Yesterday I went over my budget by $6.46. This was due to a session at Jimmy's Woodlawn Tap. Today though, it was 10 cent coffee day at the student-run coffee shop so I spent a measly 20 cents!

Is this getting boring yet?

Elise captured this douche taking advantage of the warm weather to give his flip flops one more trip around the block. Worse, UofC students were doing the same thing! What's up Chicago? Francey, please confirm that New Yorkers do not have the same, near pathological obsession with sandals. It's no wonder they call this the "second city."

My plan to record random thoughts didn't work out so well (i.e. I forgot that plan). Here's what I have for today:

2:07 AM - Forbidden word list 2006: "uber-" as a prefix
7:30 PM - Trying to figure out what to do. 7:30 pm Nov 28. Go get cigarettes. Drink tea. Read Kracauer.

I did get cigarettes. I was within my budget to get them and it was good that I did, because I managed to snag the elusive 2 for 1 camel lights. My new budget is $20/day. I don't think it should be that difficult, should it? Here's my spending journal for today:

Coffee at Third World Cafe - 1.60
Laundry - 4.00
Coffee at school - 0.75
Grapefruit Soda - 0.85
Copying - 6.00 (ouch)
Cigarettes - 6.46

Total - 19.66

Not bad, but this doesn't count the money spent on the groceries I consumed today though (roughly 6 dollars worth) We'll see how this works out.

Here's a picture of me giving thanks on Friday.

Here's me just doing some Sunday reading at that place called filter. And then ...

STYLE BITER! Got you on my radar, man. That's okay, Chicago, I'm just going to have to step up my game a little bit. (You have to enlarge the picture of me to catch the subleties of the style-biting.)

Last week was perhaps the worst work week yet. Turns out that my digital camera and palm pilot (aka alarm clock) also got stolen. Who knows, maybe my identity was also stolen? They can have it as far as I'm concerned. So I've been basically walking around cursing under my breath and generally feeling like shit. At the deepest darkest moments I was thinking about: A) How nothing good has happened to me since I got here, and B)Planning out alternative futures that don't involve living in communities of freshmen, really really smart people, and houserobbers.

That being said things have started to brighten a little bit. I found a studio apartment to move into in January. It's spacious and hardwooded and has some nice architectural flourishes. Plus, it's on the third floor, so there's little chance of milk crates being stacked up to allow easy entry through my windows.

This Friday featured some highlights that involve being insulted by some boring graduate students who were making specious historical claims about the history of cinema (too boring to go into).This was promptly followed by a hoodwink that parted Matt and I from five dollars each. George and his "sister" Velma told us a few whoppers. These stories involved:
1) A fictious "cancer walk" on Sunday (that's where the $5 went).
2)George working at the Pizza Hut at the cafeteria on campus (there is no Pizza Hut on campus)
3)A promise to roll us a "nice joint" (revealed, hours later, to be tabacco)
*After this George went for broke, stretching the time space continuum as it relates to white people believing whatever black people tell them.
4)A claim that Velma once weighed 235lbs. This woman, was five feet nothing and probably 135lbs tops.
5)A promise that George would meet me at the bar on Tuesday to play chess and talk about cunnilingus. He even offered, unsolicited, a phone number written on a Zig Zag package. I called it but it was disconnected.

While I woke up the next morning with the feeling that I'd been had, I did grow to appreciate the care he took to construct his elaborate lies. I mean, after we gave him our money he didn't have to hang out with us and try to pick up chicks for me. So no harm done really (although I shouldn't have bought them 2 rounds of drinks).

On Saturday I went to see Jesus is Magic (so-so) and then Elise and I went to meet some friends at an art opening. Turns out it was a huge party in a huge run-down house/art-space. It was packed and there were tons of people there. It was basically the best part of Chicago I've seen so far. I forgot my hangover immediately and dipped into the Pabst. Then it got shut down by the cops. Oh well. Here's a blurry pic of just one of the many rooms in the house.

See y'all soon.

N

For fuck's sake I just got fucking robbed.

I went to see Ang Lee's new gay cowboy movie "Brokeback Mountain" and when I got home the overhead light was on and the window was wide open. I looked around, but everything of value seemed to be in place. The printer and stereo were pretty much the only valuable things there, aside from extra (emergency) cash I keep hidden here and there. Turns out, they only stole my winter jacket. OH MY FUCK. I just feel so fucking defeated right now. I'm very much resigned to the fact that my life and belongings are vulnerable to violation and destruction at any time. I accept this in theory . . .

So it's been about an hour post-theft (or post-realization to theft) and here's what I have to say:

a) I will miss my coat. It was an amazing color and fit and it had a great collar that made me look tough. Plus it went nicely with my scarf.

b) Someone broke into my room and took the time to find the lightswitch and turn it on. They left everything with any resale value whatsover and took the most useful thing to them, a coat that I paid $15 for at the Niagara Falls Value Village. Here I am, whiteboy from Canada hoarding not two, but three winter coats. In a just economy, I deserve this. However, if I see a dude wearing my coat I am going to offer him my older, but much warmer other coat and ten dollars. I tell you what.

N

This is what you call a Graeme Metcalf special. The bagel broiler melt.

This weekend was pretty good. This'll be a big post, so you better grab a chair and a coffee or something.

I took a much needed break from Hyde Park and headed up to Elise's house to "housesit" for her while she was away. I got there around 9:30 pm on Friday night and proceeded to drink all of the beer in the fridge. My records are at Elise's as well (no room for them where I live) so it was just like old times. Elise kindly left me her bike lock key, so I decided to take a cruise down to the Rainbow Room at around midnight or so by myself. I was standing around stupidly for awhile. I don't really mind going to places by myself, I like "taking in the scene" as it where. I just don't like the idea that I might look like a dink or a weirdo just standing around not knowing anybody. Thankfully, Ashley et al. (new chicago friends) showed up to rescue me from my solitary reverie and all was good. I even felt sort of like an established chicagoan: go to a bar, run into friends, whatever.

Elise lives in Humboldt Park, a big Puerto Rican neighbourhood. Thankfully, there's also white people restaurants there too. I went to one called Flying Saucer (or maybe just "Saucer," The Flying Saucer restaurant is in Niagara Falls) and sat at the counter (loving the counter these days) After lazing around for awhile, I rode down to the Wicker Park area to go to the record store (scored: 2nd Rubinoos record, JSBX's Orange [lost the cd so long ago now], and the Toronto LP with "Your Daddy Don't Know on it) and then for coffee. The place I went for coffee, Filter, is sort of a running joke in Chicago circles. It's at the hub of Wicker Park (Damen, Division, Milwaukee intersection) and people hang out there and work and read and talk. Everyone--EVERYONE--is scoping everyone else out all the time though. Everyone's a craigslist missed connection entry waiting to happen. And basically, people come in from other neighbourhoods to do work there. The big lie is that you're just kind of hanging out at the coffee shop like it ain't no thang, but in reality you've travelled 40 minutes by transit to get to the good ol' "neighbourhood" cafe. So needless to say I felt kind of like a cliche by going there to do "schoolwork," but I don't give a shit.

After that, I went back to Elise's and got a pizza and watched the Laguna Beach marathon. So I'm basically totally caught up now I think. Thank god Trey could come back, revive Active Young America (a NON FOR PROFIT ORGANIZATION), and pull together a fashion show for all the Landslide "victims" huh? What, no one has insurance? If you want to know why so-called "natural disasters" happen in places like Orange County, you should check out some Mike Davis book that I forget the name of right now (all these disasters are totally man-made). Anyway, my favorite character in the show is Talan. I like his posture and he seems genuine. Also, for anyone doing a reality TV history/geneaology: What was the first reality tv show to use shot/reverse shot?

Saturday I was amped to see the Deadly Snakes show. It was super fun and they drew a big crowd. Andre and I caught each other up on some Toronto gossip, which was nice. He admitted missing Toronto, and I was like, "I feel for you man, but I'm here for 5 years." I don't even want to talk about this dead body/torso thing in Parkdale. Umm, so I drank a lot of Old Style and smoked a lot of Camel Lights and then we went to some guy from The Ponys house for some more booze and stuff. It was good times -- SOO much better than hanging out with grad students... or at least a nice change, grad students aren't that bad. So yeah, that was fun. I even talked to Max and he didn't try to stab me. We went for breakfast at Bite (beside the empty bottle).Chad was still drunk and admitted that he is gay. They headed off to Minneapolis and for a minute I wished I was in a touring rock band.

I should have left Elise's house to head back to Hyde Park earlier than I did, but I got sucked in by Bring It On, on the USA network (which, notably, will bleep out "shit," but not "fag" at 4pm on a Sunday afternoon).

So there you have it.

Also, I booked my flight tonight. I fly into Buffalo on December 8 at 8:30pm.

N

Stay tuned. Don't leave me. I'm coming back. Just don't feel very loquacious right now. Here are some favorite things:

-Getting 2 for 1 camel lights ALL THE TIME (It's a string of good luck, I think. Store owners get only one 2 for 1 pack per carton.)
-Daft Punk remixes
-Rajun Cajun, an indian + soul food restaurant on 53rd St. They've got fried chicken and biscuits right next to the butter
chicken and sag paneer.
-Hyde Park records
-Deadly Snakes playing here on Saturday
-Salonica (diner) on Sunday with Times (I go earlier and earlier)
-Text messaging
-Laguna Beach

Shit List:
-Third World Cafe, the worst but only non-starbucks, non-campus coffee place. There's a good place called Istria, but it's too
far. Third World always plays the worst music (like fucking Macy Gray or some bad folky "world" shit), has the worst lighting,
and what's with the name?
-Bike got stolen on Halloween.
-The Weatherman. So fucking shitty.
-Laguna Beach

Words added to my text messaging T9 memory recently:

Gnarly
Laguna
Cabo
Alba
fuck
xiu

This is turning into the blog of 17 year old girl.

N

I can't stay, I have a dozen fish to fry, I'm firing on all cylinders, and stirring many pots -- all this just to get my ducks in a row.

I want to tell you though about my brother's new blog. It's good. Check out the link on the right hand side of the page here. I'm hoping he keeps it up. The Holmes' are truly setting up a nice little corner of real estate for themselves in the "blogosphere." Watch out, bitches.

Here's another announcement from the wonderful people at International Affairs:

The 2005 International Thanksgiving Homestay Program
Wednesday, November 23 - Sunday, November 27, 2005
In cooperation with The International House of Chicago

International Thanksgiving Homestay Program is a four-day Thanksgiving holiday trip that arranges for international students to join an American family as they celebrate the U.S.’s oldest traditional holiday. This is a unique opportunity to experience American family life first-hand over the course of the holiday weekend. International students will be guests of an American host family in one of the six participating Illinois communities: Geneseo, Morrison, Paris, Prophetstown, Rockford, and Sterling-Rock Fall.

If you're in a bad mood, I suggest Motorhead. Even if you're in a good mood actually. They're like the Misfits, you don't have to be totally metal or punk or anything to get into them. They have a diverse appeal.

Today, a little thing called "student loans" reared its ugly head again. CIBC epitomizes the corruptions of capitalism, I swear. They make so much money off the backs of people who basically have little to dispense with. I'm not trying to claim that I'm in same ranks of oppression as maquiadoras or whatever, but FUCK!

Xiu Xiu was retarded. I guess some people liked it, but... I had to leave because the people I was with kept on laughing through the really quiet emotional parts.

I don't really have anything to say, I guess. This post isn't the "meatiest."

I just found out that Death From Above 1979 cover La Peste's "Better off Dead" on their new remix album. Such a good song. Jesse (different guy) and I used to have a radio show in St. Catharines and we played it quite a bit. For some reason it's a song that seems like it would have given me nightmares as a kid, or rather I feel like it's the song that DID give me nightmares, like I'd heard it or before (though I never would have heard it). It reminds me of the kind of punk that was something on the news, something dangeous, to do with "bad guys" (all kinds of early 80s tv shows like "Quincy" and "Chips" used punk rockers as bad guys). Not New York or London punk, just total American danger punk. The first time "punk" ever crossed my lips was when I was riding in the car with my mom. I pointed to an alley and said, "Mom, that's where punks hang out."

This was the best a google image search on "gay clothing" could come up with.

I spent all of Monday and Tuesday in my room finishing a paper. I left only for food and coffee. It was no big deal, I missed two classes. I'm worried about my "virtual identity" consuming too much of my time. But what the fuck am I supposed to do? I'd rather talk to Tobin or my brother on Skype than anybody here.

Tonight I went downtown to hear a talk about silent fillm sound. I know, it seems ridiculous to anyone who isn't a film historian. (silent films did in fact have sound, mostly in the form of musical accompaniment - and even, for a short time, actors performing lines from behind the screen) The talk was interesting enough, kind of specialized though and didn't have too much of a general kind of appeal re: broader ideas about film and society. I don't mind that. What struck me though was that I don't think anyone found the title "silent film sound" kind of funny. Funny in that if I told an average person that I was going to a lecture on silent film sound it'd be almost the same thing as saying, "Yeah, I'm going to a lecture on prehistoric novels." And then I got that familiar what-am-I-doing-here feeling, where I feel kind of out-of-place but at the same time recognizing that this is the place I chose.

The best part of the night was just being downtown. Chicago is incredible at night, I just wish there was more to do there, or that I had a purpose for being there more often. I almost got run over by a cop on a Segway though!

Xiu Xiu is playing on campus tomorrow night for 3 bucks. I think I'll go.

yours,

N

I usually hate it when people tell me their dreams but who cares, this is my blog and I can do what I want.

My last dream was that I accompany my new girlfriend, a model, to the rehearsal for a broadway show she’s performing in called Cequitur. Seeing me at the rehearsal, one of the producers, actually my old neighbour, asks me to co-star and I agree. It’s opening night all of the sudden and backstage, I realize that I don’t have any idea what my lines are and how I’m supposed to block myself. Starting to freak out, I tell the producers, who are standing stageside, looking out at the sold out audience, and they’re like, “Don’t worry about it, Nathan.” Suddenly I realize that they’re using me to kill the show (you know, kind of like The Producers, duh). THEY’RE USING ME TO KILL THE SHOW! I run around back-stage looking for my model girlfriend, the star, to tell her, all the while yelling, “THEY’RE USING ME TO KILL THE SHOW!” I tell my model, and she’s like, “Okay, well let’s get out of here then.” We run out of the theatre, but have somehow raised the ire of the rest of the cast who, for some reason, aren’t mad at the producers,but at us for ruining the show that would make them stars. Holding hands with my girl we start running across a huge open field. Looking back, we see behind us on the horizon that the cast has swelled to thousands somehow, like those scenes in Braveheart, and they’re chasing us. Then I wake up. This dream really put me in a good mood.