Mom makes me giggle

In a letter telling me about the final walk-through on her new condo, a bit about the old tenants, a couple of gay guys:

"The guys filled in the nail holes from their pictures and waxed the floors. Such sweeties. One looks like George Hamilton and the other looks like Radar O'Reilly. They're off to san francisco, but left me their wet/dry vacuum cleaner for the patio. God bless."

I'm not sure what, precisely, makes me giggle about this, but it's probably the description of the guys, and the fact that I met a brother of one of them and he looks more like Jerry Falwell than either Hamilton or Radar from M*A*S*H.

More to come, but...

God DAMN Sheryl Crow was awesome tonight.

I saw her perform at the House of Blues from the SECOND FUCKING ROW. I have no money, no voice, and no energy right now, but I will give a full update when I have time tomorrow.

All right, fuck it

I didn't name the guy in the post below, but the Evanston Pioneer Press does.

Karmic Justice does exist

So I found out some iiiiiiiinteresting news today: This total asshole who I got stuck working with on a video production project and just about beat to death with a gobo arm got himself in a wee smidge of trouble.

Now I must mention before I begin that he has done other things other than piss me and my partner off to deserve my spite.

Namely, getting kicked out of his dorm for drunkenly urinating on his roommate's bed within a month of arriving here, pissing off almost the entire Film department because of his conception that he knows something more than everyone else, and just generally being an asshole to everyone.

I will not use his name in case he works out a plea or something, but here's what happened and a bit about how I found out:

My roommate, Adam, works at the Daily, and has been telling me funny stories about dumbshit things people around campus have been doing, and he says to me earlier tonight, "Oh, did I tell you the one about the former head of Fiji (a rather notorious frat here, for those not in the know)?" He hadn't, so he begins, "Yeah, this kid (mentions name)..."

And I go, "Oh my god, I HATE that fucker! I had to work with him on a project for video production and my partner and I almost strangled him!"

And he goes, "Then you're gonna love this."

The story, as it has been told to me:

A package arrived at the border, addressed to this guy at Fiji. This package contained several pounds of marijuana, which Customs, of course, found.

So customs called the FBI and the Evanston Police, who came a-knocking at his door, saying essentially, yo, what the fuck? Though, since they are the police, probably in somewhat different terms.

He claimed he knew nothing about it, but the cops noticed a safe in the corner, which they found more than a little suspicious. He refused to open it, so they got a warrant, and opened it forcibly.

The safe contained:
1. A couple more pounds of weed.
2. Almost $1000 cash.
3. 6-8 grams of cocaine.
4. Mushrooms that "the police believe are hallucinogenic, though they are running tests to confirm this belief."

Given this jackass's hygiene regimen, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if they just grew there, but then again, why in the hell else would you keep mushrooms in a safe?

So apparently, the boy is definitley out of NU, and since the Feds are invloved and I'm reasonably sure he has at least a couple of priors (perma-stoners tend to never get off Scott free), he may be going up the river for a bit.

Now I wouldn't wish that on anyone....but now that it's happened, couldn't have happened to a nicer guy!

Bad Signs

When you have so little cash on you that you have to charge $2.03 on your credit card.

Revenge of the Monkey

I feel I should not be the only one publicly humiliated in my weblog. To wit:

Marky Monkey is coming back into town tomorrow. He called me when I had been taking a nap, so I had the following conversation with him:

Him: Can you pick me up from the airport?
Me: Yeah, sure, which one?
Him: O'Hare.
Me: Okay, what time?
Him: ....I don't know. I think around six.
Me: You don't know?
Him: I never know! Your mom said it's my modus operandi.
Me: This is true.
Him: So can you pick me up?
Me: Yeah, sure. Just find your damn flight info and let me know what time.
Him: Ok, I'll try.

He of course called back fifteen seconds later, having found the paper almost the second he hung up with me.

This is gonna be a fun quarter :)

Pet Peeve

You know what drives me nuts?

When I'm eating something, usually some sort of donut or a funnel cake, covered in powdered sugar, and the powdered sugar goes all over me, and people look at me like I'm on cocaine.

"No, really! It's just sugar! Here, try snorting it, it won't get you high..."

(bangs head on desk)

I have two modes when I drink:

1. Will fuck anything and everything, animate or inanimate.
2. Self-loathing.

I hit #2 really badly earlier tonight when I finally decided to suck it up and write something to Irene (whom I have also referred to as the Hot Italian Chick, although I really need to actually start using her real name, since this is not by any means whatsoever her only redeeming quality).

So I start out replying to a letter she sent me over a month ago, which was a reply to something I sent her. She's been out of the country since the end of finals and this was really my only correspondence with her over the summer.

I start feeling like a moron for not actually replying earlier, but what can I say? I had weddings and houseguests and mom moving and wisdom teeth to be pulled.

That, and I'm really, really afraid of getting shot down.

After getting dumped rather unceremoniously, I'm somewhat afraid of getting shot down by the first girl I've really liked since getting dumped. Granted, getting shot down would indeed suck, though I know from experience it's not the end of the world.

I think part of is it is this innate need we all have to feel like we can do something right, which is something I've been feeling rather acutely for a while. Then, I get all panicked that I'm putting too much pressure on this and am totally psyching myself out.

That, plus trying to figure out how to explain to her that no, I really did decide to take Italian 101 this quarter before I realized that I might actually maybe possibly have a shot with her, and that I'm not a psychotic stalker...really!

And the fact that she is way, way, way out of my league. Don't even start with me on the low self-esteem thing, I'm working on it. But this girl is funny, smart, and did I mention unbelievably hot? I'm surprised she even looked at me twice.

However, as my friend Sharon pointed out, at least I know she's not straight. Then I'd really be banging my head against the wall.

So I'm writing letters to her, or at least drafts of them. Ones where I pour my heart out, ones where I am just sort of like lalalala and pretending nothing happened, ones where, well, I'm not even sure what I'm saying.

Sobering up, I took precautions not to actually send any of them, and send the sanest one in the morning when I have sobered up and am ready to face a new day. Or maybe I'll just try writing one when I'm sober. Wouldn't that be a revolutionary idea?

Yes, I know I'm a dork. And I'm goddamn proud of it, thank you very much.

Some days, I just wish I was a dork with the guts to just come out and say, "Look, I really like you. Let's go get some drinks."

Unsolicited Advice

Do not watch romantic comedies when you've been drinking. It only serves to make you more depressed that you're alone.

Surreal Moment of the Day

Reading an article in the Wall Street Journal linked off Obscure Store, and they refer to Snoop Dogg by his real name, and even put it under one of those dopey little pencil drawings they do.

For some reason, that just seems weird to me.

That and the fact that Snoop quit smoking weed. As one of the characters in The Boondocks put it, "Is the Pope still Catholic?!"

This cannot be a good thing

Things you notice when you have way the fuck too much time on your hands:

I have a series of mosquito bites and scars on my right leg that have formed the shape of the big dipper, although backwards.

I have no idea what this means.

Well, we're not at the dinner table now, are we?

I went to a Kol Nidre service tonight since it's Yom Kippur, and I had to go atone for my sins of the last year.

That, and shut up all of my parental units who would berate me until the end of time if I didn't go.

(You didn't know I was Jewish, you say? Um, hi. My last name is Shapiro. If anybody knows anyone whose last name is Shapiro who is not Jewish and didn't either a. marry into it or b. convert, please, introduce them to me, because I have yet to meet a single one.)

I hate that the only reason I go to services is to get out of a serious guilt trip. However, I realize that I would hate the guilt trip immensely more, if only because services last an hour and a half and the guilt trip would last at least a month.

There are certain aspects about organized religion that rub me the wrong way. One thing that really bothers me about a lot of services, in any number of religions or denominations, is group reading.

Several hundred people, just reading the same thing together, in the same monotonous voice. There's something about that that really bothers me, although I'm not quite sure what.

Maybe it's the fact that it somehow reinforces the notion that all members of the same religion think the same thing.

This is a really, really dangerous idea, especially when doing such things as seperating the psychotic fanatics from the peaceful believers. This must be done in every religion, although right now Islam is in the spotlight, since their fanatics tend to be the most publicized.

I know religion brings peace to a lot of people, and the idea of a benevolent or at least merciful God is something that, at the very least, gives me comfort. It's just that I often have difficulty accepting it.

The one thing that really bothers me sometimes about having the identification of "Jewish" attatched to me is a lot of people, Jews and non-Jews alike, tend to assume that I automatically agree with everything the state of Israel does.

A lot of people are surprised when I tell them that I think Ariel Sharon is a fucking idiot and the settlers have absolutely no right to the land they have claimed, since I am Jewish and therefore I must support my...whatever.

I may be an American, but I think Gee-Whiz Bush is a fucking idiot, too. Oh, and Ashcroft, Carnivore this: You lost your senate seat to a dead man!

Anyway, getting away from my leftist views, going to services has never really been my favorite thing to do, and it's been really downhill after my bat mitzvah.

That sort of thing is supposed to bring you closer to religion, but to me, it was more like something I had to do than something I wanted to do, and I think that pushed me away.

So I sat in my seat, Attention Deficit Disorder acting up in full force, checking my watch constantly, making faces at the little baby in front of me (well, at least for a while, then I got bored with it and my face started hurting), and counting how many more pages until the end of the service.

Maybe someday this will all matter to me again. But I think I'm going to be having a more personal relationship with God from now on. I'm sure it's more convenient to hear prayers on a group basis, but I think I'm going to give the organized religion thing a rest for a while.

So what am I, an agnostic? I think that's the word, athough I usually hear it in conjunction with Catholics, so it may be a Christian thing, which would be off-base. I dunno. Maybe I should get a dictionary or something.

Just goes to show how much I know (or care, for that matter) about religion.

No.

Do not watch JFK.

I just sat through the "Director's Cut" of it that I took out from Blockbuster since I thought, oh, this should be interesting, since Oliver Stone is supposed to be a good director and such.

I watched it tonight because my jaw has been hurting when I try to laugh, so I decided I wanted a serious movie.

What an immense mistake that was.

Do not subject yourself to this. It is three and a half hours long. It is horrifically overblown. It is positively atrocious. Please, I beg you, learn from my mistake.

I am going to try and wipe this "film" from my mind and go to bed.