Graham Colton: This Time

“Thanks for coming, Jerry. Great to meet you. See you soon!” So said State Senator Dan Rutherford, though my nametag clearly was correct and readable. This was on the 30th floor of the Hilton in Springfield, tonight from 5:30-7:30. It was a Republican “networking event” thrown by Rutherford, for $35 a ticket and an open bar, despite the fact that he is not currently running for anything. This was the second Rutherford event in recent months, the other at Harry Caray’s in Chicago, with a line “down the stairs, out the door and around the block” and Rutherford is not from Chicago. Or Springfield. Some say he’s running for Secy. of State in 2006. Some say Governor. Either way, he’s running for something, and he’s doing it now. On a personality test, he’s break the equipment. Bar none, he is the most exuberant, on-the-ball, in-the-zone, insane but in a good way, passionate, politician I have ever come across. This fact is ascertained in the first thirty seconds of him entering your vision.

Rewind.

I got to the Champaign County Senior Republican Headquarters a little later than I said I’d be there, but still early. At 9AM there was an event that had all the people running for offices in Champaign County briefly speak at to warm up the crowd for the main attraction: U.S. Senate candidate Jack Ryan. The host was a little crazy and kept interrupting Jack and saying unimportant things, but the things of a County Organization President, the things that show you that he loves his middling job and the little power it provides. He was a character.

Jack spoke for about a half-hour, about the things that matter to these seniors, things that were written in their charter, things like national security, health care, social security, and a host of others. He did everything right. He was flawless, and not in a wool-pulled-over-the-eyes way, he actually came across as sincere, something that would continue throughout the day. He took questions ranging from local to national issues and did his best to adequately answer them. He gave more specific answers than Jim Oberweis did a week before when I met him, when he didn’t answer my questions.

Some seniors assumed I was with the campaign and began talking with me about how to win the county for Jack. “Get Frank Welch and Ruth Gordon tied up and you have the county. They’re the best.” I got a laugh out of this, as I was not with the campaign, but only was tagging along with two group members for a class project.

Then to Dunkin Donuts to sew up a key county endorsement in the empty establishment. The few people that walked in, which coincidentally included a reporter for local Channel 3 news, seemed not to know that a Senate candidate was there. But that was beneficial, for it was not a stop, but a “meeting.”

Then we went to Monticello, half and hour away, to meet with the Piatt County Board and to attempt to get their endorsement. Jack repeated a lot of the same stuff, which is expected, but impressed me by spouting off arcane (to me) and specific information about farming and growing crops. He seemed to knock out the Board members and they all were enthusiastic about him taking the time to come in. Then we sped off, literally, to Springfield for a lunch meeting that we were going to be late for.

Once in Springfield, the campaign manager and I parked both our cars and met Jack and my groupmate Erica in the private dining room of a nice-looking restaurant. There, were a newly acquired staff member and a prospective one, and two big-time Springfield lobbyists. Jack spent the hour talking with them, and I heard some of the same things I heard earlier, but I enjoyed my free lunch immensely.

Then we went to the hotel lobby where Jack would stay overnight. Saw Oberweis’ campaign manager who a week earlier had lied to me about Jack in an attempt at personal negative campaigning. She did not know I aligned with the opponent at the time and recognized me but luckily did not say anything then or later when I saw her again. Talked with the prospective staffer and the newly acquired one extensively while Jack was in two meetings across town.

Erica and I then spent some time going over our project format and decision-making before we had the Rutherford event. Went to the Capisce Restaurant atop the Hilton and let the networking begin. Jack asked us to walk around with him and a few times introduced us to people he talked with. Met a lot of county chairmen, saw Judy Baar Topinka, talked with my State Senator Christine Radogno and Rep. Eileen Lyons. Lyons acted as if she had never heard of LT or the fact that she came to my Econ class three years ago (it was the only time she had done it, and acted as if I were speaking Venusian) despite the fact that A) I am a constituent and B) her district is I think only LaGrange. But Radogno seemed very interested in my class project and talked with me for a good 7 minutes.

Then the Secret Service swept through, though I didn’t notice because they are supposed to blend in, and in came Speaker of the House J. Dennis Hastert, whom I was honored to meet and told him so. His face was redder than anyone’s I’ve ever seen and shortly after he passed I distinctly smelled wet dog. Then before I knew it Jack had disappeared with the Speaker and me, Erica, Campaign Manager and the two staffers spent a half hour looking for him within a two-block radius. Afterwards, it was approaching a 14-hour day, so Erica and I exchanged some information with the staffers and were invited to the primary Party in March in Chicago. Also we tentatively set up a time when Jack could come in and speak to our class. It was truly amazing to spend so much time with the campaign, to see the ins-and-outs that no book provides and to pretty much spend hours among a group of just four. I spent a lot of time with Jack and we talked extensively. It was the first time I had ever had the experience and it was wicked crazy. I am absolutely convinced that not only will Jack win the primary, but that he absolutely deserves to, is the best candidate in the field and will eventually win the General and will be an incredible Senator. His stances are all well-established and he is absolutely sincere. He is the candidate that we all have been pining over, though maybe not of the ideological stripe some of my friends would like, but one with honest answers, killer persuasion and it is obvious he is absolutely sincere; he rejects spin and puts himself out on a ledge with some issues, like the death penalty, that show he is a risk-taker in the game of politics.

Long day, but great day.

Train: I Am

So the Third Eye Blind concert that Jeff had hooked me up with fell through; I guess the press-guy, Mike or Max or Eric, didn’t put me on the guest list like he said he was going to. That sucks. I was really looking forward to it and I just hope Jeff comes through another time. It’s still the coolest thing I’ve ever heard of.

I just got a call from my group member about tomorrow and I’m really excited for it. At 9am (yeah, that’s early to get up for) I’m going to see Senate candidate Jack Ryan speak at the Champaign County Senior Republicans meeting then I’m traveling with the campaign through neighboring towns Tuscola and Mahomet while he does newspaper and radio interviews, then we have lunch with the candidate (I think) and his senior staff (I know). Then we were lucky enough to be their guests to a fund-raiser “networking party” in Springfield. It’ll be a long day, but it sounds great to me.

Damien Rice: Moody Monday

Let me just comment on something that was really eating away at me all weekend: I cannot understand why it was so hard for me to find someone to go to the concert with. None of my friends could go, for various reasons, and I got the run-around from three others. It is probably for the best because it would just have been me tapping a pen to the beat or whatever and that’s lame. But it’s precisely at these moments that I begin to formulate a number of things about me that I can change so that this will never happen again. Because I just don’t know what is going on or what I can do about it. Because I’m just striking out at every at-bat lately, and while some may call it a rut, I call it life. My life.

On the juke: Virginia Coalition

Do you think that it’s possible to share a dream with another person, simultaneously? Like an internet computer game, where two people are logged on at the same time, playing each other, or whatever, from across the country or world, you and another person – someone you know or someone you don’t – can be in each other’s dream, which is one dream, at the same time. This may explain some of the really fucking twisted thoughts our minds render deep in our REM cycles, populated with people we’ve never seen before, or will see in the future, and every time someone says, “I had the weirdest dream….” Is it possible to have two (or more) minds melded into one for that sleep period?

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A passage from a play I’m reading for class, which takes place in 1985:

Harper Pitt: “I’m undecided. I feel… that something’s going to give. It’s 1985. Fifteen years till the third millennium. Maybe Christ will come again. Maybe seeds will be planted, maybe there’ll be harvests then, maybe early figs to eat, maybe new life, maybe fresh blood, maybe companionship and love and protection, safety from what’s outside, maybe the door will hold, or maybe… maybe the troubles will come, and the end will come, and the sky will collapse and there will be terrible rains and showers of poison light, or maybe my life is really fine, maybe Joe loves me and I’m only crazy thinking otherwise, or maybe not, maybe it’s even worse than I know, maybe… I want to know, maybe I don’t. The suspense, Mr. Lies, it’s killing me.”

Mr. Lies: “I suggest a vacation.”

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I have to go to work again today; I was scheduled from 11-4 but some people called in sick and my bi-polar manager asked me to stay. I negotiated a two-hour intermission, but I have to go back at 6, until 9, which really is not so bad, but certainly not what I want to do now that I’ve left at all. And I do NOT like closing. Oh well. This is the last time I’m working in two weeks, as Madison beckons, so what the hell, I need the hours.

I'm home sick tonight, with a cold, and thought it was high time I wrote in this thing. I feel just completely congested and like I have the dryest eyes in the Sahara. Don't take pity on me, really. I have nothing to complain about. Really.

Yesterday was 9/11, as we all know. Last 9/11 I wrote my first blog, my best in my opinion and at the very least my favorite, and Blogger proceeded to "lose" it. It is unretrievable.

I began to think the other day about 9/11 and its effects. 90% of us were not in New York City that day, or in nearby New Jersey, and saw this all unfold on television. What does that do to our perceptions of reality? This horrific event, this thing is happening in our country in one of our greatest cities and most of us watch it on a box in our living rooms. There is an argument to be made, I think, that we may view it as a movie, or a spectacle because we are a people dependent on and expectent of spectacles. The messages, the images, were received through our eyes and a two-dimensional medium, and what does that do to us? I don't know the answer, it was just something I was thinking about the other day.

Today Johnny Cash and John Ritter died. I was a fan of neither, but am saddened by both. I recognize that Cash was a music icon and that his passing is unfortunate. I am shocked by Ritter's death. Just out of nowhere. I often have trouble with celebrity deaths because my mind just doesn't wrap around the truth immediately because I can still see the celebrity being interviewed or in a movie or on a show or somehow... their deaths seem fleeting and false. And there have been so many celebrity deaths this year. Bronson, Bonds, Hope, Hepburn, Peck, Mr. Rogers, Nell Carter, Maurice Gibb. There were many others. All highest-profile at the very last minute. There is such an odd connection between celebrities and the public. Such passings exist in a strange gray area... few of us actually knew the subject, but we have some kind of connection with him or her. It doesn't quite fit anything; it's its own brand of loss. Very strange, indeed.

Mr. Chips had a remarkable blog (at last check, it was two posts ago... the one dated Friday, Sept. 5th) that I just can't shake. I threatened to copy, paste, and pass it off as my own. The internal admissions are startling, though not so odd if you take a close look at the ease with which he blogs. It's like he continually thinks he's writing to himself, when he conversely does it for other people. www.jeffphilips.blogspot.com.

This has been a long time coming. I have gotten infrequently berated over the summer by the small circulation of this piece because I haven't updated this since April. I just don't go online in the summer, from home, because of the mind-blowingly slow dial-up connection, that times-out and disconnects and takes a fucking hour to log on only to move at a snail's pace. Anyway, here I am again, at the breakfront of a new school year, my last, and the end cannot come soon enough. In fact, it will fly by, but I am absolutely itching to get back to the life I put on hold in Chicago when I came down here to sticksville. It seems I'm alive when I'm home and not when I'm here. That is, of course, a gross exaggeration, but has it's basis in truth. I casually informed my parents that I blog, so they may be the newest members of my membership circle. I must remember to be careful in what I say, for there should always remain a kind of boundary between parents and child. I have prided myself on retaining some kind of innocence, mystery and intrigue about me with them, but all walls must come down at some point. Mom, Dad, if you're reading this right now, or in the future sometime, there are no secrets to tell, but you may not totally recognize the person you're reading. I wonder if this is the new way sons deal with there parents, or daughters too for that matter, because the people I know follow the same pattern. It's not to lie or to hide things, not at all, but it, I think, is a matter of keeping things private from the authorities. You grow up with your parents as your parents, not your friends, so there is by definition some kind of disconnect that arises. It is only natural and normal, and probably should always be, for I cringe when I think of the certain brand of parent that tries to be buddies and friends with their offspring. There is a system of separation that exists, people, one that should exist and should not be toyed with. I think if this system were to implode and disappear, I would always feel beholden to my parents instead of to myself. So therein lies the paradox of me: I prefer Chicagoland infinitely but when there feel entirely beholden to the 'rents like a youth, and I can really hate it here but feel free. Riddle me that.

It's cats and dogs here right now and my 2pm Con Law class was cancelled for the second time in two classes without any kind of warning or notice. So I'm upstairs in Lincoln Hall in the ultra-modern computer lab that no one knows about waiting out the downpour. I forgot an umbrella and would rather not get the books and papers in my backpack soaking wet because I rushed home for no good reason.

I was thinking earlier how weird it is that I can feel so inately comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time here in Chambana. And it alternates like every five minutes. Sometimes I blame it on the societal demand to go out every night and drink and party, when I prefer to do that in moderation. I'm a louse, I'm lazy, I'm easily comfortable doing altogether nothing. So while the people around me do what is expected of them, I do not always follow convention, and despite feeling good about that, I feel bad, like I'm not as good, or something because I don't adhere to the drunken lifestyle people say I should. But I have gotten to the point in the last few months of school (minus the summer) where I go out less and less and that is not was I mean or meant by what I said. I just don't want to go out every night. And it has also gotten to the point where my roommates don't expect me to go out so they don't even ask me to come along or even what I'm going to do. It's like I'm invisibly sharing an apartment sometimes. And this all happened in the last three days already. Let me be clear: It's not necessarily a bad thing, but I've gone from good to bad at making plans. I used to be up for anything, and the first one to toss out an idea. Though Mary would have you believe that I would beat around the bush about what you may be doing that day before I bring up anything else, that wasn't always the case with everyone. Anyway, I just wish people would return my calls.

So I sit here with dreams of a 3.5 this semester and I can feel myself slowly falling back into my mode of just sliding by. That is not what I want this time around, I feel the need to straighten up and be efficient and proud. I need to not feel listless and stand up to meet the expectations of my generation (which, I won' t lie, are fairly low). There are things I want out of this year, and I'm not afraid to voice them, because that puts them out there in reality and I can't just pretend I didn't want them to make myself feel better when they don't happen: great grades, a job, and a girl. What no one tells you about college, is that you end up feeling completely alone sometimes even when you are surrounded by people. You wake up one morning and wonder if this is how adults feel, in the real world, and if it ever truly goes away.

Updated.

Vertical Horizon: Shackled

I am going to reblog so as to repair what was broken, and hopefully this stupid machine will recognize my commands.

As I sit here eating my whole wheat toast with whipped cream cheese (I'm going for the East German chic image, though if I were really trying, I suppose I would be eating it outdoors at a broken patio table, under an overcast sky, wearing muted earth tones and a scowl), something tells me I have a lot to say.

A report from the festival circuit: I never thought I would say this, but I am sufficiently movie-ied out. Actually I used Saturday as a respite from film and recouped for Sunday. Here's how it played (I may be repeating from an earlier blog, but I don't give a shit). Wednesday opened the fest with "The Right Stuff," which I thought I had seen, but apparently Philip Kaufman felt that his film about flight deserved to be long as fucking hell. It was good, and sometimes breathtaking, but I know I could have used an intermission... or something prescribed by my doctor. Plus the stupid Virginia Theater is insanely designed, causing the seats in the balcony to be virtually on top of each other allowing for literally no leg room. It was like I was on a small propeller plane flight to Kathmandu.

Collective Soul: Why Pt. 2 (halfway through)

Thursday, I skipped class and went to see "Stone Reader," a fantastic documentary by Mark Moskowitz about his love of reading, and his search for... things. It was my favorite film of the fest when I saw it, and remained such for the rest of the week.

Five For Fighting: Day by Day

Thursday eve we saw Neil Labute's "Your Friends and Neighbors" and were surprised to hear that LaBute lives "an hour" from Chicago in a suburb, which technically according to the SMSA's can be Kankakee. Kind of like David Foster Wallace living in Bloomington of all places. I assume that LaBute lives in an actual suburb and more towards civilization, ahem, the city. Sorry for all you non-city-ites (or natural ruralites), but living near a cornfield for this long has obviously gotten to me. After that we saw Bob Rafelson's "Blood and Wine" which was underwhelming. In fact, it really kinda sucked. Rog was way off.

Ani DiFranco: The Waiting Song

Friday had me going alone to "Medium Cool" which did not live up to the hype. My cousin Emily had trumpeted it for a couple weeks and expressed envy that I was going to see it on the silver screen, but I just didn't love it as much as I expected. But I do recommend it; I liked it. Robert Forster is incredible and Wexler's cinematography, especially in regards to the light reflection in the windshield of a car, is breathtaking at times. But something was missing. I don't know, but I think it was immediacy. They even ignored RFK's assassination though he played a prominent role in the film since it largely took place at the '68 Dem Convention and RFK died in CA after that state's primary, before the convention. Anyway, see it, but if you don't that's ok too. Friday night I saw "L.627" which is a French film and refers to a French public health code. It is about a narcotics unit of the police and was entertaining.

Eagles: New York Minute

"L.627" was a little frustrating though. The woman in front of me decided one-third through to sit on her haunches, which I know it impossible in a chair, but I just wanted to use the word haunches. She sat up with her elbows on her knees. Well her bouffant hairdo, which I don't know what that means, have only heard the word and have my own ideas of what a bouffant hairdo is and I could be wrong here but c'mon its a fun word, though French, and as Dennis Miller says, "the French are dead to me," entirely blocked my ability to see the subtitles. So I would routinely duck in and out of the lines of sight of the people on either side of me, surely pissing them off. So for about one-third of the movie, I had no idea what was going on. But sometimes, the images just transcend language. Kidding. I was completely lost when I could read again. I think they should put subtitles on the top of the screen, but that's just me.

Ebe had been heralding the director, Bertrand Tavernier at every opportunity, like five or six times a day. Turns out Bertie goes to all the festivals even when his work is not shown, just to network and have a great time. He had been to every screening thus far and had made friends with the unlikeliest of people. Just cracked me up, this guy. On the panel, he said he got two ultimate compliments about this film. The first was from another French director and he said that it was impossible to predict what the next scene would be. The second was from Steven Soderbergh (and I just blanked on how he spells his name... his first name) and he said that he watched "L.627" thrice when preparing "Traffic" and Bertrand praised the latter as phenomenal, so that was an extreme compliment he said. Fun guy.

Saturday was my earlier reported respite from the cinema. But I didn't slouch. No. I got up at 8:30 to go to a pre-law conference. It was both useful and useless. There were four forty-minute segments before a half-hour lunch. The first one was about admissions and was very informative. The second was a mock class, which was great. The third and fourth were identical and about job opportunities and to a lesser degree, making partner in a firm. Then lunch and I was starving. They had pizza and I ditched out after that. The last segment was a student panel and the 3L backed out at the last minute, so it would just have been the 1L and 2L, which in itself is not terrible. But I wanted to sleep and I felt that there is no way in hell that I am going to law school here, and most law schools are slightly different, though 1Ls generally are the same everywhere, but there was nothing I couldn't ascertain from Scott Turow's book I'm sure. No harm, no foul.

Then I napped after reading more about Ebola. Then I woke up groggily, misread Mary's away message about "deadend kids" and read it as "deadened kids" and was aghast -- sidenote, don't you think she should have spaced or hyphenated that? Because deadend is not one word to begin with, but it is easy to read it as "deadened" which may or may not be a word anyway, but conjures up terrible and sick images -- and got the call from Cindy that she was not going to see "Charlotte Sometimes" and I decided to skip it too, though I really wanted to see it. I didn't want to go alone plus I was tired, plus I felt overdosed on films. So I went to Barnes and Noble in an effort to catch up on school, which I had avoided since Tuesday.

Howie Day: Africa

Well, I didn't really open my bookbag/satchel thing. I caught up on magazines and culture. I read about Keanu and "The Matrix" sequels; the Peterson case in Cali; Dominick Dunne v. RFK Jr.; the new haircuts that "skilled barbers have come up with for the summer" and am heavily leaning towards the "modified shag" when I go in next month; read more about James Frey's edgy new memoir, "A Million Little Pieces"; high-class gadgets that someday, I will be able to afford. I also read up on the new cosmetic craze, which disturbingly is for men and involves foreskin reformation and reattachment. Now, to me, this just seems pointless. Why? Why do that? It hurt like hell when it was removed, so why go through pain for a hood? I'm perfectly happy without, and just can't understand why anyone would want to go under the knife for that. Besides, its cleaner our way and is much better received, so what is the point?!?!

Wallflowers: God Don't Make Lonely Girls (halfway through)

After B&N closed, I went for a drive. Every time I do this, which is infrequently, I go just a little bit farther to see just a little bit more of where I live now. Last time, I got completely lost in unincorporated Urbana, searching for a Chinese restaurant no less that happened to be much much closer to my apartment than I thought.

Matthew Good Band: Advertising on Police Cars

I imagine that in Urbana, they completely cut out one cardinal direction because it seems no matter what I do, I end up facing East or North and never anything else. While on this drive, my thoughts turned to very random ones. I need to download that Splender CD... I liked the first one, so I'll try the second one. I remembered how Mary and I used to have races where we'd drive with only our knees and see who got to a far off intersection first. I always suspected she cheated, but now that I think back, I would almost always go down Brainard which has a tight speed limit and is typically haunted by po-pos. I don't think I consciously drove responsibly (with my knees) but that subconsciously I took it easy while looking sporadically at the lighted golf course on the left and my grandma's house on the right, while aiming for the Lutheran school's steeple. I think I rarely beat her to Brainard and 47th, and she may have cheated from time to time because that's what she does. And before I get hate email (yeah, right) or silent IM threats from her, I sometimes cheat too. Because that's what I do. Anyway, I had the urge to again drive with just my knees like I was fooling my mom and secretly riding my bike in the street with no hands when she wasn't looking when I was 12. And apparently, Mary is perpetually 12... just ask the TCBY patrons.

Ryan Adams: Jesus (Don't Touch My Baby)

I also considered why I am not really a bar person in Champaign but was extremely in Ireland. I think it's because Dublin was so exotic to me, so new, so absolutely interesting and heightening and erotic and sublime on every level that drinking in a bar where it was legal was just something normal to me. Here, since I'm still illegal, there is no thrill, no need. Which I suppose is good. Anyway, I know that once I'm of legal age, this summer, things will get out of control, baby, just how I want them. This is not a summer to tell the children, except of course, for you children, you voracious readers of my online blog. You will be informed, surely. Boy, I'm diving head-first into vice when I turn... Vegas in June, bars all the time. I guess that's all that happens at 21, huh?

Sunday morning I woke up to the sound of Cindy calling me about the 1:00 movie. I decided to go at the behest of my sand buddy, since I so rarely get to see her, that jet-setting whirlwind (Italy! Boston! That girl can move!). That wily siren, she got me to go to "Singin' in the Rain" though we still didn't get to see Chaz, Rog's "Nubian princess" as Cin likes to call her. Well, it turned out to be a great time, since it suddenly got really fucking hot and I had Toph take the wheel on a straightaway while I took off my sweatshirt... oops, channeling my inner Eggers there for a second. Donald O'Connor the legend himself, was there and spoke. Funny old man. Example:

DO'C: ...Oh, I'm taking up too much time.
Ebe: No, you're really not.
DO'C: ...(gleeful pause) Alright.
(immense audience laughter... because they fucking clap and laugh at every little thing at this festival, though this was warranted)
Ebe: That was funny.
DO'C: (beat) No, that was timing.

Indigo Girls: Wild Horses (cover)

I got home about four and talked to my mother. Michelle makes her Confirmation Tuesday and my dad and her were at church. I found out that my mom has no idea what Michelle's Confirmation name will be, and when pressed had no clue as to what mine was or who my sponsor was. I couldn't believe it. She was there! She should know! She backpedalled and claimed that who cares, why should she have to know... she'll never use it EVER. And it was a losing battle, since I was only half serious and was not interested in getting into a fight, but I think she should know these minor details about her kids' lives. Considering it is relatively recent.

Well, that about does it for me. I'm glad I got to replicate my lost blog. Hope it's worth reading. Now, I will go back to being East German, or is it West German? It's been three years since I wrote a paper on the Berlin Wall's destruction and maybe I'll go research which was the good Allied side and which was the bad Commie side. I should probably know that.

I just lost my longest and best blog and I'm PISSED.

Tim McGraw: My Next Thirty Years

How does the knowledge that I am listening to this become a thought that I am not dimwitted but eclectic? I suppose I, myself, cannot be eclectic, just that my taste in music can. Well, it's a fun song if you haven't heard it.

Fuel: Shimmer

This song makes me think of a warm night in August in a friend's house with all the windows open and a breeze coming in, at one a.m. with a mini-concert happening. This song was covered, and it made me believe in local talent. Excellent.

Tonight, I'm a little sad, a touch down. Not because I had a bad night; the opposite took place. But I just got word that my cousin can't make it down here for the weekend as planned, though exigent circumstances are the cause and not anything else. It is understandable and expected, but its disappointing. It would have been great. Again.

But more than that, tonight I'm just letting some old demons come out to play, the ones I usually keep chained and shackled in some faraway dungeon. But it's just a tease, really. They're not out for good. All this just makes me feel aimless because of a lack of a job this summer; disappointed at my personal and public failures of the past and just a little repentant at the thought of the scant successes. I'm probably overdoing this, playing the melodrama for all its worth, using hyperbole because that's what I do. I'll get over it soon I'm sure.

Semisonic: FNT
Mr. Mister: Kyrie

Saw a really great docu today at the Ebertfest, called "Stone Reader." It's too complicated to really get into here, but the gist is a seaching. Searching for many things, but on the surface, a book -- this amazing book called the "book of a generation" published in 1972 and forgotten, left for dead in the trashheap of America's consciousness. Well, the documentarian, if he can be called that, goes on a quest in 1998 after picking up this book and reading it and completely falling in love with it after failing in '72 after high school. Mark Moskovitz (the guy) looks far and wide across the country trying to find Dow Mossman, the author, who seems to have simply vanished and never written again. I won't continue, since I will make you all see it once its out on DVD which I presume is soon since they mentioned it at the screening. But there are many truths uncovered, both intentional and not, and it is really a wonderful film to watch. Alternately enlighteneing and creepy (at the bibliophiles and their Trekkie-like secret speech that is both intimidating and beautiful) it includes things that are typically ignored in film, and the culture. I'll let you see it and uncover them rather than tell you. I can't wait until September when I can finally read this book. The panel after the film turned out to include some interesting people: namely Jeff Lipsky, the real-life "Dude" from The Big Lebowski.

After speaking with Mary, I feel a little better, more like a person and less an outcast or leper. Thanks to that. To all those whom I owe emails, and the list is long, know that I will write you, but that I am notorious for taking forever and a day to do so. I'm sorry, I'm horrible. At the very least, tonight, I can assuage my demons with the story that I know someone who was bitten by a monkey today. So great! Monkeys make me laugh really hard. I'll drink to that.

No Music Unfortunately

I am in a campus computer lab right now in between classes wasting time searching the internet. Thought I'd update my little internet baby.

The drive back to school Monday made me think of driving in Duluth in the middle of the Cold War. While Duluth is infinitely more depressing, the sky was overcast and dreary and really really boring. Wish Cindy could have driven back with me. Someone to talk to. If you've never been to Duluth, MN, don't go. It is horrible and I've only ever driven through it. The constant fart smell of the paper mills, the ALWAYS overcast and gray skies; the city has the highest suicide rate in the country, and it is clear as day when you see it. Plus, the roads are ridiculously confusing. Remember those toy car tracks that every little boy, including me, had in the 80's? The winding track that was remote powered or something that you could increase the speed of the little car faster and faster until the car flew off the track and killed everyone inside in a painful and fiery death? Well, aside from the hyperbole, that is what Duluth is like, except instead of just one windy, up-and-down road, there are ten and they all converge onto and away from multiple intersecting points. It may, in fact, be the gates of Hell. I'm looking into it.

I am reading a book on Ebola for a class and it scares the shit out of me. Granted, the book is ten years old -- but no new evidence has emerged to my knowledge -- but we have no idea where this Level 4 biohazard even comes from. The first modern case, in the early 70s, emerged from Kitum Cave in Mt. Elgon in Kenya, but that doesn't mean that's where it hides out since scientists have tried to locate it in there dozens of times. Anyway, the book is about the emergence of the disease and how it showed up in the D.C. area in the late 80's. It is the most horrifying disease I have ever heard of and I hope I never get it.

Why the hell is it so cold out? It is the end of APRIL!

I really have no respect for young people who wear those chunky two-cent digital watches that my grandpa's brother gets for free and mails me from Vegas. I don't mind nice, expensive digital watches, but those cheap ones that once you wear them make the plastic wristband smell like feet are disgusting.

Lately, I've been looking at other people's fingernails when I should be paying attention in class. I've come to the conclusion that I have oddly shaped fingernails and am abnormal.

Starting Wednesday, the Ebert Overlooked Film Festival will be taking up my time. Weds. is "All the Right Stuff," which I've already seen, but liked, and will see again and hear interesting people who made the film discuss it afterwards with everyone's favorite film critic. I hope he brings his wife Chazz again.

Here's to warmer weather.

Sister Hazel: Killing Me Too
Jason Mraz: The Remedy

Today was absolutely beautiful outside; one of those days that started out warm and got hot and had a breeze at times that made you double back and see if there wasn't a lake nearby. A sweet breeze. Aside from the lake, what I imagine North Carolina to be like. This weather is not conducive to schoolwork. Not at all. I cannot fucking wait to get home this weekend, kick back in the pool or on a deckchair, at a barbeque or on the way to borders for some reminiscing and exercising of some long begotten demons. I can't wait for the Easter festivities, the baskets, the candy, the great food.

I am getting so tired of this shithole, I welcome the summer wholeheartedly. It can't come soon enough. But when it does, I want it to slow down so I can enjoy it.

Bleu: Save You

Today I was supposed to meet Dan, my roommate and two of his other friends, we're all going to live together next year, to look at this one apartment. Well either he gave me the wrong time or something, because I showed up at 3:20 and waited 20 minutes and no one showed up not even an agent. And he's not home yet to find out what happened. It was frustrating.

Peter Bruntnell: Cosmea

Last Thursday, I was convinced I had eaten poisoned grapes. I just grabbed a handful but didn't wash them. I was hungry and the grocery store washes them with those sprinklers anyway, and the bags on display were submerged in cold water, so I figured it was ok. Well I started to smell sulfur, or what smelled like sulfur, and realized it was the grapes. I couldn't get the smell off my hands and brushing my teeth didn't help. I was sure that I would die in my sleep from poison. But I didn't.

I have to go rent "Dead Man Walking" now for a class. I've already seen it but I need to rewatch it and have it more fresh in my mind. I could go to the screening tomorrow night, but I don't want to miss "24." Yes, I need TiVo.

Well, children, that is all for now. I'm perpetually tired and anxious for a break, for a day of only bright sun, like I think of when I think of summer, so here's to that, and nothing else.

Matchbox Twenty: Kody (LIVE)

I had a thought earlier this week about a new name for my blog and now I can't remember what the hell it was. The DHA is not perfect. I am taking this supplement, DHA, in pill form for all you naysayers, that is supposed to help my memory. Your body naturally makes DHA and Omega-3 fats (the good fat, the tasty fat, well ok not the fat that tastes good, but the fat that tastes good because you know you need it even though it doesnt taste good, or much like anything, except that little nutty flavor in flax oil) converts to DHA therefore increasing your memory, among MANY other things. Well, this is a supplement to take because I have really kinda stopped taking flax oil every day, like I used to and should. Not out of inconvenience, but out of laziness. There goes my five-years-ago Lenten sacrifice.

I was really taken aback by the death of David Bloom. I was talking with Mary about this a little and I think for me, his death represents all of the deaths, for it brought the war home to me. Until then, I kept (purposefully) dealing with the war like a video game my war-mongering cousin Adam would play, but since I saw him on NBC um, 30 times a day, it was much easier to put his face with his death. Because he came into my living room all the time, it was like losing someone I actually knew. It was sad. Add to that the reality of 79 other Americans dead and we've got a problem. But I'm back now.

A friend of mine sent me a website to sign up for the names of two troops overseas so as to write to them, and I think I may start that, even though the war is seemingly over and that asshole Saddam is hopefully dead, but our men and women in red white and blue will be there for a little while still and could probably use the boost of mail. Let me know if you want to do that too, and I'll send you the website.

Counting Crows: Rain King into Thunder Road and then back into the end of Rain King

I burned my tongue tonight on a Marie Callendar's Berry Cobbler. Think back with me to 1992 for a minute. My mom had snuck her way onto a previous friend's (the Danielson family) SAMS Club business membership, and even though we only talk to them once a year now when the card needs to be renewed (incidentally, Brent is at the Naval Academy right now and probably knows people in the Gulf as I like to call it) we went to SAMS all the time to buy bulk. We all know bulk is better. And no, I will not be selling AMWAY anytime soon. Anyway, Marie Callendar's put out a multi-pack (I think 6) cobbler set. They were Peach and Berry, 3 of each. We got them once and they were little dishes of heaven, or at least heaven's staging area, and we got them every time after that. My dad and I ate them up like pigs at a trough. Then one day, they stopped carrying them. We never could find them anywhere else, so we assumed they were discontinued. That was mid- to late-nineties. Now, it is 2003 and today, Wednesday, April 9, 2003, I was waltzin around County Market, the Discount Food Store (though I don't know why they call it discount because I always seem to spend more there than normal grocery stores when I buy less stuff) and came upon three berry cobblers in the uppermost corner of a freezer and almost had to pinch myself. I simply could not believe my eyes. Let me tell you that since my last berry cobbler, every time I go to a new grocery store anywhere, I still look for them first thing. I had given up. God works in mysterious ways, don't he? So I bought it, got home, put it in the oven and even took it out and let it breathe for about fifteen minutes. I STILL burned my fuckin tongue on the first bite. (This has happened before on a berry cobbler... damn things.)

Then I watched, on HBO2, the movie of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I haven't seen it since it first came out on video oh so many years ago and I had forgotten how much I loved it. It is so classic and not stupid like the show would have me believe, but clever, really funny and even tense. It was kinda creepy too though not in a traditional way: Donald Sutherland said a line when he first met Kristy Swanson (whom I was telling Phil I am saddened that her career never rightly took off... though she was in some movie in the last five years but I can't remember what; I think with Charlie Sheen, but case in point) exactly in the same vein that Kiefer says his lines on "24" and recently in "Phone Booth." It was spooky.

So, tonight I relived 1992 and it was juicy. Except for the burned tongue, which still is burned and will be for a few days. You all know the drill.

I am going to attempt here to copy and paste a column by Patti Davis, Ronald and Nancy Reagan's daughter. For you Democrats, take comfort in her being famous for splitting ideologically from her father (and emotionally suffering from a lack of a bond with him because of their differences) and know that I'm not forcing a Republican ideologue down your throats here. But I may if things get out of hand. I don't know what that means. PS. This is probably illegal. Just in case, it's from Newsweek.

Where Were You?
There are times in life when you know that everything is about to change
By Patti DavisNEWSWEEK WEB EXCLUSIVE

March 22 — Just before the war began, the skies over Los Angeles were bright blue, the way sky is supposed to be but isn’t usually anymore. Full, muscular clouds—white shaded with gray—scudded across, pushed by a strong, chilly wind. They were the kind of clouds that make you want to lie on your back and say, “Look, that’s a cow! And a whale! That one is a face!”

AFTER A STORM with near-torrential rains, everything had been scrubbed clean—the sky, the trees, buildings, cars. Sun glinted off leaves like gold slivers, so bright it made you squint. Such a sparkling, clean day could almost make you forget that, in only hours, the skies on the other side of the world could be raining death.

I memorized the details of the day, because I think one day in the future someone might ask me about it. What was it like just before? Did it feel strange? Eerie? I also memorized it because it seems to be the thing we do when the world is about to change, or at the moment when it does change. We all know where we were and what we were doing on September 11. Or the day Kennedy was shot, if you are old enough to recall that day.

From early morning, that day-just-before felt different, and I don’t think it was just me. When I went to the gym to work out, hardly anyone was talking. People seemed lost in their own thoughts, as if they had burrowed deep into themselves and didn’t want to be disturbed. Everyone seemed to sense that we were standing on a precipice, about to fall into some kind of abyss…and no one had any idea what it would be like, or if things would ever feel the same afterward.

There was a woman in the market stocking up on bottled water and flashlight batteries. And a homeless man sitting against the side of a building, with two signs. One said ‘Please help—need food.’ The other said ‘War is not the answer.’ There was my neighbor who said (jokingly), “I have some duct tape if you want it.” We both laughed, mostly because it wasn’t really funny. There was the young soldier, interviewed on television from his campsite in the Kuwaiti desert; he fought back tears as he valiantly stated his commitment to honor his government’s declaration of war. So young…if he were back here he’d be going out for a beer on a Saturday night.

In the days that have followed—the first early days of war—there was still that feeling of disconnect everywhere—the sense of waiting, dreading, not knowing.

There are times in life when you know that everyone’s thoughts—somewhere in their minds—are just like yours. September 11 was like that—the grief, the shock, the tears that wouldn’t be kept down. This war is like that, too. Politics might divide us, but we are linked in our fears of the unknown, in the terrible certainty that wars like this don’t just happen far away—they happen everywhere. The world has grown smaller, and in case you don’t already know this, there are “weapons of mass destruction” in many, many places. But you do know that—we all do. That’s the look we see in each others’ eyes—the knowledge that there is so much at stake, so much that can be obliterated, lost. We look into our children’s eyes, our parents’, friends who have laced their lives into ours in the fragile, but surprisingly sturdy way that people do. And we wonder where we will all be next month, next year. We memorize the sky, the sweep of wind. Because remembering might be important later.

When our lives drift happily across smooth waters, when we have the luxury of focusing on our own currents, we tend to forget how linked we all are—human beings in this big, lumbering world that never seems able to find its balance.

When I was a child, there was a boy in my class whose parents had built a bomb shelter in their yard. It was the 1950s. A World War had ended, but fears of Communist invasion had moved in. Chronologically, I just missed the “duck and cover” exercises, but I was there for the backwash of fear. One day, I was playing at a friend’s house and we were out in her yard on the swing set—whipping through the air, higher and higher, looking up at the deep blue sky as we curved up toward it. A plane flew overhead—a tiny gray shape in the endless blue.

“What if that plane was a bomber and we saw something falling from it,” my friend said, her pigtails whipping behind her as she swung through the air.

“Wouldn’t it have to be lower?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. Just, what if? What would we do? We don’t have a bomb shelter.”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“I’d go find my parents, I guess, and warn them. And then just hold onto them.”

I’ve thought about that a lot lately—about children looking up at the sky, waiting for something to fall from a plane, wondering what to do, where to run. No matter what any of us would like to believe, war is about children every bit as much as it is about soldiers.

Something has been set in motion now that none of us can stop. It matters little anymore if we support the war or oppose it—that is not what will ultimately define us. We will be defined by how we live our lives in the midst of this troubling time. If we can keep hold of that quiet connection between human beings, the pause in our busy lives that lets us look into the eyes of another person who is just as frightened as we are, then we have snatched something golden and pure from the shadows of war.

Tom Petty: American Girl

Well, I've been yelled at, been threatened with bodily harm and reverse psycholog-ied into putting up a much more recent post. I just checked and cannot believe the last post was March 3rd. Shameful....

I still have my 25-page paper to work on for tomorrow (done so far: title page and most of the research), so this won't be long.

I had a pretty uneventful break, which is exactly what I wanted. But the creature comforts (or evils, maybe) of home really reached "fever pitch" (a book I need to get back into) this morning when my mom came into my room at 7:15 and looked at me and said "Why is your stereo blinking?" Which caused me to actually sit up, open my eyes and look. It turns out the power went out at some point and then I fell back into my bed yelling "I hate this place!!!" It was reaaaaaaaaally early in the morning. My mom got faux-pissed and said I hate you too and I had to explain what I meant and why I said it. What pains me the most is that she knew exactly what she was doing, manipulative woman she is, by speaking to me and thus waking me up two hours earlier than I had planned/wanted to get up. So, it was my pleasure to leave. Plus our kitchen is still under construction and it was hell retaining a semblance of normalcy with tarps and dust and shit everywhere. Though it is coming together, I can't wait til Easter when I come home and its all good and done. I was there for about fifteen days total and couldn't take it any longer; God only knows what its like to go through it for the full month they have already. Should be done in a couple weeks Julie says, which is translated to the end of this week. Roughly.

Pat McGee Band: Who Stole Her From Heaven
Stroke 9: City Life

This song is one that I used to play "DJ" during second semester senior year with Mary and Becky. Simpler days, easier times. I'm really looking forward to this summer. The freedom, the bars, the trip to Vegas, the hopefully lucrative job/internship, the fast and wicked times. Maybe a jaunt to Boston to visit Cindy, maybe finally getting TiVo. It will only get warmer from here on out and I love Springtime because the world seems to come alive again after a long dead winter.

Over break, I saw a movie that the more I think about it, may upon second viewing, be added to my list of all time favorites: David Gordon Green's "All the Real Girls." Terrific Evanston theater, validated parking, seats with arms that go up and rock, the silent, incubating feeling of being one of few people staring at the screen and kind of being on the inside if the movie's good.

Also went to Madison with my Dad and Michelle. We went to three bookstores and M and I really soaked up our dad's credit quickly. I read an entire Peggy Noonan book since Wednesday. It was excellent, as usual.

Jason Mraz: The Dreamlife of Rand McNally

Everyone, download whatever you can by this guy. He's gonna be huge. The next big thing, mark my words if I haven't already told you.

Michelle's birthday is coming up in 18 days, and I don't know what to get a 15-year-old. If we were Mexican, I'd be in deep shit since her 15th would be the American version of sweet sixteen. But I'm tired of the tired DVD's and CD's and pop culture shit I've been getting her for years. People, you have your ears to the 15-year-old-girl's grindstone much more than me, so feed me ideas. If I get nothing, I will get her a pink Minnie Mouse watch I got as a consolation Carnival prize. Sorry, Rob. Yeah, right, Mary, like that would ever happen.

More to report, from the front lines, in the next blog. I'm simply wiped out right now. And I am not looking forward to typing all night. I may take the two point deduction and turn it in on Thursday. Always a possibility.

Godspeed, John Glenn,

It's 2:30 on Friday night and I am watching one of my favorite movies on HBO: "Bully." I was watching "Permanent Midnight" but grew tired of it and turned on TV. I've seen "Bully" now about 8 or 9 times and each time I see it.... I used to hate Rachel Miner, but the more I watch it, she grows on me. I realized tonight she reminds me of this girl I used to know, Misty. Looks like her, talks like her, the whole kit and caboodle. For those of you who haven't seen it, you must. It's disturbing, violent, sexually explicit, but that's not what makes it great. See for yourself. I'm pasting into this a paper I wrote on it a year ago for a film class. Hope you go out and see it.

Film Profile Three: Bully

Marty (Brad Renfro) and his “best friend” Bobby (Nick Stahl) work at a strip-mall sandwich place, where they meet Lisa (Rachel Miner) and Ali (Bijou Phillips). Marty and Lisa spend most of their time together and Lisa falls head-over-heels in love. Bobby dominates Marty, by pimping him to gay men for phone sex and strip shows, and Lisa and Ali, by raping them. Lisa sees Marty’s mental and emotional anguish and refuses to sit idly by. She, Marty, Ali and four other disaffected teens concoct a plan to murder Bobby and “get rid of everyone’s problem.” After some last-minute changes and an aborted attempt, they succeed. They carelessly clean up the murder and a few of the accomplices unravel to the point of destruction: they are convicted and sentenced for the crime. (132)

Bully deserves to be more widely seen because Larry Clark paints a vivid and horrific portrait of teenage dynamics that cannot be ignored. Along with his debut, Kids, Clark depicts teenage life as a wild, meandering, disenfranchised existence that no other filmmaker dares approach. Yes, this film is violent, vulgar and sexually explicit, but modern society has warped the taboo to become normal. Language no longer titillates, sex no longer shocks and violence is on prime-time television. But Bully takes each of these factors dangerously close to the edge, creating a society of youth disillusioned to the point where moral emptiness is prevalent and acceptable. The murder scene is disgustingly graphic, but necessary to depict the realism of the action. This is, after all, a true story. The sex is important to showcase the connection between Marty and Lisa, and the violation and humiliation felt by Lisa and Ali. Even more, the lurid sex demonstrates the involvement and commitment between these characters. These are kids with nothing but money and time; their cars and drugs are designer, yet they have no real jobs and surf all day. The gratuitous sex, drug use and violence serve to de-glamorize these teens, enforcing an image of a generation: listless, ambivalent consumers without real hope or ambition. This image feeds into their moral depravity and lack of appreciation for their actions. This film, unlike any I have seen before, typifies the feelings of many of the co-habitants of my era, showing us the antithesis of what we want to be, yet in some strange way something we cannot shake. This film is important because it is everything we hate mixed with everything that entertains us. The juxtaposition rudely knocks the Generation-Y viewer back to reality and causes a personal uproar about the society in which we live. (303)

Limp Bizkit: "Wish You Were Here" with Johnny Rzeznik
and Dispatch: "Out Loud"

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday (its late Wednesday night but it'll come up Thursday, so bear with me people) and it was a mixed day. I woke up at one, which was against my plan and didn't go to my classes again. But I decided to avoid feeling doubly guilty by missing ashes like I have the last I don't know how many years. I am Catholic (obviously) and went to nine years of Catholic school and I am ashamed to not know the slightest thing about my faith. I joke, I mock, but it really upsets me that I was not taught what I was supposed to learn at a Catholic school. Around 4th grade there was some kind of curriculum shakeup and we stopped going to church every Wednesday. We never discussed the Bible readings in Religion class, but I do remember learning about the damn Beatitudes every year. My parents never enforced church; my mom always said that she was perfectly able to speak and listen to God on her own in her way. And it got me out of going to church as a kid. To this day, I tend not to listen to the gospel; I glaze over what is going on and being said by habit. But today was a good day. I don't feel "born-again" or anything, but it was a good mass, in latin mainly, and it just made me think of what I liked about church in the first place. When I was a kid, I could recite every line the priest said in mass... the Catholic school boy trait. Now its all I can do to muster up an "and also with you" in the right place. I still mix up what is said before the first reading and before the gospel, and I never knew the Apostle's Creed. But Catholic, I am.

Matthew Good Band: "Middle Class Gangsters"

On a different note, supposedly George Walker Bush (as Don King says) went to bed Wednesday night to make his final decision by morning re: war in Iraq. So I guess that means it starts tomorrow. I've been reading a lot lately about this topic, in the Trib, Newsweek, US News, the Post, the Times, the Journal, all over, the Economist, National Review, the New Yorker, etc., etc., and what has struck me the most is that every source seems to support the war. Now, I've been for it almost since day one, but what surprises me is somewhat liberal newspapers and magazines are now onboard. Obviously it has become not a choice of go to war or not, but we're definitely going to war and are you on the side of freedom? Now, everyone is for peace and no one is for Saddam, but it has gotten to a certain point where our dicks are on the line and if we back down and leave Saddam in power, he wins and will take that as far as he can. He must be taken out now, and the only option is to invade. Now its about whether we do it alone, which would be horrible, or if other countries can wise up and join in, with manpower and money. The UN is proving useless, for while it was the best course of action at the time, the UN is in fact crumbling and if it doesn't stand up to Saddam like it threatened, it should collapse. Inspections are not working; you inspection supporters are blinded by the major victories in very minor areas. The al-Samoud missiles, while its good Saddam is disarming them, are simply the tip of the iceberg. He is playing the inspectors and the UN and the French and the Russians and the Chinese are letting him walk all over them. Bottom line: he must go, for hundreds of reasons, and it seems that popular concensus is coming around to that end. I just hope we dont go it alone, for that would be Walker's lowest point... we need the world's support on this. But if they're unwilling to sign on (I'm referring to Old Europe), we have to do what we have to do. It is a pressure cooker and time is running out, unfortunately. We can't fight in the Iraqi summer so the time is now. Pass the duct tape...DEVELOPING.

Ryan Adams: "Nuclear"

One more UN note. I am flummoxed at this. Flabbergasted. Libya (LIBYA!!!) is now the head of the UN Human Rights Commission. Are you fucking kidding me? Has Annan checked his Freedom House rankings lately? Or in the last 20 years? This is the result of a technicality in the system. The chairmanship rotates continent by continent and this year it's Africa's turn and they gave it to Qaddafi. They must be out of their minds. I know he's been acting better in America's interests so we'll lift the sanctions (which the UN did last year, though ours are still rightfully in place) but c'mon. My opinion, until the man who blew up Pan Am 103, amond many other atrocities) is out of power, Libya will never change, no matter what it looks like. The Human Rights Commission????? Wow.

Counting Crows: "Round Here"

Yesterday I took the Rorschach Test online and I failed. Granted the one I took was all in black and white and theyre normally in colors which makes it much easier to identify the interpretive shapes, but I would stare and stare and not get *anything* supposedly in there. I'd be like: "it looks like nothing" or "butterfly" for nearly every one. I know that psychiatrists laugh at the Rorschach Test these days, but it makes me sad that I couldn't even get one.

I watching Jimmy Kimmel Live tonight (yes, with the great Sarah Silverman as cohost) and he brought out a drug store Easter Basket, like at Walgreens for $4.99 or something and I'm not kidding, it had army men, candy, and a big giant fake gun. What kind of Easter Basket is that? I'm sure Jesus would approve. I mean the holiday is so commercial already, what with that damn Cadburry bunny (sidenote: I can't wait for those commercials again and those great treats, as well as the Reese's PB eggs... damn I love Easter candy) but c'mon... a gun in an Easter basket? Enough.

Night.

Blessid Union of Souls: "Walking Off The Buzz"

Listening to this amazing song that brings me back to my happiest days, and yes my screen name is inspired from this title. It was my #1 song at the time and it had a certain ring to it I must admit. What I didn't know was that "Buzz" would become intricately related to me that year, with The Buzz Cafe reaching unheralded prominence in my life and other reasons. Damnit I'm still in "professional writing mode" since I just wrote a retirement message for someone from my high school days.

That message has me thinking back to those last two years of high school. It's such a funny mechanism, memory. With time only the good things come forward. The times you wished you'd forget, you do tend to forget and everything starts coming up roses. I'm not complaining, since I would rather only remember the good times, but it's just funny. I had such a great time those two years. The people I was immersing myself with were the right people, the ones that stick, and the ones you want to stick. My first two years were peopled by comers and goers... there was no consistency. But then I went to North Campus and I made a conscious decision to start anew, to grow up. I was just talking with Mary about it and I voiced what I'd been thinking for awhile. I was so incredibly ballsy then and somehow I let myself become more of a caricature though I put up a damn good face sometimes. I'm not unhappy persay, but the great times are fewer and farther between. There was such an immediacy then that I wish was now, but everything is so much more relaxed. I guess I just have to accept how things are now and find my groove within *that*.

This weekend kinda sucked. I slipped Friday back into what I didn't want to. I went to that concert Thursday and to Murphy's afterward and though I wasn't drunk or hungover or anything at all, I slept in and didn't go to my two classes again. It doesn't matter attendance wise, but I just feel guilty and I hate that feeling. I am going to start out this week by going to all my classes day by day. I can make it work, I just have to be committed.

I went to my friend Allie's boyfriend's party last night and it was really great catching up with her, who I haven't seen in about a month. We decided to in a few weeks when we have some money to try a new local restaurant out for lunch every now and then. We both are woefully undercultured with Chambana and what better way than to try the local cuisine. We are gonna start with Radio Maria, a place that on their ever changing menu I saw African, South American and Mexican dishes mixed with normal, American and European ones. Sounds eclectic.

Today I tried to kick off the remnants of winter by putting in a cd that I associate with Spring. I put Collective Soul's "Disciplined Breakdown," which is my ultimate April cd and gave it a go. Well, when I left the grocery store and turned my car on to listen, it began to fucking snow. So I had to turn off the music because I can't risk mixing seasons. It's just too dangerous.

Some of you might say, well, Jeff, the cd you're listening to right now is part of your summer collection. And yes, reader, it is. But I am in my room on my computer, warm from the central heat and cannot see any snow. Weather is not a condition and only when it is is it risky to mix seasons. So there. Proved you wrong.

I have some more emailing to do before I tuck in for the night, so I'm gonna end this post here. I just want to throw a shout-out to Jackie in WI, who apparently feels underloved by Illinois people. Though she talks strangely, she's good people, so I salute her. And Christine, if you're reading this, check your voicemail already. Night.

Aimee Mann: "Invisible Ink"

The Nada Surf concert fuckin rocked. Opening were "The People" and "Sondre Lerche." Lerche is Norweigan and incredible. You all must download his stuff RIGHTNOW. Not as good as a live rendition of "Bushmeat" but what are you gonna do?

Have you looked into this business of gift baskets for Hollywood awards presenters? Its insane. At the Screen Actor's Guild awards in a few weeks -- not even one of the majors, a union award -- the presenter's gift basket will include: Phillips MP3 Player, Altec Lansing Surround Sound Audio System, tickets to the Indy 500, stays at the Waldorf Towers in NY and the Wyndham Bel Age in LA AND A WEEKLONG GETAWAY AT THE RANCHITO RESORT IN PATAGONIA, CHILE!!! all wrapped in a Wilson's leather suitcase Chile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Are you kidding me? All for walking on stage and reciting lines. Granted you have to be famous, but they're the last people that need handouts. And most presenters are also nominees, and most nominees are repeat offenders, so its like this small exclusive club that every March gets these ridiculous freebies. I know the Golden Globes basket had, among other things, a free spa treatment in Arizona. This shit's expensive. Ah, I need to get to a point where I can be a presenter at an awards show. That's all I want. Well, not all.

How 'bout this man in Texas that is accused of abusing his stepson by whipping the bou with a car antenna and forcing the 11-year-old to sleep in a doghouse? Apparently, TX has gone from executing all the Mexicans they can get their hands on to an eye-for-an-eye treatment: the man cut a deal where his punishment is to spend 30 consecutive nights in a doghouse. It is unclear whether or not he is allowed a phone in the doghouse. I'm not kidding. Check it out at www.thesmokinggun.com. This world is whacked.

Tonight I watched the new reality show on ABC, "Profiles" about troops overseas. It was like a documentary sponsored by and with complete cooperation with the DOD. Rumsfeld never made a better decision. This is incredible. To see these real men and women in their duties puts humanity with the news stories. Seeing the environment, the people, the soldiers talking to one-armed Taliban leaders, is all incredible. WOW. Check it out next Thursday at 7 on ABC. Never thought I'd be promoting ABC because normally it sucks ass, but this (and The Mole) is something I can stand behind.

Cindy and I saw "Talk to Her" last night. Now it was my first Almodovar movie, and I was underwhelmed. There were parts I liked and thought were funny, but the movie left me with an uneasy feeling. I know that was its intention, but I am not one of those to applaud a movie that makes me uncomfortable simply because it was supposed to. If I feel uneasy, its a bad thing. I laughed really really hard when a receptionist answered the phone, recognized the caller as her close friend and when asked "what's going on?" replied: "I just took an elephant-sized dump." Do women actually talk like that with each other. God, I hope not. Anyway, I didn't like "Talk to Her" nearly as much as "Y Tu Mama Tambien," which I ranked #2 as my best of the year. Anyone who wants a copy of that list, let me know.

Well, that's it for tonight. I really can't think of what else I wanted to say here, since the beer has killed important brain cells that lead to memory. Emily, that's what I believe and want to believe so don't counter me with all your brainy knowledge. Emily Ralph that is.

Night.

No Music

Yeah, so I'm pretty sure that the pot I just cooked my pasta in had dishsoap residue. It tasted kinda funny. So I threw it out.

I've got a bunch of stuff to talk about tonight, but I'm leaving in about 15 minutes to go to the Nada Surf concert with Jeff and Cindy.

Catching this ridiculous "Hot or Not" for the first time. I'm aghast. Rachel Hunter deserves better!

Ok, I have less thim than I thought. I'll be back later.

Eleven Days: "Meet Me", Remy Zero: "Save Me"

The day's not even over yet and I already have enough to cover a slow news week. Let's start from the top or what happened today.

I finally fell asleep in the two-o'clock hour and when I woke up around 8, I turned over and was convinced it was 2pm. Don't know why. So this feeling of complete failure overcame me, relating to what I professed in the previous blog. Then I realized that it actually was 8am and slept for another hour.

BoDeans: "Naked"

Took a two-hour nap at the Union today sitting in a chair. When I woke up at 10 to one, I very groggily walked to my class and I know I overheard an Indian man ask another man "Will you be attending death?" like it was an everyday question. Maybe he was referring to India as death.

During my one-o'clock class, a power lecture, I took more notes than I ever have in that class before: two pages. About halfway through, all I could think about was how much I liked the way my South African professor wrote the number "2" on the dry-erase board. I also realized how much I hate Bernie Henry, a classmate in not just this class, but my Pol S class immediately following this one. And he was also in my two Pol S classes last semester. Give me a break! He's one of those pushy know-it-all types that seriously raises his hand and talks for about ten minutes out of every fifteen. I can't stand him. Plus, he's fat. So Mary, your insane theory holds true here. (Mary insists that I hate fat people, which I don't. Let's not forget that my late grandfather was a very big man and I love *him* infinitely. But I made the mistake of laughing it off in high school instead of pointedly refuting it and it has dogged me ever since. But what are you gonna do? That girl is a fireball -- no one stands in her way, which sometimes is a very good thing.)

Travis: "Turn"

How about this weird new Farelly Bros. movie slated for the fall?!? Don't remember what it's called but here's a synopsis. Matt Damon and Greg Kinnear play Siamese twins and are living large. Then the Kinnear half wants to pursue a career in Hollywood and drags along the begrudging Damon half. Also starring Cher. WEIRD. Let's just hope it has the funny of "There's Something About Mary" and not the lame of "Shallow Hal." Here, Here.

Ben Taylor Band: "Just in Time to Fall Down" Yes, the son of James Taylor and Carly Simon and no, I can't tell its not his dad.

Today in my Pol S 270 class we discussed the dangerous subculture of drug resale. People buying generic forms of expensive drugs from Canada, Mexico and the new vanguard drug emporium: India. They buy them for one or two cents per pill compared to the $5 per pill here in the US, then resell them in poor neighborhoods and really anywhere here in the US. They are making a killing and its a dangerous game to play. Maybe a new prescription drug plan is in order. Hmmmmmmmmm.

My new favorite comic is Sarah Silverman. I saw her on Bill Maher's new show on HBO and though she's been funnier, this made me laugh really hard. Hope it translates:

"My niece's school has banned tag from the playground. They think it fosters unhealthy attitudes through someone winning and someone losing. This is fucking retarded. I think kids should work towards something, and winning happens in real life anyway. I tell my niece that when she doesn't win, an angel gets full-blown AIDS. And you know what? She wins. You have to speak their language."

Primitive Radio Gods: "Ghost of a Chance"

My Pol S 270 prof, Weissberg, today kept saying tostesterone and it got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't going to say anything because that would be a surefire failure right there. But my God, tostesterone!?!? It's kinda funny.

Weissberg also offered this little tidbit: "I was talking to this Ecuadorian waiter once and he taught me the Ecuadorian waiter pen trick: when you lend someone a pen, keep the cap... they'll never steal it." What a weirdo. But he's a funny and nice guy. He offered to help me on my resume later in the semester.

Well, children, that's it for me today. I'll be back soon though, so check back often. I've got this blasted midterm to cram for on Thursday, so I'll be here... doing that.

Oasis: "Don't Go Away"

This *will* be long. Fair warning -- though Phil: you get what you give.

I am so frustrated lately. I am nothing but a sloth; a veritable rat's nest. I am lazy, I sleep all the time, I missed both classes today and have literally done nothing productive all day long. I need to get my life in order... I feel like I'm moving sideways, or not at all. What happens in my life is absolutely in my command. My destiny is guided by me. While at this stage of my life, this bookended era of relative nothingness, stagnation and the supposed reflection of the rest of my life, I feel completely unmotivated, uninspired, un-everything. I live day-to-day in the sense that I haven't been working towards goals and because of this I am beginning to feel empty. I don't know why I am laying this all out for people, though friends, to read. I haven't done this kind of thing since the Love List years ago (and whoever wants a copy, let me know and you'll get one). There is trepidation but ultimately relief. But that ultimate letting go is like inching up high towards the edge of a rock peak. You don't want to look down and psych yourself out because it'll be worse that way, but you can't willfully trust in what will happen. Then once you get up the nerve to jump, it *is* an adventure, a free-fall, a weightlessness that feels so good and is addicting. Just the tip o' the iceberg.

Ryan Adams: "When the Stars Go Blue"

I haven't read a good book in so long. I am literally in the middle of five or six. Like I said: unmotivated, uninspired. I am reading "A Wrinkle in Time" (really) per the demand of Mary. She gave it to me over a year and a half ago and though a note inside pissed me off and was the last proverbial straw of that cycle (we do go in cycles, Mare) and I am ashamed that I've had it for so long without reading it. She was here a week ago and urged me to pick it up. I did and I like it.

Wilco: "outtasite outtamind (acoustic)"

Mary's friend Phil was reading a sci-fi book when he was here last weekend, and he really read it fast by the way, and then he and I were talking a little about books and I mentioned he had to read "The Beach." And Jeff: I forgot to tell you to too. You have to too. I got it from my friend Lisa about four years ago now and I liked it then, saw the movie and appreciated the book so much more (though the movie was ok, see it without the book in mind) and then reread it a little over a year ago and gained a new love for it. It is remarkable.

Jon Bon Jovi: "Standing Outside Your Window With a Suitcase in My Hand"

Here is a very illegal sampling of my favorite passage:

“All These Things”

There are one hundred glow-stars on my bedroom ceiling. I’ve got crescent moons, gibbous moons, planets with Saturn’s rings, accurate constellations, meteor showers, and a whirlpool galaxy with a flying saucer caught in its tail. They were given to me by a girlfriend who was surprised that I often lay awake after she went to sleep. She discovered it one night when she woke to go to the bathroom, and bought me the glow-stars the next day.
Glow-stars are strange. They make the ceiling disappear.

“Look,” Françoise whispered, keeping her voice low so Etienne wouldn’t wake. “Do you see?”
I followed the path of her arm, past the delicate wrist, up her finger to the million flecks of light. “I don’t,” I whispered back. “Where?”
“There… Moving. You can see the bright one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now look down, then left, and…”
“Got it. Amazing…”
A satellite, reflecting what – the moon or the earth? Sliding quickly and smoothly through the stars, tonight its orbit passing the Gulf of Thailand and maybe later the skies of Dakar or Oxford.
Etienne stirred and turned in his sleep, rustling the plastic bad he’d stretched out beneath him on the sand. In the forest behind us some hidden bird chattered briefly.
“Hey,” I whispered, propping myself up on my elbows. “Do you want me to tell you something funny?”
“What about?”
“Infinity. But it isn’t that complicated. I mean, you don’t need a degree in –"
Françoise waved a hand in the air, tracing a red pattern with the tip of her cigarette.
“Is that a yes?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I coughed quietly. “If you accept that the universe is infinite, then that means there’s an infinite amount of chances for things to happen, right?”
She nodded and sucked on the red coal floating by her fingertips.
“Well, if there’s an infinite amount of chances for something to happen, then eventually it will happen – no matter how small the likelihood.”
“Ah.”
“That means somewhere in space there’s another planet that, by an incredible series of coincidences, developed exactly the same way as ours. Right down to the smallest detail.”
“Is there?”
“Definitely. And there’s another which is exactly the same, except that palm tree over there is two feet to the right. And there’s another where the tree is two feet to the left. In fact, there’re infinite planets with infinite variations on that tree alone…”
Silence. I wondered if she was asleep. “So how about that?” I prompted.
“Interesting,” she whispered. “In these planets, everything that can happen will happen.”
“Exactly.”
“Then in one planet, maybe I’m a movie star.”
“There’s no maybe about it. You live in Beverly Hills and swept last year’s Oscars.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, but don’t forget, somewhere else your film was a flop.”
“Oh?”
“It bombed. The critics turned on you, the studios lost a fortune, and you got into booze and Valium. It was pretty ugly.”
Françoise rolled onto her side and looked at me. “Tell me about some other worlds,” she whispered. In the moonlight, her teeth flashed silver as she smiled.
“Well,” I replied. “That’s a lot to tell.”
Etienne stirred and turned over again.

I leaned over and kissed Françoise. She pulled away, or laughed, or shook her head, or closed her eyes and kissed me back. Etienne woke, clasping his mouth in disbelief. Etienne slept. I slept while Françoise kissed Etienne.
Light years above our garbage bag beds and the steady rush of the surf, all these things happened.

After Françoise had shut her eyes and her breathing had eased into a sleeping rhythm, I crept off my plastic sheet and walked down to the sea. I stood in the shallows, slowly sinking as the tide pulled away the sand around my feet. The lights of Koh Samui glowed on the horizon like a trace of sunset. The speed of stars stretched as far as my ceiling back home.

I want to write like that, I want to live like that. I want to have moments of clarity where everything and outer space makes sense. I yearn to have moments of genius, like a fish who learns to play dead like a party trick (lame joke to Winnie); in light of these things, in light of other people, in light of life itself and what I'm missing, I yearn to live and I really don't feel like I'm living to the best of my ability right now. Maybe its the fact that its late and I slept thirteen hours last night. Maybe its the fact that I don't belong in a rural environment. Maybe its the fact that I'm poor with no prospects in sight. But whatever it is, it needs to be fixed.

Freddy Jones Band: "In a Daydream"

Right now, before bed, I am going to begin by cleaning my room a little. Tomorrow I don't want to miss any classes even if it means going to my Logic class that I've been to twice all semester despite the fact that the book is *still* not in yet. I am going to see "Talk to Her" with Cindy either Tuesday or Wednesday night depending on when she gets back to me, so fun is in the breakfront. I vow to restart my flax regiment, to minimalize my laziness (perhaps for Lent) while maximizing my output. I need reminders though. I *will* fall back into stagnation, that much is known, for I am weakwilled and lazy. But I have a list of things I need to work on, things to finish and things to start. Hopefully this will take this time.

Tori Amos: cover of "I Don't Like Mondays"

Ah, today was such an oddly filled day, I tell you.

This morning I woke up really early (8) on very little sleep (roughly 4 hours) and groggily showered and went to my practice LSAT. I actually think that I did alright, despite my best attempts to suck to give myself a future inflated sense of accomplishment. According to my own calculations, I got somewhere between a 140 and a 160, not too shabby for barely studying my Princeton Review book past the tips sections. Part of it may be sheer luck though. I find out my actual score next Saturday.

Then I went to Panera and ate for the first time of the day, lazily scored my own test and got really pissed off at some local bitch. It seems I inconvenienced her with my car when I was waiting for a parking space. It seems I was too close to the parked cars and she had to move one foot to her right to get through. Then she gave me a nasty sigh and look. I hated her.

I came back here and slept for three hours, feeling completely groggy afterwards. But I remember having a weird dream, but have since lost it.

Ass Ponies: "Little Bastard"

Around 7:30, Jeff Philips contacted me about Cindy's play at 8. We hightailed it over there and it is safe to say that, while I don't regret it, it was easily the worst "play" EVER. Cindy was in the first of four or five little vignettes before the actual play, like Chuck Jones' Looney Tunes cartoons before movies in the olden days. They were all pointless and unfunny, but it was really cool to see Cindy act.

Neil Halstead: "Hi and Lo and In-Between"

After we snuck out of the horrible trainwreck of the play (seriously, it was about whether a man and his superhero alter-ego could share an apartment. "Short answer: no" was actually written in the playbill), I came back here, tired and having to do laundry. Then I watched SNL and it was actually pretty funny with Christopher Walken, who normally scare the shit out of me. But there were too many cameos by surprise celebrities: Steve Martin, Will Ferrel, Britney Spears and Jim Carrey (I never saw him at all til they thanked him at the end. I mustve missed his skit).

Now, I'm probably gonna go watch an episode of "Mr. Sterling" to keep up with Mary. It's our newest favorite new show since I tied her down and made her watch (and love) "Ed" a couple years ago. "I disagree" still gets her every time. That or read. I have a lot of reading to do. Since I napped earlier, I'm sure I'll be cursed with being awake all night. Drop me a line if you want.

JJ

The thoughts on my mind today:

I am going to completely copy the format of Jeff Philips' blog and tell you the song I am listening to when I begin the post.

Counting Crows: "Good Time"

Today, after I failed an Anthropology 149 Test about disease and shit (can you tell I was woefully underprepared?), I was walking to my car when I heard a very unfamiliar ring. It was my cell phone and it was my friend Christine. Now I was absolutely stunned because as far as I knew the cell phone was off. So Christine has the power to call and *turn on* my cell phone. Amazing. I know I turned it off last Sunday after the cross-country expedition and haven't used it since. I must've turned it on unknowingly or accidentally because I have absolutely no recollection of turning and leaving it on sometime during the week. Fascinating, I'm sure.

"I really love the red haired girls; I'm just another boy from Texas. Come on and take a spin; I gotta brand new pair of wings."

Today I was at Borders studying for my practice LSAT test tomorrow at 9am. In the morning. That's right; that's early. For a test. I'm going in without preparing much, to in a sense decrease my lower buffer boundary. This way, when I compare scores on future LSATs, my frame of reference will be such that a mediocre score is heads and shoulders above what tomorrow will yield. Heads and shoulders.

While I was there, an Oriental family was on the couch across from me and at one point, I looked up and felt so, hmmm, at ease at the sight. The young daughter, who by the way finished an entire book while she was in the store tonight, was sitting next to her father and reading, with her head on his shoulder looking completely comfortable and fluid, like only daughters and fathers can. It was a really nice image to see.

When I left, around 11, it was so fuckin foggy. "Densely" is probably a better word than "fuckin" but I really needed the emphasis. It was so incredible to drive home, not recognizing anything and each moment thinking I was somewhere else. Somewhere new. Everything looked different to me. And it was an adventure.

There was more that I thought of to say, but now an hour after I thought them, I cannot for the life of me remember any of them. My short-term memory is dying. I can't forget to restart my flax regimen tomorrow. Don't let me forget people.

Wish me luck tomorrow. I will not be happy.

JJ

Well, after spending six months avoiding updating my weblog -- because I didn't know what to say, because I'm inherently lazy -- I have been motivated to begin doing so. Stop me if this sucks.

On Tuesday, during class, I made a list of things I wanted to blog about. But its now hard for me to decipher those one-word "reminders" and extrapolate exactly what was on my mind Tuesday at 1:30pm when I wasn't listening to my professor lull me to sleep. That class is Pol S 296: Ethics and Public Policy. My professor has a British accent and I just learned that he is actually from South Africa. Of all the place I want to go, South Africa actually is high on the list. Of the entire continent, it seems the most realistic place to visit, along with Egypt and Kenya, but my #1 place in Africa is Swaziland. It sounds so amazing. It is an entire country nestled inside S. Africa near the east coast. It is apparently vertical; meaning that you can ski at its peak and sweat in its valley, though wouldn't it be one type of weather in a vertical plane? Regardless, that's what I've heard and read, so it must be true.

I also have noted here that I wanted to talk about the movie "Magnolia." I have no idea why, since it is old and doesn't spark anything interesting right now. But I'll try. I really like "Magnolia" though it has its detractors. I really hated Jason Robards and Philip Seymour Hoffman (whom I hate in everything). But there is one scene especially that I love. It is the scene with Bill Macy and "Thurston Howell III" as he's billed (the creepy albino midget guy from "The Burbs") in a bar. They are both fighting over the bartender, who is oblivious, and its not the story that I like. It's the wordplay, the dialogue. I really like the line "And no it is NOT dangerous to confuse children with angels! And the book says, we may be through with the past, but the past is NOT through with us!" Such a great screenplay. Paul Thomas Anderson is a genius.

I had a weird murder dream the other night. It was so real. It was one of those dreams that you have in the morning after you've woken up once and fallen back asleep, so it stays with you longer and clearer. I remember being in a car with my parents, and then a man in handcuffs stopping us and jumping in the car with us. Then he demands to be taken somewhere and when we get there, it is where I need to be, so I get out too. All of a sudden there are many people with me, not my parents, but roommates or friends or just passersby and we go into what looks like my house/room. All of a sudden a woman we thought was "friendly" double crosses the convict guy and shoots him in the back with a smile on her face. Then I hide and later run out of the house. My parents heard gun shots and when I didn't come out, took off looking for me whatever that means. Well I run out and end up in a parking garage and the convicts (there's more now) had been chasing me and found me and cornered me here. I have reinforcements now and a gun battle erupts. Somehow my parents pull up and I jump in and we take off burning rubber. Then I wake up. Weird, huh.

Thats it for me now. I'm tired, avoiding studying for a test tomorrow and a practice LSAT on Saturday morning. I'd better get cracking but something tells me that I'll probably watch "Ed" or "West Wing" from last night. I watched "The Bachelorette" instead. We'll discuss that next time.

Jeff

This is a test to see if blogger is working. Per Mary's instructions. She's such a weirdo.