Friday, March 23, 2007

VoIPing It In

Gasp. For a second, I thought I had lost the complete Old Woundup archives. Diaryland looks to be taking a major crap. Hopefully they'll get it together again soon. Diaryland is kind of like the Maywood to Blogspot's River Forest. Diaryland is kind of like the Cheektowaga to Blogspot's Snyder. Diaryland is kind of like the Warren to Blogspot's Royal Oak. Diaryland is kind of like the Sauk Village to Blogspot's Homewood. Diaryland is kind of like the Yonkers to Blogspot's White Plains. And White Plains is where we get off.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

The Fighting 59ers

I've divided myself. I'm back into things at 30 that I was into at 15: baseball, Groo comics, military history, "Kill 'em All," the Chicago Bulls. It's a good way to live, I feel. Why not? I spent much of the last 10 years trying to prove I was smarter and hipper than my peers. What has it gotten me? Rotten teeth and a lifetime subscription to Magnet... and I give those to my therapist.

I used the bathroom at Trader Joe's today. It's very spacious with large mirrors over the sink and on the door, and I caught myself primping: my hair, my sweater, my pants. Did it look all right? I was still in the bathroom at Luxx in 2001--a part of me was. But that's okay. I comfort myself with the belief that the various versions of ourselves, year to year, combine to make us in the present. If you were to throw a stone, supersonically, at my chest, I would break apart, fragmenting into my many previous selves: a baby, a 15 year old, a 24 year old and many others.

And, man, do they get hungry. Thankfully, dinner's almost ready.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Woundup unto infinitum

Wow... the gaps are getting bigger than... bigger than... sorry, folks. We've got the lights turned off in the house. Here by ourselves with a Jimmy Smith record. I bought this collection two years ago but previously owned a very dirty (lit'rally, not figtiv'ly) copy I bought at flea market somewhere near Dayton in the late '90s. Now it's over.

Is it time to shell out more bread for a playwriting class? I answer the call about once a year. How about stage fighting--the last bastion of D&D nerds over 30? I think someone offers that somewhere in Chicago... maybe a back alley garage. Yes, let's take off our shirts when we do this routine. It gets so hot in here. I thought you said there were five other people in this class. Yes, but they all canceled at the last minute. Take off your shirt and... come at me with your staff. Bring it down on my head like this. Very good. In a sweeping motion, really just... Yes, like that. Harder. Harder. Good. Like you want to break my skull open. Very good. Now I'm going to take off my pants. It gets so hot in here. What? No... There isn't a break. I don't have a bathroom either. You can... you can piss in the alley, but I have to come with you.

Well... you might run away.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Don't Forget Your Intermittens

"I am disgusted by the pathetic trickle of content on this site the past month."

Just another angry letter from a Woundup reader--well, really the only Woundup reader. But he lives alone, is unemployed and has a powerful modem. Mr. Calabrese, your points are well-taken, but we ask for your patience during this transition time. We recently found the 240-foot mainframe unit we paid for was partially constructed of mint-flavored toothpicks--completely useless.

Things are still in boxes. I haven't even touched my dishes, yet. And I take my clothes straight from the plastic tubs. I just have a lot going on right now, and I'm always super-tired when I get home. The weather's so bad, too. I just want to watch TV and go to sleep. The lightbulb burned out in the front entranceway. I'm afraid I'm going to get mugged, but my landlord doesn't care. I just want spring to get here so I can refocus and open the windows. I totally missed the deadline to register for classes. I don't think I was really ready... I mean, I don't know what I want to do. I shouldn't spend all that money on grad school. But maybe I should just say "fuck it" and dive in--totally buckle down and do a lot of work. I don't know. I just want to go out tonight and forget everything.