This is NOT Over

Oct 25 – Oct 27, 1989 Learning Curve

It is Saturday morning. This post covers Wed thru Friday. Not sure why that needed to be said but there it is.

Three days of no drinking and too much reading and what have I learned? Don’t tell my friends but life is more interesting sober. Drinking, at least for me, is a lot of “same shit different day”. I’m sure Peter Cooke or the late Keith Moon kept things interesting and they probably did not have a lot of same shit days, but let’s face it – I am not those guys.

I don’t even like Courvoisier.

Learned something about Don Juan as well. I think his mother’s whoring led to his philandering. There is an echo of his comments (or is it the reverse) on “sun-drenched climates” in Toc’s D in A. It’s sort of disappointing to think Lord Byron associates promiscuity with the weather. I’m horny as hell all the time and we are way into fall here in corn country.

Maybe it’s the no drinking.

Am I going to go ahead and blame everything on the no drinking?

The answer is probably “yes”.

What else? Oh, it’s too late in the game to write this Don Juan paper so fuck it. I can’t waste this much time on something that probably has nothing to do with me. I will finish the James piece which somehow has slightly more than nothing to do with me. Or is that less nothing than actual nothing? Never mind.

Last night (Friday) I went with Jen-O and a few squares to the big city. Heard Harvey Weeks lecture on Xenophon. Of course Jen-O and I argued about the value of reading or even thinking too much about Xenophon.

Kept a low profile during the car ride back. Jen-O asked me what I thought and I said, “Impressive.” That is not bullshit. I did find this talk impressive as it challenged everything I thought I knew of Socrates’ student. But I didn’t want to go on and on because it just looks stupid to say something is shit on the long car ride to a place and then say it is amazing on the way home.

Weeks offered a nice turn on the name of X’s Cyropadeia (The Education of Cyrus) the kinds of “education” he receives throughout his life…especially the speeches his father makes before Cyrus goes off to war for the first time. Darius offers his son an expose on the nature of virtue during wartime, and the importance of things like lying. But then, I think Weeks uses this passage to explain to us something larger in Xenophon’s writing. What that something larger is, I just can’t say at this point.

Also, I found out the name means “slayer of strangers.” Yeah we get xenophobe from this old dead Greek and I should hate him for that because I go to university near the end of the 20th Century…

But “slayer of strangers” is a pretty cool thing to be called.

On the subject of Greeks and lying I am going to spend some of my sober time next week reading one of the Platonic dialogues named after the sophist, Hippias of Elis. Powell recommended both the Greater Hippias and the Lesser Hippias to me. I probably should do reports on both since his final is supposed to be impossible to pass…even in the ancient Greeks who are the subjects of the test were alive to take it themselves. Incidentally, that’s part of the reason I am taking this course. Any test with a reputation like that is worth taking once.

Possibly twice.

But I’m going to start with the Lesser Hippias and then, hopefully graduate to the Greater Hippias. That’s how this sort of thing works, no?

I am French, no?

No.

Anyway so long to sobriety for now. Going to a Halloween party tonight. E`{` tried to convince me to come over to her place for a quiet dinner instead of the party. She hates Brother Plumb and the old C1 crowd. So do I, but I stayed sober all week.

Tuesday Oct 24, 1989 Almost Unbecoming

Got really, really fucked up with Mindy last night. I don’t know what possessed me to do that. We woke up on her floor, all our clothes on, booze spilled everywhere, her books all spread out on her bed. I bet I was looking for something. I think she may have stolen Mark’s Byron reader. It’s gonna take me longer than I thought to get my shit together this time. I might’ve slipped pretty far down in recent months. Pulling myself back to what might be considered “normal” or “productive” for me might just take a little doing. Been having fun writing every day (even if it doesn’t sound like the living part is all that much fun…it is to me)

….but I need to cut back to once a week for the diary entries. It’s the only way I can hope to get anything done. That being said, see ya Friday.

Monday Oct 23, 1989 Most Becoming, Almost

This entry has almost nothing to do with Donnie Most.

Possibly.

Like the alcoholic I am almost certainly becoming, I am planning to stay off the booze for the next week or so…at least until Halloween. I want to be sober for however long E`{` and I are together so I can enjoy whatever we have that’s not going to last because those are the kinds of things a guy like me enjoys.

And anyway, it’s my life. Ok, “it’s my life” is Lou Reed’s line but I have a life and can claim it as mine. I just can’t say anything poetically original about it.

If these are my “clear thoughts” sober, maybe I better rethink the whole sobriety thing.

What to do while I am staying sober, and when I’m not with E`{` is an important thing to consider because I can’t bug her all the time lest our short term, casual thing becomes even shorter and not so casual.

I’m trashing the James paper and throwing myself into Byron’s Don Juan. I don’t know anything about Byron other than the famous phrase but for guys like me, being “mad, bad and dangerous to know” goes a long way. Even if someone is two-thirds of that, they probably have my full attention.

Or at least two-thirds of it.

Oh, and the staying sober thing is probably going to start Tuesday. After the radio show I told Mindy that I’d make us some drinks. My way of thanking her for saving me at the front desk the other night. No funny business. I think she is seeing some one and so am I. We’re just a coupla kids having drinks and pretending to be grown ups. Not a damned thing wrong with that.

Sunday Oct 22, 1989 Smoking and Other Good Decisions

Talked to Jen-O today and I am going to end up seeing some lecture with her and some POLS assholes on Friday. I was hangover smoking in the lobby with her and she convinced me attending this lecture would be a good thing to do. Our conversation was something like…

JO: “Do you know who Leo Strauss is?”
Me: “Sure, the jeans guy.”
JO: “No he’s not the jeans guy.”
Me: “Oh, the anthropologist. He wrote about nude dudes or something.”
JO: “That’s Levi-Strauss.”
Me: “Levi Strauss IS the jeans guy kid. I think you’ve got it all fucked up.”
JO: “The anthropologist is Claude Levi-Strauss with a hyphen.”
Me: “I didn’t hear you pronounce the hyphen.”
JO: “You are not even aware of how ignorant you are, are you?”
Me: “I think that’s probably a key part of ignorance. Unawareness, I mean.”

Then she talked about some heady shit, the details of which are difficult to remember. I’m only paid to remember the jokes people. Ok, no one is paying me, I just prefer to remember the jokes.

I actually do know something about her Leo Strauss. He’s this shitty little guy who flunked out of Martin Heidegger’s Nietzsche class and fled the Weimar Republic. See I know something about history. The history of political philosophy, that’s another thing.

To be honest, some of the more interesting folks around campus (and that is a very small number) care about this thing they call “the history of political philosophy.” Jen-O’s Professor Frisch is one of them. There are others in the POLS department, the theory guys that seem to be pushed off to the side of things at best, while being hated by others.

Being hated in a time and place like this seems to be a thing to be admired.

When Jen-O said the names of folks from here who were going to be there (at this lecture) I told her, “I’ll go, but don’t expect me to join anything. I’m no joiner.”

She laughed. She told me that no one wanted me and going would be for my own edification. I told her I was plenty “ed” already but I don’t think she believed me.

The talk is going to be at U of C. I’ve never been there. I don’t know much about Hyde Park except that parts of it are really fucking scary while other parts are “bookie”. Presumably this lecture will be in one of the “booklearnin” parts. The last thing I need to do is go to the big city, attend a public lecture and come back addicted to crack.

Sadly, it would not shock me if that is what actually happens.

Saturday Oct 21, 1989 The Importance of Changing Gears…

…even if your life is nothing more than a mini-bike.

Woke up with E`{`. She got dressed and went to the pool. I got dressed and went to my work assignment on the Rock. That sounds about right.

We purposely walked right in front of the Front Desk and talked loudly so psychobithcfromhell could hear us talking and making plans for later in the day. I think she knew what I was doing and seemed happy to play along.

I kissed E`{` before we went outside and took off in opposite directions.

John John let me go early just as he did last week. Apparently he knows E`{` and I are seeing each other because he told me, “When you see her, tell E`{` that I have some new comics from John P.”

Not my John P. Their John P. Theirs is cooler, mine is taller. Mine is cooler than me, theirs is cooler than all of us. But at the end of the day, my John P is the tallest.

I saw her for lunch and forgot all about these comics. Too busy talking about myself. She was curious or I thought her curiosity about my change in directions for the final English paper warranted a long answer so I went on and on and on.

Actually I decided this morning, just after waking up to scrap all the James stuff and start on something new for that final paper and E`{` inspired that.

She made it very clear that whatever we were doing was, is and is going to stay extremely casual if such a thing is possible. I can respect that. I don’t like it, but after spending a summer crying in my beer can and calling psychobitchfromhell and asking her to take me back after she made it clear we were through…I am going to take women at their word.

As fucked up as it sounds, I think I love this girl because I spent so much time (before now) thinking about her. I liked her since we were little freshmen on competing honors floors. I was already with someone and so was she (some older dude, Shawn’s friend Richard who I always thought was gay). Never thought there’d even be a chance we’d get together (E`{` & I, not me and Richard). Now that we are together (E`{` & I, not me and Richard) I can talk to her whenever I want, she talks to me almost daily and has made no bones about what is important to her. Her school, getting out of DK and getting a job so she can make art…

That is to be admired, but there is no room for what I want on that boat. I am going to enjoy this relationship or whatever it is until Halloween or so, enjoy a few cool nights with her and break it off myself in the nicest way possible. That is a good plan and I can do it.

To deal with my broke up heart then, I’m changing that stupid paper and spending the next few weeks reading and taking notes on Byron’s Don Juan. Love Mozart. Love the scream from Don Giovanni but there is something about the story in Byron’s hands that is probably more me.

Hanrahan and some of his friends were talking about the poem this summer at the Candlelight and the conversation stuck with me. They prefer Byron’s Don Juan because “Don” isn’t the sexual conquistador he is elsewhere in letters and numbers (music). He sounds like a bit of a loser. He has lots of sex, but it sounds like he’s a sucker for the ladies, not the other way around. Of course I might be totally wrong. Got to see if Mark has a copy of Byron’s poem for me to steal.

I first cared about the story during my trip to France in ’86. I met a German who told me he could recite de Molina’s entire Trickster in Spanish, then proceeded to blabber in something that sounded like Spanish. I think he was hitting on me.

Before flying home, I picked up a translation of Moliere’s trilogy…mostly for Tartuffe, but also because it had his take on all the cuckoldry (probably not a word), Feast with the Statue.

Just for the record, flying overseas isn’t something I do or did regularly. I did it once. Thanks and much love to Mom and Dad for giving me some money for the trip. Don’t want to give the mistaken impression that I am Bianca Jagger or something like that.

Anyway, enough of my stupid past and more about my Don Juan/English paper plans later. After a late lunch with E`{`, John Parker and I went to Tom’s. Shawn was already there. We drank a case and shared a pint of whiskey, probably faster than we should have. We all screamed at each other a lot. Stupid Leinies. They go down easy but turn me into a royal dick.

Fucked up when I got home and called E`{`. Woke her. Maybe this thing will end sooner than I thought.

Friday Oct 20, 1989 Love, Like and a Jug o’ Wine

Did not call my sister on her birthday. In my defense, I don’t know her phone number. The perfect crime.

Kicked ass on my numbers test this morning. Jen McF and I are doing so well in the class we are thinking of becoming empirical social scientists just to spite our TA from last semester when we fucked everything up.

We’re probably not going to do that.

Kavi, Jennifer M & I took on Chris, Jim and Danette in 3-on-three. I love co-ed hoops. We known some girls who are pretty great at basketball and it gives one a different perspective on the game. I never played basketball with women until I came to this town and I am glad for the change. Fun time, lots of laughing and the basketball included just the right level of competition.

Went to English just to turn in my paper and slunk the hell out of there. Classy.

Chris and I went to Rick’s. Burgers, his treat. That was really nice of him.

We went to the Rec again. I had time to kill before picking up E`{` and burgers to work off my booty. Ultimately I don’t think I accomplished anything because I drank several coat beers on my way out to College to get my little red-haired girl.

We walked back to the dorms together and talked the whole time. No awkward silence and no unnecessary babbling either. Perfect conversation really. She was interested in my Henry James piece and she talked about her silver work. I know nothing of vis-com, but everything she says about it is interesting to me. Not because I want to look up her dress either, she has a controlled passion for her art. I envy her.

Stopped at the liquor store next to Sgt. Peppers and picked up an unnecessarily large bottle of Ernie and Bertio.

Drank, had more perfect conversation and smooched while listening to Electric Ladyland.

We both agreed that we wanted something casual.

I think I’m falling in love with this girl.

Thursday Oct 19, 1989 Coming to Certain, Very Important Conclusions

Celebrating at least two things today.

Thing the First: The test I showed up twenty minutes late for, I got a 93%. Me. The biggest dolt on campus. Whatever intelligence I may or may not have usually does not rear its ugly head without preparation. The fucking hippy teacher probably game me the 93%, but a gift is certainly a cause to celebrate and I certainly celebrated it.

Had a can of beer in my coat pocket all day today and I wore a coat everywhere. It wasn’t the same can. Hamms is even worse warm. Once, Shawn and I thought it might be the opposite of good beer in every conceivable way so, operating under that theory, we warmed some up. Nope. Tasted even worse warm.

Left two empty cans on my lunch tray in the cafeteria. Watched them go down the conveyor belt with all the dirty dishes. Good bye little soldiers.

Went to the Rec and kicked Khyle and Chris’ collective asses at 21. I was a picture of dominance. My ill-spent youth wasn’t totally wasted then. I am somewhat good at something. That something is beating white kids at basketball. I’d say it’s the only thing I have to hang my hat on but currently; I do not own a hat.

Thing the Second: I read, re-read and re-re-read my intro for the new Ramone script…

“Times like these remind me that there is a God
Because if there is a God it follows that there is a Hell”

Does one need quotes for a thing they wrote in their own journal? Anyway, the second thing I’m celebrating is I am sure that I am no fucking good at turning poetry or whatever I think it is into comic books. I’m gonna lay back and let Bill keep going on these ideas. He’s basically better off without me on the project.

I don’t mean this to be a self-pity ‘oh I can’t write blah blah blah’ - - I mean this honestly. Wherever I am at right now, I suck at writing. That’s why I do this stupid journal when I am sober. I certainly don’t write in it to stay sober. That would be wasting valuable drinking time. I write in these pages to practice. One day I hope to be so good that I can write decent to great things whilst being totally fucked up.

Now that would be a thing to celebrate.

Oh, and I got the Durk to take my hours on Friday so I can go out with E`{`. That’s a lot to celebrate on a day when I did fucking nothing. Not bad.

Wednesday Oct 18, 1989 Baloney, No Bread

Shawn and I talked about how much we hate school today. It sucks. There is nothing worth doing here. If we were men we’d quit.

So much work to do at this point in the semester that has absolutely nothing to do with me. I want to work on the comic book idea Bill and I have been kicking around lately. Also thinking seriously about what Jen-O said last night. I need to do something, anything to be and remain interesting to a girl like E`{`. I know E`{` said she doesn’t really care for guys in bands anymore, which I guess is a good thing because at this point in my life there is no chance of me doing that seriously.

Went home right after Greek History. Did not stop to see Susan or E`{`. Had every intention of going straight to my desk, clearing of the stuff I was reading and finish the Henry James thing for English class, if for no other than to get it out of the way.

Who knows? I might actually know something about the James piece. It’s one of the few new things I’ve enjoyed reading this semester.

Instead I went to the Rec with Chris, Erika and of all people – Shawn. He invented a new game combining basketball and baseball. Dare I say, we had some fun?

We did. After hoops I bought a 2 liter of Pepsi and a pack of baloney, no bread.

Tuesday Oct 17, 1989 20 Minutes Late but in Time for Tea

Bumbled out of bed. Stood in one place for quite some time, wondering whether or not I should go to class. Decided to go. Showed up 20 minutes late. All the students were writing diligently in their Blue Books. I was not. I didn’t even have a Blue Book. In my defense, I just got there.

Spent thirty minutes writing about the badness of America…eloquently as per usual.

Worked from 1pm to 2.

PM.

Rigged up Chris’ stereo and used it as a piece of recording equipment. What I did sounded good, but any other merits of the material are purely coincidental…with the less than average taste of anyone who might think such stuff is worth a damn.

Well, maybe the song was worth a damn, but that’s it. It certainly wasn’t worth two damns.

Worked another shift at the front desk for psychobitchfromhell. 8pm to 11pm. Dealt with her briefly before meeting up with Bill Garver and Mark. Left Douglass Hall with those boys. Our plan was to go to the new coffee house or whatever they are calling it these days. I never made it to our destination. The minute we hit College Ave, all I could think about was seeing E`{`. I was honest with Mark and Bill and said, “I know we are going to see some outfit that is supposed to be good but all I can think about is stopping off to see E`{` so that’s what I am going to do.”

They made those meowing and whipping sounds.

“…and I hate you guys is the other reason then.”

They made their way to glamorous, downtown DeKalb and I continued on College towards E`{`’s place.

We drank tea and had a nice talk. She drank tea and I pretended to like it. I am not afraid to pretend to like things for social purposes. I am afraid that I will have to pretend much in this life as there are not too many things I generally like.

I think that’s pretty much right on the mark.

Tried to convince E`{` to spend the night with me either at her place or mine. Does that sound like the 70’s? Where are my exotic oils and flowing chest hair?

We had a second cup of tea. I never have a second cup at home. Fuck, I never have a first cup. Stupid tea.

Could not convince her to spend the night with me and she kicked me out by 1am. School is very important to her. I don’t think it was an excuse. I can smell one of those a thousand miles away. I’ve heard them all including, “I have to take my aunt’s bird to the vet’s office.”

That one was hard to swallow.

Walked back to the dorms by myself. Missed the show and now was on my way for home, sober, with only tea in my belly.

Saw Jen-O with a book on her face in the lobby. I lifted it, woke her (just to be a prick) and said, “What’s up kid?”

We ended up drinking cans of beer and smoking Chesterfields in my room and talking until late. She sifted through the unholy pile of books on my desk. That pile, of course, includes the Bible but even that becomes unholy (or significantly less holy) when it comes into contact with my desk. Lord knows what I’ve done on that desk.

He should, I forgot but I know some of it had to be unclean.

She pushed aside the Relative State paper. She laughed at my copy of the Bible and said, “It looks like you have actually read this thing?”

“Parts of it more than once,” I said putting out my cigarette in something that looked like an ashtray. It was late at that point and I can’t be counted on to differentiate between an ashtray and a smashed Hamms can. Ashtray may in fact be the highest purpose for a can that had, at one time, held that awful beer.

She thumbed through my thin volume of Aristotle’s Poetics and put it on top of photocopies of Henry James “The Art of Fiction” and some shit from Poe about how he wrote the Raven and other such stuff. Jen-O said, “You only need one of these.”

The Poetics is stolen, the other things are free because of the photocopy trick Dan J. showed to William T. Garver and I told her that.

“Well you could have saved time and paper by just concentrating on your stolen copy of the Poetics,” she said as she took another cigarette from the pack on my desk.

“I thought that thing was famous because it sketched out the differences between tragedy and comedy. With the advent of MASH, that’s irrelevant now isn’t it? The tragicomic dramady right?”

She stared at me, opened her mouth slowly and her cigarette dropped to the floor.

Ok, that didn’t happen, but that was the look my friend Jen-O gave me.

Jen-O asked me again (as she does once a week or so) what I think I am doing. Lots of people try to have these conversations with me. My parents. My ex. My cousin. A few friends from home who I am currently not speaking to for a variety of reasons…mostly because I don’t need those fuckfaced, half-assed criminals asking me ‘what do I think I’m doing with my life?’ it’s embarrassing having people like that ask such a question.

I take Jen-O a little more seriously when she raises the question, even though recently she has made a fetish out of it. My friend is deadly serious about time and what to do with it. She has good reason to be.

Also, she is a few ticks smarter than me. Only someone stupider than me would completely ignore words from someone who is definitely smarter than they are. Since I am me and I refuse to be a paradox, I do not ignore her.

When I told her what I thought I was doing I talked mostly about E`{` and not about the books on my desk. She said she liked E`{` and that that girl had more substance than the girls I usually tried to find myself around. She lectured me about Jenna from our Post-Renaissance Spain class and asked me if I was seriously trying to date an A Phi. She didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t.

I believed me. It was one mini-van ride and a few bottles of airplane liquor.

Jen-O said that E`{` was better than psychobitchfromhell and girls like that who I was interested in because they had stuff, or money, or were mean (and I go for mean in a big way) or their dads could get me on a Bartlett golf course semi-regularly. Jen-O seemed to know a lot about me, and told me more than I cared to know about me.

Our conversation ended on a noteworthy…uh, note. Jen-O suggested that if I want a girl like E`{` to be or stay interested in me then I better consider doing something interesting. I thought those were fine words and thought about them and am still thinking of them as I write this.

Jen got up to leave and fussed with her wig. “Is it on straight? I’m a little drunk,” she said.

I finished my beer, looked at her and answered, “For a 5am, half-drunk walk through the residence hall lobby, I think you’re going to be ok.”

She mushed out her cigarette in a Hamms can with just a little beer in it, adjusted her wig a few more times, blew me a kiss and left.

I tried to return the books and papers to their original, chaotic state on my desk. As I did I found the copy of Mr. Fitzgerald’s first novel I had stolen from Mark a few weeks earlier. Recently I came to the conclusion that I like writing in these little notebooks but if I continue to do so I better read books like this to make sure I’m not plowing the same earth, even if I am describing my actual life.

I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I have been accidentally writing The Shitside of Paradise all along.

Then where would we be?

Monday Oct 16, 1989 A Kiss to Build a Fuck On

Hardly. But E`{` and I managed to occupy ourselves until 6 in the morning. Slept about two hours. I felt a kiss on my forehead, I prayed that it wasn’t Buttweasle. It wasn’t. E`{` dressed, and made herself pretty. Pretty in the morning without makeup is pretty important to me. That is when I am most sober and most likely to remember how someone looks.

She said something like, “I am going swimming. Call you later. Thanks for the sleepover.”

Thank you, girl.

Last night I got the sense that E`{` is a virgin so then the problem should be clear. How long or how well can I keep a relationship going without the prospect of sex? If I am right, and she is a virgin I am not going to be the guy that tries to unvirgin her and I am serious about this. I’ve never defuckingflowered a person over twenty before and it should be clear why. If I was a virgin that long and the possibility of giving it up to someone like me came along I’d run a hundred miles away before the thought crossed my mind a second time.

Honestly, I am just not man enough yet for something like that. I’m 164 pounds soaking wet. My hair weighs more than the rest of me. Hey, this isn’t self-deprecation. If I am going to write this stuff down here I might as well be serious about myself, if nowhere else, at least in these pages.

The point here with E`{` then is we are going to have to find ways to keep things interesting without making things get real interesting. What? We can keep talking. That seems to work pretty well. A rabbit named Melvin. That’s about the cutest fucking thing I ever heard.

Who needs sex if she has more fucked up stories like that?

Back to this virgin thing? E`{` appears to be a virgin, Little Miss D is a virgin….How’d I get to know all these virgins all of a sudden?...when I am single myself nonetheless? Come on people, this is university. Let’s get these things taken care of, at least before you meet me.

See. No one wants to lose their virginity to a guy like me. Hell, no one should lose their car keys around me and ask me to help them find said keys. I’m even more useless at that kind of thing.

History 417, skipped POLS, went to work…totally bored the whole time…

Took E`{` to Tom and Jerry’s before meeting Bill at KDI. E`{` hung out while we did the show. She picked some cool records to play and definitely helped the cause. Good, short show. A big part of its goodness was its shortness. Walked E`{` home at 2am. She looked tired. I was tired. I kissed her at the door and didn’t even try to get in the apartment. I don’t know if it made me look like a gentleman or just a poor dumb jerk who was tired. Either way, I walked my tired and jerky ass all the way back to Douglass Hall in the dark.

Smoked half a cigarette while sitting on my bed waiting for sleep. Dropped it in a half filled pop can and listened to it fizzle out. Head on pillow and…gone.

Sunday Oct 15, 1989 Waiting for the Pictures

Some other weird shit happened over the weekend that I should write about. Mark got married. Some Super-Swede. She passed Super-Swede and blinded me with the whiteness of her hair when we met. Yup. My pal is married. He knew her for a good several hours before pledging his eternal drunk to her.

Ah, romance.

Best hitching post I ever witnessed, or so I have been told. Bill was wedding security. Tom Near was the preacher. Our other Tom was the best man. I was the worst man.

There may have been a third Tom there but don’t quote me on that. And while you’re at it don’t forget to not quote the Raven ever again. I think that’s the point of that thing, but I am sort of known for missing the point of things.

I was definitely worse for wear and tear when I got there, Mark’s wedding that is. I don’t totally remember being there but Vanessa or Scottie or someone told me they’d prove it to me when the pictures are developed. I’m ok with waiting for the pictures.

I’m sure this is the first of many weddings for my friend. I’m bound to remember one of them if I can’t quite recall this one.

Showed up for part of the June Bug Massacre show…or whatever current incarnation of JBM is smoking pot and making music somewhere in our town. It was at that crappy, too bright coffee house in the downtown. The owners were nice to me even when I threatened to break some of the lights so I could see straight.

I left the gig shortly after that and went to see E`{`. Jason P. was hanging around her place and I was determined to wait him out. He left because he had something to do. I don’t have those sorts of problems.

E`{` I talked until 2:30am while Laurel and her boyfriend were taking full advantage of the bedroom. Actually, I think they were both passed out drunk. I saw Laurel’s man earlier at the gig and he looked not so sober at the time. He’s ok, although I think his name is Bob. I’m not prejudiced, but Shawn, Khyle and I all have this thing for guys named Bob. Maybe we’re the problem, but I don’t think so. If you are reading this thing and your name is Bob, I’m not going to apologize. Your parents should apologize to me for fucking naming you Bob. You’re even one letter short of being a boob so you have way bigger problems than me mister. And if you are a woman named Bob, I really can’t help you.

I may be a Bob-hating-sonofabitch, but I convinced sweet E`{` to let the lovebirds have the apartment and come back with me to the ever exciting Douglass Hall. I told her that Buttweasle was at Erika’s so we’d definitely be able to hang out, talk and not worry about anything.

And honestly, I had no agenda. I wanted to keep talking to this girl and she was growing uncomfortable with the situation in her bedroom. I failed to mention that Laurel and E`{` share a bedroom (not in the way I’d like them to) but having the boyfriend passed out or whatever in there meant E`{` could not go to bed, or she felt like she couldn’t go in there.

Seriously. No agenda. I’m not about agendas. I’m not about truth either, but fuck agendas. Who has time for that?

Long, slow walk back to my place. Talking and mostly laughing. I’ve been in this town two years now, and this is the prettiest fall by far. Definitely. The weather has been conducive to long walks and talks with pretty little red-haired girls. I made sure not to talk to her about the fucking weather.

We bounced up the front stairs of Douglass and found the lobby empty. Strange that there was no one talking, smoking, juggling, killing time or even passed out drunk on one of the sofas at 3am. E`{` and I stopped by the desk and said “hey” to Nataki. Then we headed to A5.

We both plopped down on my bed at the same time. So glad Chris and I do not do the bunk bed style. His bed is over his desk and mine is just out there with nothing above it except the gods (and they’d disapprove of my behavior whether a bunk was there or not).

We leaned back against the wall at the same time. Synchronized lounging, pretty neat. We stared at each other. Synchronized staring, a little creepy, but we both seemed to be into it.

Maybe her eyes are green-brown. I forget how I represented, or misrepresented them in the earlier entries. What did I know then? We were walking around outside like fools. Tonight we made it back to my room.

She told me how she once had a pet rabbit and her mom made the rabbit a collar so she could walk her pet around on a leash.

I laughed. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. I asked her the rabbit’s name.

“Melvin,” she said.

We laughed, then we kissed and it was over for both of us. Ok, it was over for me but that first kiss with E`{` was a summer blockbuster, post car chase guy gets girl and movie grosses more than Star Wars kiss.

Well, maybe it wasn’t a summer blockbuster kiss. But it was better than a tv kiss. Let’s just say it was a ‘made for tv movie’ kiss.

And it will do just fine, for now.

Saturday Oct 14, 1989 Never Leave the Fucking Backpack

Woke up wobbly. Stupid floor making my back feel like a 40 year old back. Scurried and hurried to my work assignment on the Rock.

As I ran through the lobby I came across a weird assortment of POLS jerks, FLeRPS and Honors kids smoking and shouting at each other. I had a few minutes to stop. Normally I don't care about such stuff but they were really going at it, so I had to ask, "What the fuck is wrong with you people?"

One of the POLS jerks said, "The Market crashed!"

"Dominick's?" I asked.

"No," said the POLS jerk, "The Stock Market crashed!"

"Again?"

A FLeRP said (possibly in a fake French accent, because I am still not convinced he is actually from France he just thinks the fake accent and weird haircut will get him laid), "The world may have lost a billion dollars in wealth. Where have you been?"

"The Phantom of the Opera," I said as I left these folks, charged through the lobby doors and made my way to the Recycling Center.

Hungover, but work-release was ok. Throw a milk jug here, stack old newspapers there. It could've turned out worse for me I guess.

Came home at 1:30pm and Buttweasle said Susan called like three times already. I sat down to play Tecmo and practice my Bo Jackson intangibility maneuver. The phone rang.

It was Susan.

I asked her what she was up to. She said she was doing some light reading. I asked her what she was reading and she said, "I think you'll find it interesting. Here's something from page 55: 'This walk home past the water, saying bad things about geese has been in the works for some time now. It has been written in the stars or something like that. You could write War and Peace with all the fucking stars that were out on our romantic fucking walk.' What do you think? Pretty saucy stuff. Do you want me to go..."

Fuck.

For some reason I looked around the dorm room for my backpack. I knew it wasn't there. Susan had it.

I let the phone drop and smack the wall. I grabbed my shoes and coat. I pushed through the crash doors and ran down the back stairs to the street.

NEVER LEAVE THE FUCKING BACKPACK!

I ran-walked from the stupid dorms to John Street. Jen-O, Susan and a few other people were hanging out. I was pretty sure they all read my journal or had parts of it read to them. Probably the parts that make me look stupid because they are the easiest to find in that fucking thing and in fact are that fucking thing.

Jen asked, "Why didn't you say hello to Frisch?"

Oh goddammit

"I've been reading this most of the morning," said Susan.

"Yeah?"

"There are parts where you kind of make it sound like we are going out," she said, cocking her hip slightly.

"Oh. Don't worry, I can change it."

Jen-O laughed, but Susan stared straight at me and said, "You can't just make up a bunch of shit and call it the past Ed."

"Why not? Historians do it all the time." I coughed. Then I walked past Susan and took a can of Bud from the fridge. "Who wants to sit outside and look at the river? It's not too sunny."

I'd like to say that the girls and I took our drinks and strolled out on to the veranda overlooking the water but we just put down lawn chairs in the overgrown grass and tried not to smell the stinky river.

Jen-O asked for a cigarette and I obliged. I lit it for her and lit one of my own with the same match. I’ve been sort of humiliated, but at least I’m saving matches.

"You're right," Jen said, "It's not too sunny out here."

I watched Susan drink her beer. Then I noticed the girls' old boom box on the ground next to the house. I pushed play and Susan asked, "That's garbage. What are you doing?"

"Just seeing what happens," I said, removing the Chesterfield from my mouth and taking a swig of beer.

It worked although the batteries were running low. It warbled and then managed to pick up speed long enough for me to make some sense out of the music. I made the girls a reggae mix tape from shit at the station. The one song we could make out was the Heptones. It was their version of “Mama Say.”

It played for two verses or so. Somewhere around the second time the guy says "here's a little porridge in the dish" the tape heads struggled to work, slowed quickly, became unintelligible and died.

Friday Oct 13, 1989 Get Offa Me

Went over to E ‘{‘ ‘s to see if she wanted to meet up with me after Phantom of the Opera. She said, “Are you asking me out after you go to the theater with Susan?” I said, “Yes, that’s exactly why I came over here.” She said, “So you want to go out with me after you go on a date with this other girl.” I said, “It’s not a date. Susan likes this other guy.” She said, “This makes no sense to me. I’m going home. I’ll get in touch with you Sunday.”

It’s not a date with Susan. She likes this other guy. I already said that didn’t I? She also likes Mark more than she likes me. I’m at least third in line. She's still in love with John. I'm probably fourth on the best day of my life. Shit.

I brought flowers for Mindy at Naptime. She fell asleep with them on her chest. It looked like she was dead. Dead, but still pretty. I don’t want to say anything else lest these pages are used to condemn me for a crime I didn’t commit.

Can't spend the rest of my days living a Banner-like existence, hitchhiking across what looked like the same five roads in Northern California.

Bah, puny television.

Susan barged in while Mindy and I were napping together. She told me to get my ass up. She told me we had to get ready. I told her it was only 4pm and the performance wasn’t until 8 or something like that. She said she wanted us to look good and it was going to take time. I told her to speak for herself and that I already looked great. She slugged me hard in the chest. Mindy giggled and I knew it was time to go.

As Susan was dragging me down the hallway, Dawn poked her head out of the door and asked me where I was going. I thought I said Egyptian Theater but she called back, “You’re going to Egypt?” I wouldn’t last five minutes in fucking Egypt.

”What is wrong with that girl?” Susan asked.

I told her I didn’t know and to pull the car up to the lobby. I had to go up to my room and grab my backpack. Susan looked at me funny and said, “Move it buster.”

I moved it. I put the rest of the stuff I got from the guy from the fish house (we’ve developed a code system so bad that it’s got to throw off the authorities because we forget what it is half the time) also threw some rubbers in the backpack and the journal just in case I might get to stay the night. Wouldn’t I look cool the next morning smoking a cig, drinking coffee and writing? Actually I had some phone numbers written on the back pages of the journal and I didn’t have time to copy them anywhere else. Sue C, Dee and a few other people wanted to know where things were happening after Phantom. If Susan and her roomies were cool with it we could have them all over to the John Street place.

I ran down the stairs and jumped in the Honda (the one intentional/unintentional error in these pages…I can’t read my writing and don’t remember if Susan had a Honda or a Hyundai – sorry to break the spell). Susan cranked up Powerslave and said, “I’m buying us sandwiches. Then we get dressed.”

I like sandwiches. We could even skip the getting dressed part.

One note on Maiden, they’re another band that’ll do until rock ‘n roll comes back. I hate the singing. But I’m not too proud to admit that I love the bass on Aces High. So flat and formless, yet just right for this horseshit. I also love watching Susan scream along with Maiden while she is smoking my cigarettes and driving too damned fast.

Earlier in the day she picked up a sporty jacket for me at the Army of Salvation. Sporty is ok when it’s on me. I’m just dorky and reckless enough to pull off sporty. One of her other roomies, Alyssa gave me a shirt and a tie. I said, “Where did these clothes come from? You got strangers just leaving clothes here?” “They’re mine,” said Alyssa. It felt good wearing her clothes. They were men’s clothes. The tie is not one I’d normally wear but it was ok. Susan went nuts with my hair. She said, “Your hair might be better if you washed it more.”

I’ll take my chances.

Susan looked fucking fantastic and, to be honest, I’m glad E'{' went home. Nothing will come of it but only a fool wouldn’t try with a woman who looked like this. Oh yeah, this is me we’re talking about. I’m liable to try or not try anything, depending on the state I’m in.

She drank her brandy. I now kept a bottle over there so I had my whiskey. I’ll be ok so long as Jeannie or Mark do not find it. They can drink more whiskey than I can. Bastards.

In my defense I’m always sort of drunk when I start drinking something at someone else’s house. It’s the drinking before I go out drinking that gets me.

Some defense.

Phantom was what I thought it would be. The fun was hanging out in the theater lobby. Everyone had cameras and we all took pictures of each other. I smooched Millie Olson. I figure you can kiss your teacher if she’s in her mid-70’s…and you’re drunk….and it’s not on the lips.

I love Millie Olson.

Susan told me that we were not going to Millie Olson’s party after the performance. When I asked why she said, “You kissed her. I didn’t like where that was going.” And we laughed pretty hard. It was one of those laughs where we both had to wipe our eyes. I love eye-wiping laughs.

Drank back on Down Street, er…John Street. Of course we went back to her place and as good as she looked, I didn’t try anything. I actually value this girl’s friendship. I don’t want to screw it up. This is new for me. But even this won’t last. I always screw things up whether I want to or not. Alyssa and John P. were there. Jeannie found my whiskey. Listened to Social Distortion and Wynton Marsalis. Sometimes Susan is Mommy’s Little Monster. The best part of that part of the night was when Alyssa showed me a teddy that little Frank Moran bought for her. She wasn’t wearing it for me. She just took it out of the box. I think he went to Homer. He’s got money to buy teddies for girls at college. I’m just jealous I guess. I wouldn’t know where to go to buy a teddy so all the money in the world is wasted on me.

Walked back to Douglass with Jeannie and John. You know who was working at the front desk. They encouraged me to go to my room without stopping to see her. I didn’t listen. I never listen. Kim asked me why I never tried to look good when we were dating. I said, “You did my laundry and liked me for who I was.” She reminded me that remarks like that were why she left me. I said, “Well you did my laundry and liked me for who I was for awhile. I guess that was enough for me.” She called me an asshole and I threw a pencil at the plasti-glass “protecting” the front desk. I didn’t even throw it in her direction. I threw it at a panel off to the side. She said, “Real nice Ed.” Little Sandy Clawson peeked her head from the back room and asked Psychobitch if everything was ok.

Mindy came walking across the lobby. I bet she was still hanging out at Mark’s and Jeannie told her to rescue me. I’ve got good friends.

“Hey you,” Mindy said as she put her arm around me, pulled me to her hip and smiled.

Yeah. Now I was walking away from the front desk. Mindy brought me back to late night naptime. Bill told me the next day that I was so funny (or was that obnoxious?) that I was almost canonized then killed. “Made a saint?” I asked. He said, “No Ed. You were almost shot in the face with a cannon.”

That was another eye-wipe laugh.

We all stayed up until 7am and fell asleep on Mark’s floor.

If that floor could talk it would say, “Get offa me.”

Thursday Oct 12, 1989 What's Weirder?

I don't know what's weirder...the fact that I ran into Jen-O's professor while I was blowing off ILAS or that the Chicago Cubs were eliminated last Monday by Rick Reuschel. It's got to be the latter.

It's not weird that the Cubs got beat. They've been getting beat my whole life and they used to look a lot worse in the process than they have in the last five years or so. But Rick Reuschel starting the game that prevents the Cubs from going to the World Series? The Reuschel boys are synonymous with Cub boobery and should not be a part of Cub defeat, at least not according to me. That's like Jody Davis fucking a rat from the bowels of Wrigley right on the pitcher's mound during the 7th inning stretch. Harry'd probably try to say "ratfucking" backwards.

Why am I complaining? The world's end was diverted by another Cub season ending without a trip to the World Series. I kind of like the world and need it more than the Cubs need the trophy. Like Cub fans, I'll just have to wait until next year to see if the world ends.

Oh, Jen-O's prof. I knew it was him because Jen showed me a picture of the two of them at some bookstore in Hyde Park. When she first showed me the photo I said, "I didn't know you knew Yoda." Then today I saw this guy outside Screwoff Hall who looked just like Yoda. I thought about introducing myself but if he started talking backwards or sideways or however Frank Oz did it, I'd probably lose my useless, fucking mind...

More.

It's probably best that I didn't say anything. Jen O's Prof was going on and on about the Cubs series. I instantly tuned him out and looked for our guy from the Pikes. Jen-O and a few other people would probably rather have me meet this person today than blah blah blah with some teacher about political science.

After all, it's Thursday night for crissakes!

Wed Oct 11, 1989 A Bit Dizzy

What a surprise, a note in my box from Jen O reminding me to contact her Professor Frisch. The end of the note read, "You should do this if for no other reason than you have no other meaningful things to do this week."

Does this guy get paid by the student? Does Jen O get a cut? Sheesh. I've got more important things to do.

Played Super Tecmo Bowl with Buttweasle for about three hours straight. Then watched Kyhle and Chris play Ultima IV. They've almost got that puppy solved. I am not an active participant in the game. Not since Iola was decapitated. That was horrible and I still can't talk about it. Just a reminder, when first entering an unexplored keep, be prepared for anything.

Went to English and Greek History. Friggin MacIntosh. I'm gonna kick that little symbol right in the dimple or whatever the hell it is.

Stopped by Susan's after Greek class. She's so happy. Things are happening with her and that Michael guy. I sort of thought I would be the rebound guy after John. I know John is my friend and I always say I never want to be the rebound guy, but I just thought I'd be next in line.

Shows what I know.

We'll still see Phantom of the Opera this weekend and it should be fun. We always have a great time at the Egyptian. The real Egyptians would be proud of us. Or offended. Or indifferent, I don't really know for sure.

Got a free Pepsi from the girl at Subway. I must've looked as if I needed something. Pop cheers me up. I love me some fizzy brown bubbly stuff.

Stopped at E'{' 's apt. and found out she had tried to call me five minutes earlier. We sat in her kitchen under this weird light. Found out there are three kids in her family. She has two brothers. Both younger. Tonight she wore this necklace with a little brown pot hanging around her neck. I know what I would put in there. E'{' probably put metaphorical hopes and dreams in there, or possibly a little eraser. I don't know. Out of control.

She admitted that she stopped by Douglass earlier and was planning to drop off a note for me at the front desk, but You Know Who was working there. I guess everyone who knows, knows how bad things ended for us. So she saw Kim there and walked right out of the lobby. Silly girl. She gave me the note in person. It was a newspaper story about a goose that bit someone walking around the lagoon and in her hand she wrote "This could have been us!"

She is great and I am getting a bit dizzy over my little red haired girl.

Came home and played another two hours of Tecmo Bowl with Buttweasle.

Tuesday Oct 10, 1989 Look Away

Woke up late, skipped ILAS. Now I'll never learn how it turns out for America. Oh yeah, rotten with a chance of more lies. Nice to have predictable profs.

Bill, Shawn and I watched Peter Fonda's Race with the Devil. Not a good movie, but everybody in it was drinking like they were afraid that the Devil was going to take their booze. I can respect that.

Shawn and I found out about a refund we were both owed from the university. We went to the Bursars to pick up our just deserts. We were sure that if we combined his check and mine we'd have enough for a case of something mediocre and enjoy delicious beer on the powers that be. You can imagine our horror when the bursar person told us that our individual amounts were too small to cut checks (we were each owed $4.96 and NIU will not produce a check for anything lower than $5!) - BLOODY BASTARDS

I was invited to play euchre with Tom and Mark (and presumably someone else, although I don't know who the other person was) but I had to fucking work. Fuck my fucking job. Wait, I love my job. It helps me to get beer which is more than I can say for the university.

Monday Oct 9, 1989 She Comes in Colors

Went to all my classes today yet I do not feel any smarter.

Talked with Bill about quitting the radio show. Tonight might be our last night. I don't know why I'm so moody. Is it because I am sober? Lousy sobriety. Well, we can change that soon enough.

Ahhhh, there. That's better.

You know who took me aside after my shift at the front desk. She said Little Miss D asked her a ton of questions about me and how to manage me. Kim said she gave the girl some bullshit answers just to get out of the conversation but also told me I should talk to Miss D and try to do the right thing here. She's probably right. I can't be all "smoochy smoochy" one night and then "let Bill Garver hold your head while you vomit" the next. How's that gonna look? Technically I don't know how it looked because I left.

Actually I think learning how and when to leave might make me a healthier individual. Knowing when stuff is over and it is time to move on...it seems like I was never cool enough to figure that thing out. In the past I'd just hang on and on and on, and for what? To get my shit handed to me, that's what. The people who left me behind in the past always seemed happy. Shit always seemed to work out for them. So maybe if I leave this situation, and leave it the right way without being a total dick, things will work out. It's not like I fucked anybody here anyway. Leaving is the natural thing to do. Come to think of it, what am I leaving? Maybe I should say nothing. Not coming, not inviting not anythinging might be preferable to saying, "I am leaving this nothing we established. I hope you're ok with that." That might be more confusing than anything else I may or may not do with this girl.

Bill and I made the trek to the station. Half way out there I realized I forgot to call E`{`. I didn't have to call her. Much to my surprise, when Bill and I got to Kishwaukee Hall, there she was. In living color, pretty little curls in her red hair and all. Am I going to go through all this again? No.

So E`{` and I went to have a quick dinner while Bill hung out at the station with John John who was doing his laundry. I hope that was fun.

During the show some girl, probably Jen McF, kept calling and hitting on Bill. She called him Indy because he's been wearing that hat around the lobby in Douglass Hall. Hey, Bill Garver has an image to keep...especially in front of his disciples. I can just hear him say, "Ed, I don't have disciples."

While this girl, probably Jen McF, was coming on to Bill and calling him Indy, me 'n Khyle put on the Raiders theme and it was some hilarious stuff. The best line was, of course from Bill who is one of the funniest people I have ever ever met (and for a 20 year old piece of shit I have managed to meet a not insignificant amount of people, some of whom are very funny) but Bill said, "No ma'am. I don't have a whip. I do have a long pencil that I'm using to fill out the station log if that counts."

Priceless.

Bill said he could finish the show with Shawn and Khyle if I was going to walk E`{` home. Fine by me. It was a beautiful night. Too beautiful to be inside playing a rare live version of Pow R. Toc H. for the 3rd week in a row. It was just right for walking my little red haired girl home. I say "my" not because we are dating but because I'd like to think I'm at least the Charlie Brown in my own story. Who am I kidding? I don't have the character of a balding, neurotic kid and I'd probably kick the hell out of most of the other Peanuts for sassing me and treating me like shit when I am the only reason people read the comic. What?

Back to E`{`. Made it to her place. We sat in the kitchen and talked. She showed me her etchings. Unfortunately they were actual etchings. They were pretty good etchings but I'd probably rather have the metaphoric etchings. Who am I kidding? I love art chicks and I don't care if we sit around looking at their etchings all night. I'd rather do this than do the get drunk and couple, wake up and try to get out of another mess routine. She showed me her silver work and then some amazing color photos. She comes in colors everywhere...

- just artwork

- no making out or anything

And that's fine with me.

Sunday October 8, 1989 Losers

Bears lose. To Tampa Bay. It doesn't seem like they have lost a game to the Bucs since I was a kid. Don't quote me on that. I'm not a football historian. I'm not even a history historian...or at the rate I'm going, history will be over by the time I get the degree I've been pretending to get.

But if I'm only pretending...oh, skip it.

On that front saw Jen and she tried to guilt trip me for sticking with the fuck around decision to only take nine hours. I ended up feeling a touch guiltier when Bill joined our conversation.

He said that Miss D puked 7 times after I left.

I said, "At least it was after I left."

Bill gave me that look.

"And 7, that sound biblical. Maybe it's a sign."

Then Jen gave me that look.

I lit a Chesterfield, sat back and started flipping through my mail from the last month.

"I guess you think that's all that's in you. You want to try to live the rock 'n roll lifestyle?" Jen asked.

Actually, if I had my choice, I'd just make rock 'n roll. Fuck the lifestyle; it seems like it could get real boring after a while.

Sat Oct 7, 1989 Nameless and Brainless

Woke up, 8am. Ate breakfast in the dorms for the 2nd day in a row. Don't know if I want to start making a habit of that or this or anything...

I've already got too many habits and this wonderfully greasy dorm bacon could kill me before any of them. I'm just chipping for now. Two consecutive breakfasts do not a habit make. I'm good at telling myself stuff like that.

Goofed around with you know who at the front desk. Lied through my teeth about why I was up so early. I think she knows. I think everybody knows about me or that I accepted some stupid, extra work offer so I wouldn't get the forced resident hall transfer. Why do I want to stay here in the first place? I'm just glad I have a boss like Joyce Davis. I'm not sure why she helped me with Mr. Bolles but I'm sure she knows exactly what she is doing. She seems to have a good reason to do everything she does, unlike someone who will remain nameless and brainless.

From 9am to 1:30pm I hauled papers into a big truck and shoveled plastic milk cartons into a mountainous, yet somehow still neat pile. I love the sound of sliding plastic milk container in the giant aluminum shed that is NIU's recycling center. I tried to reflect on my crimes while I was in there but it just made me pee a lot.

Saw Elsa on my way back from the recycling center and she offered me a beer. Just an excuse to talk to me about one of my friends she likes, but who am I to refuse a beer...especially after my first day on The Rock. Drank then went back to the room and hung out with Buttweasle.

Subway, and my friend there let me drink too much unlimited Pepsi. I've got to keep this day going somehow.

Stopped to see Susan. Her and her roomies all made fun of how my ass looked in my jeans. I don't think it was meant as flattery. I still was flattered that three girls took the time to make fun of my ass.

Went back to Douglass and less than a half hour after getting home, Susan called and said, "I'm going shopping. Wanna come?"

I wish that meant what I want it to mean. I said, "Ok."

Listened to Diver Down while we were driving around.

Went to WalMart, KMart and Radio Shack-Mart all in search of a new boom box. Susan's sucks ass. We want to have music on the porch before the Tap party...Spinal Tap Party that is. We got something but neither of us were happy with it.

On the topic of the Tap party I don't think I am going to call E'{'. I think I'm blowing last week all out of proportion. I know that's what I do but why add her to the sad parade of people that have to deal with me and the fuck ups on a daily basis? At this point, why add anyone?

Besides, I decided to invite this Mindy person from nap time the other day. It is official, I can't follow my own logic. The recognition of that should count for something.

But it doesn't.

None of the scenarios in my head played out at the Tap party which sounds about right since I never really have any idea what is going to happen. Nobody calls me Nostrodam-ed. Miss D came alone and that was sort of trouble. Mindy, who I did not think would show up, showed up. I sat there with my six of Big Hamms (still costs lest than a six of 12oz of any other regular beer, my mom would be proud of me...of course if my mom was a junkie she'd ask the dealer if they had generic)

End parentheses

Miss D found the brandy. She called it the drink of the rich. It certainly helps make vomit rich and thick. Maybe that's bile. I don't know. I'm not a doctor, I'm just someone that fills prescriptions.

...of, love?

Before purging, my little friend from the dorms pawed the shit out of me and I did not paw back and not just because everyone was looking. I do not paw the drunk and semi-innocent as a rule.

At one point she said, "You're nice. Take care of me Ed."

I said, "Bill take care of her."

...and left for a late dinner with Mindy.

I'm not evil but I'm not nice either...at least that's the image I want to cultivate.

We drank a shitload of shitty coffee after dinner at the Faux Red Apple. We laughed. This may sound lame, I love laughing with a girl. Not just making them laugh, but when we can make each other laugh late at not and not even be that drunk...that' the best. Even better than slightly buzzed sex.

I didn't learn much about her and she didn't learn much about me, other than we both love wally ball. She's smart and I need to know as many smart people as possible.

Maybe one of them can help me, or at least keep me laughing while it all falls down.

And yes someone can be smart and still love wally ball.

Friday Oct 6th 1989 He's a Walking Clothesline

Got up at 8am and called judicial. They allowed me to reschedule my alcohol meetings. They believed my excuse that I was sick. I am sick, or at least hung-over.

Rushed through a spasmodic breakfast. Cold greasy bacon (many pieces) chocolate milk (many glasses) and then I grimaced (many faces). Rolled to my POLS numbers class (late) and hung (literally) with Jennifer McFalls. She looked like she was in worse shape than me. She mumbled in my direction, "What the fuck are we doing here?" "Political science?" I mumbled back.

Computer work at the library and figured out how to send my job to Swen Parsons from the station in Founders. I guess it's the same computer hook up thingy and sending stuff should be the same from everywhere but not for me.

Damn you SUPERWILBER! Who thinks you're so super anyway? Not me. Screw you SUBERWILBER! You sure screwed me...or at least wasted time that I was planning to waste myself.

Late to Revolution and Romanticism. The revolution can wait for me, right? Um...

Shawn and I went to Northern Lights after Andy. Weirdest Andy ever. There was a faux Floyd and the plot had a real Rod Serling feel to it. I think Otis may have even been sober. It had to have been him because it wasn't us. The great thing about Hamms is you can't go poor drinking it.

I would be their celebrity spokesperson if I was famous...or a talking bear of some sort.

I'll never be cool enough to be a talking bear.

It was hard for Shawn to get money. The first machine wouldn't recognize his card at all. We tried to go to the Student Center but they wouldn't take my paycheck from the front desk. I said, "It's from the university. You're part of the university. This check is from you. You won't take a check from yourself?"

“No” was the only answer I got.

This explains much about modern university education.

We went to the First of DeKalb and I was able to cash my paycheck. Shawn scraped his pockets to get Daredevil. I got Webs and a bunch of other stuff. Shawn didn't want to take any money from me...but he did read some of my books and drink more of my beer when we got back. That's ok. He kicks in the general 513 booze fund, leaves shit there, helps clean up for parties and buys for Chris and I whenever we want.

Drank, read comics then Dawn and I went to the talent show to see Devin and Mike Hickey play guitars. Everything else sucked but they were great. I don't know much about Mike but what I know, I like. Devin is like me only a better person with more talent. Ok, so he's not much like me at all except that we make fun of most things that deserve to be made fun of which is most things in general.

I hope that came out the way I intended.

Too late to go back and fix it now.

Came back to Douglass and worked late. You know who and I closed the desk. We went to her room and had screwdrivers. She let me smoke. We were civil.

Good night.

Thursday Oct 5, 1989 Mellow Mail

Most of my friends loved our ILAS class today. Our teacher stuck it to what she described as the “facade of American morality”. Yawn

Rainy.

Went to the computer lab to do some work on my English assignment. Stupid MacIntosh with that damned toaster or whatever the fuck it is waiting for me to undo something I should've never done in the first place. I wish I could undo signing up for this class, that's what I wish I could undo.

Had dinner with the Short Sisters minus the one that hates my fucking guts. I'd say the nice two Short Sisters, but really only Karla is nice. She might not even be that nice but we're both fucked up in a way we both understand so we get along. Funny, when Karla and I have one of our bitch out session I never harp on her sister, my ex. It's not out of respect to her or anybody, it just would interfere with the flow of our complaining.

Not much complaining at this dinner beyond the standard, tired-ass complaining about lines in the dorm to eat dorm food. Almost as original as hearing a prof expose the sins and denial of America.

Read Mellow Mail with Shawn and Kyhle.

Is it more important for life to be authentic or original? I'm not sure mine is either one at this point.

One good thing, Bill, this wacko, Mark & I saw Akira the other day. I hated it because it was so damned good and I will never, never, never make anything as good in my life. CANIDA!

Went to John Parker's and as I was drinking my 10th beer or something like that I realized I missed my first scheduled alcohol meeting.

Cubs win and the series is 1-1 as they go to the West Coast. I think the next game is in San Fran. I have bigger problems. I need to start at square one on my alcohol meetings and reschedule a whole new session or whatever.

Fell asleep listening to Steel Wheels...

Hold on to your head
Hold on to your hat
Don't you give me no shit
Don't you give me no crap

Wed October 4, 1989 Losing is Interesting to Me

Had lunch with Shawn and Khyle. They spent the whole time giving me advice about women. Is it that obvious that I do not know what I am doing? I’m not trying to notch a goddess from the NW Suburbs on my belt. I don’t even have a belt. Wonder what happened to my belt? I’m just out there doing a bunch of stuff and reacting to whatever happens.

As far as I understand it, dating/relationships whatever is not part of some game and winning means you get what you want. Life in general can’t or shouldn’t be like that. It’s more interesting when you lose.

Which brings me to the Cubs game. I thought they’d be ok when they came roaring back with 2 in the bottom of the first. Maddox would settle down and all would be all right. Nope. He had a rough first inning and more trouble followed in the 4th where the Cubs gave up 4 more runs and put the game out of reach against the Giants’ staff. I don’t know much about the National League teams all the way out there on the west coast but I figure you can’t get this far in baseball if you start giving up five run leads after the sixth inning. Again, who am I to say? My next coherent thought about baseball will be my first.

They ended up mauling the Cubs like an actual giant squashing a baby bear and I think SF’s finally tally was eleven runs. I was pretty drunk by the end of things and doing all I could to be nice to my Cub fan friends who let me come over and get that drunk. It still could be a long post-season and I need non-party related booze nights.

Tuesday October 3, 1989 Airplane Liquor or Why People Look Well in the Dark

So I know I fucked up things with Scottie last night, but what’s that tired old expression…?

“When one door closes, go to your Post-Renaissance Spain quiz with a head full of answers and coat pockets full of airplane liquor.”

Allow me to elaborate.

Maybe before I elaborate I need to defend myself here since I refused to do it last night. I should’ve tried to offer a decent explanation for myself in front of that girl last night. Not because I was right. She was right. But she is my friend and I have to learn to pretend to care when I behave in such a crappy fashion. Doors will not always be open to me and I will turn myself into a lonely, miserable fuck…or become lonelier and miserablier in the process of going around, not giving a care.

I think I am down in the dumps because the White Sox season ended the other day with a 1-0 loss to the Cleveland Indians. My favorite team survived being shipped out of state only to go down the toilet and end up in last place. They’re 29 and ½ games out and they’ll never make that up now that the season is over.

And the Cubs are probably going to sweep the Giants, although I don’t know shit about the Giants…and then win the World Series. Then my Cub fan friends, especially from back home, are going to be glad the White Sox stayed so they can make fun of their barely relieved fans, just happy to have a team, watch the other team do the greatest thing in all sports…win the World Series.

Stupid Reinsdorf. The Sox’ll never win so long as he runs things. I'm sure he's a busy man what with finding ways to fuck up the Bulls. Stupid Reinsdorf.

I guess that’s no reason to treat my friend, or any woman, like an object. It’s just stupid baseball. When will I learn?

Now back to the airplane liquor thing.

Picked up some extra hours at the desk today and ran into Jenna McG just as my shift was ending. She was in a panic. When I asked what was bugging her she said that Prof H warned her if she failed another PR Spain quiz it would be an uphill climb for her for the rest of the semester. I told her life is usually an uphill climb but she didn’t seem to want to take my fucking advice. The only thing she seemed to care about was not failing this quiz.

I sort of repeated, from memory (and my memory is still pretty fucking good in spite of what I do to my head on a regular occasion)…

…but I repeated the conversation I had with Scottie from last night only this time I was the Scottie and Jenna was the me.

Fortunately we just did the Post Renaissance Spain part of the conversation not the slightly wasted guy trying to get some from the girl in the tank top part.

I wasn’t wearing a tank top.

Maybe that’s what I deserve but as far as I can tell in this life so far, nobody gets what they deserve…and I should hope I don’t get my just deserts for savaging the language like I just did.

She was grateful. She offered me a ride to class. I was grateful. Jenna has her dad’s Chevy Astro Van. My parents have an Astro Van. Driving to class with her was like having my mom drive me to class. There was something weirdly wonderful about that.

After the quiz Halizer called class early. Maybe his voice is giving out and the amplifier is no longer helping. My professor is more robot than man! No, he really is.

I was walking home when Jenna ran up to me and asked, “Where are you going?”

I told her I was on my way back to Douglass.

She said, “I gave you a ride here, you can ride with me back. I think I passed the quiz.”

“Me too,” I said.

It was a quiet night in the Douchable parking lot as we walked toward her van. Well, everything was quiet except for me.

“Are you clinking?” Jenna McG asked.

“Yup.”

“Why are you clinking?” she asked.

“Airplane liquor.”

And she laughed her ass off. I am a pretty funny motherfucker and I love to make girls laugh. I am also not so stupid as to think this makes me any more or less attractive to the ladies or gay men. People just like to laugh and I know how to make them do that, or my life is so stupid folks laugh when they are around me. Any way you look at it, there’s healing in that, isn’t there? Probably not, but making people laugh makes me think I do something productive with my days.

“You mean those little bottles that people drink when they are on airplanes because the airline won’t let them sell from the big bottles on the plane?” Jenna McG asked.

“Exactly.”

“Why do you have airplane liquor?” she asked.

“I think it was Bob Dylan who once said ‘Always keep a clear head and carry some airplane liquor’!”

Actually Dylan said one should always keep a clear head and carry a big light bulb but I wasn’t telling her that.

“Can I have some?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“We’ll drink it when I find an overnight space by the dorms ok?”

I nodded my head and followed her to the van. We drove back and she blasted Slippery When Wet. Maybe that explains why she needed help studying from a dummy like me.

I won’t pick on Jenna for having bad taste in music. She’s from Kokomo, Indiana. What do they have out there?

My favorite band is the Velvet Underground. They're not so hot either. I like it and fuck those for telling me that those guys can't play their instruments. So, fuck me for insinuating that Slippery When Wet is bad.

Sure it is bad, but fuck me anyway.

We found a space. She turned off the radio. The new lots are dark and creepy and far away from everything and maybe she wanted to give me a ride back to show her gratitude and maybe she didn’t want to walk back to our shitty five story dorm alone. Either way, I was fine riding with her.

“Shit or piss?” I asked.

“What?”

“I’ve got brown flavored airplane liquor, Old Granddad; or yellow-gold flavored liquor, this tequila with the label peeling off,” I explained.

“Are you sure that this one is tequila?” Jenna asked as she took the unlabeled, little yellow-gold bottle from my hand.

I waited until she brought the little bottle to her lips. Then I said, "No I'm not."

She spit. She laughed. Then she said, "You are funny. I wish my boyfriend had your sense of humor."

"Well he doesn't," I said.

We laughed and we drank.

We may have opened an extra bottle that I had in my black coat pocket.

Jenna McG had finished a swig, looked at me and said, "Thanks a lot. You helped me with the quiz and I really needed this tonight."

"No problem."

"I owe you," she said.

"If you mean that, let me do this," I reached in my pocket while Jenna took another swig. I brought out one of the mix tapes I made at the radio station. They have decent decks there and a better record collection than I do. There's no way I'm not going to slowly copy all this shit.

I popped out Bon Jovi and put it in the glove box. Then I put in my tape. It was already rewound to the beginning. The tape starts with Mrs. Tucker's wonderfully innocent vocal...

One, two three...

If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the sun shine out
And say hello to never

All the people are dancing and having such fun
I wish it could happen to me

But if you close the door
I'd never have to see the day again

If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the wine glass out
And drink a toast to never

Oh someday I know, someone will look into my eyes and say,
"Hello, you're my very special one”

But if you close the door
I'd never have to see the day again

Monday October 2 We Could Make History or Not

Like the kid in the 5 Man Electrical Band song, I did not sleep at all last night. About 3:30am Miss D decided she had to interrupt our talk and go back to her own bed or there would be roommate repercussions. Being a gentleman I threw on a faded Maiden t-shirt (stolen from someone's ex-boyfriend) and red Bermudas w/ yellow triangles down both sides.

It is a long standing policy of mine to always have a pair of thrown-on shorts always ready to throw on preventing me from ever having to wear cut-offs.

Walked D back to her room. As she closed the door I could hear her roomie shriek, “Where the Hell have you been?”

Nothing like having a mother at college.

I never made it back to my room, “never” not being wholly accurate, but suitable here.

On my way through the lobby I saw Scottie K sitting cross-legged on one of the smoking section couches. She was wearing her over sized Huskie red & black sweats. She’d been up all night studying and was now relaxing. Her Huskie red lipstick-lips kissed out blue-grey smoke that lazily rolled upwards through her looping, black curls.

Where did all this description come from?

First E`{`’s “red, curly/wirey hair” and now this piss-poor travesty of a description.

Piss-poor travesty. I’m not even sure if that’s redundant or just stupid.

Women are the finest thing ever. Some dipshit Christian friend of mine once said that women were the crown of creation or god’s masterpiece or some shit like that.

That’s the smartest thing that dipshit ever tried to say.

But I can single-handedly undo all the good that dipshit’s alleged god did by describing women poorly.

Who am I kidding? I can’t cheapen women with my prose. This isn't even prose. These are just practice words on a page. Besides, nothing I could ever hope to be or achieve will match what they are. I don't like women telling me what to do and one will not tell me what to do ever ever again, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate them, their beauty and their character.

I’m just sorry for myself because I can’t do these girls justice here there or where I want to do them justice.

I’m going to try to do justice to our conversation because it was sweet and somewhat worth remembering. Ok, she was sweet and by the end I made a fool of myself. But maybe I didn’t make a fool of myself since Scottie knows me and is friends with my friends. And my friends have come to expect some foolish behavior from me.

So the conversation…

Me: “Hey Smokey the Bear. Why are you up so late?”
Scottie: “We have Halizer’s quiz tomorrow.”
Me: “Sure. That’s why I’m up so late.”
Scottie: “What is the name of our class?”
Me: “Post-Renaissance Spain.”
Scottie: “Ok so you remember the name of our class. What else do you know?”

Scottie got to show off for me as she talked at me about regionalism, the connection between geography and Spanish political history and said something about the differences in the caste system between pre and post Renaissance Spain. Her showing off was helping me to bone up for our quiz and I am nothing if not grateful.

Me: “Wanna smoke?”
Scottie: “Hell yeah I do. Time to relax. Bring it to my room. I’ll meet you there.”

She was waiting and I didn’t forget anything. We only smoked a little and sat on the top bunk next to each other, backs against the wall. It was hard for her to get comfortable. She had taken off her red & black sweatshirt off before I got to the room. All she had on was a loose tank top and it left her shoulders exposed. Bare shoulders get extra cold against these dorm walls.

Now the next part is big and stupid. I insinuated that Scottie was big and might be lonely, and that means, of course, I am stupid.

Me: “This is true whether we're this way or not...”
Scottie: “The truth is probably still true no matter what shape you’re in eddie.”

She called me eddie.

Me, oblivious: “I love when girls like you wear sweats.”

Uh oh

Scottie: “What the fuck does that mean ed?”

Oh shit

Me: “I just mean...I don’t know.”
Scottie: “Big girls. You mean you love when big girls where sweats? Fat girls? Fat girls who will let you get in their pants because you barely get them high with your nasty, leftover, bottom of the bag weed?”

Ok, I’m trying to remember everything she said, but I was a little up in the clouds and it was very late. She probably tore into me much better than this. Scottie was smart and could be nasty. That’s part of what made her so attractive.

Me: “Come on I just thought ‘We’re lonely here, together’ and you know?”
Scottie: “Yeah? I have a boyfriend at home.”
Me: “Oh. That’s why I never see you going out with anyone.”
Scottie: “And you assumed it was fat, lonely me waiting every night for you to what?”
Me: “Just, you know. Put my hands on you. You’re cold. Give you a massage.”
Scottie: “A massage? Then why talk about my sweats?”

Fair question

Me: “Look Scottie, I’m sorry. I’m high and a little horny. You were being nice to me and I’m a jerk.”
Scottie: “Damn right you’re the jerk.”
Me: “Sorry.”
Scottie: “Not every one just waits around for a chance to screw, or massage or whatever you were trying to do here.”
Me: “I know.”
Scottie: “Are you going to just keep saying ‘I know’? You’re not even going to try and defend yourself?
Me: “What’s there to defend?”

I left and, obviously, we didn’t do it. This isn’t tv where people get mad one minute and the next they are all over each other. This is my life. When people are mad they are fucking mad and I just have to deal with it until they are not mad.

It all sort of worked out for me anyhow, although I would’ve loved even to just help Scottie get off. Our talk helped me pull a 90% or something like that on the quiz.

Glad I bumped into Scottie.

Insert “bumped” joke here.

Insert “insert” joke here.

Insert “here” joke there.

I need to think less about fucking and more about sleeping.

Ran into Karla and she was up even later than me, although technically I guess I was still up. She seemed more active than me at this late hour. In my defense I found leisure with Scottie hence my nigh-relaxed state. Did I just say "nigh"? What am I a horse?

High as a horse on my high horse.

Nay

We smoked a bunch of cigarettes and listened to the Alarm. I've never been a big fan of that band. I always thought, 'Well these guys'll do until some interesting music comes back'

I'm still waiting.

Sunday October 1st Woke Up This Morning

Actually I went to sleep and woke up this morning. That’s a lot to do in such a short time period. I’d say it was a very productive morning.

I should’ve gone right back to bed.

What is stupid about the whole situation is I went to sleep at like 6am, not because I was partying or screwing or fretting about how to make my next million.

The next million I make will be my first.

No. I stayed up until 6am looking for a stupid Nintendo game. Once I found it I decided I didn’t want to play it. But I was pretty proud of the fact that I found it in the messy den of iniquity Chris and I call home. If cleanliness is next to Godliness we won’t have any deities hanging out here.

Back to my exciting evening, which was in fact yesterday evening.

I turned the keyboard on and off for an hour while I smoked cigarettes.

That was certainly time well spent.

No Bear game until tomorrow. The Eagles? Randall Cunningham off to a fast start (he does everything fast)…Monday Nite? In front of people I said the Bears were going to lose. I picked the Bears to lose for the first time in four friggin’ years and I’ve been racked with guilt over it.

Yeah, I’m extremely rational and level-headed like that.

Went to John Parker’s to drink some nice beer and forget more pressing matters (*i.e. foreign & domestic oil prices) and whether or not pretty little red-haired girls like me back.

Miss D came back to town later in the day and we had a great night.

If I keep drinking so much beer in the afternoon before these rendezvous I’m gonna exceed the weight limit.

After D and I were done with whatever we were doing it struck me that I never got E`{`’s number after our hopefully less than Platonic walk thing.

I think it was less than Platonic. Walking occurred at the peripatetic school. That’s Aristotle right?

I’ll never learn.

Ok, so I didn’t get E`{`’s number.

Just fucking swell.

I spend almost seven hours with that kid and I don’t take a minute to get those all important digits? Shit, if I planned it out I could’ve asked her for one digit per hour and gotten the job done.

Sure it would’ve been weird but it also would be better than this.

I stopped thinking about how I didn’t get E`{`’s number after our night at the East Lagoon and instead took a walk with D around the West Lagoon.

Yeah I know I’m a regular lagoon hopper.

But I am a lucky bastard. I’m not going to be able to do shit like this for the rest of my life, however long that is.

Say I live ten more years and have some sort of normal job. There’s no way I’ll be able to stay up all night going from lagoon to lagoon with whoever I choose. I’m tired all the time now and I barely work 20 hours some weeks. I guess if I were to become a full on coke-head I could and should (if I am worthy of the name “coke-head”) stay up all night and run around bodies of water aimlessly. But even if my coke-head dreams were to come true, my focus would most likely be on the coke and not on finding cute, smart and fun girls to spend time with me.

Besides, nobody loves a coke-head.

Now forget normal job or my sad dream of becoming a working man with a drug habit.

Let’s say my job in ten years is ROCK STAR. I’m such a paranoid prick that even though I will probably be able to stay up all night any night I want, I won’t be able to completely trust the girls who spend those nights with me. I know that any girl who spends time with me now isn’t interested in image or prestige unless they’re into drinky-smokey-druggy-shady guys.

Also if my job is ROCK STAR, there’s no question that my side gig will be coke-head and as I’ve clearly established…

…nobody loves a coke-head.

I could be married in ten years. If I know me, I’ll probably be married in the next five years to someone I haven’t met yet. I’ll marry for love but ten years from now I’ll be the only one still in love.

Anybody who could love me at 30 has bigger problems than I do now and nobody alive has bigger problems than I do now.

This is beginning to sound like a geometric proof, but wait because I haven’t finished making shit up.

The only possible person who could love me at 30 would be 10 or younger at that time and that’s just sick and wrong.

Unless.

Unless I got you know who pregnant with one of our last sex with the ex encounters. The kid would be about 10 when I was 30 and there’s nothing wrong w/ a kid loving their dad. Now that I think of it, any and all sex with the ex-capades were contingent upon dirty, sinful business only being done on her tummy or her backside. I am nothing if not a gentleman and always mindful to respect the wishes of any lady who chooses to copulate with me.

Emily Post would be proud.

The point is, it’ll be a miracle if there is someone to love me when I am 30.

Miracles are possible, but counting on them is stupid.

The bigger point is I am happy now, lagoon hopping with two nice gals. I have something to look forward to every day, at least in the short term…so long as the lagoons don’t dry up.