rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

it’s been an odd weekend.

thursday was the Trio in Stereo show. Logan. Smith. work friends. Kat.
friday was alright. drunk Phil. Josh at the White Stripes show. Kat again.
saturday I worked all day. ran into Nissen, bailed on him, cause I went and saw “the exorcism of emily rose” with Alisha. it sucked, but really bothered her. afterwards, hung out with Nikki, Kara, Nikki’s friend Desirae, and Nikki’s cat. cool cat.
today, the Bears lost to Washington. 9-7. the offense sucks. surprise.

Lance Briggs hit Ramsey, the Redskins’ QB in the second quarter, got him on the neck, basically clotheslined him. it was an incidental hit; if you watch the video, he was redirected by an offensive guard. if he hadn’t been, he probably would have knocked that motherfucker right out of his cleats.
anyway, Mark Brunell, the Skins backup (the bible thumping former QB of Jacksonville that Joe Gibbs brought in so they could talk about Jesus together) had this to say about it:

“It was a shady hit,” Brunell said. “I don’t think guys should be playing that way.”

fuck you, Mark Brunell. welcome to professional football. quarterbacks are pansies, anyway.

god damned Bears. I wouldn’t have them any other way.

christ, I hate hipsters.
even though they’re hard to define. slippery. like fucking eels.
and even though I, in fact, probably got more than a little bit of hipster in me. though I hate pretentious people. irony!
anyway, here’s why.

from this article:
So what’s the point of all these white hipster kids trying to imitate black hip-hop?
Direct this question to Mark Grubstein, a 36-year-old artist, and he says the Kill Whitie parties speak to something inside of him. “I make art about that, that’s my life,” he said. “It’s based on the idea that things that are funny are the deepest.”
He shrugs.
“If you don’t see it’s funny,” he said, “I can’t help you.”

god bless you, Mark Grubstein, 36-year-old artist. and god bless irony.

a funny motherfucking article.

from that article:
signs you may be a hipster:
You had a tattoo removed based on what you read in a “WHAT’S HOT/WHAT’S NOT” column in Vanity Fair, which you don’t read, except when you do.
You broke up with someone because your styles were diverging.
You pay your rent with a platinum card.
You made friends with a homeless guy, then got upset when he puked on your boyfriend.

so I’m reading this autobiography tell-all book by the brother of Gary Gilmore. it’s for a seminar on violence I’m taking. Gilmore killed a couple motherfuckers in Utah in the 70s, was executed by firing squad (gotta love religious sanctioned state death!), and now I have to read while this asshole laments what a fucked up childhood he had. great.
mormons. typical.
actually, it’s not that bad, and I’m 50 pages into it. I’m supposed to have 130 more read in about twelve hours, so we’ll see how that works out.

I’m definitely going to need to get some extra help for my stats class. all I want is a C, baby Jesus, all I want is a C…

what elses.
there’s a humming noise, fading in and out, coming from upstairs. directly above me. that’s Phil’s room. lord knows what that is. I’m gonna shut it out, and convince myself it’s the ancient plumbing in this building.

Mar took all my quarters. so now I can’t do laundry. (I’ll never forgive you, Mar)

and, oooh, big news. there’s a new picture on my page. I’ll let you guess which one’s me.
you’re right, that’s me on the left, Galia on the right. Galia used to be totally punk, and I used to look like a twentysomething jewish girl.
speaking of Galia, I think she’s in Japan right now, promoting that album she’s had produced.
you hear that? Galia is going to be big in Japan. just like Spinal tap.


and to end, this is one of the last holdouts from that folder I’ve been going through. it has seen the light of day!
some conversation I imagined (?), between a child and a parent. times, they are a changing.

“I don’t mind black people. they make great friends. they are capable of any job. they’re smart. normal human beings…”
“but?”
“… but, I don’t think white people should marry them. mixing races wasn’t meant to be.”
Silence.
“that’s racist.”
”no, it’s not.”
“yes, it is.”
“then fine. I’m racist. but they shouldn’t mix.”
“so what if I bring home a black girl?”
“I’m going to be very upset.” an incredulous look on the face.
a grunt, and then, “well, get ready.”
“what the hell is that supposed to mean? are you dating a black girl?”
“this is the 21st fucking century. what’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t appreciate that language.”
Silence.

what’s going on?

I just slept for six hours, and now I’m not tired anymore. great. since I have class at 9 am.

Rehnquist died.
at least he died when Bush’s approval rating is in the basement. hey, that’s karma for you, asshole.

I might get a chance to interview Max Cleland for the school paper.
at least I’ll never say the IDS never allowed me the possibility of speaking to a triple amputee liberal icon.

I reviewed “a sound of thunder” for the paper this weekend. I don’t know if it’s like I’m paying my dues, or what, but they keep giving me really bad shit. that fucking movie sucked. I gave it a D minus.
if you want to read it, you’re gonna have to wait til thurs like everyone else. got to keep some degree of parity here.
not very happy with the review, actually. I just couldn’t get anything going, and I finally sent in what I had at the last minute. but, I’ll let others judge that.
I’m gonna try to get “the exoricsm of emily rose” this week. honestly, I can give you production notes from “the exorcist.” I’ve read the book. saw the rerelease in theatres. have seen the actual house in which it was filmed (it’s in Georgetown). this one, I’m actually qualified for. seriously. in the event that I don’t get it (highly likely, considering the assignment practices at the Weekend) I might just review it anyway and send the motherfucker in. I guarantee it’ll be better than whatever bullshit they put out.

oh, and one week from now, the Chicago Bears will be 1-0. I’m requesting off of work for the game. seriously.

who fucking cares if it’s been done?


Q: what did you say to the President of the United States, and what did he say to you?
A: I told him we had an incredible crisis here and that his flying over in Air Force One does not do it justice. and that I have been all around this city, and I am very frustrated because we are not able to marshal resources and we’re outmanned in just about every respect.
you know the reason why the looters got out of control? because we had most of our resources saving people, thousands of people that were stuck in attics, man, old ladies. when you pull off the doggone ventilator vent and you look down there and they’re standing in there in water up to their freaking necks.
and they don’t have a clue what’s going on down here. they flew down here one time two days after the doggone event was over with TV cameras, AP reporters, all kind of god damn – excuse my French, everybody in America, but I am pissed.

– Ray Nagin, Mayor of New Orleans, on his conversation with the President of the United States of America, George Walker Bush

other gems:

Q: what do you need right now to get control of this situation?
A: I need reinforcements, I need troops, man. I need 500 buses, man. we ain’t talking about – you know, one of the briefings we had, they were talking about getting public school bus drivers to come down here and bus people out here.
I’m like, “you got to be kidding me. this is a national disaster. get every doggone Greyhound busline in the country and get their asses moving to New Orleans.”
that’s – they’re thinking small, man. and this is a major, major, major deal. and I can’t emphasize it enough, man. this is crazy.
I’ve got 15,000 to 20,000 people over at the convention center. it’s bursting at the seams. the poor people in Plaquemines Parish. they’re air-vacing people over here in New Orleans. we don’t have anything and we’re sharing with our brothers in Plaquemines Parish.
it’s awful down here, man.

Q: what else can we do here?
A: keep talking about it.
Q: we’ll do that. what else can we do?
A: organize people to write letters and make calls to their congressmen, to the president, to the governor. flood their doggone offices with requests to do something.
this is ridiculous.
I don’t want to see anybody do anymore god damn press conferences. put a moratorium on press conferences. Don’t do another press conference until the resources are in this city. and then come down to this city and stand with us when there are military trucks and troops that we can’t even count.
don’t tell me 40,000 people are coming here. they’re not here. it’s too doggone late.
now get off your asses and do something, and let’s fix the biggest god damn crisis in the history of this country.

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get this.
the other driver working tonight, Olivia, took a delivery to some new guy who works at the other store.
when you work at Dagwood’s, you get a discount when you order. so this dude tried to get a discount, but nobody knew who he was, so they couldn’t vouch for him.
anyway, he ordered “extra special sauce” on his sando. somebody fucked up and pressed the “no sauce” key. so he got no sauce.
so the guy calls back. and he complains, and wants either a) another sando (for free) or b) some sauce brought out to him.
now, I was trying to weigh the situation. it had been Olivia’s last run, so if this guy wanted his stuff, it was gonna be me who delivered it to him. and he didn’t get a discount for his sando. so does that mean we treat him like a customer, or a fellow employee?
it took me about ten seconds to think it out.
no. fuck him. welcome to the Wood, youngblood. asking a driver to come back out. again. and bring you sauce for your sando, whether you paid full price or not, is not a good way to start at work. at least not with me.
but anyway, he called back and said to not worry about it. too late, motherfucker, I’m gonna have my eye on you…


wrote my first review for the Weekend section, which is the entertainment magazine the paper puts out weekly.

you’re welcome.

I skipped my first class of the semester this morning. that’s always a magical feeling, that first time. I had closed last night, and didn’t get to sleep til around now, and class is across campus at 9 am. so I looked at the clock, and decided, “fuck it. they give you free absences for something.” being exhausted seemed as good an idea as any.

Mar’s roommate, who’s also a girl I work with – and obviously a friend of Mar’s – has Lupus.

you’re welcome again.

it’s not like she’s dead, and it can be lived with, but it’s incurable. and it puts her in pain. which is fucking obnoxious. I’m not professing to be her best friend, to know her inside and out, but it’s a bum deal and I feel bad for her.
it was weird. she’s taking it standing up, which is brave. I hung out with her and Mar a little today, and she definitely doesn’t seem to let it get to her. pitying her seems wrong, cause it’s not like she’s done. she’s just got a problem.
anyway, fuck Lupus. you hear me, Lupus? fuck you.


and today I bought:
Lullabies to Paralyze – Queens of the Stone Age
Elephant – White Stripes

try and doubt those picks, you jerks. I’m way above you.