, in a mixed-use beer hangover haze. Predictably, my resolve needs a little work.