Vacation from a vacation needed. (Give me my application.)

Today, I find myself half-way down a page of diary-styled blog writings before I snap-finally realize that I'm not reading my own writing.

I keep getting caught between deja-vu, deja living, and that almost fluffy pillow feeling of being completely detached from my environment. Last night, I went to a show, and I felt like I was watching the whole thing not-firsthand, but instead on TV.

Today is my first true Monday (i.e. not a Memorial Day) away off of work, what bliss. Today my vacation consists of taking the longest bath possible and sitting with my cat.

Ides of May

Dear Journal and Whomever Else It May Concern,

When I last put down the pen, figuratively speaking, we were in the last throes of Winter. Growing up in Florida, they teach you "in like a lion, out like a lamb", good and early, however, it never sinks too deep: unless you grow up in a Wintering climate, this information gets pushed out of the way to make room for more relevant information, like how, for instance to avoid alligator attacks (run in a zig-zag Z formation--alligators have pretty prehistoric brains, and even stumpier legs) and how to deal with sharks when surfing (punch them in the nose, they'll go away). "In like a lion..." and "April showers bring May flowers", get to sounding like nursery rhymes at best. That is, until you move just down the lake from Canada, then those things crop up from dormant no-man's land brainspace.

I hated the insipid idiot-joy that the real Chicagoans let radiate once Spring finally broke. Floridians, like the weather, are pretty consistent year round, I couldn't stand the dramatic mood-swing for the better -- I questioned whether or not they decided to start pumping Xanax into the water supply following the depressing, nearly sunless Winter.

And now? I'm smitten. Floored by the newest MCA exhibit (I swear, I could taste the colors in Olafur Eliasson's exhibit. What came in my over-stimulated eyes had to come into my mouth as well, full sinuses.), Alexandar Hemon readings, and ICE playing Xenakis. I've died and gone to Spring, I swear, and the city is blooming, and I want to throw all my grey and brown clothing away for good in a city trashcan.

Glorious.

How Long Has the Pope Been An Aid-Worker in Africa?

NPR-Chicago/BBC World News and Riazut Butt of The Guardian send me news that makes me sick:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/mar/17/pope-africa-condoms-aids

While it makes me physically queasy that they include a hazy, so-opinionated (like assholes, sure, everyone's got a slanted photograph)anti-Pope looking photograph of Pope Benedict XVI, I can't help but feel anything other than sheer anger and frustration (albeit, far away, foreign blogstration)at the Pope's comments on condoms for HIV protection measures:

"The pontiff, speaking to journalists on his flight, said the condition was 'a tragedy that cannot be overcome by money alone, that cannot be overcome through the distribution of condoms, which even aggravates the problems.'"

I hate how dialectic namby-pamby, high school debate-speak is ruling this argument. I don't expect the Pope to come out all for condoms and other birth-control reducing means of self-safety, but Christ. I feel like Christ and the apostles (if you believe in them simply as historical figures) would be impressed by the efforts of foreign aid workers and their attempts at treatment, prevention and the like.

Listening on NPR, some tactful BBC lady asked Vatican officials how they might deal with a situation where a husband or wife might have the AIDs Virus, while the other one remained uninfected. Here the official said that the Catholic church is realistic and understanding and would consider the issue a special matter in the use of condoms...

However, who is there is dole out this information to couples in this situation? Without proper knowledge (and somehow I doubt the safe travel of periodicals and letters in some areas of gang-ruled African countries) these people could be dead on their feet, or at least infected, with the Catholic church all but banning condoms where and when they can. With this hypothetical situation, where would the condoms for this couple be found in a theocratically-tinged area?

UGH. Where is this going? I wish I could wrap my journalistic tentacles around this Pope. Without charged photographs.

Things to enjoy:

Sucking on lemons (and Jameson sours/Bulleit bourbon)
Springtime birds in still-stick trees
Weather
New (to stay, not temp.) work Wednesday.
Drinking double choc. stout in a stealth cup next to the police at the parade.

Pictures of the Chicago St. Pat's parade soon to follow this entry.
Living in this city is educating me:
Big Black Mariah -- Tom Waits material and colloquialism for smooth black police cars from the olden times.
Slur on Irish, e.g. they get put in the "Black Maria/Mary"
Paddywagon -- Look at this written out. Pretty grotesque.

I am off to drink coffee with milk&honey, watch Einsturzende DVDs, and edit my brains to shreds. Lots of love.

P.S. Often I want to nix the minor, peripheral stuff and open a real journalistic forum debate-focused blog environment. Today, though, not now.

AP article on e-watching the Mexico/Texas border punctuated by strange, strong notes of apathy, social-justice, privacy invasion and getting dangerously close to the Thought Police/Karma Police:

http://www.cnn.com/2009/TECH/03/12/border.security.cameras.immigration/index.html?eref=rss_topstories

Each day, technological innovations make me feel weirder and more off-put. No one seems to be interested in what I want(?)- a little less time looking at the world from the observation tank and surgical audience.

Things I've Learned:

The N.Carolinian Triangle Area is scalene. This is the least of things I've learned.

One of many selves wants to live in a Southern house wrapped all around by trees and vines. A secret house. Lots of tea and jarred spice smells and people who know the right way in the front door.

It might be for the best if I stop drinking coffee when I have to board the El to O'Hare at 4 a.m. It is now 1:10 a.m. I am unpacked. I bought my tickets to fly out to North Carolina just hours ago. I will swoop down on Durham and take the "Triangle Area" by storm and intent. I might just not sleep, that's all. I will time travel. I will change the clocks which are overdue for real Daylight Savings Time-Time. I will be two hours behind and plane-rumpled when I stroll into town. I am so excited to go where I've never been before, and I am itching to get to a smaller town.

The "future" is really getting under my skin. The blanket catch-all of everyone (whoever they may be) seem like they're so sick to tears of everything but getting --smoking this, drinking that, eating out whichever person they fancy on a given evening. I need to go to another party like I need a hole in the head. Thank you. Even if, in some backwards pre-medicinal treatment sort of way, having a new hole in my head would help with the migraines, spiritual healing, whatever creative abilities, I just don't feel up to it.

I am thankful that I am 97% sure that I'll be packing up my backpack for a mini-vacation for Monday. Putting up with airport security checks will feel like nothing at all.

It's storming out, at least the weather matches my mood/makes me less rattled. A gift.

Things That Occupy Considerable Space/Time In My Brain

Thing 1)
A small blog-article on the historical context of the "all right" vs. "alright" debate; here. Go Joyce.

Thing 2)
Throbbing Gristle adds additional U.S. tourdates for Chicago!
(!!!!!)

Thing 3)
This blog, which is written in Romanian and has pictures of the metro system there.

Re-learning an instrument feels a lot like getting your fingers re-set after a clean (bone)break. I cannot say how after an absence of about a year, I'm suddenly playing all this music out of nowhere, noone, and no explanation. Not questioning it. But, still, I've got blisters on my fingers...

And Sometimes They Make The Thing Pink...

I have a love/hate relationship with copy editing. Vainly, I defend the changes I make. They need to be there. However, I hate it when I'm put under the knife.

Because, you know, sometimes they make the text of your entire article pink and don't tell you until it's already "published":

God, why.

Annoying Optimistic Entry Time

I was all set to throw up my hands, let this thing go to the birds, (give this thing the bird, whatever), and now I've found that after accidentally ousting myself to one N. Pollari (who writes a solid blog), I have readership.

I am already corrupted by this knowledge and power. But it is a nice feeling.

The powers that be have given me a few breaks lately, in a direct reversal of the last few months. I can't say that I have any faith yet still, but meeting/making friends (not papier-mache), getting follow-up calls to my resumes, etc. may turn me into an optimist if I'm not careful...who cares that I start going off my rocker if I, like a cat, don't get enough winter sun in a day/worry that my arms and legs are improperly attached from time to time? Too much to love.

Is 5:37 in the morning too late or too early to be shot at/grabbed/mugged at in the dear inner-city. I just don't know. I need a walk.

Talking About Winter

I edit how I like. The notebooks I kept (when I kept them) had more torn-out pages than remaining filled out ones. 70 Sheet Notebooks were reduced to a lousy 30 pages--

SO it will be with this non-ink, non-flesh and blood material thing. I kind of resent that about internet things, nothing to hold in your hands. Just some QWERTY crap. (Although my keyboard here is elegant: black on slightly rounded black keys.)

I feel whelmingly (?) aware and awake tonight. Sick and it's snowy outside, but somehow that's softening everything along the edges.

Commercial break (ruins everything): one of the best presents ever received: http://www.forlifedesign.com/wholeleaf/280.html# (in orange)--'sides the mini-chess set from Hawaii (distinctly defined profiled pieces!)

How did this get to be about marketing and presents and dear lord.

Start here again:
I feel whelmingly (?) aware and awake tonight. Sick and it's snowy outside, but somehow that's softening everything along the edges.

I like that I can't take winter. I get the worst lobster-red windburn, my knuckles get so white that they look translucent. Walking through the unploughed no-man's land between the main streets and where houses start in thick Arctic Explorer boots--it's like running on beach sand in rain boots. Wildly inefficient. I like the necessary cocktail of tights/legwarmers/boots. I always feel like there's more purpose and intent in going out in some hell-froze-over weather.

A toast to winter. you bitch, you got me sick with your chills, stealth black-ice, and more wind. Love you.

I push myself finally to write something, minorly personal. (Note: only urban dictionary accepts "minorly" as a word, I need to get my vocabulary out of the gutter.)

1. I return to find that no, no job lept into my lap while I was away and unconcerned about finding one.
2. This weighs pretty heavy on my mind.
3. Seriously, what the fuck am I thinking in living here?
4. Oh, I feel like I'll get some low-rent Excel-crunching, hell-on-earth office job. And I'll need to fight for it.
5. I feel, scratch that, I am having basic problems reading and writing with any sort of fluidity and I feel like my brain is going to seed.
6. I think this pessimism is a little horrendously melodramatic.
7. Or is it?

Random Sigh of Relief

Perceptive misreading.

You put in (you read): "It's freeing to do something completely different."

And you get out (you think you see): "It's freezing to do anything completely different."

I'm almost proud of myself for muddling this up to the point that the sentiment is reversed. Middle school through early, early college, I had this fail-proof 6th sense sort of ability to mishear/misread anything from, well, Radiohead lyrics to Radiohead lyrics and beyond. And I thought I had lost it. Thank god.