rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

you know, the guy from “Alien 3″ and “Rudy.” I’d love to see you deny him to his face, motherfucker. he’ll browbeat you into the floor.

I’m back on the links horse. like a bad habit.
I bought a new video game. it’s pretty warped, and when I say that I mean it partly because I spent money on it.
this could be catastrophic.
this evening, I reaffirmed my love of “Elephant.” a love affair I’ll never leave.

I went and saw Local H tonight in Kouts with the indomitable Mr. Evans.
a decade ago, they had a top-ten single. now, they’re playing in Kouts. they’re well past their popularity peak. but who cares? beats getting a regular job.
they played at Cronies, which is the only bar in Kouts. and good god fuck, is it a dump. it must’ve been over 100 degrees in there with all of those people. apparently, they don’t believe in air conditioning as you couldn’t stand in there for more than thirty seconds before breaking into a full on sweat. the heat, stench of packed animals, hit you like a wall as soon as you went in the door.
so I stayed by it. I’ve seen that band play about a million times, and I know just about every word to every song they’ve ever written. so I’d listen to two or three, step out for one, and repeat. sing along through the wall, watch local high school kids drive by in their pick-up trucks. see, they get all kinds as Kouts is the edge – the very distant southeastern border of Chicagoland. beyond it lies Indiana as the rest of the nation knows it.
when the show was over (they finished with “fuck yeah, that wide,” a favorite of mine), the drummer just got up and walked out. so did I, as I needed air.
so me and Dudd are standing outside. Dudd is smoking a cigarette. to our right is the drummer, Brian St. Clair, exactly one half of Local H. me and Dudd are looking at each other, and I’m looking over at the drummer. this band has been one of my favorites since about 1995, and while they’ve recently been small enough as to be approachable, I’ve never really talked to either of them. the guitarist/singer, Scott Lucas, is supposedly much more vague and sarcastic when you talk to him. which I guess is expected when you play a million little shows in a year and drunk, and every sweaty meathead acts like your best friend after your set.
but Brian, I don’t know. he didn’t look like a dick. he looked kind of irritated, but I thought, “fuck it” and offered him my hand.
“thanks for sticking through the heat. great show, man.”
he was pretty cool about it. humored me. nice enough guy. talked about the new album.

earlier today I was at the Pierogi Fest, v2.
I worked the pierogi trays this year. I have little grease burns all over my forearms.
it was to be expected. hot as fuck and just as ethnic. food was great, so I can’t complain.
while I was there, I walked over and saw Alisha’s grandparents.
she had called me to see how the festival was and asked me to stop by their home and say hello. which was kind of absurd, as I’ve only met them once, and they aren’t the most welcoming of people. they don’t tend to like visitors, according to Alisha, and as such I didn’t know what they’d say if a “friend of their granddaughter’s” just happened by.
but during spells when I wasn’t deep frying pierogis in butter, I found myself wandering around downtown Whiting. and suddenly, almost subconsciously, I’m in front of their house. and then her grandmother came out on the porch, and what the fuck am I supposed to do? she’s right there. so I say, “hello, Mrs. Mustafa, I’m a friend of your granddaughter’s.”
her grandmother doesn’t have the greatest short-term memory, but she’s very nice. she tends to repeat herself, to talk in circles, but she’s still pretty sharp. I think it dawned on her who I was as our conversation progressed.
her grandfather came out a minute or two later, and he’s a bit of curmudgeon; set in his ways. but he’s entertaining, and a nice enough guy. I bullshitted with them, talked about the weather. Pierogi Fest (which they don’t go to). about Alisha. they said to tell her they miss her and they love her very much.
will do.

jesus, I’m so weird.

and last night, Mr. Evans and I saw “Miami Vice.”
it was awesome. very slick. very Michael Mann. Jamie Foxx and Colin Farrell just happened to be on camera. but Mann is what you paid for. makes you want to go to film school.

I swear, I’ll get in the rest about rolling around western Pennsylvania another night.

there’s some drunk, overweight asshole spitting phlegm onto my sidewalk from my stoop. friend of the neighbors’.

no job yet, gotta be out in two weeks.
these are the options as I see it:
go to Valpo.
go to Virginia.
rent another apartment, preferrably for a shorter lease.

I was really feeling shitty about it last night.
I’m not ready to leave, in some ways. we’re all going to have to head in our separate directions at some point, but there are some people I’m not ready to separate with. still. fuck it; it’s the truth.
I’ll always see Mike. I don’t sweat that. same with Josh, and Phil, and Dan. I’m sure I’ll even see Roger sometime down the road.
I’m going to end up going one way, though, and Alisha will go another, and I’m going to grow apart from her. I hate that. that’s if I leave.

this probably sounds like an 8th grader’s myspace account, but hey, I’m not always nothing but sharp wit.

if I stay here in town, get a job waiting tables and continue applying for work, I’m afraid of what might happen. I’m afraid I’d be staying here just to be close to her, which would be kind of stupid; I don’t know what I’d expect out of that. I want something, and I may have had it temporarily, but she doesn’t want that anymore. or, at least, not now.

I know I have naysayers. people who “know better.” I take what they say into account. I’m not deaf. I’m fully aware.
she’s been one of the most important people in my life for the past three years, and it’s going to be difficult to move away from her. and I don’t really want to have to qualify this, but I feel I have to: I’m referring to her friendship, let alone whatever else I feel about her.
yeah. she pisses me off. we don’t agree on a lot of things. I think she’s dumb sometimes and has the propensity to be a jackass. I try to call her out when I think she is, and I’m glad that I see her that way; I’m glad I have problems with her. because I’m not idolizing anything here. I know her faults and I don’t consider her to be perfect. I recognize her as a human being.
when I take her wholly into consideration, I like her. I like being around her and spending time with her.

I’ve never, ever, used the word “love” for anything besides foodstuffs and the Chicago Bears. maybe the dog at home. I love my mom, too. but these are all considered unconditional kinds of love, and they don’t count.
we all know what I mean.

drunk with Andrew at a bar last week, she came up at some point. he listened to me talk about her, and he said to me, “dude, come on.” and he grinned his feral grin.
I said to him, “‘come on,’ what?”
“you love her.” and he ate a handful of cheap popcorn.
I’m so afraid to say that I do, so I say that I don’t. I’ve got no idea how to answer that.
what I’ve got is a horrible feeling that this will be the beginning of our end. so how could I admit that to myself now if it’s true?

I won’t even tell you where I found this, but I laughed for a good half an hour.

turn your volume up.

translation:
now it starts! now it starts! now it starts! now it starts!
(singing) now it starts! now it starts! (and so on)
(pause)playing! playing! you sucker! playing! “Unreal Tournament” playing!
(breathing)
it is loading! it is loading! I don’t want it to load! when it’s loading, you always have to wait so long!
I don’t want to wait, I want (not understandable, sreaming)
(pause)
positive thinking! simply positive thinking! soon it is going to start! positive thinking! yeah
(pause)
I want to play! go!
(not understandable, screaming)
come on, I want to play “Unreal Tournament!”
go!
start the fucking game! (pause) s t a r t t h e f u c k i n g g a m e, you son of a bitch!!!
(breathing)
I will not say it a second time! go!
(fucking around with things on his desk, screaming)
now what’s that, son of a bitch, what has happened!?!
I want to play that now! (screaming)
(pause)
the Escape button, the Escape button, where is the Escape button?
(mad laughter)
where is it, where is it?
okay. I don’t need help and support! I don’t need help! I don’t need help! (mad laughter)
(breathing)
the R button as Enter button! now I destroy you! (not understandable)
(screaming) it is not working!
now I will destroy you! now I will simply destroy you!
do you hear that, you son of a bitch? I w i l l d e s t r o y y o u !! y e a h !! whooohooo!

alright. so I’m done with my whirlwind tour of middle America.

the interview in DeKalb went pretty well. I met their copy editor, their managing editor, editor in chief. all seemed like decent people, and I felt I handled it pretty well. but it’s only an interview. so who knows?
stayed the night in Valpo with grandma and Aunt Nettie. saw Uncle Bill. went out to some dive with Andrew, who is officially doing jack shit this summer.
while at the bar, I saw my old piano teacher, Waz.
I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that. I took piano lessons forever. like twelve years. I took guitar for probably four or five.
either way, Waz was my teacher for six or seven of those years, and that’s an hour-long lesson a week, about fifty weeks a year. so me and him have put in some time together. I hadn’t seen him in probably two years when I saw him Wednesday night.
Waz is a staple of the northwest Indiana music scene. he’s a sick pianist, and he plays the banjo, too. he didn’t have a television in his apartment back when he was my instructor, and I thought that was amazing. oh, and he was the closest thing I’ve ever known to a hippie. but maybe, when I think about it, he’s more of a beatnik.
I don’t know. he’s an interesting guy. I wanted to buy him a drink, but one thing led to another, and I ended up talking to Andrew about organized religion. which is the way conversations with Andrew always end up.
thursday, I drove to Erie.
I got in around 8:30, checked in to the hotel, and went looking for food. wasn’t much to find, but I stopped at a place called “Red Hot.” hamburger and hot dog stand. owned by a broadfaced Greek guy wearing a greasy apron around his waist. the only other customer in there was an older looking man, rail thin, wearing track pants and an oversized And One basketball jersey. he was chainsmoking reds and drinking a Pepsi, and he was intensely interested in anyone who walked by, which in a thriving metropolis like Erie, Pennsylvania, is no one. “who’s this coming up here?” apparently, this is what he does for fun. when he left he said “see you tomorrow,” like he’d be back in the morning for work.
I couldn’t get the wireless internet to work back in the hotel room, which was a bit of a disappointment. this post would have been much more prompt and infinitely more vivid if it had, but instead you’ll get this.
Friday and on at a later date. I’m tired.

the E! channel is on in the other room. I don’t think the “E!” stands for “E!ducation.”
I just sat through a “breaking news report.” I guess they had to cut into our regular programming to tell us Carmen Electra and Dave Navaro have separated.
and now, back to “Dr. 90210.”
they’re talking to patients when they go in for a post-surgery checkup.
all the women (and yeah, they’re all women) and their friends and family are all complementing them on how much better they look, and how much it’s boosted the person’s confidence and self esteem.
in reality, that’s all a bullshit. there’s a reason the doctor on television just said “Beverly Hills is the Mecca of plastic surgery.”
it’s because there’s a lot of very rich, very vain people there.
this is something I feel very strongly about. mabye I shouldn’t.
I think it should be used in extreme cases to fix people with cleft palletes, inverted noses; shit like that.

“but even then, that’s still in the interest in beauty, and if that’s the case, who gets to decide what is unacceptable beauty?”
“no, fuck that. there’s a difference between someone with scar tissue from an axe wound and the wealthy divorce attorney’s middle-aged wife who wants a breast lift. this may be the ‘I know pornography when I see it’ argument, but it’s true; we know the difference between warranted and frivolous plastic surgery.”

I got an interview for the Erie job. so this is how the rest of my week is going to shape up:
wednesday, drive up to DeKalb, Il, for the other interview. then drive over to Valpo, stay the night. thursday, drive to Erie. Cleveland is about five, six hours, so add another two (accounting for traffic jams and maybe getting temporarily lost), and that makes a seven or eight hours.
the people at Erie made a hotel reservation for me, so I’ll stay in town. the interview is 9 am, friday.
after that, and I’m assuming it’ll be midday, I’m driving down to Pittsburgh. staying the night with Phil, his parents just moved out there.
I’m actually going to see if I can’t get ahold of my cousin, Courtney. she goes to Pitt, mabye she’s in town.
then, be back here either saturday or sunday.
that’s a lot of driving, man. I gotta buy an atlas.

“here is what I think of the lottery… it’s like, when you play the lottery, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose… but it’s better than using drugs or alcohol – because when you use drugs and alcohol, especially drugs, you always lose.”

-Mike Schank

“American Movie.” one of my favorites, seriously.

you know what I love about blogs? how one-sided they are.

a friend of mine has a math test that they half-assed studying for. now, this friend of mine is losing their shit, because they think they’ll fail tomorrow’s midterm.

if you ever read this, you read that correctly: you half-assed it. you knew it was important, and I think you half-assed it.

so, because we’re such close friends, the person shows up over here a couple hours ago. wants to study over here, to get out of their own apartment. can’t stand sitting in Starbucks with all of its distractions. away from irritating drop-bys. wants to be safe, tucked away, where no one will find them for hours.
they then proceed to bitch about how crazy the week has been; how everything has been coming down on their head, how they’ve been tread upon, how they’ve been wronged. and indirectly because of this, they’ll never pass the test and never get out of college. They talk about how they’ve been fucked six ways to sunday regarding IU’s single-course math requirement for liberal arts majors.
all they gotta do is pass the math class. and they’ve tried, a variation of it, a couple different times. always the same results.
there is, of course, nothing I can say, let alone anything I could possibly do, to help the situation. and the idea that I’d even try is considered beyond ridiculous, scoffed at and immediately cast aside.
the person goes on and on about how mad they are at other people for putting undo stress upon them at such a critical juncture. they have a math test, for god’s sake! how could they be so selfish? and how could their friends (tutors) refrain from helping them at this dark hour? they’ve got a fucking test in the morning, and they’re way behind on their algebra. god damn it.
well, what can I say? you should have studied. you shouldn’t have fucked about yesterday, and tuesday. or monday. or sunday. Matt calls? wants to hang out? tell him to fuck off, you’ve got a math test in a week. you need to go see a tutor, or a friend who understands more than long division.
you should have been fucking studying.
but I can’t say that. that’ll get me stonewalled for about a decade.

this friend of mine had the stones to say, “all of my friends abandon me when I need them most.” this was while I stood behind them, offering help (I blow at math, but that’s not the point) and rubbing their shoulders.

I’m not going to tell you I wrote this. I’m not going to play fair. but I’m not going to name names and I’m not going to drop hints as to who you are, and if I can’t bitch to the computer screen when no one else is up at 4 in the morning, then I might as well throw this overpriced masturbation machine into the alley.
you should have studied. you should have studied. you should have studied. and don’t lump me in with your friends who abandon you, because that’s bullshit; I try very, very hard not to be one of your problems, and even if you say otherwise you sure make me feel like I’m chief among them.
I lend you my ear to vent your frustrations, and I lend you my shoulder though you’re loathe to lean on it, and I don’t think I’ve got anything to apologize for right now. and since that’s what you’ll expect next time I speak with you, I’m telling you right now that you shouldn’t hold your breath.

alright, fuck all that.
I got a call back from the DeKalb Daily Chronicle today.
Smith says I sound like a moron when I interview on the phone. I’ll give him that.
the woman on the phone asked me about salary requirements, and I said (this is verbatim), “uhh. salary requir… you know what? I’m going to show my age here a little bit and admit I’m not exactly familiar with what the going rate of pay is for a newspaper editor. but a living wage would be nice.”
either way, my interview is next wednesday at 4 pm. so, pencil that in and start chanting a mantra for me at the appropriate hour. if you’re in a different time zone, take that into account; Illinoise is in central time. it’ll take all of us on the same wavelength for this one.

Hezbollah’s website is down. man, they better get some tech guys in on that, or it’ll interrupt their flow; they’ve got some serious online problems.

people are distraught today. the public is utterly fed up with this. we thought this violence was behind us.
when the situation gets tough between Israel and the Palestinians, we pay the price. we pay for all the mishaps and bad policies in the Middle East. this country is carrying the pains of the entire Arab world.
worse still, it looks like a group of people are getting their commands from outside the country. we have a president who is fully behind Hezbollah, a puppet for Syria.
we knew there would be skirmishes down south, but we didn’t know how far the situation would escalate and we don’t know what more could come.
there is a saying here: “don’t tickle a sleeping tiger, because you will be eaten.” what did we really expect? since the foundation of the state of Israel, we have paid the price. in just two years this conflict will be 60 years old. Why doesn’t the international community step in and find a serious solution? all we want is a peaceful middle east.
meanwhile the Lebanese who suffered for 30 years during the war can prepare themselves for more suffering.

so here’s the deal.
I got a call-back from the internship in Erie. I had left it for dead; hadn’t heard from them in a few weeks. I had emailed them to say I was still interested, and gotten a one-off saying “we’re discussing our options and will get back to you.”
they didn’t, for a while, so I forgot about it. and they called yesterday. said I’m one of four finalists. and I may drive up there for an interview.
KOOL. BEANZ.
the internship is paid, and I get to do all sorts of shit; copy edit, design fronts. be a great way to a get a cool job in nearly any place I’d like to go. so yeah, cross your fingers. please.

I just spent the evening drinking Pabst with Dan.
it’s monday night. there’s nobody in the local bars on an early-week evening, so even when it gets rolling, it’s not that bad.
I wish I had a tape recorder, so I could go back over all of the bullshit I spat. in its absence, I’ve got nothing; not like I got to the bottom of any important truths, but I’m left grasping at straws of former thoughts.

okay. that last line, it sounds good now, but I know I’ll go to sleep and think about it and read it later and hate the motherfucker.

anyway, I riffed on the stress I feel about leaving college. it’s a massive shift in perspective and responsibility; I’m afraid I’ll come up short in some way and be a disappointment. Dan thinks the twenties are a period of self discovery during which individuals truly discover themselves and shape their personalities for the rest of their lives. it’s no matter what our future plans are. we’ll discover what they are, regardless. it may take us different amounts of time, but that’s not something to be afraid of.
I”m not afraid of the next few years. I’m more afraid of what I’ll do with them. what if I squander them, be the protoypical college graduate who never leaves his college town; works jobs he’s overeducated for, chasing the same shortsighted dreams (ass and resume builders are the kryptonite of the 22-year-old)?
I don’t want to be that person.
but Dan pointed out that as long as the drive is there to be something more than you already are, then your current malaise won’t last long.
well, yeah. I hope.

right now, Dan and Alisha are watching Roman Polanski’s “The Tenant.”
I’m not in the mood right now; maybe when I’m sober, I’ll be able to get over his past. until then, he’s a pederast with a talent behind the camera.