rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

I’m going to start carrying aspirin with me. headaches suck the joy right out of life.

last night, went to the Office Lounge with Dan and Josh.
Josh had been pissing and moaning about getting a beer, so I acquiesced. we’d never been there before, but Josh summed it up nicely as “what Bloomington bars would be like if the university wasn’t here.”
there was karaoke.
group of undergrads gettin’ crazy, singing all of those old time favorites: “16 tons” and “sitting on the dock of the bay.” stuff like that.
the karaoke dj, though, was pretty fucking funny. he’s spent way too much time doing this.
a couple of chestnuts:
“I have every Sheryl Crow single embedded in my skull.”
“do you know how annoying it is when 48 drunk girls come into your bar and scream, ‘ooh, I wanna sing the Dixie Chicks?’”
(when they chose “everybody dance now”) “jesus. one of you looked at the catalogue and said, ‘C+C Music Factory – what a great idea.’”

here’s my review of “Block Party.” pretty good, but they fucked with my punctuation. so doesn’t read very well. also, I mention “You’ve got Mail” as a comedic triumph, and it’s not very well-defined sarcasm. could be trouble. anyway, I tend to write shitty reviews when I enjoy the film.

I’m very ready for Saturday to be here now. this town, everything and everyone that comes with it, is starting to get to me again.

each opinion columnist gets a “tag.” you choose it yourself.
the serious, no-nonsense columnists have it say something like “divided we fall,” or some latin phrase.
those people suck.
mine used to be “has big guns.” now it’s “pure soul fire.”
so in the print version, each column has a surly picture of me with the tag “pure soul fire” above it.
I know I’m the only one who is actually amused, but that’s okay. maybe someone will think I’m deep.
so anyway,
trust your mechanic.

Ashley’s living in Rockville, Maryland. it’s kind of on the other side of the city from where dad and Debbie live. suburbia is hell, Ashley. especially when it’s done DC style. you’ll see.
I just found out you can cut and paste specific addresses from Mapquest. how novel.

this is where I live. we’re having fun, now. full steam ahead.

okay, so last night I rented some movies.
“Repo Man” and John Carpenter’s “The Thing.”

both are totally boss. “Repo Man” is great. it’s hard to describe, but I’d call it “wonderfully nihilstic.” which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but just trust me on that one. here’s a little exchange from the film.

Bud (Harry Dean motherfucking Stanton): most cars you rip are worth two or three hundred dollars. fifty thousand dollar Porsche might make ya five grand.
(honks at the car in front of him) come on, dickhead.
it helps if you dress like a detective, too. detectives dress kind of square. people think this guy is a cop. they’re going to think you’re packing something. they don’t fuck with you so much.
Otto (Emilio Estevez): are you?
Bud: am I what?
Otto: packing something.
Bud: ha. only an asshole gets killed for a car. guys who make it are the guys who get into their cars at anytime. get in at three A.M. get up at four. that’s why there ain’t a repo man I know that don’t take speed.

the next scene is them snorting speed in the front seat of a upholstered Dodge. go rent this movie. regular television, unless it’s “Cops,” sucks anyway.

“The Thing,” on the other hand, is pure soul fire. and I knew this when I rented it, cause I’ve seen it before. I wrote my own little quasi-review of it months ago. and now I’m back. maybe my life has come full circle, and “The Thing” is the tether on which I swing.
think about it.
the one thing that the old review doesn’t have is enough respect for Wilford Brimley. so here, I’ll say it again:

I feel exhausted.

listening to Kanye West’s “late registration.” motherfucker is talented, if I’m any judge.

two headlines from two major online news sources.
ESPN: Fall breaks cheerleader’s neck, not her school spirit
CNN: Teen’s stolen legs returned

both of those are morbid (and involve teenagers, randomly), especially the ESPN one. I mean, fuck, you broke your neck. don’t worry about the fuckin’ fight song.
some day, she’ll be a great patriot.

looks like I’m driving myself to DC.
that means, what. caffeine pills. borrowed CDs. the god damned Pennsylvania turnpike.
I was going to have to deal with the turnpike anyway. fuck it. whatever. called Mar to get Court and Brigid’s phone numbers. but their bum asses are back in Philadelphia for spring break.
fuck! gotta drive it straight, then.

wrote a column and a review yesterday. “Block Party” and my bi-weekly column.
column was supposed to run today, but I got bumped by a guest column. some vice dean of something or other. Melanie Sims wrote another article about flagrant racism against the black man and Brian McFillen wrote another humor column, which baffles me. he’s a smart, articulate conservative voice, and he writes these goofy columns that trawl for laughs. fuck. that’s what I’m supposed to do.
either way, I lost out to both. Cordell said I’d run wednesday. my column’s about getting the car fixed – which I did, by the way. cost me 245 fucking dollars. two new tires and a realignment. gas money’s going to be tight on the way to Va.
but yeah, wrote it with a Dead Kennedys song in mind. so here’s the obligatory lyrics. column runs wednesday. watch out.

Dead Kennedys
“trust your mechanic”

TV invents a disease you think you have
so you buy our drugs and soon you depend on them
pain is in your mind gotcha comin’ back for more
again and again and again and again
gonna rip you off

doctor says you need surgery now
feelin’ good ’til the side effects fuck up something else
you’re ensnared by the medicine man
paying up the ass, again and again
gonna rip you off

trust your mechanic to mend your car
bring it in to his garage
he tightens and loosens a few spare parts
one thing’s fixed, another falls apart
and the rich eat you

a magazine says your face don’t look quite right
unless you wear our brand new wonder creme tonight
never look right again unless you grease your skin
again and again and again and again
gonna rip you off

told you’re depressed
so of course you see the psychiatrist
right when you hit your neuroses’ roots he confuses you
he fucks your head up worse, gotcha feeling helpless
you’re comin’ back for more, again and again
gonna rip you off

trust your mechanic to make you well
you’re seeing an awful lot of him now
the quicker he makes your life fall apart
the more money you put in his pockets
trust your mechanic to plug your holes
trust him to make more somewhere else
trust your mechanic, he’ll always come through
and rip you off

last night was interesting.
worked 5 to 9. some guy yelled at me on the phone, then yelled at my manager on the phone, cause we wouldn’t deliver to him. he’s outside our delivery range. so, in essence, he can fuck himself; if you live past 3300 East, you’re not my fucking responsibility – especially when it’s busy.

came back. was going to go see “Dave Chappelle’s Block Party,” but put it off so I could fuck around and get drunk.
so Josh and Dan and I went out, went to 2nd Story. away from the normal bar crawl scene.
it’s a nightclub kind-of place for the “underground” community. they have live music all the time. but just cause something’s live, doesn’t mean something’s good. indie rock is usually indie cause it sucks, hard, and these guys were no exception.

so we left after two songs and a beer to try somewhere’s else.
went to Uncle Elizabeth’s. and I’ll say this about gay bars, they’ve got nice ambiance. very welcoming, music wasn’t ridiculously loud, beer was relatively cheap. most of the patrons are gay, so it doesn’t really work well if you’re trying to find someone of these opposite sex. nevertheless, last night I wasn’t. so wasn’t a real problem. I’d recommend Uncle Elizabeth’s to anyone. it’s on 9th and Morton. check it out.

went home around 2:45. walking back from Rockit’s, I bumped into my former coworker at Dagwood’s. real nice girl, real, real drunk. it was about 30 degrees last night, and she was wearing only a very thin blouse. so I gave her one of my many sweatshirts and walked her to where she was going.
I don’t understand why girls do that. is it really that much trouble to just bring a fuckin’ coat? it’s freezing outside – if you’re trying to look attractive (and I’m assuming that’s why girls at bars never wear coats), anyone you’re trying to look good for/impress will understand. “liquid longjohns” just fool your dumb ass into thinking you’re not getting pneumonia.

today, finally, went and saw “Block Party” by myself. Dave Chappelle has pretty good taste in music. I’m not a big fan of the concert film, and the movie wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny, but it had enough of both (good music and laughs) that it’s not bad. I’m giving it a B plus.
and if you can’t handle that, you can fuck yourself. yeah.

www.nndb.com is the shit. should be working. this is where you’re university dollars are going.
clicking on all of these probably isn’t really worth it. probably. but,
gems:

Lance Henriksen didn’t learn to read until his thirties.

Yaphet Kotto is Cameroonian royalty.

“I wouldn’t ever set out to hurt anyone deliberately unless it was, you know, important — like a league game or something.”
-Dick Butkus, the human embodiment of American football

“Moral outrage is the most powerful motivating force in politics.”
-our friend, Morton C. Blackwell

Mel Gibson thinks his wife is going to hell.

in 2000, John Hinckley was allowed trips outside of the DC mental institution he’d been in for about 20 years, but got the priveledge revoked when the Secret Service found a book about Jodie Foster in his room.
Hinckley shot Reagan to impress her. some people never learn: dude, she’s a lesbian. come on.

“Hasn’t anybody got the guts to accuse the worst perpetrator in this whole Abu Ghraib prison debacle – CBS and 60 Minutes II?”
-Pat Boone

Martin Sheen has been arrested over 60 times. wow.

Traci Lords was in “Blade.” what the fuck? which character?

from his lips to thine eyes. I can only imagine the conversation he and Mike were having.

Matt, I just heard you got cut from dancing choir. Jesus Christ. how could you not tell me about something like that happening?! I’m so sorry. listen, my cousin Rachel had the same thing happen to her. Exactly the same thing. so I understand what it’s like for a person. listen, I know you probably think you can’t talk to a lot of people about what happened. but you can w/ me, Matt.
I just want you to know that.

your friend, not just neighbor,
love,
Josh

Adam Sedia works at the paper with me.
he is from Schererville. he likes opera. he also writes columns.
this one’s about Title IX. paraphrased: girls sports are boring and don’t produce revenue so IU should get rid of them and have a hockey program.
I should call up my cousins and have them use their tiny girl hands to kick his ass.

I’ve been hanging out at www.conservaTibbs.com a lot, recently. the motherfucker is prolific.
today, I brought it up to find an angry screed about the hypocrisy of those scumbags over at PETA, cause they’ve been bitching in court about their little spy war with Ringling Brothers.
I read through it. Tibbs gets so mad. it’s like PETA came to his house when he was out and shit all over his bed, took money off his dresser, and kicked his dog in the balls – even though PETA is probably totally against doing something like that last part.
but hey, there’s injustice afoot, so of I guess I can’t be that surprised.
who will speak for the circus? who will rally behind their flag?!
never fear, Tibbs is here:
“In a perfect world, PETA would be laughed out of court. As someone who believes in the rule of law, I reluctantly concede that if PETA’s opponents did anything illegal, they should face sanctions by the legal system. That does not make PETA’s whining and crying any less sickening and perverse. Furthermore, PETA’s own spying should make them ineligible for any court-awarded damages.”

then the next post down was a review of “Saw 2.”
first line:
“Jigsaw is back, but what does he want this time?”

I’m at a loss for words. mostly cause I choked on a M&M when I read that.

I sound pretentious and self righteous, plenty. it’s a nice little safety valve, being able to admit that, that keeps you from sounding like a pompous asshole all of the time. I’ll leave that open to interpretation.

I gotta find better things to write about.