You know, I started typing this thing Christmas Eve, and then I got distracted… and lazy… and then distracted. Did I mention I’m easily distracted? But I make up for it with the occasional stroke of absolute focus. I just can’t get to the middle of the bellcurve without rolling down the other side. Anyway, Christmas-flavored post, you’ll get my New Year’s resolutions by February (don’t make me threaten again with the stagecoach), I promise:

By popular demand, I ought to get back to doing this blogging thing. And, as it happens, Merry Christmas, everybody (see?). Consider it a gift – not that this is really a good gift… so, consider it socks. Actually, I got some nice wool socks for Christmas, very toasty.

And allow me now to summarize the Xmas loot, for your entertainment:
-Socks, aforementioned
-Shirts
-Undeclared on DVD: influenced perhaps by the fact that I saw all of it the week preceding Xmas, and that it is genius, and I have to show it to everybody at school, because seriously, this show is college, but funnier.
-Serenity DVD, because well, it’s necessary. My brother got one too, to prevent a power struggle when I go back to school.
- $100 headphones. My mom works for an audio equipment company, what can I say? They haven’t arrived yet, but should be snazzy. Actually, anybody want headphones at an incredibly low price? (I’m half-kidding here; My mom doesn’t know what the limit for employee discount purchases is…)
-Traveling Wilburys, Vol. 1. A group with Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, and George Harrison? Sold! Jeff Lynne and Roy Orbison don’t hurt the package either. A fun, not too serious album from some fantastic musicians.
-Rome: Total War: Barbarian Invasion, which seems like a pretty solid expansion to an addictive game.
-Civilization IV, which I haven’t played yet, but is nonetheless a game with fantastic pedigree.

Allow me also to express my most heartfelt exultation for the Bears. Woot! Go Rex! Go Bears!

Also, while I am expressing praise for all and sundry, I heart the Marx Brothers. Saw Duck Soup and Night at the Opera with folk Wednesday at the Music Box. Hilarious, wacky stuff. Night at the Opera has some slow bits, serious musical numbers, but Duck Soup is just non-stop zaniness. Mirror gags, random thigh-placement, musical number about war, jars, mustaches a-go-go – it has everything. Though I’ll admit that covers a lot of ground. “Say, you cover a lot of ground yourself!”

That’s one of Groucho’s many comeback one-liners, for the uninitiated.

I also saw King Kong (whee! six hours in the theater in one day!) that day with Casey and our grandmother. I’ll say this: you really feel for the big ape. Solid acting all around, and it’s interesting to see Jack Black in a (semi-) serious role. And if there are two things Peter Jackson knows, it’s creepy-crawlies and spectacular action sequences, and this movie has both in spades. Fastest three-hour movie I’ve ever seen.

So, it’s been a good break, save for that troubling total lack of productivity. I continue to make sporadic attempts to learn guitar, and simultaneously get a more thorough understanding of music. Got to make this “songwriter” business a little more legit, you know. Speaking of which: duck out now if you ain’t interested in the songs and poetry end.

There is a bit more of that, now. I had a fairly productive period around Thanksgiving, including a drinking song I wrote on the ‘L’. I don’t know why, but the CTA does wonders for my creativity. So, anyway, these are relatively new, though they've been up for a while now, less a few edits:

Hymn to St. Elmo the Sailor (drinking song, hopefully amusing even if you despise my other stuff)
Catch Me!
Keep on Dreaming

And there's some other stuff that may get up in the next week or so. Assumably, I will be back to procrastination-by-blogging once school starts again.

Sweet blinding monkey soup-faced critters from the deep! It's been a long time since my last update, and despite my prodding, Pat refuses to throw us all a bone/update. So I killed him.

....wait...maybe I shouldn't say that on the internet...this is how misunderstandings start, people. Therefore, I didn't kill him, but I have not heard from him since 2pm this afternoon, so I can't be held accountable for his whereabouts/well-being at the present time. Plus he's had the same away message up advertising for an event I know ended HOURS ago. Anyway...let this be a lesson to you, Pat: Update more often or federal investigators might stumble upon the blog and take me into custody for crimes I did not commit. Bollocks.

So...now I'm trying to remember why I wanted to update this thing....ah yes...Marty Sweeney....he's wrong. I thought I'd point that out. Actually, you can head on over to Toner-Blog (speaking of never updating) because he bothered to post something. Unfortunately, I don't agree with his evaluation of Syriana, and I was going to leave a comment explaining myself, but I thought this would be a good excuse to take the old blog out for a spin. Nothing like arguing over the internet I always say. Unless it's arguing in person, or over the phone, because those are way more intense. Honestly though, this post should not be construed as an argument. If there's anything people should be allowed to have their own opinions of, it's music and movies. So Mr. Sweeney isn't actually wrong, I just have a differing opinion of Syriana, so I thought I'd let you all in on it. Let's begin shall we?

Last week my long-deceased co-host/blogger/hort and I went to a sketchy cineplex on the North Side and watched a late showing of Syriana. Peter "I like to pretend I don't have enough money for a ticket" Tutanes was also with us, along with the two other people in the theater. So we watched the movie.

Personally, I thought the film was very well done, and I'm going to tell you why, but I'm not going to bother beating around the plot. Therefore, I see fit to attached a SPOILER WARNING to this post.

Now, I will not disagree with Mr. Sweeney on the point that Traffic is a very very good movie, and that there are certain parallels between the two movies. Still, I think that drawing parallels between these two films feels a bit forced. Rather, if any parallels should be drawn, it should be between Syriana and Munich, since they were released within weeks of each other and both strive to "blur the line" so to speak. Syriana, however, does a much better job with this than Munich, simply because it doesn't really sympathize with any party. As Americans, the issues of U.S. occupation of foreign countries and terrorism stop being so black and white. Our perspectives are turned all the way around and we find ourselves sympathizing with the most unlikely persons.

Syriana accomplishes this feat by just laying it all out for you in a plot which, at times, can be harder to sort through than Darryl Strawberry's legal file. Some point this out as one of the failings of the film, but I see it as one of the main strengths. Frankly, the big business of oil is just as complicated and lethal as the movie would make it out to be. We don't need to fight the plot to try and figure out who's behind what and who just bought who and whether or not that is legal. Instead, we should let ourselves become immersed in the plot, completely enveloped in it, so that we can connect with the main characters, who are just as lost as we are, and whose lives are all thrown around in different ways by the oil business. The American business man in Europe, the unemployed oil field workers in the Middle East, the young, black lawyer looking to cut out a place for himself, and the bearded CIA agent looking for answers--all these characters are searching, however vainly, for a bit of stability in their lives, which they actually have no control over. The film shows us how the oil business so heavy-handedly steers their fates.

Mr. Sweeney mentioned that he felt the film had no point in the end. Here, I will agree with him, but we must take it a step further and realize that the point of the film is that it has no point. This is a bit of an exaggeration, of course. The film as a whole has a point--to immerse us in the crazy mixed-up situation I only began to touch upon above. But this feeling of pointlessness is very important, and it stems from the fact that nothing changes at the end of it all--a point which is illustrated brilliantly in the very final seconds of the film, in which the lawyer takes his father into his house. He's accepted that his father will never change, just as the larger scheme of the film has shown us that the system of power in the Middle East will not change (at least as long as Americans still want oil). This may leave the audience depressed and hopeless, and if this is the case, then the movie has done its job. It's connected with us and made us feel small, which will hopefully make us feel angry, which will lead to our ultimate realization of the problem the movie presents and the lesson it has taught us.

In the end it's all quite mixed up, so I'll turn once more to the indomitable Roger Ebert who always puts things so eloquently in his reviews. He sums up his commentary on Syriana by saying:
"I think "Syriana" is a great film. I am unable to make my reasons clear without resorting to meaningless generalizations. Individual scenes have fierce focus and power, but the film's overall drift stands apart from them. It seems to imply that these sorts of scenes occur, and always have and always will. The movie explains the politics of oil by telling us to stop seeking an explanation. Just look at the behavior. In the short run, you can see who wants oil and how they're trying to get it. In the long run, we're out of oil."

Agree or disagree, my friends, but that's just good writing.

So here we are at the end of a rambling blog post, the length of which was almost entirely unintentional. Hey, and it even included a reference to "The 'Straw." Now that's entertainment.





I hope everyone had a good Festivus; I know I did.

Wheee! I'm done, and I already feel much better, even though I know some of my grades already, which are not entirely enouraging, but I should be alright, and this is a run-on sentence, which is something I do when I'm excited, and it's really bad form for an excellent grammaticist such as myslef, so I'll stop.

So, yeah, in a little bit I'm going to turn this thing off and pack it up so I don't go crazy over break. Sadly, I haven't been very informative over the past two weeks, but at least Alex has kept us entertaining. Infotainment, that's what we're all about here.

I can't wait to get home. I love it here, but it takes all my energy to stay sane sometimes.

www.gizoogle.com

Hours of fun.

Random Rabbi Reading!

Oh dear Jesus, just give me an hour in which to sleep. This is the week from hell school-wise at the moment. Maybe sometime tomorrow I can share with you why Thanksgiving rocked so much. And now, back to paper. Aieee!

Ah, the joy of posting and not being completely swamped with work. Ye gods. So the Dealer had some problems last week with pictures, resulting in much consecutive staying up too late working on my part, and there was a physics midterm, and a Comp Sci lab of doom (writing a goodly chunk of a shell), and a series of small but intentional fires. I was not involved directly, although I know somebody who had the suspect walk into her class and sit there for no apparent reason (the arsonist is reportedly an alum, or possibly a dissatisfied grad student). It's all going to hell around here, it seems. But it's fun. And there was that guy on the subway who started gibbering at me in pseudo-German, and tried to give me a quarter, and that guy at the bus stop who tried to sell me gold chains and pot.

And there was a fencing tournament, at which I was marginally competent and thoroughly exhausted. Thereafter followed the shortest fencing party ever.

And oh, the tradtion that is Loud Music and Drinking night, which does not generally involve that much drinking or that loud of music, though we sang a lot of it yesterday. Yay, drinking songs and randomness. Fortunately, ther are an unusual number of trained singers at these things, and on this particular occasion, a guitar (and someone who played it rather well). All told, I got back at 3 and stayed up until 4 finishing a song I've been working on lately, which is now all up in the archive's face... or something:
"Chicago Rain My Blues Away", for those interested.

All things considered, I'm probably doomed. And nonetheless I feel straight-up groovy. Which if it isn't an accpetable phrase for this decade, it will be soon. Mark my words

Unrelatedly, wow, it's already almost Thanksgiving. Hopefully I'll see you folks over the break.

Godspeed, ladies and gentlemen.

Did I mention I have a shiny gold shirt now? Pictures will be taken sooner or later. Whee!

Do yourself a favor and read all of them. I laughed out loud at least five times.

Top 30 Chuck Norris Facts

Bah, happenings continue to happen, and my last post just sits there being dangerously near to emo. Silly angst... er, or something.

So, the Shady Dealer is finally a goddamn Recognized Student Organization (almost). After agreat deal of being reasonable with the committee and answering their questions (yes, the names "Brian McEnergy" and "Rufus Nerdlinger" are made up), we're through. And we only have to deal with a little bit of censorship. We have to send all our articles through our advisor, Ted Cohen. Fortunately, Prof. Cohen's life's work is on jokes and the ethics of humor. And he's enjoyed every issue so far. So he's cool like that.

And... Zach and I celebrated this by doing shots of apple vodka. Blech.

Anyway, further events ensued, but I'm to bed with me.

Idealism, when forced into a pragmatic, unpleasant-but-long-term-healthy course of action, occasionally whirs itslef into a ball of tension and bitterness. So... argh.

In less angsty news (Man, I hate being angsty, but that doesn't really help), I actually had a decent day. And I've made $22 this week getting studied and probed (well, probed not so much). Also, Harold and Kumar is still an incredible movie. God bless Neil Patrick Harris.

"Where will you go?"
"Wherever God takes me."

And in music, I am on a hell of a Belle & Sebastian kick, having downloaded on a semi-random basis one of their albums (The Boy with the Arab Strap). "Dirty Dream Number Two", "Is It Wicked Not to Care?", and of course "A Summer Wasting" happens to resonate well at the moment.

Alas, October, I barely knew ye.

Ah, well. On to shorter and more turkey-laden months.

To start November off with a bang, I'm going to give you all a very special link:
Grinnell College Radio

I probably should have put this up at the beginning of the year, but I only was recently informed that the webstreaming instructions on the site actually work...at least for some computers. Unfortunately, it's pretty ambiguous which computers get it and which don't. Mine doesn't, but I'm thinking that may have something to do with me using a Mac.

Anyway, this prestigious organization pays me the moneys to listen to jazz for them, and even lets me have some sort of "radio show" for two hours every Wednesday. So, if you're not doing anything from 6-8pm tomorrow, you know where to be. That's right, sitting in front of your computer, looking at porn, and listening to my incessant ramblings and musical selections. And even if that's not your cup of tea, stop by the "staff" section on the site and check out my picture and bio.

Happy Motifs, Everyone.

Oh, how it goes. Madness, madness, a travesty, and more madness.

So, here at the Shady Dealer, we are looking at a nice long fight with City Hall over us being recognized by the school, possibly because the SG president has it in for us and picked the committee, and also because the people picked happen to be humorless fucks.

And when I say this has been one gigantic travesty of a clusterfuck, I want you to know that I’m the level-headed editor. Zach hasn’t knifed anybody, which is a little surprising. So, we may or may not be meeting with the committee to see if we can negotiate a reasonable compromise (i.e. censorship system). That depends on how the writers feel at our staff meeting this week.

Let’s hear it for alternate funding possibilities.

Otherwise, well, White Sox mania has been sweeping campus, what with being on the South Side and all. And I just can’t bring myself to root against the ornery bastards. Very impressive, South-siders. Which reminds me, given that the opposition was the Astros:

I would feel about twelve times safer messing with Texas than messing with the South Side of Chicago. I’m just putting that out there.

And tonight, I almost went to a concert, and then I almost went swing-dancing, but instead I ate some delicious Pizzeria Due pizza with the Woodward peeps. And delicious though it was, spending four hours getting dinner does tend to take up most of one’s evening. Of course, then there was a great deal of random hanging out upstairs, which was also fun. So I’ve got no complaints.

And in other news, Sulu is gay.

In more hilarious news, they’ve indicted “Scooter” Libby. haha. “Scooter”. Skeeewter.

So...the White Sox have won the world series, the baseball season is over, and my interest in sports will go into hibernation for the winter. It's true that the White Sox played great baseball this season. Whether or not it was a fluke, however, remains to be seen. Is this team built for a dynasty in subsequent seasons, or will it putter out? Well, you all know what I'm hoping.

Still, we must remember, even with this World Series win, the White Sox are still a pretty historically sucky team. Similar to, oh, I don't know, the Chicago Cubs perhaps. In fact, their historical successes (or lack thereof) are quite similar to the Boys in Blue on the North Side. I'm not trying to steal the Sox's thunder here; I'm merely pointing out that Chicago's two baseball teams are linked by more than geography, whether we like it or not. Here are some stats recently compiled by a certain Chemistry teacher as a gift to a sceptical Speech teacher:

White Sox versus Cubs
1900-2005

Number of winning seasons (.500 or better)
White Sox-57
Cubs-50

World Series Appearances
Cubs-10 (1906, 1907, 1908, 1910, 1918, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938, 1945)
Sox-6 (1901, 1906, 1917, 1919, 1959, 2005)

World Series Victories
Sox-3 (1906, 1917, 2005)
Cubs-2 (1907, 1908)

Additional Post Season Appearances
Cubs-4 (1984, 1989, 1998, 2003)
Sox-4 (1983, 1993, 1994, 2000)


Of course, following the most logical pattern, the Cubs are next in line for a world series title. Red Sox, White Sox, ....certainly the Cubs must be next. So here's to hoping that 2006 is our season (unless, of course, fate had the Cubs slated for 2003 and we blew it).

Meet Emmitt the Enraged Marmot, our new mascot at the Shady Dealer. Whee!

"Skeevier than a pack of one-eyed marmots."

Boy howdy.

You fit in with: Spiritualism Your ideals are mostly spiritual, but in an individualistic way. While spirituality is very important in your life, organized religion itself may not be for you. It is best for you to seek these things on your own terms. 60% spiritual. 60% reason-oriented.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Ah, hope without faith. Hell of a way to live.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I’m wishing Lord that I was stoned
‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
-Johnny Cash

Well, I don’t feel that bad; I just really like “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” It’s a good song, and I opened this year by getting some Johnny Cash in my collection.

My inability to sleep past a certain level of ambient light in the mornings is a bit irritating, however.

But oh, what a weekend it’s been so far. So, yesterday I proved that amputees can be hilarious, though not as funny as crack, according to my sources. I still had Kelsey paralyzed with laughter doing what could be charitably called the “No Arms Dance”…

[does stuff for a while, returns to post-in-progress 12 hours later]

Man, I just realized that this is the third consecutive October during which someone has broken up with me. You wipe out this month, I’m nearly flawless. Zach, on hearing this, scratched his chin for a moment and told me that all his relationships have started in October… spooky. But I guess it’s always been.

Yes, Zach has just started dating someone. We’re all a little bit alarmed. And this time it’s not an elaborate hoax. Oh, sweet monkey-loving Jesus, I never explained that, did I? Zach and Kate were actually, according to their sworn testimony, never actually a couple. It was all a plan to get back at me for certain things, which means I made all those horrible, mind-searing puns over nothing. hehehe. God, those were brilliant.

So the upside of all this emotional turmoil is I’m remembering all the songs I haven’t listened to in a goddamn long time. iTunes tells me I haven’t heard “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” since June. Ah, well.

The other thing is there’s new poetry to be written. Though strangely based on a really happy tune I got in my head over the summer. The new one up is “Pull Myself Together.” So, y’know, check it out if that’s your thing. Or if you’re looking for something more coherent than this blog.

Really, people like my poetry. I find this encouraging. In particular, a random person on the elevator yesterday read a poem I was carrying and asked to keep it. That was spiffy. And then I continued on and started drinking up in 424. One of our resident suburbanites, Brianne had friends come down here, and they later, it was determined, went outside to snort Vicodin. I, for one, did not know that Vicodin was snorted. You learn something new everyday.

And that’s just about enough out of me for today. More tomorrow, I suspect.

Strange, strange moods:

Oh baby, why you gone and done me wrong?

Ah, Blues and Ribs night. Good times. And fencing dinner, also mostly fun.

So early in the morning...

Anyway, on the upside, I went to fencing, played Eurorails with Jim and Lisy, and saw a raccoon yesterday. Eurorails, is the only game I know that combines Europe, freight-hauling, and crayons (how else would you lay down track?). I should never have gone to Spain. That was my downfall. But I actually didn't suck too bad my first time.

The raccoon was outside BratMart around 1 AM, by a tree. The raccon and I actually had an interesting moment where it ducked out of site, I looked to where I though it had gone, turned around and saw it about three feet away. Both I and the raccoon simultaneously jumped and took a step backward. And then I took a few more steps back and allowed it to cross the sidewalk and hide in the bushes, and I was on my merry way back to the dorm.

I have songs stuck in my head. The most innocuous is "John Henry Was a Steel Drivin' Man".

Oh, and there's another poem up from a while ago: "Ought to Know Better". Boy howdy.

Okay, remember how I was going to add a link to the Shady Dealer? Done. Thing accomplished. All about the productivity here. Yup. And I also added Roger McGuinn to the "Cool People" list. So... who knows who Roger McGuinn is? Right, leading member of the Byrds, musically about the centerpoint between Bob Dylan and John Lennon. Anyway, I obviously don't know the guy, but his blog is an archive of folk songs he's recorded, and I'm a sucker for free folk music. And he's the source of my latest "depression --> download free music" cycle. So have fun with that, everybody. Roger's voice has deteriorated since the 60's, but a lot of it's pretty good -- even if the earlier entries are occasionally recorded in 24 kbps. I kid you not; Check out "Waltzing Matilda." And now, lyrics from one of my favorites of the evening:

If I had wings like Norah's dove
I'd fly up the river to the one I love
Fare thee well, oh my honey, fare thee well

I remember one night, a drizzling rain
Round my heart I felt a pain
Fare thee well, oh my honey, fare thee well
-"Dink's Song"

oh, what a time to be having fewer emotional outbursts. Not such a good day, this particular day. At other similar points, the word "Fuck" has gotten a lot of usage. Well, I guess the silver lining is that the Yankees lost.

Oh, and, coincidentally, ther were some old poems I've been meaning to post, so they'r up at the poetry archive. If only they weren't topical.

Oh, wow. I'm tired. what a weekend. I'm alive, everybody. Fencing parties, marathons, sketchy printings deals with the devil, and the like. Seriously, need sleep. Hopefully I'll get time to do more detailed event summaries soon. Gotta do something to earn that link. Maybe make a logo. Oh, and there's anothe issue of the shady dealer out. Christ, I don't have a link to that, do I? Better fix that.

I seriously haven't blogged in two weeks. That alarms me. It's been eventful, I assure you. So much so that I really feel like more than two weeks must have passed. Althought hat would make my lag of blogging even more ridiculous.

More eventually. I know better than to say tomorrow, but yeah... poetry even. Peace out, Earth-dwellers.

Wow. RocketGrande linked to us. I'm honored. I guess this means it's time for more meaningful content and less of Pat's emotional outbursts. I'll get to that meaningful content someday. I swear. In the meantime, here's a picture to keep you entertained:

Stupid time zones. Ah well. Whee!

Oh man, It’s already Thursday. And while that means that the magic number is now one (whee!), it also means I haven’t provided coherent commentary on naything that happened after Saturday.

So today was a big house trip to Chinatown for lunch, which was overpoweringly delicious and a hell of a lot of food for cheap. Yay Chinatown. Also, the CTA cards have changed colors. It’s weird. Or completely unimportant, but still.

Boy I’m tired, because Tuesday (That was only Tuesday?!) I stayed up until almost 4 chatting with people – Specifically, other O-aides, random first-years, and the guys upstairs who all have guitars and subwoofers, who are conveniently located just above the RHs’ baby’s room… Chalk up another one for Student Housing.

That and yesterday I jumped in the Lake. Actually, fifty-some people from our house went swimming off the Point, partly because we told them it was a tradition, and it was actually good weather for swimming. There was much Frisbee and fun. All hail fearless leader/RA/event-instigator Jakob. Although really, the most interesting part was trying to get into the water by clambering over massive, slimy stone blocks with waves crashing into them. I think I stubbed all of my toes. But it was awesome nonetheless. And really, the fear of smashing one’s face keeps one from noticing the water temperature, which was chilly but not terrible. And speaking of injuries, I managed to pull (or something) a calf muscle diving for a during our game, and thus spent a good fifteen minutes playing Frisbee while hopping on one foot and/or cringing in pain. This made clibing back out of the water over the rocks that much more interesting, but I was fortunately relatively recovered by then, and we found a better route for that too. Still damn sore, though not enough to keep me from wlking all over the place on our trips, so...

Oh, and I almost forgot that Ferris Bueller was on on a massive screen on the quad. Fucking Awesome. And now, coma time. Peace out, Blogospherians.

Stuff keeps happening -- Crazy stuff, spectacular stuff, awesome stuff, and mind-bogglingly weird stuff. More orientation-week transpirings that I willget back to, but it is late, and I jumped in a lake today.

Also, 2.

Hoo boy, it’s been a while. So the reason I haven’t been blogging is the vast plethora of things I’ve actually had to do, plus I live with people again, so I can walk twenty feet into social contact with random new people.

Right, so Tuesday was move-in day for Orientation Aides, of which I am one. And what a lot of stuff I wound up moving, but that’s really nothing compared to what would come later.

But we, the assembled O-aides, RA, RHs, and miscellaneous staff-students then began the furious preparations for the arrival of the first-years this Saturday. First there were long, painfully boring training sessions. Then there was decorating for the Woodward house theme of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It worked quite well, actually, with an assortment of (actual Giordano’s) pizza boxes, paper rats, sewer grates and shiny green ooze. My own door (everyone has a decoration and a name label) features Michelangelo being slice in the head with a katana. And I found not one but two Ninja Turtle fonts for the labels, which was great, because one of the fonts was extremely shoddy and did not have numbers or hyphens. Damn hyphenated-name people.

Part deux tomorrow, I promise. But current events have left me incapacitated to properly relate everything. Wheeeeeeee! College! Newbies!

Also, last week in the CTA tunnel at Washington, I saw very large graffiti that said “ERLIM” in bubble letters. So go look at www.rocketgrande.com

"A tiny [stone] flake an inch or two long may seem like a pretty rudimentry tool. But when made out of a suitable material, flakes of this kind bear very sharp and druable edges and make remarkably functional implements. Indeed, experimental archaeologists have butchered entire elephants using nothing more elaborate."
--Ian Tattersall and Jeffery Schwartz from their book Extinct Humans.

Oh, anthropology.

So New Orleans is gone, at least 80% so, and the most amazing city in America has been lost (at least temporarily). But New Orleans isn't amazing because it lay below sea level in a bowl shaped piece of land protected by terribly inadequate levees. Rather, it's amazing because of the people that lived there. And now, as refugees litter the interstates and people remain trapped in their homes, major Chicago newspapers remain more concerned about putting up flood simulations showing how Lake Pontchartain filled the city, and talking about how the rising gas prices are really going to cut into our pocketbooks.

New Orleans is a city of stark contrasts. The rich and the poor live smashed up right next to each other, and you have just about every race you can think of living in close quarters. Because of this, every class of people was affected by the flooding, not to mention the bastion of culture that was lost.

For this reason, it's tragic that the city has been flooded, yet even more tragic that the relief effort has been so disorganized and lackluster. We knew about this hurricane well before it struck and we are fortunate that it didn't hit New Orleans full on, or else the city really would be completely gone. But when disaster did strike, the National Guard was nowhere to be found and wasn't even mobilized until almost 24 hours later. The president was on vacation (no surprise there), and people actually applauded him for cutting it short because of the disaster. He's the president; I think we should expect him to do as much. Of course, his first speech to the American people was so incredibly disgusting, juvenile, and heartless that he was forced to speak a second time with Dick Cheney and Karl Rove standing next to him "operating the remote controls" as my father so eloquently put it.

But we can't go on blaming the president forever, because we knew he was an imbecile going into all this, and America got what it voted for this time around. I suppose, then, since we lack a leader, we must take it upon ourselves to contribute in some way to a relief effort. When disaster strikes humanity, and there is no one to control the situation and no one to tell people what to do, humanity goes mad, basic survival instinct kicks in and you see violence and looting. And when there is no leadership, the rescue effort begins to fall apart and the situation degrades further.

I believe that most of us student-aged people are back at college by this point, and I'm sure that many colleges are organizing some sort of relief effort on their campuses. If we just go to one of these meetings or drop a few bucks in the collection bucket, we're already doing our part and beginning to take control of a situation scantly addressed by our elected officials.

And then quite suddenly, I had a job. Not one that pays anything, but it does require several hours of work a day. I even got my first work-related injury. So doing layout for the O-Week issue of the Shady Dealer took me the better part of this week, and involved much late-night copy-editing and an argument over content, which resulted in three different “final” versions. And then much difficulty with the publisher’s hiccupping website, and making sure that we could send them a version that would actually print properly. But, in the end, our first and only-one-for-a-while tabloid-format issue is set to be printed. And it’s pretty damn funny and well-laid-out, if I may say. We had to leave out a very amusing article about anal rape, sadly. And… fuck if I know how Zach is going to get all 1,000 copies up from Georgia, but I’m sure he’s got that covered.

Oh, right, the injury. Yeah, on Thursday, I woke up and the tip of my left index finger was swollen, apparently from doing hours of precise clicking and dragging to make the layout work. Wacky.

…Oh man, I haven’t listened to “Joy to the World” in a long time. Thanks, iTunes.

Also in music, I’ve managed to have three songs stuck in my head without a single lyric being involved. And all of them have lyrics too. But just the close of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”, the close of Jackson Browne’s version of “Take it Easy”, and the middle of “Blue Sky” (possibly th best guitar solo ever) have been popping up for no apparent reason. Not that I’m complaining.

Things keep happening and I keep not writing about them. Of course, some of this was because I was some thousand miles or so away from my computer, but the last week it’s basically been inertia. Anyway, I’ll get back to that.

Tuesday and Thursday I was knocked out, drugged, and left bleeding in a dark alley. Okay, so only the middle one, which was as close to gainful employment as I’ve been all summer. And getting up at 6:15 didn’t even suck as much as I thought it would. But that might be because there was a stimulant involved.

Right, so upon my arrival at the U of C hospitals, I signed some things, ate a granola bar, and produced a urine sample. Fun. Anyway, I then had to swallow two rather large green capsules of a) stimulant, b)sedative, or c) placebo. I felt kinda peppy, so it could have been stimulant. The main part of the procedure was actually comprised of sitting around reading magazines and waiting for the drug to kick in. And then, after a brief survey to determine my mood and whether or not I was getting the shakes, the real fun began. I was shown series of images at varying speeds (all the way up to about 8/second or so), and then I’d get another set of images, and I’d have to say if they were in the first set and how sure I was. All of this was done on what looked like a fairly early model iMac. The images ranged from close-ups of flowers or bugs, to landscapes, to angry snakes, to people, to people with massive burns or facial tumors, to people having sex, to a wad of cash, and that one that was just a hand with a gun pointed at the camera. Lots of variety, apparently designed to provoke a variety of emotional responses. Fun.

Oh, and I later learned that I was, in fact, dosed with D-amphetamine on whichever day it was (double-blind study). Apparently it was supposed to increase my emotional responsiveness, and thereby allow them to determine some facet of how human memory works.

I felt peppier on Tuesday, but then Thursday I was rash and impulsive, so it’s hard to day which one. Thursday, for example, I climbed the tree in our backyard for the first time in at least several years. This was tricky, because it mostly grows up except for the little branches that just get in the way. But with some creative maneuvering I made it high enough to step onto our garage, which I promptly jumped off of without even seriously injuring myself.

Also, despite the fact that it is an impractically long commute, I love taking the CTA to and from U of C. Chicago is an awesome city, not only because we actually have practical public transportation. There’s just so much cool stuff to see. And for some reason, I just really dig the way old neighborhood get, with all the architectural variations and dense tree cover. And I really love the trees that have clearly gotten bigger than anyone planned for them to be, seizing fences and pushing up sidewalks. It’s just cool. Although it is possible I was drugged when I came to this conclusion, so.

You know, I always find it rather alarming when I blog over a page in Word, even though technically there will be no pages in the final format. I can be a little wordy and ramble-y at times, but I’m sure that hasn’t come to anyone’s attention yet. But the point is, I haven’t even gotten to all the main content of my post, that being my trip to Texas to visit Megan, which was awesome.

Houston is a strange and foreign land, and the natives have a wide variety of indecipherable customs, such as left-turn signals with two red lights. And they fry alligator, which is actually pretty tasty. Yes, I tried several new foods, most of which I liked. Shut up already.

As I was saying, Houston is a land of sweltering heat, primordial humidity, and vast tracts of land – Vast enough to have $3 dollar parking in the strikingly small downtown area, suburb-esque subdivisions well inside the city, and one particularly ugly suburb of prefab mansions (when you have the same grand, colonnaded, chandelier-strewn entryway as the guy next door, it dampens the effect).

But where was I? Oh, right, awesomeness. Despite the above and aside from the total lack of public transit, Houston is actually a pretty decent city. But that’s really beside the point, as I had spent all of five minutes there when Megan snuck up behind me at the airport. And much happiness ensued.

Such as the baseball game we went to on Wednesday, back when the Cubs were still kinda in the wildcard chase. And they beat Houston, woot! Also, Carlos Zambrano hit a home run that went right under us in right field. It was awesome. And Minute Maid is a good park, even with that crazy-ass hill in center field – and the train. Seriously, a train.

Er, anyway, there was also a sojourn into one of Houston’s parks, with much frisbeeing and resultant attempts to breathe water (did I mention it was humid), and occasionally people were tackled for no good reason. Also, there were sadly no alligators in the creek, merely turtles. But supposedly there are alligators. And we climbed a tree, which was also fun. Now I’m going to digress for a moment and claim that tree-climbing is the hip new thing to do, because I am a trend-setter, and I’ve already climbed two this month. Right.

Also, we went clubbing. Yes, I went to a club – a primarily Hispanic club, no less. odds, anyone? But Megan’s friend Ana recommended it, and thus with two Venezuelans and one Spanish-fluent Texan, I was doomed. It was actually a lot of fun. Though henceforth when I travel, I shall take nice clothes, no matter how implausible it is that I shall need them, so that I need not borrow school shoes from recent acquaintances. Anyway, there was much dancing and colliding with random passers-by, and a live band that was actually pretty good, despite my not being able to comprehend any of the lyrics. Also , Megan was dressed up, which was interesting, as this is something that happens only a few times every millennium, and so that gave me ample opportunity to both make fun of her and compliment her profusely.

And there was a museum of natural science, which happened to have a huge exhibit on the Lord of the Rings movies, which allowed the two of us to geek out in appropriately extensive fashion. Teehee. Also, there were rocks, in a very impressively varied mineral and gemstone exhibit… and a giant squid… and a hand-on demonstration of fluid dynamics that I had way too much fun with.

And, let’s see, Houston has this really cool freestanding waterfall dealy, which is all lit-up and night and flagrantly romantic. And there were movies, and DVDs, and lounging about, and playing with dogs, and meeting of various friends, and trying of new foods, and I’m probably forgetting something still, but whatever it was, that was great too. Really, the only trouble was that I eventually had to leave. Marvelous trip, spectacular girl.

Alright, this has gone on just long enough. I’ve got to stop putting these things off.

Alright then...one more post before I'm off to school:

Earlier this week I was fortunate enough to see the new film by Jim Jarmusch "Broken Flowers" starring everyone's favorite satirical deadpan comedian-Bill Murray. I'll start off by coming right out and saying it was excellent. Murray delivers and oscar-worty performance and let's hope he actually wins one before he has to settle for one of those crappy lifetime achievement ones, because everyone knows those are for losers.

Overall, the movie is a film of awkward silences, which I suppose is Jarmusch's schtick. If you've ever seen his film "Coffee and Cigarettes" (in which Murray also had a bit role) you'll know what I'm talking about. However, it's those silences that really make the film. Most mainstream films are heavy-handed in the way they present what the characters are thinking, but "Broken Flowers" lets the viewer decide on their own. The characters are thinking whatever you're thinking. Also, the fact that no real background for the characters is given adds to the audience's ability to piece things together for themselves, which is where the success of the movie lies. There are scences where no dialouge is spoken and literally nothing happens. Yet these scenes are not throwaways. They somehow all come together to create a more concrete identity for the characters.

Doing nothing seems easy enough, but it took some impressive performances to pull it off in "Broken Flowers." As long as we're on the subject of performances, Murray's role in this film will doubtlessly be compared to his work in "Lost in Translation." Certainly the characters are similar (this is definitely not the Bill Murray from "Life Aquatic"), but with the different directors the movies become incomparable, although Murray deserves acadamy award nominations for both. And the character of Winston seals the movie.

In the end, I'm no movie critic, so I'll let the professionals sum up what I've been trying to say. This is from the great Roger Ebert:
"No actor is better than Bill Murray at doing nothing at all, and being fascinating while not doing it. He has the uncanny ability to invite us into his performance."

There you have it. Check it, yo.

Well...I suppose since Pat has now flown the preverbial coop for Texas, I'm responsible for maintaining the blog somewhat. Although I myself leave for the beautiful town of Grinnell this coming Saturday, so don't expect too much. But to keep you entertained for the time being, let me recount a conversation I had with Peter Tutanes yesterday as we were watching the Little League Girls' Softball World Series on ESPN2:

Peter: Softball, huh?
Alex: yeah. It's actually the Phillipines playing.
Peter: Really?
Alex: yep.
Peter: Hope they win, or else they'll have to go back to the army
Alex: hahahahahahaha
Peter: What?

It has been a few days, hasn't it? Speaking of a few days: 4.

Anyway, for those interested, there's another poem up, "Crazy Ideas". For those not interested, an update:

So, for some reason, Judge Dredd never ceases to be amusing. Quoth Maciej, "The law uses tongue." Although properly speaking, Sylvester Stallone is "The Lauwhh" or something to that effect. Though the movie we actually watched at Altier's that day was City of Lost Children, which was quite bizarre and quite good, and in general stipulates that the universe acts as one massive Rube Goldberg machine. A single tear eventuially causes a ship to run aground, for example. Also, Ron Perlman is a French circus strongman.

Remarkably, I've been to the Quarry twice without ever seeing a movie there. This streak will have to end sooner or later, assuming I find more reasons to be deep in the southwest suburbs.

So, the next few weeks get crazy. This weekend there's a big family camping trip, from which I return Sunday. Then Tuesday I leave for Houston, visiting Megan and being generally elated, as I have not actually seen her since we started dating. That would be the "4" from earlier. I return the 22nd, and then the 23rd I am exposed to (conceivably) harmless drugs and shown disturbing images. I do that again on the 25th, and maybe try to wedge a day or so down at U of I in between. And then I'm back to mostly wide open schedule-wise. Of course, lots of folks will be gone by then. Best wishes and such to anybody I don't manage to see again.

Also, this is weird: http://www.hugi.is/hahradi/bigboxes.php?box_id=51208&f_id=842
Link provided to me by Ryan Rubin, also the first person besides me to buy Albatross Hour merchandise, thereby fulfilling my dream of having a dollar (after CafePress allows 45 days for returns).

And finally, a small piece of advice: DON'T SMOKE THALLIUM.

You know, I really like penguins, I really do. But they don’t seem to like me. Thursday, on our third attempt to go to March of the Penguins, we actually made it to the theater, at which point the projector broke down five minutes into the movie. We got refunds (or super-refunds, in the case of Kate, who got an Adult refund on a Student ticket). In any case, we fell back upon a strategy of night Frisbee, and fun was had by all.

In other news, I’ve got new glasses, made from that classiest of high-strength metals, titanium. Yeah, I know, incredibly sexy… and shiny, too. I assume this will enhance my night vision, maybe. But the good news is that I am slightly less blind than I was last time I got glasses. So, woot. Interestingly, when I tried to get less expensive frames, they just asked me if they could increase the discount. So, apparently I can haggle successfully, or something.

And… let’s see… Sky High is a much better movie than I expected. I mean, it’s got Bruce Campbell, and much amusing superhero-yness. Were you to strip down the plot to it’s basics, it would be a pretty standard high school comedy. But the fact that the cliques have superpowers really improves things, and there are some nice twists that you just couldn’t get outside of a superhero high school. And there’s some seriously fantastic comedic acting (protagonist support, if you will): the aforementioned Bruce Campbell as gym teacher; Kevin Heffernan as Ron Wilson, Bus Driver; And Kevin MacDonald, utterly ridiculous as Mr. Medulla, mad science teacher. So, yeah, seven thumbs up and all that.

And… off to finally see Too Much Light. Whee!

Ah, August. Well, a bit of a letdown so far, but I imagine it will pick up in week or two. It’s really a very promising month. Though July, as the song goes, was very strange.

Alright, so I promised apocalyptic destruction. You’ll have to settle for weird. But it’s really outstandingly bizarre. So, right, I explained the bit with Megan, which was completely unexpected, and would have made it a crazy month to begin with. However, the weird-shit-o-meter kicked up to 11 shortly thereafter, as, after much surreptitious facebook editing and behavior that was fishier than an offshore fishmarket run by legitimate Italian businessmen, Kate (yes, Kate my ex) began dating Zach (yes, Zach my roommate). Although it is technically true that this all began with Zach being very drunk, they seem to have risen above that (not that Zach is not, as I speak, very drunk, as that is entirely possible). And I’d like to say that I saw this coming, and I did, although for a time it was merely a strange unshakeable pit of terror and unease in my stomach. But I wish them well. And for the most part I am even convinced that they will not, somehow, kill us all.

It’s not that this greatly bothers me. It’s just one of the more bizarre coincidences I’ve ever witnessed, and one of the few where it seems plausible that a higher power is fully intent on screwing with my head. And so, for reasons too numerous and too obvious to list here, I feel I have a certain right to give them good-natured shit about this.

On an entirely separate subject, I will occasionally risk my own sanity for the sake of innuendo. Moving on…

Ah, yes, before I close the book on July, I must admit that there is one other event that defies probability. One fine Wednesday evening, I saw Murderball with folks. Murderball, I must say, is probably the first movie to make being confined to a wheelchair totally frickin' sweet. Wheelchair rugby is a crazy sport, with colorful character and Mad Max machinery. Go see Murderball if you can. God damn filthy Canucks…

And so, upon returning to Maciej’s car, it was discovered that the right rear door was open – wide open, not just unlocked. This was, in fact, the very door through which I exited the vehicle. Yes, I am that stupid. I left the car door open. However, nothing was stolen, most likely because a car with the door wide open is highly suspicious, and most likely a cunning trap. I fear this incident will never be forgotten, especially now that I have committed it to the internet.

So yeah… July was a little weird, a lot of fun. Bring it on, August.

WHEEEEEEEEE!

So...I suppose this is pretty much accurate for me....especially since I laughed out loud when I read the phrase "very very fat person dancing."

the Cutting Edge (65% dark, 43% spontaneous, 33% vulgar)

your humor style: CLEAN SPONTANEOUS DARK Your humor's mostly innocent and off-the-cuff, but somehow there's something slightly menacing about you. Part of your humor is making people a little uncomfortable, even if the things you say aren't in and of themselves confrontational. You probably have a very dry delivery, or are seriously over-the-top. Your type is the most likely to appreciate a good insult and/or broken bone and/or very very fat person dancing. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: David Letterman - John Belushi

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 89% on dark You scored higher than 26% on spontaneous You scored higher than 42% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on Ok Cupid

A brief interlude:

the Wit (60% dark, 26% spontaneous, 5% vulgar)

your humor style: CLEAN COMPLEX DARK You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean you're pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat. I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer. Your sense of humor takes the most effort to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion. Also, you probably loved the Office. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 89% on dark You scored higher than 0% on spontaneous You scored higher than 0% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on Ok Cupid

http://www.bigad.com.au/

Best beer commercial ever.

Watch it now.

Every time fate digs and escape tunnel, it also releases the hounds. Remember that. It’ll make sense in a bit. However, it’s not presently important.

You may have noticed a lot of cryptic pronouncements in this blog of late, a lot of not explaining things. Actually, you may have noticed a more general trend starting in February. But no more! The time of Clarification is upon us! Also the Quickening… sort of… it’s tangentially involved… maybe Doomsday, but metaphorically… I can’t explain. Anyway, Clarity is a bit of a bust here…

The time of Reduced Ambiguity is upon us!

As many of you know, I have had the Woman Troubles. And if you remember, there was a particularly Troubling Woman in the February area, and a lot of profanity. However, Megan and I went on being close friends, contrary to the advice of pretty much all of our other friends. Such as, for example, Zach, who used the phrase “Get over her” more times than I could count with an industrial steam-powered abacus. However, I went on being flagrantly in love with the girl and had a rather good time of it, mild awkwardness aside, and Megan continued “leading me on”. And while there was a great deal of her dating people who were not me, we managed to work around that, and I eventually even managed to put aside the idea of dating her, for the most part. Not that I was very good at that. I have a bit of a hopeless romantic streak.

Once in a great while, optimism pays off. Pure lunatic stubbornness succeeds against all likelihood. This is the sort of thing that leads other to consider optimism, despite their better judgment. Most of them are hit by trucks shortly thereafter. The really foolish ones remain optimists.

So, this summer, after a series of long conversations occurring in the wee to dear-God-early hours of the morning, Megan and I are, for lack of a better term, dating. I take no credit for this, but I am incredibly spectacularly happy, as I failed to explain a few posts ago. Things just suddenly fell into place, as it were, after a long process that involved a great deal of poetry and tackling and sunset-watching, and have been fantastic since, except for the bit where we had to tell Zach about it, which was for the most part amusing, as it took him about a page to figure out that we weren’t kidding. I only wish I could have seen him gasp and his bug out in person. And while he was a bit abrasive along the way, that’s why he’s so lovable. Yeah, Zach and love in the same geographic area; you’d be surprised… *cough*

Anyway, I really have no idea how I’m going to work in a proper number of wry one-liners now. But that’s the gist of it. Being in love makes the world a happy place.

I, for one, never though to give Texas this much credit. However, it’s produced at least one marvelously adorable, intelligent, beautiful, capable-of-gutting-a-fish-and-beating-me-in-Halo-possibly-at-the-same-time girl. And that’s all I need.

Damn, it's hard to post in that vein without feeling like an idiot. If you feel gypped, I offer you dire warnings of apocalyptic terror in future posts.

!

!!

!!!

Well, to keep the delay from being entirely ridiculous...

Hi, everybody. This was a fantastic week. Intonation was awesome. Highlights for me were the Decemberists and an extremely positive introduction to The Hold Steady, who oddly enough share the quality fo having slightly pudgy front men with weird vocals. But what's important was that it works for both of them.

And there was water, and dirt, and some foolish person (who shall not be named) produced mud. And therewere clouds, and and a FAQ, and a Steve, and hipster-spotting. A great show all-around.

And heck, we even reunited "the band" this week. Demonstrating that once in a while, you can get four people into the same place.

And there were some absolutely marvelous developments elsewhere.

Anyway, I'm packing to go to Michigan for a family vacation, so I'm in a bit of a hurry here. I'll get back to Chicago on Saturday. Enjoy Lolla, everybody.

Well, the past couple day certainly compensated for the lack of social activity on Thursday, I must say. Though I still need to get "the band" back together. But other than that, a most excellent period.

The main show being Blancofest parts One and Deaux, wherein two extremely sober men (and Tim Marco) sang "I Love Pat Lange" repeatedly, to Andrew WK's "I Love New York City". "Blitzkrieg Bop" was similarly altered. It was during this period I decided I needed a strong drink. Also, there was a Russian dog named Gershwin, or a Gershwin dog named Russian, but either way, it understood abstract concepts, mostly "Vengeance" and "Guilt". I only kicked it accidentally, but I was immediately retributed upon. And Kevin Altier go sooo many drunk dials, it's not even funny. Actually, it's hilarious. I blame Wisconsin. Failing that, alcohol. I was not involved, being possibly the only one not to drunk dial him Friday. Although he was not alone in foolishly occupying another state. It was unusually common.

Also of not, Fischer-Price makes an excellent turntable, meaning record player. Yes, it was a Fischer-Price record player, which Nic owned from his childhood. And there was much rejoicing (and playing of records).

Above and beyond that (which was a lot of fun), I am unexplainably happy. So. Whee!

~Summer in the city,

Shoot. Took my cell phone out of my pocket and forgot it was on vibrate only. So I guess I'll catch up with folks later. Sorry everybody. Ah, minor details that screw you over. Anyway...

Everything that Alex said was true. How could you resist a movie that has love, war, magic, and comedy? Although the castle is strikingly similar in style to the works of Monty Python, most of the rest of the movie isn't. But it's still good.

So, fascinating day. Two semi-plans, then no plans, then one plan, then no plans, then potential plans, and then that bit with the phone. Anyway, I'm going to start bloggin legimtiately again soon rahter that whining about how technology is betraying me, really I am. In the meanwhile, you probably weren't expecting this:



Stuck in my head for no apparent reason:
"You Can Get It If You Really Want"

In honor of Pat's revamping of the blog with lovely blue tones, I've decided to grace you all with a post. As my co-host mentioned earlier, the summer usually means a cut-back in the amount of blogging that actually gets done, but I don't think we've fallen too terribly behind. (Stay tuned for a review of Thelonious Monk's It's Monk's Time)

Last night, I was fortunate enough to see the film "Howl's Moving Castle" at the overpriced Yorktown theater. For those of you who have never heard of this movie, it is a Japanese anime by the director of the epic "Spirited Away," Hayao Miyazaki. For those of you who haven't seen/heard of "Spirited Away" I suggest you seek it out, just to say that you saw it. But back to the movie at hand. "Howl's Moving Castle", unlike "Spirited Away" is not a Miyazaki original. It's actually based on a novel and, for this reason, I think that it's a much tighter film, in terms of its plot, than "Spirited Away."

Centered around an un-named fantasy/futuristic world, it tracks the struggles of 19 year-old Sophie as she is cursed into becoming a 90-year old woman. Wizard's, witches, and airships abound as Sophie finds herself amongst the company of a Billy Crystal voiced fire-demon and bouncing scarecrow. The plot is set during a war between two rival countries, as Sophie works to understand the brooding wizard Howl and his motives.

The visuals are sweeping and epic, while the story is worthwhile (if not a tad corny near the end). Although darker than "Spirited Away," all's well that ends well in "Howl's Moving Castle." Although I can't say I like one film more than the other, I strongly recommend both, even if you're the type of person that has no interest in anime whatsoever. You will not be disappointed.

If you are interested in reading what my roommate from last year had to say about the film, head on over to Here Be Cannibals

Grrr. Why is the internet fucking with me? Bad e-mail. Work properly, so that I may communicate things to others in a reasonable timespan, damn it!

This meaningless utterance of frustration was brought to you by the letter 'A', on account of it having a sharp point with which to stab things if necessary.

Otherwise fine. Slowly adjusting blog to aesthetic ideal, and such. Doings transpiring, more later.

Ending transmission... wait for it... now!

Alright. In honor of the old template having gotten gorfed somehow, with the posts diving off past the sidebar for some reason, I've finally gotten around to revising things. I hope everyone likes blue. There's a fair amount left to fiddle with, such as a new more horizontal logo, but this'll do for the moment. In any case, I have to eat dinner and then go off and watch things explode.

Your Political Profile

Overall: 15% Conservative, 85% Liberal

Social Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Ethics: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

How Liberal / Conservative Are You?

I hope Kate reads this post

I am working on a stroke of optimism.
Also finding a job.
Also learning to play guitar. You’d think I could have started on that one earlier. Ah well.

Summer hinders blogging because blogging is a classic example of a semi-productive activity. As a procrastinator, I’m incredibly semi-productive when I have legitimate work to be doing. But now there’s nothing to put off by blogging. Also, there are stretches of summer where I actually do very little of note… not that that’s stopped me before. I mean, I could be giving deep insight into my inner emotional doings, which I assure you, could be stretched into long and vaguely coherent paragraphs, but also into enigmatic one-liners. Anyway…

So I did go to Ted Leo. It was… promising. I can’t really say that I’ve heard his music yet, as the sound quality was not particularly good. However, he was clearly better than Aloha. Still, it was a pleasant roar for the most part, and I liked what I could occasionally hear.

Also saw Batman Begins. It was incredibly awesomely cool. Go see it now. Go see British actors pretend to be Americans in Chicago pretending to be Gotham city (and very well on both counts, I might add). It has clever twists, explosions, and the Bat-tank. (which, as every technological device should be, is introduced by Morgan Freeman). On a scale of Badassitude, I give this movie 4 out of 5 Bruce Campbells.

Also, on a note which will be horrifying for some, I have come to the conclusion that when I have some money to burn, I’m going to Belmont and getting myself a shiny metallic gold shirt, and some vinyl pants, just because it will be hilarious, or terrifying, or possibly an unexpected fashion breakthrough. The combination of black vinyl pants, gold metallic shirt, black leather jacket, and dark sunglasses has some potential, I think… potential for something, anyway.

And the ever-present random philosophical inkling:

There are some things we believe in because we have faith, and faith is a marvelous thing.
There are other things we believe in because we are idiots.

It’s really very cute that they seem to sort of disapprove of each other, but this can only cause problems down the road. Really, I’m going to cut back on comments that I absolutely shouldn’t explain. But damn it, that one amuses me.

Home at last. Actually, I was home Saturday afternoon, but I’ve really just settled in, as I’ve now seen the majority of the people I wanted to reunite with. Alex and Peter came up Sunday and we made our traditional trip to Rolling Stone, where I desperate searched for a CD in my $9.00 budget range. And unlike at most music stores, at Rolling Stone that is a possibility. I came away with Big Brother and the Holding Company, Janis Joplin’s recording debut. It’s a worthwhile album, especially for six dollars. Afterwards, we watched a few episodes of Dave Chappelle on DVD. And a grand old time it was.

And today (Tuesday), Kate came over for a bit, flush with youthful rebellion, wherein we determined that The Kate is not evil, but does deserve the definite article.

Also, today, I joined what has become known as “Joestravaganza.” Oddly enough, Joe was there, as well as Maciej, Sweeney, et al. And there was much watching of Evil Dead 2 and Rock and Roll High School, arguably the best movie to ever feature all four Ramones, possibly the best movie to ever put a Ramone in the shower and blow up a school (with the power of science). Also, some marveling over the Cubs game (14-0 baby! With Sergio Mitre throwing a complete game shutout. Raise your hand if you saw that coming.) and a brief period of DDR sharking. Good times.

"At this distance, I'd have no way of knowing which one of you was the real Nancy."

And I will see everyone again tomorrow at the Ted Leo concert, not by design, but just because everyone I know seems to be going.

Also, I threw two more poems up yesterday that have been sitting around for a while waiting to be declared finished: “Misbelieving” and “Something in the Wind.”

“And if we’re lucky, not a one of us will be killed…”
I’m not explaining why that was my away message earlier this week, but there was alcohol involved. And it was delicious.

Anyway, I’m done! Woot! Never again will I take two writing classes in the same quarter. Actually, if they don’t fix the registration system, never again will I take classes…

However, My faith in my ability to totally slack through a calculus class and get an A has been restored. Hopefully that will balance out all the other classes I slacked through. Also, due to a very sketchy system of grade reporting, my calculus grade was reported to me as “Baron Reynaldo: A”, which almost totally makes up for the teacher being a rather disorganized grad student.

And I lied: I’m not completely done yet. There are still a few things that need attending to, like packing and cleaning. Most importantly, I am presently holding hostage a fork. The fork, if it must be described, would best be summarized as “cheese-encrusted.” If one were of the character to make terrible puns (and I am, so very much), one might describe it as “pretty forking cheese-encrusted.” Of course, now that I’ve said that, there is a distinct possibility that I will be killed with said fork. That in itself would, of course, be pretty forking incredible… Oh, she’s definitely going to kill me now. Hee! But the point is, she’ll need the fork to do so.

On the one hand, it's been an unrelentingly stupid year on my part. Still, it's been amazingly awesome. As a final point, I moved a whole ten miles south to go to school and wound up getting all sorts of Southernisms mixed into my speech. It makes as much sense as anything else, I suppose. I blame Firefly, maybe. But then, I haven't included any Chinese profanity in my speech patterns yet. You [frog-humping son of a bitch].

Ah, heck. Song for a moment: Bob Dylan - "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go"

Another poem, another long, crazy day, and another stroke of incoherence.

Actually, two days, containing two dinners, one of which stretched out to a breakfast and a lunch. Oh, fencing parties. It was the farewell dinner to all the fencing team seniors on Friday, which was followed by a party, which was followed by change of venue and a game of trivial pursuit, which was followed by an attempt to see dawn at the point (but it was a bit too foggy), which was followed by watching The Princess Bride and most of those remaining falling asleep, which was followed by breakfast at Bartlett, which was followed by watching the first six episodes of Coupling (British version, quite hilarious), which was followed by lunch at Pierce.

So, like most fencing parties, this one had a theme, which was the Titanic (yes, lovely for a finale, isn’t it?), and people were dressed appropriately as upper-class passengers or Irish immigrants. I myself borrowed a pair of suspenders and looked as ragged as possible.

And then, after sleeping for all of two hours or so Saturday, we had the Shady Dealer editorial dinner, which was not particularly impressive attendance-wise, but still fun. We went to the Smoke Daddy again, and it was once again excellent. The band was billed as electric bluegrass, and was excellent; sort of Grateful Dead-ish, with a very impressive guitarist.

And, as mentioned, I’ve put up another poem/song, titled "No Particular Night or Morning." Enjoy. or Despise, if you prefer.

Just one more week to get through: two papers, two finals, and a party or so. I can’t wait to be done. Much as I’m going to miss people, and much as this year has been great, I’d really like to be able to relax for a while, not to mention catch up with some crazy Chicagoans – alright, mostly suburbanites, but I won’t hold that against them.

Fucking implausible, man, fucking implausible…

Anyway, woot! Issue #2 of the Shady Dealer is out, and awesome, and available at http://shadydealer.rh.uchicago.edu . It’s truly a work of genius. And I only had to print, collate, and staple the first 300 copies myself. But we seem to have found a way to get free printing, though it is of… debatable… legitimacy. Wheee!

And in the process of delivering some of our copies, I got into a game of Mao. Mao is an incredible game, the rules of which I cannot possibly reveal. Especially not Darwin Fish. Except to say that Darwin Fish is meta-Mao.

Speaking of fish, Zach and I recently delivered a headless rubber fish to a member of a competing publication, with whom we have been having a bit of a spat. Some of our overzealous writers started putting the Dealer in the Chicago Weekly, and feathers were ruffled, but it seems mostly worked out now.

Oh, what a year. Now that I have a brief period without work, there is a distinct temptation to become retrospective. It’s been an amazing year. In the broad sense, I have no regrets. Fucking implausible year, though. Not actually bad overall, but frustrating at times, in a way that combines frustrating with absolutely incredibly fantastic. Yeah. So my themes are “fucking implausible” and “frustratingly fantastic.” But that’s the way it goes. But emphasis on fantastic: Shady Dealer, ScavHunt, Fencing team, dozens of crazy incidents which I’ve related here, and so forth. And some incredible friends. I’m just not sure I could explain how it all happened this way. It just doesn't make sense. Then again, I usually don't either, on a matter of principle.

Also, further update: The Shins are pretty damn good.

Christ. “New Slang” by The Shins is the most musically beautiful thing I’ve heard in a long while. And certainly no failure lyrically, though somewhat surreal.

Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall,
Never should have called
But my head's to the wall and I'm lonely.

And if you'd 'a took to me like
A gull takes to the wind.
Well, I'd 'a jumped from my tree
And I'd a danced like the king of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.
…
I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find.
Without a trust or flaming fields am I too dumb to refine?


It’s really just amazing. Wow.

Nothing else tonight. Happenings have been happening, but I’ll get back to that.

So I got back from camping yesterday. Wow. That was awesome. Two great days in the wilderness bracketed by modest road trips of significant awesomeness. This looks to become an annual trip, although we might should procure more car space next time.

Note that “might should” there. Camping makes me talk more Southern, it seems.

Anyway, Western Michigan was never so beautiful until this weekend. Bringing people up to see it for the first time (and not having been there much recently) really helped me recognize how great it is up there. Sunset on the Lake, seen from the dunes, was gorgeous, and we saw it twice, as well as getting in a fair amount of dune hiking in too, as well as the occasional dune ambush, dune tackling, and dune jumping-off-and-running-down-the-side. It was fun; I only bounced once, and Megan found my glasses without much trouble (I could not, as I was blind).

Megan was particularly amazing, as we would all have starved to death without her, and especially her suicidal disregard of fire. She did, however, escape with all her fingers mostly intact, and only actually set herself on fire once. And as further commendation to her bravery, she was willing to brave the screeching pig-dogs of the night (No really, we have no idea what it was, but it sounded like a cross between a dog and a dying pig, I swear, except imagine creepier than that). However, her insistence on carrying her shoes whilst walking straight into pointy dune grass bordered on foolhardy.

Not that I mean disparage the suicidal tendencies of our less experienced campers, of course. Amanda displayed a real enthusiasm for hypothermia, being the only one to swim in Lake Ergang completely of her own free will, although she did get two more to join here by various methods. I was gradually persuaded and dragged; Megan was tackled. It really wasn’t that cold once you got used to it. And by “used to it” I mean “completely numb.”

And I myself, as the would-be fireworks expert of the group, gave a brief seminar on “Things to Do with Bottle Rockets.” And no one was killed, even. And we produced some gigantic fabulous effects. And roman candles with questionable quality control.

And there was Mao, and fires, and a fish (caught by Zach). And we all made it back in one piece, by way of a borrowed Corolla and a 73-song camping playlist compiled by myself. And despite it being the wrong month on both counts, three more people are fans of the Decemberists. And rightly so:

“July, July, July! Never seemed so strange…”

-Pants full of sand, head full of crazy.
No really, there’s still sand in my goddamn pockets.

Hee! Going camping! Off to Michigan with Zach, Megan, and Amanda. Back Monday.

Also, the first issue of the Chicago Shady Dealer is mad and distributed. The first issue can be found here: http://shadydealer.rh.uchicago.edu . It’s been very well received so far, with the exception of the people who could make us a registered student organization. Presently, we’ve declared ourselves a Renegade Student Organization and decided to press on with other means of getting funding (on account of our first issue being printed on a borrowed and slightly obsolete Korean laser printer).

Wheeeeeeee!

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a staff. The first general meeting of The Chicago Shady Dealer occurred today at 7:30 PM. There were at least 20 people. We have a staff, and an extremely enthusiastic staff, at that. The general mood among the editors is ecstasy mixed with a shocked disbelief that we are actually getting away with this. We’re founding a publication. Much of the credit for this goes to Zach, who doggedly went about establishing the organizational groundwork for all this, and is rightly our Editor-in-Chief. The first issue of The Chicago Shady Dealer comes out the week after next, and as layout editor, I shall rapidly be figuring out what I can do with Microsoft Word and Publisher, as well as writing an article in honor of our faculty sponsor, “Foolish Professor Stakes Reputation on Upstart Publication, Doomed to Disappointment.”

Sweet Zombie Jesus, we’re founding a publication. When we get this printed, we are having a hell of a party.

And before that, there was a baseball game. Orioles 6, Sox 2, with the Sox carrying on the grand tradition of the home team losing whenever I attend a game, not that this was particularly bothersome for me as a Cubs fan. Zach became a Sox fan just to spite me, which is very much a Sox fan thing to do, I must say. Anyway, a good time was had by all, and it didn’t even rain on us.

My other project this weekend has been to introduce people to the miracle that is Firefly. Both Zach and Megan are now thoroughly hooked, having been shown about half a season, and several other folks have been introduced to the first few episodes. I love space westerns. And the writing is spectacular. And the characters are just insanely great. The badassossity of Mal, The crazy mercenary-ness of Jayne (and the hat! and Vera!), and especially Wash, who has to be seen to be explained.

“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”
“The legs, definitely the legs… Have you ever been with a warrior woman?”

So, anyway, Firefly is a thing of raw joy, which I can quote at length if need be. And we’re founding a publication, which is going to be amazing, because people are actually going to write things for us, and these things are already awesome.

“Facebook Founder Discovered to Have no Friends, Face”

Congrats on the radio gig, Alex.

And so, in what should not be construed as a blatant attempt to steal Alex’s thunder, I think I should report on the progress of a project here at U of C. For some time now, Zach, myself, and several other folk have been trying to start up The Chicago Shady Dealer. Basically, it’s going to be a U-of-C-centered version of The Onion. We’ve already written bylaws and such, come up with articles, and, against all plausibility, developed an organization. And today we got a faculty sponsor: Ted Cohen, Philosophy professor and the foremost American expert on jokes. I’m not kidding. Read his resume:

http://philosophy.uchicago.edu/data/cv/CohenCV.pdf

His primary work is “Jokes”, which has been translated into several languages, including Finnish and Korean. Within 15 minutes of agreeing to be our sponsor, he sent us a rough draft of an article. We nearly plotzed. My exact words.

It’s going to be one hell of a year. Here are the headlines for a series I have planned:

Leftist Revolutionaries Rise Up, Staff Table
Leftist Revolutionaries Cut Losses, Abandon Table
Leftist Revolutionaries Sell Out, Join Graduate School of Business

Although, in more equivocal news, my bid to enter politics has failed, and I shall not be the fencing team’s webmaster. Ah well. My opponent was far more motivated. And strangely, it was the most hotly debated of the fencing club positions, judging by the time the voting went on.

And finally, let me just add that understanding that all of one’s instincts appear to be horribly wrong provides no help whatsoever, because once you start instinctively distrusting your instincts… well, it gets complicated.

So…hopefully this post will save us all from Pat’s oxymoronic ramblings. I have recently been hired as the Jazz Format Manager at Grinnell’s very own KDIC Radio 88.5fm. Other than getting paid 200 big-ones per semester, I am also responsible for contacting various record labels and getting them to send me more jazz and/or blues music so we can play it on the air. I then decide which of this music to play, and then keep track of the general jazz/blues catalog. If you haven’t already figured out, this is quite awesome. I am actually getting paid to be a part of the wonderful world of radio. It’s a particularly good bit of news considering the success/failure of my film festival submission at Grinnell. (I’m still trying to grasp the awesomeness of my award.) Anyway, since I have been granted the power to control jazz within a 20-mile radius of Grinnell, I thought I’d post about another jazz album. (This, hopefully, will counteract the postings of my colleague). So, without further ado:



Underground--Thelonious Monk
In my review of Porgy and Bess, I mentioned Thelonious Monk and his brilliance. I now intend to follow up on that statement. But first, a little history. One fascinating thing about Monk is that he wrote the majority of his songs before his thirties and then proceeded to re-record them with different arrangements, first primarily on Riverside Records and then on Columbia (which some consider to be his “sell-out” period). All the albums that I actually own are from Columbia, so I can’t make a judgment either way; all I can say is that they’re damn good. It’s also important to note Monk’s unique style on the keys. Some may call Monk a musical humorist. He would play a note that sounds clearly wrong, but the next time through the entire band would play the note. This gave his compositions a magnificently original sound. Unfortunately, it was also the reason why some failed to take his music seriously. Still, that didn't stop him from helping to create the style of jazz that we know as BeBop.

Underground was released in 1968, toward the end of Monk’s recording career. However, some jazzophiles consider this somewhat of a comeback album for Thelonious. As mentioned above, Monk was into re-recording the same compositions over and over. Underground marked the release of three original tracks: “Ugly Beauty” (the only Monk composition to be written in walz-time), “Green Chimneys” and “Boo-Boo’s Birthday.” All three of these tracks are certainly winners, but the success of Underground goes even further. It actually won a Grammy for best cover art. (Which is why I made sure to post a picture. Is it not awesome?)

The album kicks off with an older composition—“Thelonious.” This track swings along with the quartet. Over two decades old, this was one of the first tracks Monk recorded for the Blue Note label. Excellent piano-work by Monk and quality drumming by Ben Riley help the album to get off on the right foot. “Ugly Beauty” slows down the pace a bit, and Charlie Rouse steals the song with a smooth tenor sax. The next track, “Raise Four” is certain to jolt you awake if you’d been dozing. Monk throws down a piano theme so angular, it will make your neck hurt. Yet, it has an almost hypnotic quality. “Boo Boo’s Birthday” is a more standard track featuring another quality performance by Rouse and another great theme from Monk. “Easy Street” sounds just like its title, a laid back jazz standard featuring Monk exploring the ivory while Riley and Larry Gales set a walking pace for him to dance around. Roles switch a bit mid track as Gales whips out a bow and solos it up. The epic “Green Chimneys” follows thereafter with a playful tone that makes all too much sense when one learns that the composition is named for the school that Monk’s daughter attended. The quartet works well together here and creates a very full sound (Riley also has a truly righteous drum solo). Things wrap up with an older Monk composition—“In Walked Bud.” This is the real surprise of the album as Jon Hendricks stops by to lend his vocals. This track is just so swinging that I can’t help but call it one of my all-time favorites from Monk.

So there you have it. If you bothered to read all that, you now know what I have to say about Thelonious Monk’s Underground. If you liked what you read, go ahead and pick it up. But you don’t have to start here; in fact, you can rarely go wrong with Monk.

And because I want to leave you with something humorous and liberal:
When Bill Clinton was first running for the presidency, he went on countless shows and gave countless interviews. Clinton was a pretty hip guy. In fact, he even did an interview for MTV. During this interview, Clinton was asked what he dreamt of doing. He replied that he had always wanted to play sax with Thelonious Monk. To which the interviewer replied, “And who was the loneliest monk?”
I want my MTV.

Cheers.

I don’t think I’ve ever been called “good with emotions” before. More proof that I am at my best when I have absolutely no clue what I am doing. Ah well.

So, on the upside, I think it can be safely said that I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing.

And I’ve got this damnable streak of optimism that I keep thinking is going to get me killed sooner or later. Really, some days that’s all there is to it. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the weather and the fact that I didn’t wear shoes all day (well, only to Bartlett, but that’s because it’s required). Maybe it’s because we won ScavHunt and the Max P scav team is such an awesome group to hang out with, which I did at dinner after another valiant effort to clean up our former headquarters and get housing to give back our deposit. Also, for the sake of future ScavHunts, I shall be storing a wall-hung toilet over the summer. It’s funny how these things happen.

So back to the lack of shoes…

Because the weather finally seems up to it, and because I’ve been wanting to all year, and because I am at heart a dirty hippy, I have declared this week to be no-shoes week. Also, there shall not be socks, which will also save on laundry. Initial results suggest I will have to wash my feet regularly to avoid becoming an actual dirty hippy. But it’s perfectly feasible to go unshod on the quad, as it were, although it would be more fun if the grass weren’t so dead at the moment.

Maybe at some point we can examine the existential dilemma between my inherent optimistic streak and the number of things I suspect will kill me…

Sometimes things are weird. Sometimes they get weirder. Sometimes things get mind-blowingly weirder. Occasionally, things don’t actually get weirder per se, but they get weird off in perpendicular new ways which, while they don’t particularly affect the situation, make the whole structure that much more impressive. I made a flowchart. It’s kind of scary…

But that doesn’t matter, because we won ScavHunt. For lo, we are Team Fluffy, Destroyer of Worlds. So, technically, we tied with Snell-Hitchcock for 1st, but that’s not important. We won, damn it, and produced some of the most brilliant, inspired lunacy I have ever witnessed:

-The penis is evil. Walt Whitman is Zardoz.
-A nativity scene for the golden calf on the roof of the business school.
-President Randel, randaling for you.
-A hat which holds two can of your beverage, an entire bag of tortilla chips, and dip.
-A guitar-sword. And a man with a guitar-sword, jumping off a building while screaming “ROCK AND ROLL!” There was also a fog machine and a strobe light. Dave Valley is Guitar Wolf.
-200 water balloons used in 30 seconds.
-A 2004 electoral foosball table.
-The super bowl shuffle, now with more cowbell.
-A man in drag with a mullet.
-A sit’n’spin with a pole dancer.
-A working calliope, made from an old TV, eight recorders, and a hell of a lot of tubing.
-Pennies with our logo on them
-Archie Meets the Punisher
-Some really moving stationery
-A potato cannon destroying itself
-A trebuchet
-www.theassbook.net
-Did I mention that the guitar-sword was fucking awesome? Because it was beautiful. It was a fucking guitar-katana, actually. Sliced clean through a UFO.

Woot. Ah well, back to the ordinary humdrum insanity of my normal life.

Sweet.

Some people are witty.

And so, I have a place to live next year, staying here in Woodward with Zach (God help me), except next year we’ve got Southern exposure and a better view. Zach vows to turn the room into a “bastion of manliness.” I am only slightly perturbed by this.

In other news, I should not be allowed to make impulse purchases. While I was buying laundry detergent at Walgreen’s, I also wound up purchasing a rather potent water gun, which calls itself a “power blaster.” It works quite well, although I don’t even know if we’ll have a second round of Assassins for me to use it, but if we do, it will be rechristened “Big Genghis.”

So, Scavhunt begins in approximately 24 hours. I am preparing to build crazy shit, do crazy shit, delegate crazy shit to crazy people, and not sleep for nearly 96 hours straight – And of course, trying not to do anything hideously stupid while hideously sleep-deprived (including, but certainly not limited to, placing my hand in the path of an electric drill).

Hopefully, no one will be killed.

And… damn, it’s been a while, so I’ve got an impressive pile of happenings. So on Saturday, we had the President Randel Open (a fancing tournament). This time, I didn’t come in last, although I still have yet to beat any male epeeists. Megan vows to kick my ass in retribution.

Then there was fencing team dinner, followed by poker hijinx back here with Amanda, Rob, and Chris, as well as a certain Mr. Smirnoff. All three of them had to be introduced to the glory of Futurama, which was done with all due haste. Next project: spread the gospel of Firefly, which I brought back from home today. I maintain that it is like unto Christ come to earth in episodic sci-fi form. It’s that good.

Also, Moulin Rouge is a very strange and perhaps slightly melodramatic movie, but also, well, spectacular. It has rather a lot of impact when one is in the mood for it. I watched it with Megan on Sunday. Also, I spent about half of Sunday eating two consecutive brunches, once with Megan, once with the aftereffects of a fencing meeting. And then there were bylaws. I’m going to need a new entry to describe what the bylaws were for, so…

Something happened Friday… ah yes. I saw Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy downtown on a house trip. I fully recommend it; it’s a pretty good adaptation, not nearly as funny as the books, but with an excellent song and dance number featuring dolphins. Casting had its flaws, but Alan Rickman makes a magnificent Marvin (the Paranoid Android). “I’d like you all to know I’m feeling very depressed.” Also, if you have the misfortune of not having read the original books, you should do so, because they are works of transcendent genius.

And then I went home Monday, returning today with Firefly, sleeping bags, a tent, pants, and an electric drill (see foreshadowing above). Guess which two items above are meant for the house camping trip.

And just when I thought things couldn’t make any less sense… well, no actually, it still doesn’t all particularly make sense, but I feel better about it. Ah well. As Karl Marx once said, “Synthesis is a bitch.” His exact words...