Come on, give my new story some love.

Seventy visitors can't be wrong. Well, okay, maybe they can. Plus, maybe they hated it.

Oh, and if that hasn't convinced you, did I mention the story's world wide?

listening to: new order.
in my sink: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I think this excerpt from a conversation I had with someone yesterday perfectly illustrates both the stupidity and the patronizing nature of his argument:

Guy: "You don't understand. It's all over the world. It's world wide."
Me: "I understand the concept of the 'World Wide Web.'"

listening to: The Futureheads, Telenovela, the Gore Gore Girls.
in my sink: I don't even go in my kitchen anymore.

You know, I realized later on that I shouldn't need a torn ticket to prove I was at the Metro Thursday night. I should have the media pass. Except I can't find it anywhere.

Last night, I thought it was Saturday. I walked all the way into Wicker Park before realizing the show I wanted to see will play tonight. Oh well, at least I found this cool poster of Thursday night's show at Reckless Records while I was out. And hey, look at that, it seems someone was there using my camera that night. And I have to say they took some mighty fine pictures.

In other news, street parking in Chicago seems to have taken over my whole way of life. This morning as I was walking Oreo, I see an empty spot one door down from my building, and think, "Oh, wow, I should move my car into this spot." Then I look next to it, and yeah, that's right. My car was already there. Closer to my building, in fact.

I'm losing my mind, one brain cell at a time.

listening to: New Black.
in my sink: I still don't want to look. It just keeps getting bigger, whatever it is. I think something in it frightened Oreo last night.

I sit here on this couch, wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by coffee, cradling my aching head in a desperate last-ditch effort to re-claim the stolen vestiges of my long-forgotten, alcohol-fogged, unwashed and unshaven humanity.

An email says, "hey, was that you taking pictures in the photo section at the Metro last night?" I'm forced to reply, "I'm not sure. It's possible. I know I had tickets."

(Ticketmaster's new ticket scanning method makes it impossible to know just by looking if your ticket's been used. I miss the days when they'd just rip it in half - such a sense of finality. It provided you the proof you wanted: "you were there." Somewhere I have a box of proof from my high school/college days. These days, my proof lies absent-mindedly scattered all over the tables and floors of my apartment.)

On the table in front of me is a camera, two memory cards, and a cable, all staring back at me, taunting me with images of a night that already seems far away. In a childish sing-song voice they chant, "I know what you did last night." They must die. Where are my matches?

I recall Dan and Kath sitting on the fence for an extended drama session, then finally coming to the show at the last minute. I recall trying to sell their tickets before they arrived. I recall deciding to relieve my stressed-out scalping attempts with over-priced beer...

The rest is a blur of rock and roll, camera flashes, and alcohol.

Perhaps I should take a look at these 282 pictures that magically appeared on my camera this morning.

listening to: My new hangover playlist: Squeeze "Black Coffee in Bed," the Replacements "Beer for Breakfast," Beatnik Turtle "Were All These Beer Cans Here Last Night," Van Morrison "Wild Night," Depeche Mode "More Than a Party," Jimmy Buffett "My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don't Love Jesus," Cream "Strange Brew"
in my sink: oh man i don't even want to look.

Looks like Apple introduced some new iPods and lowered prices of some of the old ones.

That first sentence was written to make this post seem timely and have a point.

Ahem. So, Tankboy informed me that he doesn't come visit my site often because I'm "good for a post about every week and a half." Then, someone else posted a meme about their iTunes collection the other day. Put these two things together, and I get a hastily thought up topic for my next post.

Now, many of you fair readers know my stance on memes. What we call "memes" are usually just pointless fads distributing useless trivia about people who, let's face it, we don't really care to know more about. I mean really, do you sincerely care to know how much music is on my iPod? Actually, speaking of pointless fads distributing useless trivia, do you really care to hear my feelings about memes?

Well, keeping Tankboy's comment in mind, I figure screw it. I'm going Wal-mart on your @$$es: more quantity, less quality. Also, I'm hiring some retired guy to stand at my home page and welcome you.

Anyway. This all leads up to the recent development on my iPod: I'm already running out of space. That's right. I have about 1 GB left.

This doesn't mean I have 39 GB of music. A 40 GB iPod actually has little over 37GB of available space, due to formatting and software and crud. Yeah, I don't get it either. Now, I rip all my CDs at a higher quality than Apple's recommended 128 mbps, so I'm not going to get the 10,000 songs it claims to hold. Then, I put a 9 GB backup image of my home directory on it. Add my email contact list and calendar, and there's one gig left. I won't even reach 5,000 songs or the fourteen days of music I once hoped for.

What does all this mean? Let's sum up. My iPod is full. Apple's lowered the prices of iPods. This is the part where my brain just starts chanting "LA LA LA LA" in order to save my bank account, so I'll leave any conclusions up to you.

This has been my attempt to turn a meme into something relevant and meaningful. Failure is not only an option, it was expected.

listening to: Squeeze.
in my sink: 2 plates.

I'm sure someone out in comments land is going to fill me in, but I don't really see the advantage of flickr right now. Yes, I get that you can make your pictures available to everyone else on the site, can browse others' pictures, and can know when they've added more or whatever. I get that you can link them to "tags" or keywords or whatever and have them be indexed with a humongosaurus group of similar photos. I GET IT.

So it's a pairing of social networking and photography. Okay. Great. Awesome. COOL.

Only, I'm not going to join. And for those of you who are pestering me to, you can stop now. I'm not succumbing to the peer pressure, and it's not gonna happen. All my images are available on this site and that should be enough. I don't need another place to upload them to.

Don't bother arguing with me that it's easier for you to see my pictures if they're on flickr. If you can get to flickr's site, you can get to mine. Don't tell me that makes two sites to go to instead of one, or with flickr everyone's pictures are available for you in one central location. There's another thing out there; it's called RSS. Do you want me to make my pictures available through an RSS feed? Because I will. Then you won't have to go to any website to see them; they'll come to you. Ooh. And that technology has been around for years already.

Another thought that passes through my mind as I'm writing this - some of your photos suck. I'm sorry, but I don't want to see them. So why would I want to join a site that crams EVERY photo from EVERY friend/acquaintance/account I join into my eye sockets? I like this format where if I want to see your photo, I'll find it. That way I see only the photos I'm interested in seeing. Plus, I always thought my photos fit into the suck category, so I don't really want to cram mine down your eye socket either.

It's funny how quickly after I've uploaded my photos people are telling me they've seen them. It's often in the space of hours. You know what? They didn't have any special software to do that. They didn't need to sign in to any special website. I didn't even email them to let them know they're there. They somehow found them anyway.

(By the way, I'm flattered, but really, don't you have anything better to do than to check my site that often? They'll be there next week.)

While I've been known to check out other passing fads now and then (friendster, myspace, orkut, meetup, okcupid, yahoo, yahoo messenger, yahoo chat, plazes, tetris, the sims, blogexplosion, albino black sheep, those mice, that chair-dancing kid, amazon, microsoft...) for the momentary interest or fun, I'm no longer jumping on every bandwagon that rolls into town. Sure, it's some cool photography-related social network that allows you to see your friends photos, but that's all it is - just another social network. I guess I'm just getting bored with those.
listening to: beatles, john lennon, george harrison... yeah my ipod loves the beatles.
in my sink: a bowl, a spoon, a cup, a plate, pizza sauce.

I was going to write more this afternoon; I really wanted to post another chapter to the story today. Instead, my computer had to break, and I spent the afternoon trying to restore it.

I was ready to call tech support, I had the phone in my hand, when I remembered I WAS tech support for an entire school and network of computers three years ago. If anyone could fix the dang computer, it should be me. Plus, I'd have a heck of a time explaining to them how and why I'd disabled the root account and CD bootup. (I can be a little security obsessive.) So what would I have done three years ago? Time to find those install/restore CDs.

To make a long story short, I had moved some files to the wrong directory, and my laptop is back. However, no more of my story has been written, and I've wasted an entire afternoon.

Tonight, I shall make up for it by trying to go to two concerts at once. You know, to make up for all that wasted time earlier. You'll find me at the Hideout watching Walter Meego AND at Subterranean for the Christopher Saathoff Benefit concert. Provided I can find the install/restore CD for that time machine...

listening to: astral projection.
in my sink: a pot, a colander, a spoon, a plate, a fork.

I started some interactive fiction. (That term sounds so pretentious, but I guess that's the best way to describe it.)

You can read it here.

It's very loosely based on the graffiti this picture.



listening to: chemical brothers.
in my sink: 2 plates, 2 cups, 2 bowls, a mug, a spoon, a knife.

... and the law definitely won.

My vehicle sticker arrived in the mail. My car is finally completely legal. I can breathe again.

Last Wednesday, I went out my door and found a ticket on my car for not having a city sticker. My car spent twelve months parked on the streets of Chicago without getting a ticket, so why would it get one now? Because I just changed my address with the state. The car is now a "Chicago car" and thus must be eligible for fleecing.

I am completely serious. The cop wrote right on the ticket, "car is registered in city." Try to follow the rules, and you'll get screwed.

Here's the thing. Here's the conversation that followed when I walked down to a local check cashing place to get the city sticker.

Me: "Hi, I'd like to buy a vehicle sticker."
IDIOTIC BUREAUCRATIC UNFEELING EMPLOYEE: "When did you buy the car?"
Me: "1999."
IBUE: "Oh no no. I can't give you a sticker."
Me: "Why not? How am I supposed to register my car?"
IBUE: "Was it registered before?"
Me: "Yes, it was last registered in Carol Stream."
IBUE: "Do you have the sticker card?"
Me: "I have my insurance card. It should have all the information you need." (Trying not to say: "I HAVE THE STICKER. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DRIVE THE CAR THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR SO YOU CAN SEE IT?")
IBUE: "Do you live in Chicago now?"
Me: "Yes. Here's my paycheck stub with my address."
IBUE: "Do you have proof you moved here within the last month?"
Me: "Do I need that to get the sticker? I'm just trying to make my car legal. Why is it so hard to make my car legal?"
IBUE: "I'm just trying to save you the $40 late fee."
Me: (Thinking: "Can you save me the $120 ticket?" Also: "If that's all you're doing, could you try to speak in a nicer tone too?") "Just charge me the $40 late fee and sell me the sticker."
At this point, it looks like I might actually get my sticker. Then I show her my credit card.
IBUE: "I'm sorry, we only accept cash."

You know, it took me about five minutes to buy it online, and I didn't have to deal with an officious bureaucrat. It cost a dollar more than what she would've charged me, which is well worth avoiding her in the future. When I saw it in the mail, I wanted to run to the check cashing station and shove it in her face, "SEE THIS? I DIDN'T HAVE TO SHOW THEM ANYTHING OR PUT UP WITH ANY DAMN CONDESCENDING ATTITUDE FOR IT EITHER!"

I still had to pay the city my right arm, left leg and first-born child, of course. It was a very expensive day and a very expensive lesson learned. I think I have the last laugh, though; I never plan to have any children, so the city will never be able to collect on that deal. TAKE THAT, CITY OF CHICAGO.

listening to: Boards of Canada, the La's, Bloc Party, Life at Sea, Radiohead, the Beatles, the Art of Noise, the Ponys
in my sink: a glass, a cup, a bowl, a spoon, a spatula.

Many people seem to think I should continue my "career" in education, despite the several animated reasons I usually provide not to in response. While I've always thought "BECAUSE I NO LONGER ENJOY NOR WANT TO TEACH" seemed perfectly reasonable, others seem to think they know what's best for me more than I do. Even funnier, some people refuse to even believe me when I inform them that I'm leaving education altogether.

Well, I have news for them. Today I was offered the chance to take over a classroom that recently lost their teacher, and I turned it down. Surprise, surprise: I did exactly what I said I'd do.

First of all, sorry, mom. But I have vehemently said that I no longer want to teach, many times.

There are several reasons why I rejected this offer. Here are some of the better ones.

The class argued and fought tooth and nail over every event, assignment and announcement the entire day. I'm so sick of stubborn bratty kids it's not even funny and I never want to deal with that on a long-term basis ever again. Plain and simple. At least as a substitute, I know at the end of the day I'm leaving that classroom and never have to see them again.

Even though the principal wanted me to stay, nobody gave me any tools or information for taking over that class on a long-term basis. There was no gradebook or attendance book. I never even saw a class list, yet was still expected to produce the names of those absent! Let's say it all in unison: "wtf? how... what? HELLO?"

The administration and support staff argued with me and acted unnecessarily officious in front of the kids. Instead of helping me deal with said brats who refused to cooperate, thus making it impossible to run a class, they'd call into question my decision to write a discipline report. Sometimes they'd fail to even show up at all. Yeah, this is the type of support I want.

The principal never asked me if I wanted to return to the classroom, he just told me I would be, in front of the kids. Wait, I know you! I've had you as a principal/boss before! I totally know this one! This is where my input gets disregarded and I'm treated as if I don't count, right? This is the part where my authority gets overridden through public ridicule and near-impossible disciplinary procedures, right?

The fact that the previous teacher left suddenly leaves me wondering what the class did to make her leave. The fact that every other substitute has had problems with this class for the past two weeks and haven't returned says a lot, too. The fact that the school now thinks I'm some kind of super teacher, simply because the students were in their seats and working when the principal walked in at 9:20, makes me wonder what kind of teachers and what kind of school environment they're used to. Plus, if the principal is so easily and quickly impressed, he'll be just as quick to change his opinion and his attitude toward me.

I was a good teacher. No, I was a great teacher. Before ever setting foot in a Chicago Public School, I loved teaching and did it well. There are too many factors in Chicago Public Schools that prevent me from being that teacher.

So, sorry, Mr. Principal. You may not want to make untrue statements like that to a classroom full of students again, because as it turns out, I won't be returning.

Before anyone starts suggesting looking in the suburbs, let me stop you. NO. I've been there too. In fact, keep your career suggestions to yourself. Actually, comments are closed. Deal with it.

listening to: the futureheads.
in my sink: a pot, a spoon, a fork, a plate, a bowl.