New American Blind Closers

Someone stole a doorknob from our foyer door. They stole it along with two facing plates and loosened the knob on our inner door, causing it to fall off. Strange, right? The locks were untouched. Whoever it was only wanted those metal pieces. We have an on-going feud with two of our neighbors, both related, so we immediately thought of them -- though this is low/weird even by their standards. An unreliable source told our landlady that other houses on the block suffered similar thefts -- that people steal the vintage knobs to sell later. I took a quick look at the east end of the block the other day and saw only original knobs and facing plates. Who were these other victims?

I like our apartment. I don't necessarily like our block, even though a lot of young people like us live on it. The older folks -- the ones that have been there for years -- live by the annoying, meddlesome code of the classic city neighborhood: knowing other people's business, caring a little too much about the look of the block, etc. My generation has been criticized for its interest in social isolation and anonymity. Lately, I've learned to see a bit of the good in these supposedly negative states.

"Stay out of my business. I don't want to fucking talk to you." They should put it on the quarter. The new American motto!

Super Bad

As a big fan of James Brown, I'll throw in my two bits of good-will remembrance. I bought "Live at the Olympia, Paris 1971" when I was 19 and have loved his music ever since. The fact that mainstream news outlets can't really describe his work is a bit depressing. If you know, you know... and it's not about "Rocky IV" (or "Doctor Detroit"). I'm also disappointed by the lack of primo, high-period '60s footage on the big, brainless cable rotators. And what about when he went on TV to help calm rioters? James Brown is in the top-5 American musicians of all time. That's a "Top (Blank)" list I don't mind making... and Bob Dylan isn't on it.

Coming Soon

Hello, folks. Blister here. And when Blister speaks in late December that means one thing -- the WOUNDUP YEAR IN REVIEW. Can you believe it's almost 2007? Where did the last friggin' year go? They say time goes faster as you get older. I never bought it... especially all those divorce court hearings I had to sit through over the summer. It went fast because I was DRUNK. And I'm drunk right now. Those little content team fairies locked me in the storage closet. They think I'm passed out. I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU LITTLE FAIRIES! It's an office party. You're supposed to drink. How am I writing this if I'm in a closet? It's a called a Treo, folks. Christ, I have to piss...

Fumbles Lost

I was bounced out of the fantasy football playoffs on Sunday. It hurts a little bit. I really wanted the bi-fecta of fantasy baseball and football titles in the same year. I'll just have to watch the final week's action from the couch while polishing my other trophy. In all truth, though I consider fantasy baseball the harder of the two disciplines -- and ultimate victory a testament to one's perseverance and acumen -- nothing would be more fun than to shame my high school buddies on the virtual gridiron. I've won football championships in other leagues, but never over the Buffalo boys. At least now I'm free to watch football without stress or consequences... which is kind of what I did anyway. So, I s'pose nothing's really changed. Yes.

12.18.06 Forever

I should have a better idea of what's going on with my two prospects by this time tomorrow. The ads are starting to upswing and will probably reach pre-Thanksgiving levels in two weeks. This is the worst time of year to job search, for sure. In spite of that, I feel hope. The weather is warm, in a sickly sort of way. The little lawns are damp. I've lost some weight. We're going to see my parents on Saturday, and I have two four-day weekends coming up. I'm putting the little, plastic red flag up on the curbside mailbox. I've worked enough for the day. It's the Official Woundup Paid Babysitting Service till 10:30.

Endure When You Must Inc.

The job search rollercoaster continues. I was up after the Thanksgiving holiday. Now I'm down as two possible employers have yet to contact me. One said they'd know by mid-December, the other said they were caught up in some things and are still making a decision. Both are quality gigs, I feel. I just need one to come through so I can leave this accursed night shift. I really hate it. Really, really hate it.

If you're a bit of an Internet voyeur, you might be interested in, amused by or curious about my suffering. Or maybe you aren't. We all have to suffer through things. I sometimes wish someone I know (or even a stranger) will hear my plea and rescue me. But then I think that if I was reading a similar WeBLoG post -- even one by a friend -- I would probably stand by and do nothing. I suppose it depends on the situation. Though it's depressing and disillusioning, my job situation doesn't carry the same weight as, say, the need for a new kidney. Then you would step in and help Woundup, right?

I'm not looking for your help, anyway. I'm just looking to fill some column inches. See? Even I'm detached about my own situation... and I'm the one getting fucked. Who's the real loser here? Regional cable, of course.

Beside the Electric Hearth

That's our little xmas tree with all the presents beneath it. We made an effort to shop early, and now we're more than 80% finished. I love our tree.

WeBLoRGGiNG from the Couch

I've had a very good fantasy football day today. I don't want to jinx myself, so I can only relate that I have a chance to do something very special this year... in fantasy sports terms.

That said, I've grown to really like NBC's "Football Night in America" Sunday night broadcast. No dog games is a big selling point. I enjoy the detailed highlights before kickoff, and find Costas, Collinsworth and even King less irritating as the weeks progress. It'll never supplant "Hockey Night in Canada" as a near religious sports experience, but at least it's a good game. Hear, hear.

Son of Nightbeat

We've had a wacky night at the Cracker Factory -- wacky in that good ol' fashioned way I knew back in the Picodiribibi days. Maybe it's a harbinger that my time here is about up, but I've been saying things like that since... well, at least there're some palpable possibilities for change. Two other people are leaving at the end of the month. Escapes like this have traditionally happend in threes around here. It was nice to see ol' workpal and fantasy baseball foe Craig in good spirits. He's close to nailing a new gig, too. Here's to America's bright, promising young men.

I don't know what's going to happen tonight after I get the hell out of here. There's a double bock waiting for me at home. That sounds really good. Almost as good as being home right now instead of working.

When Will It End?

I'm writing two full-length plays. One had been waiting on the hot plate for comments for the past six months and was finally brought back onto the main range, yesterday. I feel like I need to pysch myself up -- run around in the woods like Ted in "The Doors 2" -- or something. Sometimes I feel like I'm beating my head against the wall. There's always something else to do, and it never seems to end. Ultimately, I enjoy it, but facing another major revision, I feel like setting something on fire -- like an old couch -- and dancing around the flames, drinking gin from a plastic bottle. Maybe then, after I've done that, I'll be ready.

Dresden Dolls are Back in Style

Which musical group can claim the "World's Most Annoying Fans?" I remember once, in 1994, a Cincinnati record store clerk call Guided By Voices' fans the most annoying. Now that that venerable Dayton act has disbanded, whose supporters have moved in to fill the void? I'm gathering, from my research on The Fall, that their fans were probably at one point the "World's Most Annoying."

Qualifications for "World's Most Annoying Fans" should include...
_ Preference for certain "eras" of the group, and should have a strong opinion as to which was the group's creative pinnacle.
_ Interest in hard-to-find releases and import records. Should own American and European releases of all major albums by the group.
_ Knowledge of group's lyrics and low threshold of self-control while inebriated for singing loudly along to live performances or spins on the jukebox.
_ Should have at least five anecdotes about the primary member of the group for quick use at shows or record stores. Anecdotes about the group's producers are a plus.
_ Secret desire to write the definitive book about the group is strongly perferred.

Snow Beat

I feel like Ted's old landlord Marty Kaufman -- I'm eating Sbarro pizza. The Cracker' Factory's replacement microwave -- the one sent to replace the broken one -- was itself broken in shipping. The Cracker Factory probably doesn't get the NFL Network, either, which will prevent me from watching the Ravens-Bengals game. Thank you, NFL Network. I only have this WeBLoG upon which to project my nervous energy and boredom... and... What's that? Yes, the search for a new Cracker Factory location has gone well, this past week. There are two strong candidates. Hopefully one of them will come through. It never moves fast enough, eh?

No snow visible, yet.

Winter Offensive v.4.5

I slipped on our front steps this morning. Our front steps are already slick with a glossy paint job. Add some invisible, frozen moisture and... yes. I'm generally a nimble fellow, and I've slipped before. When I hit the first step, I grabbed the red railing, hoping to save face. I put my foot down on the next step, which was just as bad, and knew I had no choice but to give in to falling. I suppose there's a psychotheraputic axiom in there somewhere, but it didn't help much as I tilted backward and smacked the left side of my body on the hard, wooden steps. It sounds bad, but only a small bruise on my forearm remains. Live and learn. Winter 2006.

The snow hype has Chicago bracing for the worst. It's set to begin in a few hours. At least I won't have to walk home from the Loop again. A little red wine, a little goat cheese and good ol' Jim Rome on the other end should melt away any late-night commuting accumulation.

Holiday Parentheticals

Teeth aside (though they did get a workout this past Thursday), Erika and I enjoyed our Thanksgiving. Erika worked hard to cook a spectacular feast for Marie and I, while her mom brought over a meat turkey. Highlights included broccoli faux-cheese casserole, seitan turkey and stuffing loaf, New York-style cheesecake and fine Bitburger beer in tallboy cans that I enjoyed while listening to the Broncos-Chiefs game on the radio because the freaking NFL put the freaking night game on the freaking NFL Network (We don't have cable).

What else? The leftovers were just as good. The rest of the weekend sailed along pleasantly, leaving me with a taste for my next extended break (only 26 days to go).

Smile

Hello everybody,
I hope you had a fine holiday. I can fill you in on the details of our Thanksgiving, shortly. Before that, I would like to write out here my renewed commitment -- commitment to taking better care of my teeth.

I have terrible teeth. I was making good inroads to having them better two years ago, but fell off due to (short-term) money trouble and (long-term) laziness. Now that I'm a little more mature, I want to take care of what I have (left). I'm guessing I'll need at least one tooth extraction. I don't want to have anymore pulled after that, and I want my teeth to be happier in the future. They deserve it. You read it here, folks.

Night Shift Forever

There's been a lot of hand-wringing in here about real-world problems, but I remember a time when Woundup was primarily, yes, a frivilous form of entertainment. You never knew when a bit of humorous dialogue would break out...

Phil: Did you see this? Ramirez got... $36 million...
Tom: No.
Phil: Says right here.
Tom: Huh.
(pause)
Phil: That's a lot of money.

When a bit of humorous dialogue would break out...

Phil: Did you see this? Ramirez got... $36 million...
Tom: That's a lot of money.
Phil: That's what I was going to say.
(Pause)
Phil: Huh.

Humorous dialogue would break out...

Phil: Did you see this? Ramirez--
Tom: Got $36 million.
Phil: I was just--
Tom: You were just going to say that.
(Pause)
Phil: H--
Tom: Huh.
(Pause)
Tom: You know, Phil, we've been working together four years now. You never once asked me how was my weekend.
(Pause)
Phil: How was--
Tom: I had to work over the weekend.
(Pause)
Phil: Well... how was it?
(Pause)
Tom: I ordered a pizza.
Phil: You... you had a pizza delivered here?
Tom: Yeah. I do it all the time.
(Pause)
Phil: Where do you--
Tom: Pete's. It's on Livernois.
Phil: Huh.
(Pause)
Phil: What did you get on it?
Tom: Cheese... just cheese...
(Pause)
Phil: Do you want to order a pizza now?
Tom: I just ate dinner.
(Pause)
Phil: Do you mind if I order a pizza?
Tom: No... if you really want to.
Phil: What do you mean?
Tom: You're gonna have a lot of leftovers. What're you gonna do with all that pizza?
Phil: I'll save it.
Tom: We don't have any... aluminum foil... nothing.
Phil: I'll wrap it in a paper towel.
Tom: The grease will leak thru it.
(Pause)
Phil: I'll order a small.
Tom: Pete's doesn't make a small. Just medium and large.
(Pause)
Phil: How many pieces in a medium.
Tom: I don't know.
(Pause)
Phil: I'm going to order one.
Tom: Go ahead.
Phil: Do you have the number?
Tom: No.
Phil: How do you order the pizzas?
Tom: Larry knows it.
Phil: Larry?
Tom: Yeah.
(Pause)
Tom: Larry's off tonight.
Phil: Jesus...
Tom: Don't get angry.
Phil: I'm not angry.
(Pause)
Phil: Y'know... y'know, Tom... all this time we worked together... you never asked me how my weekend was.
(Pause)
Phil: You never--
Tom: How was your weekend?
Phil: It was all right.
(Pause)
Phil: Do you wanna read about Ramirez?
Tom: I already looked at it.
(Pause)
Phil: $36 million...
(Pause)
Phil: I'm hungry.

He Basically Recycles Stuff He Wrote 3 Years Ago

Man, I could go for a grilled cheese and fries. Where can I find one at this hour? Eating options are very limited after 6 p.m. Jane Jacobs would probably snicker at my predicament, as I'm trapped in this single-use (soul-withering office work) district. Oh, wherefor art thou, Big Herm's?

Reversal of Man (I want my $6 back, please)

It's been a tough one in the Woundup camp today, and that feeling of desolation -- maybe it's a holiday slowdown -- continues. I was musing last week how I haven't had "one of those weeks" in a while -- you know, where everything seems to go wrong. I can't say my problems are the worst. Erika had an even tougher day, so I should really just relax.

The Cracker Factory microwave broke Friday, and I had a very naiive hope that it would either be fixed or replaced by today. Of course it wasn't, so I had a nice dinner of Chex Mix and Kozy Shack rice pudding. Well, I'll warm up this bloody TV dinner when I get home.

We're hosting Thanksgiving dinner Thursday for our families and some good friends. Now, I have two choices of how I can anticipate it: 1. With dread. 2. With less dread. Wait, that's not very positive, is it? I shouldn't worry. I shouldn't worry about anything. No. Though things seem bleak and unpeopled, hope and opportunity are but a few pretzel stix away.

Isolation Isn't Just an Island in Spain

I haven't gotten an e-mail all day from a real person. The only e-mail that's popped up in my mailbox that wasn't an ad had to be written... by me. I had to write myself as part of a group e-mail. There you go. Thursday, Nov. 16, 2006.

FANS!

The Answer

It's time for reader mail, which means Picodiribibi's romp through 2002 memories has come to a close. There were a few more posts after this on the original site, but they were record reviews and didn't pertain much to our android friend.

Yes, I have indeed lost the city council episode forever. You might remember it involved Picodiribibi and his creator pitching a production of Ionesco's "Rhinoceros" to the Orland Park City Council for the city's annual community theater show. You can probably guess their response.

I promise you, Woundup reader, that I will not let these stories die a second time. Find them by using the link at right.

Will Picodiribibi come back? I don't know... maybe.

The Luckiest Man in the World

I think I should just use this space to talk about my wife. You don't really need to know anything else about me that hasn't already been said.

Erika, besides being a gifted writer, is a gifted vegan chef. Her food helped me smoothly transition into vegetarianism. Last night, Erika ascended the heavenly, gastronomical steps. She marinated seitan in barbecue sauce and orange juice, coupled it with shell macaraoni and vegan cheese, and completed the menu with steamed broccoli. Every meal she makes is delicious, but this one... wow. And I'm eating the leftovers right now. Incredible.

I had it yesterday with a bottle of Chimay Grand Reserve while watching the Bears beat the Giants. There's no better Sunday night!

Our Time is Passing, Old Friend

You can go a little batty around midnight looking for old music footage on YouTube. Is it time to gripe? Well, as a person who came of age in an era of technological transition (the '90s), I feel that, though mass, shared archives like YouTube do benefit music fans, it makes it a little too easy. I remember I bought the first two Suicide albums on one CD at a Blockbuster Music (remember those?) in 1996. Now you can just punch it in and find it in seconds. Where's the fun in that? I suppose those of earlier generations would chide me for my own luck, having benefitted from the re-issue explosion of said '90s. I didn't have to grub through as many record store bins, for sure.

We all know where this is headed... cranial downloads. But what if you ordered Amon Duul 2 and got Brazil '66 instead?

No Joke

They don't make 'em like this anymore.

Adios

Man, I was an Ed Bradley fan. I enjoyed his in-depth interviews on "60 Minutes," and I felt he was the best part of that program. He left us too soon, for sure. A lot of good folks gone this year.

Catching You Up

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

_ Woundup Corp.: the company that hosts this site
_ Cracker Factory: Woundup's facility on Chicago's "Magnesium Mile" (W. Hubbard St.)
_ Tom Blister: Woundup CEO. currently in rehab for peppermint schnapps addiction
_ 7-Person Content Team: creators of Woundup's youth-focused daily content
_ Ethan Kraputnik: head of the 7-Person Content Team. currently in rehab for internet dating addiction
_ Patty Hanratty: Woundup Corp. HR head. just ran her first marathon on Sunday!
_ Picodiribibi: the Orland Park android. current roaming consultant
_ Jorge Esquivaillo: Cuban defector and underused Woundup Corp. spokesman
_ lil' Judy Woundup: an infant adopted by Woundup Corp. who will, on her 18th birthday, challenge CEO Tom Blister to a knife fight for control of the company

Congratulations

Please wish Erika congratulations next time you speak to her. One of her poems is going to be published in Double Room -- a prose poetry journal. It is very unusual for them to accept work from an unpublished writer like Erika, so this is a great achievement.

Since I first met her, Erika has won two college poetry awards and used her writing to win her weight in beer, which helped supply our wedding. I am very lucky to know this wonderful writer.

Woundup... Not a Nice Guy

The loving couple had a fine time last night at the Rainbo. It's been too long. And tonight... well, we'll probably go to that Reader book swap. Erika and I are book people, so it seems like a match. I might be able to unload some of these music books. Yes, my collection of music culture pseud-lit sticks out like so many malformed creations on the shelves of our oaken bookcases. Jazz is all right, though. The rest... keep it.

In other news... in anticipation of next week's election, Woundup endorses Swim Cafe in its campaign for official Woundup coffeehouse over incumbent Atomix. Cafe Ballou is the third-party candidate, but has failed to gather support due to a questionable stance on zoning laws. Let's get out and vote, folks.

When You're So Close

You have no idea how close Woundup has been to changing Cracker Factory locations... twice. We've had to deliberate, internally and externally, the merits of new environs outside of Chicago. We would prefer to remain in the city and will adjust our search accordingly. We've been granted normal evening access to freetime this week ("the good old days, relatively speaking"). We'll try to use them the best we can.

Recent developments have heartened the Woundup camp regarding the search. Hopefully, we won't toil much longer a couple blocks down from the Midnight Hour.

Rising Action

Erika had a good day. She just got her new laptop computer, and she doesn't have to work tomorrow. This would, in the normal Woundup order of things, necessitate a visit by us, the loving couple, to The New Watering Hole (Cleo's). But alas, your host may have been struck by a bug. Longtime Woundup readers will remember other pronouncements of sickness that fizzled quickly. I'm beginning to think the ol' Cracker Factory has something to do with it. Sick Building Syndrome wasn't just a great Rhode Island hardcore band, it's a very real, very modern affliction that might be afflicting me as I write this. I think.

Enough hypochondria... please enjoy the above picture from the loving couple's last visit to The New Watering Hole (Cleo's), which occaisoned an improvisiational dance from the above-mentioned wife.

To Sir, mit Liebe

Content explosion! Friday was fun and feckless, in the words of a certain radio broadcaster, and Woundup felt wanted. I feel even more wanted today. Wanted by my loved ones, certainly, but also by that elusive group we WeBLoGGeRS chase -- strangers. Keep your fingers crossed for this commentator and perhaps you'll get some exciting news in the coming week.

No, I didn't see the first inning of the World Series, last night, but I watched the mildly exciting conclusion with Cpt. Stockton, followed by a little "Check, Please!" Speaking now as a member of the viewing public (a "stranger") upon whom the minor local celebrity of Alpana Singh has been foisted... do you enjoy, as I do, watching her get a little wine drunk over the course of a show? You know that hazy, glazy look, wine drinker. I had it myself last night while watching "Check, Please!" Here's to getting buzzed and getting paid for it by viewers like you.

The Woundup Promise

Well, it looks like a scheduled trip to Wine Bar -38 Credibility is on the docket for tonight. Wine Bar -38 Credibility is always referred to in the passive voice. I promise... a picture or two. And listen to the album cuz it's bangin'.

O'Donnell Lives

Phew! In a fit of deluded self-importance, I feared I had single-handedly killed Sun-Times sportswriter Jim O'Donnell's career. Woundup often lashed out at O'Donnell's purple prose in the back pages of "The Bright One" (S-T marketing term), particularly last year's green-gold profiles of Notre Dame football players. A new ND season arrived and... O'Donnell disappeared. They had given someone else a crack at Weis' crew. Where was O'Donnell? Did a higher-up at the Sun-Times read one of my anti-O'D missives? Did my own diamond-sharp prosody convince an editor to give the veteran legman the boot?

I calmed down when I saw O'Donnell's byline on two college football stories today, including a wonderful featurette on Bill Cosby's playing days at Temple. O'Donnell has grown on Woundup, and we'd like to see more of him amid the Telanders, Mariottis and Brad Biggses. From now on, Woundup will support O'Donnell... and will stop believing anyone reads this thing.

Kirk: A Humidor in Every Glove Compartment

The election commercial circus has been swinging for weeks now. I'd like to know where they make these things, as they are all basically the same commercial with different faces. Would the same production company make commercials for two opposing candidates in the same race?

And why haven't any politicians courted Lake County resident Michael Jordan's favor? I'd pretty much vote for anyone M.J. told me to. Well, not really, but I'd like to think I would...

"Hi, I'm Michael Jordan. On May 3, 1991, I put the douchebag Detroit Pistons to shame by scoring 50 points to ice the Chicago Bulls' first championship*. This November, pull the lever for Mark Kirk. It's a slam dunk."



* May be factually inaccurate.

Havlicek Stole the Ball

I was sad to see Craig leave the Cracker Factory, but I don't mind hawking his free copy of Sports Illustrated. I'm fingering the SI NBA 06-07 preview at this very moment. It seems like yesterday Erika and I were watching the (sort of) dramatic conclusion of NBA 05-06 at a lakeside bar in northern Ohio.

I made a bet with Erika (also a basketball fan) that the Bulls would make it to the championship game this season. I didn't say they'd win, but that they'd just make it there. The loser of the bet will have house-cleaning honors for a month.

Think I'm crazy? The Bulls are filled with quality guards and small forwards, and have stocked up on forwards and centers, including Ben Wallace. Scott Skiles can rotate like crazy now and wear down the opposition. Who's gonna stop them? Miami? Old. Pistons? They're in decline. Cleveland? Still not enough help for LeBron. And... New Jersey? Nah... It'll be Bulls, Bulls, Bulls in June, June, June. Hopefully, we'll be watching the finish in a more desirable location.

Rides Again

Picodiribibi, the Orland Park android, is back online (link at right). I re-posted his first adventure from more than four years ago. I hope you enjoy it. I'll add other stories from the Pico vault in the coming weeks. Keep checking in.

Up Next: 1987 Datsun Owner's Manual

Well, I finally have something in common with Marilyn. I finished "Ulysses" this afternoon. Ironically, they gave out the Nobel Prize for Literature today. I'm not looking for a pat on the back; I only want to say it's one of the best English-language books I've read. I don't think there is one "greatest," but I think any lover of literature should give it a look.

(Little known from this period is a picture of Joe DiMaggio reading "Mrs. Dalloway.")

We Sweat, Too

Welcome back, Chicago. Welcome to the grey season. Yes, I have problems with the wintertime blues. I've never had full-blown SAD, but I do feel a change around this time, particularly if the weather goes dour, as it has. Three years ago, I bought a sun lamp and found it helped. I used it for a couple winters. Last year, I exercised more and found that worked just as well. I used the lamp no more than three times in winter '05-'06. I plan to go with the exercise regimen this year, and I recommend it to fellow seasonal affective sufferers. I'm not an expert, but 30-40 minutes of aerobic exercise at least three times a week does wonders for the body and the psyche. You can find me at the New City YMCA tomorrow around 11 a.m.

People Funny Boy

Yes, I did have the day off -- as did my wife, Erika. We had a lovely lunch at Earwax; thumbed through some books at Myopic and the Brown Elephant; and tried to locate me a warm-up jacket. You know warm-up jackets, Mr./Ms. 28-to-33. They grew abundantly on the thrift store trees 10 years ago, before the resale goblins stole them away. Now it's like trying to find Ornette Coleman's "Live in Stockholm '61" in a... yes.

I borrowed a Lee Perry boxed set from pal Jonathan a year ago. Listened to it once and promptly shelved it away. Well, a year later, I've picked it up again and can't stop listening. Funny how that works. It probably means the collector will be calling soon, which is good, because Stockty owes me a six-pack for winning our fantasy baseball league.

I told my mother I'd have a new gig within two weeks. If I say it will happen, it (might) will happen. Good night.

Muse-lings

I will miss one thing in particular about the old Cracker Factory: the fantastic view of the city from our west windows. I love looking out them at all times of day and night, in all types of weather. You can see Pilsen, Midway Airport, I-55, the Kennedy, St. Elizabeth's Hospital and the co-op building on Division from our office. I can see the tall billboard that stands above our old home on Noble St., too.

Gazing on the distant lights of the South and North Side, it's pleasing to think I'll soon be out there, down some street or alley, below one of those lights. I can see a place hidden amid that yellow grid -- a dim room where a glass of Chambly Noir beer awaits me. Only four hours to go.

We Deliver

There it is: Rod Blagojevich Pizza. I met Erika at the Darkroom. We walked down to Chicago and Western. I got a slice. We went home. I ate the pizza and drank a beer. Are Woundup's forays into the "real world" starting to scare you? They're starting to scare me... and it's also a f*** of a lot of extra work.

Nibbles and Bites

Mmm... something smells good in the Cracker Factory tonight. Smells like pizza. I could go for some pizza. Erika and I recently tried the clone pie place that opened in the old Bacci space on Chicago Ave. Must say, their cheese slice is much, much better. Thanks to the Admiral for the tip.

Say, if I'm hungry in this fashion later... maybe I'll stop by the aforementioned Rod Blagojevich Pizza and grab a slice. I call it Blagojevich because there's a crude rendering of the popular "Love Is" comic on the building's side. The little, black-haired fellow depicted bears a strong resemblance to Illinois' governor.

I could even... snap a picture of the cartoon (might be dark) or those big slices under the heat lamps. Yes, every WeBLoG pretty much devolves into a photo WeBLoG. It's much easier than writing, folks!

By Candlelight

I like this picture of Erika taken at Cleo's, Saturday night. A touch Pre-Raphaelite...

This is Going to Be My Week II

I was sure last week was going to be my week -- going to be good in some way. It was -- not as good as it could've been, but much better than I expected. I had a feeling last Monday that something would happen. I was right. Today, I don't have that feeling, but I think if I say it anyway, it might come true. The danger is in throwing out a lot of empty proclamations and predictions, thus diluting (I believe) the karmic energy pool.

Where do you find the karmic energy pool? I don't know, but I'd like to believe it resembles the pool scene in "Caddyshack."

This is going to be my week... again.

Nightpost

I told you it was gonna be my week. Well, maybe... it remains to be... there was another going-away party tonight. I think they're stretching this one into another evening. It felt a little brisk as I made my way, two beers in, back to the office to work -- yessir. Now, I feel... back to normal. It's not a hard gig, folks. My wife has a hard gig, but you'll have to talk to her about it.

I hope, if for only one reason, I still have the nightbeat gig on Oct. 13. That's when acclaimed playwright Davis Mamet will speak at the Washington Library at noon. Yes, the CPL got Davis Mamet, not David Mamet. Who'll show up for that one at noon? Writers, actors... the unemployed. Bryant Park movies for the unemployed debuts May 24th with "American Buffalo" by Davis Mamet..

Imports/Exports

I'm excited to report Wound-up.com collected its first hit from the New York State Department of Agriculture and Markets today. We've experienced more and diverse readers since Jessica gave this site a place of prominence on her links list. Thank you for routing them our way, Jessica.

We wonder what the NYSDAM reader was doing on her site in the first place. Maybe that proposed unicorn farm in the Cortland area I read about in 1999 is becoming a reality. The state was hoping to make unicorns New York's no. 3 industry behind prisons and Puerto Rican flag keychains.

I hope we've routed our own loyal readers to our friends' sites. 12.3.5.781.119 is a CPD mole, by the way. We've got a few unpaid parking tickets.

RE: Looking Up

I'm starting to get the feeling Woundup's days at the Cracker Factory are numbered. That's a good thing. I believe yesterday's unfounded declaration may have been the spot of grease the gears needed. That or it was the Bass Ale I was thinking about buying after work. I had my first bit of luck about two weeks ago, around the time I bought a six pack of Bass Ale from Stella's. A magic elixir? Maybe for getting kidney stones...

Don't worry, Woundup will continue. We're just going to change offices. I'll miss our time here on "The Magnesium Mile" (W. Hubbard St.). I'll miss Winky at the corner store; I'll miss Big Stu at the pawn shop; and I'll miss ol' Semicolon Bob and his goddamn fucking semicolons.

Closing Up Shop

I was sad to hear San Diego Padres pitcher Trevor Hoffman had passed Lee Smith as the all-time baseball saves leader with 479. Lee Smith was one of my favorite Cubs in the '80s, and his saves record set the bar for closers. I hear the words "Hall of Famer" used regularly in reference to Hoffman. I hope the Tom Verduccis of the world will remember the great Lee Smith, too.

On the Record

All right... sitting here... at this hour... pining a bit for the past... I promise. I make an official promise here for you to note on RSS feeds (at right). Because I fucked up and let the original Picodiribibi Diaryland site die out, I will put it back up on Diaryland by the end of FY 2006. Picodiribibi (2002) -- the story of an android and his 25-year-old creator, both of whom lived in Orland Park, Ill. -- still has hardcore adherents. They'll be happy to know I have all the old files. So it shall be done. Stay tuned...

BITE

Readers have asked me... "Will there come a time when you stop WoundUp?" Yes. There will come a time, but the conditions are complex and require the presence of a lawyer. I can, however, paraphrase one of the more important points, that being: "... heretofor, Woundup.com will cease publication... when... the author... gets an increase... in funds... to write elswhere..."

I think this is going to be my week. It may come true if I say that, so... let's believe it -- you and me.

Last Week Good. This Week...

No. I'm not sick. At least not yet. Maybe. Woundup is a notorious hypochondriac.

You know it's been a rough week when you go to a co-worker's going-away party just to get a drink. Get in, get out, and... Hey! Back to work! Fantastic.

I'll stop my griping. It's always darkest before... how does that go? Maybe... maybe my personal strife will draw readers in. They'll come back to read of my travails. It could be a WeBLoG hit. When is that drink coming?

Friday night. Counting down the hours here. Somebody write me or something. Leave me a note. I don't know. More later...

Sick Day Imminent

Well, it looks like ol' Woundup may be succumbing to the week-long illness that struck his wife. Feeling a bit bad in the sinus area at the moment. Wonderful. Well, what can you do? -- as my grandma says. Not the cheeriest vibes in the Woundup camp today -- staring at the prospect of another month at the Cracker Factory. This gig is a burden by Thursday, from my four-week experience, but Friday... Friday we bounce back! We can escape, at least for two days. Man, I don't wanna be sick right now. I need to be at the top of my game, like Allan Iverson... or Tommy Tune.

The street fair has come to Augusta Ave. -- the annual St. Helen's Church festival. Erika and I had fun with the Admiral at last year's incarnation. Those Poles eventually cut loose and have a good time... eventually. All of the rides were set up on Augusta last night with no one to use them. The merry-go-round... I nearly passed it by, but felt the Amateur Cell Phone Photographer's Call. (Hey, it worked! See above.)

The Natural State

Whenever CEO Tom Blister shows up, well... He was here for only five minutes, but the writers' area is strewn with Marlboro Lights butts and Heineken tall-boy cans. He must've taken the sixth one with him in the car.

Drinking and bosses, a match made in WeBLoG VaLHaLLa. Erika's last boss had a serious drinking problem. We found him passed out in his stretch pick-up with the engine running after the company Xmas party. Good thing he didn't make it onto Division Street USA.

Chicago got a taste of Old Man Winter today, or maybe it was his depressive nephew, Middle-Aged Autumn. There was a mist of rain when I left the compound at 1:45 -- the perfect compliment to a gray, 50-degree day. I truly believe this is Chicago's natural state: cold and slate-colored.

The city is tending toward rest after the workout it had this summer. Take it easy, Chicago. Turn out the lights, turn on McNeil-Lehrer and have yourself a beer.

The CEO Checks In

Blister here. Maybe you think they keep me in a styrofoam casket and drag me out in January for the you-know-what. Not a chance. I've made more deals than you took craps today, and from what I've seen (thank you StatGrabr), you take a fuck of a lot of craps.

I'm sick of this North Side croissant whining about his night shift. Don't like it? Get the fuck out of my office. There's a little industrial-part Internet database you can go work for. You've got attention to detail? Good. You can keep track of how many tit wrenches I go thru in a week... and it's a fuck of a lot.

The little content fairies -- the little Stella Artois-drinking, compulsively masturbating-then-crying nordniks I hired are grousing. I know how fiction works. What the fuck is it? Fictional Construct. Behind the Electronic Veil. I read all that shit in MBA night class. How 'bout My Electronic Foot Between Your Liberal Arts Asscheeks? Get the fuck back to work. It's called a swing shift. Jack Welch did it. Steve Jobs did it. John Fitzgerald Fucking Kennedy did it -- with grace, aplomb and 13 Manhattans a night.

There's a reason I've got a three-speed ball washer and my name on the door. It's called delegation, folks. Get back to work.

Where Do We Go Now?

I hate Guns 'n Rose. I hated them in 1987, and I will hate them until we bid you adieu and head to WeBLoG reconstitution. I will not soften my nostalgic standards as the years go on. In fact, I may grow to hate them more. I hate their songs, their... hair. Terrible. That said...

Hey, beer lovers -- if you're looking for a value pick, try Okocim's Porter, an 8.5% dark beer in the northern Baltic style -- very tasty and half the price of Duvel (of similar strength). Yes, it lacks a bit of the complexity and aroma of Duvel, but you can still be the first on your block to champion this fine cold-weather brew. I know for a fact Rich's (Iowa and Western) has a pallet-full waiting for YOU.

More musings on the nightbeat. Tool of the Week -- brought to you by Rent-a-Center... DOT COM!

Snibblings

An actual item from a recent Bee Newspapers police blotter:

"A driver on Niagara Falls Boulevard called police because
an irate passenger in another car was punching the
dashboard."

Western New York is little sleepy, but this sleepy? I punch my dashboard everyday in Chicago. It's called psychotechnological alienation, folks. Wake up and join the 21st century.

Nightbeat

There was a pretty good song by the Big Boys called "Nightbeat." I once had half the Touch and Go BB reissue series. I don't know how it got out of my life -- probably sold it somewhere along the line... or did my brother Terry end up with it? Terry, if you're reading this, try to remember.

The last installment of Nightbeat Week 3. Friday nights have felt like the start of a vacation. It's a pleasant state, so I'll stick with it. I hope to not be doing this much longer.

The best part of this gig is that I can lean back in my chair and pick my nose anytime I want. Thoughts from the night blotter...

Put the Cat Out, Johnson, and Help Me Edit This Police Blotter

I was pleasantly surprised today when I found out that baseball Hall of Famer (and mustache Hall of famer) Rollie Fingers has an association with Quigley Corp., makers of Cold-eze cough drops -- a product I've used since college. Way to go, Cold-eze.

I just finished a tub of Erika's homemade potato soup -- delicious. Looking to kill 3.5 hours here before I can go home and enjoy a couple Bass ales with my Jim Rome. It's quiet (it's always quiet), and I feel a little like I'm at the Amherst Bee.

This is what is called a SLiCe oF LiFe entry at the WeBLoG aCaDeMy.

From the Desk of W. Woundup

Hello, Woundup Watchers. There's been a scent or two of good news, but I don't want to jinx it. I'll tell you if anything concrete solidifies. You like that? That's called uh...

Another rainy one here in Chicago. The autumn joined us last week. Well, I think of the autumn as warm and sunny. This is... fall: cold and rainy. You don't get those dry, beautiful, mellow upstate New York autumns here. Put on a sweater, go look at some leaves, drink the apple cider, come home and watch the Bills. Hey, I don't mind. We need the rain, too. Or, more appropriately, a soybean concern in Marengo, Ill., needs the rain.

My fantasy baseball team made it to the playoffs, after posting the second-best reg. season record in the league. Wish me luck as I try to scrape out a win this week and advance to our "World Series."

Rats. My supply of Coca Cola has dried up. I'll actually need to go out into this nasty soup after all. Embrace the new season. So, let's embrace.

L8 9TS

Those New York boys are wearing me out! I've had a blast with T 'n T the last two nights, including an unexpected visit to Danny's soul night. I'd never been. Saw a dude I've been riding the 56 Bus with for nearly three years (at least until recently). Our gazes met _ a little strange to see me in the real world, eh? Well... SURPRISE.

Feeling a bit crispy, in the words of an old classmate of mine at State U. I turned those fellows loose in Hyde Park. They were going to work their way north to Lincoln Square while trying to shoot a new episode of "Perfect Strangers." Check out Ted's photo WeBLoG for his camera work.

The Long March. Mexican casserole again? Not a problem. My stomach has calmed since... after Danny's I had a char-cheddar dog with mustard and hot peppers. Even in my beery state, I nearly gagged while watching the guy spoon on the room-temperature cheese. Mmm... my stomach was subsequently unhappy and answered in kind.

SPEAK

Saw no. 1 Wound-Up fan Vanessa at an evening bbq this past weekend. She lobbied for more entries. And so...

Entering Week 2 of The Long March. Long-time Woundup pals Tim and Ted have touched down in Chicago. This schedule is cramping my style and my hosting duties. I believe there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I believe...

The weekend was wonderful. I plan on taking one three-day weekend a month, as per my union-mandated complement of vacation days. Very refreshing. I felt like a new man when I arrived here. Not sure how I feel now.

This space could very well turn into a Gulag diary. It feels that way sometimes. My Grandma told me she was praying for me to get a new gig. That means a lot, and I felt better when she told me. In time... do the work, do the time. Uh, do the crime, do the time. What was my crime? Being here in the first place, I think. Sleep tight, Woundupland.

Where Have You Gone 1990?

I think I'm currently starring in the remake of this classic. I remember watching it in the late 80's/early 90's with my old pal Chris Davis down in Sauk Village, Ill. Now that is the south suburbs. Man...

Well, it's one day till the weekend. Operation Cracker Factory Extraction enters day three. Spirits waver hour-to-hour, but personnel are generally hopeful.

The late 80's/early 90's. Sauk Village. Watch some Night Flight. Play some role-playing games. Drink a lot of RC. Watch Channel 50. Man...

My Pong

Ahhh... cooler weather is the elixir of peace woundup has sought this long week. I s'pose it was my long time above the Arctic Circle (Erie, Pa., also known as the 33rd Parallel) that bred cold weather comfort into my RNA. As I sit here sipping this fine $4 wine, I think to myself... I think to myself...

My brother and his lady friend left us around 5 p.m. The visit seemed too short, but we had fun anyway, subjecting them to endless varieties of state and city traffic. Went to the Shedd Aquarium for the first time in a long one. Many of the same water fauna from my childhood are still there: the electric eel, the sea turtle, the wolf fish.

Where's the daily dose of alienation effect? Epic WeBLoG. Supertext. Projections. Spare set and props. I don't work for free, folks. Now accepting donations.

Don't Worry!

Hello, everybody... yes, don't worry about Woundup. It's been a few days, certainly. Last week was very stressful. I just found out I was being switched to a night shift, while Erika is starting an 8-3 job this week. You can imagine I'm not happy about that. My birthday was a little stressful, too, but I think I'm getting used to things in the new decade. It may take me a little longer, tho. Needless to say, Woundup is looking for a new cracker factory shift because of the new, draconian schedule. Please wish me luck as I hope to synch up my life with my wife. This is what they call a "life challenge," right? I will be a better, stronger person on the other side of it. I believe it, tho it's a little hard to grasp at this point. Seems like a long, uphill push at the moment.

Today Is My Birthday

I am 30 years old today. It's weird to write that out. I've had some anxiety the past week _ Will things be much different? Am I old now? What the heck should do about my day job? But now... I don't know, I'm feeling a little better about it. A little better. We had a party for Erika last night with some good friends. As I was lying down to sleep around 11:15, a Chicago cop walked in. Our neighbor called them because of the noise. How 'bout that?

If anyone has some advice for a newly turned 30, just leave me a comment. Otherwise, it's great to be here writing for you and great to be here in general. I'll keep the posts coming as usual.

Happy Birthday Erika

Today is my wife's birthday. She is 26 years old. Erika, I love you very much. I hope the rest of your day goes wonderfully. I'll see you when I get home.

New Addition

Hey, hey! My ol' pal Jason has entered the WeBLoG hustle game _ specifically, the WeBLoG fantasy football hustle game. The season is bearing down on us like Dwight Freeney... uh... If you're looking for some advice, Jason is a 3-time champ in our long-running, highly competitive Buffalo doodez fantasy league. The man knows his Pts Allwd and FG 50+'s, and he offers bench-or-start advice. FREE BENCH-OR-START ADVICE. Link is now up at right... and don't miss his topics in the blog's comments section, either.

30 Seconds Over Netcong

How does a Woundup post come together? Well, sometimes I come up with a topic, sometimes it's an image, or, in this case, I come up with the title first.

I've never been to Netcong, N.J., but countless Greyhound bus trips to NYC peaked my interest, as it gets double-billing with the Big Apple on many I-80 road signs. I've had my share of bus trips _ I can hang withthose bad-smelling hardcore kids, for sure. Too bad I never wrote a zine. The title above would look good in xeroxed black 'n white.

Speaking of which... have you seen this? Buffalo needs its young people. You've had a nice 5-15 years away from us, but now you must return. I'm not a native Buffalonian, but I claim it as my spiritual hometown. What does it have to offer? Long, silent winter nights; downtown streets empty after 9 p.m.; chicken wings; Canadian beer; Lake Erie; the feeling that something, somehow will/must turn around... and lots of bowling. God bless Western New York. God bless the Buffalo International Airport. And God bless Transit Road.

Sneedlings

Firefox has changed my life and... changed my mind, slightly. Not that last one, but it does sound more cryptic. You need a cryptic tinge if your WeBLoG is going to be successful, much like this one. Don't think it is? Well, which WeBLoG was quoted at the G8 summit? No, it wasn't this one _ it was acutally lostnazigolddutchspaceprogram.blogspot.com _ but it should've been this one. Which WeBLoG was recently quoted at the PGA Championship media day? It was philmickelsonpaternitysuit.blogspot.com, but it should've been this one.

Ah yes... a little bagel, a little orange juice, the beginning of another successful day. Let's make it a winner, folks.

Finally...

A political WeBLoG I can get into.

Nibblets

There are many changes happening in our part of the world: some good, some... well, the best one is that I see my wife more than ever now.

Next week is the third annual Double Birthday, in which the author crosses the threshhold into his fourth decade of life and his wife remains comfortably in the go-go 20's. Am I jealous? Sure, but let's stay positive. I'll have more on the subject when the day rolls around.

Sometimes I feel like I have nothing to do, and sometimes I feel overwhelmed by a golem of tiny jobs. There you go, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I used "golem" in my WeBLoG this week. You owe me five dollars.

Congratulations

To my wife, Erika. She is the Chicago Public Schools' newest high school English teacher. Wells High School, where she did her student teaching and sub work, now counts her as one of its staff. She has undergone a grueling job search the last three months _ all while writing, refurbishing the kitchen, helping her family and working at the bar. Please congratulate Erika if you see her.

Primo Bruni Ci

God help the A-list chef with the newly opened vanity satellite when Frank Bruni is given extra inches in which to skewer.

See You in Space

One more note here, and I promise I'll stop the celebrity obituaries. Dr. James A. Van Allen, who discovered the Van Allen Belts, passed away today. I once thought it would be cool to name my first son Van Allen Belt. That idea has come and gone, but let us honor this remarkable man of science. Helios Creed must be inconsolable.

Don't (Give Up)

Here I am again, back where I began. I tried everything else to keep myself away, but fantasy baseball and football only go so far.

If you've learned anything from me and my site here, it's that... hmm... I might need to reflect on this a moment. I don't want to say just anything _ this is an important point. If you've learned anything from me and my site here... uh... let me back up a bit.

Everyone goes through a tough time, and it seems the problems multiply and piggyback and recombine. So, if you've learned anything from me and my site here... there are... uh... It may seem darkest, but...

We experience change: It can be painful, but... if you've learned anything from me and my site here, it is that... what am I trying to say... it is that...

I don't know. Lunch is in 1.25 hours. It's frozen tamales today.

Bummer in the Summer

I am embarassed by the patchwork reportage of this site. No offense to the departed, but Arthur Lee was way more important than Syd Barrett. I didn't hear about this till I read Miles' blog on Sunday. Where was the news alert??? I.F. Svenonius must be inconsolable.

Digs, Sets, Spikes

Enough already! I won't be going "Tubin'" all the time on this site. The temptation is great _ the temptation not to write, but to appear like I keep things up-to-date. Is that a criticism of others? No. No. Many others do it well. I'm just suspicious of convergence.

One day you'll be able to plug in your... well, let's leave that to the imagination what you'll be able to plug into. Or, you can take a pill _ a WeBLoG pill. I would volunteer this site to be a beta tester for pill WeBLoGs. You must take Woundup after meals. It bonds to natural lipids in foods and (warning) will stay in the fatty deposits of your ass and legs (and in your hair) for up to three years.

It's still a lot better than that Ozzie Guillen for President pill. Spontaneous diarrhea? No thanks. I'll just read the thing.

Low-in-brow'n

OK Go - Here It Goes Again

woundup is a big snob, normally, but this is the fucking funniest thing i've seen in a while.

Channel Changing

It is a tradition unlike any other... the new official sportstalk radio show of Woundup.com is WMVP's Silvy and Carmen show (weeknights 7-10). We've seen the torch pass from the J. Hood show (2002-04), to the Mike Murphy show (2004-05), to these young lads.

Woundup.com favors an evening program for relaxing during the dark hours, and this is the first time a sportstalk duo has captured the honor. Silvy and Carm are in our age demographic and, we think, live in the same geographical area. They're the kind of guys you might find hanging out at Cans on a Friday night, but, hey, they've got a lot of heart... and they talk NBA. Congratulations, gentlemen.

Now Selling Ad Space

My, look at those archives pile up. Seems like we started this thing just yesterday. Monday in Chicago and it's approaching the hottest part of the day. Erika _ if you're reading this, you can come down to the office and hang out with me. The heat has pushed our two little window units to the limit. One more day, so they say, and we'll find some relief.

Monday morning is the longest yard for me. Now... peace _ or the work version of it. I just realized I've run out of things to say. Let's leave it here and pick up soon, okay? You can read this copy of American Heritage magazine in the meantime.

Time to Wield the Blade

I hate it when the legal department gets hold of this thing. They're required to post once a month. Sorry, folks, it's the law.

August is almost here and that means fantasy football. And that means I will make my annual trip to the ground floor commissary to buy a fantasy football guide. They run $7-8 a copy and are generally useless by the second week of August, save the long list of player names. They publish these things in April, months before players get traded or break their legs in the preseason.

So, why do I get one every year? Promise. The promise of a new season. The promise of humiliating my friends, albeit electronically. And when I throw it away in early September, I think, "What a waste of money. But, I'll see you again next year, old friend." Ante up! I'm buying at 5 p.m. sharp, baby!

Good News Friday

The long-standing feud between this site and Prisonbed.Blogspot.Com has found its way to an amicable end. Don't bother searching for Prisonbed. It isn't there _ a casualty of a 13-month debacle that featured not one, but two civil suits (Henderson v. Krapstan, et al and TrypeCor v. Sweetwater Printing Co.). Prisonbed will soon be back on blogspot, albeit with a different, undetermined name _ as per order of the 7th District Court of Appeals.

Prisonbed creator J.J. Freedkind has extended the hand of friendship to Woundup Corp. and its team of writers, its executives and its board of trustees. Freedkind, who once called Woundup.com, "the Blogosphere's first-year creative writing student drunk on Seagram's Silver Ice" and "a name-dropping back-porch ass-grabber with an unread copy of 'No Exit' prominently sticking out of its breast pocket" has searched his heart for forgiveness and extended its flower to us.

Woundup Corp. admits its own guilt, too, having called Prisonbed.com "the crypto-hedonist warblings of a lower-level MFA program dropout" and "the prime signifier of Gen Y literature's anal stage claptrap."

We here at Woundup accept your apology, Mr. Freedkind. It was only a coincidence that the one-room Bucktown apartment that doubled as the Prisonbed office burned down on Feb. 15, 2006 (recently proven in court). We look forward to your next batch of literary offerings, whatever they may be.

I Forgot My Mantra

The Cubs just lost in extra innings. I've already said it to Erika, but I've been wary to post it here... until now (naturally). I believe the Cubs will have a winning record in the second half of the season... even if it means one game over the second-half .500 mark. There.

With the thought of playoffs extinguished, I can concentrate fully, objectively, even compassionately on the team's day-to-day efforts _ root where I must root and shrug where I must shrug. It's strictly support for a well-played-game and nothing else.

The Chicago cognoscenti in the black hats must be clawing their skin off. But I've accepted the great neutral hum of Cubs '06. No Choke, No Heartburn. Or... How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the 3-Run Bomb Given Up By Glendon Rusch.

Morning Meeting

I've been... here all night. Sitting on the floor, my back against the metal desk. They can't... how's that for... description. They can't see me here, but they... have already gone home and come back. They were here till... uh... 11 o'clock or so. They did get the sushi... like I said. And I drank the six pack... yes... uh... I'm still drunk. I drank it at... 5 a.m. It was still dark outside.

WHY ARE YOU... they can't hear me. Wait. CAN YOU HEAR ME? ... no answer. WHY ARE YOU TORTURING ME? I'm the... I'M THE FICTIONAL CONSTRUCTION. ... ... I MAKE THE MONEY AROUND HERE. Ha... he looked. The one with the glass _ they all have glasses _ but that one... he turned around. Hope you... HOPE YOU LIKE YOUR BREAKFAST. They got... rose-water pancakes. HOPE YOU LIKE YOUR BREAKFAST.

I need to sober up... despite... I should... I should get... drunker. That's what they deserve. I'M NOT SOBERING UP. They... didn't look that time. They're ignoring me. I WANT SOME BREAKFAST. The fictional... THE FICTIONAL CONSTRUCT... CONSTRUCTION IS HUNGRY NOW. Jesus I'm hungry. They're not looking... I'm drunk... I don't feel good...

Turmoil Sells (Inner)

I'm in the low-lying trough of the day now, and I... know I should've gone to the gym yesterday. Instead, I got sucked into a PC ROM version of "Final Fantasy 1" for NES. Acronyms.

Someone throw me something... a bone. Make me feel better. It's a big desert I'm walking thru sometimes. The desert could be called "life" but it's the experience of a single person. Or, in this case, the Composite Character Created (CCC) by a bright young team of 25-35'rs at Woundup Corp. If they are so fucking bright, why can't they make the composite character a little happier?

"Well, we're looking for a more rounded character, and that... of course, includes the pains of living."

Fucking MFA grads. This isn't supposed to be naturalism. Write something pleasant.

"I have no problems with naturalism. I think we take a more tempered realism, not necessarily with the social conscience..."

WRITE A HAPPY CHARACTER.

"That's not going to win us any awards now, is it?"

YOU'RE NOT GOING TO WIN ANY FUCKING AWARDS. YOU'RE ALL TERRIBLE WRITERS. YOU SHOULD ALL BE FIRED.

"I'm not going to fight with you here. We can talk about this later."

This is what I'm up against. They're probably having a... yes, they just went in the meeting room and... they've closed the door. Fine. That's the content team. Looks like it's sushi again and "Gilmore Girls" _ we're pulling a late one on deadline, folks. Don't worry about me, tho. I've got a six pack in the bottom drawer of my desk.

Sweet Baby Stanislaus

Creaking and squeaking thru This Friday. Last night... "Creaking and Squeaking" is my version of "Kicking and Sticking." And if you don't know what that last one is... "Creaking and Squeaking" _ the softer side of "Kicking and Sticking." Someone must start the "Kicking and Sticking" WeBLoG. Will it be you? I really do write faster (not necessarily better) in this "Slouched S" position. And if you don't know what that last one is...

I was a little drunk last night. I don't often get drunk like that. I like a little beer or wine here and there, get a little buzzed. It's a slippery slope. SLIPPERY SLOPE. That's the cliche warning signal. If you had been in the office you would've heard the overhead siren _ the klaxon. I toyed with. TOYED WITH. Ah, I can't use that one either, apparently. I thought about... ... I thought about BLoGGiNG while... drunk. Who hasn't done that before? But I hadn't been that drunk in a little while, especially on a Thursday night. All that writing kept me off the streets for so long. So I went on a little bender. Now the cops will be collecting me outside the St. Pietrus Ukrainian Catholic Church of Endless Oppression. Trying to "turn off the bells."

Subconscious Working on Better Title

Someone, in high school, told me the brain has 5 or 6 different channels of thought that run simultaneously _ some in the conscious front of the mind and some subconsciously. I may have the numbers wrong, but it's safe to assume there's more than one track of thinking. If you've ever had two songs in your head at the same time you've seen this in action. You can flip between them, like those pre-set punch buttons on old car radios. Right now I have "Ramblin' Gamblin' Man" going, but I can switch to a piece of awful classical music from a movie we saw the other night.

I also experience this when I wake up at night, and my mind's still in the middle of a complicated train of thought _ grinding along like that nighttime rail line on the coast of Lake Erie. Always running...

Right now, I'm slouching down in my seat, failing to put my lower back against the provided rest. Yet... this isn't so bad, or maybe it's different than what I might write if I... yes, if I sit up straight and... keep my feet on the ground. That's not only good posture, but, according to a book I read once, stimulates your inner energy and is better for the creative process. Some famous writers wrote standing up at a lectern. Is that better still?

What I'm trying to say... is that those other tracks of thought need to start making me money. And... do I have to pay Bob Seger a royalty every time his song plays in my head?

Anticipatory Energy - Two Types

Let them sayeth, "He hath earned himself a break. Yea, he will rest following, tonight, the head adjuster."

Watch a baseball game. Starts at 6. You might know which one I'm talking about. Consult my scarf during the winter. My Chicago Cubs scarf. I keep it in my closet and look at it, and I think, "Soon enough." But that will be for the wintertime.

"He hath earned himself a break..."
Lunch soon.
"Yea, he will rest..."
In the microwave.
"Following, tonight..."
I am hungry.
I cannot wait.

How Do I Feel About Posting Today. I Feel Good About Posting Today

Wound-up Pet Peeve #1: People who repeat what you've just said as part of their answer to what you've just said...

Mark: Is there going to be a veal sausage festival in October?
Peev: Yes, there is going to be a veal sausage festival in October.

Even worse...

Mark: Where is the parking garage?
Peev: Where is the parking garage _ The parking garage is two blocks that way.

Possibly the worst...

Mark: Do you think it'll rain tomorrow?
Peev: Do I think it'll rain tomorrow. (sigh) Yes, I do think it'll rain tomorrow.

I don't get royalties for writing your dialogue. Maybe I should start charging.

Plans I Make. Make Plans.

I think there really are Myspace consultants _ a room filled with 20-somethings, smoking, drinking take-out coffees, surfing the web... I was hit with five different friend requests in the last hour. You can pay these people and... they will boost your numbers. All those guys playing Quake back in 1996 in group homes at 4 a.m. ... here they are.

Three-day weeks have spoiled me. Now it's The Long March. If you see Erika today, please compliment her on her dress. She bought it for a dollar, and it is wonderful.

I Just Wanna Be the Captain of the Lighthouse Ship

Finally... the incredibly influential DOORS II. The Detroit movie that is the reason you're listening to Kenny Loggins at the moment and pretending to like it. You'll have to ask the creators about this connection, but enjoy the Belle Isle psych-out in the meantime (thanks to Trevor B)...

Doors II part one

Doors II part deux

RIP Syd Barrett

Sorry to hear about this. Gotta pull out "Piper" for the All-Star Game tonight. Strangely, I had one of the songs in my head on the way to work. Very, very sad passing...

Dog Years

Perhaps... this space... could be used for a "Goodbye to 20's" celebration. That's something my therapist might suggest, so I'm going to beat him to it. "Beating therapists to it since 2003." That's our new motto.

"Goodbye to 20's" _ the age. Yes, Woundup will turn 30 in August... not Wound up the WeBLoG, but its parent company: WoundUp Corp. 30 years of high productivity and "Beating therapists to it..." For example...

Mark: Gee whiz, doc, my dog just died...
Doc: I'm sorry to hear that. How do you feel?
Mark: I'm sad. He was a good animal. He never asked much of me... a little food, some affection... and he was loyal. That's how I'll remember him most. Laying at my feet by the fire (sniff)...
Doc: It sounds like you've been really affected by this. Why don't--
Mark: Why don't I, after an acceptable period of grief, buy a book about dogs and do some research _ that seems to fit my mindset. Do some research, then... go look for a new dog.
Doc: Well... you beat me to it.
Mark: There's only one problem, doc.
Doc: Another problem? Maybe I can help you with that.
Mark: I don't wanna buy a purebred dog... because they have a lot of genetic problems, and I don't wanna make some poor animal suffer for my own fancy.
Doc: Okay... well, why don't...
Mark: Why don't I, after an acceptable period of grief, take a trip to the local dog pound and look at some dogs.
Doc: Yes...
Mark: Thanks, doc.
Doc: You're welcome.

3 Grafs Closer

Erika made a wonderful meal for J.R. and me last night. The leftovers will find their way into the office microwave in 1.5 hours. Following dinner, PBS reminded us of its easy pleasures. PBS does not ask anything of you. It only wants you to listen. Isn't that what we all want?

Friday night approaches. You know what that means... a little Jim Rome, a little TSN Radio. Maybe you're due a missive on my sports radio listening habits. That'll fill some space. Need to get clearance first. I'll call my representative and get back to you.

To wit, taking the paper to das Krapper. That's modernism, folks: Writing about the bathroom. So, post-modernism is... writing about the hand-drying machine? Oui, oui! Tres post-moderne!

My Old Diamond Days

Today, while driving me to work, Erika asked if I would ever like to be a little league coach. My knowledge of The Game, she said, would make me an ideal candidate. I was touched, truly. I didn't know she trusted me so. It also made me think of our next life together, as parents.

But, as I tried to explain, I don't really know how to play baseball. I never played little league. I never played tee ball, even. I played on the sandlot and in gym class... and not very well. Sure, I've read about the hit-and-run, suicide squeeze and double steal, but I've never executed any of them in real life.

Erika thought I might do well as a motivator, or as an assistant to the head coach. Well... I could keep a tome of inspirational verse at hand in trying times.

Timmy: Coach, we're down 21-4. What are we gonna do?
Mark: Well, in times like these, I think of Tennyson. What did he say? Yes, "My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure."
(long pause)
Mark: The Pizza Hut has a grabber machine.
Timmy: Do you have any quarters?
Mark: Get up there and bat, kid.

Site Feeding

I don't know what the hell a site feed is, but it's available to the right in the links list. My seasonal accountant says I can write it off as a "medical expense." Fine with me.

The Million Dollar Dream Rehearsals

Rattus! My "beautiful" picture of the World's Largest Paperweight ("Cloudgate" sculpture) is NON-ACCESSIBLE on this computer. Thus, I cannot post it. I finally went to Taste of Chicago _ Erika and I with friends Marie and Jason. We had a fine time. A little wine. Robinson's Ribs no. 9. No, it was no. 1, but that's what we called "sacrificing the truth for the good of the blog" at the Kranley School of the WeBLoG. I was one of 15 people trained... I'm not going to get into it. You shouldn't even know that much _ what I've already said. What you should know... "Robinson's Ribs no. 1. Come back home to meat." I came back home yesterday. Boneless. But... I went back to school today. Vegetable burritos. THE KRANLEY SCHOOL OF THE WEBLOG DOES NOT ENDORSE LIFESTYLE CHOICES OF ANY SORT, INCLUDING DIET. That's what they told me my first day of school.

I'm getting a little sick of this writing style. Aren't you? It's called, "Save it for your play, Rembrandt." I think I need to relax. Breathe. Sunday Times. Tea. Breathe again. And the old Wound Up will be back. He will be back.

The Good Old Days

I just ate a small bag of Snyder's of Hanover Kosher Dill potato chips. They taste a lot like the buttermilk pretzel niblets I used to eat in Syracuse. Which leads me to believe that all of Snyder's old-fashioned products taste the same _ all using this company "allspice."

The next time you're enjoying Snyder's Cape Cod Oyster Chips, remember they taste the same as the Maine Lobster Pretzel Nubs. The Amish Country Hot Mustard Nuggets are exactly like the Winesburg Ohio Vinegar Potato Skins. The Muskegon Michigan Frog Legs Chips taste an awful lot like Little Cousin Abel's Yonkers Three-story Walkup Living Room Bar Mitzvah Pretzel Stix. The Snyder's Country Fair 1912 First Automobile in Town Local Economy Changing from Agriculture to Light Industry, Primarily Textiles Potato Squares remind one of the Penn-Yann Front Porch Doughboy Wilson Honus Wagner Teapot Dome Coolidge Sinclair Lewis. Right.

Brain-Blood Barrier Blues

Nothing like... the NBA Draft... a little anti-climactic, methinks (I think), with all of the trading the Bulls did, but I like the fire I've seen (I see) in Tyrus Thomas' eyes, because... as a couch-bound TV spectator, I've developed the ability to pick the winners based on five-second clips. It's a talent, folks.

Then... nothing like... drinking a few Miller Lites and stumbling around YouTube, looking for band videos. Found great moments from Go4, PiL, MC5, Can. Yes, it was fun. The rain came. I closed the windows. I went to the bed and eventually fell asleep.

Today... tonight? I don't know. We're going to a wedding in Cleveland (we are), this weekend. Going to see some old high school pals. Right. I'm hungry already. I've (I have) made a career as "The Lunchtime Blogger." You might've seen my profile on Nordnik.com.

Asleep, Covered in Baguette Crumbs

The NBA draft is tonight. The Bulls have the 2nd and 16th picks. There is a large yellow couch in our living room. We have a radio.

A plan is forming.

The Day of Rest

This is the summer of NO EXCUSES. The summer of the HARD WAY. Uh, the summer of... Summer's almost over. No, it's not, but it feels like it is. A cool 72 or so in Chicago. Hello there. Yes, we are back from our break. How did it go? The summer of NO EXCUSES. NO MORE BACKPED'LING. NO MORE OFF-THE-RECORD INTERVIEWS.

No one has ever interviewed us about this site. I'd like to keep it that way. Primarily because...

_ We accept no advertising money. Thus...
_ Allowing us to comment without hinderancesthesummerofNOMOREHANDOUTS.

You heard it here, folks. NO MORE DICEY BUSINESS VENTURES. Look at my investment sheet. Look at our investment line. Read this for me. Tell me how much I've thrown away already FY2006. NO MORE SEASONAL ACCOUNTANTS. Full-time. Yes. And...

All right. We didn't go to California (NO MORE MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS)
Woundup is a coward. Even with his little pills he couldn't do it. I'm not going to dwell on this, only that this site, its creator, its staff... can only hope to be better. That's called the summer of being through with all of Our Hangups. All right.

That isn't one word, by the way.

Good to talk to Ted, Tim (by internet), my mother and youngest brother, father-in-law today. And JR, who tipped me off about William Gaddis. The summer of the big books.

"I really want to read something big this summer. No more excuses. No more fluff. This is the summer of buckling down and..."

Good. Yes. Keep working, Chicago. Keeping on work. Focusing. Keeping off the scrap heap. Keeping on your medication. Playing for keeps. I always play for keeps. This site... its longtime administration, its many and varied staff of burnout writers... all ways plays for keeps. Yes.

A Very Special Offer

Can you guess which post in the last month didn't live up to its potential. I know, but only because I spent 17 hours in the self-flagellation chamber after I posted it, so... rewrite the following post, make it better and I will reward you. Put your new version in the "comments" section below. Here it is...

..................................
"One of the host's (Blogspot's) "featured blogs" is "Sentence of the Day." Due to the slow server time, I was unable to load up "Sentence of the Day" _ leading me to wonder exactly what this WeBLoG covers.

My theory: a site for circuit court judges to post their favorite sentencings of the day.

"1500 hours of community service... mowing my front lawn! Haw!"
"20 years hard labor. He wasn't happy about that one."
"Life. No parole. Always a classic. Hey, where are we eating tonight, guys?"

Can't beat Guzman's Tacos. 2701 S. California. WE RESERVE THE RIGHT NOT TO SERVE ESCAPEES."

Fillin' Alotta Space is His Name

My Myspace ranks are swelling after I hit a vein of long-missed pals. Hey, hey, let's keep boosting those numbers.

All right... I'm lying. I did not find those long-missed pals on my own. I've hired Myspace consultants who _ they work in a little office here in Chicago _ I gave them a list of people I know. They do the rest.

All right... I'm lying. That last idea... the Myspace consultants? That was pretty good, right? A little above the usual level of writing here? Well, it was written for me by a ghostwriter. Ghost blog writers. In fact, I would say 90% of this WeBLoG is...

All right... I'm lying. That bit about the ghost blog writers... that was actually done by a random blog-generating program on a computer in Florida. There is a 4.35% chance that the machine would've written this type of post.

All right... I'm lying. There is no computer. There is no consulting service, and there's been a modest increase in my Myspace friend total. Modest.

All right... I'm lying. I'm three away from 100 friends. Yes, some of them are bands. Some are internet TV shows, but most are real people I know (have known) in my 29 years of sweet, precious life. I'm very, very excited as I approach this virtual milestone. Very, very excited.

All right... I'm lying. I'm not really excited. I've also run over the maximum character tota

Keep It

And he did... unto... did say... that he will be going. Soon. Unto... he will be goin on vacation. But to... do not unto... do not feareth. He will... he did say... he will bring... his computer... unto... do not... feareth. And he will... continue... unto... posting. From his vacation. He did say... unto... do not feareth.

(Applied Steel up 4 at 9:58 a.m. Sell at 10. Sell at 10:15. Hold at 5.5 or higher. Please call if rises above 7. MSD)

The Divided Self

*cough* *cough* now don't you listen to him. he's just angry about his... my freud book has a lot of reasons why... don't you listen to him... listen to me. i am - you see me there. at the side of the page. i'm in the pensioners' hospital. the debtors hospital. the bills can accumulate... not just... there are your utilities, and when you add medical expenses...

you listen to me. i'm very happy - we're very happy to be here. and... we have a lot of... wonderful memories. yes. i can remember them. memories. and when we walk into... certain places. it fills us. yes. with... feelings... *cough* i have to catch my...

they're going to be... the nuns... lunch should be here. you stay with me and have... i don't eat all of it. i don't need... have a little. the soup is good. a little salty at times. but generally very... and my roll. you can have that. oh, here they come. you stay here and don't listen to him... he's out late at night. drinking and cursing at parked cars. have my crackers. i'm not allowed to eat them... SISTER IS MY LUNCH... thank you.

Mr. Outlaster

Nothing like some visualization exercises followed by a pint of San Fran's finest. Hey, remember the Rainbo? I have a vague nostalgia for the place, tho I really shouldn't bother. I don't know... I enjoyed going with Erika, so I have an affinity for the remembrance of some such things past. Memories of what my wife and I used to do. So when we go back. It is... but the other people. Remember that guy that never talked to me? Oh yeah, I miss that guy. Fuck this city... there I said it. I could walk into a bar in New York and... Chicago, you are second-rate, you are... yes, we've heard this WarnedUp.

Twice. TWICE, yesterday. I got the... TWICE. The... someone-knows-my-wife-we-are-walking-together-someone-says-hi-to-Erika-and-carries-on-a-conversation-without-acknowledging-that-I-am-there. That's what I miss about Chicago 2003. I miss that. 2003. You little fairies... second rate. Give me a reason we shouldn't lobby for leaving this place. Twice. How does it feel? You know... but the sandman... he doesn't look with pity on you, baby. Warned up. Where will you be? In five years? Peddling your 21-year-old t-shirt. Behind the sunglasses. Wrinkles.

Twice.

Victory Thru Brain Chemistry

Hello to all the new readers, particularly the one in Korea. Maybe it's my old freshman year roommate. Last I heard, he was stuck at the 54th (56th, 61st?) parallel guarding sweet Seoul from the Red Menace (c).

You're all here now... "all" makes it sound bigger than it is, but there are some of you that read this, so...

I'll be (trying) to go on a (real) vacation starting Saturday with Erika. We have a California trip planned. I've never been to the Republic of California... often thinking my life would begin and end somewhere around Oak Lawn, Ill. (or the Stickley furniture factory in Syracuse)... Oak Lawn, not a bad place to kick the bucket... but, I am extremely afraid of flying, so much so that it's driven me back into the arms of an old friend... an old, little, canary colored friend I used to date back in the mid-to-late 90's. I took one last night, we'll see if it can pierce the web... that's not... pierce anxiety's armor. There.

Once we arrive... I'm looking forward to that. Yes. So... keep your fingers crossed for me. All right? Oh, I'll be here till Friday, but then... it's a big fucking Woundup break. So get over it. I'm not always going to be around, folks. Especially when that book deal kicks in. My ass will be gone before you get your hands around your first to-go coffee of the day. And I won't feel sorry. Believe it.

Now do you want the plane to crash? Ah... this is called "Reverse Spiritual Reflection" or "Diffuse Negation Swingback." The more you hate me, the safer I'll be. No... there's no such thing. Just wish me a safe trip.

You've Kommt a Long Way, Liebchen

It's a day early, but tommorow is the weekend, so... let's congratulate Woundup for four years on the job at the cracker factory. Celebration _ no, we've been "celebrating" too much around here lately. Let's keep it silent, internal... yes.

Significant Woundup stats for time covering June 10, 2002 - June 10, 2006:

_ Bathroom breaks: 3,458
_ Bags of Lays Cheddar 'n Sour Cream chips consumed: 799
_ Meandering trips around the block of 600 W. Madison: 437
_ Woundup life minutes wasted listening to flacks on phone: 860,000

Keep up the good work, Schtutze!

Complete Sentences

C'MON BLOGSPOT I AM READY

I think Blogspot is the one in the debtor's hospital with a nagging cough. Gee whiz...

One of the host's "featured blogs" is "Sentence of the Day." Due to the slow server time, I was unable to load up "Sentence of the Day" _ leading me to wonder exactly what this WeBLoG covers.

My theory: a site for circuit court judges to post their favorite sentencings of the day.

"1500 hours of community service... mowing my front lawn! Haw!"
"20 years hard labor. He wasn't happy about that one."
"Life. No parole. Always a classic. Hey, where are we eating tonight, guys?"

Can't beat Guzman's Tacos. 2701 S. California. WE RESERVE THE RIGHT NOT TO SERVE ESCAPEES.

VACATION STARTS TODAY

That's right... I'm going on vacation. Not a literal vacation. I'll still be here. Actually, we are taking a literal vacation the last two weeks of June, but this vacation, that I'm starting today, is different.

It seems everyone else is taking a vacation, too. A vacation from reality. A vacation from self-control. A vacation from decency, so I'll fit right in.

That picture (at right) is making more and more sense. I'll be convalescing, much like that fellow, in an elderly debtors hospital. At least that's what it looks like in my mind.

You can find me on our back porch, or in the backyard... or on the couch.

Recycled Yucks

Erika and I had a larf with ol' J. Stockton Saturday, trying to make our way to the "Printers Row" book fair in the South Loop. Trying. The parking _ there was no parking. Just a lot of guys in yellow reflective vests getting time-and-a-half.

The most important thing I learned Saturday, besides (insert Chicago second-rate city joke later), is that Stockton does the best Cheech and Chong I've ever heard, which prompted an idea in (my) head to promote him as the "One-Man 'Up In Smoke'" _ a la the one-man Star Wars, Shakespeare, etc. etc. Hearing is believing, folks.

All of these jokes happened... also, the police detail for the book fair _ a real suicide mission. Particularly 1200 S. Dearborn _ the first editions tent _ known as the "meat grinder." That is not time-and-a-half.

Fun for the WholeFamily

Whenever it seems I'm ready and rarin' to go on this thing, Blogspot becomes unbearably slow. Huh... conspir--no, let's not go that far.

I'm about to polish off a large chunk of writing, so I'm giving myself a week off starting Wednesday night. Like it when I crow about myself? That's why you come back. Even thru this long content drought, my sitecounter technology says you keep coming back. What do you want from me, anyway?

It's really... gone south since AlanBates.com, longtime provider of this site's profile picture, went off-line. The current picture is from a popular Italian film, but I don't like it.

Checking the minutes here... yes, I did watch the last two Chicago Rush arena football games. They're going to the ArenaBowl. A popular tactic of minor league teams, I've noticed, is to combine two proper nouns while keeping capitalization: IceHogs, SaberCats, ArenaBowl. That kind of disregard for proper grammar screams "Fun for the whole family!"

His Master's Voice

Friday. Friday night. This is the Friday night WeBLoG. Friday night, as in, Friday doing nothing. Doing something, but nothing of note. Doing nothing of note, and not minding.

Erika and I took a walk thru the Woundup Neighborhood yesterday evening. Western Ave. Chicago Ave. The perfect temperature. The patio. And tonight... Friday night. The windows will be open.

("A former Playboy model is in the family way..." just said on ABC 7 11 a.m. news. Joe Orton, where are you?)

Man the Bilge Pump

All right. Enough of this... I'm fine, I'm fine... let's get back on the stick and back into quality internet content. You see, it's a continuous battle within me... and outside of me... for content. Against content. For nothing. For something. Here it is.

The heat. Our apartment, as we have found out over the past few days, traps heat. It also traps cold. Lucky for us... it's easing up. We have an air conditioner that could keep a medium-sized warehouse at a cool 45 degrees. All we have to do is plug it in.

Reading any good books... just the same one. Last few weeks. Seen any good movies... "Igby Goes Down" is not a good movie. Was this the same movie as "The Squid and the Whale?" I saw both and I had a hard time... one has academics, the other has debutants. One has Jeff Daniels, the other has Bill Pullman. Both set in New York. Both with teenage, male protagonists. Uh... what else. I'd give my $9 to "Squid" and another 9 and tell them to rewrite the ending.

Is this unreadable? Uh, oh... I've comprimised... you cannot even put the suggestion--the hint--of what could be wrong... in the reader's mind. They are to assume you have full confidence in your work. Never question yourself. Now see... that was useful.

I Paid 15 Bucks for THIS?

All right... not so bad... went home... good. Gone well. Don't worry. Hungry now, but lunch is coming up soon.

Looking forward to Thomas Boswell book. Should be good. 83-87. Hopefully more Earl Weaver stories _ never fails to entertain. Kind of want to... drink beer, watch a ball game. Could happen... need to... first...

All right. Lunchtime. Paying some bills. Has to be done. Will check back.

All Done

4 p.m. ... it's 4 p.m., and for all the problems we might have with time, it moves, not concerned with anything... and all the spiritual parasites wash away _ drowned in the brackish water. I will step out of the revolving door, in an hour, and it will leave me. My book... I'll read for a few minutes. And then I'll be home. Good night.

(Tomorrow will be different. It will look the same. But it will be mostly different. That's it.)

Forever Time

NYTimes wine writer Eric Asimov is living the Woundup Lifestyle.

The Woundup That Once Was

I have become... well, I am what I once, uh... I have become the thing I... I am now the thing I once thought I would never become. Yes.

Tonight, Erika and I will go see Office at Schubas. And... yes, it's been a slow day, so... I looked at the Schubas Web site. Looked at the types of beer offered, etc.

I once... I would have a little tipple of rum, climb on Ted's undersized bike and ride down Kent to the Rock Star Bar and see four or five very good bands play. I never... researched the show. I had a flier, or I heard about it, word-of-mouth. I knew what time it started. I went. No questions. No planning. I went. I often went to shows 3-4 nights out of the week.

Now... well, I can't remember the last time I saw a band play (my ears are thanking me for it). So, it's a big occasion. I have to... look up the address online (I don't just know it). I have to think about parking (now I have a car). And... the most important... I must check the start time to see if it'll keep me up to late. I used to stay up so late...

This isn't to say I miss it. I like being a... one-concert-a-monther. Fine. I accept... uh... Grant me the... courage... Grant me the courage... to. To. Accept. Uh... Grant me the courage to accept... I've forgotten it.

Has the Proverbial Well Gone Dry?

I don't have writer's block. I might have reviser's block, but that is something entirely different. Uh... How many million bytes of info are wasted yearly in apologetic WeBLoG posts? You could power a spy satellite network on that energy.

The cracker factory has started to slow for the warm weather season. I can put my feet up on the desk and read my Naperville Sun horoscope...

VIRGO
May 16
It's a good time to draw up plans for that wraparound deck. The kids will be out of school soon and that's always a pain in the ass. Bill is re-sodding his backyard, but he's a fruitcake, so you don't have to do that just yet. Not until Mike does his, which he will, because he always copies whatever Bill does. So you have a two-week window here to work on the wraparound deck. You should drink a beer tonight, maybe around 6:30, and work on the blueprint. The Cubs are gonna be on. You should have another beer and think about what color you want. Fruitcake Bill would probably do the blond wood, so you definitely don't want that. They have a dark stain at Menard's. While you're at it, go to the garage and smoke a cigarette. Then you can look at Bill's shed with the little faggoty window. When the sun goes down you should have another beer.

From the Pages-to-Fill Department

Both Chicago papers continue to fawn over Conan O'Brien's brief visit to the nation's third city. Trib editors ordered some poor schmuck to write this front-pager _ a new dimension in dead horse whipping.

Mailing It In vol. 24

Wow. Telander has really hit the skids since WSCR canned his show last year. He appears with less-and-less frequency in the Sun-Times, and when he does it's often an abridged, unfocused mess like the one linked above. Maybe he's writing another book.

I like Telander as a person, at least from what I've gleaned from that radio show and the feeling once put into his columns. But, sadly, I think his nemesis, Jay Mariotti, is the better writer. I've never read a Telander book. Maybe he shines in the long form.

In other sports news. This is pretty funny. The Red Baron just wants to have a good time.

Stringing You Along

New developments...

_ WoundUpKomputer has the popular Power Point program. I thought it'd be funny to make a fake Power Point presentation trumpeting myself. I thought it'd be funny until WoundUpFriend Jonathan told me I could add my name to the long list of smart asses who've already done it. Jonathan moonlights as superhero, The Discourager.

_ WoundUpFone was used last night at the Subterranean as a still/video camera. Saw Diamond Nights, for whom WoundUpBuddy Tim drums, as well as Canadians, Priestess.
Had a few too many Berghoffs and am now Paying the Price(c). At least I can go home in four hours and go to bed.

Future of an Illusion: Is 1 Hour Dry Cleaning Possible?

Bit of a WeBLoG drought lately. I might start whipping the 7-person content team. Remember, uh... "The Business Secrets of Attila the Hun?" That's not exactly the name, but it's close. Very big in the 80's. Is it logical that we have progressed to "Whipping Your Employees to Success?"

You could do it like one of those self-help/advice books with the short, two-page chapters, each headed with a notable quote. For example...

"Whipping... is... God's way... of... telling you... to.... get... back... to... work." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thank you, God, also, for the ellipsis. Man's second greatest invention behind the whip.

PS -- The title of this post is the title of a lecture I'm giving at the Dry Cleaning Institute of the Midwest on June 24. Hey, let's meet up and have a beer after!

You Know Them, You Love Them

Cincinnati 1998. I think it was about this time of year...

Interior Lifestyles

All right. More content. I've been at rest too long...

The reading. I have to sift through all of my notes. It was good. Good. I enjoyed it. It was also painful. I felt hurt all through me yesterday _ the remnants of tension. But today... after some good sleep, I feel...

Now what? More shoveling. More to do. But that's why I do it, right? To do it. To do it again. And make it better.

Postive. I have a negative side with negative tendencies, but my optimism is stronger. It is not so much optimism as it doesn't seem to think. It is always working, even when I don't realize it.

I think it wants lunch.

Bullpen Blackhole

Weird. Joe Borowski just got the save for the Marlins... at Wrigley. Where have you gone, 2003?

Pluggeth Away

I have to print 500-600 pages of script between now and Tuesday night. Why? Well, I told myself I would keep it a secret, but since everyone else uses their WeBLoGs to trumpet their successes, I WILL TOO.

I have a reading of my new play tomorrow night at a local theater. I won't tell you which one it is, because the reading is closed to all but the theater's playwrights network and two guests of my choice. Yes, those spots have been filled.

No, it isn't a big deal, but at least I get to hear it outloud. Should be interesting. I will give you a report on Wednesday. Good? Good.

Busting at the Seams

I started my new class last night, and... these playwriting classes... I get so nervous and, well, WOUND-UP... by the time I get to read my piece, I'm twitching and sputtering like a French Anarchist.

It didn't stop there. I was up past 1 a.m. (bedtime is 11 p.m. weekdays) as ideas for my homework assignment fed steadily out of my subconscious. I ignored all the old writing stereotypes _ staying up all night to work _ and good writing advice _ write the idea down before it disappears _ and forced myself to sleep.

I predict next week's class won't produce this same effect. But it's kind of fun. It makes people think I'm slightly crazy, and there's a certain mystique to that... yes?

Getting Back into Game Shape

My statcounter numbers are bloody abysmal. Did all my readers go to some kind of convention? I'll stop here before offering names for that imagined gathering. You can fill in your own blanks: ____________________________ .

Yesterday, for those of you who know me and know my line of work, was a bad day of the first order. I came home and needed both Erika and my analyst to soothe my lacerated psyche. "Analyst" is a funnier word than "therapist," by the way, according to my copy of "The Henny Youngman Guide to Being Funny."

I drank a big bottle of monk beer. Getting drunk on Monday nights isn't the usual Woundup m.o., but the day's maelstrom warranted it, we feel... I feel. Such reverie is not without its price, however, so I sit here now, in the very same place, aching and blotchy.

One, possibly two more subjects to discuss. Details upcoming.