Yeah yeah, I know I've gotten out of the blogging groove. It's not intentional, exactly -- part of it is boredom, sort of, and another small part has to do with what The Universe sent me today:


So yeah, I'm kind of in mourning, sort of. Not like the-curled-up- on-the-couch-unshowered-and-convinced-that-my-house-is-bugged kind of mourning I'm prone to. It's more like the horrible dread you feel when something or someone you've loved and respected for so long disappoints you for the last time, and with that final action you can't go back to the way it was no matter what. You're not sure what's worse -- the hurt over the action, or the anger over thinking that you had something to do with it even though it wasn't your fault and never was, but yet you've still got this feeling inside your head that maybe if you just did something different, it wouldn't be like this. Doesn't make for real interesting conversation, that, as Snidge can attest.

But I AM having fun feeding my iPod -- just gave it some Barenaked Ladies and The Police.

Prolly not, but here it is if you're interested: Lookit

Other than checking it, I won't blogging there or anything because I have this blog, and there's no sense in reinventing the wheel. Truth be told, I'm not even really a fan of MySpace because I think the format is uglier than shit. I got on there, though, for two reasons: 1) I slapped together a basic page for my band pals Bite the Lime, and 2) my baby sister said I should because that's where her social life is. And I have other NWI band friends who I wanted to support, so I guess that means I now have three reasons to be on there. Anyway, there it is. It's not pretty at all, but it works.

In my e-mail today:

The new machines apparently don't interface well with the old machines, so all the totals need to be hand-tallied is the word coming out of the guvmint center. And all I can think to myself is, "Y'all couldn't have tested this shit BEFORE THE PRIMARY, MAYBE!?? Just a thought." Dumbasses. So now, the paper will have to spend another entire issue devoted to results, which is, like, whatever.

All I covered tonight was school board stuff, which was fine because it was my last official story on the one school board I covered with regularity. And since I refuse tono longer cover them, I feel no compunction in saying that today was a sad, sad day in Highland, because the town just reelected the man who was in no small part responsible for running the district into the ground. No small wonder since he spent the last 3 1/2 years bad-mouthing all the efforts of the current board, of course, but that's how they roll over there. This is not to say that the current board was puppies and sunshine; it handled things very badly, especially in the beginning of its tenure -- the proverbial bulls in a china shop, if you will. And I'll be the first to admit that bought into the hype put forth by the old guard. But then I saw the financials of the board on which the guy who was reelected sat -- the shoddy record-keeping, the allowing the assistant superintendent to take off for ISBA business that just happened to coincide with her daughter's college basketball games, the way he and his former board members fought so hard for LIFETIME INSURANCE BENEFITS from the school town for elected positions that they don't even pay into, the insane attorney fees with an attorney that didn't have a contract with the school board -- and I learned real quick that thpugh the new board might not be the most charismatic and touchy-feely, it had a lot of cleaning up to do. And anyways, I'm sure the old guard would've been crabby, too, if every one of THEIR meetings turned into an ugly spectacle like they made the the current board's for 3 1/2 years. Point is, I will continue to tell all my friends with school-age kidlets that they need to get the hell out of dodge before the kidlets get to middle school.

[And as a sidenote to Mr. Jackass Attorney who accused me of impartiality when covering the board debates and most likely the board as a whole over the last 3 1/2 years a couple weeks ago, I have this to say: Contrary to popular belief, reporters unequivocally do have opinions about the things they cover; if they say they don't, they're lying, myself included. The true craft of being a reporter, however, is to be able to report the facts no matter how infuriating, nauseating and offensive those facts may be to you, and I will be happy to sit down with you to go over every single story I've ever written on the School Board and compare them to every single minute of meeting tape to show you just how impartial I was. Name the date and time, and I'll be there, though I don't expect you really would because I know you were just lashing out after I asked you if you were bankrolling the one candidate. But the offer stands, my friend.]

Anyway.

My 'hood is now infested with stupid people who yell and scream like morons all the time. Most of the time, it's celebratory yelling and screaming, but I expect the "You done me wrong, Cletus, and now I'm going to throw the toaster at yew" yelling and screaming to commence at any time.

You know how I've talked about music making me all weepy, especially depending on the time of the month!?? Apparently, it happens at art unveilings, too. I was at the Lubeznik Center for Art in Michigan City earlier covering the unveiling of the new South Shore Poster, of which I happen to have a small collection, and when the blanket came off, I literally gasped and started tearing up. I know, right? What a goon. Anyway, it's entitled "Power," and it's an Art Deco depiction of these guys hand-powering a turbine at the MC generating station done in blues, purples and pinks. Just breathtaking, especially if you're a closet gearhead who kinda gets turned on by big industrial equipment. AND it'll work in my bedroom, which has yet to be decorated after eight years of living here. Just got to make sure I flatten out my copy where les chats can't sit-walk-otherwise destroy it.

Have any of y'all been watching Nashville Star? Did you know that a Region Rat, Nicole Jamrose, has cracked the Top 4? She flew in for a charity concert at her former high school tonight, and I covered it.

Now, I'm not a country fan by any stretch, but this girl!?? Is the shit, man. She got the looks, the talent, AND even though she may be in your typical NWI bar band, Nick Danger, she doesn't pick the usual covers, instead opting for Lucinda Williams and Susan Tedeschi, which can I say thank GOD!?? And I know her husband; I've chatted with him about cop stuff because he's a County Mountie.

Anyway, because I threw my ol' press pass on, I got pretty much unfettered access to the floor, and here are my pics. If she makes it, then you could say you saw her balancing on the cusp of greatness here first.

Wow, so there really were no takers to my posting my inanimate wang collection. Huh. Am I losing my street cred, here? Because jeez, if inanimate wangs can't get y'all back, I don't know what can.

How about this:

I mean, it exposes the real truth about the Easter Bunny, right?

Lookit

Talked to my sister earlier, and she told me two things: 1) that our friend Opie and his darling little girlfriend are engaged, which is like the awesomest thing EVER, and 2) that a mutual, very heterosexual male acquaintance of ours (who's NOT this idiot) has been WEARING MASCARA, or at least has in the last 12 months. In public. What makes this uproariously funny is that if you were going to think about some dude wearing mascara, this guy would so. NOT. be. it. God, I hope I don't run into the poor bastard, because I'm not sure I'll be able to walk away without seriously making fun of him.

Picked up my thank-you gift for watching the animals from Poppy and her husband earlier. One of the gifts was a t-shirt from the famous Senor Frog's. The other you'll find pictured below.

Couldn't happen to a skinnier, nastier bitch: Lookit

to fill up my fucking gas tank. That ain't right.

Ain't nothing like using the anticipated hope of looking good as revenge while pedaling one's bike; I did the trail part Poppy and I did before she left on vay-kay today, and I didn't stop once to take a breather or rest my legs. I won't be able to walk tomorrow, but I'll have done my body good at least. (I've been reading Pop's copy of that book by the Oprah doctor, and it says you need to put in an hour of exercise a week to keep healthy; anything above and beyond is really superfluous and possibly harmful, to which I'm like, "See!?? Bet y'all with your six pack abs feel like a buncha suckers now.")

Did I mention that I'm going to the Madonna concert June 15? No? B-Dubs got tickets ... for BFKAS, himself and me, plus two other people. (SC can't go because she'll be on vay-kay with her fam.) Yep, I'm going to see Madonna with the bio-fam -- ain't THAT some shit? No, I'm not the hugest Madonna fan in the world. In fact, even when I did like her 20 years ago, I absolutely hated some of her songs ("La Isla Bonita" and "Cherish," anyone? Ew.) Love her or hate her, though, she IS a legend, and I guess for that alone it'll be fun to see.

The problem is, I told Mother about it, and she's already gotten it into her head that because I'm going with them to ONE THING, I've become one of them and have forgotten who raised me, etc. etc. etc., never mind that I got to hear yet aGAIN the story about how she went to meet BFKAS shortly after I first met her, but Dad didn't want to go. (In the interest of proving how either I must have nerves of steel or my drugs are devil good, I should really start a chart mapping out how many times I hear these things over the course of a month just to show I'm not kidding.) You know, it's like what I suspect about how SC feels about me and my relationship with them: Just because I may have some sort of thing with these people, whatever it is will NEVER be the same as what I have with my family or what SC has with the bio-fam, so what's the problem? I mean, anyone who's in my inner circle knows that I'm about as inclusive as they come -- my friends are your friends, we're all one big, happy family and all that rot. In fact, I used to imagine my wedding at Marquette Park's Bath House (when I thought I actually wanted a wedding) as one where real fam and bio-fam alike were there celebrating the day with me, but yet I've got Mother who thinks I'm going to get stolen away by those people and SC who (I think) thinks I have designs on stealing her family away. I don't get it. And it's not like I can reassure anyone of my intentions, because they're going to think what they're going to think, and I've long ago given up the notion that I have any sort of sway when Mother gets a bat in her belfry. It's like a dog with a bone, man.

In other news, the Monte Carlo showed up the other day, running perfectly as far as I could tell. The apartment building the offender lives in, however, now has a crib up for rent, so I wonder if this means Homie had to put all his money into getting his car out of hock. That'll learn ya to leave your shit unattended on the street, though, won't it, motherfucker!??

Poppy and her hub are on vay-kay in Cancun, so I've been babysitting her menagerie, including the ferrets, Stushdon and Shnockies (I think, or that might be the other ferret she had). And I gotta tell you, if they didn't reek to high heaven, ferrets are a pretty good time. I let them run around in their room, and they chirped and wiggled and tussled and tried to get in the leg of my yoga pants. Good times on a Friday night.

Their one dog, on the other hand, hasn't been as easy. He's an old guy with bad hips, and once you let him out, it's a crapshoot whether you'll be able to get him back up the stairs. Last night was one of those nights, and after about 45 minutes, I decided I'd leave him on the stoop between the upstair and downstairs, thinking he'd be so exhausted he'd just hang out there for the night. He didn't, of course, so Hub's mom called me in a panic this morning because she in all her 100-pound soaking wet glory couldn't get him upstairs to go outside. We eventually got him up and out, but I left him in the house tonight when I went over there. If Hub's mom doesn't hate me for this morning, I'm sure she will if she walks in to a house full of dog crap.

But you know what I noticed last night? Even though I yelled at the poor bastard once thinking that might startle him into moving, my patience never waivered into DefCon territory. I'd kinda like to attribute that to Dad, because as we all know, Dad had to be a patient man lest he ended up burying Mother in the backyard, and we also know that I tend to have a rotten temper when I want to. Maybe it's something he left me when he went. Or maybe it's the drugs.

one day, you watch a tow truck dump off a white, later-model Monte Carlo on the street between your apartment building and the one next door, and it just sits there for weeks on end with no one doing anything about it, so you call code enforcement to tag the motherfucker because you're sure as hell not going to let your 'hood turn into the place where people leave their cars to die; it cheapens up where you live, and code enforcement got right on it when you called them last year about the burned out car left on the other street. And then you do a joyful pee-pee dance when a big ol' tow truck -- possibly the repo man -- comes out on a Sunday night to retrieve the dead car, and you think, "I wonder how they knew to come get it!??"

Sometimes, it takes so little.