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.

Buffeted by Life's Colder Winds

It's been one of those days, folks. We must have them to have the good days. And no, not everything I've written freelance has been "Pointless" and "Depressing." But, I will pass on saying what percentage has.

More disillusionment, if humorously so...

1. The cap popped off the end of my trusty, yellow highlighter and rolled deep underneath our cubicle/workstation _ becoming virtually irretrievable without significant embarrassment (that's called VISE in my line of work). I looked at my highlighter with its black-ink-stained tip. Outside the human/living-being realm of suffering, nothing makes me sadder than the slow, drying death of a capless marker. I turned my head and threw the poor old boy in the garbage. I still feel shaken.

2. And the garbage... More than a year ago I began setting aside the millions of press releases I get each day in a pile to take them the 10 feet to the "recycling bin," instead of lazily tossing them in the non-recycling receptacle next to the fax machine. Earlier today, a co-worker mentioned that she saw the janitor dump the "recycling bin" in with the regular garbage... never to be recycled.

What else can I believe in? Maybe dinner. I'm counting down the minutes.

If I Dig Deep Enough, No One Can Get Under Me

A day like today is a good day to take stock of one's self. I've been thinking about the 10 different jobs I've held since I was 17 years old, and how I would categorize them. It goes something like this...

(Job Description: Number)

Mindless, Exhausting: 3
Robotic, Humiliating: 2
Meaningless, Humiliating: 2
Tedious, Robotic: 1
Exhausting, Infuriating: 1
Tedious, Unnecessary: 1

This excludes "outside work" I've done _ mostly writing for free. I would classify that as Pointless and Depressing.

... And I Get My Picture Taken Backstage With Ian Anderson

I know what two young, New York men will be going as for Halloween this year...

I Brought My Own Tasting Glass

I received another installment in the Books to Annoy My Wife series _ this one a handbook on that popular Japanese rice wine, sake.

Installments in the BAMW series generally fall into two categories: sports and novelty alcohol drinks. My last BAMW purchase was Michael Jackson's "Beer Companion." That one turned me into the armchair brew aficionado I am today. I spent 20 minutes hemming and hawing Saturday night in front of the beer cooler at Rich's Deli. My wife, naturally, exercised patience.

After sake? A new book from Baseball Prospectus will follow soon. Hey, it keeps me sane, folks. Irritatingly sane.

Mr. Stay Inside

Chicago has become the land of summertime indie music festivals. I think we have three now, and, you guessed it... I won't be going to any of them. Nothing appeals to me less than standing outside in 93-degree Chicago heat with 10,000 fine arts undergrads. I prefer to stare contemptuously down at it all from my Woundup Tower.

An air-conditioned living room, a glass of modestly priced white wine and three hours of Cubs baseball... This is the Woundup Lifestyle.

Peter the Plugger

Do you like the new links section at right? I do. And I will add more as time goes on. Leave a comment if you wish to be linked.

Let me just say... I can't believe how many talented young writers I know here in Chicago. More than I can count. Found out last night that pal Jonathan has a paid gig blogging about dive bars for Metromix. Not to be missed.

Jag-u-war Ride

Went to a reading last night. Strange for two reasons...

1. About halfway thru, realized the playwright was a former member of the ELECTRIC EELS (!!!) _ the second guitarist, not John Morton. The play incorporated snippets of his newer, Lou Reed-like songs. He snuck part of "Accident" in there, too _ one of the greatest rock 'n roll songs of all time.

2. In addition to the readers, he had two guys helping I hadn't seen 'round the theater before. One dude read stage directions, including character stage directions _ a big no-no. It went a little like this...

Sheila: I love you, Harold. Ha ha ha ha.
Stage Direction Guy: Sheila laughs.

The other knucklehead _ a fat guy with a ponytail _ played the song snippets on a tiny boombox. During the Q-and-A following the reading, this guy tried to hijack the discussion, talking about their production and marketing plans. Hey, Jack, we're here to talk about the play, so shut the fuck up...

He reminded me... nightclub people. Nightlife people. I'll never fit in with them. I've been in many bands, and I always felt alienated by the nightclub culture: Backstage area. No access. Security guards. Small talk. Pampering. Free drinks. The fantasy world. "Let's make this happen."

He rubbed me the wrong way. Naturally, when the "Accident" snippet came on _ much louder than the other tracks _ he turned it down. You would turn down "Accident," you fat fuck.

Sculptures for Living

We met our German connection last night, and, let me just say... you don't know where I'll be coming from next _ WeBLoGGiNG from next. Cafe Balou. BLAM. Atomix. BLAM. The back porch on a day when I've never left the house. BLAMMO.

I left the cake... I left the old '98 NEC Warhorse out in the rain on Sunday. Left the old window open _ long enough for the hail storm to get in. Suprisingly, that fine S. Korean engineering lived thru it all. Next project: transfer files from the Warhorse to the new portable console.

1998. A lot of history, folks. Do you remember what you were doing in September 1998? I was living in Gainesville, Fla. Last night the Gators won the men's basketball (BKC) championship. And the circle remains unbro... strike that.

Congratulations to pals Jason and Joyelle on their new son. Congratulations to long-time Woundup Associate Aaron K. on his enrollment in film school in New Zealand. Did I miss anyone? No? All right.

Instant Heat

If you can believe it... I am filing from outside, well... there are two places I normally file from. This place, where I am right now _ this isn't one of them. But I am happy to be here.

Sundays get me down. I spend most of Sunday by myself. I make a few phone calls _ and today I was glad to talk to Tim, my folks and my grandma. But I still spend most of my time by myself. I read. And when that gets old, I listen to the radio. And when that gets old, I watch TV. And then I go back to reading. And by 6 p.m. I feel depressed. And now I feel depressed.

But I am here _ in this third location. So that's good. I didn't eat lunch, either. Have I solicted some sympathy, yet? C'mon. I'm really trying here. My agent... heh... I don't have an agent. But, well, I think I should solicit more sympathy.

Oh, rats, what a depressing post. But, it's important in that I've written somewhere outside of the regular... You see? That makes me happy. Ha. You see? Much better.

Much better.

A Hard Man to Love

I love my wife. As each day passes, I wonder more and more how I ever lived without her.

Last night, Erika indulged me after a late meal at Sultan's Market. We went to the Map Room on Armitage _ a rare beer bar. If you haven't... I'll just say. We were sitting at the bar _ a fellow came up behind me to order. He asked which beers had the highest alcoholic content _ he wanted a lot of booze. I thought of all those fraternity houses near the school library in Syracuse.

And I even thought, last night, "This young fellow is an obvious candidate for the WeBLoG." And I thought... "No. This is too obvious." But here I am writing about him anyway.

I had the fine Ayinger Doppelbock Celebrator. And then, I put my wife's patience to the test... a Schlenkerla Urbock Rauchbier _ smoked beer from Bavaria. 3/4 of the way thru I felt like I had drunk two Easter ham dinners. I couldn't finish the thing.

But she sat there, with her sensible glass of wine, and watched me struggle thru that obscure German specialty, as I stopped to catch my breath every few sips and belch up smoke.

I love you, baby.

Second Breakfast Served Promptly at 8

Finally. For the longest time I thought a European breakfast was "wine-soaked bread and sausage." I must've read that in some guidebook.

Between the seven-course, traditional Italian meal and the two-breakfast Austrian repast, what do Europeans have time for? I suppose that's the reason they get all those vacation days.

Official Endorsement II

Hey, folks. If you're looking for some entertainment on the weekend, go see the Phalanx Theater's wonderful new production at the Swim Cafe on good ol' W. Chicago Ave. Erika and I went last night and greatly enjoyed it. Young, energetic and site specific.

More of the Same

Sunday. 10:20. Sunny outside. Feel as though anything can happen today. By "anything," I don't mean "anything" _ not some life-changing thing. Just "anything" within the realm of usual possibilities. That means we'll go to the gym.

A morning like this makes me think of... the Kronstadt sailors. On a morning like this maybe one of them woke up and thought, "Feel as though anything can happen today." ...

B: Ivan, are you awake?
(long pause)
Are you awa--
I: Yes. I've been lying here for 30 minutes. I've been awake 30 minutes, and I'm listening to you... you're breathing thru your nose. Like you're sighing.
B: I'm sorry.
I: It's too late. I'm awake.
(pause)
B: I've... I was just thinking... I've eliminated--I've cut out pronouns from my inner thoughts.
I: What's that?
B: When I think of myself, I don't... I refrain from using "I"...
I: When did you start doing this?
B: Recently. It was sort of a... it was a process.
I: You don't use "I"?
B: Not when I think of myself. So it's... "Feel as though anything can happen today."
(long pause)
Iv--
I: Boris.
(pause)
B: I feel--
I: You said "I."
B: I know... I know but it was--
I: You were speaking--
B: I was speaking out loud. It wasn't internal.
I: There's a diff--
B: Yes. A big difference.
I: I didn't know that.
B: Well, there is.
(pause)
Are we going to revolt again today?
I: Yes.
(pause)
B: What are we--
I: Poor pay. Poor food. Poor health.
B: I see... and what about--
I: No.
(long pause)
B: We don't need pronouns either--
I: You can explain that one.
B: Ooo, is there a meeting?
I: It's scheduled.
B: Before we--
I: Yes.
B: Good... good.
(pause)
Because it gets tricky. But I think... if I can explain it. I think it becomes very clear.
I: I'm sure it does.
B: It does.
(pause)
I: They'll string you up.
B: I know.

I'll Pay You $75 If You Never Say the Word "Meta" Again

Yes. I bought "Game of Shadows" _ I pre-ordered it. Thanks be to... I'm going to start reading at lunch. I'd like to read it in the YMCA hot tub... but that could be a little hard to do.

Lunch. Friday. Work. Lack of work. Lack of ideas. I don't have anything for you today. No good observations. Nothing happening in my life. Nothing out of the ordinary. I'm certainly not going to tell you. What do you think this is?

The Urban Kitchen _ this WeBLoG interface has no proper M-dash. The Urban Kitchen will provide. It lies underground, like a bomb shelter. I eat there about once a week. I don't feel like describing it. This is why I won't ever cut it in the Prose Business. I'm lazy, folks. I don't care what it smells like. I don't care about the lighting. I don't care what the people are wearing. It's not that interesting. The tables are all slightly greasy _ NO. No description.

So... but what do the people say? You're gonna have to wait till after lunch for that.

Winter's Truncheon

I was feeling sick yesterday _ maybe it came thru in my _ ACTIVE VERBS. I FELT sick yesterday. For 30K, you can get this kind of training, too. Apparently Ernest Hemingway got it for free in high school and got paid to learn it at his newspaper job. Well...

Made my way past old OPRFHS yesterday, as per the WoundUP Monday evening ritual. Space ritual. Someone was playing "Master of the Universe" in the coffee shop the other night. I looked at the two staff and one manager and started playing one of my favorite games: GUESS THE HAWKWIND FAN. They're out there. I am one. Maybe it comes thru in my...

Going to a network function tonight. Not necessarily a NeTWoRKiNG function, but who knows. Who knows. Who knows. I was planning _ ACTIVE VERBS. I PLANNED to parlay _ there, you get the bonus alliteration at a cut-rate fee _ I PLANNED to parlay my flagging health into the high mass of the office world: The Sick Day. Now I'm feeling better.

Later on, I am going to stand _ I WILL STAND outside in the cold _ outside the building _ without a coat. I will make myself sick. That's something I can do for free.

Our Official Endorsement

WoundUp.com officially endorses Phil Poppinjay, Democratic candidate for 15th State Congressional District.

Many of you might not know this, but Mr. Poppinjay is the first Democratic candidate to be diagnosed with Derealization Disorder. That means that Mr. Poppinjay believes neither he, nor the people he wishes to represent, are real.

Mr. Poppinjay also does not believe the campaign office he works out of each day is real, and, as he has promised over this long campaign, he will not regard the Statehouse as real, either.

So, tomorrow, when you're in the voting booth and you look at your hand and wonder if you, in fact, are real, pull the lever _ again, it may not be real _ and vote POPPINJAY.

The Cruel Pen...

I was browsing through the Woundup Library last night _ cracking some volumes, looking for At-Home Reading. There is At-Home Reading and there is On-The-Bus-Reading, which is more serious.

I looked into Martin Heidegger's "Introduction to Metaphysics" a touched-up version of a lecture he gave in the 30's. How's that for serious reading? My mind _ my brain _ seemed to swell as I read _ I wanted to continue, but it was too late at night. Nothing that serious for that late at night, yes? Don't want to burn anything out, yes? Can't commit to that kind of serious intellectual inquiry. Just a little too... you've worked all day and now you want to relax. I went to college, but now I want to relax. I can mention the name in my WeBLoG. I can leave it out _ the book _ for people to see when they come to the house...

So I settled on a pocket-sized copy of pithy sayings about writing. You know these books. There are hundreds of them. They're supposed to make you feel better about your chosen profession. Like...

"A writer's one true friend is his welfare check."
J. Toddington Beagle

Sadly, there is no real Mr. Beagle. But let's just pretend he is... real. But you know these books, right? I have at least two, including the little one I mentioned above. Then there are the "gentle" writing books. And I've read my share of those, and there are even more of those _ maybe thousands. You know them. They have titles like "Writing for Warm Waves of Water." They're supposed to help you come to grips with the possibility of maybe thinking about becoming a writer _ just after you read this book and maybe think about signing up for a night class.

Oh, I'll pay for that one later. I'll surely pay... Karma never sleeps. And he wears a rust-colored sweater.

Glorified Lawyer Joke, Take Two

I had what I thought was a unique, innovative idea this morning: a pay, wake-up call service. Too bad I'm 5 years too late on it.

This is why I'm not in the invention business. I'm in the fabrication business, but not inventions. I could, well... I suppose someone could pay me to fabricate things.

Childhood a little too bland and conventional? Pay me, and I'll write you up a sizzling new background: drug addiction, pan-sexual escapades, page duty at the statehouse, flunked out of French art school, glue sniffing in boy scouts _ you name it...

I also do resumes, background checks, marriage licenses and Catholic conversion applications. Here's a snippet from that last one (not my copy)...

"... other religion to Catholic conversion chart. In my previous religious life I was...
_ Zoroastrian: 2.5 months (of wearing hair shirt, it may be taken off for baths)
_ Snake Handler: 3 months
_ Sylvan Denominationalist: 4.3 months
_ Sylvan (Reformed): 4.1 months
_ Sun Worshipper: 5 months
_ Bacchanalianist: 5.5 months
_ Lawyer: 12 months (may include self-flagellation) ..."

Frank J. Discussion

I did survive. I did. Then I had a three-day weekend. Saw part of "Capote" _ Erika and Matt saw the whole thing. I have a problem with movie theaters _ sometimes I get a little panicky. That's what we call a "flashpoint" in the CBT business.

That's not a real CBT term. Why am I lying to you? Maybe I want attention. It's a cry... no, that's a cliche. Let's try to eliminate cliches.

Have you ever acted before? I have. Twice. Bit parts. Once I was about 8 years old in Indiana University Northwest's children's summer theater production of "The Wiz." Bit part, like I said. The other? I played the Yellow Smoke in Xavier University's theatrical adaptation of T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." I had no lines.

Would I be an actor now, after all I've been through? I don't have the talent, but I respect those who do. It's called a "point of concession" in CBT vernacular.

That isn't a real CBT term, either.

O'Donnell Delivereth Me My Salvation

O'Donnell's best lede by far. From today's Sun-Times, p. 127., on Indiana and men's baskeball coach Mike Davis...

INDIANAPOLIS -- It was about pedigree but not race. It was about style but not class. It was about myths and folklore and white-haired ghost writhers on the sideline, as hardened as some of the anvils in the small Hoosier towns that separate the woods from the 21st century.

Survival

One of those days. Blindingly busy or excruciatingly slow. And, hey, less than five hours to go. I need to get out of here alive. The plan? Sink down low in my chair and be completely silent.

Sun-Times has MametMania. Including a map of the city showing you important MametFacts like where he once bought cigars. And of course I'm reading a Mamet book on the bus... often a bus with a big MametFest ad on the back. Who's ridiculous now?

Erika and I had a nice night at the Rainbo, sitting in the two chairs we occupied on one of our first dates nearly 3 years ago.

The Bruni Report

This is AMAZING!

Goodbye, Old Man

It's warm today _ a little too warm for my taste. Erika told me it's spring announcing itself. The temperature, apparently, will dip back down into the 40's after Monday _ a final taste of the passing cold.

I feel cheated on winter this year, but I've always felt sad when it becomes evident the grey season is done. I won't say winter is my favorite season _ who has a favorite season? That's like having a favorite child. You should love them all equally.

So Winter 05-06 is passing. Soon we'll be back to sun worshippers, picnickers, pedestrians along the lake, bike riders, paraders, dog walkers...

I hate them all.

I Gripe, Therefore I... Am

My G-Mail. My beautiful G-Mail. Ruined. And by whom? Well, CEO Tom Blister hinted at it recently. Yes. It was the New Yorker.

I am not afraid to air my complaints here. Cross me and you will feel the cold steel of my... let me back up a second...

We moved in September, 2005, and our New Yorkers weren't forwarded. Listen, I don't even read the New Yorker. It was more for Erika. Yes, she thinks I'm a big snob _ writing this isn't going to help my image in that regard.

I contacted the New Yorker customer service department, and they corrected the error. We now receive the magazine at our new address. BUT, not long after my correspondence, I began receiving spam e-mail in my G-Mail account... once a junk-free oasis amid the desert of penis enlargement and discount drug messages.

Can you believe that? The bastards. They could at least send me the William Shawn coaster set for my trouble. I have 1-6, but I'm missing no. 7: "Mr. Shawn discusses John Hersey contract at Tavern on the Green."

A Canvass to Select My Canvas

I feel like I need to conduct a focus group... what do you really want from this WeBLoG? I imagine there are some people that liked the Blister stuff. I don't know. If you have an opinion, leave it in the comments. If not, well, I'll read your mind anyway.

Jim O'Donnell Lives

BEHOLD!!!

(Google does not recognize "Nudge-the-Squeak")

Twilight of the Fabricants

I was wrong. The mystery user continues to elude classification, much like members of the sea cucumber family.

Why am I writing again? Because I haven't got a bloody thing else to do, that's why. Is there a parallel universe in which thousands of people go to a big, ugly office building 5 days a week to make art? Sure, it could be crappy art _ and that is always a matter of opinion. But isn't the quality of work put forth by most office workers _ this one included _ substandard anyway?

Keep pushing. That's what they tell me. I will push... this sounds like an old fashioned Woundup post. That's a promising sign. A return to the... see, I almost wrote old guard ...

Word duplication is a concern in this business. I often do it when I reuse a word I spy in the above line in my peripheral vision, so...

"... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... this sounds like an old fashioned Woundup post. That's a promising sign. A return to the old guard..."

See? And the post was quoted just a few seconds later in the same post. We are living in a marvelous time, folks.

Before I Rip Someone for His Insecurities, Let Me Tell You About MY Insecurities

Do NOT go carousing with Chicago Public Schools teachers. You will pay for it. Just remember, their workday is over at 3. You can kiss your evening good... seriously, I had a great time with Erika's new/old co-workers, and I'm happy she's back with them. Also, happy 3-0 to J. Stockton.

On another note... I like to comb the STaTCouNTeR data and guess whom is whom, and I have a sneaking suspicion someone in Chicagoland is Googling himself. It's happened more than once.

I could be wrong, so I'll hold my tongue before launching into a long diatribe. Let me just say this...

I'm particularly interested in my counter's "visit length" data. We all want you to read more and read longer. I wonder what goes through the head of a visitor who reads for 0 Seconds.

O Seconds visitor: I want to make you a 1 Seconds visitor.

Token Self-Deprecation on Sale 3-$1

I love journalists. Nobody gripes quite like journalists. It used to annoy me, but now I roundly enjoy it.

If you'd like, they offer a readymade attitude when you start J school _ that of crossed arms and smacking bubblegum. You can use this for the rest of your life, and when you die you'll say, "Well, I've spent my entire life behaving this way and now I'm dead and where did it get me?" Ridicule, disbelief, cynicism, sarcasm, suspicion...

And me? There's nothing worse than the person who constantly tries separating himself from everyone else. But we all must eat lunch. And so... lunchtime.

Hold My Calls, Violet

It appears I can no longer post from home. We'll have to get tech support on this very quickly.

There was a statcounter explosion (for this site, anyway) over the weekend. I hope people weren't coming here to read more about Blister and Kraputnik. Sorry, folks, but it ain't gonna happen.

We had an all right time in Green Bay. It started out fine, but went south when I threw my 95-page (unnumbered) script against a door in my parents' house. I don't know why I show my mother my writing. It was a lapse in good sense, and she took advantage. Such is the cobra/mongoose relationship of Donahue Mater and son.

Erika and I heard Al read last night at the Skylark. It was a lot of fun. I enjoy any story from the perspective of the late Mayor Anton Cermak. Made me think that I _ maybe, maybe _ could be up on the silver stage reading someday... reading from this very WeBLoG... about my WoRKDaY. My base fee is quite reasonable: 3 Hoegardens and 1 bag of Vitners Original Louisiana BBQ Sauce chips.

Time to Go Home, WoundUp

It's been a long day at the cracker factory, largely becuz I didn't catch a good sleep last night.

I turned over the Trib sports section and thought, for a split second, that the pic of Paul Konerko and Jim Thome was the famous photo of the Saigon police chief shooting a Viet Cong in the head. If you have it, take another look.

Time to go home, WoundUp. This weekend we travel to Green Bay _ the home of my parents and youngest brother. See you soon!

Frick'n Ridiculous

The Ford Frick award winner _ the major league baseball hall of fame's honor for outstanding/important/valuable broadcaster _ was announced today: former Houston Astros broadcaster Gene Elston.

The award began in 1978 and pretty much every baseball broadcasting heavyweight is in: Scully, Brickhouse, Caray, Allen, Barber, Harwell, etc. etc.

My question is _ with a new winner picked every year _ when will we run out of "important" broadcasters to honor. It seems we have to wait a bit before any of the younger TV and radio guys can reach "legend" status. And does having a long career in baseball broadcasting necessarily mean you are "important?"

I think you know where this is leading... the shining visage of Joe Buck in the baseball hall of fame's broadcasters wing _ for having hung on for 30 years at Fox. Say it ain't so, Bud. Say it ain't so.

Our Long National Nightmare is Over

Enough. ENOUGH. ...

I'm not going to write three different characters on a near-daily basis for FREE. No way. We now return you to your regularly scheduled WoundUp.com content.

In other news... CEO Tom Blister was arrested by Italian police last night in Turin. He had ingested 50 shots of grappa and was attempting to sodomize a statue of Garibaldi. He won't be coming home for a long, long time.

Special Announcement

Hello valued Woundup.com readers...

My name is Patricia Hanratty _ you can call me Patty. I'm with Woundup Corp. Corporate Communications. I am the liaison between Woundup staff and our board of directors _ to whom CEO Tom Blister reports.

You are undoubtebly excited about the changes going on here at Woundup.com. I am, too. You've come to expect nothing less than pristine, crystalline content from our site. We will continue to provide you with more of the same.

I am please to announce that Woundup.com is sending CEO Tom Blister to Turin, Italy, to compete in the Winter Olympics. As many of you know, Mr. Blister is an amateur ski jumper. We are flying Mr. Blister out tonight, and he will begin reporting his experience over the weekend.

Woundup Corp. continues to put itself ahead of the pack: Convergence, Content, Conciseness, Clarity... Join us, won't you?

Success

It looks like I have a new sign-on, too. I suppose we could call this a... new era...

HA! I got my own sign-on. This pizza is exquisite, Kraputnik. Put that in your little pipe and smoke it. You can't have any, by the way...

KRAPUTNIK ORDER ME A PIZZA YOU FAIRY

You little fairy. I know you have to read this. This is why I fucking hired you. You little NYU fruitcake. Purple and white _ no basketball team. No decent team. Where the hell are you??? I'm fucking hungry, Kraputnik. You have the number. I don't know where the hell... where the hell do you hide... YOU have to call Kraputnik. They don't like me very much. Heh. Remember when I went over there... I broke the display case _ I put my foot through the fucking little display case... with the biscotti and all that little shit. I broke it. They remembered my voice...

I took the trouble of going through your little fucking desk. You have Advil. Do you get headaches? Am I working you too hard? I think you're fucking around on the internet Kraputnik. All of you fairies in here. I'll take you downstate and put you on a chain gang. That's work, my friend. We'll see your little NYU goldbrickin' ass on the highway duty. 110 degrees.

Christ my head hurts. Heh. I had a few last night. A few too many. Heh heh... Don't tell me you haven't been there before... where's that little fruitKRAPUTNIK ORDER ME A FUCKING PIZZA YOU LITTLE... He's left the office. Probably getting breath mints. Fruit.

Quiet Moments with Ethan

I feel I can write now with a little more confidence. Ethan Kraputnik here. I'm the editor... well, I already told you that. We're working with technical to get individual sign'on's... if, in fact, this multiple posting idea will continue. I have my... well, opinions, on that, I guess... I don't know.

You know, he didn't always come to the office. He used to come in once a year. Now he's here all the time. I think it's because his... his wife left him. A few months ago. This is... like a little game to him. It's his little toy. He already has a lot of... investments. He used to make guns for the Israeli military. Over in the Middle East in the 80's. Now he bought this site _ he thought this kind of thing would make, uh, more money.

He's in here all the time. He wants to post all the time. He wants to post and he wants me to show him around _ show him how things work. And he's harassing the female content team members.

Maybe... you're wondering what he is. What is he? Maybe you think he's a, uh, a fictional construction. This is a dangerous thing, maybe? That he is an outlet for the author to... dress up... as a chauvanistic pig _ without endorsing that kind of behavior, uh, directly? Having your cake and eating it. You get to be a, uh, macho asshole AND a sensitive, uh, liberated man.

Is that right? I don't know. I don't make the rules around here. Maybe we can sublimate him. There are other types of humor. Maybe he's going to... he's going to win. He's going to beat me, in particular. Maybe literally. He might have a heart attack. I think he still smokes... He's passed out... in the employee lounge. Sometimes he comes here at night _ he lets himself in and, uh, he drinks in the office. By himself. I don't want to be here when he... wakes up. He's going to make me order a pizza. I've got a lot of work to do here.

The Day of Debuts

Hello, everyone. My name is... my name is Ethan Kraputnik. I'm editor and head of the 7-person content team here at Woundup.com. If you're wondering why I'm speaking to you... well, Mr. Blister _ our CEO _ wants the, uh... he wants some of us on the editorial side to get out in the, uh... we have to put our faces out there, heh, this is what we call "convergence" in the world of media. So Woundup.com is now converging... I hope you enjoy it...

Well... uh, this... This is... If you could keep this between you and me... Mr. Blister left his Wendy's wrappers on my desk _ on the keyboard. I really wish he wouldn't do that... it's not consid... Maybe you work with someone like this... and this is not... uh... he put a smudge. What is this? Ketchup. He drew a pair of ketchup breasts on my girlfr... this is my girlfriend's picture. Francine. He drew breasts in ketchup... with nip...

... ... ...

We hope you'll continue to read Woundup.com. You're going to hear a bit more from some of the staff here at... it will be gradual, but... uh, noticeable... and there's an empty beer... this is Fosters? He left an empty Fosters ontop of the hard drive. This is the head of the co... unbelievable. I hate Fosters.

Acute Mametitis

Tom Blister, Woundup Corp. CEO, here, folks...

Thought I'd take a minute to check in again. Forgot a few things by the ol' computer terminal here. Who's computer is this anyway? There's a picture _ some broad with glasses. HEY KRAPUTNIK. YOU WOULD GO OUT WITH A BROAD WITH GLASSES. Must be a real minx _ in the boo-dwar. Hey, who am I to judge? My last wife had a prosthetic nose. She used to take it off at night...

Okay, I found what I was lookin' for. My roach clip. You don't think I stopped getting high, do you? Once in awhile. It calms me down. Louis Armstrong used to smoke it everyday. He also made tapes of conversations he had with people in his home _ now is that a pothead or what? Sounds like Nixon.

While I'm here, I just want you to know, that as readers of this site you will not... never... be subjected to spam e-mail. I just had my own address _ my G-mail address, which had previously been untouched by those bastards... I started getting spam on it. And you wanna know who's responsible? The New Yorker. That's right: the NEWFUCKYORKER. Bunch of little fairies. I only bought that thing cuz my ex-wife wanted it. Put it on the coffee table. I read Barron's _ Forbes... Fortune. C'mon. Fuck. I sent them a, uh, customer service question, and the bastards sold my bloody address to INCREASE YOUR WANG SIZE. Listen to me, folks, if I wanted my wang to be bigger _ and I DON'T have to worry about that shit_ if I wanted it to be bigger, I WOULD BUY A BIGGER WANG. I'm loaded.

All right. That's enough. HEY KRAPUTNIK, YOU CAN HAVE YOUR COMPUTER BACK. Fucking fairy. Broad with glasses. Fuck. See you at the library, jagoff. Heh.

The Variegated Styles of the 1990's

All right Woundup fans. It's time to open the audio archives. Thanks to good friends, there are now musical records involving the author online. I played guitar in both groups.

Listen first to Zaxxon (1996-98)...

THEN

the Young Americans (1998-99).

Enjoy.