[It's the anniversary of Nancy Kerrigan's knee? What a white trash story that was]
In lieu of the new year posting that I usually do, here's a sort of standard operating procedure thus far in 2006:
January 1: Starting at noon I joined my old roommates (a.k.a. the boys - I know, how creative is that?) at our friend Jake's with some other lovable regulars for an annual movie watching party. Last year we watched all 3 Lord of the Rings extended editions in a row, and anyone who knows me knows that that was a little like touching some kind of holy spirit for me. This year it was all 6 episodes of Star Wars, starting with the prequels. We MST3Ked the shit out of the first three, but when it got to the old ones all my dorky* friends knew too goddamned much about the characters to make too much fun. They were actually saying how glad they were that they now knew more about Bubba Fat's backstory, because it makes the old Star Wars more enjoyable. If you know what that means, then get outta my blog. Either that, or I've got a bunch of people for you to meet.
*Nevermind that I used an acronym for Mystery Science Theater. NEVERMIND!
January 2: I sliced the shit out of some meat at Jimmy John's, and then I went home. There I continued to unpack. And by "unpack" I mean I "trashed my room", which brings me to another point: I hate it when I get things for Christmas that I can't see. I expect some kind of drastic transformation in my room or daily activities every year due to the kindness of Santa and friends (Mom, Dad, you know the drill). This year wasn't like that, so now I just have a huge mess of unwrapped things and I don't know why or where the contents of each package are now hidden.
January 3: Chronicle. Back to business, mofuckie. Includes surfing the Internet, organizing cabinets, cleaning my desk, and on. When I go home I revel in the idea that it's a new year, and I have a chance to relax, to get my shit together. I watch movies with my roommate and only have a couple of beers. I'm on the right track!
January 4: It starts out all business, of course, but then ye olde Jimmy John's steps in. Ah, yes. Sandwiches almost always give way to the demon rum, and the demon rum, of course leads to more ale and whiskey. While a night of existential talk and shots of whiskey paired with cheap beer may initially sound like the right kind of party, it was more a little more farcical. Aside from already being totally annihilated, our venue of choice was the Twisted Spoke, which is a funny place to be talking about Nietzsche but more importantly - why the f were we talking about mental health and the whole personal wellness scene at a bar? It's a whole thing. The night ended in me saying to a friend, "I disagree" and then proceeding to repeat everything she just said. She and I blinked at each other for a few moments before she finally admitted, "I'm sorry, I might just be drunk, but I don't know what we're disagreeing about." I said I was sorry and went to bed. And of course that's a nice way of saying I collapsed, fully dressed, on the top of my covers with my contacts and earrings still in. They are mudflap girls. Not the contacts. I digress.
January 5: More Chronicle, but this time I got to go to City Hall (note the extreme nerdiness of "I gotto go") for my advisor to show me how to look up property records to get history for a story. While I know that not everyone shares my interest in city government, it would have been at least mildly entertaining for anyone with an ironic or oddball sense of humor like mine. For example, the very first thing anyone will notice about the basement of the county side of City Hall in Chicago is the pungent smell of vinegar. Then you'll notice the signs for microfiche. Ha! Then there's the card catalogue that didn't even condescend to use the Dewey decimal system and instead relies on crusty old women who can't hear you and apathetic middle aged men to guide you to whatever random property records you're looking for. Further down the hall is the "modern" version of this, where good old Eugene Moore organized the records on ancient computers. Yessssss. I did, however, get a lot of interesting information and a new favorite pastime (p.s. that website fucking rules). Then I went home and went to bed from 5 until 9, and then again at 2 a.m. By the way, last night I finally unpacked my new down comforter and flannel bedsheets, so I know have that drastic physical change I was looking for.
Today: Despite my lackluster efforts at trying to be a better person, I have ended up with a one day on-one day off record of drinking. I have, of course, stuck to my second round of vegetarianism, which is either a lot easier or a lot harder than I thought it would be. This morning, Bush came to the Hilton. This afternoon I will work out on an elliptical machine. This evening I will sit. Tonight we ride.
On a side note, for everyone who thinks that the war is over just because Bush said it once, here is what he said to the Chicago Economic Club today: "By the way, we're going to win the war." Nice.
Oh yeah, and p.s. anyone interested in a good time this Saturday night, come to our monthly zine reading at Mojo's cafe. Here's the info:
Saturday, January 7th at Mojoe's Hothouse (Cafe 2849 W. Belmont Ave) 7:00pm FREE!
C T Ballentine (After Crossword Special)
Emerson Dameron (Wherewithal)
Mitchell Szczepanczyk (Chicago Media Action)
Jeff Disler (Time All At Once)
Alicia Dorr (Random Life In Progress)
Hosted By Grant Schreiber (Judas Goat Quarterly)
["Did you just whinny? I thought someone had just fed you a tasty carrot." -Mick D]