13 July, 2006

Goodbye, cruel world.

Ok, I've done it.

Please go to detritus76.wordpress.com and read my drivel there. I'm sick of this place breaking down every X seconds.


06 July, 2006

Oh, the crazy things you'll see

I see in the NY Times that a 30-something man went on a bit of a rampage with two cordless power saws, one in each hand. He succeeded in "slicing open" one man's chest, but otherwise - apparently - did no other damage.

New York was positively boring when I lived there - aside for a rather large terrorist attack.

29 June, 2006


Looking back over recent posts, I realize that all I do here is post links to or text from articles I read here and there. How very pathetic. I really miss writing, but find lately I have nothing to say.

I wonder what has happened to me - aside from the fact that I got a job.

I think the problem is that I haven't simply sat down and forced myself to write. Maybe I should do that now...

28 June, 2006

Highering my IQ

I've always loved the gigglesome diversion of an online IQ test.

While I'm always seeking to embiggen my mind, I've usually stuck to pleasurable areas, like philosophy, history, and literature. In my school days, I petulantly avoided anything math- or science- related. I don't really know if I'm capable at math at all. I can use numbers when I need to, I can pick out shapes and patterns and whatnot... but if a problem meets with the slightest mental resistance, I just give up and go onto something else. That probably has more to do with my scatterbrain than anything else... but I've decided to start reading about math, at least, to figure out if I know anything about geometry, trigonometry, calculus, and whatnot. Does anyone have any recommendations?

I guess I'll just start with wikipedia. I've been spending a lot of time there lately.

26 June, 2006

All this from a birthdate?

The site blogthings.com tells me my Mexican name is Don Osvaldo, and that the European city in which I belong is Amsterdam. The following, however, based on my birthdate of October 5, is just flattery:

Your Birthdate: October 5

You have many talents, and you are great at sharing those talents with others.

Most people would be jealous of your clever intellect, but you're just too likeable to elicit jealousy.

Progressive and original, you're usually thinking up cutting edge ideas.

Quick witted and fast thinking, you have difficulty finding new challenges.

Your strength: Your superhuman brainpower

Your weakness: Your susceptibility to boredom

Your power color: Tangerine

Your power symbol: Ace

Your power month: May

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Anyone have a different experience? Does the machine call anyone a horrid person?

Oh, f'in nifty.

Your Linguistic Profile:
75% General American English
15% Yankee
5% Dixie
0% Midwestern
0% Upper Midwestern
What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

12 June, 2006

Not so fast...

I decided to post this here, because it made me smile. The slow food movement's website can be found here.


International Movement for the Defense of and the Right to Pleasure officially came into being on November 9, 1989 at the Opera Comique in Paris.

Its Manifesto was endorsed by delegates from Argentina, Austria, Brazil, Denmark, France, Germany, Holland, Hungary, Italy, Japan, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, United States and Venezuela.

The Official Manifesto

Our century, which began and has developed under the insignia of industrial civilization, first invented the machine and then took it as its life model.

We are enslaved by speed and have all succumbed to the same insidious virus: Fast Life, which disrupts our habits, pervades the privacy of our homes and forces us to eat Fast Foods.

To be worthy of the name, Homo Sapiens should rid himself of speed before it reduces him to a species in danger of extinction.

A firm defense of quiet material pleasure is the only way to oppose the universal folly of Fast Life.

May suitable doses of guaranteed sensual pleasure and slow, long-lasting enjoyment preserve us from the contagion of the multitude who mistake frenzy for efficiency.

Our defense should begin at the table with Slow Food. Let us rediscover the flavors and savors of regional cooking and banish the degrading effects of Fast Food.

In the name of productivity, Fast Life has changed our way of being and threatens our environment and our landscapes. So Slow Food is now the only truly progressive answer.

That is what real culture is all about: developing taste rather than demeaning it. And what better way to set about this than an international exchange of experiences, knowledge, projects?

Slow Food guarantees a better future.

Slow Food is an idea that needs plenty of qualified supporters who can help turn this (slow) motion into an international movement, with the little snail as its symbol.

08 June, 2006

War drivel

I saw V for Vendetta the other day – Tuesday? If you haven’t yet seen it, do so. It is a gourmet repast for cynicism and paranoia. It should make everyone a little curious and cautious, a little more invested in the political process. Many comic book – er, graphic novel – buffs find that the film isn’t a faithful reproduction of the original. Somehow I think that may not have been the point of the film. I felt surges of shameful guilty pleasure wash over me as I identified elements of the film with the current political climate, and thought to myself, “oh well, nothing I can do about it. Of course, there is and there isn’t. Of course, our current political climate is nothing like that depicted in the film. Is it? Believe me, I’m no Bush defender; just what kind of foreign policy IS this?

I find myself astounded at the death of al-Zarqawi. The temptation is always there to mistrust the government, the military – any embodiment of Big Brother. I once thought that the “powers that be” could rather easily fake the capture/death of bin Laden, or whomsoever they choose. Such a charade would be a tiresome back and forth, each side saying they had the real villain/corpse. In the New York Times we read of the elaborate build up to today’s early morning announcement that the most wanted villain in Iraq is no more. It really got me thinking.

Why were WMD’s never planted in Iraq?

Ode less travelled?

I can't wait to read Stephen Fry's latest book, "Ode less travelled," apparently about writing poetry. I found here an example of his examples of form:

Lesbian Sappho made this form,
With two beats to the final line,
Her sex life wasn't quite the norm,
And nor is mine.

25 May, 2006

Wake up and...

A really cute article here. Read it.

24 May, 2006

So many crazies...

I am surprised that I'm still surprised at the depths of human idiocy. Maybe I need professional help.

Check out this link:


04 May, 2006

It never ends.

I think I'm in love with the following protagonist:

(AP) OGDEN DUNES, Ind. -- A man celebrating his release from jail was arrested on a South Shore train for public intoxication and disorderly conduct.

Northern Indiana Commuter Transportation District police arrested John A. McKenzie, 32, of Chicago, on the train headed to South Bend Tuesday night. McKenzie was drunk as he rode the northern Indiana commuter line with his wife and three children, following his release from a Chicago jail, police said. Another passenger reported McKenzie to officers after he allegedly swiped a beer from him, police said.

An argument erupted, and police from NICTD, Ogden Dunes and Burns Harbor arrived to take McKenzie into custody after he made repeated death threats to the officers, police said. McKenzie remained in the Porter County Jail today, a jail officer said.

03 May, 2006

This is a joke, right?

The New York Times made me very happy today. I especially loved the photo with this article.

I do not understand people. Why must everyone be utterly loathsome in his or her own unique way?


In a Tiny Queens Apartment, 70 Cats Gone, and 28 to Go


"Any evil intention against my cats and me, will come back to you, three times three."

Thus spoke the witch of Elmhurst last week, casting a protective spell over her coven of cats — 30 strong, but shrinking by the day — living in the rent-controlled studio apartment she shares with her mother on 80th Street in Queens.

The witch happens to be Melanie Neer, 50, a student of the principles of Wicca and Harry Potter.

The evil intention happens to be an eviction order from her landlord, who has long complained about the intense cat odor coming from the apartment.

Although it is against Wiccan principles to put a harmful spell upon others, Ms. Neer said as she took out a special candle used for "super-duper protection spells," one may cast a boomerang spell on a harmful person to so that the harm comes back to him.

But while she has managed to stave off eviction thus far, the witchcraft is not working wonders on the cat front.

Thirty cats in a cramped apartment may seem like a lot, but five years ago, the Neers had 100 in there and CNN showed up to cover the story. The publicity led people and rescue groups to adopt dozens of the cats. But the Neers are obligated by an agreement with their landlord to trim the herd to two.

Workers arrive daily now from Animal Care and Control of New York City to remove another cat or two. If the collected cats are not adopted, they are killed.

The floors were scrubbed down to bare wood and the wooden furniture clawed into scratching posts. A heavy cat smell filled the small space, despite two window fans on full blast.

Melanie sat with her mother, Barbaralee Neer, 73, a retired bank receptionist who has esophageal cancer and needs constant attention. Since no home health attendant is willing to work in the house, Melanie fills that role.

Melanie lit a cigarette and recalled that they had just nine cats in 1992. Some were not spayed or neutered, and things soon got out of control.

"That's her, she started the mess," she said, pointing to Whoopee, a 13-year-old cat who strolled into the room. Her litter spawned most of the cats, Melanie explained.

Barbaralee sat in her overcoat and a pair of thick boots and watched as Melanie pulled out papers showing that the landlord, Antonio Feggoudakis, was seeking her eviction. Michael S. Schnitzer, Mr. Feggoudakis's lawyer, said last night that eviction was a last-resort effort to "cure a health and safety problem, keep the integrity of the building and look out for the other tenants," since the Neers broke a 2001 agreement to keep only two cats.

When the Neers moved in 45 years ago, they paid $86 a month. Now they pay $521, they said. Melanie receives disability and Barbara lives on her pension and Social Security checks. The cat costs sap it all and they live hand to mouth, they said.

04 April, 2006

Um, is that really what you mean?

An article in the Sun-Times got me thinking. Here's the relevant part [edited for content(hah!)]:

A typical example of this policy ["amnesty as a means of inducing foreign workers to enter the U.S. illegally and take jobs from oppressed minorities"] was revealed in 1987 at a time when teenage unemployment among African Americans approached 80 percent. Greedy garment manufacturers petitioned the INS to import cheap labor on grounds that there was an ''unskilled labor shortage.''

"This policy continues on the specious claim that ''Americans won't do the dirty jobs that foreign workers are willing to do.'' Any one of the millions of unemployed Americans will tell you it is not the dirty jobs they disdain, but the slave wages paid to do those jobs. Nothing is more dirty or dangerous than coal mining or garbage collection, but there is no shortage of applicants for such jobs when decent wages are paid.""

It seems the author is claiming that the American born poor are simply lazy. Isn't that the logical interpretation of an argument that says "Well, normal Americans won't do that 'cause it just don't pay well enough." What does that make the immigrants who WILL do it for what is paid, and who WILL work very long hours at low wages to support their families and - in many cases - buy houses? I'll admit that I personally wouldn't work in a coal mine or scrub toilets for "slave wages," but I don't have to. I'm not unskilled - I have the student loan payments to prove it.

Besides, I did some of those jobs when I was in college. No, I was no where near a coal mine, though working at Starbucks can get dirty (and at least they offer health insurance to offset the indignities of working around spoiled milk, overflowing garbage, dirty bums in the bathroom, and obnoxious customers).

I dunno.

If you want, go check out the article itself.


From the Sun-Times today, further fodder confirming my suspicion of the proles.

Oven doors passed off as flat-screen TVs

April 4, 2006

SOUTH BEND, Ind. -- A rash of oven-door thefts may be linked to a recent case in which a woman bought what she thought was a flat-screen TV, only to discover that the package held an old oven door, police said.

South Bend detective Sgt. Jim Walsh said police arrested a suspect Thursday they believe sold the door to the woman. Police said an oven door and packaging materials were found in the trunk of the man's car.

Oven doors are an increasingly hot item in burglaries targeting vacant properties. Walsh said oven doors were among the items stolen in five recent burglaries.

Police have had two reports of the doors being sold as flat-screen TVs, and it's likely that others went unreported by the embarrassed buyers, Walsh said. Officers are investigating at least two other suspects who may be disguising oven doors and selling them.

Walsh said it's risky to buy products off the street, particularly without opening the package first.

In the case of the bilked woman, she was approached by the suspect Feb. 20 at her workplace with an offer of a flat-screen TV for $500. The suspect settled for $300. But when the woman unwrapped the packaging, she found a cord, a controller -- and an oven door. AP

Copyright © The Sun-Times Company
All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

My friends the French

What idiots.

Sure, a strike and some mild rioting will solve everything.

The photo is from the New York Times today.

24 March, 2006


Scroll down to the slice of greasy pizza to a post I never posted. I decided not to tinker with the date and time because that would be disingenous and break the odd organic progression of thoughts displayed here (ha!).

Only a month late.

19 March, 2006

Saturday night online

The worst feeling on earth is to have a suspicion or fear confirmed.

15 March, 2006

Current Occupant

Hope I can just plonk this down here without getting in trouble...

Day of reckoning for the Current Occupant

Garrison Keillor, Tribune Media Services
Published March 15, 2006

Spring arrived in New York last week for previews, a sunny day with chill in the air, but you could smell mud, and with a little imagination you could sort of smell grass. I put on a gray jacket, instead of black, and went to the opera and saw Verdi's "Luisa Miller," a Republican opera in which love is crushed by the perfidiousness of government. A helpful lesson for these times. I am referring to the Current Occupant.

The Republican Revolution has gone the way of all flesh. It took over Congress and the White House, horns blew, church bells rang, sailors kissed each other, and what happened? The Republicans led us into a reckless foreign war and steered the economy toward receivership and wielded power as if there were no rules. Democrats are accused of having no new ideas, but Republicans are making some of the old ideas look awfully good, such as constitutional checks and balances, fiscal responsibility, and the notion of realism in foreign affairs and taking actions that serve the national interest. What one might call "conservatism."

The head of the National Security Agency under President Ronald Reagan, Lt. Gen. William Odom, writes on the Web site NiemanWatchdog.org that he sees clear parallels between Vietnam and Iraq: "The difference lies in the consequences. Vietnam did not have the devastating effects on U.S. power that Iraq is already having." He draws the parallels in three stages and says that staying the course will only make the damage to U.S. power greater. It's a chilling analysis, and one that isn't going to come from the Democratic Party. It's starting to come from Republicans, and they are the ones who must rescue the country from themselves.

I ran into a gray eminence from the Bush I era the other day in an airport, and he said that what most offended him about Bush II is the naked incompetence. "You may disagree with Republicans, but you always had to recognize that they knew what they were doing," he said. "I keep going back to that intelligence memo of August 2001, that said that terrorists had plans to hijack planes and crash them into buildings. The president read it, and he didn't even call a staff meeting to discuss it. That is lack of attention of a high order."

Over the course of time, the Chief Occupant has been cruelly exposed over and over. He sat and was briefed on the danger of a hurricane wiping out a major American city, and without asking a single question, he got up from the table and walked away and resumed his vacation. He played guitar as New Orleans was flooded. It took him four days to realize his responsibility to do something. When the tsunami killed 100,000 people in Southeast Asia, he was on vacation and it took him 72 hours to issue a statement of sympathy.

The Republicans tied their wagon to him and, as a result, their revolution is bankrupt. He has played the terrorism card for all it is worth and campaigned successfully against Adam and Steve and co-opted whole vast flocks of Christians, but he is done now, kaput, out of gas, for one simple reason. He doesn't represent the best that is our country. Not even close.

He openly, brazenly, countenanced crimes of torture at Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib and Bagram. He engaged in illegal surveillance, authorized the arrest of people without charge and "disappeared" them to foreign jails. And he finagled this war, which, after three years of violence, does not look to be heading toward a happy ending. And now it's up to Republicans to put their country first and call the gentleman to account.

The Current Occupant is smart about handling a political mess. The best strategy is to cut and run and change the subject. You defend the Dubai ports deal in manly terms until you lose a vote in a House committee and then you retreat--actually, you get the Dubai people to do it for you--and that's it, End of Story.

Harriet Miers was fully qualified one day and gone the next. Social Security was going to be overhauled to give us the Ownership Society, and then the stock market went in the toilet and Republicans got nervous, and suddenly it was Never Mind and on to the next new thing.

Let's bring the boys home. Otherwise, let's send this man back to Texas and see what sort of work he is capable of and let him start making a contribution to the world.


Garrison Keillor is an author and the radio host of "A Prairie Home Companion."

06 March, 2006


"Kindness and a caring mind are two separate qualities. Kindness is manners. It is superficial custom, an acquired practice. Not so the mind. The mind is deeper, stronger, and, I believe, it is far more inconstant."

- Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World

27 February, 2006

Sweet Home

It was good to fly back Chicagoward after two weeks here on the island. Even better than merely being "in my own place," and getting to see my love after this long time, was the party that we planned. I was able to see many friends, most of whom I see very seldom. When I wasn't busy hosting (Lulo is right, we SHOULD hire someone to do the food) I was able to get a few pictures with the new cam...My love with Edgar.

Martha stops to smoke.
Chris, John, and Yuki, all smiles.
Hiroshi, love-with-two-beers, and Yasuo

Jennifer, Angela, and Maiko, and so much money!
Shital looks at me, while Suzanne looks at god-knows-who.

23 February, 2006

A new addiction

I have a new addiction:
I've always enjoyed New York pizza, but I could certainly live without it. Now of course, I'm surrounded by it. One of my earliest observations about my new surroundings, other than the horrid street network and idiotic drivers, was that any strip mall in Long Island is guaranteed to have a pizza joint and a "chinese" food outlet. That is a 95% guarantee. ANY bona-fide strip mall (meaning multi-use, i.e. where there are more than 3 kinds of stores) in Nassau or Suffolk counties is GUARANTEED to have a Chinamen Cuisine and Greasy Guido Slice.

I got tired of taking the cheese off, and mozarella is really a delight as far as cheeses go - like eating rubbery cream (yum!). This means that even though it makes me slightly ill, I now eat pizza as it was meant to be eaten. I no longer have to suffer stares and derision, and the rather small-minded observation that "pizza without cheese is just bread." Oh, honey, how wrong.

This revelation - the eating of cheese - really disturbs me.
Just because it tastes great, I'm willing to ingest something that makes me feel bleugh. Of course, this is nothing new to humanity. People persist in over eating, over fucking, over consuming, even though these activites are harmful. You won't die immediately from obesity, you may not even know that your whoring has given you gonorrhea and a whole host of other nasties, and global warming is taking a long time to kill us, but we continue because it feels good.

Lately, I have been eating literally like a hog. The glory of being able to afford what I want has plunged me into a tailspin of consumption. As usual, I tend to congratulate myself on the modicum of self-control I possess - I nearly booked a long-weekend trip to Sao Paulo, Brazil, just because of an enticing article in the Times, and because I could technically afford it. Luckily, I came to my senses, and sent that money to my creditors. Then I go to some crappy buffet to celebrate that wise decision. I had been eating so much that I would get sluggish, and all I would do is try to work, then cart myself home and slump in a chair and read or watch movies. I was being productive, but not optimally. So now I'm fiddn'a eat less and get more done. Any ideas for strategy? My current attitude is "why have one slice when two only costs twice as much?"

Why would so many people want to live on such a tiny rock?

Just testing my camera... I'm not so good with it yet, as I haven't had time (or inclination) to read the manual yet. Oh well, you get the idea anyway.

I drove into the city again last night. I get so bored out here, which is unusual for me; I've always been able to find something to do. It must be some sort of sensory deprivation; perhaps I just miss the gunshots singing me to sleep at night.

So I parked at Queens Plaza,as I usually do, and rode the E to.... I don't even really remember where I got off. I remember that I got pissed because the train was stopped for a long time (We'll be moving shortly) and I just hopped off and started walking.

I wanted to wander into areas I never went to when I lived in Queens, so I ended up (logically?) in the thirties on 11th avenue. It's easy to forget 11th avenue exists, and its also easy to see why I've never been there. I spent a few minutes reflecting at the Javits center, where so many of my friends suffered these past two days.

Then, Ellen actually called me back, so we went out to dinner - when I finally got over to 26th and 3rd.

Here's some shit (literally) I saw on the way:

Yum. Dinner was delish. We went to a honky tonk bar - Marlboro man country. I had a grilled tuna salad; the lettuce was boring but fresh, the dressing was beh and runny, but the tuna was numanums!!! Ellen had a queasydiller, and claimed it was wonderful, and I imagine, judging by her face, that it was. Ellen said "don't take my picture, I don't want you to post it on your website." I didn't understand what she meant; I eventually figured it out.

After a great coffee at Ellen's place made by her beau, Mr. BadEarth, I wandered around. A stroll by (since I'm not privileged enough to get in) Grammercy Park was relaxing, and I tested out the new camera yet more:
And then, after negotiating a thick cloud of marrywanna smoke at Union Square, it was bye bye time for me.

I almost shat myself when I got to Queens Plaza and it appeared my garage was closed at 11:54pm. Luckily, another exit was open. Thank god.

20 February, 2006

My Cheap New Toy

Finally I have a digital camera. Cheap as hell, but functional so far.

Here is the building where I started work last Monday:

And here is my desk, cluttered already:

The Urge

I've had the urge to write, and I have so much to say, but whenever I sit down, I feel ugh. So I'll content myself with posting this photo of the aforementioned New Years Eve party. Almost 2 months into 2006 now, already. Oy vey.

So many lesbians... well ok, only two, but that sure was spicy!

02 February, 2006


I found a job. It's about time. The poverty schtick gets old quickly, and the joy of eating nothing but ramen is losing its fizz. I've given up most of my vices, which I can't envision taking up again - especially since I'll be working near NYC for the first few months; I want to be able to save some of this newfound money.

This also takes the pressure off my prep for the bar exam. The job, "Zoning Specialist," is legal-related, and a law degree helps, but I don't have to pass the bar. That is a great relief, and probably means I have a better chance at passing, too. It also means I will start writing again, and more importantly, reading what I want.

I also want to think of more schtick for Yeast Radio. Madge has played a lot of crap I've sent in, and most of it has been utter crap. My W imitation sounds pretty good over the phone, I must say, but Sorbitol Watkins needs to get more interesting. Any suggestions?

Ho hum.

25 January, 2006

Your mom

I'm so proud of myself.

On a recent show, Chicago's most famous bloated podcasting Jewish lesbian, Madge Weinstein, played two things I sent/phoned her, probably the first time I've "performed" for several thousand people (her show is also broadcast on Sirius satellite radio). One bit is certainly better than the other, and the other reflects both the detrimental effects of drink and knowing how to use your cheap external microphone correctly.

Please listen and see if you can tell which lil' bits are mine! And tell me what I can do to improve either in the future.

20 January, 2006

A Friday, the bar: the beer and the study

I have so much to so say, so few words to describe, so little time in which to say, and even less energy. Do me one small favor, few dear readers: Hope and pray on any altars you hold dear, cross those digits of superstition, and roll the dice for fate. Everything will work out.

Hopefully, it works out for me sooner than for you, because you'll at least get a round of beer out of my fortune.

18 January, 2006

A mid-winter's day dream

Already mid-January. What a month. I really miss having the free time to read and write. Getting so close, so fast to the February bar exam. I feel very good about my study so far, and my scores on MBE questions; then again, I felt that way in June and July. The difference this time around is that I'm able to do more work, and work more deeply, thanks in large part to my beautiful new drug. I guess only time will tell if the second time is a charm; in an ideal world the job I'm hoping for will come through, and I'll have slightly less to worry about.

I lost another friend in the office. Gazoo has moved on to bigger and better things, and I am truly despondent over his absence. I wish him luck, of course, and I'm happy for him, of course, but I'm jealous, too, of course, and selfishly so: well, dammit, he should be here for me. I won't go into our pre-officemate history, largely because it's irrelevant, and mostly because I now feel foolish about a decision I made around that time.* Even though he would rarely look up from the tap-tap-tapping on his keyboard, we had our moments, and I was very happy to finally get him outside the office - on two occasions during the year that he worked here. The office holiday party, in which we all howled at the moon after slogging through snow, was fun. This past weekend was the major coup, however. We all flounced down to southern Indiana, all six of us**, to the little vinyl-clad chalet by the lake, for a short escape from the city over the holiday weekend (thank you MLK).I was very happy to be able to spend time with all these friends I so rarely see outside of work, but happiest to be able to spend time getting to know Gazoo better. I miss him greatly around the office, and sincerely hope that I have the opportunities to continue and deepen our friendship. Of course, I may be wrong about that: It takes two to do the friendship tango. There is a distinct possibility that Gazoo agreed to come along simply to pacify me, once and for all, and to slip silently into his future without a glance backward in my direction.

I couldn't have asked for or chosen better companions for such a weekend, but I definitely could (and should) have chosen a better time. I certainly enjoyed myself on the whole, and no one seemed to be in any visible pain. We were all exhausted by the weather and the workweek, and so the frolicking rollicking hilarity was subdued and sporadic. I perhaps simultaneously over- and under- played the good host role, trying to facilitate "good wholesome fun" but also leaving my charges to their own devices. At least, thank god, I long ago learned not to play vacation czar, forcing everyone to get along and go along, devising and ramming an itinerary down throats and up asses. I want to repeat this trip in warmer months.

After the more serious guests left early Sunday to return to city lives, I was alone (and still alseep) with my love. Somehow this solitude was new. The seclusion and newness of the surroundings infused me with a feeling of somethingness. I couldn't wait for him to wake up so we could do - what? Another elaborate meal was out of the question, sunbathing, boating, and lolling in and near the water was impossible, and even the idea of drinking was unappetizing (it was 11am, after all!). I built a fire in the fireplace, made a rather large breakfast mostly out of a selfish desire to extinguish the hungry fire in my belly brought about by the previous night's festivities, and settled down to watch the NFL playoffs. How nice to have two teams to root for - imagine the glory of a Chicago-Indianapolis superbowl (ANY excuse for a party) ! How depressing to see both teams choke. My love, after gliding down the stairs, freshly showered and beautifully radiant (as always), and breakfasting mightily, poked about in the fire a bit and suggested, between episodes of his favorite podcast, that we take a walk. I loved the idea, but couldn't imagine how much fun walking around the lake roads could be, so I suggested we drive down to the dam and see if there was anything interesting there. And indeed, we did: it seems the conservancy district maintains nature trails through undeveloped woods, mostly around a mile or so in length. After almost 20 years enjoying this lake and its surroundings, I had no idea the trails were there. Lulo and I chose the longest, mostly because the map represented a creek at the end, and we set out. I won't bore with details, because they are surely only of interest to me and my love. I look forward to many more long walks with him, and many years of exploration and discovery, as cheesy as it may sound.

* Ugh. That involves an ex.

** my
love, two old friends/classmates/coworkers, and Gazoo and his up-till-now enigmatic husband - just picture the 6 of us, four fags, a straight couple, many "ethnic" flavors (three interracial couples in the clay hills of the deep northern south, imagine that! Two out of the three couples homo, imagine that!) How disgusting. How beautiful.

12 January, 2006

The Silence

What a new year, so far. Studying for the bar exam has taken a toll on... well, everything really. I don't have the time to write, I don't have the time to drink (at least like I want to), and worst of all, I really can't read what I want to anymore. I'm glad that this time around I am able to focus to such a degree, but I miss reading for pleasure. So, in lamentation, here is a list of all the books I can remember having read in 2005. I'll update as possible/necessary.

The Liar, Stephen Fry
Paperweight, Fry
The Hippopotamus, Fry
Making History, Fry
Tristram Shandy, Laurence Sterne
Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole (for the umpteenth time)
Decline and Fall, Evelyn Waugh
French Lessons, Peter Mayle
Naive. Super. (?), Erlend Loe
Everything published thus far by David Sedaris
Galapagos, Kurt Vonnegut
Player Piano, Vonnegut
Jailbird, Vonnegut
John Adams, David McCullough(?)
Dance Dance Dance, Haruki Murakami
Chicago, City on the Make, Nelson Algren
A Walk on The Wild Side, Algren
Assasination Vacation, Sarah Vowell
Molloy, Samuel Beckett
If you lived here, you'd be home now, Sandra Tsing Loh
City of Quartz, Mike Davis
La Television, Jean-Philipe Toussaint (again)
L'appareil photo, Toussaint (finally)
Wobegon Boy, Garrison Keillor (again)
The Book of Guys, Keillor (again)
A book (forget the title) of essays/stories by Keillor

Various Sherlock Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle

Hmm.. my mind is blank of a sudden... what else?

Oh I forgot:
Myra Breckinridge, Gore Vidal

Can't really remember the titles and authors of the pulp I read:
One of the newer Godfather titles, NOT by Puzo, but Something Winegardner
A rather pleasant mystery set in California wine country

08 January, 2006

Old Pork Chops and Razorblades

Just got off the phone with a friend I've been trying to reach for weeks... and find out he's just freed from the funny farm. He tried to kill himself. I'm glad he failed; hopefully I can convince him to come down to Hyde Park today. He says he has many great stories from the 'farm, and from what I've heard so far, I can't wait to indulge in the rest.

Ah, Sunday

What a beautiful day! It's imperative that I take a walk with the lovely innommable; the only question is where? Do I feel like Lincoln Park, or maybe Grant Park, or maybe driving to Hyde Park and browsing book shops and beaches? Hmm... I need inspiration...

07 January, 2006

Benifisense (or: Benefit of... my ass!)

I am sick and goddamn tired of giving people the "benefit of the doubt." What the fuck does that mean, anyway? How is a doubt a benefit? What benevolence does doubt bestow?*

I am often told that I am "too forgiving" of the "faults of others." When such faults are pointed out, I tend to murmur mitigating factors. At first, I fail to see fault clearly, then I explain it away.

This goes for myself as well as others. I see and then sublimate, overamplify, fail to correct, ignore, rationalize, eqivocate my own faults, real or imagined.

Who am I to be so benevolent to those who are so full of themselves?

Knowing is half the battle?

* I understand the colloquialism, bitch. Just bear with me. Give me the benefit of a doubt.

05 January, 2006

Banalitary Mundanity II

I don't feel like continuing with this; I've lost interest. It's a stupid post title anyway - not that one would expect less of me. Nothing new there... I guess the Strattera isn't working quite as well as I'd hoped (dumbass smiley here). In the spirit of perseverance, I'll finish.

Where was I?

Oh... so I take the SE entrance in the mornings, walking the scenic Wrightwood Corridor to get to the "main" entrance on Kedzie. It's like a stream flowing into a river dumping into a stagnant stinking delta of temps, heading off to the jobs that support their "alternative band" careers. We (my beloved, innommable, is usually with me these days) try to choose a spot on the platform towards an end, convenient to one of our exits.

In the evening, I exit NW to Spaulding, and trudge morosely towards my mailbox, littered with bills.

So don't say I never finished anything I ever started.

04 January, 2006

Lunchtime Follies

As the vinegared scent of Mr. Submarine wafts past my open office door and cloaks all around me in the savory douchesque light of lunches past, I have the urge to report on a conversation heard around the banquet table today noontime.

It seems one can customize the shape of the head of one's baby.

Everyone knows that a baby's head is soft. It is this, among other considerations of fragility, that make me queasy at the prospect of holding my 2 month old nephew. I can't keep a cell phone running properly for more than 7 months; can you imagine the consequences of my prolonged contact with a malleable spongy newborn child?

Nevertheless, I think I have hit upon my route to fortune. I shall invent a cap that allows the yuppie parent to mold her child's head into the preferred shape. Never again will the fruit of the well-heeled's womb suffer the slings and arrows of ridicule for possesion of an odd- or unfashionably- shaped head.

To hell with genetic engineering, now there's a handy dandy do-it-yourself tool!

Think of it as an investment in your child's future!

Banalitary Mundanity I

I was going to write about the little New Year's fete I threw, but innommable handled that quite well here.

I want to kvetch about the morning commute.

An hour an 14 minutes later, I'm still dripping from the stuffy standing-room-only train ride. I know - despite the claims of some provincial New Yorkers - that no one has a monopoly on shitty commutes, but I still feel the need - and the right - to bitch about mine.

When I lived downtown, rush-hour was a pain, but not torture. I lived three stops from work, and though the trains were always crowded, there would be significant exodus at my stop, enabling me to join the backflow of the courteous and find a place to stand.

CTA insists on asinine arrangements of seats rather than the more logical bench-along-each-side of the car regime employed occasionally on some more intelligent systems. This, combined with the narrow cars needed to negotiate creaky twists and turns of an aged and ill maintained system combine to make the garlic-breathed (seriously, where are these people getting this much garlic at 7am?) and orange-juice-puking public uncomfortably cozy.

Now that I've moved to Logan Square, my commute has changed. Platform to platform, it takes me 15-20 minutes to get to work. But that is not in the least gripeworthy; my dilemma starts at the entrances. The Logan Square station on the CTA's Stinky (aka Blue) Line consists of a long --- long ----- long subway platform, with an entrance at either end. The platform follows the diagonal street above it, from northwest to southeast (or vice-versa, asshole). The trains on the Stinky Line are only usually about 8 cars long, however. 8 cars does not equal a mile, which is seemingly how long the platform is. The trains, going in either direction, stop at only one end of the platform - the southeast end. I live closer (marginally) to the northwest end. This can make for unpleasant mornings if I choose the NW entrance. Invariably, I'll have to put my dress shoes to athletic use in the 500 yard dash as the Stank Train barrels past with the last click of the turnstile. If I make it to the last train car before the conductor manages to pull away, no matter the time of day I find a solid, sweating mass of the fat, the ugly, and the stupid. You see, the CTA Stinky Line originates at O'Hare, and the trains back their svelte metal asses right up to the escalators in Helmut Jahn's temple of light and public transit. And why haul your every earthly possession any further than the first car you come to? Why the fuck do people travel with 8 bodybag's worth of useless crap whenever they take a short trip? More questions I can't answer. Questions which depress me so, I think I'll stop here for now. We'll kvetch about the SE entrance tomorrow. If ever.

03 January, 2006


I've actually had urgings from people to write more. I've actually had comments from people say they enjoy reading this blog. I'm flattered, I'm flabbergasted. I have plenty to write about, but I have to study for the bar, which undertaking I began in (more or less) earnest tonight. I'll try to post more tomorrow, if I get a chance to write...

Your Daily De-Motivation

As if you needed any reason to cry and crawl back under the covers:

I have the desire to write today, but not the urge. Or is it the other way around?

30 December, 2005

"eurobabes with gaping wide a-holes"

... is probably the best subject line for a spam email ever. There it lies, glistening like a corn-studded turd in my Junk Mail folder; verily, a jewel in the rough, the mighty tiger roaring loudest in the dense, malaria-infested jungle.

(I hear Cialis is good for treating Malaria.)

Who actually buys any of this shit?

On an unrelated note, the following reminds me somewhat of... well, me.

I've seen these beautiful de-motivational posters in various spots, but I'd never yet seen this one. Kudos to the creator.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?