As you may have guessed, I'm not a big consumer. I try to avoid stores like the plague, especially in this commercial frenzy we like to call "the Christmas season." However, well, I've been wanting to read Wil Wheaton's books for some time now, and I happened to have this two-year old gift card in my wallet. I won't name the bookstore the card is from from, but let's just say it rhymes with "orders," as in "order more damn books!" Anyway, I decided yesterday, of all the weekends in the year, was the day to get those books.

Now, I could have used this card to buy these books online. I think.
However, their online database told me that the closest store had both books in stock, so how hard is it to just go over there and get them? Right? Then I'd have the books RIGHT THEN. Right?

Except they don't have one of the books. "Oh, you shouldn't use the online database. It's never correct," the info guy tells me in a scolding tone. Then what the CHRISTMAS BELLS is it there for? What the CHRISTMAS DUCK am I supposed to do with it? If I see a link that says "Check to see if this book is in stock" I'm damn well going to check to see if the book is in stock!

Well, it's not a total loss; the other book is in their inventory. Only, when the guy goes to look for it, it's not on the shelves. Apparently, their in-store database can't be trusted either. At this point, I'm starting to feel like I'm in that Monty Python Cheese Shop sketch, where John Cleese keeps listing cheeses and Michael Palin cheerily informs him they don't have it. "It's not much of a cheese shop, then, is it?" Really, Store-That-Rhymes-With-Orders, learn how to inventory your books better.

So I briefly entertain the idea of calling other stores in the area, but he tells me how long it might be before they even answer their phones. I realize I really don't want to drive all over Chicago just for a couple of damn books. He asks me what I want to do.

"I don't know; I think I'll just give up," was my answer.

This is the kicker. His reply may have made the trip worthwile.

He replies, "Oh don't give up. You've come this far. What Would Wil Wheaton Do?"

Um. Guy. They're just books. I think Wil Wheaton would have realized this and decided he could find them another day. Really, it's not like I idolize or worship the guy; I was just curious about what he wrote.

WWWWD indeed.

listening to: Rolling Stones "You Can't Always Get What You Want." Sometimes I think iTunes shuffle really isn't that random.
in my sink: Oh, it's full. I'm not even going to count.

Several years ago, as I was scraping the ice off my car windshield, I vowed to move somewhere tropical, making it my Last Winter Ever. Well, I'd accomplished that. However, years later, a series of unfortunate events and decisions brought me right back here in Chicago, where despite its awful weather I'm determined to stay. So I have to come to terms with my climate.

As we all know, winter arrived today. Ever since it showed up, it's been tracking mud and water through my apartment, banging on the windows, and leaving the toilet seat up. Suddenly a simple grocery trip was beset by iced-over windshields, freezing puddles seeping through my shoes, and several near accidents on account of almost no visibility. Even the snow is a soul-chilling wet disgusting slush, not the good snow. It's not fun, folks. It's dirty and grimy and stings your face. Often it's yellow. Parents, your kids really shouldn't be playing in it.

Today starts my hibernation. I'm locking the doors and not coming out until some time in April. I'm staying far away from any snow, wind and cold. Anyone who needs me will have to find me online. Maybe I'll even pay someone to walk Oreo and towel him off thoroughly before he comes back inside. I'll worry about the whole "going to work" thing later.

I'll still blog, of course, but I think my journal will be pretty boring. It'll probably sound something like this:

10:27pm: There was a fly on the wall. I killed it.

10:53pm: Oreo thought he heard something outside. He barked really loud. When I looked out the window to see what it was, I noticed it was snowing again.

I shut the shades.

I hate snow.

listening to: ted leo.
in my sink: a frying pan, a bowl, a glass, 4 cups, 2 knives, 2 spoons, a grease trap.

There's this crazy guy, who I believe is homeless, that hangs around my neighborhood. He generally harasses people by walking up to them and rambling incessantly. Once you make eye contact with him it's all over, because he won't stop talking no matter what you say or do, so the rule is to never make eye contact.

I've encountered him in Cafe Ballou, Bar Vertigo, the local laundromat, out on the street, and even in the alley next to my building. Usually I have my headphones on and pretend I can't hear him, yet he always has something memorable to say nonetheless.

Tonight's quote came as I was walking home from Darkroom and passed him by on the other side of the alley, after I was already ten or twenty feet past him: "You've got a lot of balls sneaking up on me like that."

listening to: the Daily Show.
in my sink: Nothing, cus I got free pizza.

I just got back from the Chic-a-go-go taping!

That was so much fun. I actually danced this time. Lauria and Sara, formerly of Vicki, were there, and Dan showed up for the second show, so you know, I had people to dance with. Of course, since I danced, I was actually in front of the cameras, so now the world will know that I have only one dance move and can't dance.

The Grackles and the Manhandlers rocked, as well as Epicycle and the Windy City Rollers. I really must see a Windy City Rollers show soon. They taped part of a third show with Lord of the Yum Yum, who was hilarious.

So if you're in Chicago in December, tune in to cable access channel 19 on the 6th, 13th, and 27th at 8:30 and you'll see a bunch of crazy people and me. Dancing.

On second thought, you might not want to.

If you can't wait or aren't in Chicago, I'll have my pictures up soon.

listening to: [adult swim]
in my sink: nothing.

RSS is fun. RSS is addictive. RSS is evil. For those who don't know, RSS/XML is a way to have new posts or material from other websites or blogs automatically downloaded to your computer. In theory, it will save you all that time checking all those sites yourself. In reality, it will consume your life.

I added a link to my comments rss feed to the bottom of each post. Enjoy, or something. I wish I could simply include the comments into this blog's regular rss feed, but Blogger doesn't offer that and I'm not skilled enough to do it myself. Yet. Maybe if I switched to MT someday or something. Until then, suffer through two separate feeds.

While I'm at it, I may as well throw my calendar feed at you. It's mostly a compilation of concerts and other Chicago events that I'm considering. The personal events are set private and on a separate feed, stalkers. Sorry.

In short, RSS is addictive evil fun that will consume your life. Have a few more.

listening to: The Ponys, Queen, the Flaming Lips, Lords of Acid, the Clash.
in my sink: Same as last time, I still haven't gone home and checked.

Ted Leo fans are tall.



I wish I could be a Ted Leo fan.

Ed. note: This photo was actually taken during A-set, who opened for Ted Leo & the Pharmacists at the Metro on 11/18.

I'm also glad I wasn't the lead singer of the Tossers that night. He's the one passed out on stage during Ted's set after drinking too many PBR's during his own set.



listening to: David Bowie.
in my sink: Dishes. What did you expect?

Said about the moshing at last night's Pixies show: "It's just one guy."
My reply: "Didn't he read his ticket?"

Early on, after the first wave of slamdancing started, the guy in front of me got a bloody nose. Everyone was all concerned, but after a couple minutes, he shrugged it off and ignored it in favor of the show. What a trooper. Really, I was all in admiration of him, his toughness and perseverance. Rock and roll, man! What's best is, he didn't get any blood on me. We have to know our priorities.

But he had to go further, didn't he? Not tough enough for all the blood on his shirt, he removed it. I didn't particularly care to see his sweaty back, but whatever. I tried my best just not to look, but he had other plans. Fully recovered now, he decided to rejoin the moshing, which of course involved jumping up, down, forward... and backward.

Into me.

With his sweaty, disgusting back.

Have you seen the movie "Along Came Polly," or even just the trailers for it? Do you remember the part when Ben Stiller gets a face full of some guy's beer belly gut while playing basketball? Yeah, it was kinda like that.

listening to: Pixies still. and Ted Leo.
in my sink: 3 cups, 2 spoons, a bowl, a plate and a coffeemug.

Last night I made myself some hot chocolate and Irished it up a little with Bailey's. I put it on the coffee table and went to pop some popcorn. By the time I returned to the room, Oreo had guzzled over half the drink.

He must have loved it. The cup was almost empty. There was hot chocolate everywhere. My dog, the alcoholic. I pictured other dogs gathered around the table barking, "chug! chug! chug!"

I don't think it'd be noticeable if he were drunk, since he's a hyper clutz anyway. Maybe it calmed him down; he slept it off on the couch the rest of the night while I watched Envy.

listening to: Newcleus (wikki wikki wikki wikki!).
in my sink: a plate, a cup.

I want a new blog. I want a blog where I can post all music related things. I'd just use this blog and write that here, but I think that would quickly drown out all the other interesting posts I write. And we know they're very important, so I won't do that.

No, I won't tell you how awesome New Black was last night. I won't show you the great pictures I took of them. I won't let you know how completely in love with Rachel (the keyboardist) I am. You'll never get to hear about how I jumped around and danced and lost myself in the moment, something that rarely happens anymore, either because I'm too busy taking pictures or because I've been to too many concerts. You'll just never know about this band, and that'll be a shame.

(Ed. note: This post has absolutely nothing to do with Huey Lewis' 1983 album "Sports." Just in case you thought it did.)

listening to: new black, duh.
in my sink: a plate.

I got this in my (local) mailbox a while ago:

The outages we have been having are from rain getting into the circuit here, Sprint is dragging thier behind on getting it fixed, everything is pretty dried out at the moment, but there is more rain in the way, and Sprint is still trying to get the problem fixed.

Rain, huh? Good to know. And my internet livelihood rests in the hands of Sprint? Dammit.

listening to: andromeda.
in my sink: 2 bowls, 3 cups, and 2 spoons.

It looks like shekleton.com is down indefinitely. So for the time being, it'll be hosted here and severely crippled. You only get the blog. No photos, no rss feed, no calendar, no wiki. (yeah, I had an experimental and not-yet-announced wiki.) Plus the comments are broken. Sorry.

I have no idea what happened to wizardsworks.org (where my site was hosted). It just... disappeared; can't log in, can't ping it, can't see it. Haven't heard from its administrator. Hopefully it's not permanent and I'll have my full site back again soon.

listening to: adult swim.
in my sink: a bowl, 2 cups, a spoon.

Dog hair is my new enemy. It's replaced the ants and roaches on which I waged war throughout my stay in Haiti. I suppose it could be worse; dog hair doesn't move and isn't as gross.

It just keeps coming back. I enlisted my new vacuum cleaner to help in the fight early on. More dog hair appears everywhere the following day. I gave Oreo a bath. I brushed him outside. He just grows more hair and promptly sheds it. Then he shivers at night. No, no, Oreo, hair is good for you. It keeps you warm. Keep it on.

Just this morning, I'm in my bathroom when I notice big clumps of dog hair stuck on the wall. On the wall. How did it get there? I have no idea. I launched a major paper-towel-and-chemical-warfare assault, and it's gone now.

listening to: Laurie Anderson, Spoon.
in my sink: Something Oreo is very interested in. I washed all the dishes and scrubbed the sink and surrounding counter, but he still thinks something yummy is in there.

Sarah Connor, beware.

I really hope they fix the current tendency of "firing off shotgun rounds at anything that moves" before actually using them. Also, aren't they worried about what happens when Skynet becomes self-aware?

"One can never be alone enough when one writes... there can never be enough silence around when one writes... even night is not night enough."
- Franz Kafka

"I give myself about three days before I give up."
- me, 11/1/04

I probably shouldn't have started such a big project as writing a novel right before such a devastating election. Maybe next year.

I will continue to read more, though, especially since there's nothing else to do during the break periods while substituting. In my search for what to read, I'm picking Wil Wheaton's books, since I've been pretty impressed with his candor and writing style in his blog. I really didn't expect it to be so good, and even avoided reading it for the longest time because it seemed so... Shatnerish? Then again, I was pretty wrong about him, too, wasn't I?

Now I just need to hit a bookstore. Or Amazon.

listening to: crystal method, coldplay, eon, flaming lips
in my sink: a plate, 2 cups, 2 bowls, 2 spoons. i want my 2 dollars.

I always thought edible CDs would be a great idea.

Just think, after you watch it, you could eat it.

listening to: drew carey.
in my sink: nothing.

Today was my first day as a substitute for CPS. They sent me to a school where 80% of the instruction is in Spanish.

What?

I'm not necessarily questioning their methods or languages of instruction, but I am questioning why CPS sent me there. So when I informed the assistant principal that I don't speak Spanish (well), she said, "Shame on you." She goes on to lecture her beliefs about how we should be more like Europe and be multi-lingual.

Shame on me? I'm fluent in two other languages besides my native language. Fluent. Neither of these languages is Spanish, however Spanish wouldn't have helped me one bit during the three years I spent in Haiti. It also won't help me buy sausages at the Polish deli on the corner or understand a mass in the Russian Orthodox Church down the block. The day Spanish becomes necessary for me to survive is the day I will re-learn it, much like I went out of my way to learn Creole in Haiti and Portuguese in Brazil. Until then, I'm sorry, but last I checked, speaking Spanish wasn't required by law in this country. Come to think of it, speaking English isn't required by law here either. That school definitely demonstrates that.

listening to: Death Cab for Cutie.
in my sink: 2 cups, 2 spoons, 1 bowl.

Why, America, why?

listening to: concessions.
in my sink: a rotini noodle.

I am outraged.

I came to the voting booth fully prepared. My camera was in my pocket to document any indiscretions. My cellphone was in the other pocket to report any violations. Knives were concealed everywhere so I could fight my way in if necessary. I brought thirty-seven pieces of identification, utility bills, paychecks, and letters to a long lost aunt.

There was no line. There were no detractors. There was no infraction of the law. There weren't even any hanging chads. The machine took my ballot, told me I had voted correctly, and that was it.

I am beside myself with indignation. Here I expected a fight, I expected to be denied my rights as a voter, and instead I got an election. A fair, uneventful election.

listening to: the beatles.
in my sink: a bowl, a spoon, a cup, a plate.

Today is the day I was supposed to start substituting. I awoke, dark and early, and was ready to start my day before eight o'clock. No call. Nine o'clock came, with no call. By then, the schools had all started, so I went back to bed. Only, I had already drank enough coffee to prepare for not being really tired, so that failed, too.

While still awake, my mind raced on uncontrolled, and I dreamt nonetheless. Stories came to me, unbidden, without me even trying or having to think at all. Of course it's not a new idea for one to get one's inspiration from dreams, but that's never worked for me. I mean, I've always been asleep at the time. How helpful is that? I can't direct this inspiration, the dreams make no sense and have no literary value, and of course I forget them anyway upon awaking.

However, I was fascinated by how easily stories come in dreams, usually during my sleep, even if they're bad stories. There is the dilemma: When I'm awake and alert, I got nothing. The blank page stares back at me and remains blank. When I'm exhausted or asleep, the stories flow like a stream through a valley filled with reds and greens in which little elves play and build birdhouses for forty-something baby boomers to hang from their trees and watch during their morning constitutionals while they ponder their drab day ahead of them at an office doing accounting for a nameless firm that's being investigated for tax fraud - where was I? Oh, yes. So, ideas come, but I'm either asleep at the time or too unable to concentrate enough to write them down or otherwise solidify them.

There must be a way to bring the best of both worlds together. Well, let me qualify; there must be a way other than psychotropic drugs to bring those two worlds together. I must experiment further with controlled sleep deprivation. Say, force myself to wake up extra early Saturday morning (hah! That'll happen), then drink lots of coffee near a pen and paper.

Anyway, laying there in my bed, with my mind on overdrive, I remembered that this is now "NaNoWriMo," or National Novel Writing Month, (what's the deal with everything being abbreviated this way all of the sudden? Are conventional acronyms now passe?) when people are challenged to write an entire novel in a month. Well, what reason do I have to NOT participate in this? I call myself a writer, right? Here I am with all these new ideas suddenly floating through my head. Granted, they're not good ideas, but as I said up above, I'll work that out later.

I guess one's supposed to write fifty thousand words or 175 pages by the end of the month, but I'm not concerned with that. If you force limitations on me like that, it's not going to get done. The moment I fall behind schedule and don't have the required number of words, I'll get discouraged and stop. It's enough I have an end-of-the-month deadline.

So I lay there in bed and mapped out some kind of plan to promote actual productivity this month. Basically, it involved a series of commitments. Mostly to keep myself accountable, the first commitment is to list all the other commitments right here in this journal.

• I will write every day. I mean, duh, that's kind of an obvious and necessary one, right? Again, I'm not going to be concerned about how much I write, because this can only serve to discourage.


• I'm not going to concern myself about this website. This doesn't mean I'll stop posting, but I'm going to try not to worry about it if I don't. I may post here more often just to procrastinate writing something else. I'm stupid like that. Then again, I may not. I have no idea. This may have to go for the Chicago Metroblogging site as well. Really, this post has already taken me an hour to write. No wonder I never get anything done.


• Mainly for inspiration, I'm taking Rich's suggestion (made in a comment to an earlier post) to read for twenty minutes each night before sleeping.


• I must be in bed no later than midnight. Without the laptop. This is more for self-discipline reasons than anything, and maybe to make it easier to get up before um, idunno, noon on Saturday. Actually, there's nothing terribly good on television after 11:30 when Sealab ends, so there's no reason I shouldn't be in bed by then anyway. Without the laptop.


• I will drink eight glasses of water a day. This... oh wait, that's another list.


• I will eat a donut every day. Mmmm, donuts...


• You know, I may have fallen asleep at this point in the list. Again, I don't think writing with little or no sleep is the answer.

Yeah, that's basically it. It's not a complicated list or anything. I give myself about three days before I give up. Or maybe tonight.

listening to: Astral Projection, Beatles, Crystal Method, the Residents.
in my sink: water.