avoid chainsaws

chainsaws!

There were over 28,500 chain saw injuries in 1999. More than 36 percent were injuries to the legs and knees.

* The average chainsaw injury requires 110 stitches and the average medical cost was $5,600 in 1989. Data according to The Davis Garvin Agency, an insurance underwriter specializing in loggers insurance. In 2000, corresponding costs can be estimated to be over $12,000.
* Medical costs for chainsaw injuries based on these facts amount to about $350 million per year.

--

anyways, I purchased a DVD player for $40 yesterday at Best Buy (actually it'll come out to $30 after I mail in the $10 rebate... see, finance majors, $40 - $10 = $30). I was actually a bit sad to have caved in and gotten one. While I've embraced several aspects of our 21st century technology, I've always kind of liked the fact that I've been given over 40 DVDs in the past couple of years, but have had no system to play them on. Most of them are loaned out, and have been on loan for over two years. I tried to reclaim my copy of From Dusk Till Dawn six months ago from Rick, but he asked "why? did you get a DVD player?" when I said no, he told me that I didn't need it back. I agreed.

It struck me that VHS is dead a few weeks ago when I went into Blockbuster and saw the shit selection they've got left over for VHS. VHS is silently and effectively being killed off. You read it here first. Someone should leak this to the press.

Because my TV was manufactured sometime during 1983 or 1984 I don't have the necessary jacks in the back of the set, and now have to purchase a "RF Modulator". whatever dude.

--

I got a voice mail this morning around 9:40 from my friend Sarah telling me that she had just quit/been fired from her shit job, and that she wanted to chat about it this evening. That sucks, I knew that she hated the job, and from what she told me, the owner was super shady (she and the 5 or 6 other employees were never totally certain that their paychecks would clear), but I still felt kind of bad for her and the news, even though she sounded amused. Our pal Todd emailed me that she got fired "for burning bacon in the company kitchen." Shit. I hope that's true.

Shit! That still sucks. That drops her on the attraction scale a few points. I've wisely been trying to avoid attractive crazy people because I've learned what a foolish endeavor it is. I need a life.

Avoid chainsaws.

calm our dazed heads and discombobled bodies

I've stretched out this adolescent thing for a long time now. Considering that I turned 30 in March, a long time... It can be super fun considering that by all observable measures I've got my shit together, but at times I question how truly directed I am.

On Friday we were allowed to cut out of work at 3:30 due to the holiday weekend. I left at 3pm because I had plans. My boss had a vacant "oh, OK" look on his face when I asked for the early out. Whatever dude, it's a fucking holiday weekend. Go loosen that startch white collar shirt, have a couple martinis and get that deviant head.

I was out because my friend Rick, a 31 year old trader, had scored a stack of $26 tickets to Great America. The park was closed for all CBOT employees, their families and their coke head friends for the evening on discount. I hadn't gone to Great America since I went with my high school girlfriend in 1993. That was a long time ago. I was eager to jump on a few rollercoasters.

Traffic sucked on the ride up. Consider friday afternoon commuter traffic plus holiday weekend gridlock, plus typical asshole Illinois drivers doing 45 mph down the shoulder, and you've got 90 minutes sitting in traffic in what should take 45 minutes.

Finally there, Great America rocked. Rick and I rode up with his high school friend Matt and Pete, a couple other 30 year old adolescents. This can be fun and kind of lame at the same time. Fun in that Matt and Pete insisted that we find beer after the second coaster in order to calm our dazed heads and discombobled bodies, and lame in that both fuckers were high fiving and talking like a pair of 7th grade stroke offs (and saying they didn't want to cockblock) after I talked to some 847 skank in line for "Batman"... whatever dude. Cancel the Maxim magazine subscription... it's definitely not going to help you attempt to understand the fairer sex. Clueless. Anyways, Great America is the shit.

Saturday I returned to Wisconsin to chill. I went over to my friend Bob's place. Bob was a fucking badass back in the day:

(1) he'd slept with 15 girls before any of us had slept with one
(2) he usually had two girlfriends at once, and he'd walk down the school hallway with one while the other would see him and freak out. The girl was never pissed at Bob... always at the other girl
(3) his mom used to leave for the weekend with her boyfriend, and give Bob the keys to the new Baretta and $150 in cash. We'd spend that money on dinner, weed and liquor. Everyone partied at Bob's place every weekend.
(4) he used to walk around with a Marlboro reds box full of joints and hand them out
(5) during the winter he'd skip school 4 days out of 5 to go skiing. he drove a red 1979 camero and used to fill the tank and drive off from the same truck stop everyday.

That was 1989 through 1996.

In 2004, Bob is married with three daughters and his first son on the way. I'm Godfather to the youngest daughter Hailey. Where Bob was for the most part unhappy back in the day (he lost a leg to a motorcycle accident, spent time under house arrest for being an arson suspect, and spent over 100 days in one stretch for a 3rd drunk driving charge), he is content, happy and at peace today.

It's excellent to be his friend now, and we each value the friendship and longevity of the friendship, especially considering that our day to day lives couldn't be more different. Visiting him and seeing his spread plus our conversations occasionally make me question my direction and state of affairs. What can I say? I've got little control over what's really going on, I can only steer it in a favorable direction. At the same time, I'm psyched because I'm close to getting a trackbike, debating a wicked octopus tattoo on my left shoulder and I'm waiting on scoring an insane bag of kind bud in the next couple of days.

In my mind all of this rocks.

buying peace

I've often been fascinated by the speeches given by new millionaires at lottery press conferences. They always say the same thing: "I'm not going to quit my job. Maybe I'll invest it. I'll send my relatives to college... blah blah blah."

If I ever won I would look dead on into the camera and say:

"I am going to use this $180 million on cloning research and I will create a clone army of super warriors with special powers and karate moves to fight in Iraq"

Then I'll do it.

quick to take care of shit

grizzly... I feel like a fucking kodiak... so much piss and vinegar.

The men in my family don't seem to slow down. When my father was around during his 30's and 40's (when I was growing up), I remember him as being "quick to take care of shit." My fuckin dad's a real man, and I aspire to be as well. I think that's why I enjoy manual labor and sweating from work or pushing myself... offices are for pussies. I don't work with any real men.

The men in my family also die young. My grandfather and his brothers all kicked it by 65. My uncle keith is falling apart. Jokingly I asked my dad when he turned 56 this year how he was going to spend his last 5 years... I think he took it seriously. He also recently quit smoking after 40 years sucking poison. He told me a couple weeks ago about a difference in his lung capacity. I was happy for him.

Uncle Keith is fucking insane. He's the chief of police in a small town and runs the place like he was Clint Eastwood, like he thinks he's Clint Eastwood... but then again, he really is. I'm posting two Uncle Keith stories next...

--

Today I saw on my online bank statement that $87 was paid to a company called Prime Benefits. I did not authorize this and have no idea how they got my bank numbers. The bitch of it all is that i'm going to have to close and then re-open a new account. This shit pisses me off and freaks me out. It's this sort of reason why I only allow direct deposit from work and spend the 30 minutes writing out checks and mailing them. Fuckers.

10 short, repetitive looping minutes

weekend passed. weekend past.

friday night I drove to Arlington Heights to hang with Dave. He usually visits the city (and then crashes on my couch and doesn't straighten up when he leaves. I always find pillows everywehere), but Friday I was driving there.

Dave lives in a friend's two bedroom condo by himself. Dave is a lawyer pulling in 60+ hours a week. The place is nice, but sparse. There's no life there at all: the front room has two couches and a table and an enormous wooden TV entertainment center in the middle of the room. The dining room has no table but an ironing board and an unplugged iron. There's like coffee grounds or some shit in the kitchen sink,.. and nothing but mustard, pickles and olives in the refridgerator. Motherfucker DID have ICE in the freezer however.

we went and shot pool at a large joint,.. 12 tables, full bar, full-on sports bar. the people there were typical suburban, yet super weird: lots of chach guys in tight shirts scanning the room to see if you're looking at his woman, and lots of girls in tight clothes (with or without breast implants) skanking on and draping their men with their thick makeup faces. Lots of making out going on. One couple (I admit to looking at the girl: she had nice, defined shoulders and biceps. I like that) were all over each other forever. Like 45 minutes into it I pointed it out to Dave and said "don't you think he would've left with her by now?" Dave said "maybe she's insatiable." If that's the case, holy shit.

We drove back to Dave's with Taco Bell. The fucking entertainment center in the middle of the room was bugging me. So I told Dave he should move it against the wall. He said go ahead. So I pushed the heavy heavy fucker a few feet, flush against the wall and ate. Dave's place bothered me, so I drove home through a hardcore downfall.

Saturday I woke late and straightened the place up. I'd wanted to take in a long ride, so I called mysterios and asked him about meeting me in Hyde Park. I left late and rode it in along the lakefront. We checked out a record store and I got into a chat with a bum on the street who told me a 3 minute story in 10 short, repetitive looping minutes. In summary:

1. He was at a woman's house with his friend, who was fucking the woman's friend in another room.
2. The woman wanted to fuck him, but all he wanted to do was "smoke his pipe."
3. The woman kept talking about fucking him, but all he wanted was to smoke coke.
4. He looked around the room at all the pictures of the woman's kids and man.
5. The woman kept talking sex, so he started to notice her body parts and debated going for it.
6. Finally, he put his pipe down and went for it.
7. Afterwards she told him that she wanted him to be her man.
8. He told her "You already got a man. I shouldn't even be here. If that man see me on the street, he gonna kill me. Y'all ain't worth that."
9. She gave him $10 for getting on her.
10. He told her that he was going to use the $10 to buy crack.

I started to laugh when he told me that she gave him $10. He asked what was so funny and I said "she paid you?" He laughed a bit and said "Yeah, my brother laughed like that when I told him." I said "Yeah, no kidding. Women don't ever pay for that." He laughed and said "I know!" Mysterios was bored, so I gave the bum a couple smokes and went to get some lunch.

We went to 57th Street books and I bought a copy of Batman: The Dark Knight Returns. I've never been into comic books, and I think superheroes are for fags,.. but paging through I could see that the art was continueously interesting, and I've heard the raves about this particular story, so I bought it.

The ride home was an asskicker. Full-on 15 mph head wind the whole way. Fucking took me a good 2 hours to get home (the last 45 minutes of which were in the rain), I walked in soaked and cold. I called E to cancel on going to M the German's party because all I wanted was a ho0t shower and to lay down and read my comic book (no time for foreign women). She kept trying to get me to go, but I was too tired, and besides, M the German isn't interested.

The Batman book rocks.

Sunday I was with my friend Carney and his baby and dog in a dog park. I was vicariously living the full fledged 30 year old adult life. It was domestic and tiring. This is not an original insight: friends who are married or have kids pity their single friends. Is it better to be single? Who knows. I do know that I'm in shape (not fat), I get to do great shit all of the time (no attachments) and I've got my choice of partners (variety). Beyond that is speculation. Who cares.

That night E told me that she and the 10 or so German, Dutch and Czech women were trying to call me to get me to meet them out around midnight. I didn't hear the phone ring because I was either reading Batman or already asleep. I admitted that to her. She told me that I should probably keep that sort of information to myself.

30

this entry is dedicated to my pal EP who turned 30 years old August 23rd .

so EP is 30.

I've known him since we were 11 years old. I walked into homeroom in 6th grade into a new (public) school (after 3 years of bullshit Catholic grade school... the kids in Catholic school were mindless sheltered sheep) and took an open seat next to this nerd with glasses wearing a Panama Jack t-shirt. Like a good natured jerk EP cracked wise on me to some snickering girls... making my first 5 minutes at Milton schools overly uncomfortable.

Through a mutual interest in wrist rocket slingshots, bikes, U2, survival knives, karate moves and air rifles EP and I, along with our friends Sean, Aaron, and BJ spent many an afternoon riding bikes into the woods, listening to U2 and shooting/usually killing small wildlife.

EP was the first of us to get on a girl. He was liked by the ladies early on. The thought of 14 year olds messing around just made me throw up in my mouth. EP was also the first of us to get a real girlfriend that lasted longer than 3 weeks.

EP was an athletic stud. He was a ranked state track and field star before we even left junior high, and attended both the state games as well as the junior olympics.

EP always had a hot girlfriend. I always wanted a shot at his girlfriend of two years - Staci - before he dumped her for the even hotter Michelle. Both girls were knock outs and talented and smart... but Staci was a bit pompous, whereas Michelle was a sweetheart. Years later I made out drunk with Staci at a mainline show. It was awesome.

The year after we graduated, EP and a lot of the crew moved to Madison to either start freshman year or to fuck off. EP and Frank moved up to fuck off. Michelle went to college in another part of the state, dumped EP, started dating an older guy and got knocked up.

EP bounced back by meeting Jacque. I met Jacque a month after he did at a party. She thought we were all insane. Somebody told her that I had a cigarette pack full of joints. That was inaccurate - that was Bob,.. I was the one who could drink an entire case of beer. Jacque was still in high school. Everybody from our graduating class would go to Eric's and get fucked up. It was a fun spot.

The following school year I decided that college was bullshit, that the college I was attending was bullshit, that the fraternity that I had pledged and got into was total bullshit and was full of people that I didn't want to be friends with, that I wanted to be with my hot girlfriend, that I was 19 and that I was going to do what I was going to do, so I dropped out of college and moved to Madison.

The year turned out to be really hard. I was broke, I worked in a gas station, me and the girl quickly drifted apart, I lost weight due to stress and not having any money at all because I was totally cut off, and the year wasn't the fucking youth ass kicking fist fucking drug abusing bruhaha I'd pictured in my naive brains.

EP recalls one mid-spring 45 degree day when I made us each a plate of mac and cheese and we sat on my house deck considering how we had no money, were barely employed, were not in school (rather, were not attending class), and had minimal hope of digging out of the hole. that was fucked up. I don't ever want to be in that spot again.

That fall ('94) EP was living in Frank's house in Janesville (Frank's dad had just passed), I was dumped by hot bitch girlfriend for a 23 year old british wank job (whom I never got to properly meet and/or fuck up) and now living with my parents and working in a warehouse with dudes who were on Huber law (living at the local jailhouse, let out during work hours to stay employed), and Bob was dealing with the loss of his left leg/getting used to a fake one from a motorcycle accident. we dealt with it by remaining heavily medicated at all times. Somehow that spring I got accepted into college and got out. It was an escape... it was my only escape. In fact, if I hadn't escaped, I'd still be there today. Or dead.

In 1995 EP moved to Arizona, and Jacque, myself and a couple other kids drove cross country to see him. We camped throughout Utah and Arizona. It was excellent. It was good to be 21. I've got a fucking great picture of EP and myself at the Grand Canyon. It's that fucking good, bobo.

About five years later EP and Jacque got married. I was the best man. It was an honor. In 2002 we took an epic trip that hasn't been topped and will never be topped. Instead of attending our ten year reunion, EP, Jacque and Tim loaded bikes and bike trailers and took the Amtrak from Chicago to Seattle. From there we biked and camped over 250 miles around the Puget Sound over the course of two weeks with EP's brother Burke. The greatest memories and photos in the entire history of mankind spawned from this trip. Cemented real men.

This year we took yet another epic trip in EP's 1979 Datsun Travette RV with his dog sagan through the mountain ranges of Colorado. It was also a journey of the mind. I couldn't be luckier to have a friend like EP in my life, and still in my life. Some people grow up and suck as adults. EP doesn't suck as an adult, even as a 30 year old adult. EP just turned 30.

happy birthday.

wack

straight up fuckin jack shit.

that's what I've got to say about that.

my weekend was weak... no, pardon that, my weekend was wack. it began with drinking a couple too many beers at rossi's afterwork and then having to handle misterios and his lightweight reaction to too much alcohol plus his inability to control his motor skills. I damn near snapped his neck trying to get him to pass out in a sleeper hold, held face down in the grass in front of work. several tourists watched on. I hope they got a good show for free (bastards).

saturday I remained in a negative mood, not answering my cell all day for anybody... what's wrong with me? why can't I channel all of this energy toward the forces of good? I was on the bike most of the day visiting friends in wicker park and drinking beer. That night my friend C wanted me to go with him to see his brother in law spin at a very weak bar in lakeview. I agreed to go only because I wouldn't have to pay for shit. I allowed it only because C has told me about 8 times that he makes six figures (asshole). his brother in law's set sucked. he should stick with accounting or whatever he does all week.

sunday I met up with my sister to attend a BBQ for her friend's birthday. It was OK. Fighter jets shot past overhead tripping constant SUV car alarms with the shock and the awe. Viva the military!!

went to bed around 9:30 to kill this BS off early (air and show weekend is traditionally a shit-bad deal weekend... this year didn't disappoint).

how this shit goes

I've been slowly realizing something: I am in a constant cycle of trying to keep myself entertained. I don't know what another person's reality is like, but mine seems to based on avoiding boredom (or attachments, for that matter).

The little world that I'd collected and constructed for myself a year ago is completely gone,.. mutated into something else. I'm fucked up and bitter and still sad and bummed. I don't know how to rid myself of it. There doesn't seem to be anything that I can do to lose it, and I sure as fuck haven't been able to talk myself out of it. Maybe I'm disturbed. And I only seem to be stabled when I'm hi. I keep myself surrounded by my friends and connected to whatever is going on in their lives/this year seems to have been very active for all considered. I fucking need personal time to myself. I wonder why I've had to go through what I've had to go through and with the particular people this has been with.

Most everyone seems to have had positive changes in the past year, but the down side, the dark side, has really taken the bite out of some of us. I'm skating down the middle ground.

This is how this shit goes: ride the wave until it crashes the shore.

interesting sounds going on

past time. time past.

I get paid once a month at my job. It fucking pisses me off and fucks fucking everything up all of the time. Motherfuckers! I hate finance people and accountants and anybody who's good at applied math. Yo: pay me once every two weeks just like a regular employer. It's only making it easier for you.

This morning I left my bike unlocked at the bike corral for over 20 minutes. I am a "bonehead".

My friend E told me a terrible story about a life changing shift in her life. It would fuck anyone up, she doesn't deserve it. I feel sorry for her.

I've been listening to Modest Mouse's "The Moon and Antarctica" this week. It's got some interesting sounds going on there. It's like a mix of wilco/flaming lips/fugazi... and an emerging indie band. I was told that the new one with the popular single "float on" isn't as good.

killed brain matter

disorganized.

whoa.

at 30 I'm slowly accepting the fact that I am a closet perfectionist and controlled control freak. My fucking apartment is a mess and has been a mess for over 10 days. Now that the german shepard has left I can clean away the stray hairs and dust bunnies left in my 100 lb bitch's wake.

today I'm dazed and tired from a wasted weekend of wasted dreams, killed brain matter and pickled organs. hard eight. I want to get blazed.

I signed up for an editing course at the university of chicago through work beginning in september. that's going to be super boring.

on saturday I was at a BBQ hosted by a yuppie friend. There were other yuppies in attendance with their offspring. At one point there was a baby corral of seven screamers. I like to go because they only have them once every three months. I get to listen to conversations about selling one condo for another. All of the women are well-dressed and disatisfied/all of the guys are my age and total pussies. It's like being at a party that your parents throw.

Even with money a wife and a kid I wouldn't spend a dime at Pottery Barn Kids. I'd pick up a liesure suit from Baby Phat.

piss and moan

I'm at the tail end of a long, fine summer. On paper it reads great. I got a great bike, I took two solo road trips, I had an excellent week roadtripping through Colorado, camping, being out at night, biking...

I'm still not doing that great. Maybe it's the age, maybe it's the understanding that things don't get better and that you have to just accept it. It's fucked, I've had an entire life of just having to accept it. I've had to swallow a lot of lumps. I don't think that it really does or really will get any better.

I'm feeling pretty fucking hollow. Situations are fucked, I'm still angry and I'm still sad. I've been reflective, I've been aggressive, I've been appropriately mean when necessary, and none of it helps. I've got this sick twisted shit of opinions, ideas and fears in my head that haven't left. I still occasionally have trouble sleeping, and I have difficulty finding inner peace.

Life is all fucked up. I don't want all of the answers to all of the issues, I want comfort and a solid base. I don't have either.

Day to day/Night to night...

girl jealousy manipulations

I got my picture back of crazy samurai fuck... and it's amazing. I'll see if I can figure out how to post it.

Friday was pretty good - we got a late start leaving in two cars because, as I've learned, Ellen and her crew of friends are of average intelligence. They probably all barely got a 20 on their ACTs. Anyways, it took them forever to be ready to leave and then forever to organize which car to leave in, and I'm 100% certain that not one of them can read a map. Not even Fred - their 33 year old friend. When we pulled over for gas, he was no help.

Then we made the mistake of smoking before getting to the beach in Michigan. That turned into a bitch because I had to put together my tent in the dark with 4 dumb girls watching and brainlessly asking if I was doing it right, and Fred being no help and just stupidly watching me do all of the work. Dude, you're a man - you're supposed to try to be in charge and take over the project from me, who's job is to kindly and publicly outwit you and stay in command of all tent building, fire making and wife beating (just kidding). Anyways, I pitched my tent, and then put theirs together. I did 90% of the work - dumb! Finally I got to drink a tapped beer.

The party was great - right on the shore of Lake Michigan with 20 or so tents, a stereo hooked up to an iPod, two kegs running, volleyball, swimming, smoking, tossing the football. I brought the german shepard and she stuck by my side the entire weekend. On saturday night she was voted best of show among the 5 or 6 other dogs in attendance, and I walked her up to an on beach spotlight while 80 people applauded and cheered for her. I think she might have cried.

Later in the evening drunk Ellen decided to play yet another of her junior year in high school calibre girl jealousy manipulations by alternating sitting on my lap (uninvited), to snuggling up to some random guy two seats away. She was doing this for the benefit of me and her friends. I thought that it was super-lame and just plain foolish. It was like Wayne and his ex-girlfriend Stacy in "Wayne's World." It made me consider my actions in front of her thus far... I've never even flirted with a girl in front of her because I know that it would drive her fucking crazy. So, naturally the guy wants to walk up the beach with her and I hear her say "Yeah, I'm going!" (no reaction from Tim). 45 seconds later she comes back and takes a seat saying "I didn't want that anyways."

Lame! Lame Lame Lame!

Look, these fucking mainpulation games won't work on me because I don't want to date you Ellen! In fact, this grade of stupidity is just yet another reason why I just say no. Clue in! AND, if you're going to push it that far, GO ALL THE WAY.

Dumb!

Fucked up... dog at feet... I stared at the fire and wondered how I got into such a lame scenerio. Once again I had to blame Shannon. I wouldn't have even been there if the girl hadn't cracked or at least held up to her promises. We had a fucking home, brat. It was fucking cool and she fucked it all up and now I find myself in these lame scenerios with people who's far from ground breaking ideas of manipulation were figurged out by me and retired by the time I turned 22. I know Shannon's pissed at me that she isn't controlling me because I'm not in the game. THAT is a true test of mettle and manipulation.

So instead I bitch about it and curse it online. Lame.