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.