It turns out these veggie burgers taste better when microwaved. Now I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all this charcoal I bought.

listening to: The National.
in my sink: A baking sheet, a spatula, a plate.

I was telling a friend how I depressed I felt since the weekend, possibly brought on by the rudeness of strangers. I know, boo friggin hoo. I should get over myself before I make this a habit.

That isn't really the subject of this post, however. It's my friend's response: "A lot of people are feeling that way right now." As if it's contagious. As if depression can be transmitted airborne through a germ or pathogen. "It's been going around." Now I don't buy into any of this "mars in retrograde" or "the moon is in Pisces" crap that some of my friends might (which is okay because a lot of them don't buy into my "Jesus is the Son of God" crap either so it all works out), but he knows a lot of people, as may I, and I read a lot of blogs. A LOT of blogs. I can't help but agree that both online and outside I've noticed the same thing. I can't help but wonder why. Is it winter's stubbornness to leave? Are we merely sulking because of our extended exiles from the bitter cold that just keeps coming back? I almost hope so, because that means relief really is around the corner. On the other hand, I hate to think that all our moods are so fragile as to be dependent on the weather, especially in this town.

So I ended my day, last night, on this thought, walking home from Rodan where I heard a friend deejay. I walked home, of course, because I wanted to, because that's the way I muddle through thoughts like these. I let the iPod on shuffle to see if it would do that uncanny supernatural iPod thing where the song exactly fits the occasion; I swear it's clairvoyant, I swear that's the lure of Apple, they don't need this cruddy DRM software or iTunes music store, they have this secret technology, you see...

Where was I? Oh, yes, well that wasn't working last night, anyway. I wanted the weight of the world and all I was getting was Quasar Wut Wut, Dire Straits, Depeche Mode and the Orb. Maybe that was the iPod's way of telling me to cheer up.

Then the Beatles' "A Day in the Life" came on. I was already home, but I sat on my back porch and let it play through, looking out on what I could see of the west side and trying to get a sense of how many others felt the same or worse at that very moment. It sounds morbid, yes, but I suppose I was looking for catharsis. We all drink together, or blog together, watch TV, hang around the water cooler, sit on a couch in a cafe, but at the end of the day, the only thoughts we have are our own, even if we're laying next to someone else, the last thing we think before falling asleep is known by only ourselves. If there were a way to completely share our thoughts, to completely share our pain, no one would ever have to go to bed lonely. I sat there on my cold porch and thought of a constant party, where everyone's having fun and no one ever has to go home, and thought, that must be what heaven is like...

I sat on my porch and listened to the symphonic crescendo at the end of the song - you know the one, and if you don't, stop reading my blog. Just stop. Anyway, I imagined within that crescendo all the parties in the world joining together, all the thoughts and feelings and laughter merging into one cataclysmic celebration. I tried to imagine what that would feel like, I tried to feel it, as the symphony built higher and higher to the final note. I wished it wouldn't end, that it'd keep building, as I always do when I listen to that song. But of course the final piano chord silences the song like a coffin slamming shut and fades away, and with it all these vapid fancies disappear like so much wind and drizzle.

I'm sure it was just the beer.

Man I love that song.

* * * * *

I have to end with something entirely cynical to offset all this hippie BS, so I'll just say that those "You are beautiful" stickers that get stuck all over town and elsewhere in the world are a piece of crap. Come on, do you really think that's helping to make the world a better place? That it's somehow uplifting the general populace and creating joy where there's otherwise none by complimenting nobody in particular, at random, on a bike post? I think you're just wasting your money and paper, and littering the city. I'll take twenty.

listening to: madness.
in my sink: a pizza slicer.

I said before that photography has stopped being fun as a result of making it "more than just a hobby." Nobody hates all this legal BS, model release forms, and whatever, more than me. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later; I guess I was hoping it would happen later, though.

When I approached the hostess of last night's event asking for permission to take pictures, she curtly barked "I ain't signing s**t" into my face, turned, and walked away. This wonderfully pleasant exchange was witnessed by at least one of her friends. Despite my pleas to drop the matter, news of how rude she was to me spread throughout the night. It got to the bands, to all my friends, to everyone. All I said was that I'm going to continue to have fun the rest of the night, not point my camera at her or any of her damn models, and see how I feel about it the following morning.

Well, here's how I feel about it. If you don't want to sign my model release, that's fine. You don't have to, I don't have to take pictures of you, your band, your show or whatever, and I'm not going to cry over it. There's plenty of other things and people to photograph in this world. However, you also don't need to be rude about it. I don't care how stressed out you are, how badly your night or show is going, or how much work you've been doing all day. In fact, if you're the one promoting/hosting/throwing the party, you should be especially f***ing polite to your guests. You want us to come back. You do want crowds to come to your next show, right? And you don't want to get a reputation for being a f***ing c**t, do you? Believe me, that can't do well for business, b**ch.

And another thing. I used to love the whole techno-industrial "goth" fad. I dug the idea of black skimpy clothing, pale faces, dark eyeliner and lipstick, and dyed black hair done up to look like Robert Smith, I really did. Ah, the eighties were great times, weren't they? But you know what? THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO. Most of us have grown up and started a life. We stopped playing dress-up and pretending "every day is Halloween" years ago. I still dig out my Ministry CDs once in a while, sure, but come on. All I saw last night were a bunch of f***ing idiots who somehow got lost on their way to Neo, prancing around a Lakeview bar in revealing rags that looked like something out of an Ed Wood film, to the amusement of the jeans-and-sweatshirt regulars, and acting all pretentious like they owned the place or something. It was laughable, it really was. What makes it truly pathetic is that you really do think you're hot s**t, that you're better than me and can thus treat me that way, and that your signature is so f***ing valuable you have to protect it and never give it out.

I met you a year ago, and I wish I hadn't now. I didn't realize then what a pretentious b**ch you are. I've already removed you from all my various stupid social networking website friendlists. Not that that matters at all to me or you, because those websites are just as stupid, and I'm fully aware that I'm not that important or necessary to have as a friend or whatever.

This is all a moot point, because my camera's broken anyway. - fixed it.

Update: The subject of this post has since apologized, which is really cool and shows she's a much better person than I may have characterized in this post. Also, I know not everyone shares my opinion of some fashion styles, and my own is pretty damn boring. Yeah, I'm not good at retractions, either, so I hope this will do.

listening to: sonic youth
in my sink: leaves

Look up in your address bar. That's right. No more redirections! South of North is now fully hosted at shekleton.com!

As a fortunate side effect, this means the google ads at the right are actually reflecting the content, too. No longer are they advertising my dog just because of the url I was redirecting to. I was getting kind of angry that someone was trying to auction him off on Ebay. He's mine, dernit. He stays right here.

I think this means the site will also be more searchable in the future. At least, I'm hoping it will.

listening to: the faint.
in my sink: plants.

I actually left a show that promised naked girls to see M83 because I already bought the tickets.

In my defense, my camera was on the fritz.

listening to: lords of acid.
in my sink: a pot, a fork a knife, 2 spoons, something else.

I almost forgot to announce that Stick It In Your Ear has gone live. I'll discuss, review, or rave about bands, concerts and anything music related there. It's also where the calendar is being permanently moved to, so that'll force all you stalkers to read it often.

listening to: nine inch nails
in my sink: a water backpack.

Someone today requested I take her photos down from my site, which I did right away. If you pay that much attention to my site, you'll know which performer it is. But really, if you pay that much attention to my site, you need to get a life. Seriously. It's very warm outside. Go for a walk.

This is fine. I respect her shyness, which is why I asked her if I could photograph the event in the first place, with the mistaken understanding that she knew what I did with my photos. Only, she went further to express her strong opinion that what I'm doing on my website in general is wrong. According to her, I simply cannot publicize or sell pictures of other people.

Only, I can. Whereas the moral questions may be more ambiguous, I have a legal right to make public anything produced by my camera, provided it does not incite violence, breach the peace, or contain obscenity. (I can't find anything mentioning obscenity as an exception per se, so I'm really assuming that's also not allowed by the first amendment.) For certain purposes such as informational or educational use, I can even sell those photos. For any other sales, I'd need a model release.

I have to wonder how people can not expect pictures taken in public to appear on the internet in the year 2005. It's become the standard way to share them with your family and friends! Websites such as flickr, Hello, and fotki, and Pbase, to name a few, make it so easy that people do it almost automatically now. Also, if you put yourself up on a stage, how can you not expect pictures to be taken of you? To me, this is the same issue as oh, I don't know, say, constructing a giant silver reflective kidney bean in the middle of a major metropolitan area and thinking it'll stay out of the public's eye - and camera. Well, no, it's not the same issue - both have requested their images not be publicized, however, in the one case, I respect my subject's shyness and have willingly complied with all her requests. In the other case, I don't respect Anish Kapoor's greed.

So after dumping all that on you, let me just say that I've familiarized myself with the industry's code of ethics and believe, to the best of my knowledge, that I've been following those principles. From now on, I'm asking every band to sign a model release form. Finally, much like a lot of other things in life, this makes photography a little less fun, which was originally why I started it.

listening to: bob marley, new black remixed by dj steve sleeve, the leaked nine inch nails album (bad me)
in my sink: about 3-4 day's worth

Going to Madison? Take the Lamers line!



I don't know which is better - this or the "Illini Swallow" bus line down in Champaign-Urbana.

listening to: elevator music (in a cafe not wearing my headphones for whatever reason)
in my sink: a cup, a glass, a spoon.

Well, looks like I'm going to Madison tonight to see New Black play the Slipper Club.

Aren't I all spontaneous.

listening to: new black. duh.
in my sink: a cup and a spoon. i don't think they've run away with each other. isn't that how the nursery rhyme goes?

I got a letter from the Board of Election Commisioners today. My application to register to vote has been rejected because it wasn't signed (I applied over the internet, like so many others did, I'm sure).

This is the same application that resulted in the voter's registration card I used to vote last November.

I guess that was all my imagination then.

listening to: Uh nothing.
in my sink: A pot, a spoon, a fork, a colander.

I finally got my bike out of the basement today. I took it out for a little test ride, then went to a bike shop to buy some items and get the tires pumped up. Since this is my first ride, I had to test out all my equipment: you know, the backpack with a water bladder, the gloves, my ipod, the whole thing. I had wires and tubes coming and going all over the place, and before long my shirt was looking pretty grimy.

On my way back home, I stopped at the bank. They'd offered me $60 if I opened up a new savings account, and well, why not? Needless to say, I was getting a lot of funny looks when I walked in, until I showed them my current balance and told them I wanted to open a new account. After that, I may as well have been wearing a suit and tie.

I love going into a bank dressed like an idiot and being treated like royalty.

listening to: die warzau.
in my sink: a pan.

when life has you climbing the walls, what should you do? surround yourself with walls that were meant to be climbed.

with that in mind, some friends and i left the problems of chicago behind and headed to... bloomington. sure, there are better places to escape to, but none of them have sixty-five foot tall rock climbing walls in an old grain silo. my crowning achievement of the day was climbing "the short bus."

on the ride to and from bloomington, the car contained two laptops, four cellphones, an ipod, a digital camera, and a gps tracker. yeah, we're geeks.

pictures of our trip are here.

listening to: U2.
in my sink: 2 cups, a glass, 2 spoons, a fork, a knife, 2 bowls.