Monday, September 30, 2002

Dylan, I guess I could wait, but I want it now! "It can flash-fry a buffalo in forty seconds." "Forty seconds? But I want it now!"

Um, ooo... brain fart. I forgot what I was going to post. Yep, I'm an idiot.

It has come to my attention that the Flying Dutchman* does not enjoy the film Rushmore and lists the Dave Matthews Band among his five favorite bands. Hmmm, bad things may have to happen to him. (*Based on Friday's identification of Jim and Dan as "the Plate" and "the Pikachu Tamer," and inspired by The Watergirl's blog, I am experimenting with using nicknames as primary identifiers. For example, "the Bald Mountain" for David and "K. Steeze" universally in place of Kevin Stermer, etc. This is not being done to protect anyone's anonymity - the Flying Dutchman is Mike Lindemulder - but because I like nicknames.)

Friday, September 27, 2002

Although they are not what the once were and I hate their whoring out to MTV, it must be said that "Rock Show" by Blink-182 is still a good song. Poppy, but Blink's always been poppy. And I love the line "I fell in love with the girl at the rock show" because it makes me think happy thoughts about Linz (instead of crappy, dwelling on how terribly I miss her thoughts).

Here's the chain of thoughts that lead to that comment: Tonight, the Plate, the Pikachu Tamer, and I are going to see Mustard Plug at St. Andrew's Hall in beautiful Detroit, Michigan. Both previous Plug shows I've attended I did so with Linz (both at Ann Arbor's Blind Pig). The first ska show Lindsay ever attended was a Plus show at the Pig by my invitation. And although I did not know her at the time I wrote the line, one of the lyrics of the Real Can of Yams song "Riot Grrl" is "Raging in the pit she's oh so cute" and this is perfectly true about the lovely Ms. Shaw. Elsewhere, she is never magnificent in quite the same way as when she's crushed between sweaty punks in a hopping pit. So, Plug tonight, Plug with Linz, Linz at the rock show, "I fell in love with the girl at the rock show."

It's no "Josie," but "Rock Show" proves that there is still something worth saving in Blink-182.

Thursday, September 26, 2002


Okay, here it is folks, your guide to understanding the Crisis on Infinite Earths and why it matters. I can tell you this: DC Comics has an incredibly complex post-Crisis continuity. However, had there never been the Crisis, DC continuity - pre-Crisis plus the intervening seventeen years - would be indecipherable to any newcomer. In large measure then, I owe my love of comics to the Crisis on Infinite Earths. (Yes, one day I hope to do an entire Newsletter column about being a fanboy.)

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
45. You should know all this and more without my telling you.
Yeah, I know, I thought the ending sucked, too. I understand that it's hard to come up with forty-five new yet true statements about relationships, but if you can't do forty-five there's no shame in stopping at a lower number.

The Newsletter is in crisis. Not a cool crisis like the Crisis on Infinite Earths, but a crisis nonetheless. I think I have to fire Brad. We'd retain his column (pathetic drivel though it is), but as far as being an editor, the kid is fucking worthless. He's my friend and I don't want to kick him when he's already down about Missy, but it's unfair to us for him to not pull his weight. We're asking him to do things he's unwiling to do, but we're only asking because he told us he was willing to do them. No, there's no other way.

(I'll probably go back when I have more time and find a cool link for the Crisis; so, look back for that later today or tomorrow.)

Monday, September 23, 2002

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
44. I remember everything about our relationship.
No, my love, you do not. Neither do I. None of us do. We all forget, often because we want to, sometimes just because we do. But you remember all the important things, and all the things you can use against me, and for that I love you.
Tomorrow, the conclusion of "45 Things She Wishes You Knew."

On Saturday night, I saw a girl get struck by a car. I couldn't tell you anything about the car except that it was dark. I bolted to the girl; the first person to her, sitting there in the middle of State. Her boyfriend grabbed her other arm and we lifted her from the pavement. I directed them to the wall in front of the Union and sat her down. A crowd of strangers were gathered around us, cell phones in most of their hands, calling an ambulance, calling the police, shouting at each other to get the license plate number. Another car stopped and told us the plate number. She was bleeding from a cut above her right eye and crimson marred her white shirt. Her fingers tinged with blood and spreading it to her shoulder, she crossed herself; it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

It took some coaxing, but using my best lifeguard voice I got her to lie down. "I'm not trying to minimize this, but it's a head wound and they bleed profusely; so, don't worry about the blood." She asked if her tooth was chipped and I said yes. Later she asked if anyone could see it lying in the street.She never lost consciousness, but she was starting to go into shock. I talked to her and told she was going to be okay. Some frat boys bought napkins from their house, the one next to the Union, and we started to clean her up. She walked to the wall with our assistance; so, there was no major spinal damage. I didn't check for broken bones, but she didn't mention anything specifically hurting. She asked why someone would do such a thing - "He looked right at me" - but I told her that she'd done nothing wrong and that she was going to be okay.

The Fire Department and the police came. They took her to the U of M hospital. The boyfriend was stunned; I told him not to worry about the car, just to tell her she was going to be all right. "And take care of yourself, man." I hadn't seen the car hit her; I'd reacted once I heard the thud, though I did see her white shirt suspended in the air for less than a moment, above the hood and off to one side. Then, I just ran full out into traffic. Thank God I didn't have to think. I hadn't seen the car before it hit her and I didn't see the driver; so, after he took my name, the police officer didn't need anything from me. He told us that they had the car, though. I was kind of freaked out Saturday night, but I'm cool now. I just kept seeing her doing it over and over: She crossed herself. She crossed herself. She crossed herself.

Friday, September 20, 2002

I'd like to be against a war with Iraq, but I'm just not capable of that kind of moral cowardice.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
42. It's cheating as soon as you're doing something with her that you wouldn't want me to see, hear, read...
43. For the record: I'd rather you break up with me than cheat.
I cannot agree with this strongly enough. If you are with someone, you are with them to the romantic/sexual exclusion of all others. Period. I don't care if you're dating the worst person in the world, as long as you haven't broken up with her, you will conduct yourself with complete fidelity. In a surprise move, Brad ripped the Band-Aid off; he broke up with Missy on Monday. On Sunday, I told him, "I mean, I don't know if you're even interested in looking for another girl, even a rebound girl, but you will not do anything until you've talked to Missy and it's over. I don't care how dead your relationship is, until there has been a formal declaration, you are still with her." I despise anyone who has ever cheated on their boyfriend or girlfriend. It is far better to dump a girl hard than to cheat on her just a little bit. And if you do cheat, whether or not to confess is your business and depends on your relationship, but I hope your conscience eats you alive. There is no higher virtue than loyalty, and infidelity is one of the gravest forms of disloyalty.

Lindsay does not approve of my purchase of Avril Lavigne's Let Go. This would bother me more if Linz weren't a devoted fan of (snicker snicker) Aerosmith.

The second season of Enterprise got under way Wednesday night. The good continues to outweigh the bad. I am deeply concerned about this December's tenth feature film, Star Trek: Nemesis.
Yeah, okay, I fixed the nickname problem, by who in the hell do they think they are to reset my information like that?

I'm thinking about changing the name of this blog to "Ev Is A Useless Fucker." Yea? Nay?
Okay, good news, The Secret Base is once again functional... but when the FUCK did I change my profile from "Mike Wilson" to "The Last Angry Man"?!? The assholes who run Blogger are worthless sacks of camel droppings. Fucking useless son-of-bitches. I mean it when I say a pox upon their heads. Terminal? No. But I want those Epsilons good and sick for a long fucking time; maybe a nice bout of the clap or some kind of festering boils.

Thursday, September 19, 2002

A pox on the heads of the morons behind Blogger! A pox, you hear me, a pox!

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Oh, and guess what? The email address for Blogger support is no longer functional. You receive a reply directing you to the help section of the webpage. There, once you have identified your type of problem, it tells you to use the email address for Blogger support. Fuck the Blogger people, they are Epsilons of the worst kind.
Some folks have been experiencing this error since last Friday, and they still can't publish. I know no one can read this, at least not right now, but I'd appreciate suggestions for a new host. I like the format of Blogger, but not being able to publish entirely defeats the purpose of having a blog; so, The Secret Base may have to move. Damn it.

It's not even fucking worth it to try "45 Things" or anything else right now.

Tuesday, September 17, 2002

Other blogs are working, but neither of mine. I feel so special. Perfection in performance is a ridiculous fantasy, but this malfunction is becoming almost routine. The only part of this that makes me angry is that the error message contains a link to a troubleshooting page, but my error is not among those for which help is provided. The assholes who run Blogger can go fuck themselves. Don't offer to help people and then do nothing; just say you can't help. Just be honest, you worthless collections of bile.

I had an atrocious time at work last night. I hated the bitch I was working with. The entire time was spend listening to her witless prattle about needing to get laid. It was honestly worse than any possible caricature of the most boorish frat boy. She was, perhaps, the most base human being I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I will do everything in my power to never again work with her again. If I have to, I may just try to get fired to get out of it.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
41. Even nice girls like hushed dirty talk in public.
I would not know where to begin. I am a funny guy, but I cannot tell ribald jokes. They just don't work for me. Same principle here; so, I just don't think I could make that work, even were it what she wanted.

This morning, I once again dwelled upon the fact that you can have known someone for years, and then in one moment you realize that everything you've ever said to each other isn't a lie, but it's just no longer true.

Monday, September 16, 2002

Blogger is non-functional. Again. Joy. But, at least it's letting me post, if not publish; so, I'll write this now and post it once possible.

Dan got dumped hard in August and Brad is about to break up with Missy (about friggin' time). Hmm, like celebrity deaths, the disintegration of couples seems to be a grouped phenomenon. So, last night Brad kept me up until 2:30 trying to work up the fortitude to do it; I fully support this decision, I'm just annoyed that it will take a few more nights of his agonizingly slow decision-making process before he's ready. And Dan and I will watch his old tapes of Mobile Suit Zeta Gundam; ah, sweet anime, lessens the pain.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
40. I love holding your bum in the palms of my hands.
Um, okay. Fantastic, as long as it isn't a PDA.

I forgot that I have to work tonight; so, no trivia night at Conor's for me. *sigh* But, at least tomorrow's a sleep in day, meaning I only have to wake up in time to watch Hamtaro!

Friday, September 13, 2002

I was going to pull my air conditioner out of my window and rearrange my room (and I may yet), but now I'm feeling tired and beat up from the Flounders. I've played all three days this week, and last night I had a broomball game at midnight (followed by work this morning at 8:00). My hands are all cut up and both elbows are bashed to hell. My right shoulder has some discolored bruises, there is a painful scrape on my right shin, and my lip is a little puffy. I love violent sports.

After the game last night, I was so excited about our victory that I called Linz. We talked for forty minute and I laughed the entire time. It was truly excellent.

If things go according to plan, I'll be going to Monday trivia at Conor's with Zach , Sarah, and Katie. For seemingly no reason, I keep seeing this girl I know, Veronica Capellos, everywhere. Seriously, I've seen her at least three times this week. And Brad Schnieder, too. I've run into him almost every day since the weekend. It's beginning to creep me out.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
39. A lady should always be greeted with kisses.
I would if I could, I would if I could. If you'll forgive me, now I'm going to dreamily remember what her lips felt like when she kissed me....

Thursday, September 12, 2002

Remember kids, if you see something you don't like on the internet (yes, they do have the internet on computers now), just resist the temptation to look at it. Of course, if I'm doing something that somebody doesn't like, it would be unreasonable to ask to ask them to simply not look at it. Better to ask me to stop doing what they don't like. Wacky.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
38. It's best to consult your gal pals for gift ideas.
Ha ha! Wrong! Radio Free Wilson, the ska and punk mix CDs I compiled and burned for her before she moved to Berkeley, was an entirely male-conceived idea. Okay, so a mix tape is not anything new, but no gal pals were consulted. And, man oh man, you should have seen her reaction; one of the greatest moments of my life. For a more typical guy and a more typical girl, though, consulting probably isn't a bad idea.

I've woken up no later than 8:30 for the past six days. The only hard part is a two-hour drowsy spell from 10pm-midnight. After midnight, I gt my second wind and it's hard to go to sleep before 2 or 2:30.

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

I hate writing birthday cards. Lindsay really liked my card, but I don't remember exactly what I said. Yeah, I know the main thrust of it, but it would be nice to have a transcript as reference material. And it's frustrating when there's been tension, and you're not completely over it. Because whatever that tension is, it's just contemporary dingo's kidneys, whereas you want the card to last forever. I want every card I write to be dated, to very much reflect the exact moment in which it was written, but to still be endearing in twenty years. (I say twenty years even though I know these things get thrown away; however, I save them because whatever my mind knows gets trumped by my intuitive assumption that everyone else saves them as well.)
Anything I could say of any consequence about today's anniversary I said in The Newsletter. God bless America.

Yesterday was Lindsay's birthday. The card was very well-received, as was the phone call. When I mean to be, I can be rather adept.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
36. Celebrating our anniversary, even it it's only been a few months, earns major bonus points.
I remember the day I met Lindsay; I remember the date. I remember the terrible night we saw Hannibal and she eviscerated me. I mentioned the anniversary of our meeting and she seemed surprised I remembered. I remember everything.

37. I love it when you're sweaty.
Man, she must love me all the time then, because I'm the bastard who helped invent Sweating Like A Wilson.

Monday, September 9, 2002

I attended a truly great party at David's new apartment on Saturday night. It was the perfect atmosphere, the perfect number of people, within that number the perfect number of people I already knew, the perfect amount of drinking. A grand time standing around and talking to people I don't see very often. Aided by Bacchus, a number of them were extrememly happy to see me, which is a boost to the ol' ego. Man oh man, it was fun.

Also this weekend, I was told that the smoking of some good pot reminder the smoker of me. It was explained that the quality of the pot spoke to my well known insistance on quality. Nevertheless, I think this is the very first time I have even been associated with pot to anyone anywhere in any way.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
35. I like it when you tell me what you're thinking, even if you don't know yourself.
The last time I told her what was on my mind, it got my in trouble. I was staring off into space and she asked me, "What?" Before I even thought about it, I turned to her and said, "I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong." An intense and meaningful discussion followed. Now, that it not to say that the above is not true. Maybe then it was time we discussed some things, her departure being very near at that point. I like this one.

Saturday, September 7, 2002

The July and August issues of The Newsletter have finally been mailed out. (I am a firm believer in "better late than never.") Excellent progress has been made on the new website and it should be launching shortly. (Maybe we should have a vastly inflated IPO?) The envelopes are all ready for September's first issue, Vol. IV, No. 1 - which will be mailed out on Monday come Hell or high water - to be followed two weeks later by an issue marking The Newsletter's first birthday.

Tomorrow, I get to recert for new Lifeguard and CPR cards. I don't know why, but lately I've had this great sense that things are starting to come together; the dark bastard remains silent, which is his way of pouting. "I have great faith in my own invincibility." Anything repeated often enough eventually becomes the truth. All this, and my shameful infatuation with Avril Lavigne continues.

Friday, September 6, 2002

I'm back from DC. The drive was actually really fun. I start to get bored when I drive anywhere by myself, but since I had to minimally concentrate on the truck ahead of me, I was alert and engaged the entire time. I wish I'd brought more than eight CDs, though. I actually talked to people on the plane home, a first for me. Not a life-altering experience, but noteworthy nevertheless.

45 Things She Wishes You Knew
34. Discussion of ex-gf's and ex-bf's should be avoided at all times.
I disagree. Why? Because I want to know everything. I just do, it's how I am. This isn't about jealousy or inadequacy, just curiosity. I want to know about Marrying Mike and what made him so precious to her. For good or for ill, you can tell a lot about a person by his associates. So, by knowing something about the guys she has dated, I could learn more about her. Of course, for my part the closest thing I've ever had to a girlfriend is Psycho Hose Beast. However, if you ask I'll tell you everything I know about her. It isn't a "knowledge is power" ego trip, I just like knowing things. And I'm secure enough to not freak out... too much.