Daily Archives: April 7, 2003

got home today and it was sunny thanks to daylight savings time

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so i walked to the undercover xbi post office. it’s disguised as a massage parlor. you need an appointment.

hadnt been there in a while and lo, two nice gifts. one was a nice postcard from a girl who signed her name and lipstick kissed it.

the other was a package with a local free weekly, one polaroid, a printed picture, an xray of several teeth, and a copy of a birth certificate. and a very sweet letter with penmanship that obviously took a lot of time to master.

im not worried about anthrax any more. homeland security has our backs.

talked on the phone with several people. chatted with several more. for some reason im opening up more. how long will this last? hours, if we’re lucky.

im watching american in paris. not for the singing or dancing. for oscar levant.

i was reading his book not too long ago, memoirs of an amnesiac. loved it. that guy was so funny. terribly smart. brilliant pianist. gershwin’s drinking buddy. always had hot chicks even though he was never confused for handsome.

do you know im getting carpal again?

do you know i dont give a fuck.

talked to a guy about bukowski today who said that he didnt like him because he sounded too much like hemingway.

never heard that objection before, but how do you argue around it?

i was reading crime and punishment on the bus today. made it to page five and realized that everything they taught me at santa barbara was right. the russians knew it all. they have all the secrets. they were on to something.

remember when the bicyclist from breaking away started talking italian to his momma and poppa. i suck at languages, so i will settle for wanting to write like the russians.

theyre going to be tougher to steal from than hem and buk and royko and ee and jd and sukenick.

its not as easy to see their brush strokes, to see their source code, to steal their signs, to esp their most innermost thoughts.

ive seen the prettiest girl at the xbi now four days in a row and every time all i can do is smile like a retard.

you have no idea how terrible my hair is growing in, or not growing in, depending on where youre looking.

went to dennys and they gave me the senior citizens menu.

cubs got snowed out of their home opener today at wrigley.

just another sign that hell is freezing over and the cubs are going all the way.

sorority girl in handcuffs + watch alecia turn legal + ham fisted theatrics

it’s a beautiful day in paradise today.

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why arent you here?

the girls are rollerblading in pairs with their headphones on wearing tight shorts and busblog tshirts. the birds are singing, and all the children have ditched school for spring is here.

rebirth. rejoice. renewal.

and along those lines, jerry krause (the fat man on the right) has resigned from the Chicago Bulls.

ding, dong, the witch is dead.

now i have no problem with fat men in particular. the first tony pierce was a fat man and the way i keep eating kfc i will be one soon myself.

this particular fat man got lucky when he signed a kid named jordan. lucky, i say, because there were several other teams that could have picked him, but didnt.

krause loves pictures like the ones im presenting on the blog today because it makes it seem like he had something to do with the six trophies that glisten behind him. but of course he had very little to do with any of them.

and that could be one reason that that kid named jordan quit the bulls twice.

rarely does one get the chance to draft a mj and then pull off a trade so as to get a scottie pippen. krause got those chances and instead of renting a crane to help him to his knees so he could give thanks to the Lord, he did just the opposite and took credit and tried to take credit away from proven winners like Phil Jackson and Tex Winter.

but this is the age of information, and history wont be friendly to krause, who did nothing with the Bulls once the champions had moved on. he had Elton Brand and traded him away for nothing. he had lots of other good young talent and traded them away for Jalen Rose. he had lots of deep dish pizza, and ate it.

and now the doctors say that at 64 that he will die soon.

i am playing the littlest violin with my thumb and index finger.

now i am flipping the bird.

and now i am kissing strangers.

the fat man who alienated the finest basketball player in basketball, the finest accomplice in basketball, and one of the most-winningest coaches, is a meatball sandwich away from doom. pass the butter, bulls fans, our dreams have come true.

and the children of Chicago have ditched school to play in the snow. the snow that came from Heaven originally as tears of joy from the angels and saints of above who can once again sport their Bulls gear and not feel weird about it, since most of the proceeds go to a fat man who never gave a rat’s ass — unless it was grilled medium well.

in a perfect world MJ would come back to the Bulls next year now that his old boss is gone, and he will do with his real team what he tried to do with the Wizards, which is make something out of nothing, the definition of art.

but this isnt a perfect world, this is america, and mj will probably do what all the good little souls are doing right now, laughing and smiling at the sloppy demise and pitiful end of a big mess who has left his skidmark on history.

and that smell coming from downtown is death stoked that he’s about to get some, supersized.

matt welch + ken layne

this weekend was crazy

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and it looks like this week will only get more crazy.

do you want your life crazy?

i dont. i want normalness. happy normalness.

i say that now, but when i had it it bored me.

i had a beautiful life, a pretty wife, no kids, good friends, great restaurants every where. i was making $50 an hour. she really wasnt my wife which made it even better. i had thousands of compact discs.

we had a two car garage and a washer and dryer and a dishwasher and 100s of channels on the television.

and at some point i grew bored of it all and at some point now i want it all back.

ah the yo yo of contentment. look how we can walk the dog.

i dont even know what i was searching for more of, precisely. it certainly wasnt fame money women power.

sadly, i think it was something spiritual.

i say sadly because i sure as hell havent found that. not that ive been looking all that deeply. but sometimes you get lucky.

ive gotten lucky in other ways, and maybe because i havent had massive shitty crap dumped on me, then maybe i have found a little of the spirtual goodness out there.

a few times during the many moons that you and i have spent together i have ascended to the tippy top of the highest highs and i believe that a majority of those were due to the generosity of a kiss from a fair maiden.

or was that from listening to kiss, fair warning, or iron maiden?

hard to remember, being 109 like i am.

snow at wrigley today made for a non-home opener for the cubbies today.

meanwhile here in paradise its in the 70s with clear skies. tonight expect scattered gummi bears and a slight chance of joy.

44. joh3n

45. steve

46. lago

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