I got my voter verification card in the mail today.

Rock.

I mean um, rock the vote. Yeah. That's it.

All this means is that I can go three blocks away instead of an hour away to vote in November. Let's face it, I wouldn't have gone all the way to Glen Ellyn to vote.

Now I finally know what ward I'm in, too.

So if you haven't registered already and want to, perhaps you should go here or something. It's your call. You know. Do your thing.

Oh, if you do register by clicking my link, email me and let me know. I just want to know how many people registered because of me. Just out of curiosity.

Listening to: lots of people. (Sometimes I get so lazy I just don't put my headphones on.)
In my sink: I'm still out of dishwasher detergent, so there's a lot more dishes in there. It's kind of getting out of control.

I just realized I should pop on here and let all six of you know that I'm now a writer on Chicago Metroblogging. So, I now have an audience of literally tens. Really. Tens of people.

I'm on my way to influencing major social trends here.

Listening to: the Blue Angels.
In my sink: I lost count of all the dishes and cups and bowls and silverware and probably bugs in there. I'm out of dishwasher detergent, and too poor to buy more. So it's not laziness this time.

An open letter to the guy in the blue striped shirt standing behind me at the Elbo Room last night:

Dear Guy,

I appreciate your enthusiasm for my photography, however drunken and alcohol-inspired it may be.

There are, however, a few things I'd like to say:

It generally doesn't improve the picture to have someone grab me on the shoulder while I'm taking it.

I can see the band very well from where I'm standing. You don't need to point out all the good shots for me.

I take as many as one hundred pictures at any concert. Therefore, I may wait with my camera poised and ready for several minutes to get a shot that is out of the ordinary. That said, shouting "Dude, go ahead, take the picture!" is pointless. I AM.

Bonehead.

This is my hobby. I have been doing this for a year now. Whereas I do not consider myself an expert or a great photographer in any way, I have developed my own style and feel I know how to do what I want to do. LET ME DO MY THING, OKAY? Just stand back, enjoy the show, let me take my damn pictures, and LEAVE ME ALONE.

I understand you were drunk, but you're still a dumbass.

Ever so sincerely,

Tom

On a related note, maybe I should start drinking again.

Listening to: trim, and this.
In my sink: nuttin'.

What is the deal with the phrase "get your [hobby/pasttime/sport/favorite activity] on?" I must hear or read this now-cliched phrase at least twice a day now. Gapers' Block seems to be a common abuser, with the phrase appearing in headlines at least twice in the past week and no less than seven times since August 12, 2003, by my inaccurate estimation. (Gapers' Block can't be blamed for the August 12 headline, since it was in reference to an actual website called 'Get Your War On,' but still, there have been six after that.)

Of course little cultural idioms have been around since humankind began to speak ("Stop saying 'ug!' I'm so sick of 'ug!' Don't you have anything else to say?") and will continue to prove our lack of originality and herd mentality until our race dies out, but somehow that doesn't invalidate my annoyance every time I hear the television telling me to "get my baseball on tomorrow afternoon on WGN" or whatever. Maybe I should just chill out. I'm sorry, I meant "get my chill on."

Still, the first time I can remember hearing this instant lingual icon was in the song "Get Ur Freak On" a few years back. I'm assuming, perhaps incorrectly, I don't know, that this is where it came from, and that scares me. Sorry, it "gets my fear on." I mean, come on, people, couldn't we find a phrase that will inevitably and unavoidably permeate our thought processes and collective consciousness from something a little less... idiotic? Do we really have to lower our collective intelligence quotient by raising Missy Elliot to a level above pop icon into, I don't know, something that would eventually be accepted by Webster's? I mean, everytime I see or hear those words, I almost expect some greasy lounge lizard wearing way too much cologne and gold jewelry to pop out of a corner making obscene and wildly indecent hip thrusts.

So what I want to know is, will this phrase replace other phrases? When mobsters go into hiding to avoid being killed or jailed, will they be "getting their lamb on" instead of "going on the lamb?" Instead of "putting the kettle on," are the British going to "get their kettle on," now? Are we "getting our web on" when we go on the internet?

Okay, I'll stop. But maybe you see my point. I mean, how far is this going to go? If we take it any further it could become as ubiquitous as punctuation. Before you know it, common English usage will dictate that we put "get your ... on" around everything we say. Won't that be fun. And inefficient. And pointless.

So if you'll excuse me, I have to go get my food on now.

Listening to: the beatles and troubled hubble. NOT missy elliot.
In my sink: nuttin'.

A few days ago, Comcast called me. I thought, what could be wrong? Did I not pay my cable bill? Are they calling to apologize for recent internet outages? But it was nothing so... relevant. They wanted to tell me about some new deals they had for me.

It took me a second or two to realize what was going on. Since last October I've enjoyed peace and quiet. I've been able to watch television uninterrupted. I could download music and porn work on my computer uninterrupted. I've actually been able to get stuff done. Why? Ever since the Do Not Call list started being enforced in October 2003, I haven't had one telemarketing call, until now.

So I was a little shocked, as you can imagine, but quickly regained my composure, remembered the conversations I haven't had to use in ten months, and dropped my polite phone voice. I stopped the lady in the middle of her sales pitch and informed her that Comcast was about to lose a customer. I told her I already pay Comcast about $90 a month and am satisfied with their services. HOWEVER, if the service is going to include unwanted sales calls from now on, then I don't think I want those services any more. Really, I rarely watch television any more, and I can get internet access for free at a couple local coffee shops.

The lady was extremely apologetic, of course, and said she'd remove my name from their call list immediately. Whatever, right? I figured that to be one of the many empty promises I get from corporations almost daily, and hung up the phone fully expecting more calls from Comcast and others in the future. Obviously, My Number Is Out There. Again. Do Not Call list be damned.

Then I got this letter in the mail today:



Once again I'm in shock. Has a business been honest and forthright with me? And did it actually do so immediately, without delay? (Hardly five days passed since the call before this letter arrived.) Is it possible?

Could the U.S. government have actually scared these businesses into compliance? Could it actually have exerted power over Big Business? Could it possibly have succeeded at something?

What universe am I in? And when did I arrive in this one? And what happened to the old one? I feel oddly disoriented.

Listening to: New Black
In my sink: Another friggin spaghetti sauce bottle