Somewhere Under the Underground

That sky has always been above me
Half drunk, the other half is apathy
Left here less than a memory
No one is ever coming back for me

Storm clouds rollin' up and into town
We're safe here in the underground
No way anyone is leaving now
Grab your glass, buck up and drink it down

Are we smarter the morning after
Pills and thrills and pointed laughter?
Is it a witch if it floats?
Well it's a bitch if she won't...

It's not a witch she will not float
And we've done more than all she wrote
I'll take a vow to act my age
Then rebuild my rattled cage
I'll take the pills to kill the passion
Till all this shit comes back in fashion
Yeah
Yeah
Yeah




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Saturday September 30th Come On

I got up at nine-fucking-thirty in the goddamn am to work at the goddamn fucking front desk.

At least it pays well.

Yesterday or last night, or earlier today was fantastic. I can’t believe what happened, happened. I can’t believe I think E`{` likes me. I can’t believe what a sap I am.

She’s smart, funny and dresses cool. She somehow looks cheery in black.

How do ya pull that off?

I went to Subway and made a pig out of myself. I actually think Mark and Susan might be getting something going. That’s good. That’s one problem solved for me.

Mark, I love you and I owe you one.

Bill’s home working on another script and that’s what I should be doing, or at least coming up with ideas or helping in some stupid way.

Of course, based on where my focus is right now…

On a pretty little red-haired girl…

Maybe I shouldn’t be coming up with ideas for our pile of killer bones that won’t die.

By doing nothing I am helping.

I worked on some stupid chord progressions that seemed to go nowhere. It makes you wonder if they could even be called progressions proper. There’s probably nothing proper about anything I write.

After coming home from work I spent today totally alone and that’s ok. I’m technically still recovering from the hangover from two nights ago. Part of the reason I didn’t try to kiss Miss E`{` last night is I didn’t want her to taste the cotton mouth.

Maybe they weren’t chord progressions but rather chord modulations that I was working on earlier today.

Yeah, “modulations” sounds more like jazz.

Jazz doesn’t have to make sense does it?

Listen to the notes I shouldn’t be playing.

Played Tecmo Bowl and stayed up way too late watching Headbanger’s Ball and being hungry. Little Russ came by and we went to Hardee’s to eat greasy loose meat.

Is there any other kind of loose meat?

When we got back I thought about calling E`{` but then decided I couldn’t because I didn’t have her number.

Is it possible that I could have spent all that time with her last night, having a wonderful walk, talk and breakfast and never ask for her number?

At least I remember where she lives, don’t I?

Swine Crabs

new wurds

proud

shower

hour

amount

voyage

choice

avoid

thousand





The following conversation took place on my facebook messanger thingy between me and one of my favorite former coworkers (I like 'em all after they leave) who is currently working much harder on the road with I Need Sleep:


4:58pmKarl
I'm pretty sure I'll be at the Annex on Oct8 for a Nate Island Icetea

5:00pmEd
Sweet. Hey, shouln't you be cleaning syringes?

5:01pmKarl
I clean dishes now
still Charlie work

5:01pmEd
At least you moved up from detritus to spittle
So you're playing in town on the 8th?

5:02pm
yeah, we'll be at that goofy 7ths street
space

5:02pmEd
I see that they're having shows again
If I didn't have "narc" written all over my face I'd come see the band

5:02pmKarl
maybe you could make a shirt that says "not a cop"

5:03pmEd
if it was back in the day and back when I needed to be acutely aware of who the cops in the room were I'd definitely be on the lookout for a douchebag like me wearing a shirt like that with hair like mine

5:03pmKarl
haha, valid point

5:03pmEd
Besides that's what the one undrecover guy from Shabbona used to wear. That and he drove a green Buick that should've been in a Kyuss video

5:03pmEd
Good luck on the road. Watch out for crabs or whatever it is the kids are giving the other kids these days

5:04pmKarl
Swine Crabs I think

5:04pmEd
lol my fucking ass, I am shitting myself
That oughta kill my swine crabs

5:05pmEd
I'm posting this entire conversation to my blog (of course editing it to make me seem funnier). You could sue but when it comes to the internet all you'll get is Valkarie e-credits for some bullshit island on Second Life...ok, I got to go be somebody's dad and work on spelling words. Later my brutha

5:06pmKarl
alright man, take caare




Now back to more of my edited life from 20 years ago today...



Thursday September 28, 1989 Drank Myself Colorblind

A day in the life of…nuthin’ some days, today possibly being one of those days. Didn’t I just have one of those days? Laying around. My one class was canceled. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Possibly. Played a lot of Nintendo today so thank goodness I wasn’t wasting my terrible mind or it wasn’t a waste of terrible time or something like that.

Seriously? Not good. No music. No school. No teacher’s dirty looks, just me and time and when we get together with nothing else in between us, forget it.

Maybe I wasn’t wasting time today. Maybe I was resting, marshaling my forces for Thursday Night Tradition. When there are no other traditions left in the world and all that is left is booze and Thursdays, my friends and I will drink booze on Thursdays. Some things are so sacred that they must always be so long as the stuff there that helps their being continues to be.

Am I in the hospital yet?

Someday I may tell the story of how the host of Thursday Night Tradition got the booze we drink every Thursday. For now all anyone has to know is that John P has a bunch of dumbasses over to drink and watch bad 70’s porn. God Bless technology. They have to make all this garbage available on VHS. It’s like a rule or something.

As usual, I was early. Maybe I wanted to get the most inconspicuous college porn lap pillow. I plan ahead, at least for the important stuff.

Engles came with me and when we got there John said Susan called saying that she needed an escort. That’s true, a lady does not attend a drinking party where porn is shown without an escort.

I was to be that escort.

Walked down to Susan’s house and we decided to only split a bottle of wine from John’s not so super secret wine stash. She said “Let’s not get too drunk so we can do something or go somewhere else after the movies.”

I ended up drinking two bottles of wine myself (red and white) and part of a six of Red, White, and Blue that Engels and I brought. Big mistake. Susan was pissed. So pissed she left with Engles. He was smart and only drank the other part of the Red, White and Blue six pack. Stupid, semi-sober smart bastard!

I’m not sure how I got home. There were several ed sightings stretching into the early hours of Friday. I’ve heard a couple of different versions of ‘how ed got home after playing catch with bikes in John’s back yard’ and all the stories really scare me.

The one that I believe?

Hanna drove me home and left me on the steps of Douglass Hall. I believe that one because I woke up on the steps of Douglass Hall. I’d like to think I had the presence of mind to say ‘So this is what it’s like to be a wino’ – but as there were no witnesses I can’t claim that to be true.

I will remember not to drink that much wine in the future.
I will remember not to drink that much wine in the future.
I will remember not to drink that much wine in the future.

There, I’ve said it thrice. Now if only some scantily clad genie would come and cure this hangover…




Friday September 29, 1989 Revolution, Romanticism and Romance?!?!

I did not experience a hangover this morning after drinking all that wine at Tradition. However, I believe that at some point during the night I died and was reincarnated as pain itself.

Participated in a “Revolution & Romanticism” discussion and Prof. L did not look at me like I was a fucking idiot.

I bet he doesn’t swear, even in his brain.

I wrote a song that would be a better title for a book, but I don’t write books. Hell, I don’t read enough books to write books and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Maybe I should be honest about this. I didn’t even buy my books for this semester. I photocopied some of the readings from friends because books cost money. One of my friends showed me that by inserting a copy card in one of the NIU copy machines, running the card down to one copy, unplugging the machine with the card still inside and then plugging it back in, you would have the same number of copies on your card as when you began the process. I’m sure glad that I didn’t buy any textbooks this semester that talk about entropy, how matter is neither created nor destroyed, or that we live in a world where must preserve our precious, limited resources.

I have free photocopies for life.

I was a waste of life most of the day. Went to Sgt. Pepper’s with Chris and Erica and then we had ice cream. It was like it was somebody’s birthday. That’s one of the things I love about college. It feels like it’s somebody’s birthday all the time.

Then we went to a party at Mike M’s and I don’t know if it was somebody’s birthday, but it felt that way. It was cool in spite of Jim and Ron’s artsy fartsy friends. I shouldn’t call them fartsy. I’m sure not one of them had ever farted in their entire life. By the way, even though I mock Jim and Ron’s artsy friends, I really like Jim and Ron.

There was a guitar player there. He was left handed and played a nylon string, classical acoustic dealy. These details are not as important as they sound. We played a song later that night asking Jesus to:

come back down here
and turn all our Tang to beer
don’t worry we won’t be astronauts
and find out how you ain’t up there
or anywhere

Maybe that’s why I’m not in a band right now.

Women were everywhere at this wing ding. Dee Ann, Sue C., Susan S., and like three other girls that I’m sure I have been in lust with since you know who busted my heart to pieces. I had a great time talking to all of them. I could actually talk since I only drank two beers and a glass of wine all night. See, when I’m hangover drinking I’m a lot more civilized.

I left w/ E`{` and that’s something I wanted to do for a long time. Out of all those girls, she’s the only one I was in lust with while I was still with you know who. See, I sound like I am pretty fucked up, and quite frankly I am very fucked up, but every so often I get it together enough to get it right.

Tonight was one of those nights. We left at 3AM because everyone who was being obnoxious was waiting for me to be obnoxious-er. Sadly I understand that is sort of an expectation I drag around.

Someone whispered to me that there was a tank of nitrous-O next door but I am always afraid those things are going to explode. I have nothing to base that on other than I am usually high as shit and paranoid when I am around them.

I was nice to the dedicated party goers but made an excuse and didn’t make it look like I was trying to leave to stick it to Miss E`{`. For some reason I care about her reputation even though I don’t give a good goddamn about my own.

I actually waited until she was almost gone until I made my excuse. I let her get going out the kitchen and down the back steps of Mike’s apt. before I hustled out of there and offered to walk her home.

We walked by the lagoon and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. No room for clouds. There were too many stars.

The stars were too gorgeous to be believed. I was so into the stars and the night sky that I forgot who the hell I was. I gave E`{` my coat. I’m not sure I’ve ever done something like that before.

She was beautiful.

Nothing happened.

That’s not true. A crazy looking goose came out from behind a rock and hissed at us. I wanted to kill that piece of shit but I was with a lady of discriminating taste, or at least a lady that did not want to see an idiot kill a goose with his bare hands.

We talked about the legend of some guy on this campus who once hung a famous goose. We both understood how a person would come to hang a goose. They are miserable sons of bitches. Anyone who does not think so has never lived among them as we have.

Where was I?

She was beautiful.

Her red, curly/wirey hair poked my arm as I put my coat around her neck.

Ok, that doesn’t sound beautiful but it happened. It’s real, man.

Maybe Miss E`{` isn’t that beautiful. Her skin is kind of pale and she has a lot of freckles. Maybe E`{` has too many freckles for a 20 year old. But my life has sucked for some time now. I have been attracted to this girl for two years and she never paid me much notice until tonight.

This walk home past the water, saying bad things about geese has been in the works for some time now. It has been written in the stars or something like that. You could write War and Peace with all the fucking stars that were out on our romantic fucking walk.

I’m not sure you could call it romantic. We didn’t hold hands or kiss or anything. We didn’t even look at each other that much. I walked her back to her apartment on College Street and she invited me inside.

We talked and talked and talked. We talked about David Bowie, David Byrne and Peter David (the comic book writer). We agreed that we liked these Davids and that was swell.

We did not kiss.

I did not get boob.

I did not get to 1st Base, wherever that is. I still don't understand the whole baseball/sex thing. Is there an infield fly rule euphemism? How about one for the double-switch? Stupid National League. Anyway, I'll probably never know.

But I din't even step in the batter's box of sex if you will.

I was just sort of talking to the hitting instructor. No need to rush anything. I’m sure I’ll be able to do it with someone soon enough if I want sex. That’s nice. Again, it’s college so its like someone’s birthday all the time with a 37% chance of sex no matter how many people you know in a given place. That’s a helluva lot better than highschool was (for me anyways). I’ve had plenty of you know what with you know who over the past two years, or at least until she dumped me last summer.

Where did that get me?

It bought me a bucket full of self-loathing and a headache.

If E`{` wants to invite me over to her apartment in the wee hours of the morning and talk with me and then make me breakfast she deserves better than some guy trying to put it in her.

We ate breakfast and afterward I looked at the clock in the kitchen. I told her I had to work at the stupid front desk this morning and it was a long walk back. I asked her if she had one of those Air Force jet packs around. She said, “I’m not going to let you borrow it Ed. You’re a nice guy and if you crashed into the Student Center or the lagoon and killed yourself, I’d be heartbroken.”

I fought every instinct I had not to try and kiss her right there. I left.

I left at 8am!

Stupid work at stupid 10am.

I am in the process of abandoning all my previous obsessions in order to embrace this new and far more wonderful one.

We'll see where that gets me.

Three Days Gone

Lots of stuff going on but I've got the old journals edited for the 25th through the 27th. Weird weird weird weird weird weird shit happens when you do a project like this, live in a town like this, do not run away when you have the chance (like a should've) when you stick around to see how it all turns out and turns out again. Too bad Larry David has already done this and far better than me. Oh well, I will always be a half-assed whatever I am. I don't make this stuff to be great. I'll never be that.

I write and make music because it's more interesting than work and cheaper than going on the meds.



Monday September 25, 1989 Shit City

Had my judicial meeting today. This crap is almost over, I think. Larry Bolles threatened me with a ‘forced residence hall transfer’ (I’m pretty sure that’s the language that he used). I pleaded guilty and talked my way out of the residence hall transfer and into a 20hr work assignment with an agreement to pay restitution (how much can two pissed on shirts and a pair of pissed on pants be?) and three alcohol abuse meetings. Maybe I should have shut up and taken the ‘forced residence hall transfer’. The guy whose clothes I pissed on could still file criminal charges. Hell, the clothes could still file criminal charges. ASSAULT WITH INTENT TO…soil? Fuckit (with apologies to Herbie Hancock).

To Mr. Bolles’ credit he is letting me keep the clothes once I’ve paid all the money. That’s justice. Is it Bolles’ or Bolles’s? Here’s a guy that offers me justice with just a touch of absurdity, everything someone like me could want, and here I am wondering about the possessive form of his last name. That sounds about right.

After that meeting I was through with authority for the day so I blew off seeing people in the POLS Dept. God love Jen-O for giving a damn about my schedule, but if I don’t give a fuck no one else should either. Maybe I should take more English classes. That last sentence was Shit City.

I’ve been thinking about my sister. I wonder if she likes college. I wonder if she is dating a guy who is a drunk. No reference to whatever or whoever I am doing. Is it “whoever” or “whomever”? I guess at this level of crudity grammar cannot and should not matter. That’s life here in Shit City. Get used to it or get the fuck out.

They’re the same age indecently – uh, incidentally. Who am I talking to? Hey, they’ve got their lives, I’ve got mine. So let’s get on with them and get ‘em over with…shall we????

Had a huge fight with what’s her name in the lobby tonight – in front of everyone – and I DO NOT CARE! She lives in a fucking dream world where I am some sniveling worm who always fucks everything up. Ok, that’s pretty close to the actual world, but who is she to keep reminding me of that. Once you break up with me, you lose all berating privileges. Period. She’s a twatty jerk – I flew off the handle (again, in front of a lot of people) and I don’t think that girl will be talking to me any time soon. That’s a very good thing. Aw, why make myself crazy over this?

I left a message for Susan but she never got back to me. Bill ‘n I blew off the radio show to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He brought this girl – R~ (I think I’ve mentioned her before) and I called Little Miss D. We all fell asleep so nobody knows how it turned out. We all got up (at about the same time, pretty amazing) and went to breakfast AT DOUGLAS HALL.



Tuesday September 26 When I Get Offa This

Played Up on Cripple Creek and a coupla other the Band tunes with Shawn OG today. I love the Band. Someday I’m going to go to that big pink house in Woodstock. I don’t care how many hippies I have to go through. Yeah, there’s a fine attitude.

Napped over at Marks place and we convinced someone to take off their shirt.

Other than that it was an unproductive day.



Wednesday September 27, 1989 A Drunkard’s Dream

Got my work assignment (or a big part of it) from the judicial people. It’s basically going to be a bunch of Saturdays in October and it could stretch into November, depending on how long I decide to work (beyond my designated shifts). I might want to do extra hours early on so things are easier as the end of my sentence nears. Listen to me I've become a regular Gary Dotson or whoever the hell he was.

Went to the Honors House and begged Joanne to let me use her computer to type my fucking English paper. She said Yes and I’m glad she did. I ran into a female who shall remain unnamed (for now) there and she really doted on me, or it was something like doting. That’s the kind of attention I can live with, but it better not be the kind of attention I live for. Get it? Can't entrust my happiness to the doting of other people ever again because that's the fucking end of the world.

She told me I smelled good. Something’s got to be wrong with her nose. Maybe there’s a gas leak in the Honors House.

Talked to Dick for a while. I miss hanging out with him. Told Joe Honors I learned something the Dine in Disgust w/ Mark Nelson and it takes alot to get me to learn something.

After hauling my already tired ass to my boring night class I found out it was canceled. That should make me happy – but the walk, you know, the walk! Ooooh, I’m pissed.

Still fuming about the fight w/ what’s her name the other day/night…whenever. I’m too lazy to go back and check when it was. Sadly, I can’t remember whether our fight was day or night without checking.

Went to Susan’s after not having to sit through Greek history. We had fun. Got goofy. Drank brandy. Played with the cats. That’s not code. Incidentally, about the brandy, I think we’re drinking too much of that stuff lately. I don’t think it’s cold enough to be drinking brandy all the time. Maybe it’s just from growing up and associating blackberry brandy with Christmas. Just another way my youth has scarred me. Man, whatever happened it sure made me a big fucking crybaby.

Bought Buttweasel a sub on my way back to the dorms. Now we’re even. Now we’re good.

Where Her Dreams Can Live Again

My wife is a teacher at Gwendolyn Brooks Elementary. Tonight we celebrated the 10th Anniversary of the school's official dedication and the visit made by the poet herself.

Negative Nellie that I am...I thought tonight would be one of those glad-handy, self-congratulatory joints where everyone pats each other on the back and stands amazed at their own hard work. But everyone worked hard to prepare a special day to celebrate the school and its famous inspiration.

They are the Brooks Bobcats. As I entered the building (in the last minutes before festivities were to start) my son Alex was taping paw prints to the floor. He said, "Hi dad. I'm putting down these paw prints so former Bobcats can find their way to the gym where we all are."

And in that ceremony there was some talk of the hard work the staff and school leaders put in the construction of the school. These teachers helped wire the actual building for the friggin Internet. I remember Kim being there several weekends getting shit up and through the ceiling side-by-side with her pals - working together to make a great learning environment.

But there was little talk of that sort of thing. Most of what I heard from the dignitaries and the speakers were stories about Ms. Brooks herself and what an honor it was to be a part of that day for her and to work (or have worked) in this building inspired by her.

Several speakers recounted the pride with which she began her talk ten years ago. She said, "This is MY school." And the audience cheered wildly. I take the boldness of that statement to mean that this was an honor beyond her dreams. She took ownership of it, not because she thought it was deserved but it was so magnificent.

Believe me, I want to write about my wife's outstanding achievements throughout ten years at that school and what she and her friends have done for children and our community, but I am caught up in the spirit of the occasion and I will also honor what everyone wanted to celebrate.

The school itself is a monument to Ms. Brooks and the teachers, like my wife, who have served there. And a school is different than statues or other monuments. Statues, roads, airports and even parks seem to capture the past and connect it in some vague way with the achievements of the honoree. These things are tributes to the dead. They have their place but what they celebrate is singular and limited.

A school does more than honor one person. It does more than enshroud the past of a legend or ghost in stone and large letters. There are no ghosts and the past does not mean the same thing in a tribute of this kind. Schools, for better or worse offer a piece of the present and the future, imperfectly perhaps, but a vision of those things nonetheless. The halls of a school are filled with children. And it is in these children that the dreams of the school's namesake can live again.

'Zine Racks that Piss Me Off

Back late from swim team. Alex won his leg of the relay and we are proud. The only bump and/or ruffle in the day happened when I first dropped the boy off for warm ups. I cruised over to Borders to pick up another copy of the New Yorker that I got last week. I was reading the 8 Days piece (I still can't turn away from the Paulson/Bernanke follies from last year....some people like straight people screaming on tv at trannies that tricked them, me I like east coast edumacated suits running around like chickens with their heads cut off or trannies with their something else cut off)

What's with me and the tranny talk?

Anyway I was almost finished with the damned thing when I loaned it to Kim who proceeded to lose it faster than Wall St. can lose 750 billion dollars in taxpayer money.

By the way, I think that if the TARP money were (or was, with that level of fuckery the least of our concerns is grammar) used properly it should've been paid out as a bonus. To one guy.

Roger Bossard.

The Sodfather.

So I went to Borders and there were no copies of the New Yorker. Then I noticed that they have nudie magazines in the Borders 'zine racks. Normally the porn would've been a welcome distraction but dammit I wanted to finish that article.

"Fuck me," I said to no one in particular.

"Can I help you sir?" a random Borders worker asked with a pissy look on his face.

"No. Sorry I cussed in front of the porn."




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Sunday Sept 24, 1989 The Sun is Up

Got up about an hour before the Bears game. Scratched out some letters to friends during the pre-game ESPN junk. Yeah, I'm the great fucking communicator. Take that Ronnie. Who am I kidding? Deavers probably wrote all that guy's letters.

Steve came over to watch the game with us. I still can't believe he and Chris are twins. I say that every 50th entry so I was overdue.

Little Miss D called and asked if she could come up and watch the game. At first I thought it was weird. Normally girls don't want to watch the game and they don't want me to watch the game. But this kid called and wants to watch the game. I reminded myself to not be a jerk and not screw up and say something mean or stupid. She just wants to watch a football game with me and my friends. Share the niceness.

The Bears creamed the Lions and I was pleased. Yes, they did all that just to please me.

Susan's foot was feeling better. She called me to say she felt bad that her mom stood me up the other night. She took me to Subway. We brought the sandwiches back to John St., ate and watched the cats run around the kitchen.

It was more fun than it sounds.

Showed up just in time to bowl like shit in Chris & I's Sunday night handicap league. I'm going to blame the poor effort on too much food and not enough booze.

Note in my mailbox from Jen O reminding me to contact Professor Frisch this week. She also managed to shove a cigarette in there. I should be grateful but I have three problems...

1.) Who does she think she is reminding me to do something with my life, my mom?

2.) She swiped two cigarettes from me and only shoved one crumpled-assed one in my box.

3.) She swiped two, high quality Chesterfield Kings that I got from Lukancic's at home (they are not always available at the White fucking Hen up here so I always buy at least two cartons from the gas station by my grandma's before coming back to school) and left one crumpled, and slightly wet Old Gold.

Fucking Old Golds.

I shouldn't act like I am too good for OGs as they are what I will be smoking once the Chesterfields run out.

Nicknames

This conversation from last night's band practice helps illustrate why we have attained the level of success we presently enjoy...


Dev: "Dude, be careful you almost walked through Chris' screen door."

Me: "It wouldn't be the first time, remember that one Labor Day incident like 10 years ago."

Dev: "That wasn't Chris' door. He still lived with me then, I think. That was Mary Kay's screen door you crashed through all f'd up on Moscow Mules."

Me: "Oh yeah. It was K's door I broke. But Chris really bailed me out. He came by the next day with some shit from the Bad Brains show and fixed Mary's door and smoothed everything over."

Dev: "That's why we call him 'the Bondsman'...cuz he's always bailin' your ass out."

Me: "What? Well, that's why we call you 'Nickname' cuz you're always giving people really obvious nicknames."

Then Joe came out of the bathroom...

Dev: "There's Joe. We call him Joe because his parents named him Joe."

Joe: "What the hell are you guys talking about?



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Just an aside, this is my one thousandth post on the ajusted blog. You'd think I'd have something interesting to say by now.

That being said, here's another Dear Diary (or Diary of a D-bag) entry from 20 years ago


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Saturday September 23, 1989 Moms, Geeky Girls and Me

Up with Miss D until 7am. That’s not right, and I sure as hell ought to know what wrong feels like by now.

In theory, I should be able to handle at least that, hanging out and not being a jag…with intermittent smooching. That’s my goal here. There is hope for me being a real person, and trying to be a decent fellow (not boyfriend) and be honest. Treat people with respect, have fun, be clear about what we’re doing, and end things with a friendly, heartfelt…uh, handshake. What the hell am I talking about?

Today was unproductive. Got up at 2pm. I watched the Cubs win. Why am I watching the Cubs? I don’t even like the Cubs. Some of my friends like the Cubs and those friends have beer. I didn’t go to support the Cubs. I went to drink the beer. Oh shit, I’m starting to sound like a Cubs fan. What is happening to me?

After the game went over to Nap at Mark’s. Anne Marie’s little baby was there. Sarah is here name. She is beautiful, and her mother isn’t so bad either. Yup. Can’t get into a bar legally and already into moms.

The kid stole everybody’s heart. Goofed off and got ready to go to some sort of thing on Harrison with Shawn and Tom. This girl from one of Tom’s computer science classes came with us. Tom thought I was hitting on her so he got kinda pissed at me. Tom is always a little pissed at me. That’s part of his charm. Tom may have been on to something because his friend was super geeky and I go for geeky in a big way. Can’t get into bars legally and into geeky girls. That’s me all over.

I sat next to the keg the whole night so I was no real threat to Tom or his little friend. There was a band called D.A….uh, I mean Shake the Cage there. They sounded like the songs they played. I’m not sure why they needed to do the Jeff Healey tune, as far as I could tell, no one in the band was blind. Sometimes I think Jeff Healy isn’t blind, he just likes to play sitting down. Lazy-ass, fake-blind bastard. I wish I thought of it first.

Got loaded and left early. Yakked on the way home. Called Little Miss D. I scared the shit out of her. What was I saying about there being hope for me?

Spelling Sept 22

clean

agree

teeth

dream

grain

coach

display

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Friday September 22, 1989 The Importance of Smoking Correctly

Took my numbers test at 9:00am *****eek. But I kicked its ass. It is always fun to have a positive testing experience. Had breakfast w/ C-1ers this morning. Whoa. George helped me get ready for my POLS test. I needed the help, and it led to the successful ass kicking described above….

Saw D at breakfast. I like her but nothing’s gonna happen. Nothing better happen. She’s like two years younger than me. When I’m ninety-eight, she’ll only be…oh, you’ve heard that joke before.

I was in a good mood for most of today even though I was dead tired. I need some peaceful nap time. New comics today. Do I dare drag my tired ass to Northern Lights? I do – and I did.

Started a new thing with WTG today. Stopped not long after starting. This is beginning to look like another one of those exercises meant to remind me that I’m not a real writer. Whether it is lack of talent, discipline or inspiration I’m not sure but one thing I am sure of is that there is a distance between me and the ability to write anything worth a damn. Maybe that’s the beginning of something but I’m not in a position to know…yet.

I’ve been sloth-like for most of the day. Went to all my classes. That’s how sad of a day it was. Did I just say I was in a good mood? Finally getting some ideas for the expanded fB thing but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Ideas roaring through my skull. No one wants to play with me. I guess Cousin Mike and I still have our “band”. I miss Cousin Mike. Miss Cousin Mike? What? Did he go to Sweden?

Smoked 50 fucking thousand cigs with Jen-O and Jeanz in the lobby. They laughed as I told them about the “butter churners” conversation from the other day. Then Jen got serious and asked if I was going to find another class or just fuck around and take nine hours again.

I’m sort of leaning towards the latter option. She left for some talk on the POLS floor but as she was going she told me I should try to get into her favorite professor’s class.

I asked her how many books were required. She said there was only one book, then helped herself to not one but two of my Chesterfields.

I said, “What the fuck?”

She said, “You don’t even smoke them correctly.”

I said, “That may be true but they are mine.”

…and she was gone.

Guitar Again

Guitar lessons started up and it was a good night. I believe I sufficiently frightened all my students when I informed them that over the next several weeks we are going to begin to learn to read music. Yup. Most people don't pick up a guitar with the intention of learning to read music...or read anything. But that's what we're a'doin.


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Thursday September 21, 1989 Treat Me Like a Fool

Today’s the first day of fall(caps?). Today would’ve been my second anniversary(caps?) w/ what’s her name (no caps). Probably could’ve been a sad day if it hadn’t been for Engles. I went to “Nap Time” at his room. I never really cared for any of Mark’s games, but this was fun. It sounded like fun from the first time I heard about it. Who doesn’t like sleeping? Anyway, I’m not the “who” who doesn’t.

I spent most of the day lounging around on the floor of the C-1 RA’s room w/ Marky, Bill Garver, and little Dawn. I do not know how to act when girls pay attention to me. But that’s what makes me me…a real loser. Everybody is pretty rough on her, making fun of her naïve, trusting nature. I should treat her better. She kinda deserves it. We all kinda do.

Saw Dizzy Gillespie(sp?) tonight. I was supposed to see the show w/ Susan but a bee stung her foot. Yeeesh, she could’ve had the decency to say she was washing her hair. Actually, I saw her foot. It looked stung or fucked up in some way that wasn’t going to get better any time soon. Her mom came up to take care of her, and I was supposed to see the show with her mom. But her mom had to go home early. Yeeesh, SHE could’ve had the decency to say she was washing her hair. Susan gave me her extra ticket so I took this girl Kelly. She’s cool. She shouldn’t have cut her hair. We have the same birthday. I used to run around with a girl in high school who had the same birthday as me…uh, let’s hope this night out seeing jazz goes better than that.

It did. Great show. I don’t know shit about jazz, but I like guys who look like they have basketballs shoved in their cheeks. Yeah, culture isn’t my thing. Saw Dick there. Hadn’t seen him in a while. He’s a god. I should go over to the Honors House to hang out with him. Saw Mike and his girlfriend there. They’re nice, they seem happy. My dance teacher from last spring – Millie Olson was there. She was impressed by how dressed up I was. I wore a tie for chrissakes.

Studied POLS till way fucking late. Good thing Kelly and I only drank a few black Russians(caps?) after the show. POLS, too many numbers!

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Madison Avenue Freeze Out

Fun fun fun at the first Hawks' preseason game. It was sort of a scene. Just under 20,000 for a preseason game a the UC...Roenick was there...I saw Vince Vaughn spill a beer on himself (although I hear from Dev and others that if one finds themselves anywhere on the West Side there's a 40% chance of seeing that guy spill a beer on something)...and I think the boy, Nancy and Tommy and I almost bumped into Ben Weasel. Has he lifted his ban on the Hawks? Only time will tell.

Other crazy shit happened today...I almost crashed my car but I was lucky, the only thing that happened was I scraped one of my rims and I accidentally pulled off the inside rear view mirror bracing for a bad impact that never came.

Life is good

Now here's another excerpt from my life 20 years ago when it was less good...

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Wednesday September 20 1989 – As the Butter Churns

SOX beat the Royals and Fisk hits a meaningless home run to the seal the deal in the 9th. Can a 9th inning home run be at once meaningless and seal the deal? It can if you have followed that team this year the way I have. Weird game. They hung six runs on KC in the 2nd and did nothing until Pudge’s dong right at the end. That just sounds dirty. Sheesh. I gotta find something better to do with my life.

…and it certainly isn’t going to Prof. Creamer’s American Urban History II. Somewhere during a Shopkeeper’s Millennium I lost all use for that guy (the teacher, not the shopkeeper).

His t.a. (Mr. Hanrahan, who does not like to be referred to as Don Creamer’s Tits and Ass) saw me at the Candlelight the other day and asked me about skipping so much class so early in the semester…


Me: I don’t think there’s anything worthwhile going on here at this point.

Hanrahan: You don’t think we’re learning anything?

Me: What could we possibly learn from these post-modern butter churners that all the previous generations of butter churners couldn’t teach us?

Hanrahan: Well, what did you learn from the “butter churners” we studied in Don’s class over the summer?

Me: I’m glad that I don’t have to churn butter.


Yeah. I’m gonna have to find a different class to fill that part of my schedule. Shouldn’t be too hard. Absolutely anything else would be more worth my time.

More later.

ajusted changes for a few weeks

The longer piece of writing/shit this blog was intended to be begins twenty years ago...today...now.



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Tuesday September 19, 1989 – I Once Was Found

…but now I’m down. Jesus Christ blows my mind. Every time a big ball of shit rolls down the hill into my life I just sit back and think, ‘Man…or, Son of Man, he dealt with way more fuckupedness than I ever will.’ His mom made him use his superpowers at some wedding (probably in front of people he didn’t even know that well). In Mark’s third chapter, the scribes (Bob Greene may have been among them) said he was possessed by Beetlejuice and his family tried to put him away. He was almost killed several times in all four gospels. Crowds threatened to crush him just to touch the robes or whatever he wore. Another group of disgruntled temple-goers wanted to beat the crap out of him right there in the temple. He saw his own death coming and went ahead with the mission anyway. They hung him on a tree next to common criminals and he told one of them they’d meet again later that day in paradise. That also can be translated as “park” from the Greek. That means cemetery.

I received judicial papers this afternoon for my Labor Day incident. I’ve been charged with possession of alcohol (presumably internal possession), harassment (even though I was the one who received a beating) and destruction of personal property (pissing on clothes, not my own).

…and that’s just page one. Actually there was only one page, but they issue a handbook when they give you the page listing the complaint(s). Lots more pages in the handbook. I’m not sure I take any comfort in the handbook since the people charging me are the authors of the handbook. But those folks run the dorms and work for NIU. Hippies have taken over University and made it a happy place since the 1960’s haven’t they? I have no reason to fear hippies, do I?

Michelle D is trying to help me make sense of it all. She doesn’t want to see me strung up for being drunk, stumbling into someone’s room and pissing on a pile of clothes. She’s cool but I don’t think I am easy to help. Tonight we argued. I still maintain that I was less drunk and more sleepwalking and it was the sleepwalking that led to the dreaded piss-harassment. I had several sleepwalking incidents as a kid. One night I almost went French-statue boy in my dear mother’s face. Sleepwalking seems plausible to me. Michelle doesn’t think it helps in this instance, but she hasn’t given up on me which is more than I can say for me.

What do I know? The other day the president comes on tv with a big bag of drugs that someone got at a park near the White House. I hope to God he had someone check it for glass.

Finished reading The Plague (my third time through the book) and once again, I am a total fucking idiot that deserves to die from plague. During all the subsequent readings I never bothered trying to learn anything about the narrator, the person who compiles all the info about Oran from Tarrou’s diary and various other sources. Why bother reading a book if no care is taken to wrestle with one of it’s great mysteries? Books are wasted on me.

Tried picking up the “Relative State Formulation of Quantum Mechanics” dis (also for the third time). Currently I am trying to decide which is more impenetrable, the writing or the mathematics. Man, I thought men in the 50’s were supposed to be wife-beating troglodytes, although it is entirely possible that I am stupider than a troglodyte. Legend has it they always knew where to piss.

Buttweasel’s lady walked in the room right as I was putting the old-timey quantum mechanics piece on top of a copy of the Bible. She laughed at me. She laughed, then asked some dumb-ass question about the reading material on my desk. I said something like, ‘If electrons and prophets can do a bunch of supernatural shit, why can’t I?’

WhiteSOX got beat today. Stupid fucking Angels. I guess the joke would’ve been on St. Petersburg if the team had actually moved. The St. Petersburgers (citizens of St. Pete have to be called something right?) would love to cheer for a team plumbing its way to the depths of the American League West…and yes, I think the St. Petersburg/Crampa Bay SOX would have still played in the American League West. The Phoenix Cardinals play in the NFC East right? See, I’m not the the idiot. The fucks-for-brains that organize these sports leagues are the fools that don’t know squat about geography. I am only stupid because I care about such things.

Mom called. She says the Goo is writing her first psychology paper. My little sister is writing her first psychology paper on me. Sort of a hackneyed thing to do. I guess they were heavy on math and science at IMSA…heavy at the expense of original thought. Then there’s me. Plenty of original thought (or the thoughts are new to me) but I am still a total dumbass. Either way, on some level I’m flattered. The Goo cared enough to write…her psychology paper on me. Maybe I really fucked her up during our childhood…but no worse than the voices in my head fucked me up. So there. Even if Crissy determines that I am a borderline personality and her diagnosis is confirmed with a decent grade (and at Butler grades still mean something) I’ll still be flattered. And I’ll have a ready made excuse.

Two O'dubs on Three to Get

Closing in on the last overdubs for the Kish record. Joe and I took a coupla runs each at the bass for the little shitty blurb thing at the end of 3 to get money and I think we got it. There still needs to be a little digital shiftiness to make everything make sense.

But in this world, when isn't a little digital shiftiness needed?

It was good to be back to work in the studio after being sick for so damned long. I was getting tired of the whole I'm too tired to do anything except get up, go to regular old work, come home and chill.

I love my family, I love my house and it's ok to relax but I did way too much of nothing for a month. Life is short. Like everyone, whatever I think I have to contribute, make, enjoy, be selfish about...whatever...

...it has a shelf life and I want to put it out there while I have the opportunity to do it.

Spent time today putting shit on the vault computer at home and gearing up for new writing project as I put the finishing touches on the 3pg sample going out with the queary letter. I am scared shitless.

Blew off the doctor and golfed in Sycamore.

I feel better and that's close enough for me.

Next trip to Larry's is all editing. I need to add one more thing to the beginning of Virginia and move a few things around near the end of Three to Get Money.

Progress towards the hole

Spelling Sept 14-18

using

getting

easiest

swimming

heavier

greatest

pleased

emptied

leaving

worried

Antietam Arboretum

My parents came up yesterday and we had a fine visit. I am not the easiest person to be related to...mostly because I am so weird and not afraid to show it. It was nice to have something normal to show 'em - like all the hard work Kim's put into planning the house and the skill of the guys that put her plan into action.

For someone who claims to not give a shit about normal shit, I am really lucky to have wonderful people in my life. Kim makes the house happy and I need a good environment to keep from falling into the old whatever whatever. Tim T and his crew are important because I don't know how to do shit except write my dinky dinky stuff and make fuckin jokes.

We all have our strengths.

Golfed after my P's split for Lockport. Kim and Alex went to the Antietam...er, Morton Arboretum with her folks later in the afternoon. They got back late. Alex played with his crew for about fifteen minutes, then bed.

Kim and I tried to stay up to watch State of Play but no dice. We old. Maybe Russel Crow should've threatened to beat the shit out of us or something.

Nice.

Sunday, went to early Mass and the boy had his first day of religious ed with mom as his teacher. Wurd...

...of God.

Sorry.

Spent time organizing bills, writing, some e-shit and then golfed a 48 on the front nine of my little par 35 and a 45 on the back nine.

From 13 over to 10 over. Pretty impressive, no?

No.

Watched the Bears lose but had fun with the family while the Bears seemed to have less fun on the field...at least in the 1st half.

Those who read this blog with its sports tangents know that I know less about football than I do about baseball and am reticent to even bullshit my way through the whys and wherefores. Suffice it to say that I'll enjoy watching the Bears this year and suspect that even if they start 0-2 (I think the Steelers play the 3-4...hell they may have even invented it for all I know)...but even if the Bears start 0-2 I think their arrow is pointing up.

NOT THAT YOU SICK BASTARDS!

Lazy or on the Way Back?

This week is steadily getting better. I am trying to figure out what needs to be done to get me back on track. Work is ok and being sick hasn't slowed me down there. I get to work with good people and they pitch in a bunch...which is more than I can say for me.

I hope my laziness will not be held against me when I appear before the government run death panels. Of course, to be deemed lazy by a bunch of bureaucrats might be a fate worse than death.

Alex started swim team this week and they worked the kids pretty damned hard. Who says kids today have it soft? Not me. I couldn't do that kinda work out in the pool. I was more of a "loaf around and play water basketball" kinda swimmer.

But, in my defense, I kicked a lot of ass in water basketball.

Working on rescheduling guitar lessons. Mondays are going to be the night and I hope this will work for everybody.

I know the band needs to practice next Tuesday and I really need to check the availability of LnL next week.

Must e-mail Larry directly after writing blog post reminding me to do so

Man I am a dork

Kitchen is done and I'll post pictures on the book of face soon enough. All the money and dust was worth it when I saw Kim's face. She lit up when she saw her new counter on top of the cabinets and that her plan was coming together...and it was even better than she hoped.

You don't get too many moments like that in this life, so you gotta enjoy them.

Sending Kim a practice query e-mail just to see how the damned thing looks when the lit agent actually gets it and opens it. It seems silly, but you want to see what your shit looks like whenever possible.

Yea, I'm a brilliant mind ain't I

Need to run off a hard copy and send it to Jaimie K. Still haven't made a copy of the 2nd section for Coach Dennis. I suck.

Now to check out the Liar's picks for this week in the NFL. he's the cutest little point spread player this side of anywhere.

Toodles

2nd List of 3rd Grade Spelling Words

pennies

inches

plants

families

bodies

glasses

wishes

pockets

lists

copies

parties

bunches

crashes

supplies

pencils

Obama, I'm Telling My Mama

All I know is if I was a kid in school this Tuesday Sept 8 I'd make it known that I object to any and all presidential speeches and demand to be placed immediately in an anti-chamber of some sort. I would also insist to see the security clearance of those local school officials receiving an e-mail directly from the White House without that message being safely funneled through the respective school district offices. It is a little known fact that most assistant superintendents can kill a man 50 different ways with paperwork...in triplicate.

That's 150 different ways people. Whoa

If my teacher asked why I objected to the speech, I'd say, "Talk is cheap and this guy is the president. Shouldn't he be blowing something up or smashing a bottle of booze on a skyscraper or shit like that?!?!"

These are the kind of important lessons a man learns at home.

Finally I'd accept a provision that brought me back for the end of the speech, ONLY IF...the president told us what was on the hot lunch menu for the week.

"Change is coming to America children. But Tuesday is still burger and creamed corn day in the cafeteria."

dammit

Suck and Blow

Kim canceled her trip to the OF yesterday and made me go to the doc...

They immediately, well immediately after waiting an hour and 1/2 -

- they somewhat immediately game me a breathing treatment for inflammation of the bronchial tubes

I feel like I've lost a month of working on Kish. The project was started Aug of 08 and I had ever reason to believe I could finish a record, working on it part time here and there whatever in a year.

Fuck.

Guess not. Stupid health. I'm down for at least one more week and then beg the guys to help me pick up the hopefully not too shattered pieces of the thing we have been recording...

Why am I feeling sorry for myself and cryin' like a twist? Sorry twists...Dev has one maybe two guitar oDs to do, OD has one last bass thing, a few additional vox (and I don't even have to sing 'em) then mixing...mixing...mixing.

It sort of sucks being out of action for so long but it doesn't totally blow.

White Sox Flag

I am sick as shit of the baseball pundits talking about the disappointing baseball season in Chicago and how the season is over for both clubs.

I will concede a coupla points fright from the get go...


1.) Sure I picked the cubs to play the Indians in the World Series. I am disappointed, but not surprised in my pathetic prognostication abilities

2.) The WhiteSOX will almost certainly not make the playoffs. I think the Tigers have their pitching holes filled and a great lineup to make hold off the SOX no matter what sort of run they have left in 'em


Puds...er, pundits can talk about another operatic collapse by the cubs and that's fine. They'll always be the biggest baseball story in Chicago and the second biggest sports story, right behind the Bears. I admit that with no sense of bitterness. The biggness of the cubs is why I follow them as much as I do. I'm not an ambulance chaser. I love baseball and I love high stakes, high pressure and the dizzying success or colossal failure that comes with expectations.

The point is the SOX story should not get mixed up in that mess. They were two different teams at the beginning of the season and now down the stretch they have two very different futures. It is important that the young players work hard and make improvements down the stretch...not at the plate - we know some of what Nix, Getz, Ramirez, Bacon and the other youngsters are capable of at the plate - but on defense and on the bases. The recent bad stretch for the SOX underscored a season riddled with errors in the field and on the base paths. Alex Rios also needs to have good at bats and get acclimated to playing in Chicago. Last night was an ok start but he's got a way to go.

I know many would like to predict gloom and doom for Rios, but I remember a veteran outfielder coming to Chicago and having a terrible first month only to go on to lead the team to its first World Series in 88 years and find himself the WS MVP. I'm not saying Rios will do anything similar, but I remember people calling Dye a bust and saying the SOX won in spite of him early in the 2005 season. But he found a way to play to the back of his baseball card.

In the long run, I hope for something similar for Rios...if not this year then during an important stretch in the summer of 2010.

Disappointment over the Rios trade is another example of people confusing the SOX story with that of the cubs. If Rios shows no sign of turning around thru next year, he is movable.

For now, I'd like to see him get some stuff figured out at the plate. I want to see Hudson pitch in late innings like he did this weekend, or even make a spot start. I want to see Peavy pitch one game near the end of the season if his elbow and ankle are up to snuff.

In light of the SOX expectations for this year (posted on this blog) my cousin picked 'em to win between 72 and 74 games. I was a little more optimistic and picked em to be about .500. But the most important thing is, the team seems like it is rebuilding the right way with other teams' talent and a mix of a few of their own draft picks.

Hope Bacon's back is ok

Back bacon?

Never mind. More later

On the Upside

While it haas sucked being sick...especially from the rock 'n roll point of view

- I miss my friends in the band

- I miss my guitar students

But I've used the time to pound out, revamp, vamp whatever...a collection of sentences that are very important to me.

These are not those sentences

Fighting the Good Fight

...for those who don't know, my lovely lady is a teacher at the boy's school and that's probably all the preface anyone would need for this story.

Today, as the rest of the children were filing into the lunchroom, Alex and his friend were poking their heads up from the cafeteria table and pretending to blast something.

Kim: "Honey, shouldn't you boys be eating lunch instead of playing guns?"
Alex: "Mom, we're firing rocket propelled grenade launchers."
Kim: "Who are you fighting?"
Alex & his Friend: "Nazi zombies!"

Ok then. Keep fighting the good fight boys. Somebody's got to kill the already dead and save the world from their fascist ideology.