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.

I Have Earned the Right to Be a Lazy Slob

Two hours left. Sometimes Fridays are a fight to the bloody end at the ol' cracker factory. But I feel I will prevail today using a combination of guile, misdirection and cunning w/a little elbow grease mixed in.

Erika and I have a full plate of family related events tomorrow _ the highlight is a meeting of three generations at our favorite Italian hideaway. If you're nice, I might tell you its name.

Does anyone else miss Mike "Murph" Murphy in the 6-10 slot on WSCR? Man, I could listen to Murph all night. If this was last year _ Feb. 2005 _ that would be the plan for Friday evening: a couple brews and four hours of Murph-filled, mirthful radio, falling in-and-out of sleep on the couch.

But how to fill the void now... Read a book? I think we both know the answer to that one.

DJ Deemed Unfit

Nobody gets exiled anymore, do they? It's an old practice _ I always heard about the Greeks doing it. Napoleon was exiled _ twice.

Is there an exilable offense in American law? Should there be? I think it could be a good idea.

Lately, I wouldn't mind it myself. They could exile Erika and me to some small island in the Mediterranean. We could work on an olive oil farm, weave rattan chairs and generally get away from this ugly town.

In other news, Woundup will throw its hat into the artisanal olive oil game in March. You'll never cook the same way again.

Rural America Ltd.

Aha! The ol' statcounter tells me we received our first hit from ELYRIA, OHIO. Elyria is the offical Donahue-Eckart stopping point on all East Coast roadtrips. Just outside of Cleveland, this small town features our favorite (northern) Ohio bar _ the Joyful Mug.

I believe the last commenter was from Elyria. Can you answer me this? Why do people in northern Ohio fly, display or have tatoos of the Confedrate flag _ the symbol of an organization that took the lives of many sons of Ohio? You can't get more Union than the shores of Lake Erie _ except maybe J.P. O'Connells: Cambridge's HOTTEST place for singles!

Green Bay _ Cue

Just got back from Green Bay. Revelatory notes? Well, to whet your whistle, I let my mother read the latest draft of my play. She criticized it so unabashedly that I threw the thing against the front door, scattering the many, unnumbered pages in every direction. A true story.

That's adequately shocking. Getting a little attention for myself. Before those histrionics, we had a lovely Thai meal and, prior to that, a drink a local brewpub. My brother, Terry, seems to be holding up OK without any pals and finds solace in 9/11 conspiracy theories. I honestly hadn't thought of any till we talked.

I feel like I'm throwing my family under the bus _ using some select peculiarities as grist for my merciless WeBLoG mill... for laffs. I'd rather see them everyday _ more material! Ha! Seriously... I love my family.

Erika found some DFW book on tape. DFW sounds like he has OCD. Cue. I can tell because I have it myself. Cue. It does make me feel like a big shot to talk like this. Cue. This interview is over...

LH Putgrass signing off and heading for the tub.

Enough is Enough

Well, folks... CEO Tom Blister was arrested in Turin, Italy. He had drunk a combo of 50 grappa shots and 50 espressos over a 12 hour period and was apprehended by local police early this morning while trying to fornicate with a statue of Garibaldi's horse.

In other company news, editor Ethan Kraputnik and corp comm rep Patty Hanratty were fired for their part in the Blister fiasco.

Woundup.com will now return to previously scheduled programming. Please enjoy.

Permanent Hiatus

ENOUGH! I can't take it anymore!

There's no fargging way I'm going to write three different characters on a semi-daily basis for FREE. No way. It's back to the good old Woundup, which may or may not be written by a 7-person content team.

And CEO Tom Blister? Well... he'll be back... some day. Until then, let's return to the kind of quality content you've come to expect from Woundup.com. Like how I trimmed my nosehair today. In the great genetic sweepstakes, it looks like ol' Mark got the hirsute Muhr nostrils, late of southern Germany/northern Austria.

I love living!!!

We Like to Have a Few Testers Around In Case Something Goes Wrong.

I had another wonderful revelation upon exiting my therapist's office. I'm going to donate my brain to science... after I'm dead, of course.

But, as with many things in life, the straight line from idea to realization runs through some heavy undergrowth...

(At the Mayo Clinic. A reception area. Mark is filling out a form. A doctor walks by.)

Mark: Hey there...
Doctor: Yes?
M: Can you--can you tell me a little bit about the program? The brain donation... program?
D: Are you thinking about donating your brain?
M: Yeah. I've got the paperwork here...
D: Well that's wonderful. Congratulations.
M: Will they--you guys--do tests on it.
D: Probably not.
M: No? What kind of thing--
D: They're mostly used for animal feed.
(pause)
M: Animal--
D: Yes. We sell them to a pig farm in Iowa.
(pause)
M: Huh. Do you ever... do research on them?
D: Not really. We've found just about everything we need to know about the human brain.
M: Wow.
(pause)
What about all those, uh, articles--"The future of the mind?"
D: We've generally found those encourage people to donate their brains.
M: Yeah, like it would be part of some--
D: Important study. Yes.
M: Right.
D: Which works fine for us.
(Smiles)
More feed for the pigs!
(Pause. Mark looks at the questionnaire.)
M: What do I put down under "Availability?"

A Wistful, Post-Super Bowl Post

All right. I've got to give you something better than that. I don't condone bulleted lists as legitimate WeBLoG content. I was just excited about reading Norman Chad's column.

The cold has returned to Chicago, and I am glad. That long string of 40-degree days scared me. We live in this town and endure its psychotic winter so, sometime in April, when the tree buds are budding and the state bird (the robin) is singing, we feel like we've accomplished something. Any old fool gets to feel that here in Chicago.

People are odd creatures. As a person, I feel I can speak with authority on this. Last night, as I was walking to the bar, I thought how it'd be wonderful for me if I remembered that all of us are part of the same family _ in the same boat. That despite all the slights and backbiting and resentment and secrets, all people can come together and recognize this. Some might see this as being part of "god's family." I am not a christian, but I have no problem with that description _ if the feeling is there.

As a human being I fail, but I was thinking if there was some personal (or national?) moment or day where I could pause to reflect on my behavior, that might help me and my brothers and sisters. It's one thing to say you love everyone and another matter to feel it. And the foundation of love, I believe, is an interest in the other person _ not just in the self. It's something I'll always need to remember.

The Woundup Year-in-Review _ by CEO Tom Blister

My StatTek TrakkerTek 5.0 WebCounter tells me Woundup.com received its first page view from Barrington this past Monday. You know what that means...

THE WOUNDUP 2005 YEAR-IN-REVIEW SPECIAL

Once in a great while a WeBLoG comes along that revolutionizes the way we look at--SHIT... all right... Sorry, folks. Woundup Corp. CEO Tom Blister here. I've been beating my head against the wall trying to write this goddam Year-in-Review. My 7-person content team is out with botullism. GODDAMMIT. I hearby forbid Costa Rican vacations for all employees. Christ...

I've never claimed to be a great writer. That's why I have a 7-person content team... But those little fruitcakes quit on me. I'm fucking finished with this... Here's what happend. If you don't like it, well, call customer service...

2005

Quarter 1

_ Woundup posted solid earnings following an expansion in the handheld market. The signature "electric-shock-thru-your-keyboard e-greeting" was offered to blackberry subscribers. To demonstrate this new feature, I allowed members of our 7-person content team to shock me thru my own blackberry at a press conference in Buenos Aires. That was a great idea... I crapped my pants in front of the leaders of 18 South American countries.

_ I divorced my second wife, Lydia. Well, she divorced me, if you really want to get down to brass tacks. I was sitting in the China Room at Five Oaks Country Club in Barrington _ I maintain a residence in Barrington, by the way _ and, needless to say, she broke my jaw with a 3 Wood. Lydia, she was more than my secretary, she was my friend. If you can't understand that, well, you need to join the human race. Lucky for me the pre-nup contained a line in .0000015 size type absolving me in the instance of adultery. Cheers, Lydia, this '65 Dom Estes is for you.

Quarter 2

_ A spin-off blog failed. Tom Blister a failure? Not likely, my friend. This brilliant idea was spearheaded by former CFO Marty Brentano _ emphasis on FORMER. Wonk-Up _ a political site that pledged to get neck-deep in the Beltway dirt was staffed by a bunch of Brown rejects who couldn't find their ass from Barbara Boxer's Macy's receipts. I fired those clowns so quick, my head was spinning...

_ But then again that could've been my Vicodin addiction. Maybe you heard about it. Big story. Blister hooked on meds, doped up. Well, I beat it. I beat the little white pills that stopped the constant pounding in my head. I got that fixed, too. Turns out it was my alcoholism... But I found a shrink who said it was okay for me to keep drinking as long as I didn't kick little kids or dogs. Hey, sometimes you have to give up some things. It's called life, folks.

Quarter 3

_ Fuck. Do I have to keep writing this goddam thing? Quarter 3. What a disaster. My companies traditionally do bad in the third quarter _ kind of like the Magic Lakers. Oh man, I used to party with those guys. Magic, one time he held AC Green by the ankles off the Waldorf Astoria balcony _ this must've been '86 _ these Costa Rican hookers just showed up... and the next day he dropped 35 on the Knicks with 12 assists. Class act, Magic Johnson.

_ Business... okay... business. Lessee... Woundup did debut some client-based software in Quarter 3. Uh... I think you could only get it if you were on the West Coast. I'm not supposed to know this shit. I have people that tell me things every damn day and I don't listen. That's what separates the great ones from the also-ran's _ the ability NOT to listen.

Quarter 4

_ Well, we came roaring back to finish up FY2005. And Lydia, my ex, came roaring back when she set my H3 on fire. I just bought the goddamn thing out in Lake in the Hills. I was trying to have a nice conversation and she flipped. I had it re-detailed last week. Looks fan-fuckin-tastic. Read it and weep, baby.

_ We sold licensing rights to the Wound I. satellite _ you might remember that nice little piece of hardware. Well, now its part of President Bush's domestic spying plan. Don't worry. They can't see everything. Uh... new products... Woundup soda, Woundup clothing line with Tommy, bag line with Manhattan Portage, eyewear with Oliver Peoples, parties for the Oscars, Grammys, Superbowl.

And that's where I am right now. I'm in my little hotel room in downtown Detroit. Gametime T-minus 96 hours and I'm staring down the barrel of a '77 Rioja from the Pampas. You can catch me in this month's Wine Spectator _ yeah, they're doing a spotlight on my cellar.

All right. Enough of this bullshit. Those little content team fairies are getting double shifts till July. Well... that's it. Cheers.

Reprint

I promise the Woundup Year-in-Review will not be another "best of" series, but I found one entry from last year that tickled my humor bone so much I had to repost it. It's particularly apt given today's Sun-Times cover story...

-------------------------------------

August 8, 2005

We Couldn't Think of Anything Better
This has never happened to me. I was lying in bed for a few minutes and felt an undeniable urge to write again. If I could bottle that kind of gumption...

Something that scares me is the thought that our society may mold itself in the image of a fictional reality for lack of better ideas. I feel sorry for the writers/filmmakers who invented worlds so vivid they've come to be seen as inevitabilities. Chicago's love affair with the surveillance camera draws comparisons to "1984," and, to many of us, it seems natural things would go that way. Is that because of Orwell's book? What if he'd written about a fun-loving society of vegetarians? Well, you'd be looking hard for his book in the basement of the downtown library. We love horrifying visions of the future.

Now we have a benchmark for what could go wrong, and perhaps it's unconsciously influencing our progress. I'm a big believer _ as a lazy person _ in mankind's laziness. We gravitate toward the easier/pre-existing idea/model.

But, I'm also not a paranoid person. If you want my opinion, I don't think a "1984" scenario is possible. Can you imagine the city of Chicago running a sophisticated program of mind control?

Harold: Agnes, there's something I want to tell you. I... well...
(meanwhile, back at the Richard M. Daley Citizen Compliance Center)
Bill: Hey, where's that reproductive acts authorizing form?
Richie: I dunno, Bill. I'm on lunch right now. I can't talk.
Bill: Christ... (into a microphone. his voice comes through a print of a Rembrandt in bill and agnes' living room) Hey pal. The authorization hasn't made it to our system, yet. You're gonna hafta wait.
Harold: But I'd like to make love to my wife.
Bill: Sorry, buddy. You can try back on Monday.
Richie: (to Bill) Monday's a holiday.
Bill: I thought you were on break.
Richie: I am.
Bill: (to Harold) Monday's a holiday. Try back Tuesday.
Harold: All right... (to Agnes) Monopoly sound good?

More Nostalgia

Despite what old '81 hardcore guys would have you believe, there still exists some element of regionalism in indie rock. Having lived in Chicago four years, I can listen to a band and generally tell if they're from Chicago.

8 years later, I feel I could still pick out a Cincinnati band. I went to more shows and saw more local bands there then at any other time in my life. Cincy bands have an element to them that cuts across their chosen genres: from snot punk to country revival. It's kind of a feeling, kind of a sound. I'm not being a good writer here, but I just can't describe it. I only know it when I hear it.

You can hear it in the work of The Ed Davis Band _ Cincinnati's first punk group. Former bass player, Bob Cotter, was a boss to Ted and I in the Xavier U. AV dept. Great guy. "Fuck Each Other" is a punk classic _ Cincinnati or otherwise

A View from the Couch

Ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of my NFL season is NOT the Superbowl.

It is Dr. Z's annual report card of the TV networks' football broadcast teams. BEHOLD.

Turn It Up

JR's post today has inspired me...

The loudest show I ever saw/heard was Brainiac spring 1997 on their final tour before Tim Taylor died. They played Sudsy Malone's on Vine St. in Cincinnati, and I, as was my custom at the time, got as close to the stage as I could. I stood about 7-8 feet from Juan Monosterio's bass stack, and when he hit a note, I felt it like a punch to my chest. They had more gear onstage than I'd ever seen, and they played tape loops of crowd noise at full volume between songs. I wasn't wearing ear plugs.

Sudsy's was packed and extremely smoky. After three or four songs I started feeling woozy and pushed my way to the washing machines in back _ Sudsy's was/is half a laundromat. I caught my breath and enjoyed the rest of the show _ still plenty loud _ from there.

The two Brainiac shows I witnessed prior to this were among the best I've seen in my life. I still miss 'em.

Lexicon Deviled Eggs (as suggested by WebTech 3.0)

We, too, had a lovely time last night with the RZA, the GZA and the Ghostface Killah. Feeling a little foggy today at the ol' cracker factory... and that's good.

There've been some rumors that Woundup Corp. will be changing locations soon. These rumors are unfounded, BUT if I continue to circulate them, perhaps they'll develop into the truth. "Develop" is up there, by the way, in the pantheon of cover letter terminology.

I was lying in bed the other night, thinking how the cover letter is the single most awful thing humankind has developed _ well, just a notch below the atomic bomb and (insert gag here... This post was actually written in WeBGaG WebTech 3.0, a blog template. All posts on this site are written in this program. WebTech suggests I use "designated hitter" to offset the awfulness of the A-bomb. I think I need to upgrade.)

This is the Way, Step Inside

C'mon! Both the Tribune and Sun-Times have the same top sports headline referencing yesterday's NFL action _ "Routs to Detroit."

I've always suspected both papers employ moles _ insiders who tip the editors off about the other paper's sports headlines and front-page stories.

Would I become a mole if approached? Well, the benefits package would have to be exemplary, and I'd like a little more vacation time, too.

********************

In other news, Erika and I saw "24-Hour Party People" Saturday, several years after the fact. I was expecting a massive, irritating letdown, but NO _ I thought the film engaging and playful despite the moments of strife and tragedy. Yes, they couldn't resist an Ian Curtis seizure scene.

Coincidentally, I find Joy Divsion the perfect soundtrack for my newspaper mole lifestyle. If you can picture me sneaking into the loo with my cell phone while "Atrocity Exhibition" plays, you have yourself a better understanding of what I go thru around 4:18 p.m. each day.

"Chief... It's 'Routs to Detroit'... 'ROUTS TO DETROIT--'"
(The stall door opens)

Upcoming Event Announcement Calendar Schedule

Ted ripped me off, so now I'm ripping him off ripping me off...

STAY TUNED FOR THE WOUNDUP YEAR-IN-REVIEW. FEB. 1, 2006. DETAILS TO FOLLOW.


(please continue reading fine Woundup.com content below)

Line on Dominicans is 1-1

I love that Fidel Castro has taken a personal interest in the World Baseball Classic.

Has anything in sports _ outside of the BCS _ been more maligned than the WBC? Front office types worry the timing of the international tournament (March 3-20) will interfere with traditional spring training and, more importantly, put extra wear on arms in their rotations and bullpens. Remember the White Sox? They won with consistent, healthy pitching.

And the public, well, the public has yawned resoundingly at the WBC. Frankly, I like the idea. It's a fantasy baseballer's dream come true. I don't know how much stress 2-plus weeks of competitive ball puts on a guy's arm _ I suppose that depends on the player. Gone are the days of Ironman Joe McGinnity, replaced by $25 million-a-year Hummels like Alex Rodriguez. To risk injury to such an expensive showpiece in an exhibition tournament would be career suicide for an MLB general manager.

Still, I'd like to see the scrappy Cuban team _ weaned on government rice, trained on stone-strewn sand lots _ whup up on the overpaid millionaires from the States. Castro would be there, too _ cigar in hand _ laughing all the way.

Enjoy When You Can. Endure When You Must. Goethe Never Had a Monday Off.

Well, first you're leaving the house with a lot of expectations, then you run into a friend at the Middle Eastern place, then you're drinking white wine at 1:30 p.m., and then you're laying on the couch listening to Doug Buffone and Gary Fencik. What happened? At least I downloaded my resume... Didn't I? Hold on. All right. There we go. It's my day off, right? Would you cut me a little slack?

Thinking about writing is NOT WRITING. It doesn't count. And drinking white wine is NOT NOT DRINKING. It's real booze. Take it from me. But a few hours with a friendly face... Sometimes you must take that where you can get it. I'm glad I did.

Day Off. Probably Won't Brush Teeth.

I'm just in the office a minute. I've got my hot tea from the corner store and am making some frozen waffles in the break room toaster. This place gets a little lonely on the weekend _ and again, it looks like someone had a party here. I'll never understand why people drink Heineken. Yuck. I just found a cribbage board coated with something sticky. I hope that's bourbon. What were they doing in here?

In the domestic realm, we're still cleaning up from Saturday's wonderful writers' group _ or rather, I am cleaning up. Erika's already done two loads of dishes. I still have to earn my keep.

To all writer pals in the area... Erika and I hold a writers' group once every 2-3 weeks early Saturday evening. It's a supportive, low-pressure environment to present things and get feedback _ and includes a vegan dinner. As it stands now, we have 1 fiction writer, 3 poets and a playwright. We accommodate any style _ fiction or non-fiction. Leave a note here if you're interested or email.

More Musical Mirth

Have you ever played the rock 'n roll switcheroo game? Just imagine an integral part of one of your favorite groups swapped with another key figure in another band. Then fantasize about how the band would sound.

For example...
Neil Peart of Rush
switches with
Roland, the Big Black drum machine

Big Black w/Neil Peart
Rush w/Roland the drum machine

Fun, eh? Try it yourself. If you get any good ones, post 'em in the comments section below.

Ulrich Breaks Peart's 18-Year Stranglehold on Rip Magazine's Best Drummer Award

Last night's writing exhibitionism (trip to Atomix) netted an interesting bit of information. Well, it's something I've known since I was 19 years old, but it's taken me 10 years to accept. The Atomix staff were pumping "Tago Mago" _ as is their custom _ and I realized that Jaki Liebezeit of Can is my favorite drummer. There you go. No more hemming and hawing over Keith Moon or John Bonham or Bill Ward. I vote Liebezeit.

As a recovering music journalist, my therapist has reminded me that it's all right to have a "bad day." A "bad day" in my case involves making arbitrary, meaningless rankings and lists. My old friend Adrian in Atlanta had his Top 10 guitar influences written on a dry erase board in his room _ an earnest, honest proclamation. But for Young Adrian it made sense _ he is a guitar player (and one of the best I've ever heard). Me, on the other hand...

My runner-up drummer would be the guy who played on Chrome's "Half Machine Lip Moves" _ which also makes him the #1 uncredited drummer in the history of recorded music. Ah, but you say there are countless uncredited drummers on old blues and world music records. Well, make the Chrome guy #1 uncredited drummer on a rock record. That's a new RIAA award, by the way

Report from the Dream State

I woke up a few minutes ago and looked at the clock radio beside the bed. The numbers moved upward quickly 7:05, :06, :07, :08, :09, :10... had time been broken? Was I still in a dream? I looked at the red digits ascending :24, :25, :26, :27 before it struck me _ Erika had spilled water on the clock when she got home from work. It was broken. I hit one of the buttons. The time reset to 12:00 and stopped moving.

Just a few moments before, I had a vivid dream about Midnight Records. I was back in New York for some reason and had agreed to work temporarily at Midnight. Robin and BJ were there, along with a guy who did my old job _ boxing up mail orders. JD had turned the store's second room into a listening area with couches _ very Williamsburg. I was excited to get my hands on a mail order package. I think even now I could wrap one in under 20 seconds. I had done so many _ the USPS priority mail package with the tape gun _ that it burned permanently into some deep part of my brain. I bet I'll be able to do 'em at age 70.

But it was only a dream. We all know Midnight (as a store) is gone. Erika said she has the ability to wake up, return to sleep and continue the same dream. I've never been able to do that _ but who knows _ if I fall asleep now, I might get to go buy JD some Perrier in the Chelsea Hotel bodega.

Lift My Spirits

TRUSCOTT: You’re fucking nicked, my old beauty. You’ve found to your cost that the standards of the British police force are as high as ever.
MCLEAVY: What am I charged with?
TRUSCOTT: That needn’t concern you for the moment. We’ll fill in the details later.
MCLEAVY: You can’t do this. I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen. The police are for the protection of ordinary people.
TRUSCOTT: I don’t know where you pick up these slogans, sir. You must read them on hoardings.

O'Donnell to the Edge of Infinity

It's official. Sun Times Notre Dame writer Jim O'Donnell MUST write my obituary. The puckish wordsmith dropped another gem-encrusted treasure upon the reading public this morning _ his story on the Irish's loss to Ohio State in the Fiesta Bowl yesterday. It wouldn't be an O'Donnell piece without some color in the lead...

"TEMPE, Ariz. _
See Troy run.
See Troy pass.
See Ted catch.
See Ted score.
See Notre Dame touchdown called back.
See Ohio State happy.
See the Fighting Irish sad."

And just when you think you have O'Donnell scouted, he adds another pitch to his repertoire _ a blizzard of numerals...

"No one stepped up more than (Ted) Ginn. With his Olympic speed (10.5 for 100 meters), the diminutive triple threat ended with 167 yards from eight receptions, 73 yards in two rushing tries and 20 more from two punt returns. Hello-Columbus total: 260, including the two touchdowns."

More and more everyday, I feel O'Donnell is the only writer who could treat my life with the reverence it deserves. I'm just going to lie down on this stretcher and wait for him to start typing.

Rosenberg Eats Quiche at the Modern's Cafe, Pass It On

I got down to business last night, had a couple beers, and hit the couch afterward for some well-deserved PBS. As luck would have it, I caught most of the new American art documentary _ another rundown of 20th century icons. It was mesmerizing to see film of Duchamp and De Kooning (New York residents), along with Rauschenberg and Warhol working _ you never see footage of Warhol actually WORKING.

As an introduction, it was very compelling _ though I'm sure those involved would agree such a distillation is too simplistic. I don't mean to criticize PBS. Their documentaries can serve as tremendous jumping-off points. I was moved to discover modern theater after seeing "Changing Stages" back in 2000. What these kind of programs need are suggested reading lists. I know I could use the help in catching up on my Clement Greenberg.

Personal Touching

Oh my... I just... I don't know what to say. I've never... had someone give me something like this.

My statcounter company sent me a fruit basket _ for the holidays. I'm... I'm touched. It came with a little note:

"Happy holidays from StatTek. Hope the New Year finds you in good health and fortune. Thank you for using StatTek TrakkerTek 5.0. Look for new add-ons in 2006, including the Electric-Shock-Thru-the-Keyboard FunGram. Send your friends a special message that says, 'I care!'
P.S. There is no microscopic camera in this fruit basket."

I'm putting it right on my desk here. There. Very nice.

Is something humming?

The Terrible, Blinding Dawn

I survived. I survived Monday. I also survived Christmas, but that was enjoyable. We saw my parents, Erika's father's and mother's sides. Food, wine, laughter... I like it more every year. Her family(ies) treat me very well, in spite of my strange appearance and behavior.

I missed being with my two brothers for the holidays. I wish I could be more of a part of their lives. But somewhere, I know, they were hoisting a Molson Canadian for me.

Man, this WeBLoG is flopping around in the water looking for some direction. Looks like I'm waiting till the New Year to refocus. I hate that: People who give up on life sometime in early December and wait till the New Year for the promise of inspiration. Yes, I am one of these people _ at least on a couple fronts. It's the procrastinator's national holiday, New Year's. Or maybe it's not. Maybe this week is the procrastinator's national holiday. New Year's is the terrible, blinding dawn.

Stocking Stufferz

Here's a little holiday present for you, new reader. Please enjoy the old Woundup.com archive (look under "older"), the webdiary Parrot Talk called "... groundbreaking..."

Church of the Thom McCann Gift Certificate

I wish I had taken off more time for the holidays. Well, you'll have to accept this short message in the meantime. Happy holidays to all Woundup readers. I hope things are safe and relaxing for you. Erika and I will make the family rounds starting tonight when we take the Donahues to our favorite little Indian hideaway.

What else can I say? Be good to yourself. See you next week.

The Good Vibes Superhighway/Eastern Fronting

Well, well... thank you to Jessica for mentioning this space. I am a fan of her WeBLoG _ a look into the life and mind of Chicago's premier freelance writer. Visit now!

In other good news, the holiday shopping plan is starting to take shape. I dub it "The Winter Counteroffensive" in the spirit of my Russian ancestors. In the spirit of my German ancestors I also dub it "Fritz, Send Me a Winter Coat So I Can Fight the Communists, Bitte." How about that for internal conflict?

Connectivity and Good Vibes

I would like to thank J.R. for linking this site to his. I urge all of you chaps to check out his wonderful WeBLoG. I greatly look forward to reading it each day. As soon as tech services gets back from their annual convention (WeBLoG and Auto Loom Workers United Local 283) in Las Vegas, we'll have our own links section up and running.

J.R. and Marie work in one of these progressive offices where you can drink at your desk. Woundup employees are forced to drink in the service elevator. There's a shot glass set in the emergency phone box. Give 'em a good wipe after you're done.

The Clock is Ticking

The question is not WHEN will the New York transit strike begin, but WHEN will the first transit strike-related blog begin. You've still got a shot at the big time...

Beats the Giordano's in Schiller Park

Holiday time, holiday party. The Woundup holiday party is scheduled for next Tuesday, Dec. 20. Because of, ahem, budget constraints (you might remember last year's festivities were cancelled), CEO Tom Blister has granted exclusive sponsorship rights for the holiday party to Anatole France Beaujolais Nouveau...

Come Celebrate the Holidays with the Woundup Corp. Family...
TUESDAY, DEC. 20
5:30 - 7 p.m.
at the Kinzie Chophouse, 400 N. Wells
SPONSORED BY ANATOLE FRANCE _ FOR OVER 250 YEARS, FRANCE'S PREMIER BEAUJOLAIS NOUVEAU PRODUCER _ WINNER OF THE 1898 CROIX DU HONORE (FIRST DIVISION-GRAND CRU)
One spouse/partner is permitted per employee. The coat check will be closed for this event.
ENJOY TASTINGS OF ANATOLE FRANCE BEAUJOLAIS NOVEAU 2003 _ 97.3 (WINE SPECTATOR) _ AND OTHER FINE ANATOLE FRANCE WINES.
Music provided by DJ Student Loan Pay Stub _ yes, that's our very own Frankie Fitzpatrick from tech services.
ANATOLE FRANCE BEAUJOLAIS NOUVEAU: FRESH, FUN, KICK UP YOUR HEELS AND DANCE
And, as always, the annual Content vs. Sales sock volleyball game.
ANATOLE FRANCE BEAUJOLAIS NOUVEAU: TRY IT WITH DINNER
Cash bar till 6:30. Pay parking lot next to the Chophouse. WARNING: Wells is a snow route, you cannot park on Wells after 5 p.m.
ANATOLE FRANCE DISCOVER WHAT THE FRENCH HAVE KNOWN FOR OVER 250 YEARS: UNCOMPROMISING TASTE, HIGH ALCOHOLIC CONTENT
We hope to see you there! Happy Holidays!

Can I Hire You to Curate My Student Loan Payment Stubs?

Speaking of self-promotion:

Did Michael Azzerad's indie rock book ruin anyone else's positive mental image of Sonic Youth? I don't think I'll listen to a Youth album for at least 25 years now _ though the idea of Lee Renaldo getting in someone's face at a party about a bad review is kind of funny. (MAY NOT BE FACTUALLY ACCURATE) "Hey, man... Why can't you just be... cool?"

It makes my hair turn gray _ like the way "curate" has become a common verb in some circles. The only person allowed to curate anything, in my book, is the director of the British National Museum... but of course, my book never made it to a second printing.

No More Seconds on Dinner Rolls

Cutting out those between-meal snacks has made a difference in stemming the fleshy flood of my waistline. Those of you familiar might find my over-weight surprising _ but my wife knows the difference.

I was once a trim young man when I hung out at the Cedar Tavern. But somewhere between my first treatise on the bourgeois nature of impasto and the pay line at the Thompson Center DMV, I gained a few pounds. Thanks to my dedicated mate, the YMCA and my own self resolve, I've come a shade closer to my 31x32 jeans from that summer of interning at the Walter Gropius Homesite.

That's all I'm sharing today. This is the automated webpost where I DON'T tell you what I'm working on. It's none of your business. Refreshing? I hope to market my line of non-self-promotional WeBLoGS by Feb. 2006.

From Out the Gloom... Parking.

I walked home from the Loop yesterday in the snow _ Madison & Wacker to Walton & Oakley. Traffic was frozen _ it took me 1.25 hours to get home _ it would've been twice that by taxi/bus. I was soaked when I arrived, and my legs burned, but I felt I had accomplished something. The experience was cathartic, I think. It got my brain working, and I might've figured something important out. We'll see on that one.

They just retired Scottie Pippen's number. I do feel bad for him. He'll always have that one guy ahead of him, and we'll always think of it that way. I suppose it'll be written down that way, too. Perhaps it's a valuable lesson for us mortals that there's always someone better than you at what you do. That's a rather depressing lesson, I suppose. That is, if you count what you do as the most important aspect of your being. There are other aspects, but you'll never see them honored in the same fashion.

What does it matter when we're all going to the same place? Ha. I had you going there. Merry Christmas.

The Makings of a Night Off

I'm 15 minutes away from leaving the Woundup offices here on W. Hubbard St. _ the "Magnesium Mile." Outside, a robust snow storm _ not by Buffalo standards _ but tough enough for old Chicago. What method of escape will I choose? Public transportation or taxi?

Either way, it will inspire a spirited recounting _ if just for tonight, and if just for a few seconds ("Woooo... It is BAD out there!"). All I want to find is my beautiful wife, a bottle of wine and some DVDs on the other end. Wish me luck!

Giving My Country Second... Best Crabcakes, 2005 Baltimore Arts Weekly

This has turned into a once-a-week WeBLoG. What happened? Am I... too busy on the job? A little bit, lately, but I'm never too busy. Have I... run out of ideas? It's something to consider. Or, am I... working on more important things? Well, that's a convenient excuse, and it makes me sound a helluva lot more important.

The no. 1 topic for WeBLoGers seems to be why they haven't been updating. Perfect fodder for an opera, says I (us)...

[Der Weltenschtammerer (The Blog Procrastinator)
Torvan, a young office worker, ticks away his days at his desk. Comes home and smokes weed, drinks Stella Artois and watches Comedy Central. He occasionally leaves his one-room apartment to meet friends for sushi or art openings. He enjoys reading modern magazines and taking trips to Mexico when his vacation days roll over. He rarely updates his blog.]

A waste of time? Sorry, but the libretto's already written. See you at the Civic Center.

Don't Turn Your Back on a Day-Old Semifreddo

Erika and I started our holiday gift list last night. It's true, I need some new corduroy pants, but what I really want... is dinner with New York Times food writers Florence Fabricant, R.W. Apple Jr., Eric Asimov and Frank Bruni. Nothing would give me more joy _ aside from the future birth of my children, and the possible first production of a play I've written. I would bring Erika, of course. What the hell _ throw in Peter Meehan and Mark Bittman, too.

I envision a trip to the City. We get there early and spend a few hours staring at the ducks in the cold at Central Park. We head to a restaurant on the Upper East Side and find the group has already ordered _ they say they waited for us. The writers pass the time with Times gossip and snipes at the staffs of Gourmet and Bon Appetit. "Have you had any good meals lately," I ask and am met with icy silence. One-by-one, they slip off to the bathroom and out of the restaurant, leaving my wife and I with the check _ a la "Bonfire of the Vanities." A memorable evening, truly.

Dagwood Jailed as Trotskyist

I'm excited to share with you what I've been working on the past three months. In the service of BigMedia, I've devised a Comics Subversiveness Rating _ a computer program that scans newspaper comic strips for questionable content.

With the old stand-byes (Garfield, Peanuts, Blondie, Brenda Starr) aging rapidly before our eyes, it's up to the newspaper editor to be meticulous in his/her scrutiny of the new generation of strips that will take their place. The Comic Subversiveness Rating is a tool to aid the editor in this process.

Simply feed 10 strips from a prospective comic into the machine and wait for the results. Let's look at some sample tests...

1. Perry Bible Fellowship: a three-to-four panel strip appearing in arts papers. CSR rating: 98.3. Highly offensive with explicit sexual content, free use of blood, satire of important corporate trademarks, perversion of children's stories and disrespect for the Christian religion.

This is an easy one. An editor could spot it a mile away. The real threat is what is known in the comics monitoring industry as a "trojan horse." For example...

2. Arlo and Janis: a four-panel strip appearing in large dailies nationwide. CSR rating: 94.2 _ the highest mark for a major strip. Thinly veiled contempt for the modern workplace and productivity in general. Promotes laziness, daydreaming, unstructured free time and portrays a free-floating consciousness similar to a drug-induced state.

In contrast, look at one strip that scored low on the CSR...

3. Edge City: a three-panel strip appearing in major dailies around the country. CSR rating: 13.4. The story of a two-parent, two-worker family. Encourages company loyalty, personal goals as stimuli for increased productivity, devotion to religious and traditional practices and the general curbing of non-traditional tendencies.

There you have it. Keeping the nation's mind safe. Tonight I plan to drink a bottle of wine and feed copies of "Heavy Metal" into the CSR machine. That makes it scream.

RE: Hilarity

What happened in here last night? I opened the door to the Woundup office an hour ago and found empty beer cans, a full ashtray and several copies of "Achtung! Busen!" scattered about. I think the 7-person content team is starting to slack for the holidays. Management must tighten the reins _ shorter breaks, cheaper coffee... and Thai Food Tuesday will be postponed till further notice.

Some of you have inquired about Woundup Corp.'s "Artist in Residence" program. Following the trend of advertising agencies and NASA, we're offering use of the 8'x 8' practice room at our facility on W. Hubbard _ aka "The Magnesium Mile." We want to work with you, the musical artist, to develop Internet-ready content for the 18-35 youth market... ... ... ... ... ... ... Yes. You can sleep in the space.

(On an unrelated note, I would like to welcome our first-time German visitors, undoubtedly clicking here re: "busen." Thank you for helping to break Wound-up.com's single-day hit total record. Guten Abend und froliche Weinachten!)

I ORDERED A FRESCA!

hey, hey, hey, hey! guess what? i am drunk! not exactly. i'm buzzed _ that's what a drunk person calls his condition when he doesn't want to admit he's drunk. it's way past my bedtime. just got back from the ol' hole in the wall. spent some quality time with mr. matt lentz _ a good chap. i've never posted under the influence before. seriously. it's a whole sub-genre of web-journaling. but not me. until now. but, frankly, my buzz is waning. i'll probably eat something, watch some PBS and go to bed. hmph. this isn't exciting at all, is it? lessee here. something to spice up... shows. i used to go to shows all the time. i don't much anymore. i suppose that's age. it's a lot of crap, if you ask me. i haven't seen anything good in a long time. maybe that's tied to age. chicago seems to be populated by superstar side-projects. a lot of bullshit, if you ask me. i think the 21 crowd needs to depose the 30 crowd _ that includes me. kick us off the throne. we're done. out of ideas. just look at this WeBLoG _ out of fucking ideas. pull my plug. finished. matt was talking about some eateries 'round midway airport. christ i'm hungry. l.h. putgrass signing off and heading for the tub.

Peeping Ron

I like living in the Ukrainian Village. It invites the passerby to peek into its collective windows at night. Take a stroll through the Village after dark, and you're sure to spot some interesting living rooms. Why not stand on the sidewalk and peer in for a few minutes? I do it all the time.

When I'm feeling lazy _ which is often _ I just look out our front windows. There's at least one apartment lit up across the street with the drapes open. It's a second floor flat and appears to have the same avocado green paint scheme and lighting as our last apartment on Noble Street. It even has a plant in the window _ just like our old place. I keep thinking I'm going to look over there one night and catch myself staring back _ me, but from last year. I look closer.

(cue psychedelic guitar)

Damn. The Mach 3 Turbo is not the close shave it advertised itself as. Should I go back to electric?

The World of Links

Hey, hey! Thank you to the Baseballwonk crew for linking to this site. I encourage you to visit them in the dugout. As a fan, I am happy to see the flood of new, wonderful posts.

Now the bad news. Some of you _ oh, I can't even say it. It is an electronic tragedy of the first order. Prior to the formation of Woundup Corp., an advanced content team funded by some of our current investors sought to assay the attitudes of the internet youth market. This entailed writing a web diary from the point of view of an android who lived in Orland Park, Ill., with his creator. Well... our technical director forgot to update that old site with a link to our current space... and you know what happens to WeBLoGS that don't get updated, don't you? If there is a ray of sunshine in this sad, sad situation, it's that the content team saved the original posts in Word files. They will be reposted sometime in the next few months.

To All the Flacks I've Loved Before

Part of my job involves talking to PR people _ flacks, as we call them on this end. I've been doing this for over three years, and I've seen a number of archetypes sift out. Let me share some of them with you...

_ The Nut Who Can't Believe You Don't Want to Write About His Stupid Idea: These are usually people flacking their own books or companies. You can hear them blinking in disbelief when you don't express awe at their pitch, say, for a book on Illinois' most famous Mafia gravesites.

_ The New Yorker: Usually a 30-ish woman with a nasally voice. They begin their pitch with the hyphenated name of the PR conglomerate they're enslaved to: Rubenstein-Gidwitz-Stern, Blastula-Thompson-Reed, etc. They speak quickly and are forgotten quickly. A corollary to this is...

_ The New York Hipster: A younger male. Usually flacking big corporate events and tours for cell phones or satellite radio. Their voices are tinged with the irony, condescension and self-hatred that are fast becoming the defining features of our generation.

_ The Jock: Sports flacks. The younger ones are of the ESPN school _ you can hear them smacking gum and sneering over the line. The older ones are like high school gym teachers, which I find comforting for some reason.

_ The Burned Out: Often older. Sighs frequently. At the end of his/her rope and with a constant headache. Maybe you'll feel sorry and agree to write the stupid story. Closely related to...

_ The Angry Flack: Also older. Has survived in the ruthless PR business by being a massive asshole, and you'd better write this stupid story, you peon. Let me talk to your editor.

_ The Yammer-er: Gives you the whole pitch in one breathless sentence before you can even say "Hello." My solution? Say "No," then hang up.

_ TOO Personal!: This was popular with female flacks in our state government offices when I started my job. They call you "sweetie" and "honey." One state flack would open unsolicited calls with a long pause then a whispered, breathy "It's me." Thankfully, this approach has gone the way of the Carrier Pigeon, though we might be ripe for a comeback (shudder).

_ The Speaker Phone Warrior: There's one state flack, god bless him, that tries to convey his authority by using a speaker phone. These kind of people get red-flagged to the front of the line for disparaging fictional representations.

_ The City Worker: Flacks for Chicago government offices are a lot like their brethren behind the counters at the DMV: Laconic, slow-moving, perturbed. The only exception are cop flacks, who are obliging and direct in a cop-like manner.

_ The Nice Flack: I won't say they're rare, but I wish they'd call a little more often.

Caught in a Web

Geezuz Kristmas! These band websites are getting more elaborate by the minute. Don't know what brought me to this one, but goddamn! If their music could even approach the creativity of their webpage, they'd be playing on the roof of the RnR Hall of Fame _ the Rest and Relaxation Hall of Fame in St. Petersburg, Fla. I hope to be enshrined there one day. My lifetime couch-laying average is sitting pretty at .303.

Watchniks

I just paid for an expensive, stat-tracking webcounter. How expensive? I'd rather not print it here for tax purposes. Needless to say, the Missus and I won't be eating out for awhile

But, I think it's worth it. I need to know who you are. You right there _ the reader. This expensive stat-tracking service can tell me a lot about you. Feeling afraid? Perhaps you should. They say feelings of paranoia peak in one's early 30's _ so most of you, as I check my statsheet printout here, should feel quite edgy.

Oh, don't worry. I can't get your social security number. I don't know what you'll be having for dinner tonight _ though I wish you'd call me once in a while. I'll bring over a nice bottle of wine, and we can talk about how you fit into the target demographic schematic.

Here're a few tidbits to whet your whistle:
89% of Woundup readers enjoy foreign films.
93% of Woundup readers have skimmed a book on communism.
76% of Woundup readers like fur-lined boots.
88% of Woundup readers haven't renewed their subscription to the New Yorker.

Huh. Well, I feel I know a little more about you... Actually, I now know a lot more about you. My machine can smell the fragrant residue of your internet use. Care for an Advil? My data says 99.3% of you would.

A War We Can't Win, Inc.

I'm a bit addicted to Yahoo news blurbs _ the little headlines on their homepage. These outrageous teasers seem aimed at itinerant web surfers looking for cheap thrills. One link caught my eye this morning: "Tuberculosis likely influenced Orwell's '1984.'"

There is a distrust of high culture in A. mainstream journalism and B. the American middle class. In "high culture," I would include serious literature. The work of this Dr. Ross, while intriguing, when it's capsulized on this Yahoo site just feeds the above prejudices _ particularly of B. The way it's cast, it seems that many (or even all) great works of literature were written by the sickly, demented or insane (Shakespeare's syphilis?). The notion that something like "1984" could only be written when, this article suggests, Orwell was not in his right mind is disheartening. Of course, further down, a Stanford professor says that sickness was only a small part of Orwell's creative drive. But that is "further down."

I am leary of this kind of biographical study _ that of the "disease muse." I think it reinforces a negative stereotype that further marginalizes artists _ this time as "sick" and possibly "crazy." It drives the average American away from great literature by allowing them to bolster their laziness and suspicion. "I don't have to read 1984. I don't have to understand it. Orwell had TB. He was crazy."

[And what about this passage?
"In the 19th and early 20th century, tuberculosis -- also known as consumption -- often struck artists and authors who lived in crowded, germ-filled slums. In many cases, infected people slowly wasted away, giving the victims a romantic cast, as seen in the film 'Moulin Rouge.'"
A sneaking glimpse into the bald inner life of ace reporter Randy Dotinga?]

Our mainstream culture does not challenge our citizens intellectually _ that is a rhetorical statement of the first order. This article is a subtle attack on the creative impulse and a reinforcement of America's intellectual infantilism _ the reluctance to face painful feelings and questions. Yahoo provides many soothing entertainment alternatives on its home page.

Great Moments in Agitated Music

In light of the flood of 10-year-ish anniversary re-releases with bonus material, I would like to cast my vote for Six Finger Satellite's "Severe Exposure" (1995, Sub Pop) to receive the royal repackaging treatment. I would kill _ KILL _ for unreleased tracks from this album's studio sessions.

I take "Exposure" with a grain of nostalgia _ like many of these 10-year plan reissues, it first hit during my greener days at ol' State U. But its caustic nature quickly strips away any such warm feelings. It's one of the best rock 'n roll records _ ever. I'm serious. It rises above its new wave/motorik/noise trappings into the orbit of "Funhouse" _ the measure for all great rock music. I'm serious.

"Exposure" is indeed a lot like "Funhouse" _ the production is straightforward with the rhythm section very prominent. I picture it in this dark vortex _ at least in my mind _ the music is bright red like a muscle or a limb, moving, flexing in space. The Six Finger record, like "Funhouse," gets wilder, more unhinged as it progresses... till you end up with "LA Blues" (or "Board the Bus").

I encourage you to revisit this classic _ or listen for the first time. It'll keep you up at night, and keep your downstairs neighbor a step closer to that domestic disturbance call.

Head Games

Man... for a good time, read Freud's "Civilization and Its Discontents." I laughed out loud several times _ not at his wit, but at the sheer, crushing darkness of his worldview. I'm just starting the section on wo/man's disappointment with participating in society _ the daily curbing of her/his personal desires.

Why do I keep reading it? I do find it interesting, but I'm afraid it will send me over the cliff into despair. The days are getting shorter, and that has also affected my Behavior in the past. But hey _ why not toy with danger? I'm just expressing my Death Instinct.

Part of me thinks I can stand up to the suggestive powers of such an authoritative work _ that I can view it objectively. It's like a test. Don't get me wrong _ I don't pretend to believe I'm stronger than anyone else. I'm probably weaker. I don't know. There's always the Tribune sports section... oh wait, that's a pain-averting diversion! Dammit!!!

Have the Courage to Turn Your Back

I am generally against this sort of thing, but I'd love to write a play or screenplay about NYTimes food writers Florence Fabricant, R.W. Apple Jr., Frank Bruni and Eric Asimov _ I see them all pooling to work in a clown car. Maybe they solve murder mysteries in their spare time. Christ, I've been watching way too much Channel 101. It's a bad influence.