rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

first things first: the “waiting…” review. I have natural talent, what can I say?

second things first: I bought “demon days” by the Gorillaz. listened to half of it. so far, so good.

third things second: don’t get your oil changed at Wal-Mart unless you’ve got an afternoon to kill. takes forever, and the place is like a black hole for cell phone reception. that, and Wal-Mart is fucking depressing. lots of pasty, overweight people wearing NASCAR hats, milling around to that constant “beep” the cash registers give off.
while I was there, I managed to call and catch up with my grandmother in Philadelphia, read an entire Vanity Fair, and an interview with Suge Knight in XXL. that dude is one scary motherfucker.

fourth things fifth: too much White Castle is bad White Castle. I will learn this the hard way, every time. I already feel gassy, and it’s been about fifteen minutes.

sixth things twelfth:

GRAND BUFFET

plays tonight with the Coke Dares at Second Story. holy god. this motherfucker caught me off guard; I didn’t even know until I came home and Smith mentioned it offhand. guess Ben told him. Ben’s brother is in Magnolia Electric Co., and they toured with Grand Buffet this summer. so now they’re here in town, and Ben’s brother’s other band is the Coke Dares. should be a good show. only five bucks.
best live show I’ve ever seen. seriously.

I’m listening to Black 47 right now. “funky ceili.” only one song at a time, cause they have to be taken in small doses. they’re a little ridiculous.

my entire body has been itching all night. cause I got a haircut. feels like there’s hair everywhere. of course, there isn’t, and it’s in my head. shower will kill it in the morning.

took the test. did alright. had to sit through lecture after it; it’s one of those classes that last 2 1/2 hours, meets once a week. my mind wasn’t in it. was ready to get out of there.
afterward, me and Mar hit La Charreada with everything we had. I had the “Guadalajara.” it was ridiculous. Mar and the waitress had to roll me out to the car.

when we left, Mar and I drove. didn’t go home, but drove. huge loop around Bloomington. places I’ve never seen before, or at least not at night. didn’t feel like going back to the apartment. sometimes, you need to get out. put in an album, forget.

right now, I’m listening to “dreaming of you” by the Coral.

this weekend will be sick.
supposedly, there’s a Dagwood’s party on friday. supposedly. I think it’s going to bail, or no one’s going to go.
Neil and Drew are supposedly coming down friday too. supposedly. I don’t think they’ll bail, though. probably stay here. supposedly, last time he came down Neil hurled on my carpet when I was at the Jersey shore, back in August.
then, on saturday, it’s Josh’s birthday. there’s no supposedly about that. should be fun.
and speaking of Captain Fun (Josh), supposedly his and Phil’s buddy Pug is coming down from Kouts. who’ve I’ve never met. from what I’ve heard and discerned, he’s a fucking lunatic.
and I’m supposedly reviewing a movie this weekend. “Domino” (starring Kiera Knightley, who I loathe) or “the Fog” (which is something I will probably rip apart).
okay, that last supposedly, I just used it to get one more in there. no real use for it. god, I’m retarded.
all this. and I’d like to hang out with Kat if I could. though I’ve got no idea what she’s up to, or if she’d be down. so who knows?
fuck, man, it’s tuesday night and I’m already looking at the weekend.

and the last song of this post is “song 2″ by Blur. woo- hoo.

listening to ACDC. hell yeah. got to get pumped, have a test in an hour.

been studying off and on all afternoon. I can’t get too worried about it, the test is for the probation/parole class. I feel like I’ve got it down pretty well. very interesting course.

so I finished my paper this morning about half an hour before class. thas how I roll, show nup. it was a little short, and I thought about titling it, but I didn’t. just put “essay #2″ in the righthand corner.
that’s about all they’re good for, anyway. taking up space, making a paper look longer. I don’t like titling things I write. thinking of titles to posts on this thing sucks. titles are restrictive. when I took that fiction seminar with Professor Miller last year, and in the other fiction classes I’ve taken here, they’ve all said that titles are very important. I’ve been reprimanded for not titling things before.
sometimes I’ll think of a decent title and I’ll roll with it. but often, I’d rather let the story or the post or the essay speak for itself then to way it down with something that doesn’t encompass what I’m trying to say in a word or a phrase. for instance, that’s why I title things on here, “review,” or “1:45 a.m.” I’ve got nothing else to say about them. I might as well be blunt.

I mean, it’s just a fucking title, man. come on.

so I turned in the paper at the beginning of class, got a haircut, and studied. I’ve got a really square head when there’s no hair to cover it up. “box-head…” that takes me back. god, I hated middle school. my friends were so considerate (sense that bitter rage?).

listening to Bloc Party. I am not a hipster.

I’m also writing a paper for L461. the violence/lethality class with Prof. Parnell.
we read a book, discuss it, and write five page paper on whatever it is we want to write about. pertaining to the book, of course.
the book is called Unspeakable Acts, Ordinary People by John Conroy. it’s about torture.
and good lord, I need a break.
the easy way to post about this paper would be to say, “jesus fucking christ, there are some sick fucks in this world. not like me, of course.” we all want to think that there are little Eichmanns, little nazis running among us, who are the only ones capable of doing horrible shit. after reading this book, the reality is we got a little bit of it inside all of us. there are no real monsters. there are only partial monsters. there are people who do monstrous things. but no full fledged monsters. monsters live under your bed, and they’re not real.
the torturers described in the book come from regular families and upbringings, and go home to those same families. they’re you and me.
it means that it just depends on the situation.
it means that somewhere along the way, torture becomes institutionalized and rationalized, and then there comes that time when you don’t flinch after you almost drown a half starved prisoner in an oil barrel filled with cold water, just to make sure he’s afraid of you.

wow, what a way to spend a monday night.

I’ve spent the last two days listening to “de stijl” by the White Stripes. favorite tracks are “you’re pretty good looking (for a girl),” “little bird,” “death letter,” and “truth doesn’t make a noise.”
god. it’s like seeing the light: the White Stripes are kickass.

Bears lost. eh. I’ve got enough to worry about.

went and saw “waiting…” on friday. it’s definitely the best film I’ve seen thus far for the Weekend. sent the review in this afternoon, gave it a B+. very crude, no plot. oh well, I laughed. the tomatometer on rottentomatoes.com had it a 30 percent, which is bad. those assholes just don’t have a sense of humor, I guess.

I’m very tired right now. work sucked this afternoon. very busy. I tend to get shitty with customers more quickly now than I have in the past – like, if the phone rings for delivery or pick up, I immediately get out my “surly voice.” can’t help it.
but I’m trying to lighten up. I mean, fuck, when you get down to it, it’s just a sandwich. that’s all I’m dealing with. you can’t sweat it that much.
tonight was the last night drivers will work out of the Indiana Ave store. so that’s it. that store will be gone by next week. I asked Kara if I could kick a hole in the wall, because the building is being razed anyway. she said to come back after 3 on friday when we’ve closed.
some people were saying, “hey, this is kind of sad; it’s the last day in this store.” eh. I’m not much for nostalgia. not that kind of nostalgia, anyway.

ended it, whatever it was, with Alisha friday.
I drove Josh up to his sister’s that day. she lives on the northern side of Indianapolis, and it’s a long drive, so big Mar went with me. talked about it.
Mar cuts to the bone sometimes. “Matt, listen to yourself. you aren’t happy. you look like shit. you obviously don’t want this. why are we even discussing it?”
ding! Mar, you hear me? ding.
she’s right. so I talked to Alisha. terrified of what she was going to say. but she was cool as she could be in the situation. reacted well. doesn’t hate me. still talks to me. doesn’t make me feel like I’ve done an ultimate wrong – cause, well, I haven’t. if you feel something wrong in the pit of your stomach, you’ve got to roll with it. can’t live a lie. I don’t think I’ve lived one for the last two years. what I felt was genuine. and what I feel now is too.

and here we are.
you know, I’m not sure if I’ve ever actually asked someone out before. like, on a date. I grew up in America. went to public high school. had (semi)normal friends, was involved in a couple extra curricular activities. I’m a 22 yr old college student. literate, I can groom myself. I do my best to get the bills paid on time.
sometimes, I really don’t know what I’m doing. no instruments, I’m flying in the dark. no radar.
but a first time, the first time, saturday night.
she said yes.

listening to “OPP” by Naughty by Nature. hell. yeah.

ultimately, a web log is a selfish thing.
you can try and hide behind it being a journal, but that only covers so much. yeah, it may be a journal, but in the end you’re still talking about friends and family. sometimes, personal stuff. and they’re not writing a blog. they didn’t ask to be on here.
and in the end, I could keep a journal. stash it under my bed. never say anything about it. instead, this is online for everyone to see. and I must be an exhibitionist on some level, cause I volunteer it up here.
yeah, so unless you’ve got a good, internal, editorial kill switch – which I don’t – you’re bound to piss somebody off. sooner or later, someone’s going to read this and read something that I’ve said about them and disagree, or be mortified that I would write this in a semi public forum, and fucking hate me for saying it. I’ve come close.
I’m playing with fire on here. I mean, why have I posted most of the shit I’ve posted in the last week? I don’t know. probably not in good taste, and I should probably know better. a couple of times in the last few days, I’ve thought of deleting the last week or so, solely out of consideration for other people, but that just seems wrong. I’d like to come back and read all of this someday myself, to see my frame of mind, no matter how warped it is.
I thought I worked this out, took me a couple of hours to think and write this “why have a blog” question out on here back in July, but I did it. now, I’m asking the question again.
well, anyway, I guess all I’m trying to say is that everything on here is filtered through my eyes. my perceptions of right and wrong. I don’t really hold myself to any standards of excellence, and as much as I try to treat this as an individual/personal thing, sometimes I am writing for an audience.
this fucking blog has been too intense lately, so nobody sweat me. I’m always partially full of shit.

beyond that.
supposed to drive Josh up to Indianapolis tomorrow so he can catch a ride from there. he’s going to a wedding. sister’s wedding, in Chicago. Josh has eight siblings. he’s number nine.
say that out loud. it’s 2005, in America, and we’re not in rural Utah.

also.
haven’t seen Mar all week. not tuesday when she got back. not wednesday when her friend came to town. not today. maybe for an hour or two tomorrow, then she goes down to Kentucky to rock climb.
I think Mar’s avoiding me, Mar. I’m so on to you.

so yesterday I bought:
“High Voltage” by ACDC and “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen.
I think the fact that I love “thunder road” so much is that I remember it from when I was little, but there’s also something to be said about the song itself. great stuff. very climactic.
and on the other hand, ACDC rules. they’re too real for you.

dropped statistics today. fuck it, what’s another semester? I’ve got loans out anyway, I can handle one or two more.

last night when I was delivering, as I was pulling out of the lot, this guy comes up to my window.
“Dagwood’s guy. Dagwood’s. dude, gimmearide home.”
I tried to get out of it, but there really isn’t any reasoning with a drunk. he tossed a ten dollar bill in the window and it slid between the seats. then he started trying the back doors.
I didn’t really care that much, so I unlocked the door and let him in. he lived along the basic trajectory of where I was going, so it wasn’t really putting me out that much.
I drove him home, gave him his ten dollars back, and told him to get some sleep, and remember me the next time he goes into Dagwood’s. he owes me now. some day, I’m calling in favors.

so much for not posting about “relationships.”
I wrote this earlier, in the second person, so yeah, bear with that –
what will happen? if you end it now, you’re afraid she’ll never speak to you again. someone who has been such an important part of you life for two years (almost ten percent of your life) is threatening to go away.
will she be gone for good? well, maybe. it’ll definitely be different. your friendship will not be the same, and that’s only if she agrees not to shut you out.
you’re afraid to make a decision – cause you’re terrified of this crossroads. you. don’t. know if you want this, and you know that that is enough to end it – but she’s making the consequences of ending so severe.
where you were a week ago, you can’t go back there, cause she won’t let you. you’ve come so far in that one week, and she’s changed so much. you feel the same, while she’s acting fundamentally different. you sat on that feeling for a very long time, dealt with it, but now that she has it, she can’t. for even one god damned week, she can’t. and then she tells you, “this is it. now, or never again.”
“now, or never again.” alright, fine. you think you’d be able to handle that. but you aren’t sure you could handle her being cold. not being what she used to be. treaing you like something else than a friend: like an ex.
oh, jesus christ.
cause then, you won’t be able to talk to her without tension for months … well, that’ll probably happen anyway, but if she thinks of you as an ex, then eventually she’ll steel herself against you, like she’s done with the rest of them, her exes. and then, all of that fucking friendship,
it won’t have meant a thing.
this will test that friendship. will it bend, or break?
fuck.

here’s the last movie review.

I’m not very happy with it. doesn’t flow very well. and I think, and this is kind of sad, but I don’t know how to write a complimentary review. I’m so used to shitty movies, that I’m immediately sarcastic when I sit down to give a film some thought.
gonna have to change that. I’ve got “waiting” this weekend.

and: White Sox, 2-0.
ho.

and: I need to kick it with Mar. what the hell, Mar, what’s cracking?

totally.

so mom called yesterday.
there’s a Wesley Willis song called “your mom called.” I think it’s the name of a band, but even so, that’s funny.

so yeah, mom called yesterday. I was watching the Chicago/Boston game with Smith. Smith’s a big White Sox fan.
mom’s a shade under frantic; she had just talked to Mike.
Virginia’s sick. been feeling like ass for a week, and she’s losing a lot of water, so they went to the hospital.
she’s also five months pregnant, so this tends to worry some people.
my mom’s freaking her shit out. “I didn’t say this to Michael, but what if it’s something she picked up in Africa? or in India? it could be serious. what if something happens?”
mom, of course, is referring to the fact that my sister in law traveled overseas during her first trimester, and she may have contracted a disease that most Americans figure has been wiped out since the dark ages.
so I said, “jeeze louise, mom, calm down. somehow, a whole lot of people manage to be born in India and Africa every year. and it’s not like Virginia was wading through jungle brush or hand feeding monkeys, anyway.”

anyway, turns out she just needed some fluid. they gave her an IV, and she was out in a couple hours. no alarm, no sweat.

but the point of this was that I made a zinger. about the monkeys and jungle brush.
god, I’m funny. that’s funny. zing!

lyrics seemed right.
the Futureheads – decent days and nights

This is a brand new problem, a problem without any clues
If you know the clues it’s easy to get through
But you look confused and you dont know what to do
Its hard to get an answer when you havent got a clue
If you work it out tell me what you find

If the least you can do is show some restraint
Then the most you can do is get carried away

But you look confused and you dont know what to do
Say what you see, what you like
If you work it out tell me what you find
We can have a few decent days and nights

If you’re meant to be here and you want to be late
The best thing you can do is get lost on the way

I can see that you look confused and you dont know what to do
Say what you see, what you like
If you work it out tell me what you find
We can have a few decent days and nights

If you want to make a guess you should know its not a game
’cause you’ll never get a chance to make another guess again

This is a brand new problem, a problem without any clues
If you know the clues it’s easy to get through

But you look confused and you dont know what to do
Its hard to get an answer when you havent got a clue
If you want to make a guess you should know its not a game
’cause you’ll never get a chance to make another guess again
If you work it out tell me what you find


Nothing like sing-a-long British pop rock to clear your head, that’s what I always say.
Bears have Cleveland this week, I think.