rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

so I’ve been an uncle for about an hour and a half now.
Anna Riley. baby’s name. 7 lbs, 11 ounces.
wow. I have, like, a niece.
I can’t believe I’m quoting this now (it betrays just how much of a fucking dork I am), but Homer Simpson once said,
“oh, kids are great. you can teach them to hate the things you hate.”
like, hippies, republicans, and Wendy’s. right?
that’s all I got about that right now. I’ll say it’s pretty fucking cool. whenever something major happens, I’m tongue-tied.

saw “Paradise Now” last night. about Palestinian suicide bombers. do yourself a favor, go see it. very good movie. my review won’t do it justice.

t-minus five days until a shell of a human being parading as a liberal’s anti-christ comes to do stand up. you’re above it; don’t go.

…
I remember when my brother got married. the bride’s family pays for the ceremony, traditionally. Virginia’s family has a lot of money. the wedding took place on the lawn of an old plantation house, about half hour out of Williamsburg, Va, on the Charles River. very secluded, very pretty, very classy.
big wedding party. there were probably seven or eight groomsmen. I was 19, needed a haircut, the best man.
we all stood around an hour or two before the wedding. in our matching slacks and ties, drinking expensive beer in this house that looked half-museum, looking out on the expansive lawn. caterers were setting up a large tent – for dancing, eating, etc.
I didn’t really know all of the other groomsmen that well. two were cousins of mine, Matt Madden and Eric both my brother’s age, who I know pretty well.
others were Virginia’s half-brothers: rich, conservative types. haven’t seen them since the wedding, probably won’t see them again for a while yet. a few were Mike’s buddies from back when he was a kid. the Neal family; people who I had grown up around, but could only barely remember. I was five when Mike went to college, and by the time he came back, parents had divorced, and we moved to Indiana. these guys were there that whole time, but when you’re a kid, they tend to blend together. I remember lots of people, but they’re the ones who tend to remember the details, not me.
guests started to arrive. the bride’s party was around somewhere (Mar was in it), but I didn’t see any of them. saw everyone else. it’s a wedding: all of your close family and friends converge on one spot for you (my brother, obviously), and it’s kind of surreal, like a reliving of a family photo album. it’s exciting.
ceremony was held up, cause mom and grandma were 15 minutes late. of course. I hold no grudges, as I’d expect nothing less. don’t imagine Mike and Virginia would either.
so a lot of waiting. standing around, a little tense. lets get this thing fucking rolling, son.
but then it started. everyone was seated, and the bride and groom’s parties went out first.
for like three minutes, it was just me and Mike waiting in this giant plantation house. watching people through a window. I checked his tie, finished off the last of a beer.
Mike was amazingly calm. didn’t bat an eye. these were the last moments, and I was thinking I should say something on him. some sort of calming advice, some sort of congratulatory praise, etc.
I didn’t though. and we’re just standing there, talking like it’s nothing, when it’s obviously something.
“there goes Aunt Susan.”
“look at Uncle Bill. unbelievable.”
“what time’s Game Six tonight?”
and then, it’s time to go out. I’m supposed to follow him. be his second, something like that.
and he looks at me, and raises an eyebrow (the only hair on his shaved head) and goes,
“you ready, dude?”
and I looked at him, speechless for a second, and I said,
“yeah. fuck, Mike. are you ready?”
and then we walked out.

I said, “fuck” to my brother right before he got married. wow.

I’m listening to Gershwin’s “rhapsody in blue” in Phil’s room. they’re watching “Tommy” and passing a bong around in the other room. kind of surreal.

talked to Alisha about what was eating me.
I spent a good part of 36 hours thinking of what to say, and when the time finally comes, nothing comes out. no zingers, no organized thought. so I sounded like an asshole, and she thought I was an asshole til I explained myself. maybe she still does. fair enough. I’m glad I said something, cause I was bothered by something, and I’m not anymore.
she talks sense. which sounds cold, but it’s not a rational kind of sense. it just makes sense, and maybe I was (or am) looking at things in the wrong way.
fuck it. I feel better, and that’s why I’m glad it happened. we’ll see.

I took two more Ann Coulter flyers down. I’m serious; don’t go.

I actually replied to the cousin email chain. it was only two sentences, but I feel there’s no going back now. I’ve started down a horrible, horrible path from which there can be no return.

okay, now I’m listening to “I will follow him” by the Shirelles. seriously, this is a good fucking song, man. come on. little heavy, but cool nonetheless. I think of “Sister Act” when I hear this. says a lot about my generation.
did you know Lauren Hill was in “Sister Act 2″? yeah, man. seriously.

Mar is upset because she’s not going to be able to get out DC-way to see the baby. we were gonna go out on a weekend, but it’s just not working out that way.
shut up, Mar. you get to fuck around in Alaska and hang out with Cait (our cousin, who’s up there working as a live-in nanny for the obscenely wealthy, for those of you out of the loop). horseback riding along the Alaskan range. stop complaining, or we can switch.

so, speaking of DC. I’ll take you up on that ride. I’m not kidding. about the radio either.

listening to House of Pain. drinking some shit I got out of the vending machine called “Vault.” sucks. I don’t know why I bother.

got a pit in my stomach, have had it for about a day now.
can’t name it, though. I could, but I can’t. thankyouverymuch, “web log integrity.”

I stole an Ann Coulter poster from the school of journalism bulletin board. I have no regrets.

after I got out of here last night, I called Galia. figured that she’d be out anyway; she was.
went and got a beer at, yes, the Video Saloon. talked. hadn’t seen her in at least a month. met the guy she’s dating. he’s a bartender there, which makes sense.
she moved in with Hillary, out of her dad’s house. I don’t know what the immediate future is for her. didn’t get to talk that much. maybe that’s it, but I’m sure she’s got shit planned.

I feel like talking, but there’s no one to talk to. fuck this job, I’ve got places to be.

Davis quit. tonight is turning about to be the most interesting night I’ve had in the newsroom yet. it’s almost 11, everyone’s still here, people are flipping out, calling trustees, the athletics department, “guys who know guys who know team managers,” etc.
I would quit too. fuck, me and Phil could beat Penn State.

Firewall
come and get it.

I’m in a great mood.

another Valentine’s Day, come and gone.
girls are mean, even when they’re not trying to be. fuck the international online community.

I don’t feel right.
and it may have something to do with the fact that soda vending machine is out of root beer. when I don’t have my Barq’s, I get the fear in me, man.

did some laundry today. watched some TV.
yeah, man, that’s about it.

I gotta get the car fixed.
ran over a curb somewhere a while back. I think Mar was in the car. now the allignment is off, like, bad, homey. drifts to the right. makes it a bitch to drive with your knees while delivering sandos – which, yeah, I do often. gotta call freshmen out of the dorms, gotta change the CD, gotta look at the address sheet. I need two hands.
who knows how much it’ll cost.
I gotta get the car fixed, cause I decided I’m driving out to DC over break. so much for trainhopping, but fuck it. let’s get real.
might as well. I got nothing else to do, and I’d like an excuse to see the first grandchild. sides, I can see dad and Debbie. Spencer. Lautzenhiser just got a weak-ass (but steady) job on the Hill, so she and I can go out and kick it.
maybe I’ll stop in Pittsburgh, see Courtney and Brigid. maybe I should call and tell them that before I leave. heh.

but most of all, today kind of reminded me that spring is almost upon us (favorite season) and I want a reason to cruise to “Who made Who.” ain’t nobody told you?

Winter Olympics are going down. this, right here, is a nod to a couple of different people who are heavy into them:
I don’t really care. for some reason, I can’t just get it up for the winter sports. luge is just really, really fast sledding, and thought it obviously takes tremendous skill, watching curling sucks. snowboarding has yet to pay its dues in the annals of time, and bobsledding was only cool when John Candy was a coach. downhill skiing … okay, that’spretty cool. same with figure skating (I love how homoerotic it is), and hockey kicks ass. I know I’m missing about three dozen other events, but that’s off the top of my head.

summer olympics though, that’s where it goes down. even more so, this summer brings the World Cup. and the World Cup is totally fucking boss. that I really like. I’ll save my international enthusiasm for a few more months, I guess.

Bode Miller, though, was pretty classy in his DQ. bet nobody expected that.

just read about the Warsaw Uprising.
best line:

“On 1 August 1994, Poland held a ceremony commemorating the 50th anniversary of the Uprising. Germany and Russia were invited to the ceremony, although there was opposition to Russia’s invitation. Moreover, a joke making the rounds suggested that ‘Yeltsin should be given a pair of binoculars so he can observe the ceremony from across the (Vistula) river.’”

the undisputed, uninterrupted phenomeneon that is Wikipedia

history is always written by the victors. wonder what they’ll say about us when we’re gone?

-
no baby yet. come on, baby, what the fuck?

so, I’m listening to “Nebraska,” and then I’m on his website, and now…

I can’t fucking believe that Reagan used this song during his reelection campaign.
it either highlights A) how fucking stupid the average American voter is or B) how unattentive the Gippeer’s campaign advisors were (and thus, how inept Mondale was).


“born in the U.S.A.”
THE BOSS

Born down in a dead man’s town
The first kick I took was when I hit the ground
You end up like a dog that’s been beat too much
Till you spend half your life just covering up

Born in the U.S.A. (X4)

Got in a little hometown jam
So they put a rifle in my hand
Sent me off to a foreign land
To go and kill the yellow man

I was born in the U.S.A. (X4)
.
Come back home to the refinery
Hiring man says “Son if it was up to me”
Went down to see my V.A. man
He said “Son, don’t you understand”

I had a brother at Khe Sahn
fighting off the Viet Cong
They’re still there, he’s all gone
…

He had a woman he loved in Saigon
I got a picture of him in her arms now

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary
Out by the gas fires of the refinery
I’m ten years burning down the road
Nowhere to run ain’t got nowhere to go

Born in the U.S.A.
I was born in the U.S.A.
Born in the U.S.A.
I’m a long gone Daddy in the U.S.A.

there’s a million little links in here, and I know you fuckers won’t even click on half of them. you need them, it’s context! reading here is a fulltime fucking job, man.

“hi, my name’s Mike Davis, and I don’t want to work here anymore. Indiana needs one of its own, like, say, Steve Alford.”
way to mail it in, jackass.

I bought “Who Made Who” by AC/DC. well done, sirs. I’m buying a t-shirt.

no baby yet.
and that sucks, though, cause now I have to answer my phone whenever anybody calls.
and sometimes, you know, they just want to bullshit. for a long, long time.
I’m not much for bullshitting, at least not right now. feel tired, drained. daresay I feel sick?
fuck. probably. slept at Alisha’s last night, and she has a cold. I’m an incredible dumbass…

you know what? I want to rent “Maximum Overdrive” now, even if it’s supposed to suck. it’s got Emilio Estevez (Martin Sheen’s cleaner son) and Yeardley Smith (Lisa on “the Simpsons”), and if that shit’s not an all star cast, then I don’t know what is.

oh, and in case you missed it (or aren’t hyperventilating from laughing too much), I’d like to give a nod to Vice President Dick Cheney.
when the guy at the Nation & World desk looked up and said, “the AP wire says Cheney shot somebody,” my mind immediately pictures some Laramie/Houston/etc. steakhouse, where a mexican bus boy accidentally spills a half full Jack and Coke on the VP’s Brooks Brothers suit.
carnage ensues.
when I found out that he shot some millionaire campaign contributor (who, admittedly, seems less like a soulless, rich, conservative Texan after reading about him), I’m starting to think karma may have played a role.
maybe it wasn’t an accident. Cheney is the dictionary definition of a chickenhawk. maybe all of those draft deferments have built up some sort of longing, silent rage inside him, and that asshole just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
yeah, mabye.
either way, the reaction has been pretty fucking funny. he actually shot the guy on saturday, and it wasn’t reported until yesterday, when the Corpus Christi Dispatch – Bee, Sun, Tribune, Ledger, whatever – reported it. now there’s a shitstorm over why no one was informed. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory: Cheney ain’t give a fuck. the White House press corps was pissed, so Scott McClellan danced a jig and did a striptease til everyone got back in their seats, which was a story in itself: type in Cheney in Google and look at the news headlines; you get

Cheney’s Bad Aim Shoot first; don’t answer questions later. – Slate – 1 hour ago
White House takes heat over Cheney shooting mishap – Reuters.uk – 2 hours ago
Press Corps Takes Aim at McClellan Over Cheney Shooting – FOX News – 4 hours ago

note that Fox News is not biased, whatsoever, at all.

Defamer (Wonkette afilliate) had something interesting – and funny – to say on the subject. read, you fuckers, it will only make you stronger..