this just came to me

so in star trek IV, you could call the space ship that comes and wants to talk to the humpback whales– you could call those guys “whaliens.”

that is all.

put on blast

He opened it at the back cover and turned it around for me to see. On the last fly-leaf was printed the word SCHEDULE, and the date September 12, 1906. and underneath:

Rise from bed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6.00 A.M. Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling . . . . . . 6.15-6.30 ” Study electricity, etc . . . . . . . . . . . . 7.15-8.15 ” Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8.30-4.30 P.M. Baseball and sports . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.30-5.00 ” Practice elocution, poise and how to attain it 5.00-6.00 ” Study needed inventions . . . . . . . . . . . 7.00-9.00 ”

GENERAL RESOLVES No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable] No more smokeing or chewing Bath every other day Read one improving book or magazine per week Save $5.00 {crossed out} $3.00 per week Be better to parents

i’m not looking for a new england

as i emerge from a dylan/roethlisberger-like posttraumatic self-re-imagination, i think it’s totally appropriate to record some back-to-basics style acoustic stuff, paying homage to my roots, to my cultural loci, to the air that we breathe. so, think through that and consider what, in terms of reverse-engineering, that would constitute for me and for this scrapbook of the sciences of the soul. HYDE PARK RESTAURANT REVIEWS. do not fight me on this. we are coming for you.

it’s OK with me

the dry cleaners next door got a new neon sign. it changed the natural light in here.

i wrote this

originally published june 27th 2005

Neon signs in chicago that feature drunk sea creatures
1. Pequod’s Pizza, western Lincoln Park
Content: Whale with panties on his head. is depicted elsewhere in same location engaged in 1980s teen-movie-styled acts of rascally adventure; specifically riding some kind of surfboard, still with the panties on his head, while sticking like a giant pimply Mad magazine style tongue out of his mouth to harass the female whale, who is missing her panties, which are on his head, and is also running away trying to cover up her whale cleavage. also these whales, at least in the second mural, look more like dragons or what a disturbed children would draw if you told them to draw a dog.

2. the bar over there on clark that has a drunk fish wearing a viking helmet on the neon sign (Simon’s). The drunk fish has one eye that blinks on and off (that i think is what establishes him as drunk, since he doesn’t have popping bubbles over his head or a stagger or whale panties on his head.

based on my informal observation of this weekend’s gay pride festivities on the north side of chicago, the following trends will have to be reckoned with:
1. there are way, way more gay people now
2. Allen Iverson is to a certain kind of lesbian what Morrissey is to norteno dudes. sort of. it’s like i’m saying, just i wasn’t ready for Iverson to become the new Judy Garland all of a sudden. Do people know about this.
3. Apparently the way most people watch parades is to get HAMMERED beforehand and then weave around during the parade leering at me and smoking cigarettes like there was money in it. this goes for all people who were actually like invested in the abstract concept of pride and the people who were just rooting for offense if you know what I mean. Is this a new thing, drunken parade watching? Parades I am prepared to finally dismiss, to throw into the compost heap of shit i do not see myself ever enjoying along with:

1. Amusement parks. We, the world, have cars that go faster safer and also are not beholden to the track layout. also, why would you want to be scared on purpose, and also pay $30 to preserve that right on a case-by-case basis. Three, why do you want a funnel cake to keep you company.
2. Fireworks. it’s just light and noise, we have electricity and recorded sound now. how is watching fireworks any less impressive than watching time lapse footage of plants growing? if you are amazed by combustion go turn your stove on and off.
3. the thing with flipping up your polo shirt collar. i have no specific hate for like the genre of dude who does this, but why do you need to be wearing two-three polo shirts to do it all the way. sub-category of my non-understanding: the thing where the street duders wear just white t-shirts but in size 12XL and then that’s what they wear. can we go back to when young urban toughs had some sartorial flair.

(there was a picture of a ferengi here)

that’s like pouring bacon grease on my brain

some moments from recent excursions:
:: Elliott Gould as Philip Marlowe. give it a chance
:: the minor works of Orson Welles, specifically F is for Fake. do not bother with “around the world” unless you want to watch orson welles have long conversations with retirees about their eating habits. also, orson welles: sweats a lot. documentaries with many lies in them: a good idea.
:: i am still working on getting a new hat. i want to get a straw hat but i don’t want to wind up looking like either perry farrell or tom kite and i cannot figure out what kind of straw hat would do that. unless it’s like a tom sawyer/scarecrow style hat, in which event i would look like tom sawyer. what does that rush song have to do with tom sawyer, by the way?
:: i don’t want to be the guy who urges his friends to read um, graphic novels, but um, fuxor. there’s no way to finish this sentence without exposing myself to critique. just read The Watchmen. alan moore’s shit is for real. god damn it. while i have my self-perjury equipment out…
:: i am starting to like the white sox. the indians being terrible has something to do with this but that does not absolve my sin, only explain its origins. disregard all of this. i fucking hate the white sox. they are nazi dogdirt scum.
:: under the volcano, malcolm lowry. not a good book to read if you have occassional problems with special treat portion size and frequency of use. actually maybe the best book to read if you have that.
:: invisible cities, italo calvino. his science is too tight. calvino built my camp but without telling me. i used to think weird fake folktales did not apply to my life but clearly i was wrong.
:: Katamari Damacy: ripping my life into a heap of shredded rags. BUT, i made a katamari so big (880 meters) on “Make the Moon” that i got “eternal” status where you get to play without a time limit. dah-da-da-da-duh-duh-dah ka-ta-ma-ri-da-ma-seeeeeeeeee (drums). there is a dent in the couch where i sit when i play this game. i mean, it’s also where i sit whenever i do anything in the house, but i feel like the dent is more japanese than it used to be.

also, i resolved to go back to school on saturday night while pretending to be a yuppie at a fancy restaurant. then i remembered that i would have to ask people for letters of recommendation and i freaked out about that because it would be mildly (at the worst) awkward. i feel like it would be better if i just wrote my own letters. and forged signatures and whatnot. i mean, i don’t even remember college, so i can’t imagine why any of my professors would remember it for me. i am going back to shuffling around papers and sending e-mails explaining why things haven’t happened yet. somebody let me know if i need to do anything.

counterfeits of ourselves

For nearly ten years I was thus borne along a road

this was going to be a travelogue of the lower bay area and/or a secret history of young adulthood in the 21st century but it turns out that the lower bay area is not a real place (narp) and i am neither a young adult nor sufficiently engaged with the 21st century to comment on it in any event. i went to a biology conference, and i overheard/was dragged into interactions typified by the following

:: man picks up book called “Rat” that has silhouettes of rats all over. turns to me, where i am serenely enjoying my 9th cup of coffee of the morning and asks, “is this book about rats?”

:: [points to price on back of book] is this the price?

:: [points to book] this is a book?

:: [points to a copy of a book] do you have a copy of that book?

i do not know or care how many of this communication breakdowns were brought on by language difficulty, xenon radiation, etc. all i care is that i lived through them

San Jose is not a romantic place. After my sojourn to SJ i went more or less immediately to Brooklyn for holiday relaxation. Brooklyn wasn’t terribly relaxing, not for lack of pleasant company. then i spent most of the waking hours on the actual alleged holiday in the newark airport watching people talk into increasingly large and complicated cellular phones. some of these devices appeared to have radar transmitters and or tiny hygenic robots inside them. i am increasingly unfit for exposure/irrigation to the outside world. part of current melancholia/general phobia has been brought on by reading mostly melancholic, sadeyed novels about failure and or alienation from loved ones. i am now going to read Under the Volcano, which will probably result in something mauve.

RIP: the 53rd street jewel osco outlet. i once bought a TV from you. i am presently occupied watching DVDs with that TV, while you have gone the way of the great american passenger pigeon.

i am going back to bed to contemplate various shortcomings. send me a postcard.