In approximately 60 hours, my friends and I will be headed for the Great North, to spend a week outside Accordion City. In celebration, I would like to post some lyrics of which I am rather fond: Welcome to Canada, It's the Maple Leaf State. Canada, oh Canada it's great! The people are nice and they speak French too. If you don't like it, man, you sniff glue. The Great White North, their kilts are plaid, Hosers take off, it's not half bad. I want to be where yaks can run free, Where Royal Mounties can arrest me. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. They've got trees, And mooses, and sled dogs, Lots of lumber, and lumberjacks, and logs! We all think it's kind of a drag, That you have to go there to get milk in a bag. They say "eh?" instead of "what?" or "duh?" That's the mighty power of Canada! I want to be where lemmings run into the sea, Where the marmosets can attack me. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. Please, please, explain to me, How this all has come to be, We forgot to mention something here. Did we say that William Shatner is a native citizen? And Slurpees made from venison, That's deer. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. Let's go to Canada, Let's leave today, Canada, oh, Canada, I Sil Vous Plait. "Oh, Canada", Five Iron Frenzy.

My dad puts up with a lot of crap for and from me.

My dad has always respected my opinion-- even if he goes on to show me how I am totally wrong.

My dad has what my friends refer to as "The Voice of God". It is used in three situations: a) When he wants to be heard, b) when he's preaching, and c) when he's laughing. I can recognize that laugh from anywhere.

My dad has two wardrobes: One for work, with suits and clericals, and the other for the off-hours, with worn jeans and t-shirts advocating socialism and equality of sexuality.

My dad has a killer blog. (Need I say more?)

My dad's music collection is approximately seven times larger than mine.

My dad is the only guy I know who calls his son "Dude".

My dad has always been there for me.

Quite a fun concert, with excellent performances on both Ben's and Rufus' parts. Thanks to Dan, Sherri, Justin, Hilary, Timmy, Elizabeth, and Julie for making our little picnic loads of fun.

Rufus Wainwright and Ben Folds, tonight at Ravinia. I'm gonna be there. Life is sweet.

I woke up this morning, and felt a compelling need to listen to John Rutter's arrangement of "For The Beauty Of The Earth." I can only imagine that it had something to do with my dream, because I haven't thought of that song for ages. It would help if I could remember my dream, though. Maybe I should stop eating pizza as my late night meal.

I'd intended to write up a large post about the play this morning, but somehow it doesn't seem quite right, so I will be brief and concise. We did a fabulous job. I am immensely proud of and thankful to everyone involved. I'm grateful to everyone who came, especially those who came on extremely short notice. I'm going to miss this over the summer. Even more so, I'm going to miss the cast members who are leaving next year: Carli, Tyler, Grace, and possibly John. Tunes (Yes, they're back!): "Oh! You Pretty Things", David Bowie (iTMS); "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", Marvin Gaye & Tammy Terrell (iTMS); "Mary Jane's Last Dance", Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (iTMS).

Sorry, all. I only just last night realized that my site was set up not to accept anonymous reader comments. That has been remedied, and you are now free to belittle me as you have in prior posts.

On a friend's recommendation, I downloaded (legally) the soundtrack to Avenue Q, and it has immediately rocketed to a place on my top five musical of all time. The irreverent yet wise blending of elements from Sesame Street and Rent is hilarious, touching, understandable, and fun for not quite the whole family. Puppets, people, and Gary Cooper all share in the delivery of amusing looks at society ("If You Were Gay," Everyone's A Little Bit Racist," "Schadenfruede"), touching reflections on relationships ("Mix Tape," "There's A Fine, Fine Line," "The More You You Ruv Someone"), not-quite-so-touching takes on sex ("The Internet Is For Porn," "Special," "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want To (When You're Making Love)"), and quirky thoughts on why we're here ("What Do You Do With A B.A. In English," "Purpose," "For Now"). One of my favorites is a song which carries a friendly kick in the rump for when you need it the most: "There Is Life Outside Your Apartment."

Summer has struck hard, with the sort of oppressive muggy heat that saps your energy and leaves you in a state of near-entropy. I myself would like nothing more than to be able to sit in a tub of ice water for the day, a la "Body Heat" (maybe without Kathleen Turner, although I can think of one or two acceptable replacements), but since I have things that need to get done, I content myself with taking work in small increments and listening to Tom Petty b-sides in between. [Edit] Of course, right after I wrote this, a nice cool breeze picked up outside, making most of what I wrote fairly redundant. Oh well.

...Whatever you want to call it, this is the week before the Big Show, which means four-hour rehearsals every day, in full costume. It's gonna be a long week.

Someone (who I am now convinced is a member of my karass) just came back into my life, and while this is a good thing, the timing involved on scares me on a few different levels. There are just a couple too many "coincidences" for me to be completely comfortable. I'm not saying that there's some sort of huge plot, just that the specifics match up bizarrely well.

I am insecure. I feel depressed. My suburn is peeling, I feel grotesque. I sit listening to dark sad music by artists such as Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, The Talking Heads, Depeche Mode, Moxy Früvous, Stone Sour, and Everclear. I lie in my bed, reading select passages from High Fidelity and I leave my glasses off. I fester in my own discomfort, because I haven't got the energy to change.

We were a ragtag bunch: five from ETHS, one from Higland Park High, three from Rockford Lutheran, and yours truly. I had 9-10 hours on the road to get to know the ones I hadn't met before, and by the time we arrived, we were all pretty tight. The location was absolutely beautiful. Set on a large hill in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania, there were terraced fields with woods at the top and a large pavilion with a fireplace... It was as if I had arrived in a sort of Ultimate Frisbee Eden. We set off into our games with loads of enthusiasm. While we didn't end up winning any of our games, we all had fun, and ended each game with quickl made-up cheers for the other team, including an adaptation of "Breakfast at Tiffany's": "And I said what about Ultimate Frisbee/She said I think I remember the game/And as I recall I think we both kinda liked it/And I said well that's one thing we've got". There also many zany antics, such as when Sam picked Biz up and dropped her into a sizeable mud puddle, and she jumped up and chased him around and back into said puddle, and then there was the impromptu human pyramid that we actually managed to complete. As a result of our pep, graceful sportsmanship, and the fact that we just totally rock, we were unanimously rated to win the Spirit of the Game award, which just happened to be the biggest trophy they had. ^_^ There were only two real downers to the trip. First, I was stupid and allowed myself to get a moderately nasty sunburn, and second, some small group for players snuck out to the rope course on the camp's property and vandalized the living daylights out of it. Ropes were cut, furniture was thrown, the works. And, since noone had the cojones to take responsibility for their actions, everyone had to chip in to pay for damages, and we most likely won't be able to HAVE a tournament there next year. Grr. But, overall, I had a great time, and I wish all the best to Sam, Greg, Drake, Val, Phil, Biz, Dan, Grant, and Chris, otherwise known as Team ILL. ICE COLD!!!

Tomorrow morning, seven of my compatriots and I will climb into our vehicles and journey across four states to the Know-Swill 2004 Ultimate Frisbee juniors tournament in Ligonier, PA. For those of you that need thing to occupy your time this weekend, you can check live scoring from the website linked to above. Go ETHS!!!

The frisbee sped through the air, spinning forward, as both my defender and I moved in to intercept it. But as we neared our point of reception, it started slipping and veered right-- just behind us. I ground my feet to a halt, twisted around to my right, and caught the disc with my left hand behind my back, and landed on my right hand, propping myself up with my back arched in the air. Booya.

A comment from my old site has prompted me to write this request, to you, my readers: If you're going to rail angrily against me, contradict everything I opined, and tell me that you "don't think that my scenario is very well worked out", then please, at least back up your OWN argument so I can explain my side of the argument more clearly. Simply saying "you're wrong and I'm right" doesn't leave me with a whole lot to work with except a not-so-favorable opinion of you. Thank you for your time.

Kinda bummed and not thinking clearly, so I dredged up some depressing poetry from my archives for your edification. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Random tears come cascading down My face, flowing fast, with no sound Except that of my whimp'ring voice Moaning, not from some conscious choice But from some inner unknown cause That racks my body without pause And makes me think of my old dreams Of darkened sunlight, casting beams Of shadow, ice cold, and lifeless 'Til weak and frightened, I confess Sin after sin, thus exposing My heart and my decomposing Soul that rots from such base misuse And I scream for someone to loose This harsh foul spiritual chain That binds me close to all the pain That I have long inflicted on So many that by now have gone Before me out into the great Unfathomable plane where hate And love no longer need compete For those that live there are complete But I can only pour out my Tears and hoarsely beg to know why I have forever been denied But noone answers; I have tried Time and again, but now the deep Emptiness calls me down to sleep To dream again of those places Where pain mars not people's faces But polishes their gleaming eyes As they bask in their paradise.

So, this is my new place. I like it. I like it a lot. Kudos to the Tucows Blogware crew, great interface. I've only encountered one thing that tripped me up, which was quickly and easily explained to me by Joey, who also said he'd look into tweaking the interface so it wouldn't be a problem in the future. Now the only problem left is filling the space. I'm only using a miniscule fraction of the space I have alloted. I think I'm going to need to get busy with my camera. ^_^

"I come from a lost generation and am comfortable only in the company of others who are lost and lonely."

Umberto Eco, Foucault's Pendulum

This book is really amazingly incredible. It also totally kicks The DaVinci Code's derrière. The relationship between the two books is like the relationship between John and Jim Belushi. John was a genius, and did amazing things. Jim tries to be John and sucks at it. Foucault not only has a great storyline and well-built characters, but Eco actually did his research and got his facts straight. Dan Brown quite probably did some research... but not nearly enough. It makes so much difference.

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Always listen to the experts. They'll tell you what can't be done, and why. Then do it.

-Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love

Driving on one's own can be quite relaxing. Now, I could just be feeling that way because until quite recently, I had to drive with someone in the seat next to me, scrutinizing my performance, and I'm just experiencing the absense of supervision. But I feel that something about having the actions of your body having different reactions, and merging with the vehicle has a slight inherent rush to it. You are no longer just a human, you become a part of the car, and each twitch of your extremities makes a difference. Or, perhaps more to the point, the car becomes a part of you. (For my parent's sake, I'd like to point out that I am not enthusing over a power trip, just noting how a car can provide some escape from oneself's restrictions.)

I know I need to wite stuff in here, but, for the moment at least, I'm having trouble finding words to express myself. I'll post more when inspiration hits.

Having the phone wake you up only to find that the caller is an automated telemarketing message is NOT the best way to start off your morning.

I've been in a kind of Purgatorial state recently. The daily routine things I do are emotionally exhausting for some reason, and as much as I'd like to break the cycle and branch out, I'm having trouble mustering the energy. So I end up in a drab grey, nothing actively wrong but not being able to achieve the good.

w00t.

Got my driver's license this morning. The picture's not too dorky. Feeling good.

Thanks ever so much to everyone who contributed towards my 25 hours of accompanied driving time, and I know it felt like 50, but thanks for sticking with me.

I've recently found a couple old CDs that I used to love years ago, Emotional Rollercoaster and Be Political, Not Polite. Ron Romanovsky and Paul Phillips wrote and recorded these albums in the late 80's-early 90's, and they are still as captivating and relevant now as they were then and when I first listened to them in the mid-90's (and kept on listening. They're fairly worn now). These albums are a constant testament to the undying determination of these men to stand up for their sexual identity, their rights, and HIV/AIDS awareness. This emphasis is present throughout the albums. While specific songs have their own moods, from humorous ("Oh No, I'm In Love...," "Tango Indigesto") to melancholy ("Red Moon Over Boston," "When I Look Into Your Eyes"), many of the tracks are primarily political, with rousing choruses such as "No False Hope" and "Be On The Safe Side," and some that come as blunt as a hammer, such as "The Sodomy Song." And, just as important as the messages these songs convey, it's just plain good music. With well-crafted vocal harmonies, various instrumental accompaniments and well-written lyrics ("Now I try to learn to call you my ex-lover/But how do you ex-love someone?"), these are albums that deserve a place in the collection of any music lover who isn't scared to be vocal about their support of gay and lesbian rights and lifestyles.

Human beings are so woefully inadequate to the expectations that are put upon us-- even though we are the ones that set those expectations.

Joy, beauty, and happiness are all ways of forgetting all the other stupid crap we're dealing with. Ignorance is bliss.

The cost of individuality is loneliness. Because we are all different, there is noone exactly like you, and you are alone in yourself. The path out of loneliness is recognition that that which makes us different is also what we have in common. Because we are ALL unique, what makes us different also makes us the same.

There's a page in my copy of Zen Comics that has amused me since I was little. The comic tells the story of four monks who went into a temple to observe a three-day silent fast. On the first two days, everything went smoothly. On the third day, however, the first monk asked one of the others to light a lamp. The second replied, "Ssh! We're supposed to be silent!" The third then rebuked the second, saying, "Fool! Why did YOU say anything?" The fourth, quite pleased with himself, said, "Look at you three! I'm the only one who didn't say anything!" Well, I'm not taking three days, but tomorrow I am observing the GLSEN Day of Silence, hoping that in doing so I can show solidarity with my gay, lesbian, transgendered, and bisexual sisters and brothers who do not have the wonderfully supportive environment that I do. So please, to make my task a little simpler, please don't phone me tomorrow. ^_^

Listening to The Miserable Offenders, and realizing how much I miss singing.

There's a guy who lives a couple blocks down from here in a dead-end alleyway. I'd often pass him at his usual panhandling spot in front of the little sushi restaurant down on Oak street. He's a nice guy, I've chatted with him a couple times, and given him change when I've had it. It made me feel good for doing A Good Thing, and it seemed to cheer him up to have the money and conversation. Anyway, one night a few months ago, a buddy of mine from work, a regular smoker, had just been diagnosed wth lung cancer, and the prospects didn't look good. As a result, I was in a pretty depressed mood when I passed by the sushi house on my way home that evening. "Hey man, what's wrong?" The panhandler was looking at me quizzically, with his head cocked to one side. Wearily, I half waved my arm at him and mumbled something about not having any change, and kept walking. He wouldn't have any of that, though. He came up right alongside me and put his hand on my shoulder. "No, man, I mean you. What's wrong? You look like you ought to be in bed." I tried to find the words to tell him that I really didn't want to go over it, especially not with him-- but then I realized that I deperately did, that I needed to unburden myself, and that I couldn't to my friends or co-workers or family because they all knew too much backstory, and that made it too complicated, and I looked over into his face, his dirty, bedraggled, wanly smiling face, and he already knew. He nodded, then patted my shoulder and said, "Nothing can bring you peace but yourself." I just stood there, staring blankly, as he walked to his perch and went back to holding out a paper cup at the passerby. I watched for a minute, then numbly walked home and collapsed on the bed, stretched out with my eyes wide open, and remained that way until morning.

I still pass by him on my daily commute, still comment on what kind of year the Red Sox are having, still drop change into his paper cup. The difference is, now there's a smile in his eyes, recognizing the good work he's done in me. I no longer see him as an object of my charity. He's a friend, and a connection and bond in an uncertain world.

(Insightful quote courtesy of my somewhat distant relation, Ralph Waldo Emerson.)

By now, I'm home, and (mostly) set in my normal routine, which now, I am happy to say, involves a Dance Dance Revolution set in the basement. A couple of rounds on the dance mats every day is fun and good exercise. The game actually has a "Workout Mode", but I'm sweating enough in the standard game, and I'm too scared to try. Anyway, It's good to be home, and I'm gonna start doing some more creative writing in here again, probably some third-person narrative prose, maybe some verse here and there.

Tunes: "Long-Forgotten Fairytale", The Magnetic Fields.