Feel Good Friday

Mac, Jurko and Harry just did their live remote from a bar right around the corner from my Grandma's house. And now that I think about it, I can visualize the place: an Irish joint at the corner of Pulaski and W. 111th, just across the border in Oak Lawn. It has an outdoor courtyard.

Why do I bring this up? Well, I've got a lot of love for that area -- a lot of history in that area. And if I had had my druthers, I would've got a bit drunk down there today, too. ... Now that I think of it ... I could've pulled it off. ... Yes ... We have summer hours. I could've left at 1; caught a cab to the school. Begged Erika for the car; hopped on the Dan Ryan ... I would've been sucking down Miller Lites by 2, sitting by myself in a South Side Irish bar surrounded by fat guys.

At least I could've visited my Grandma afterward. "Grandma ... I just need to ... lie down here ... tell me ... how your ... day ... was ..."

Wake up by 9, bleary; drive through the thunderstorm and experience unpleasant deja vu.

I am McDyess, man

Two points of good news ...

1. Tim tipped me off to Effete Musings: a Detroit-New York comedy clearinghouse cartel. I had no idea! Read at once!

2. The Primitivo Zinfandel from Puglia is back at Trader Joe's for the $4 price. Did they read my earlier post? Whether or not they did, I still drank two glasses last night. I guess that means I'm feeling better.

Just a little taste and then I'll ... read ... yes ...

Started feeling better last night and feeling more so today. I regret taking Nyquil, though, right before bed, as I'm feeling a bit stoned this morning. But I had a nagging cough and no 'tussin to ease it.

Nyquil does impart a certain stillness in its aftermath, with a more peaceful, almost dreamlike flow of thought and memory. One memory that comes to mind is seeing a kid drinking a bottle of Nyquil next to his locker freshman year.

I'm at least looking forward to hitting the gym again after a week, though tonight's the night, as I detailed in an earlier post, that we call it quits with the YMCA. It makes me sad, and that's not the Nyquil talking. I will miss the view of the Metra line and those old, low-lying factories nearby. The sight of Target from the second floor of the new gym doesn't even fill up to the 10 mL line of the 30 mL cup of life's pleasant vistas.

SickBlogging 2.0

Our Memorial Day party is winding down. I forced myself to be active today: went to the South Side to visit Grandma, carried some big bags of dirt to the garden, ran around with the little kids for a bit. Now I'm feeling sweaty and a little cruddy, but I think I've gone over the hump with this cold.

But enough about that ... Lately I feel as though there are forces conspiring to make Erika and I get cable. Really those forces are called the NBA. Once the regular season ended, 85% of the playoffs went to cable. Thank you ABC for the Saturday game, but I've had to endure two straight days of hoops on the radio.

Well, it's not really that bad. You can't front on the combined basketball knowledge of Hall of Famers Hubie Brown and Dr. Jack Ramsay, who are doing radio color for the East and West finals, respectively. The more I listen, the more I want Dr. Jack to interview me every morning before I go to work.

And what about Will Perdue with the pre/post analysis? Do you remember hearing that Phil Jackson made Perdue read "On the Road" to improve his game/life? I do. That's the kind of thing Woundup is not likely to forget.

The Boers of Summer

9:15 p.m. Running a slight fever. Cold still nagging. The Cubs are on.

I was going to write a post about my guilt over them beating up on the Pirates, but then Kerry Wood blew a save, and we're now in extra innings. I still feel guilty. I know you're not supposed to, especially when your team needs all the Ws it can get to scrape together some chance of winning a grossly overdue championship. But I would feel better if that 8-1 record (as of this minute) were against the Cards or Astros. The poor Pirates need a glimmer of hope of their own, having posted a losing record since the '90s. They have such a nice new ballpark, too. Ah, look at those fans leaving. Poor, poor Pittsburgh.

(1.75 hour interval)

The Cubs have lost. I shouldn't feel so bad then, yes? I'm still sick, but I did take some Nyquil. Tomorrow is another day. ... ... I wish I wasn't sick.

The secret is out

Aha! It seems word is spreading that this WeBLoG has re-opened for business. I put out one little MySpace bulletin a couple months ago -- mostly likely swallowed up in the flood of "Lost my phone, need your number" posts.

Let me say hello to old friends returning. I don't see any work stoppages ahead for this site, so I won't let you down again. And to new readers, welcome. We offer a gold-level premium service for $29.95 per month. See link at bottom.

Suck it, D'Antoni

Dear lord. The Bulls just stole the No. 1 pick in the draft. Nobody saw that coming. Almost forgives their shite season.

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE TAKE BEASLEY.

Life, she is a trade-off

Wonderful. I have the beginnings of a cold, which means I'll have to pass on tonight's scheduled workout at the new gym. The new gym ... It's like working out at the mall, or maybe more accurately, it feeds the yuppie need to feel pampered: towels, TVs on machines, personal trainers, a spa/tanning area. Not completely spartan ourselves, Erika and I heard they had a double-decker hot tub and were immediately sold.

This means we'll be breaking off our nearly three-year relationship with the YMCA. The Logan Square Y, though possessing a great deal of heart, is not the kind of exercise facility for hurried white people like ourselves. I'll miss being able to discern the rhythms of individual members' workouts -- something entirely lost in the flood of people at the new gym. I won't miss the 90-degree machine room in July. Bon soir YMCA.

Half-full/Half-empty

Bell's Brewery -- where I spent my 31st birthday and which lost its Chicago distributorship last year -- has been creeping back into the local market. Handlebar has had a number of their beers on tap in the last six months, and now Tuman's is carrying a wheat ale similar to Oberon. I had a couple there last night, and I think it's even better than the Big O, which was a popular seller. I might have to go back soon.

In other alcohol news, Trader Joe's has been out of our favorite pair of $4 Italian wines for a month now, leading me to believe that they may not return. I've never exerted enough effort to understand TJ's stocking policy, but we've seen delicious, popular items disappear for good before (their chocolate soy milk). In fact, the pure $4 bottle of wine is fast becoming extinct at TJ's. Considering the number of horrible mass-market wines going for $8 and up, I will miss these true bargains.

The (Tree) Killing Time

After tomorrow I will retire my first play from intensive submission. I might continue to send it out to niche contests, but it will essentially be off the monthly mailing rotation. It's a bit hard to believe a whole year has passed. That play netted a staged reading, finalist honors from a small contest and a number of full-script requests. It's still out there working for me, but I've done about all I can do to let the theater world know it exists. I've sent it to more than 160 theaters and contests. I suppose that sounds like I want some kind of medal. I'd at least take a discount from the USPS.

I'm now hammering out another synopsis -- an unpleasant undertaking, as some of you may know. I have high hopes for the new play, as well as the old one. But in life it seems things don't go as neatly or as in order as you'd like them to. However, I do feel one of these suckers (written or yet-to-be-written) is going to hit at some point in the near future, and I suppose that's all that matters -- at least in terms of contact with the outside world. Inside, I will continue writing, and as time goes on, I'll continue to enjoy that experience a tiny bit more than before -- and care a tiny bit less about what others think. I suppose that's the key to being a happy creative writer. It will never be total, but it can be a majority.

Combine

Goodbye to Robert Rauschenberg. One of my favorite visual artists.

Class of '94

Two months ago I met up with my old high school friend Phil. It was really great to see him and meet his family. He unearthed a comic book we did together back when we were 13 -- an unexpected and awesome surprise.

Continuing that work from way back when, Phil now writes and draws his own Web comic called "Schadenfreude." There's a link at right. The newest strip made me laugh out loud.

All Done 2.0

I finished my second play today: copy-edited, spell-checked, everything. I started it in June 2006 and took about six months off in the middle to finish up my first play.

Tonight I'm going to have a big glass of the most alcoholic beer Handlebar has on tap. I think I've earned it. Cheers.

Invisible pathways

I was just thinking about Internet use on the job. We'll not go into it in too much detail, for obvious reasons, but recently I was reminded of a co-worker at my old job, 20 years my senior, who only ever looked at two sites at work: Classmates.com and the Chicago police site that shows pics of guys busted for soliciting prostitutes. I never asked him about either, as much as I wanted to -- particularly about the latter.

There should be an award for Most Unrelated Roster of Daily Visited Web Sites. Personally, I feel off if I don't begin each work morning with mississippiriverlevels.com, todayinzoroastrianhistory.com, makeyourownvodka.net, moonlightingtrivia.com and slate.com.

Wait, scratch that last one. It should be soviethelicoptersale.com. Lately there've been some great deals.

Dreemlund

I was talking with Jonathan last night about dreams, and as I predicted, I ended up having a vivid one after earlier claiming I had no vivid dream life. But that still is almost completely true. (I think I delved into it in at least one post on Old Woundup.) I've always been more of a day-dreamer (and a layabout), and I've long figured this activity uses up fuel in some way from the Dream Gas Tank.

So, you probably want to hear about the dream. Well, I can't remember much of it now, though I know it concerned some old friends from Florida: running around at night, a dinner. I should've written it down.

But I do recall that post. Here it is. And it is your reason to start reading Old Woundup, which, though not as technically sophisticated as this current incarnation, more than makes up for any shortcomings in heart.