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